Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fiddling with the tattered fletching that he’d found, crushed and forgotten, at the bottom of one of his pockets, Kili huffed out a breath and shifted on the hard flagstones. It was hard to tell deep inside the mountain, but he was certain that he’d been waiting outside his uncle’s chambers for hours. Or an hour, at least. A long time anyway. 

Long enough that one of the torches further down the wide passageway had guttered and gone out, and long enough that the guards stationed at the very far end of the passageway had changed shift. With nothing else to do, Kili had watched them, unable to make out who they were from the distance, but one of them had waved to him and he’d waved back, hoping they’d come down and talk to him. They hadn’t. And he couldn’t go to them because Amad had told him to stay put and behave, in the voice that really meant stay put and behave. 

His head whipped up at the sound of footsteps and muffled voices from beyond the thick door opposite.

At last. 

Tucking the ruined fletching away, Kili rolled to his feet. He busied himself knocking the worst of the dust from his trousers and tunic, and had just time to run his fingers through his hair to check it was tidy enough before the door began to swing open. 

By the time Amad stepped out into the torchlit passageway, Kili had his hands clasped behind his back, feet firmly planted, and was ready to pretend he'd been stood there, patiently waiting, the whole time. But then Amad pulled Fili through the doorway and Kili forgot everything. He leapt forward and clutched at his brother’s forearm. 

Fili stared at him, eyes wider than Kili had ever seen them before, and Kili’s heart dropped to his boots. 

“Fee?” he whispered, ducking to get a better look at Fili’s downturned and bloodless face. “Fee, what happened?”

“Kili, don’t keep your uncle waiting.” Pressing a kiss to Fili’s temple, Amad pulled Kili’s fingers free and gave Fili a light push. As his brother moved on down the passageway, still without saying a word, Kili stepped after him, stopping when Amad tightened her grip. 

“But, Amad—” 

“But me no buts.” Steering him by the shoulders into the antechamber, Amad kicked the heavy door closed behind them. As the slam echoed around the stone walls, Kili cast a final look behind him and trailed after her across the chamber to his uncle’s closed study door, his mind whirling. What had they done this time? Maybe it was their nighttime adventure on Durin's day? Had Gimli snitched? Kili shook his head. His cousin wouldn’t have, but maybe they’d been spotted by someone who'd told tales instead of doing the decent thing and speaking to him or Fili. It wasn’t fair. They’d been so careful. 

By the time Amad had knocked and Uncle Thorin bade them come in, Kili had thought of a few other possibilities other than Durin's day. Several, in fact. As he listened with half an ear to Thorin saying something to Amad about banging doors and the mountain falling down around their ears, Kili chewed on a fingernail and wished that he’d been given a few moments to whisper with Fili. 

There was nothing for it but to tell the truth. Whatever it was. Amad beckoned him forward and Kili drew close to his uncle’s desk. They were going to be confined to the mountain again. He just knew it in his bones. And in such fine weather too. Gimli was going to be annoyed. 

The door closed behind him as Amad left, and Kili waited, clasping sweaty hands behind his back. Since Thorin had returned to his paperwork and wasn’t paying him any attention, Kili took the chance to pull back his shoulders and tilt his chin, bracing himself to hear whatever it was that had so upset his big brother. 

After what felt like forever, Thorin finished with the parchment, set it to one side, and leant back in his chair. Over steepled fingers, he said, “I trust you weren’t too bored waiting?”

“No, Uncle. I was…” Looking around the room for inspiration, Kili’s gaze was drawn back to the parchment with its rows of neat figures. “I was thinking over some problems Balin set for us this morning. At our lessons.”

His uncle raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.” He smiled, and Kili’s shoulders loosened only to tense up again when Thorin continued, “I, and I’m sure I speak for Balin too, am pleased to hear that you’re taking your studies so seriously. Take a seat, Kili. There’s something important we need to discuss.” 

Feeling lighter, Kili closed the door to his uncle's chambers, carefully so it didn't slam, and walked as slowly as he could to the junction at the end of the passageway. 

After saying a quick hello to the guards, Kili's smile faded away. He looked up and down the wide thoroughfare that separated his uncle's rooms from the rest of the mountain. The afternoon shift changes were in progress and dwarves flowed past in both directions, either heading deeper into the mountain towards the forges and mines or away towards their homes in the main settlement. But nowhere in the seething mass of his dark or red-haired or helmed kin could Kili spot a head of golden curls. 

Still on tip-toe, he turned at a light tap on his shoulder. 

"That way, lad," said one of the guards, pointing toward where the dim light filtered in from outside. “He’s got a bit of a headstart on you though. Everything all right, is it?”

“Yes. Our uncle told us that—” Remembering Thorin’s parting instruction to keep things to himself, Kili bit his lip and nodded. “Nothing.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. 

“Nothing important anyway,” added Kili. “Just…” A flash of inspiration saved him. “He told us we had to study a lot harder.” That was true enough, and probably fine to say. 

“Ah, that’ll be it. I thought your brother looked a bit preoccupied.” The guard nodded at his companion. “Fili always stops to have a word or two, but he walked right past us. Didn’t he, Dwati? As if we weren't even here. And I said, ‘Well, that’s not like him’, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Dwati nodded. “It’s not like him at all.”

They were both staring at him, and he couldn’t hang about talking any longer. Not only because he was bound to be keeping Fili waiting, but because the secret was burning a hole in Kili's chest. He stepped backward, colliding with someone coming the other way. "Sorry," he said as the dwarf rushed past without acknowledging him. "I have to go," he told the guards. "I'll…"

Turning, he left whatever he'd intended to say unsaid, since he didn't know what it was anyway, and hurried away, sticking close to the walls to stay out of everyone's way as much as possible. At last he made it to the end and ran down the wide stairway, through the hall that led to the mountain's wide-open gates, and out into the daylight. With a wave to the gate-guards, he bounded down the last set of stairs, jumping the final half dozen to land on the cobblestones. 

He looked around, expecting to see Fili leaning against a wall, head tilted up to the weak winter sun and eyes closed, waiting patiently for him. Taking a second more careful look up and down the busy street, Kili frowned. Where was he?

The settlement was a sprawling place, and never more so than when you desperately needed to find someone. Peeping down the alleys between rows of houses, Kili made his way to the entrance of the market that was tucked between the jutting entrance to the mountain and the thick wall that encircled the settlement. It was busy with dwarves who had come off-shift within the mountain, and those shopping for some last moment fresh goods for their dinner. Weaving through the crowds, Kili’s heart sank as he approached the pastry stall set out in the shadow of the wall. Not only was Fili not here either, but Bombur’s stall was disappointingly empty with no sign of the friendly shopkeep. Kili’s stomach rumbled and he sighed. 

Scuffing a heel against the cobblestones and thinking hard, he brightened with the realisation that he knew exactly where Fili would be. He hurried back through the market, taking a sharp right and running along the line of the wall toward the training yard. Of course, Fili would’ve headed straight to find a weapon and something or someone willing to be hit. It was what he always did when he needed to think things over. Or almost always anyway. 

The sound of clashing metal and dwarvish yells filled the air as Kili drew closer. He shoved open the doors set in the high wall of the yard and stopped. 

There were plenty of dwarves here too, but he could see straight away that none of them were his brother. Leaving plenty of space so as not to distract anyone, Kili picked his way around the sparring partners until he reached Dwalin who was standing with his arms crossed watching a bout. Perhaps Fili was in one of the private rooms set around the yard? All but one of the doors were closed so it was possible.  

“Back again so soon, lad?” Dwalin looked him up and down. “Go on then. Run and fetch a sword. Quick.”

“Is my brother here?” 

“Does that matter?” With a jerk of his head toward the weapons store on the far side of the yard, Dwalin frowned. “Go on. You were both mucking about earlier so you can give me a decent hour now, and he can give me his later. And it’ll be two hours if you’re not quick about it.”

“I need to find Fee first.” And he hadn’t been mucking about. They’d been working hard on Fili’s archery. That they’d been helpless with laughter about a particularly — even for his brother — poor shot when Dwalin glowered across the yard was hardly either of their faults. It was just bad timing. “Uncle Thorin spoke to us and—”

“What have you done this time?”

Insulted, Kili drew himself up to his full height and glared at his tutor. 

It didn’t have the impact he’d hoped for when, in response, Dwalin grabbed Kili's jaw and tilted his head side to side. “It's going to take me a long while to get used to this. Tidy job though, you're starting to get the hang of it.” Releasing him, Dwalin waved dismissively. “Go on then. Off you go and find him. And take your scowls with you.”

Kili stomped back out through the gates and resisted the urge to slam the door behind him. Scratching at the still itchy stubble on his chin — would it ever stop itching? — he started in the direction of home. 

But Fili wasn't at home, or in the other half dozen places Kili could think of.

Out of ideas, Kili wandered his way through the quieter streets in the direction of the main gate. He huffed out a breath as his eyes fell on the alehouse. It wasn't likely but he may as well take a quick look.

Cracking open the heavy door, he peeped through, his eyes taking a long moment to adjust to the smoky darkness. 

“Kili.” A familiar shape waved at him from the bar. “Come on in.”

After taking a glance both ways along the street, to reassure himself that Amad wasn’t behind him, Kili slipped inside and made his way through the mostly empty tables.

“Hello, lad.” Patting the stool beside him, Molir raised a finger to the barkeep. "What’re you doing in here? For I know Dis will box your ears should she catch you in the alehouse in the middle of the afternoon.”

Amad would box his ears if she caught him in an alehouse at all. It wasn’t a welcome thought. Kili glanced over his shoulder toward the door, turning back at a thud to find a brimming tankard of ale on the counter in front of him. “You called me in!” Taking a sip, he licked the foam from his lips and remembered his manners. “Thank you for the ale.”

Molir shrugged. “Big day today. How are you feeling?”

It was Kili's turn to shrug as he took another slug of ale. The alehouse door creaked and Kili spun on the stool, his heart beating too fast, as a dwarf walked in. Not Amad. He breathed out and smiled at Molir. 

“Good lad, there's not much phases you, Kili, eh? It's a big honour, and should ruffle a few feathers too.” Busy with filling his pipe, Molir chuckled to himself. 

Eyeing Molir over his tankard, Kili frowned. “Do you know?” Uncle Thorin had said it was a secret from anyone who wasn’t family. Did the captain of the guard count as family? He hadn’t thought to ask. 

Molir frowned back, setting his unlit pipe on the bartop. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. “Have you seen Fee?”

“Headed out the gate an hour or so ago. Where are you going?”

Outside the cosy embrace of the settlement walls, the winds were fierce and there was the promise of more snow on the air. Kili called over his shoulder to the gate-guard. “Toward the valley, you said? Not west?”

“He headed that way anyway. Your amad know you're out here by yourself?”

Kili rolled his eyes. “Of course. I was a bit delayed, that's all. I'll go catch him up now.” Walking away, he picked up the pace and ignored the guard calling his name, pretending he hadn't heard by fussing with his bracer.

Once the road dipped toward the valley and he was well out of sight of the gate, he started running, knowing now exactly where Fili would be. At the next curve, he clambered over the ice-coated boulders that lined the road and struck out in the direction of their ridge. 

As he ran through damp mountain grasses that brushed his thighs and tried to leap his way from dry patch to dry patch over the worst of the boggy spots, he mulled over Molir’s ruffled feathers remark and wished he’d thought to ask. Because he couldn't imagine whose feathers could possibly be ruffled. Everyone liked Fili, and, as far as he was aware, he hadn’t done anything to truly upset anyone. 

Mistiming a jump, he landed half-on and half-off a tuft of grass, swearing under his breath when dark water splashed up his leg and into his boot. Never mind ruffled feathers. If he went home to Amad smelling like he’d been bathing in a bog, he’d be getting his ears ruffled.  

He slowed down after that, picking his steps with more care as he drew closer to the ridge. The ground might be drier here but it was a foolish dwarf who ran too close to the crumbling edge. Especially when the rocks underfoot were iced and slippery. No sense in taking a tumble down the mountain.

“Fee!” he shouted, waving as he spotted his brother sitting on the large flat rock that jutted out over the ridge. 

His brother looked over his shoulder and Kili pretended he hadn't seen the scowl. Running the last of the distance, all worries about a fall forgotten, he scrambled up onto the rock and scooted forward to sit beside Fili. 

“You didn't wait for me.” Kili tried to keep the accusation out of his voice as he looked down between their dangling boots into the valley below. Picking up a pebble from the little pile by Fili’s side, Kili tossed it over the edge and watched it fall away until it disappeared from sight. “I looked everywhere for you.”

“Have you been drinking?” Fili didn't look happy. “And please don't tell me you don't have as much as a knife with you. And where's your cloak?” He shrugged out of his. 

Kili wrapped the cloak thrust at him around his shoulders obediently, recognising that his brother needed to fuss. “Thank you.” He smiled at Fili, looking down again between his swinging boots when that failed to take the scowl from Fili's face.

They sat in silence, listening to the wind whistling underneath the rock, until Kili could take it no more. “Do you want to talk?” When that didn’t get an answer, he nudged Fili’s shoulder with his. “Fee? About us being princes now?”

Fili shook his big, shaggy head. 

As Kili watched the mess of snarled golden curls being tugged this way and that in the mountain air, he frowned, pushing his own hair behind his ears and reminding himself to redo Fili's braids the moment they got home. They would need to start looking a bit more presentable now, at all times, their uncle had said so. 

But Uncle Thorin wasn’t here. 

Kili palmed a handful of pebbles. “I bet you can't hit that rock over there. The one with the white flowers.”

Lifting his head, Fili followed Kili's pointing finger along the ridge. His eyes narrowed and a flicker of a smile played on his lips. “What do you bet me?”

“The dishes.”

“For the next week.” Fili held out his hand. “Best of three?”

Chapter Text

Kili frowned, watching his brother in the cracked mirror. “Leave it and I’ll finish it for you in a moment, Fee.”

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Fili unravelled the braid he'd been making a mess of and flung the metal bead away, followed quickly by the others. He flopped back onto the bed with a growl.

Kili listened to the plink and rattle of the last hair bead bouncing its way across the bedchamber flagstones. “You may go and find those, brother.” Lifting his chin, he made a final careful pass with the knife and set it to one side to better run his fingers over the stubble and check for any he’d missed. Because there was always one. Always. His reflection stared sadly back at him as Kili huffed out his cheeks. “I don't think I'll ever get used to this. I don't look like myself. There must be another way.”

“Set aside your bow and take up the axe.” Fili’s eyes met his in the mirror. “That's the other way.”

His brother was making no effort to go and find the beads he'd scattered across the room. Kili splashed water on his face and meticulously cleaned the knife in the basin. Drying himself off, he cast about. “Did you throw all of them?”

Gathering up as many of the beads from the corners of the room, behind trunks, and under beds, as he could find, Kili pushed them into Fili's unresisting hand. He hauled his brother up to sitting before retrieving the discarded comb from the floor and making a quick inspection of Fili's short beard and moustache braids before settling himself in behind. He sectioned off a thick hank of hair. “You'll be fine.”

Fili grunted under his fingers.

“You will.”

“What if they expect me to say something?” Fili twisted to look up at him, ruining the tension of the braid. 

Tutting, Kili pushed Fili’s head back and started again. “If you were expected to say anything then Uncle Thorin would have told you what it was, and made you rehearse it until you were word perfect. You know he would. So just try and relax and enjoy it, Fee. It's a big honour, remember?”

Fili made a non-committal noise.

“Amad says there'll be cake.” Tying off the first braid, Kili checked it from all angles before nodding. He lifted another section and combed it out. “And she says we're to be sure not to drink too much ale.”

“Would she like us to drink milk instead, perhaps?” Fili laughed but there was no humour in it. “We need to look grown tonight.”

“We are grown.”

“Dain patted me on the head today.”

“Oh.” Kili didn't need to see Fili’s face to know what expression would be there. “I expect he didn't mean anything by it. He hasn't seen you in a very long time.”

They had only been little dwarflings the last time Dain had visited. Kili smiled, remembering his childish protests when their amad had forced him into uncomfortably stiff and formal clothes, and warned him to be on his best behaviour.

Washed and brushed to within an inch of his life, Kili clung to Fili's hand as they followed at Amad’s heels through the bustling streets of the settlement, being careful not to get their clean clothes or boots dusty. With no stops to speak to any of the neighbours who smiled and called to them, and not even a peep into the market, it was a long walk for a little dwarfling in shiny new boots. Kili’s toes were pinching well before they reached the steps that led into the darkness of the mountain and on toward their uncle’s chambers. 

“My feet hurt, Fee,” he confessed, tears pricking his eyes as he looked up the endless steps. 

Fili didn’t answer, dropping Kili’s hand to wrap his arms around him instead and boost him up onto his hip. Happier with this turn of events, Kili snuggled into his big brother’s neck, his heels swinging, knocking off Fili’s legs as they made their slow and careful way up the steps.  

Their amad waited for them at the gate, with her hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised, and, behind her, the guards were smiling. They waved and Kili waved back. 

Amad carried him the rest of the way, only setting him back on his feet when they reached the closed door of Uncle Thorin’s chambers. Kneeling, she smoothed their hair and straightened their clothes, flicking dust off their shoulders and muttering about how they’d managed to get untidy so fast. With a final warm smile and a pat of their cheeks, she stood, pushing open the door and ushering them in ahead of her. 

Kili had barely time to notice Uncle Thorin rise to standing, a broad smile on his face, before a huge, flame-haired dwarf leapt to his feet with a roar and charged across the antechamber toward them. Yelping in fright, Kili gripped Fili’s hand tighter and hid behind his brother 

The flame-haired dwarf paused briefly to touch Fili's cheek before rushing past to sweep their amad off her feet. With his heart racing, Kili peered around Fili's shoulder and up at their amad. Held in the dwarf's arms, with her head buried against his neck, she was making a choking noise. 

He tugged at Fili's hand, but his brother was staring upward too and not doing anything to save Amad. And neither was Uncle Thorin. 

The tears came then, and Fili wrapped him up in a tight hug, but his brother hadn't time to speak any words of either a plan or comfort before strong arms pulled them apart.

With his blurry eyes still fixed on Amad, Kili couldn’t see at first who’d lifted him. He cried harder, reaching first for Fili, who was trapped under Molir's other arm and couldn't help, and then for Amad, his fingers brushing her cloak but unable to get a proper grip before they were past her. His brother was fighting, yelling and twisting in Molir's grip and Kili fought too, his boots knocking against Fili's as they both kicked uselessly at air. 

His uncle's door closed with a clunk that echoed in the passageway and then Kili's feet were back on flagstones and he could once again grab Fili's arm. 

Molir crouched before them, a stern expression on his face as he wiped their tears away before wagging a thick finger at Fili. "You don't bite me again, lad. Understand?" His voice softened as he continued, "No one's hurting your amad. That's Lord Dain. He's her cousin, and your Uncle Thorin's cousin, and so he's your cousin too, and he's come a very long way to see you all. All the way from the other side of the world."

Hiccoughing, and with tears still rolling down his cheeks, Kili looked up at Fili. There were a lot of words he didn't understand as Molir talked on about Dain and their adad, but, when the frown left Fili's face and his fists unclenched, Kili's pattering heart slowed. 

"—so when we go back in you need to be the very good boys that I know you are," said Molir, ruffling their hair before holding out his hands to Kili. "But first, what do we think about going to the market for pastries?" 

Kili thought it was a fine idea. After a quick glance at Fili to check his big brother felt the same way, he jumped into Molir's arms. 

All upsets were long forgotten by the time they returned to the mountain, having been made a fuss over by the stallholders and with bellies stuffed full of more treats than Amad would ever have allowed them to eat in one go. 

After a stop in the passageway for one last check over them all for crumbs, and a final reminder to be good, Molir knocked the door, pushing it open at Thorin's call to enter. 

Amad, Thorin and Dain were settled into chairs around the fireplace in the study, and Dain stood as they entered, opening his arms wide and calling to them. 

Shaking his head, Kili pressed his face tightly to Molir's neck and hung on tighter. He didn't want to be good if good meant having to get down. Still frightened of the loud stranger, he was happy to be held safe and warm on the captain's hip. Peeking out between the grey braids that smelled comfortingly of pipe smoke, he watched silently as Fili strode forward and presented himself to Dain with a confident bow.

Another loud laugh boomed around the room, making Kili jump. Still chuckling, Dain tilted Fili’s head back, turning him this way and that and exclaiming over him. 

There was a lot of rapid talk about who Fili looked most like, and Kili yawned while he toyed with one of Molir's braids, turning it in his fingers. The words washed over him. Something about their adad, and a lot about their Uncle Frerin, and other names he didn't know. Fili didn't move, being good, standing still and quiet, allowing Dain to pat at him and lift hanks of his hair.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a glint of gold.

Dain pressed the fat coin that glittered in the firelight onto Fili's palm and Kili lifted his head, one hand fisted in Molir's braids and the other tightly wrapped in his beard.

“I think the presents are only for the bravest dwarflings,” Molir whispered.

He wanted a present. 

Kili wriggled to get down. Once he was back on his feet, he straightened his shoulders the way he'd watched Fili do and set off, grabbing Molir's hand and attempting to tug him along after him. But he may as well have attempted to tug the mountain. 

When it finally became clear that he was on his own, Kili tried to copy his brother, walking to Fili's side with an exaggerated confidence he didn't feel.

Covered in more tattoos and scars than Dwalin, and with a shock of red hair that sprang out in all directions, Dain was even more frightening up close. With a fist pressed tight to his mouth and the fingers of his free hand twitching in anticipation for his present, Kili leant into Fili's side, his brother's support giving him courage.

"Bow, and say your greeting, Kili," whispered Fili, gently pulling Kili's hand away from his mouth. "Go on. I'm right here."

Not wanting to take his eyes off Dain, but wanting to obey his big brother, Kili bowed, stumbling backward when Dain laughed again. 

The sound filled the room, echoing in Kili's ears as he quickly straightened. Fili patted his back, pushing him closer to Dain, and Kili braced himself to be turned about and patted like Fili before getting his present. 

He cried out in surprise and shock when instead he was swept up and perched on Dain's knee.

Staring at Fili in speechless horror, Kili sat frozen in place while Dain ruffled his hair and patted him hard on the head.

Then Thorin called Fili away and Kili was trapped, with a stranger's arm about his waist and his heart pounding in his ears. The gold coin Dain handed him helped a little. But, as Dain talked over his head with Thorin, it was the telling stories of orcs and goblins in a loud thundering voice with no regard for young ears that tipped the balance.

Kili smiled, starting on another braid. Amad had taken the gold coins from them for safekeeping the moment they left Thorin's rooms, pocketing them with a promise that they could have them back as soon as she thought them old enough to not spend them all on sweet things. He'd forgotten all about them. 

"Did you ever get the gold coin back that Dain gave us?" he asked.

By the end of Dain's visit, Kili had been closer to the warlord than his own shadow. Clamouring for more stories, the bloodthirstier the better, and Dain had been amused and more than happy to oblige. 

Kili had woken up from screaming nightmares for weeks. Amad had been furious.

Hopeful for more new stories, Kili had always looked forward to seeing Dain again someday. When Thorin told them he had invited all the dwarf lords to celebrate his new heirs, to celebrate him and Fili, Kili was more excited by the prospect of Dain than even the promise of a tournament or any of the other festivities. 

Each time a rumour of dwarves making their way up the valley road toward their mountain had reached his ears, he'd raced to the gates, only to be disappointed time and time again.

But, this morning, as he and Gimli had watched Dwalin wrestle, stretched out like cats enjoying the heat of the late summer sun in the training yard, the news arrived. The long-awaited caravan from the Iron Hills had finally been spotted making his way up the valley. Gimli grinned at him, for this time it could be none other than Dain. The settlement was full to bursting, and there was none left to arrive.

Leaping to their feet as one, they took the shortest route through the crowded alleyways and down to the main gate. Their boots pounded on the cobbles and they shoved at each other , racing to join the crowd already gathered around the huge gateway that marked the grandest entrance to Thorin's Halls.

Using Gimli’s solid bulk as a battering ram to push their way further forward, Kili spotted Molir holding a prime position to one side of the massive iron gate. The captain waved them over, chivvying grumbling dwarves aside to clear a space for them in the front row.

“ Hello there, lads,” said Molir. “Can you both see? Where's your brother?”

“I haven't seen him all day." Kili pouted like a dwarfling before he could stop himself. “And I didn't see him yesterday either.”

That wasn't strictly true. He'd seen Fili briefly when his brother had tiptoed into their room well after they should have been abed. With a murmured apology, Fili had stripped and crawled under the blankets, and fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

The click of a door closing had woken Kili well before the dawn light was able to. Stretching, he’d roused himself, pulled on his clothes, and hurried into their living quarters, intending to join his brother for an early breakfast. But Fili was gone, and the living quarters were cold and silent.

He’d sat quietly at the kitchen table, scowling at the dawn light creeping slowly across the flagstones, until he’d heard Amad stir. She’d been pleased to come out and find the range and fire already lit and Kili all cheerful smiles as he made breakfast for her. If she’d known that he’d been sulking, she hadn’t said.  

“Ah." Molir smiled, ruffling Kili’s hair. “Closeted away with your Uncle Thorin I expect. Missing all the fun. Not to worry, lad, it'll all settle down after this pomp and ceremony is all over with. At least you've still got this one to get up to mischief with.” Molir slapped Gimli’s shoulder. “Could be a lot worse, eh?”

A loud cheer went up from the crowd outside the gates. They leant forward with everyone else to look out along the road and watch the progress of the last of the dwarf lords.

“Look at their goats!" Gimli grinned up at Kili. “They're massive.”

Standing on tiptoe, Kili nodded, his heart beating fast as he watched Dain draw closer at the head of his mounted guard. With the distinctive mass of red hair that Kili remembered so well tucked partially in under a battle helm, and a massive warhammer in hand that he whirled about his head in greeting, Dain looked a hero ridden straight out of one of the great stories. And so did his guards, of which there must have been a hundred at least. Jostled by the dwarves behind, Kili counted heads as best he could. Yes, at least a hundred, with even more of Dain’s folk loaded into the large wagons lumbering over the brow of the hill behind. By far the biggest entourage of all the dwarf lords.

Dain stopped outside the gates to speak with the waiting dwarves there, and the first of his warriors, stern-faced and heavily-armoured, rode past Kili. Sunlight glinted off the huge battleaxes and shields on their backs, and even the goats were in full armour. As they trotted by, Kili felt a twinge of pity for the stout beasts.

“Did they ride geared up for war the whole way, do you think?” he whispered in Gimli's ear. “Or were they in their smallclothes until the last ridge?”

“I didn't realise the Great East Road was so dangerous," Gimli whispered back with a grin.

“Must be those halflings.”

“Need your heavy armour on in case they start throwing cabbages.”

The pair of them dissolved into helpless laughter, recovering their composure only to set each other off again.

“Prince Kili.”

Kili flinched, sobering instantly as he looked up. A far cry from the merry, story-telling cousin he remembered, Dain towered over him, huge and intimidating, upon the biggest, most murderous-looking pig Kili had ever laid eyes on

Distracted, his eyes fell to the beast's yellowed tusks curving from its jaw. How did you make the decision to ride a creature that looked as if it wanted to eat you? And what happens if you fall off? Kili stared into the depths of its mad, bloodshot eyes and decided he never wanted to find out. He'd stick to ponies.

“I'm glad you find us amusing, lad.”

“Oh, I...” Realising he was speaking to the pig, Kili looked up quickly to meet Dain's eyes. He tried again. “I wasn't—”

“Apologies, Lord Dain.” Molir's heavy hand landed on Kili's shoulder. “I was just having a laugh with the lads. Old war stories. You know how it is. Can't help myself when I've a captive audience.” He gave Kili a hard shake and Kili nodded up at Dain.

Dain raised an eyebrow, ignoring Molir. “Nice beard," he said, kicking the pig onward. "I'll be seeing you later. Prince Kili.”

Kili felt that perhaps he wasn't looking forward quite so much to spending time with Dain again after all.

He sighed, combing his fingers through Fili's hair and separating the curls. Lifting the last section to be braided, he asked, “When did you see Dain?” 

“Uncle sent me to the training yard after we finished for the day. Then he and Dain and some of the other lords came down to watch one of my bouts." Twirling a knife through his fingers, Fili growled, "They called me over and Dain patted me on the head as if I were a little dwarfling playing with my first sword.”

"Oh."

“I half expected him to hand me some gold trinket and send me on my way. It was an affront.”

Fixing the last braid securely, Kili shuffled around Fili until they were face to face. His brother looked exhausted. Kili tugged on the braids, running his fingers over them to check they were all perfect.

“That," Kili admitted, "may have been my fault," Studying the dark smudges under Fili's eyes, Kili touched a line on his brother's forehead, certain it hadn't been there only half a year ago. He wished there was something he could do to help ease his brother’s tired mind.

And so he did the only thing he could think of. He told Fili about meeting Dain at the gate, pleased to see Fili's eyes sparkle with amusement.

It'd be fine. He smiled as Fili's laughter, which he wasn't hearing often enough these days, bounced off the walls. Once the ceremony was over, everything will be just as it was. His big brother could come back to him.

“Amad, you look beautiful.” Kili bent to kiss her cheek.

“I should, it's taken long enough.” Smoothing some stray hairs behind her youngest's ears, Dis smiled, wondering again when he'd gotten so tall, and when he'd lost the last of his dwarfling softness. It felt as if she'd blinked and missed it. “You're looking very tidy, Kili. Very handsome. Where's Fili?”

She followed the incline of his head. Across the crowded chamber, Fili stood at Thorin's right hand. Deep in conversation with one of the Ironfist lords, his hair gleamed golden in the torchlight, and his face was serious. She nodded, turning back to Kili. “Is that ale?”

“Amad," he hissed.

“What did I tell you?”

“Everyone keeps patting me on the back and giving me more. I've lost count of how many I've abandoned. I've hardly drank any, I promise.”

Tugging the tankard from his hand, Dis took a long swallow before handing it back to him. She ground her teeth. Her shoes were pinching her feet and she couldn't breathe under the tight lacing of her slightly too small, and much too stiff, formal gown, but these things must be borne.

It would be a night of excess and celebration. In fact, the whole holiday would be an excess, but it needed to be done and there was no way around it. It simply would not do for the other dwarf lords to view Thorin's folk as paupers.

Many long hours had been spent with Thorin and Balin, painstakingly trawling the settlement's accounts, trying to balance out how they could possibly expect to host so many. It had taken a lot of juggling, and creativity, and they could expect more than a few lean years to follow, but, Dis felt, if they kept a tight hold of things, then they could just about keep their heads above water.

Fili had sat with them. At first wide-eyed and horrified as he listened to the amounts of gold his uncle deemed necessary for the celebrations, and then determined to put a stop to the unnecessary extravagance, as he called it.

They had nodded and paid lip service to his youthful, earnest suggestions. Dis smiled, remembering Thorin fondly rolling his eyes at her behind Fili's bowed head whilst her boy confidently discussed an idea with Balin.

She had known then and there that Fili's time in those particular meetings was coming to an end, and, as she expected, Thorin had taken to sending her boy away to train when the time came to discuss the party finances.

A dwarf squeezed past, hugging several tankards to his chest, and Dis nodded in satisfaction. They had managed it. Thorin's Halls looked grander than they'd ever seen it. The streets were swept clean enough to eat dinner off, every house front had been inspected and tidied, and the seldom-used banqueting hall and usually dark passageways were bright as midday, lit by hundreds of expensive torches.

No expense had been spared as they increased orders with every mannish merchant they knew, adding enough provisions to their storehouses to fete the lords and their entourages. 

Even so, Dis had winced at each new influx, calculating and recalculating room and board costs. Their debts were enough to make her blanch if she thought about it too deeply. She frowned, looking around her kin. So many. She hadn't seen so many dwarves gathered together in one place for a long time, and never for such a happy event. It warmed her heart. But still, their alehouses and shopkeeps had better make a killing over the next few weeks.

Dain was making his way through the throng towards them, his arms flung wide.

“Cousin!” Dain exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug that lifted her from her feet, and squeezed what little air remained from her chest. "Why," he added, releasing her to hold her at arm's length, "I half expected you to have shaved your beard off too!”

Touching the braided ropes of her beard, Dis glanced at Kili's downcast face. “I do not have the courage for that.” She smiled at Dain but kept an eye on Kili, pleased to see her youngest lift his chin. “No. Thorin will have to be assured of my support for his cause without that level of sacrifice.”

“Oh, yes, I had forgotten. The cause.”

Dis knew her wily cousin forgot nothing.

“Erebor.” Dain turned to Kili. “You might have a cold chin for a while then, lad. There's the small matter of a dragon to be dealt with before your uncle can claim back that particular mountain.”

Dain took her arm, drawing her away, and Dis flickered her fingers at Kili, telling him to go join his brother. She ignored his desperate signed reply that he had already tried.

“Your brother cannot take that mountain. It is a fool's hope.” Dain glanced around, lowering his voice further.  “He spoke of little else earlier. You must convince him that—"

“You know Thorin as well as I do. He is determined and he will find a way, and you should not doubt him. He is your king.”

Dain snorted. “King. Of course he is, lass. And now it'll be your Fili after him—”

“There will be some who may say that another has a better claim.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dain smiled grimly. “So that’s your concern, is it?”

Crossing her arms, Dis didn’t answer. 

“I know that look,” said Dain. “Don’t worry. They won’t say it in my presence. Not twice anyway.” He bared his teeth into what passersby who weren’t paying attention might have taken for a smile. “Thorin’s choice of heir has my full support, but this cause of his doesn’t. And if you have half the sense I credit you with then you’ll get behind me.”

They both looked up as a long horn-note announced dinner.

“Your Fili will never rule over any mountain, never mind our people, if Thorin gets them both killed,” continued Dain, pulling her closer as chattering dwarves streamed past them toward the banqueting hall. “They can play at being king here just as well as they ever could in Erebor. You seem to be doing well enough, leave the wyrm to nest and rot in his hoard.”

When she stayed silent, Dain leant in. “You keep him away from that mountain. My people are only a few days away as the dragon flies, so to speak, and I do not want Smaug's wrath visited upon our heads when he has finished eating yours.”

“I did not think much frightened an old warrior like you.”

“A live dragon?” Dain released her arm. “I know my limitations. I'm not so certain our self-proclaimed king does. You mark my words, Dis, that mountain is a tomb.”

Chapter Text

Uncle Thorin’s booming voice echoed around the hall, calling out his name. It was time. Careful not to knock his chair over, or make a fool of himself in any other way, Kili scraped it back and stood.

At the crowded tables that spanned the banqueting hall, dwarves whistled, stamped, and cheered. Although, considering the quantities of ale and wine that had been served alongside the many-coursed dinner, Kili was fairly convinced that Thorin could’ve announced an intention to murder them all in their beds, and they still would’ve whooped along in merry agreement.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Kili waited, accepting the applause as befitting his new position as Thorin's heir. He wasn't expected to say anything, in fact, Thorin had specifically forbidden him to say anything. All he had to do was stand, straight-faced and regal, until Thorin signalled to him to sit down.

Easy.

The cheers died down. As Thorin began to talk again in the ceremonial Khuzdul that Kili and, by the deliberately polite expressions of his kin, most of the dwarves in the hall, could barely understand, Kili sneaked a sideways glance at his brother — the newly announced Crown Prince of Durin's folk. He thought he'd never seen Fili standing so tall and proud.

The actual heir. Not a spare one like him. As Thorin had explained to Kili, once Fili married and had dwarflings of his own then they'd be the spare ones and Kili would be further down the line. Fili had been horrified when Kili had told him about that, and only grew more so during Kili’s convincing, to his mind anyway, lengthy impression of their uncle picking out brides from amongst the dams in the settlement. He snickered at the memory before he could stop himself.

Smothering the grin, Kili ducked his head and cursed under his breath. Thorin’s speech might not have faltered, but Kili was certain he heard the exasperation in his uncle's voice. 

"Could you not have kept a straight face for a few moments longer, brother?”

Kili laughed as Fili handed him a mug of ale. “Apparently not. I don’t think anyone noticed though. Are you sure we should have any more?”

“I think we may be the most sensible out of all of them by this point.”

Following Fili's gaze, Kili leant against the bartop and looked out over the hall. The tables had been pushed toward the sides of the vast chamber to create space for dancing, and the musicians had started, although their fiddles, and even the drums, could barely be heard over the hubbub of voices. 

Kili tried to make out the tune but couldn't recognise it. “Should we just leave?” he suggested. “You haven't even seen Dain's pig yet. We could go to the stables and take it something to eat. I'm not sure what it would like though...” Kili considered the discarded food scattered across the nearest table. “What do you think a giant angry pig would eat? Potatoes, maybe? A fat, little dwarfling? I'm not sure we could get our hands on one of those though.”

“We can't leave.” Still staring around the hall, Fili was smiling.

“Yes. We absolutely can. They'll never miss us, not now. Please.” He tapped Fili’s shin lightly with his boot to get his brother’s attention. “I think I may never have been so bored in my whole life.”

“Really? Never in your whole life?” Fili turned, grinning at him, “Not even last week when Balin—”

“No. This is worse. Honestly, I'm not allowed to talk to anybody. Not that it matters since no one has said more than ‘Well done, lad’ to me all night. And I haven’t even done anything well. Apart from being born as your brother, obviously. Which was just luck.” Kili thought about that. “But then it is all just luck, isn't it? This great honour.”

“Kili.”

“What was I talking about? Oh yes, no one talking to me. Actually, now that I think of it, I'm telling a lie. Forgive me. One old greybeard did talk to me. Something to do with the price of turnips or something, somewhere really, really dull. And I had to nod along and pretend that it was the most interesting thing I’d ever heard, and he kept going and going, droning on and on and on. You would have been proud. I could feel the life draining out of me.”

“Kili.”

“I was staring past him at the doors, begging them to burst open and a horde of orcs to run in so I could have an excuse to get away. I still have no idea who he was. Or what he expected from me. In fact, I think I might actually have died of boredom and I just haven't realised it.” Kili grasped Fili's arm, widening his eyes in mock horror. “Is this Mahal's Halls? I can't stay here until the world is renewed. I’ll go mad. Do you think I could—” 

Fili jabbed him in the ribs, hard, and, as Kili looked into his brother’s eyes, he wondered who was standing behind him, and, crucially, how much they'd overheard.

It would be Amad, he reckoned, or, if he was really unlucky—

“I apologise that your new duties are not of interest to you, my sister-son.”

Flinching, Kili swore and turned slowly.

“Blasphemy as well as disrespect.” Lifting the mug from Kili's hand, Thorin sniffed it. He handed it to a dwarf who happened to be passing, waving them on their way when they opened their mouth to speak, before he turned his attention back to Kili. “I think it's past time you went home.”

“Uncle, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Thorin held up a hand for silence and Kili dropped his head, his face burning.

As he trailed away Kili could hear Fili speaking urgently with Thorin, his voice pleading, and he could also hear Thorin’s low rumble in return. But, whatever was said, he couldn't make out the words over his heart pounding in his ears. And it didn’t matter anyway, because neither his brother nor his uncle called him back. 

It felt as if the entire hall had heard him being told to leave. The noise level didn’t drop, for that Kili was grateful, but it seemed as if the crowd parted before him to let him through. Kili tilted his chin, trying to ignore the prickling at the corner of his eyes, and tried to also be grateful that no one spoke a word to him.  

“Heading home so soon?” asked Dwati, holding the door open for him. 

Not trusting himself to speak, Kili nodded. 

“Fair enough.” Dwati smiled. “Long day, I expect. Sleep well, lad.”

Kili nodded again, shifting to keep pace with the heavy door of the banqueting hall as Dwati swung it closed. Searching for a last glimpse of his brother, he found him laughing amidst a circle of important-looking dwarves, looking for all the world like he belonged there. And with Thorin's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Kili lifted his head from the table when the front door bounced off the wall. “Hello, Amad.”

Wobbling on first one foot and then the other, she launched her bejewelled slippers across the living quarters. “Thank Durin, that's over.” Amad wriggled her bare toes happily against the flagstones and spun to slam the door closed. “You're my good boy, coming home and getting the fire on.”

She hadn't spoken to Thorin then. That was some relief. Kili moved to fill the kettle. “Tea?”

She beamed at him, drunkenly, and Kili grinned back at her, his spirits lifting further. He couldn’t remember ever having seen her properly in her cups before.

“Yes, please. Tea. But first, come help loosen these laces before I take a knife to myself. I can't bear it another moment.”

After he’d unlaced her, and she’d waved away the offer of his arm, Kili watched her make her way unsteadily across the living quarters to her room, muttering with every step about torture devices and something about being a dam. He shook his head. Sometimes, it was best not to ask. 

The kettle was beginning to whistle and Kili was busy toasting some slightly old bread when the front door swung open again, with much less force this time.

“Brother,” said Fili. “You're still up. Is Amad home?”

He nodded and Fili sighed with relief. Stepping inside, he closed the door firmly and turned the key.

Kili raised his eyebrows. They never locked the door.

“Thank Durin for that,” said Fili. “I told her to wait for me, because Thorin wanted to introduce me to someone else, and she swore to me that she would, but then, the very moment my back was turned, she was gone. And then I couldn't get away.” Heeling off his boots, Fili lined them neatly beside Kili's and tossed the key onto the sideboard. “Then, when I did finally get away, no one could tell me where she'd disappeared to. I had to ask one of the dams to check the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Kili bit back the giggle. “Really?”

“Yes.” Fili was flushed to his hairline. “Eventually, I found someone who was sure they'd seen her leave, and I ran all the way back here.” Crossing the room, he wrapped Kili up in a tight hug. “Are you well, my brother?”

Kili nodded into his shoulder. As he opened his mouth, intending to ask Fili if Thorin had said anything further, Amad swung the door of her room open and re-emerged dressed in her nightclothes, looking much happier.

“Do we have any of the blackberry jam left?” Pulling her wrapper tightly around her shoulders, Amad smiled broadly, dropping down to the bench at the far side of the table. “Because I can smell toast." 

The toast. Kili untangled himself from Fili and rushed back to it. 

“You didn't wait for me,” said Fili. 

Behind him, Kili heard the table being rapped smartly before a creak from the closest bench told him that Fili was sitting down opposite Amad. He searched along the shelves beside the kitchen window, hunting for the jam. 

He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know what expression was on Fili’s face as his brother continued, “The settlement is full of strangers tonight. Drunk strangers.”

Amad snorted.

“It is. You told Molir you would wait for me, and then you promised me, you looked into my eyes and promised me, that you would wait. But, you just left, without saying so much as a word. What if someone had—”

“My son. Do you think me weak and defenceless?”

“No. Of course not, but—”

There was no possible way that sentence was going to end well. Abandoning the jam, Kili grabbed a slice of toast and shoved it into his brother's hand to distract him.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” he asked Fili, setting down plates and mugs with a clatter before pouring the tea. “It's been forever since we've been out hunting, and the rabbits will be getting fat and lazy. You could have a short lie-in, and then we could go out and catch dinner?”

Fili dropped his eyes to the table, and Kili felt the bitter sting of disappointment. He tried his best to keep the whine out of his voice, "But… Surely you have a day to yourself tomorrow? They'll all be fit for nothing.”

“I've to report to Uncle Thorin at daybreak,” Fili said quietly.

Kili watched his brother's fingers pulling the slice of toast to pieces.

“I'm sorry. Another time, I promise. Why don't you take Gimli?” Dropping the remains of his toast, Fili stood and pushed the bench back. “I'm tired, I think I’ll head to bed.”

He followed Fili a few steps before he gave up. Flopping down onto the bench beside Amad, Kili watched his brother leave him. Again. 

“Gimli breathes too loud," he muttered when the bedchamber door had clicked closed. Stroking his hair, Amad whispered soothing words and Kili turned to her with a sigh. “It's just not the same.”

Chapter Text

Knelt on the hearth rug in Thorin’s antechamber, Fili built up the small fire carefully in the way his uncle preferred. It needed little thought, the whole process engrained in memory, but he concentrated anyway, because when he was concentrating he wasn't worrying or yawning. Or he almost wasn't anyway. Smothering yet another yawn that had sneaked up on him, he watched the first flames twist and dance up the stack of wood and coal, and listened with half an ear to Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin talk amongst themselves. 

The other half of his mind was preoccupied by imaginings of all the types of trouble Kili and Gimli might manage to find out on the mountainside by themselves. Regretting ever having suggested it while at the same time wishing he'd been able to go with them, Fili jolted when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. 

“Come, my sister-son.” Not waiting for him to stand, Thorin lifted Fili to his feet. “I believe the fire can look after itself now, and I want your opinion.”

His uncle steered him across the chamber and stopped in front of the long table where Balin was busy unboxing the last of the sealed jars. Fili watched as Balin brushed the straw from it and placed it in line with the other six. One for each of the dwarven clans. 

“Well,” said Thorin. “What are your thoughts?” 

He had none. Only that he was bone-tired and wished he were at home with Amad and Kili. Pushing the ungrateful wish away, Fili smiled up at Thorin. “They’re perfect, Uncle. The sigils are expertly done.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Thorin nudged him closer. “We’ll set them up on a table by the guard station in the front hall.”

“Good idea.” Balin shot Fili a meaningful look. “Then they can keep an eye out for anyone sneaking their name in who shouldn’t.”

“Kili wouldn’t do that,” said Fili, reminding himself to have a quiet but stern word with both Kili and Gimli when next he saw them. 

“No,” agreed Thorin, “he wouldn’t, but there are others who might be tempted. Now, fetch some parchment, Dwalin, and we’ll get the first names in.”

As Dwalin’s footsteps clumped away in the direction of the study, and Thorin rubbed the nape of his neck, Fili stared at the Durin sigils that wrapped around one of the jars.

“Have you decided, lad?” asked Balin. “It’ll be a grand tourney, and you may not see its like again. Not for many years.” 

Fili nodded. He knew that. 

“I remember the first tourney I attended,” said Thorin. “In Erebor. Do you recall it, Balin? We were too young to enter, of course, but I—”

“And you’re not entering this one either.”

“Yes, I am aware of that, Balin. Thank you.” Thorin moved to look Fili in the eye. “I know that you would prefer Kili could also enter, but I had to draw a line somewhere, and he is yet a little young.”

Striding past, Dwalin snorted. He slapped a parchment down on the table, tore off a strip, and lifted a quill from the inkwell. 

Balin frowned. “At least make some small attempt to tear it straight, brother. We’re not animals.”

“It doesn’t need to be fancy.”

“It needs to look considerably better than that.” Balin snatched the scrap away, crumpling it as Dwalin made an irritated noise. “When Thorin draws the names, what will it look like to the other lords, not to mention all those present, if ours appear to have been savaged by some—”

While Balin and Dwalin bickered, Thorin drew Fili closer, lowering his voice, “You cannot always make decisions based on your brother’s feelings. For you are a prince, and my heir, and someday you will be king. I know that may feel faraway right now.” 

Nodding, Fili swallowed hard, a chill settling into his bones despite the summer warmth of his uncle's rooms. "I hope it will be a very long time from now."

Thorin smiled, a thumb stroking over Fili’s stubble. “I agree, unsurprisingly. But, think of this as a first step. A king has his advisors, and his friends, he takes the counsel of all he trusts, and perhaps even some he doesn’t. However, when it comes the time for making decisions, especially the hardest ones, he stands alone.”

“Then, you would have me enter the tourney?” He couldn’t deny that he wanted to, and if he hadn’t been Thorin’s heir he would have been squabbling with Dwalin over the scraps of parchment to get his name in first. And he wouldn't have cared should he be thrown to the ground in the first moment of the first heat. But, he was the Crown Prince now, in name at least, and everything had changed. It was no longer just his pride he had to be concerned with, but Thorin's too, not to mention the entire line of Durin before him. 

And there was Kili to think of, as Thorin had so rightly said. No matter that his brother had already made him swear not to dare hold back on his account, it still felt wrong to take part without Kili by his side. 

But, it was a grand tourney. The dwarven clans were so scattered. When would such an occasion arise again? Tugging on a braid, Fili stared at Balin and tried to imagine his white-haired tutor as a young dwarf in Erebor—too young to enter the lists. He frowned at the braid in his hand. Would his hair be white, or streaked through with grey as Thorin's was, before his next chance?

“I would have you listen.” Tapping Fili's knuckles, Thorin pried his fingers from his braid. “Unless, you were listening, and this is you asking me for my counsel?”

The heat rose in Fili’s face at the mild rebuke. “It is.”

“As your uncle or your king?” 

“There’s…a difference?”

“A minor one. As your uncle, I would encourage you to follow your heart, whether that is to stand with my other warriors in the arena and prove yourself, or to cheer alongside your brother in the stands. Whichever path causes you least regret. But, as your king,” Shooting a pointed glance at Balin, Thorin raised his voice, “who is forbidden—”

“We’ve been over this, Thorin,” said Balin, not looking up from the table. 

 “—to take part, I would wish to see my Crown Prince standing in my stead." Thorin smiled, patting Fili's shoulder. "I would wish to see him beat all comers, and show the strength that yet flows through the line of Durin."

If he'd thought himself chilled by worry before, he had been much mistaken. "Uncle, I—"

"Don't pile more pressure on the lad, Thorin." Balin tutted. "Fili, come here."

Leaving his uncle behind, Fili took the offered seat beside Balin and waited while his tutor finished writing his own name on a piece of parchment.

"Don't look so surprised." After dusting the parchment with sand, Balin shook it off, blew on it, and slotted it into the narrow gap in the jar. "Everyone who can hold an axe will be wanting their chance to fight, and I warrant these jars will be crammed with names by nightfall." He shot Fili a glance. "I'm not yet so old and decrepit to not want mine amongst them."

"You're far from old and decrepit," said Fili, watching Balin's neat script flow across another strip of parchment. Dwalin's name this time. 

"Your uncle is joking—"

"Half-joking," said Thorin. 

"—with you," continued Balin, once Thorin and Dwalin's laughter died down. "In case you didn't realise. And it’s a joke that’s in poor taste, so pay him no mind." Balin held the parchment aloft for Dwalin to snatch it from him. "You don't need to win, and no one expects you to. You're too young for a start." 

Fili watched Dwalin slot his name into the jar.

"To do your best is all your people would ever ask of you." Balin pressed a folded strip of parchment into Fili's hand. "In all things. Here. Take it, go for a walk, and think it through before you decide. You have time."

Drawing the bowstring to his ear, Kili attempted to focus and block out the noise of the busy training yard. He wished he were on the mountainside, aiming at a rabbit instead of a boring bit of wood. 

And he would have been, if Gimli wasn't such a fool. Who would be stupid enough to get themselves in trouble with their parents and be given extra chores? On the very week of the most exciting thing to ever happen to the settlement? Kili snorted. Nobody. Nobody, that's who, apart from his fool cousin.

He loosed the arrow, nodding with satisfaction as it shivered in the target he’d built in the corner of the training yard. 

The lack of beard did make shooting a lot easier, and less painful.

Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

Moving a few feet further back, Kili reached for another arrow. He concentrated on his movements, starting slow, keeping every motion smooth and controlled. It was difficult. He wanted it to be as natural and easy as breathing and he felt he had a long way to go.

And his quiver wasn't quite right. He adjusted it and started again. A hand over his shoulder to pull an arrow, then nock, draw, sight, and release. And over and over again until to shoot more would risk damage to his carefully crafted shafts.

He looked critically at the spread of his arrows on the target and hissed. Still stinging from his uncle's pre-dawn lecture, he was finding it hard to concentrate, and it showed. Only two in the centre ring. Kili ground his teeth. It wasn't good enough.

But he could do better. He ran to retrieve his arrows. Working them gently one by one out of the target, he watched the band of dwarves in the middle of the yard spar. He didn't recognise any of them, and if he'd been paying attention two nights previous instead of, as Uncle Thorin had said, playing the fool, then he probably would. 

The ring of blunted training weapons echoed around the yard, two of the dwarves clashing heavily together to yells of encouragement from the others. Likely they were training for the tourney, or just training for training’s sake, because they wanted to make their lords proud of them. 

Kili sighed, digging the tip of the last arrow into the pad of his thumb as he thought. At least the lecture was over with. He’d spent two sleepless nights waiting for it, and now that it was done, all he had to do was make his uncle proud of him again. He would work harder. It wasn't a good feeling to know his uncle was disappointed in him, because disappointment was always a hundred times worse than anger. And Thorin hadn’t even given him a punishment. Not so much as a week mucking out the stables, or even a confinement to the mountain. All he’d done was make it very, very clear that poor behaviour on Kili's part didn’t only reflect badly on himself—which Kili didn't really mind as much as he probably should—but also on Fili.

His ears burned at the memory. That had been worse than any punishment Thorin had ever dished out. Running his thumb over the arrow's fletching, Kili studied it closely. It would need replaced.

As he returned to his mark, still examining the fletching, the noise from the other dwarves dropped away. He heard his name shouted. A sturdy dwarf, leaning on a battleaxe in the centre of the yard, waved to him when he looked up.

“Prince Kili?” The dwarf raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Perhaps you could tear yourself away from your archery practise long enough to show us your skills with the sword?”

“Let the boy be," laughed another, taller, dwarf. “You can see as well as I that he's barely more than a beardless dwarfling. I’ll give you a bout.”

They were all watching him.

And he wasn't a dwarfling. 

Jogging over to them, Kili unslung bow and quiver, holding them out to the dwarf who had laughed.

He was handed a sword and shield in return. 

“I stand corrected, lad," said the laughing dwarf. "You're a brave one after all. Good luck.”

With a wink, the dwarf stepped back, and Kili properly considered his opponent, as Dwalin had always told them to. He was outweighed, that much was clear, and by a fair amount, and, although his opponent was taller than Fili, it wasn't by much. That meant Kili had both the height and, most likely, the speed advantage. But, the dwarf had the scars and the look of a battle-tested warrior, which wasn't good. 

Shifting his grip on the sword, Kili watched the dwarf's eyes. They were still sharp and clear, but webbed all around with deep lines. Kili's heart lifted. So, his opponent might have been a warrior, maybe even a good one, but he was also an old one, which meant there was the youth advantage too. Which was quite a lot of advantages, really, when you thought about things properly. 

And the battleaxe the old warrior had chosen, the one he was casually swinging one-handed as he hefted a shield, was one of the heaviest training weapons in Dwalin’s yard. It wasn’t meant to be used one-handed. That mistake would slow him down. And Kili should really play fair and point that out, but the dwarf had nodded when the other one called him a dwarfling, so he decided to keep that knowledge to himself. 

"Ready?" The warrior smiled. 

Afterward, Kili would be surprised he lasted as long as he did, because, looking back, he wasn't sure the dwarf hadn't just been toying with him all along.

It had been a nasty move that finished him though. Knocked off-balance, Kili twisted to block a brutal low strike. For a moment, he wished that Dwalin had been there to see it. He would have been proud. Maybe even applauded a little. But, barely had the thought time to fully form before a shield-edge was brought down hard on the hilt of his sword, across the backs of his fingers.

Kili managed a shocked yelp before a knee to his stomach drove the air from his chest. As he staggered, the warrior kicked him to the dust but Kili didn't care, the panic about the burning pain in the fingers of his right hand driving all other thoughts from his head.

Dimly, he heard someone calling a halt as he was lifted to his feet.

“Are you all right?” a kind voice asked. Kili nodded, recognising the dwarf who'd taken his bow. The dwarf smiled at him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Tearing his attention away from his pulsing fingers, Kili watched his brother shove through the ring of dwarves.

“Merely having a spar." The warrior swung his axe, smiling at Fili. “Your brother needs more practice with traditional weaponry, Crown Prince.”

Fili looked at him and Kili nodded. “It was just a spar. I'm fine.”

“I've heard you have some skill with a blade, Crown Prince.”

Ignoring the warrior, Fili's brow furrowed. Wondering what his brother was staring at,  Kili followed his gaze and realised that, without thinking, he'd tucked his injured hand under his opposite arm. But the pressure was helping, he didn't want to move it.

"Crown Prince?" 

Fili nodded, turning away.

"No, Fee," Kili hissed, willing his brother to stop as Fili walked toward the dropped sword and shield. 

Sliding a boot under the discarded sword, Fili flicked it up to his hand in a smooth, practised movement. He kicked the shield towards the dwarves surrounding them and motioned for one of their swords. 

“Best of three,” said the warrior as Fili spun the practice swords.

“You can have one,” said Fili quietly, “I'm busy.”

The circle widened to give them space. Kili was pulled backward by the dwarf who had helped him up. When they stopped, he felt the scratch of a beard by his ear and warm breath on his face as the dwarf whispered, “Does it hurt badly?”

“A little." Kili nodded, his heart beating too fast as he watched Fili and the warrior circle each other. “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

“Perhaps.” The grip on his arm tightened, hard fingers digging in. “But then again, perhaps not. Might be hard to do that fancy elvish shooting of yours with snapped fingers, eh?”

Dragging his eyes away from Fili, Kili frowned at the dwarf.

“Might make you think twice before smirking and laughing at folk dragged halfway across the world to see you? Eh? Might be a valuable lesson for a prideful, youngling" —The dwarf spat by their boots— "prince."

Kili tried to pull himself free but the grip on his arm was as strong and unyielding as a band of iron. “Let me go,” he whispered, “I didn't laugh at—"

“Behave yourself, little prince, or I'll squeeze those fingers of yours and make you howl again." The dwarf spun Kili back to face the bout. "Now, you watch closely while we show your high and mighty brother a thing or two.”

“But my brother hasn’t done anyth—" The rough shake quietened him, and Kili watched, chewing on his lip, as Fili dodged first one axe blow, then a second. 

“Is this a fight?” one of the dwarves on the far side of the circle called. 

“I think it’s a dance,” laughed another. 

Swords clashed with axe, Fili closing the distance to trade a few blows with the warrior. He spun out of range when the older dwarf tried to use the shield as a bludgeon. More catcalls rose from the watchers as the warrior attacked again and again only for Fili to dodge away.

But the circle was shifting, narrowing enough in places that Fili would find himself trapped if he wasn’t careful. 

You weren’t supposed to call out advice in a bout. Kili looked desperately over the heads of the gathered dwarves to the closed gates of the training yard, willing Dwalin to swing them open. 

“Have you been taught nothing, boy?” called the warrior. 

Fili ducked under a swing and retreated quickly. 

“You try this mucking about on a battlefield,” the warrior said, following leisurely and swinging the axe as if he were out on a walk rather than in a fight, “and you’ll not even see the orc that puts the scimitar through your back.”

Fili glanced over his shoulder, and Kili couldn’t stop the shout of warning that turned into a squeak of pain when the dwarf holding him grabbed his fingers. 

But it was enough. The swing missed Fili by a hair’s breadth, and then Fili was attacking in a flurry of fast and hard blows that ended with a practice sword tight against the warrior's throat.

In any other circumstance, the look of surprise and then fury on the warrior’s face would have been funny, but, as it was, Kili just felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. 

Fili threw his swords to the dust and walked away, approaching Kili with his eyes narrowed, but the anger on his brother’s face wasn’t for him. The dual grips on Kili’s arm and fingers vanished. 

“Kili,” commanded Fili. “With me.” 

Moving quickly to his brother’s side, Kili’s heart was hammering in his ears once more. He tried to match his brother’s glower as they waited for the circle to part. They were unarmed, or he was anyway, and he didn’t like the way the dwarves were looking at Fili, but, after a few dozen anxious heartbeats, the dwarves stood aside. 

Once through, Fili swept Kili's bow and quiver from the ground where they lay discarded and slung them over his own shoulders. Pushing Kili ahead of him, they walked to the gates in a thick, watchful silence. 

The yard was still silent when Fili slammed the gate shut. Grabbing Kili’s unhurt arm, he hurried them along the empty street. 

“Fee, I’m sorry, I—”

“Not now.” With a glance over his shoulder, Fili quickened his steps, taking the turn that led toward the busier main streets of the settlement. 

Only when they were near the market gates did Fili turn to him. “How badly are you hurt?” he asked in a low voice. 

Shaking his head, Kili tucked his hand tighter under his arm.

“Kili.” Fili moved closer until they were face to face, his green eyes full of concern.

“You're busy.”

“I'm too busy for them." Smiling sadly, Fili touched their foreheads together. “I'm not too busy for you.”

“Oh.” Despite the pulsing pain in his hand, and the worry about what in Durin’s name had just happened, Kili couldn’t stop the flutter of happiness.

“We should probably get a little further away, just in case," said Fili. "Do you need to go to Oin?”

“I'm no medic, brother.” Fili frowned. “But I'm fairly sure this needs strapped.”

At that moment, Kili didn't care if it needed amputated. He couldn't recall the last time they'd sat at the table together for this long. Usually, it was just him and Amad for dinner, and if Fili was there he wasn't really there. It was almost worth getting hurt for. Tapping a tune with his feet on the kitchen flagstones, Kili watched Fili gently press the cold cloth back against his fingers.

“We should have gone to Oin,” Fili muttered, half to himself.

“When do you have to go back?”

Fili looked up at him. “I'm not leaving you injured. Why would you ever think...? No, Thorin will have to manage without me.” He smiled. “I'm sure he'll be just fine.”

“I don't want you to miss anything important.” That was an outright lie, but Kili felt like it should be said.

Fili soaked the cloth again in the bowl. “There is nothing in this world more important to me than you.”

The warm glow inside was the best feeling. “And there's nothing—"

“Even if you are a fool.”

Kili’s tapping feet stopped their tune. “What?” 

“You heard me.” Fili squeezed out the cloth. "You let them goad you into a fight you could not possibly win.”

Regretting having told Fili anything at all, Kili tried to pull his hand away, but Fili held his wrist in a vice-like grip.

“You did,” said Fili, pressing the cloth to Kili’s hand. “And you're fortunate he only felt inclined to break your fingers rather than your thick head.”

“You beat him.”

Fili sighed. “I did. But that was far from a certainty.”

“You win every fight!”

“I most certainly do not. I'm flattered you think so, but I get beaten, a lot, and I put in a lot of hours. If I'd agreed to a second bout he would have put me to the ground.” Fili’s lips quirked into a smile. “You look shocked, but your faith in me is misplaced. I won only because he was overconfident and underestimated me. He wouldn't have made the same mistake twice.”

“I know you could've—"

“No, I couldn’t, and when was the last time you sparred? Properly, I mean. Not just mucking about with Gimli. Because I suspect it's been a while."

“I don’t muck about." Kili thought back to his last training session with Dwalin and wondered how much Fili had been told. “Not that much anyway. Gimli—"

“Don’t blame Gimli.” Dropping the cloth to wag a thick finger in Kili's face, Fili suddenly looked a lot like Thorin. “Gimli wasn’t the fool to think he could go up against one of Dain's captains by himself and win. What in Durin's name possessed you?”

“A captain? Is that who that was? I didn't realise. And it was only a spar.” Or it was only supposed to be anyway. Kili stared at his swollen fingers. It could have been an accident, if it hadn’t been for the other dwarf’s words. He chewed at his lip and wondered whether to tell Fili that part. “And I'll have you know I've sparred plenty,” he said to buy himself time to decide. 

Fili raised his eyebrows at the blatant lie, and Kili pressed on quickly, “You just haven't been there to see.” At the hurt expression on Fili’s face, Kili regretted his words and added, “He got lucky.”

“Brother,” said Fili. “You were massively outclassed. He could have done you serious, permanent, damage and there would have been no witnesses. None. I was so scared when I saw you on the ground. You mustn't ever frighten me like that. Never again. Promise me.”

Kili dropped his eyes to the scarred tabletop, his cheeks burning.

“I don't mean to hurt you, but you must listen to me. Your skills are not mine.” Fili's voice was gentle, and Kili felt his brother's strong fingers lifting his chin. He blinked hard to clear suddenly misty eyes as Fili continued, “You were in trouble, and I was there. And there will come a time when I am in trouble, and I can only hope that when that time comes you will be there for me.” Fili smiled. “Don't shake your head, little brother, I need you. I will never not need you. And there is no one else I would have by my side. No one.”

To Kili's embarrassment, Fili swiped a tear from his cheek with a calloused thumb.

“They'll all be gone soon,” said Fili, “and things will settle down.”

That was true. Kili nodded, staring at the dark circles under his brother’s eyes, and decided. Fili didn’t need to know. It was done. Stirring things up by repeating what the dwarf had said back to Fili, as if Kili were a little dwarfling, would only worry his brother, and… Kili paled at the thought. 

“Are you going to tell Uncle?” he whispered, shooting a worried glance toward the wide-open windows of their living quarters. Outside, he could hear the tramp of boots with dwarves going here and there. Anyone could be walking past, or standing right outside. Uncle Thorin could be standing outside their door right now, disappointment in his eyes. 

Fili shook his head. “I don’t think so. A scuffle in private doesn’t need a king’s attention, and I can’t imagine that Dain’s folk will say anything. Best to keep it to ourselves.” He took Kili’s hands in his. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here these last months, and I've missed you too. Terribly. I swear that I’ll talk to Thorin, and…I'll make time. If you like, we can train together again, properly.”

Kili nodded and ducked his head, his eyes burning once more. 

“You can try again to teach me archery.” Fili moved lower to look Kili in the eye, and smiled. “And we'll go hunting, we'll do whatever you want to do.” The old wooden bench creaked as Fili patted Kili’s hand and stood. “But first, we need to get this fixed. Come on, let's go see Oin.”

Chapter Text

Kili inched a finger under the tight strapping, and got a smack on the hand for his trouble.

“Leave it alone.”

He glared at Gimli. “It's itchy.”

“Of course it is, it’s healing. Let it be." Tearing his eyes away from the construction site far below their dangling boots, Gimli grinned. “I still can't believe you let one of Dain's folk break three of your fingers.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have told Gimli anything after all. 

“I didn't exactly let him." Kili felt the heat rising in his face. “And it was an accident. These things happen when you spar.”

Gimli sighed. “I wish I'd been there to watch Fili beat him, and I would have stepped in to help you, of course.”

“We could have had matching strapping.” Smiling at Gimli's scowl, Kili shrugged. “Maybe we could’ve taken him, if we'd worked together. Fee was magnificent though.”

“I hope he gets drawn for the tourney. He'd be certain to win. Adad says he won't, and I'm not to waste my coin, but I don’t care. I'm still going to bet on him.” Gimi nudged him. “He did put his name in, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did.” 

Another caravan of wagons, heavily-laden with gravel, rolled out from the eastern gate of the settlement, heading along the new road that led to the new tourney grounds. 

From their perch on the ridgeline above, Kili and Gimli had been lounging in the sun from sunup to sundown, day in and day out, watching the rapid progress as the builders first levelled the ground, and then constructed the huge walls and the stands against the flank of the mountain. They’d followed the noise on the first morning and, apart from breaks for mealtimes, and the few times that Thorin had needed Kili for something, they’d been there ever since. 

And it wasn’t as if he could do anything else but sit quietly. Keeping one eye on Gimli, Kili wriggled a fingernail under the strapping. It was unbearably itchy. And he’d only had it on for three days. Maybe it was the unseasonable heat? Molir had said that it was one of the hottest summers he could remember, and the captain was the oldest dwarf Kili knew. Or maybe, like Gimli said, it was healing, but, either way, Kili wanted it off. Because, if nothing else, it would stop the constant questions. 

At least everyone had seemed to accept that he and Fili had been sparring. As Fili had whispered before he’d pushed open the door to Oin’s house, it was close enough to the truth that it almost wasn’t a lie. 

Gimli poked him. “Look. Another one.”

Leaning out, Kili watched the builders push a large boulder toward the ridge. Neither he nor Gimli could work out why they kept some of the boulders to break up for stone yet tossed others, but it was entertaining nonetheless to cheer the rejected ones on as they crashed their way toward the valley floor far below. 

It was impressive, what his kin could manage to build in such a short time, and it was almost as if it were planned that way. Which it wasn’t, because Kili knew that Uncle Thorin had only realised he needed a bigger space for all the spectators when the dwarf lords began arriving. 

“There it goes!” yelled Gimli. 

Kili cheered along with his cousin but his heart wasn’t in it. Because he was mulling over Gimli’s words and he had a sinking feeling Gloin had the right of it. And, not that he would ever admit it, even if he were tortured by all the orcs of Middle-earth, Kili secretly hoped Fili would miss out on the draw. It was a traitorous and cruel and unfair thought, but it was there, crouching like a spider in the back of his mind. For, if Fili didn’t get drawn, then they could watch and cheer together, and, crucially, Fili couldn't get hurt.

And he’d be able to actually spend some time with his brother. Which wasn’t a fair thought either as Fili had managed to make it home for dinner twice since Kili had been injured. And, last night, he'd even been able to stay home rather than rushing out again straight after to his duties. Kili wasn’t sure how Fili had managed to escape from Uncle Thorin and didn’t like to ask, but it made him feel guilty and happy at the same time.

Amad had been out late, perhaps in Fili’s stead, and Kili had been thrilled to have his brother all to himself. He’d insisted Fili relax while he made them a simple dinner, everything taking infuriatingly longer than it should with only one properly working hand. Prattling happily about this and that as he worked, he'd turned, only to find Fili had curled up and fast asleep in an armchair in front of the fire.

Shaking Fili gently awake, even with a whisper that dinner was ready, had felt terrible. And his poor brother had been full of sleepy apologies, stretching and taking his place at the table, and even Insisting on helping to clear the table after.

With the dishes done, the stove banked, and the living quarters tidied, they were curled up cosily in bed well before Amad was expected to return home. Between jaw-cracking yawns, Fili told Kili about a day spent sitting quietly by Thorin's side whilst the dwarf lords steadily drank and spoke sadly of their lost strongholds. Songs had been sung, and Fili sent away again and again for more ale as Thorin led the circular discussions repeatedly back to Erebor.

Kili nodded against Fili's chest. They'd grown up on their uncle's tales of the mountain; their lost ancestral home. “I should have liked to have been there and heard the stories,” he whispered.

“You've heard them all a hundred times already. At least.”

There was a smile in Fili's tired voice and Kili smiled too, snuggling closer as his brother's fingers gently combed through his hair. Neither of them would ever tire of listening to Thorin describe the splendour of their lost kingdom.

When they were little dwarflings, saving Erebor from the dragon had been their very favourite game. They’d raced through the alleyways and squares of the settlement, sometimes forgetting themselves by leaping over walls between the tidy back gardens. And they’d torn through the mountain’s many passageways. It was a game that had usually ended in tears, depending on who'd finished up as the dragon, or who caught them by the ears running in a place they shouldn’t be. 

“Do you recall when we used to play at saving Erebor?” he asked Gimli.

“Aye. I remember you two would’ve ganged up on me, and me being the youngest and all. Looking back now, I'm pretty sure the game was rigged.” Gimli frowned. “What's put that in your head?”

Kili shrugged.

“I think your Fili may be a bit too grown up for hiding under tables in the market now, cousin.”

“Or for jumping off the smithy roof.” Kili grinned, remembering his and Gimli's shrieks of genuine terror. “I honestly thought the smith was going to murder all three of us for that.”

“I think we nearly gave him a funny turn, right enough.”

They both snickered happily. 

Slapping Kili’s leg, Gimli stood. “It’s nearly sunset, and they'll be doing the draw soon. Race you to the yard?”

They were late and the street that led to the training yard was jammed with chattering, excited dwarves. After apologising their way through the crowd as far as the wide-open gates, Kili stopped. This was madness. Leaning on Gimli to give himself an extra inch or so, he balanced on his tiptoes. There wasn’t a single familiar face to be seen, neither ahead nor behind.

“Give me a boost,” he said. “Quick.”

Hanging onto the bars of the gate with one hand, and ignoring the grumbling drifting up from below his boots, Kili at last spotted the distinctive figures of Dwalin and Molir over toward the far wall. Shifting about in an attempt to see who was with them, he thought he caught a glimpse of golden hair before Gimli cursed and dropped him.

“I saw them,” Kili said. “Follow me.”

Reluctant to shove his way through so many more unfamiliar dwarves, Kili took Gimli’s wrist to keep him close and they edged their way slowly around the thick stone walls. As they drew near Kili spotted Fili raising himself up on Dwalin and Molir’s shoulders in an attempt to look over the crowd, obviously searching for them. Leaping on his toes and waving, he yelled for his brother and was rewarded with a nod. 

A few heartbeats later, Fili shouldered his way through the crush of dwarves separating them, and caught Kili and Gimli up in a crushing embrace. 

“Where have you two been?” he demanded. 

“We’ve—” A deafening roar rose from the crowd around them, and Kili waited for it to fade so he could speak without screaming into Fili’s ear. But the roar was replaced by the sound of hundreds of stamping boots echoing off the walls around them. Fili grinned and Kili shrugged. It didn’t matter. 

Hanging on to Fili’s hand, Kili didn’t have one to offer Gimli, but his cousin made do with taking a tight grip of his belt, and linked together they snaked their way forward to the others. 

“Quick now.” Dwalin grabbed Kili by the shoulders, pulling him in front whilst Molir did the same with Gimli and Fili. “You nearly missed everything,” Dwalin chided, throwing a heavy arm around Kili’s neck. “How’s that hand of yours?”

“It’s—”

It was Dwalin who drowned him out with a roar this time, and almost strangled him into the bargain. With his good arm wrapped around Dwalin’s waist, Kili bounced on his toes and cheered along with the rest of the crowd as his uncle came into view, climbing up the day-old wooden stairs that led to a wide platform secured against the training yard wall. The dwarf lords, with Dain at their head, followed Thorin, and behind them, walked their Amad, dressed in her finery. She sparkled in the bright afternoon sunlight, and Kili freed his hand from about Dwalin to clap and cheer her as loudly as the rest. 

The cheers died away to an expectant silence and the dwarf lords took their places along the platform, each of them standing behind a tall, elegantly-shaped jar. 

Kili had seen the jars at close quarters, and likely so had everyone else in the settlement for they’d been set up inside the mountain gates, under the watchful eyes of the guards. Guards who’d been more than happy to share the pastries that Kili and Gimli had brought them in exchange for a spot to sit on the steps by the gatehouse. He and Gimli had spent some happy hours there, watching hopeful dwarves come forward to slip scraps of parchment into their lord’s jar. 

His brother’s name would be on a folded piece of parchment tangled along with many others in the jar by Thorin’s feet. Kili had hoped to be there the moment his brother had entered his name, but Fili had been busy and non-committal about the time and day, and —not wanting to hang around too long and risk running into the Iron Hills dwarves from the training yard— Kili had persuaded Gimli to leave the dark of the mountain and watch the tourney ground being built instead. 

He glanced at his brother. Fili seemed relaxed, laughing with Molir and Gimli, and Kili closed his eyes in a quick, silent prayer. But he’d barely opened his eyes before the guilt stung his heart and he quickly sent another prayer, retracting the first one. It wasn’t fair. Just because he couldn’t enter didn’t mean Fili shouldn’t have his chance. 

After the tourney had initially been announced, Thorin had told the settlement that he would permit entry to all who were willing to put their name forward. However, that news had been followed quickly by a further announcement of a lower age limit, which just so happened to coincide with Fili's age. And yet another announcement that the dwarf lords themselves would not take part.

Kili understood why, but still thought it a shame. He loved watching his uncle spar, but it would hardly be sporting for Thorin to stage a tournament and then best all comers.

His weakened hand was already hurting from clapping. Frowning at it, Kili swore again that the moment it was healed he would start training, hard and properly. Next time there was a tourney, whenever that might be, he would be old enough, and he and Fili would be shoulder to shoulder when they entered their names.  

Thorin raised his hands and the yard fell deathly silent, the anticipation rising as their amad made her way to the Stonefoots jar. Breaking the seal with the hilt of a dagger, she reached inside and pulled the first piece of parchment out, her clear voice carrying across the crowd as she read the name. Wild cheers followed, the lucky dwarf being cheered by their companions and friends, and Amad waited until the yells died away before pulling another slip. 

On and on it went. With sweat rolling down his back, as much from excitement and worry for Fili as from the growing heat of so many bodies trapped close together in the yard, Kili clapped politely along with the others. Amad worked her way steadily from lord to lord, pulling seven names from each jar. He recognised no one, but Dwalin and Molir somehow did. As each name was called, they muttered between themselves, occasionally pointing someone out to Fili.

“Stay away from him if you can, lad. He's a brute.”

“Vadril Stonehelm? Surely not, Dwalin. I thought he was long dead?”

“Blind in his left eye, but don't underestimate him.”

Standing on tiptoe, Kili crept forward with Gimli and Fili. He strained his neck to peer over the crowd in an attempt to try and identify who everyone was, ignoring Gimli grumbles about not being able to see, and his brother’s questions. 

Amad had reached Dain’s urn. As she read out the names, the Iron Hill’s dwarves celebrated each one uproariously, for far longer than the other lords company’s had done. Clumped together under the platform, they were easy to watch, and Kili shared a look with Fili when the warrior from the training yard was lifted aloft, punching the air as his kin chanted his name.

Fraeg. Kili frowned. So that's who you are.

He stepped back to hear better what Dwalin and Molir had to say, but Balin had joined them and they were laughing amongst themselves, and no longer paying attention.

With a glance around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard, Kili whispered into Gimli's ear, “That's him.”

“That one?” Balancing on his toes, Gimli leant hard on Kili’s shoulder. He snorted. “Kili, you're a bigger fool than I thought.”

Kili glared at him.

Finally, it was Thorin’s turn. They huddled close, arms about each other's shoulders, and watched Amad break the seal on the jar. 

“This is it,” said Gimli. 

Fili grinned at them. “Don’t look so nervous, both of you.” The nudge he gave Gimli was hard enough to sway Kili too. “I’m looking forward to this.”

Dwalin was called first, followed by Balin, and then Molir. Kili was sure he saw his amad roll her eyes before someone knocked him in the back, and then they were all jumping together and yelling as loudly as the Iron Hills dwarves had done. 

Gimli stopped mid-leap when Amad called the next name. “Adad?” 

“Gloin’s a great fighter.” Dwalin slapped Gimli's shoulder. “A bit out of practice, that's true, but he'll be fine. We'll put him through his paces over the next few days. Don’t you worry, lad.” He turned to the others. “Although I don't know what you're laughing at, Molir. When's the last time you swung an axe? And you’re not much better, brother.”

“It's hard to fight in a tourney when you're dead,” Gimli muttered to Kili and Fili as Molir and Balin protested loudly. “Amad's going to murder him.”

Bombur was next. Kili nodded with Fili and Gimli in approval as they cheered. They liked Bombur. He made the best sweet pastries in all of Ered Luin, and likely all of Middle-earth, in Kili's opinion, and he was generous with any burnt bits and scraps.

The sixth name was an unknown.

“Nori?” he yelled at Fili.

Placing his lips to Kili’s ear, Fili shouted, “Ori's big brother. Come on, don’t look so confused. You know Ori, surely? Quiet lad, really clever. I'll point him out to—” Fili stopped, his eyes wide. 

Kili had heard it too. He had just time to fling his arms around his brother, intending to whisper a congratulations, before Molir tore them apart, sweeping Fili up in a hug that lifted his boots from the ground. 

“Your first tourney, lad!” he shouted, dumping Fili back onto his feet. 

“Get him up!” yelled Dwalin. And then Fili was gone, lifted up onto Dwalin and Molir’s shoulders. 

Chanting Fili’s name along with the others, and watching his shocked-looking brother raised high above the heads of the crowd, Kili thought he might burst with happiness. He grinned at Gimli, all worries forgotten, as the two of them were buffeted about by the surging dwarves around them. His brother would be in a grand tourney. Grabbing Gimli’s hand, they jumped together, bouncing and stamping and celebrating along with the others, and Kili looked over Gimli’s shock of red hair toward his amad. He frowned. She might be smiling and clapping along with everyone else, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was far from happy. 

“I don't doubt your brother's skill,” she said as Kili, still smarting with disappointment from Thorin’s announcement, crouched by the hearth to build up the fire, “or yours, my brave boy. But Thorin may as well paint a target on your backs and be done with it.”

He would never ask her, but Kili suspected their amad might have had something to do with Thorin's age limit cut off. He had asked Fili for his thoughts on what she’d said though. 

“We're Thorin's heirs, little brother, declared and acknowledged.” Smiling, Fili shrugged. “There will always be a target on our backs now.”

Then Kili had his run in with Fraeg, and he felt he understood a little better. Perhaps it had never been about his laughter at the naming ceremony, although he had to admit that probably hadn’t helped. Perhaps these were some of the ruffled feathers that Molir had spoken of? 

When she’d seen his strapped hand, Amad had demanded to know what happened and he and Fili had stumbled together over their lies. They had been sparring, Fili had been over-enthusiastic. It was only a silly accident, with no one else involved.

She'd been disappointed in them. Kili flushed as he remembered.

The cheering had died down and Fili was back on his own feet and smiling, although Kili thought his brother seemed pale. But then, that was understandable. He’d be nervous too. Reaching out with his good hand, he pulled Fili into a hug.

“Congratulations, Fee,” he said into his brother's ear as Fili wrapped his arms around him tightly, squeezing the air from Kili’s chest. “I'll be cheering you on."

Chapter Text

Scraping the remains of the porridge into a bowl, Kili set it to one side for adding to the stew later. He dumped the pot into the sink to soak.

“Finish that up.”

He shook his head as he scrubbed down the worktop, jumping when Amad laid her palm across his forehead.

“You're not eating," she said, her eyes full of concern. "Are you unwell?”

“I am, I'm not. I had a big bowl. That's plenty. I'm full, I promise.”

That wasn’t quite true but, after Fili told him about the staggering costs for their celebrations, Kili was determined to find a way that he could help. Perhaps not taking a second bowl like he normally would, or holding back on slathering perfectly fine food with jam, wouldn't sort out his family's debts overnight, but every little bit had to help.

And Thorin always said that dwarves were hardy creatures, so Kili was proud to whisper that to himself when he turned down second helpings and ignored his growling belly. He'd get used to it.

It made him feel useful, and to feel as if he were contributing in some small way, even if no one else realised. Even if no one thought he was capable of contributing. Flexing his healing fingers, he huffed out a breath. 

Amad was watching him with narrowed eyes.

He'd sworn he wouldn't but… “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, sitting and pulling him down to the bench beside her. Taking his injured hand in hers, she started to unwind the strapping. "Go on."

“Did you ask Uncle Thorin to lower the age for the tourney so I could enter?”

“No." Amad poked at his fingers. 

Her ministrations weren't the most gentle, and Kili did his best to not to pull his hand away. It hurt, but not as much as the confirmation that he wasn’t capable of representing their family.

He tried to keep the whine from his voice, “Why? Do you think I'm weak?”

“Weak?” She looked sharply at him. “No. Of course not. I told your uncle to increase the age so neither of you could enter.”

His mouth had fallen open. Kili closed it.

“But I could only get one of you," she continued. "Thorin would have you both in that arena given half a chance. He was planning some sort of archery element, which wouldn't have looked like a fix at all, and I told him 'over my dead body'. It's bad enough that I'm going to have to watch your brother, I couldn't have borne it to watch you as well.”

Leaving him speechless, she strode away to the dresser, slamming her way through the drawers and muttering to herself. When she returned with a handful of fresh bindings, she sat close and began to briskly strap his fingers. 

“I will need you beside me," she said, "holding tightly to my hand. I don't care if you're grown. Do you understand me?”

Kili nodded.

“Good boy." She smiled. “And now it's my turn for a question. Who did this to you? The truth, mind.”

“Fili.” Kili tried not to squirm on the bench. “It was an accident, like we said.”

Amad frowned, tightening the strapping until Kili was sure he would lose all feeling in his fingers within the hour. She tied it off. “There, all done. Is it still sore?”

“A little, not as much as it was." He wriggled his fingers. Definitely too tight, but he'd loosen it later. Amad was very strict about what was best for injuries and it wasn't worth the argument, especially since he'd lose. And an argument would make him late for meeting Gimli. 

Amad was watching him, looking as if she were waiting for something more, so he smiled at her and added, "Unless I knock it, then it's really painful.” 

“Well. I’m pleased that one of you can still be honest with me.”

Feeling suddenly cold, Kili stared after her as she made her way to the door. 

“I’ll need you to go to the market," she said, stamping her feet into her boots. "I won’t have time today. There’s coin and a list in the drawer.”

"Yes, Amad." Kili nodded hard, his mind whirling. What had Fili done?

With the door half-open, she stopped and glared at him, her eyes glittering in the morning light. “Whenever I find out who did this to you," she said quietly, "and I will. They'll be looking at a lot more than broken fingers. And I don't appreciate being lied to. Not by you, and not by your brother. You can tell him that should you see him before I do.”

The market would have to wait. He needed to speak to his brother first, and thankfully Kili knew exactly where Fili would be for once. And Gimli too. Rattling the coin in his pocket, Kili hurried through the packed streets toward the training yard.

Gimli was loitering in the alley and frowned as Kili approached. 

"What's wrong with you?"

"Not yet." Grabbing his cousin's arm, Kili trailed Gimli behind him. Reaching the end of the alley, Kili peeped out along the street that led to the training yard. It was much quieter here, deserted apart from a group of dwarves standing at the far end by the closed gates of the yard. Kili's heart lifted when he spotted his brother amongst them. "We have to talk to Fee and—"

The gates of the yard swung open and Kili's blood ran cold. Fraeg emerged from within, an axe slung over his shoulder. Tightening his grip on Gimli and ignoring the protests, Kili turned and ran. 

Back on the main street, he looked both ways. The other alleyways were out, knowing his luck he'd pick the exact one that Fraeg would choose to cut through. 

The market. 

Slowing to a fast walk, Kili dragged Gimli through the gates, and between the first rows of stalls. It was blessedly busy and they hurried on, with Gimli still grumbling and trying to twist free, through the shopping dwarves until they were in the shadow of the settlement boundary wall. 

Kili glanced behind him and back at the stalls that backed up against the boundary wall. He needed to see the training yard street and work out where Fraeg was going. 

"Follow me," he hissed, nodding to the bemused-looking stallholders as he pushed into the narrow gap between two of the canvas-covered stalls. 

The stone of the boundary wall was cold against his fingertips. Kili wriggled along in the comforting, cobwebby darkness at the back of the stall, hoping the canvas that pressed against him, and Gimli squeezing along behind, was heavy enough not to show their outlines too clearly. Finally, he reached the end. Sunshine streamed in as he pushed the canvas aside enough to peep out.

At a poke in his back, he glanced behind. 

"What are we doing?"

"Being quiet." Kili looked Gimli up and down. "And breathing in."

Gimli spluttered in outrage, although at least he was doing it quietly, and Kili turned back to the gap. 

From here, he could see straight down the street to the training yard gates and it wasn't only Fraeg who had walked out of them. It was the entire Iron Hills tourney team. And they weren't turning off into any of the alleyways. Holding his breath, Kili watched them stroll along the street toward his hiding place, their loud laughter carrying to him even over the sounds of the busy market.

He shrank back against the wall, dropping the canvas and clapping a hand over Gimli's mouth to keep him quiet.

Once their loud voices had passed and begun to fade away, Kili cautiously released Gimli. Sneaking a glance out, he watched the dwarves swagger their way along the front of the market, past the gates, and on toward the mountain. Kili breathed a small sigh of relief, thankful that he hadn’t arrived at the training yard a few moments earlier.

Not that he was frightened. It wasn't that. It was just a little embarrassing.

The corner strut of the stall was too close to the wall for even Kili to squeeze out so he had to shove Gimli back the way they'd come. 

As they popped back out into the bright and bustling market, the two stallholders were laughing quietly together. 

"You in some sort of trouble, lads?" asked one, raising an eyebrow. 

"No, we're fine. Thank you," said Kili, ushering Gimli away before he could speak.

They walked together back to the gate, knocking dust and cobwebs from themselves. As Kili pulled his hair from its tie and shook it out, his eyes met Gimli's. 

“I'm not scared of them.” Drawing himself up to his full height, he glowered at Gimli. “Don't look at me like that.”

Drumming his good fingers against his knee, Kili watched Dwalin draw a line in the gravel of the training yard.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Gimli nudged him. "Well?"

Kili leant back against the sun-warmed stone of the wall. "No." 

He hadn't even managed to snatch a moment with Fill yet. They'd barely stepped through the gates before Dwalin had collared them, sending them to a corner out of the way with a warning to sit quietly and not make nuisances of themselves. The 'or else' might have been silent, but Kili had heard it all the same. 

Watching Fili talk in the centre of the yard with Balin and a dwarf who must be Nori, Kili willed his brother to run across and speak with him. 

"You may as well tell me," said Gimli, nudging Kili again, harder this time. "It'll be ages before Dwalin lets him away, and I've nothing more pressing to do than keep asking you until you crack."

That was true. Then they'd end up scuffling in the dust, and then Dwalin would throw them out and bar the gates — if they were lucky. 

Kili sighed. "Fine. Amad—"

Thankfully, a skull-piercing whistle from Dwalin distracted his cousin temporarily. 

“I need our three fastest runners," ordered Dwalin. "Line up. Across the yard and back, twice should do it. It'll get you all warmed up too.”

Adjusting his vambrace, Molir looked up. “Who made you in charge, Dwalin?”

“Don't test me. We've got until the sun goes down and then the Stonefoots have their practice. Line up.”

Conversations about what Amad knew or didn't know could wait. Kili and Gimli leant forward, exchanging grins as Molir grumbled his way to join the others.

“Fili will win," said Gimli. 

Fili had already taken his place on the line. Watching his big brother bounce on his toes, his face serious and determined, Kili smiled. “I know. But, by how much?”

“What are you two doing? Gossiping?” yelled Dwalin, waving at them. “Get over here. This isn't a spectator sport.”

Oh. Scrambling to their feet, they ran to join the others. 

“Why aren't you in the line?” Gloin asked Dwalin. Molir nodded in agreement.

“Because I know how fast I am, but I don't know how slow you lot are. Stop arguing with me and get ready. Balin, you can stand with me. Kili, Gimli, in either side of Fili. Give him some competition. The rest of you...” Dwalin sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just, do your best. Ready? On my mark.”

“Now hold on a moment.” Gloin pointed at Balin. “Why’s he not running?”

As Dwalin shouted Gloin into line, Kili joined Fili. "Good luck," he whispered.

Fili flashed him a quick grin. “It's going to be embarrassing if I get beaten by Gloin or someone.”

“Then try and keep up with me and Gimli.” Kili laughed as Dwalin counted them down.

The three of them were the fastest by several strides, almost in step as they touched the far wall and turned. But, by the time they raced back to a yelling Dwalin and Balin and touched the ground to turn again, Kili heard Gimli start cursing.

He saved his own breath, and with Fili silent beside him, they pulled away from their shorter-legged cousin. On the final turn, Kili felt a thrill to see how far ahead they were, Molir raising a hand to them in acknowledgement as they tore past him and Gloin at the back of the group.

Lowering his head, Kili pumped his legs as hard as he could but it was no good. Despite his best efforts, Fili was no longer at his shoulder but steadily pulling ahead, beating him over the line by a full stride.

They skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust and spun to watch the others, Gimli slamming into them as he barrelled across the line in third. 

Kili glanced at Dwalin who was paying them no mind. Now was his chance. He grabbed Fili's shoulder, disturbing his brother as he cheered the others on. "Amad knows."

Fili's eyes widened. "Who'd you tell?" he hissed at Gimli. 

"Nobody." Gimli's eyes were every bit as wide. "I haven't—" He coughed when Fili's elbow hit him in the chest. "What was that for?"

"Well done, everyone!" called Balin. 

“Well done?" Dwalin sighed, placing a heavy hand on Kili's shoulder. "Are your eyes failing you, brother?"

Kili's heart hammered in his ears. How long had Dwalin been there? And how much had he heard?

"I think it's clear that we're officially in trouble," said Dwalin. 

“I think I've pulled something,” muttered Molir, his hands on his knees.

Stepping away from Kili, Dwalin swept up a training sword. “Fili, Nori, Bombur, you're the fastest I have. Mahal, help me. So you're my runners.” With the sword tip, Dwalin drew a large circle in the dust. “Gather around and pay attention, all of you.”

“I don't understand what's wrong with a good old-fashioned melee,” Gloin grumbled to them as they watched Dwalin busily add dots and lines. “Last dwarf standing wins.”

“You know where you are with a melee,” agreed Molir. “None of this running about chasing scraps of cloth, or whatever it is we have to do.”

“Sounds elvish to me,” said Gloin. “Whose idea was this anyway? Dain’s, I warrant.”

Dwalin glared them both into silence. “We'll all be spaced around the arena, the flags will be in the middle. Lads.” He indicated the three runners. “Your job is to try and get a hold of one of the flags and run like there's a pack of wargs on your heels for our basket.”

“Where's the basket?” Nori asked.

“We'll find out on the day. Thorin will draw for our spaces around the arena and whose basket is who's. Keeps it fair, or so he says. So everyone remember to pay attention.” Dwalin pointed to Gloin and Molir. “You two are in charge of protecting our runners. Once they have a flag keep the route to our basket clear. Remember, no excessive violence.”

Kili studied the diagram, trying to imagine what the arena would look like on the day as the others argued about what classed as non-excessive violence.

“What do you need to me do, brother?” asked Balin.

“Well, we are going to support our lads, of course, but mainly we’re going to flatten any of Dain’s who manage to get a hold of a flag. In a subtle way. That’s why you’re with me.”

Kili lifted his head, a chill settling in his belly.

“They don't hurt one of ours and get away with it," added Dwalin.

“What’s that now?” Gloin asked. “Dwalin?”

He knew. How did he know? Kili tried to catch Dwalin's eye, desperately trying to communicate without drawing attention to himself. He didn’t dare look at Fili but, beside Dwalin, Gimli had taken a sudden interest in his boots, and was slowly turning as red as his hair. Likely, his own face wasn't much better. 

Dwalin pointed a finger around the group. “This stays within these walls, you all hear me?”

“One of them do that to you, lad?” Bombur nodded at his hand as Kili tried to subtly slide it behind his back.

“Fraeg,” said Molir.

Kili whipped his head around to look at him.

“I overheard a bit of talk in the alehouse, and did some digging about.” As Kili's mind spun between panic and wondering how embarrassing the talk had been and who else had heard it, Molir wagged a finger at Fili. “Heard something about you and all.”

“Me?” Fili was all innocence.

“Yes, you. You've got their attention.” Molir nodded at Dwalin, suddenly serious. “Fraeg will be thinking along the same lines as us, I expect.”

"I know. And that’s where you and Gloin come in. I considered putting him on guard duty with you, keep him out of the way, but he’s the fastest we have by far.” Dwalin slapped Fili on the shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt, lad, but I also want to win. So keep your wits about you. They won’t tackle you unless you have a flag. Probably.”

“Does Uncle Thorin know?” Fili asked the question that was on the tip of Kili’s tongue.

Dwalin laughed, exchanging a look with Balin. “Of course, he doesn’t. Fraeg would be a head shorter if your uncle knew. And he won’t know, we don’t want to start a war.” He looked around the group. “No. We’ll sort this ourselves. Quietly, and with stealth and subtlety. Which I understand is a big ask for you lot.”

Gloin harrumphed, “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but—"

“Thorin cannot find out,” Dwalin said firmly. “Dis absolutely cannot find out.”

Everyone looked at Molir. He held his hands up. “I haven’t told her yet, have I? And she’s already accused me of lying to her, which was a very unpleasant conversation.” He nodded to Fili. “So you two had better hold your nerve, because I’ll be a head shorter if she finds out. If I’m lucky, and she’s feeling merciful.”

"I…" They all looked at him. Licking suddenly dry lips, Kili tried again, "Amad spoke to me earlier. She knows we lied to her." 

"She doesn't," said Molir. "Not for certain. Suspects, yes, which is bad enough, and I know is splitting hairs, but still, it’s not the same as knowing. So, for all our sakes, don't stray from your story, and don't, whatever you do, elaborate on it. You were sensible enough to hide it in the first place so keep it hidden and we'll deal with it. Understand?"

Kili waited for his brother's nod before he nodded too.

Molir smiled around them all. “Good. I must say that I do feel a lot better now that everyone knows. It brings me comfort to know that if I go down you’re all coming with me. I’ll sleep like a babe tonight."

“Quiet you. We’ll knock them down a peg or two and no one but them and us will be any the wiser." Dwalin clapped his hands, scuffing a boot across his diagram to obliterate it. “Enough talk. Practise time.”

Relegated to the sidelines, Kili was feeling sorry for himself. Molir was right, in a way. Knowing that others shared the secret rather than just him, Fili, and Gimli was somewhat comforting, even if it was also equal parts embarrassing and worrying. Leaning back against the wall, he tugged at the too-tight strapping about his fingers, and half-wished Molir had shared exactly what he’d heard about Fili, and why he’d said that Fraeg might be thinking like Dwalin. 

Maybe it didn't matter. Kili watched Dwalin stalking about on the opposite side of the yard. No one, apart from Uncle Thorin, could best Dwalin in battle, and for cunning and cleverness there was no one who was Balin's equal. So, now their tutors knew, all he and Fili had to do was follow orders and everything would be fine.

He wasn't looking forward to the inevitable lectures from both of them though. Fili had been bad enough. Scuffing a toe in the dust, Kili sighed.

Surely, he'd been punished enough? 

He watched listlessly as Fili, Nori, and Bombur ducked and dodged around the others. It looked like fun. And he was missing out, and would miss out on everything that was fun for weeks and weeks until his fingers healed. He'd have nothing to do but cheer others on, or, like now, be a boring marshal for Dwalin. 

“No heavy tackling!” Dwalin yelled as Gimli flung himself at Fili and missed, landing hard in the dirt with a laugh.

Spinning, Fili kicked a shower of dust in Gimli’s face before racing off to dodge around Balin. 

“What did I tell you lot?" roared Dwalin. "I don’t want any injuries before the day. Gimli, I'm watching you.” 

Kili snickered, jumping at Dwalin's whistle. 

"Kili!" Dwalin shouted, "How many times? Stop sulking and pay attention.”

Chapter Text

“It is good to spend time with you, cousin.” Thorin smiled, raising his tankard. “It's been far too long.”

Dain touched his drink to Thorin’s. “It has indeed. Far too many years, and it will be a crying shame to leave after the tourney, but I've been away too long already. Durin only knows what they'll have been up to in my absence. I can only hope the wife hasn’t declared me dead, herself regent, and changed the locks.”

They laughed heartily.

“In all seriousness though, I should probably send a raven once I'm a little closer to home.” Dain grimaced. “Anything is possible. But it's done my heart good though to see you and Dis, and the boys. Fili is a credit to you, and Kili of course. Two bright and happy lads. You've carved yourself out a good life here.”

Thorin nodded. That was good to hear, but he needed to ask. He leant back in his chair, keeping his voice light, “You understand why I chose Dis’s boys, there's no bad feeling?”

“Of course not.” Dain grinned. “Do not concern yourself. The Iron Hills are more than enough for me and mine. Believe me, I have no designs on either your crown, or on your home here.”

"And what of your people?"

"What of them?"

"Some might feel you have the greater claim."

"They might." Dain frowned. "Even I cannot control what my people feel. But, as I told Dis, they won't say it, nor act on it." His frown deepened. "Why? What's happened?"

Setting down his tankard, Thorin tugged open a desk drawer and gathered up the scraps of parchment within. 

"What's this?" asked Dain as Thorin scattered the parchment in front of him. 

"After the draw, I became curious about who from my people had entered and who hadn't." Thorin spread the parchments out with the writing uppermost. 

Dain raised his eyebrows. "I see."

"At first, I'd thought it a prank, although it is less a prank and more stacking the odds in Fili's favour." 

Dain nodded. "Cheating, I agree. The brother?"

"No." Thorin shook his head, still annoyed with himself that his first thought too had jumped to Kili. That hadn't been fair. And showed poor judgement on his part. But he'd make it up to the boy, even if Kili would never know the reason for it.

Pulling open the next drawer, he lifted out another handful of parchment and scattered them onto the desk.

Dain hummed under his breath. 

"As you can see," said Thorin, "whoever this is, or perhaps it was a number of dwarves, they've taken pains to disguise their handwriting but…" He fished about for the ones he had marked. "These are similar enough that I suspect the same person."

"You recognise the writing?"

"No." Thorin watched Dain examine the two scraps of parchment. "Do you?" 

"Are you accusing my people of something?" asked Dain. It was said in a mild enough tone, but Thorin knew his cousin well enough to hear the edge in his voice. 

"Of course not," said Thorin, leaning back in his chair, and knowing, as Dain would also know, that the truthful answer was 'Not yet'. 

Summer's heat, as winter's chill, did not penetrate the thick walls of the mountain. The crackling of the small fire in the hearth by Thorin's desk was the only sound in the silence of the chamber. He waited, but Dain appeared disinclined to speak further. 

"It is curious that my heir and your captain are the only dwarves with multiple entries," Thorin continued. "Don't you agree? A dozen for Fili, and thirteen for Fraeg." 

And what was just as curious, and disappointing—if not entirely unexpected—was that Balin's neat and careful script was on none of the slips of parchment that bore Fili's name. What his nephew had chosen to do with the slip of parchment that Balin had given him was anyone's guess, but it had not ended up where it should have.

"It is curious." Dain watched Thorin closely. "Do you intend to disqualify them both?"

"I am considering it."

Dain shifted the candleholder closer and peered at the parchments. "The writing is similar, yet that's not enough to say this is anything more than a coincidence."

"I had considered that too."

"Perhaps our people have simply picked our champions," said Dain, "and it is nothing more sinister or coordinated than that."

"Perhaps." Moving the candles back to the edge of his desk, Thorin lifted his tankard. Balin had said something similar when he'd shared the contents of the jars with him and Dwalin. "I do not wish to punish either my nephew nor Fraeg for something potentially outside their control."

Dain pushed the parchments back toward Thorin. "Fraeg is my most trusted captain. Whatever this is, whatever you think it is, it's not his doing."

“Good. Because I'm trusting you to ensure your peoples’ conduct. For this will not always be my home.” Thorin took a long drink. “I will be closer to you one day soon, I promise you. And the wealth of Erebor will flow—”

Dain rolled his eyes.

"It will flow between my folk, and yours. We should be as one, and I will not tolerate any—"

"Fili has my full support, and therefore the support of the Iron Hills. There's nothing to be concerned about." Dain raised an eyebrow. "And no need for threats either."

"It's not a threat. Erebor will be mine once more."

"Sometimes I feel that you forget the small matter of a dragon."

“You should have more faith in me.”

“I don’t doubt your ambition for a moment.” Dain held up a hand. “Let's not quarrel now though. You are the king."

"One who would hear your opinion." When Dain opened his mouth, Thorin added, "About the tourney. I know your thoughts on Erebor well enough."

Dain's lips quirked into a smile before he took a long swig from his tankard. Swirling the remains of his ale, he mused, "My opinion... Everyone is excited about the tourney. It's the culmination of the celebrations, and to announce that Fili and Fraeg are not taking part may raise more questions than it resolves. Even if there are no questions to your face."

Drumming his fingers on the chair arm, Thorin nodded. He'd thought as much himself. 

"The alternative is to make some excuse," said Dain, "and remove Fili from it."

"Fili?" Thorin sat up. "I don't think so."

"It's more believable than me, or you, pulling Fraeg out. And will raise a lot less speculation. Fili is younger by some fifty years than any of the others." Dain shrugged. "No one will bat an eye if you remove him under some pretence."

Thorin frowned. 

"They may even believe you," Dain added with a grin. "Worse case scenario—" 

"Fili will think that I do not have faith in him."

"Maybe." Dain waved a hand at the parchment. "But folk will assume that he has either reconsidered after learning who he is up against—"

"Fili is no craven."

"—or that you have reconsidered. Tourneys are dangerous. Accidents happen, and he is your heir. Our heir. Nobody would think less of you for protecting him."

Thorin frowned into his ale.

"As for Fili," continued Dain. "You can tell him your reasoning and he will understand."

His ale was offering no answers so Thorin stared at the parchment instead. Dain's suggestion was a potential solution. But it was also one likely to put Durin only knew what worries into Fili's head, no matter how gently Thorin put it to him. And put thoughts of cowardice into the heads of their kin. Protecting family was all very well, but Fili was of an age where he could be sent into battle, should the situation arise. He was no longer a dwarfling. 

As for telling him about the multiple entries. No. Better that Fili believed his name had been put forward by Dwalin, or Thorin himself —should he think to ask. His nephew might no longer be a dwarfling, but he was still young enough to need his uncle to worry about such things on his behalf. A little ignorance would do no harm. 

Thorin gathered the parchments together, his decision made. He wouldn't spoil Fili's enjoyment of the celebrations by piling on additional concerns. And, after Dain had gone, he would burn the parchments. 

"Of course, you could say nothing, and let it play out," Dain said, watching him stack the parchment and set it to one side. "Chances are, it's nothing."

Or something. "I will be watching closely."

"As will I." Dain met his eyes. "You said earlier you had a favour to ask? Was this it?”

Thorin shook his head and refilled Dain’s tankard. “No. A separate matter." He topped up his own barely touched tankard too. "Fili has been training and studying hard these past six months, and not just for these celebrations. I feel he's ready for more responsibility and I would like him to broker a trade deal on my behalf.”

“He does seem like a sensible lad, but I don’t see where I come in?”

“After the celebrations are over, I'm due to travel to Bree, to meet with a merchant. He trades with us regularly, so I trust him not to take advantage of Fili’s youth should he arrive in my stead and bearing my name. The man, Gernac, would not dare to cross me."

Dain smiled.

"I will not tell Fili that, of course," said Thorin. "As far as he is concerned the deal is his alone. That will give him confidence and he will have an opportunity to practise his newly learnt skills, without the risk of losing me any coin.”

The smile widened and Dain nodded. “Very practical.”

“It will also give him the opportunity to travel independently outside our borders. He has never crossed the Lune and it is past time he did." Thorin tipped his tankard toward Dain. "He and his brother will journey with you as far as Bree. They can then make their own way home.”

“Ah, so I am on guard duty. I’m assuming he will be carrying coin?”

“The downpayment for the merchant, I don't expect there to be any risk on the Great East Road, but better safe than sorry. Knowing that they will be with you as far as Bree will also settle their amad.”

“And how does Dis feel about your plan?”

Thorin sighed. “That I am putting too much pressure on him, that it’s too soon and he’s too young and I’m asking too much of him.”

“Ah.”

“She would keep them both wrapped in swaddling clothes until they are a hundred if she could. I understand her concerns, but she does neither of them any favours.”

Dain tutted. “My wife is the same. I remind her that by my Thorin’s age I was a lord in my own right, making decisions on behalf of my people, but it makes no difference.”

“As was I, but Dis will not hear of it. She is furious that Fili is in the tourney. You might have noticed the look she gave me when she drew his name, as if she thought I had any influence over whose name she pulled out." 

And, should Fili mention to Dis that he hadn't placed his own name in the jar, then Thorin knew exactly where on whose head his sister's wrath would fall. He glanced at the parchments. They were definitely getting burned. 

"She was determined to deny him the opportunity to prove himself in front of his kin,” Thorin continued. “I had to strike a deal with her by setting an age limit to stop Kili entering, although with hindsight that was not necessary since the lad has managed to injure himself.”

"Fili injured him, as I heard."

"That is the story they’re peddling." Thorin smiled. "Fili has always been quick at taking the blame, and is too well-trained to break his brother's fingers."

"Accidents do happen."

"They do," said Thorin. "Especially should you be sparring with someone younger and hot-headed."

"Ah, you're blaming the cousin." 

"It's a lot more likely, to my mind." Thorin drained his tankard. "And it's far from the first concocted tale the three of them have come up with." Likely, Fili was blaming himself for not supervising closely enough, or not being present to supervise at all. 

"And haven't we all done the same at that age?" Dain grinned. “Will Kili be well in time to travel to Bree? I know the road is not dangerous but—”

“Oin is certain that it will be healed enough, and it shouldn't stop him wielding a sword. His bow he will likely have to leave behind, which is a shame for your supplies, for he’s shaping up to be a great little hunter.”

“So Dis tells me.” Dain nodded. “Very well, I’ll keep them safe for you.”

Gathered with the others in the shade of the closed tourney ground gates, the blood was pounding so hard in his ears that Fili didn’t even hear Thorin call out his name — which probably wasn’t a good sign. 

It was Molir who whispered in his ear and gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the nearest marshal. Following the marshal's pointing finger, Fili forced himself to walk calmly out into the bright sunshine and on to his place by the arena wall, passing Dwalin and Bombur who had already been called.

Once in his spot, almost opposite the gates, Fili bounced on his toes and looked across the vast tourney ground. It was a strange feeling to be completely unarmed, without even so much as a knife in his boot. He didn’t like it. More names were called, each dwarf walking to their places. Some of them waved to the cheering crowd and Fili glanced upward at the busy stands above the wall. Maybe he should have done that too? Thorin hadn't said. 

The next name was Nori’s. Fili watched him stroll to his position further along the curved wall, his path direct and taking him past the eight flags staked out in a circle in the very centre of the arena. The long strips of cloth, dyed Durin blue, fluttered in the dust-laden breeze and, beyond them, on the far wall, a rope basket hung, one of seven spaced around the arena walls.

Rolling his shoulders, Fili huffed out a breath, and tried to will himself to relax. Thorin was still shouting names, the marshals directing the remaining dwarves to their places, and the arena echoed with thunderous cheers from the spectators as each name was called. Had they cheered him too? Had they? He hadn't noticed. 

All in all, it was a festive atmosphere. He needed to calm down and enjoy it. As Thorin and Dwalin had said, this would be fun. 

He glanced surreptitiously up at the dwarves to his immediate left and right. They were both taller than him, and a lot broader. The one on his left, Fili thought he might be one of the Blacklocks, caught him looking and smiled kindly at him, mouthing a ‘good luck’. Fili smiled back, trying to force away the nerves as his eyes drifted around the arena. Everyone was taller and broader, not to mention older and more experienced.

But, it didn't matter. To be quick-moving and hard to catch was the most important thing in this game. Dwalin had said so. 

Squinting against the already bright sun, Fili searched for Kili and Amad in the crowd. When they'd all hugged goodbye outside the gates, Fili had given them the last of his weapons and they'd promised they would find seats in the shade of the mountain wall on the northern side of the arena. He should have been able to see them from his position.

Fili wasn't sure why Amad didn't want to sit with the other dwarf lords, and didn't like to ask. She hadn’t been overly cheerful at breakfast.

He frowned, checking the stand row by jostling row. Why couldn't he see them?

In the shadow of the wide-open arena gates, Kili grumbled good-humouredly, tucking knives into his belt.

“Honestly," said Kili, "we are barely a mile from the settlement, you’re surrounded by your kin. Why do you need so many?”

Fili tugged the last knife from his boot and flipped it end over end, wishing he could ask the question uppermost in his mind. Did you enter me in this? He pushed the thought away, as he had done every time it surfaced. Whether it had been Kili, or Uncle Thorin, or Dwalin, or anyone else within the walls of the settlement. It didn't matter. To ask would be the same as admitting that he had walked away from the jar, shredding the parchment in his pocket that Balin had so carefully written his name on. To ask would mark him out as a coward — a dwarfling too frightened of failing his uncle to even try.

The tourney was supposed to be fun, and he should be grateful to whoever made the decision for him. And he was grateful. He was. 

He smiled at Kili. “How many weapons do you have?”

“What? Right now? Half an armoury at least I reckon.”

“And how many before?”

Kili was busy, sliding the last knife into his boot was giving him some trouble. He mumbled something which Fili assumed was an admission that he had, in fact, left home without so much as a throwing knife on him.

Reaching out, Fili ruffled Kili's hair and wished for another warm hug. “That’s why I carry so many.”

He couldn’t see them anywhere.

He had been certain they would be in the front row.

Turning, he peered up at the stand behind him. Maybe there hadn't been space at the northern wall, or they'd decided they wanted to stand in the sun?

Maybe they'd gone home.

The cheers had quietened. Fili tore his eyes away from the crowd and watched Thorin, holding his hands up for silence, walk to the centre of the arena. Behind Thorin, Dain followed with a small jar tucked under his arm, and a huge grin on his face.

It would be the draw for the baskets, and then the game would start. Fili swept his eyes over the crowd again desperately. They wouldn't have left him, they wouldn’t. So where, in Durin's name, were they?

A low whistle from his left caught his attention. “You’ll want to listen to this bit, lad.” The dwarf who'd wished him luck jerked his head toward Thorin.

Fili muttered his thanks, his face warming. Mercifully, he was in time to hear his uncle announce which basket was theirs, and which basket belonged to Dain’s folk. Not so mercifully, the baskets hung side-by-side on the northside of the arena.

Fili glanced along the arena wall to Dwalin. He didn’t look happy.

Raising his voice, Thorin wished them all good fortune, gave them a stern reminder that any use of excessive force or overly violent behaviour would incur a penalty, and left the arena floor with Dain.

He didn't look at Fili once throughout the whole speech, and Fili's heart sank to his boots. Had his inattention been noticed? 

The arena fell quiet, all eyes watching Thorin and Dain climb the wide stone steps built into the internal wall that led to the royal stand, and then watching them make their way through the other dwarf lords to their seats.

Whether Thorin had noticed him not paying attention didn't matter, nothing mattered now except the task right in front of him. Fili readied himself, his heart pounding, and focused on the closest flag. 

The arena was silent as Thorin began to count them down.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing. Only that he made his king, his uncle, proud.

With a roar, the game began.

Racing down the shallow steps of the northern stand, Kili apologised his way toward the front, not meaning a word of it. He was uncaring of who he elbowed on his way past, or whose toes he tread on—of which there were many—or whose ale he spilled. 

Amad was behind him somewhere. They’d struggled to get through the crowd, and not just because it was busy. Kili couldn’t fathom why, today of all days, Amad had felt the need to stop every few steps to speak to someone, as if they were out for one of their evening strolls and had all the time in the world. It was maddening. He’d been shifting his weight from one foot to another, willing her to hurry up, when, all of a sudden, while she was talking to yet another unknown dwarf, the crowd had leapt to their feet as one. The deafening roar had reverberated through the stands, and Kili had known they were late.

The dwarves in front were all that stood between him and being able to see, and they were being stubborn. Squeezing his hands between them, Kili wrapped his fingers around the handrail and wriggled through, ignoring the swearing, and was just in time to see Fili snatch one of the flags from the centre of the arena. Tucking the flag into his belt, Fili ran toward them, dodging around a dwarf trying to grab at the strip of fabric.

There was a ruckus behind, and the press of the crowd around Kili eased. Amad joined him at the handrail.

“Run, Fili!” she bellowed. 

Her hand grabbed his, crushing his fingers —mercifully the ones belonging to his good hand— against the stone railing. Close enough that it made his ears ring, Amad shouted again.

It seemed as if Fili was attempting to head their direction. Tearing his eyes away from his brother, Kili peeped over the railing toward the arena floor far below. A rope basket was suspended halfway down the wall, and he counted six more on a quick glance around the arena. 

Dwalin and Balin were running backward toward a nearby basket, shouting instructions at each other, and it appeared as if other teams had come up with a similiar plan to Dwalin’s. The dwarves in the arena were split between tussling in the centre where the remaining flags fluttered, and prowling the outskirts waiting for someone to emerge with one. 

At a warning shout from Amad, Kili's eyes snapped back on Fili. His brother had his own pursuers. Kili cheered as Fili leapt over a clumsy tackle and then his brother was at the wall, jumping up to toss the flag into the basket.

Kili thought he and Amad might have deafened the dwarves around them, their yells loud enough that Fili was able to hear them even above the approving roar of the crowd. Fili's face split into a relieved grin as he looked up and their eyes met.

Leaning over the railing, Kili stretched down as far as he could while Fili used the wall stones to boost himself up, their fingertips brushing before Amad yanked Kili back by the belt. With a final happy grin, and a quick wave to the crowd, Fili ran back toward the centre, a bounce in his step.

“Well," said Kili. "I think he’s enjoying himself.”

With her eyes fixed on the arena, Amad didn’t answer, chewing furiously on her lip.

The flags were all gone. 

Fili could see that the moment he turned away from Kili, but he jogged back toward the centre anyway, unsure what to do next. 

Likely they were all buried somewhere beneath the piles of dwarves scattered about the arena. 

As he made his way toward the nearest one with no more plan than to try and take a closer look, Nori clawed his way out. Stumbling to his feet, laughing, his hair askew, he ran over to Fili. “This is complete madness, it's—"

“What do you two think you are doing?” shouted Dwalin from behind, loud enough to be heard over the crowd and the yelling of the others in the arena. 

Turning, they watched him tackle one of the Iron Hills dwarves. Fili winced as the two of them hit the ground, Dwalin tearing a flag from the other's belt.

“Fili!”

He spun at Molir's shout. One of the Broadbeam dwarves, a strip of blue cloth dangling from their belt, was racing for the western wall of the arena.

“Get that one,” said Nori, clapping Fili’s shoulder. “I'll sort Dwalin's.”

They tore off in opposite directions. Fili wasn't the only one chasing down the Broadbeam dwarf, but he was the first to close the distance, flinging himself forward to catch the dwarf around the waist.

Hitting the ground hard, Fili snatched the flag, managing to twist away far enough that the elbow jab aimed for his nose collided with his shoulder instead. 

They rolled together, once, twice, raising clouds of grit-filled, eye-stinging dust, before Fili managed to break free. With the dwarf spitting curses behind him and half-blind, Fili scrambled away, barely making it to his feet when strong fingers clamped vice-tight about his ankle. 

Trying to shake the dwarf off, and wishing someone had explained exactly what excessive force actually looked like, Fili didn't spot the second dwarf until they hit him side on. 

They tumbled together to the ground in a tangle of fists and feet. Curling into a ball around the flag, Fili kicked out hard while he tried to think of another tactic. More weights landed on top of them. Someone overhead groaned, and he didn’t think it was him but he wasn’t entirely sure. It felt as if his ribs were creaking.

Suddenly the pressure released, and he was free, Molir and Gloin shouting his name. Fili crawled away, staggering to his feet with a laugh, and someone shoved him, yelling for him to go.

It felt as if every dwarf in the arena was trying to get in his way as he ran full tilt for the basket, ducking and dodging around and under outstretched arms, and leaping over tackles.

Yet somehow, over the noise from the crowd, as he feinted and span around another combatant, Fili heard Dwalin shout a warning. He'd no time to register which direction the threat was coming from before something hit him from behind like the very wall of the arena.

They fell together. Fili’s head slammed into the hard ground, helped along by a big hand wound tight in his hair. Coughing dust, and with lights dancing in front of his eyes, he was unable to put up any resistance as he was rolled onto his back. 

"We meet again, Prince Fili." Fraeg grinned, pinning him in place with a heavy knee on his chest and a hand about his throat. The fingers snapped tight. Fraeg was too big. Too heavy. Bucking uselessly against the weight, Fili clawed at the fingers about his throat, trying not to panic as the world narrowed. 

"And this belongs to me,” said Fraeg. Tearing the flag from Fili's belt, Fraeg held it aloft triumphantly, waving it about for a heartbeat before something big and heavy slammed into them. 

Wrenched sideways with Fraeg, the grip on Fili's neck released. He rolled to his side, sucking in a shaky breath, and watched Molir and Fraeg wrestle within an oddly-muted roaring cloud of dust. 

Touching his face, his fingers came away bloody. Fili frowned at them. There was something he was supposed to be doing. 

The flag. 

It lay in the dust nearby and Fili grabbed it, pushing himself to his feet as he heard the crunch of gravel under fast-moving, heavy boots. 

He spun, but too late, and an arm wrapped around his waist, lifting him from his feet and hurling him back to the ground. Kicking out and rolling away, Fili got a glimpse of the dwarf who had held Kili after his beating from Fraeg. He rolled again as the dwarf grabbed for him, making it halfway to his feet before a knee caught him hard in the stomach, driving the breath from him.

The dwarf dropped onto him, and then they were scuffling, rolling together on the arena floor. With no idea where the flag was and finding he didn’t care, Fili's heart sang with satisfaction when he landed the first heavy punch. He dodged the dwarf's retaliation swing, mostly, but the glancing blow was enough to knock him off-balance and back to the dust. As the dwarf pinned him to the ground and drew back his fist, Fili brought his knee up as hard as he could. A dirty move, but he figured it was justified under the circumstances. 

Heaving the groaning dwarf aside, Fili wobbled to his feet and cast about for the flag, kicking back hard when grasping fingers caught at his trousers. 

Wrenching himself free, he buried his boot in the dwarf’s belly. So the coughing dwarf could hear him over the shrill whistles that echoed around the arena, Fili crouched to whisper, “That’s for my brother.”

Straightening, Fili looked around. What were the whistles for? One of the marshals was rushing toward them, jabbing a finger toward the arena gates, and three others were pulling Fraeg and Molir apart, pointing them in the same direction.

“Go on!” The marshal caught Fili's arm, pulling the flag from his fingers. He pushed Fili in the direction of the gates. “You’re off.”

"But—"

“Are you all right?” asked the marshall to the dwarf at Fili’s feet.

Seemingly feeling much better, the dwarf rolled to his feet and nodded. He ran off with a grin and a quick signed gesture at Fili behind the marshal’s back.

“That’s not fair!” Fili protested, wondering if he could sign a response and not get caught. 

Looking at the marshal's frowning face, he decided against it.

“The longer it takes you to get over there," said the marshal, "the longer you have to stay there. Go on. Get on with you.”

Chapter Text

“Tilt your head back further for me, there’s a good lad.” Staring at him critically, Molir pinched the bridge of Fili’s nose hard enough to make his eyes water. “I don’t think it’s broken. But you’ll have at least one blackened eye, I reckon.”

“Soft,” snorted Fraeg.

Taking care not to move his head, Fili glanced across to where Fraeg leant against the arena wall. Sharp eyes met his, and Fili smiled, for it looked as if Molir had managed to land a few punches.

Rolling his eyes, Molir raised his voice, “Hardly soft. I saw what you did, Fraeg, even if the marshals were all afflicted with some sort of temporary blindness. You did well to get to your feet after that, Fili. It must have felt like half the mountain had landed on you.”

Fraeg laughed.

“But at least it was the squashy half, I suppose,” continued Molir, with a quick wink at Fili. “You’d have been a lot worse off had it been someone with a bit more solid muscle behind them. Your amad’s got a better right arm.”

“You—”

“Right, you three!” called the marshal, beckoning to them. “Thorin is content to let you all back on. See if you can behave yourselves this time.”

Fili licked his lips and tasted gritty dust and blood. He glanced up past Molir’s shoulder toward his uncle’s seat.

“No sense worrying about that for now,” said Molir. Releasing Fili’s nose, he nodded. “That’ll have to do. Try not to put your face in the way of anyone’s fist for a bit, would you?”

Fili and Molir jogged back toward the others with Fraeg following a few steps behind, and, even over the roar of the crowd, Kili imagined he could hear Amad grind her teeth. He could definitely feel the bones grinding together in his hand when she tightened her grip.

When Fraeg had put Fili to the ground, Kili had been certain that he was destined for another handful of broken fingers. His own howl of fury had been drowned out entirely by his amad’s rage. He hadn’t realised she’d known half the words she’d spat at Fraeg, some of them had been new even to him, and he’d certainly never heard anyone use them all together in quite the way she had. It had surprised Kili enough that he’d taken his eyes from Fili to stare at her in shock.

The Blacklock dwarves behind and beside them had been surprised too, joining him in a brief stunned silence before beginning to cheer her on, and offering suggestions themselves. And they had all celebrated together when Molir slammed into Fraeg and freed Fili.

As Amad had roared for Molir to rip Fraeg’s arms off, Kili felt he understood why she’d insisted they find places amongst the crowd on the north side of the arena, far away from Thorin and the other dwarf lords. Well out of earshot, and hopefully far enough out of his eyeline.

Leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of his uncle’s face, Kili had missed the moment the second dwarf attacked Fili, turning just in time to wrap his free arm about his amad’s waist and restrain her. He’d wanted to vault over the railing and drop into the arena himself, every fibre of his being screaming at him to run to his brother’s aid. But, instead, he was forced to satisfy himself with joining the dwarves around them as they yelled and waved for the marshals.

Their section of the crowd hadn’t appreciated the marshal’s final decision, catcalling when the marshal pointed Fili toward the gate. Kili shouted his disapproval with them, even distracted as he was with patting his amad and trying to assure her that Fili was absolutely fine.

Kili frowned. His brother was limping though, but only a bit. Certainly, Fili appeared willing enough to rejoin the game as, with a skip and a nod at Molir, he sped up, racing toward one of the two groups of wrestling dwarves while Molir charged for the other pile. Fraeg was seemingly torn about which way to go before lumbering after Fili.

Glancing around the arena, Kili saw that the marshals beside each basket had chalked marks on the stone walls. Two marks for Thorin’s Halls, three for the Iron Hills, and one for the Broadbeams. So that meant two flags were still in play, likely buried somewhere in the heaps of struggling arms and legs. He’d lost track of the little strips of cloth as he’d watched, chewing at his lip, while Molir had tended to Fili.

Around them, the crowd began to shout encouragement, and suddenly Bombur was free and running, Fili flanking him. There was some sort of yelled discussion between them before Bombur shook his head, shoving the flag at Fili. Pushing Fili onward, Bombur turned and tackled the first dwarf chasing them, managing to also knock down a second and third as the unfortunate dwarves tried too late to dodge. Gloin and Dwalin raced in from the sides and flung themselves at the dwarves behind.

Some of the pack managed to make it around the dwarves tussling on the ground, but it didn’t matter because Fili had taken full advantage of the head start, running flat out toward Kili and the basket. With his head down and legs pumping, Fili took quick glances over his shoulder every few strides. 

Yelling a warning, Kili bounced on his toes, watching the Iron Hills dwarves race to cut his brother off. He could see one of them cursing, realising he was too slow, and another, lurking closer to the basket, was tackled and slammed to the ground by Balin. Then Fili was below them and leaping, throwing the flag into the basket and landing with his arms in the air, celebrating as the crowd around Kili stamped and roared back in approval. Their voices echoed off the mountainside, and Kili looked around him, smiling. 

This wasn’t just their kin who they stood amongst. Amongst the familiar faces were unknown dwarves from all across Arda, and they were all cheering loudly for his brother.

Fili bowed low to the stands, grinned up at Kili as he straightened, and turned with a final wave to jog back into the centre. But he’d barely made it halfway before all the marshals began whistling. The dwarf beside Kili clapped him hard on the back and pointed, yelling in his ear that the last flag had been retrieved, by one of the Blacklocks, and the game was over.

“Look at the state of you,” Amad muttered, tilting Fili’s head back.

Amad’s hands weren’t always the most gentle. Wringing out the cloth that had been soaking in the basin, Kili asked, “Would you like me to do it, Amad?”

From his seat on the bench, Fili glanced at Kili sideways, a pleading and grateful look in his eyes. 

“I can manage,” said Amad, holding out her hand for the cloth. “Durin knows I’ve cleaned enough bloody faces over the years. If you want to help, go fill the tub for your brother, and then we can get dinner started. I expect Thorin to call over later so make sure you allow for that, you know your uncle is always hungry. There’s no festivities planned for this evening so it’ll be nice for him to just be quiet and properly relax with us.”

Under the layer of blood and dust covering his face, Fili grew pale. After the fight in the arena, Kili suspected Fili would rather avoid Thorin for a little while longer, and he didn’t blame his brother for that one bit. He’d be wanting to avoid Thorin too. 

“I thought we might go and visit Gimli,” Kili said. “It was so busy today that we didn’t—” 

“You’ll cope without seeing Gimli for one day.”

That was that then. Maybe Fili would be lucky. Thorin might get caught up with Dain or someone. 

“Dwalin’s invited us to the alehouse,” said Fili, trying to pull away. Amad wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to hold him steady and he sucked in a breath, Kili wincing in sympathy, as she pressed the cloth against his nose. “Amad, that hurts.”

She soaked and squeezed out the cloth, the water in the bowl swirling pink. “Stop squirming and hold still. The alehouses will all be packed tonight.”

“Please,” said Fili. “Kili will come with me. Everyone will be there already, and it’ll look odd if we don’t go. We won’t get into any trouble, I promise, and Dwalin said we’ll eat there too.”

Kili watched, crossing his fingers behind his back, as Amad thought it over. 

She lifted her eyes to his. “Why are you still standing there, staring at me? Is there not a tub that needs filling? And I expect you’ll be needing to bathe too. Since you’re both heading out.”

Dwalin had chosen the largest of the settlement’s alehouses. Kili could hear how crowded it was going to be before they were halfway down the street. The noise, fiddle and drums mingled with the sound of many voices, rose and fell as the tavern door swung open and closed behind the dwarves ahead of them, and there was a neat stack of what looked like every table and chair from inside the alehouse partially blocking the wide street. 

With a happy grin and an excited bounce in his step, Fili reached the heavy door first, cracking it open and slipping inside. Kili squeezed in after him, the dwarves nearest the door shuffling reluctantly further into the alehouse to make space, and he apologised to those closest while the clouds of pipesmoke, hanging as if it were fog over the many heads, made his eyes water. 

“Can you see them?” Fili yelled in his ear, pulling Kili closer to let more dwarves push their way past from outside.

Standing on tiptoe, Kili leant on Fili’s shoulder to give himself a boost and searched the throng for any familiar faces. Through the legs of the musicians crowded together on top of the lone table in the centre of the floor, he spotted Dwalin carving his way toward the bar.

His brother was busy. Talking, shouting, with an older dwarf, the greybeard patting his brother’s arm and gesturing as Fili nodded and smiled. Kili turned back to watch Dwalin lift several tankards from the bar counter, nod to the barkeep, and push his way slowly through the crowd toward a back corner near the fire. Then he disappeared from view.

Dwalin was taller by a head than most other dwarves so they had to have found a table, somehow, however they’d managed to wrangle it. Kili’s heart lifted. It was only a pity it wasn't a bit closer to the door, because there had to be a hundred, maybe even two hundred, dwarves between them. It’d take them half the night to push their way through. 

“Do you see them, brother?” Fili tapped his elbow, smiling when Kili nodded. “Lead on then, I'll follow you.”

As Kili had expected it was hard going finding a path through the tightly packed crowd. The sticky floor tugged at his boots, everyone smelt of pipeweed and stale ale, and more than once he was doused by an overflowing tankard waved too close. Amad’s insistence on baths and clean clothes felt less and less necessary with every shuffling step. Apologising as he went, Kili squeezed his way through with Fili holding on to his good hand so they didn't get separated. 

Their slow progress wasn’t helped by Fili pulling him to a stop continually so that he could have conversations with everyone. Kili sighed at a firm tug on his hand again. It was worse than trying to get anywhere with Amad. 

This time their progress had halted beside the band's table. Watching the fiddle player’s nimble fingers dance over the strings, Kili waited, his foot tapping in time with the lively tune. The melody was unknown to him and he hummed along, trying to commit it to memory, the fingers of his free hand moving as best they could under the tight strapping over an imaginary fingerboard. He felt a sudden sharp longing for his own fiddle, neglected and gathering dust along with Fili's in the corner of their room. They should play more often. Noticing him, the musician nodded with a grin, angling himself so Kili could see the fingerings a little better.

“Are you ready to move on?” asked Fili, free once more and watching the musician too with what Kili felt was a wistful look in his eyes. 

Kili nodded. There was no point mentioning fiddles. They could play again once Fili had more time, and —Kili wriggled his fingers— once he could actually play. 

With a smile, Fili nudged him onward, but, before they had so much as taken a full step, a burly dwarf stopped them. Pumping Fili's free hand, the dwarf clasped his shoulder, leaning close to speak in Fili's ear. Kili couldn't make out the words, but from the gestures it looked as if Fili was being offered a drink again. His brother laughed, shaking his head as they were all jostled about by the crowd, and pointed toward the far side of the alehouse. Obviously trying to explain that it really wasn't necessary; that they were meeting friends.

The dwarf wouldn't take no for an answer. Beckoning Kili closer, the dwarf took a firm hold of his sleeve and dragged them both along in his wake. 

He was much faster than Kili at finding a path. In no time at all, the dwarf had bullied his way almost as far as the bar. He stopped, commanding them to wait with a stern gesture, before shoving his way through the remaining dwarves that stood between them and the barkeep. 

Not wanting to sign in case they were being watched, Kili widened his eyes at Fili. Shaking his head, Fili leant in, his lips brushing Kili's ear. “Absolutely no idea. A Stonefoot from his braids. He said his name but I completely missed it. Do I ask him again?”

The Stonefoot was already elbowing his way back toward them, two brimming tankards in hand. Handing them one each, he clapped them both hard on the shoulder, patted Fili on the cheek, and disappeared with a final grin and a wave back into the crowd.

“Well,” said Kili, looking down at his free ale. “That was very nice of—”

“There you both are!” Dwalin bellowed by Kili’s ear, making him jump. He frowned as ale slopped over his fingers.

Taking a large drink from his own tankard, Fili nodded for Kili to do the same. “You’ll spill a lot less if it’s in your belly, brother.”

Kili grinned. That made sense. Mid-swallow, he coughed ale, stumbling into Fili, when Dwalin hit him between the shoulder blades.

“I see you’ve sorted yourselves out.” Dwalin wrapped a hand around the back of Kili’s neck, giving him a rough shake, and wagged a thick finger at both of them. “But that won’t get you out of standing your round, just so we’re clear.”

Fili straightened his shoulders. “I would never—”

“And you don’t count as one dwarf neither,” added Dwalin. “So I hope you both thought to bring coin. Come on, follow me.”

There was no food, but the ale was plentiful and more than made up for it. Squeezed in between Fili and Nori, and with his back to the massive chimney breast, Kili covered a sleepy yawn, and wondered why the barkeep had thought a fire necessary for a packed alehouse on a warm summer's evening.

“I'm melting!” Nori shouted while Kili nodded in agreement. “Or perhaps cooking. Was this really the only table?”

“Do you see any others?” Dwalin snapped from the other side of the table. “One for the band, and one for us. That’s it. You can all thank me and Molir that you’re sitting here all nice and comfortable and not squashed cheek-by-jowl out there with everyone else.”

A dwarf stumbled back into Dwalin and Molir, lifting his hands in apology when they turned on their stools as one to look up at him. 

Mollified, Dwalin turned back to the table. He lifted his tankard. “Where was I? Yes, and I note that I haven’t heard so much as a word of thanks from any of you, now that I come to think of it. If it hadn't been for us arriving before opening to help set up the bar we wouldn't have had a table at all. This table—"

He thumped the table. Empty tankards rattled and Kili frowned, wondering how much Dwalin had had to drink.

“—was the result of hard negotiating, and even harder work. So you can all start by being more grateful, rather than whining about feeling a touch too warm. You need to spend more hours in the forge.” Dwalin pointed his tankard in Nori’s direction. “That’s what’s wrong with you. Can’t stand the heat.” The tankard swung to Kili. “And you as well. You're soft, both of you.”

Nori sat up straighter. “I am not—”

“Hush,” said Dwalin. “You don't see the lad putting up any argument, do you? He knows I’m right. When was the last time either of you put in any time? Like you’re meant to. Go on. Tell me when? Prove me wrong.”

“That's not fair, Dwalin.” Reaching for another tankard, Fili fumbled it and ale slopped over the table. With the flat of his hand, Fili swept the puddle of ale between them and onto the floor, and, as it dripped from the table edge onto Kili’s trousers, he tried to remember how many they’d had. More than three. There’d definitely been more than three ales. 

“Kili's been injured,” added Fili, once he had the tankard safely clutched in his hand. 

Dwalin snorted. “I'm not talking about the last few weeks.”

“We all have different skills,” said Nori, jabbing an elbow into Kili’s ribs. “Isn't that right, Kili? Be a boring old world if we were all smiths, and mayhap I’ve no time for smithing. Mayhap I pull my weight in other ways.” He grinned at Dwalin. “Ways that are none of your business.”

Avoiding Dwalin's eyes, Kili buried his face in his tankard. He took another sip of his now slightly warm and flat ale. Dwarves did smithing, it was in their blood. Same as wielding an axe. Or growing a beard. Touching his fingertips to his stubble, he felt the blood rise in his face and was suddenly thankful that his cheeks were likely already flushed from the heat of the fire, and the three —maybe four— ales that he’d drank.

“Thorin will sort you out eventually, Nori,” said Dwalin, “but in the meantime don't drag the boy down with you and your undwarvish notions. He's only a youngster, shirking’s in the nature at that age.” Dwalin banged the table in front of Kili. “Look at me. Good lad. You take your example from your brother. He does his turn like everyone else, and likely your turn too if I know him at all, and he's not much older than you. You might think you’re clever, getting away with it for now, but you'll regret it later if you don't buck your ideas up. I warrant Nori doesn't know one end of a hammer from another by this stage.”

Nori muttered something darkly, and Dwalin glared at him.

“Anyway,” said Balin mildly, patting his brother's arm, “I think we should be talking about our plans for the final stages, rather than arguing about smithing and forges and who does what. We managed to get three flags, which was excellent teamwork. So which three of us will be going forward to represent Thorin, eh?”

“Well, if we’re going to discuss tactics, then I think we need more ale. Boys” —Molir jerked a thumb toward the bar— “Your turn.”

Fili heaved himself to his feet, a little unsteadily, and together they gathered up the empty tankards and clambered out past the others to rejoin the throng. 

It was every bit as busy as earlier, maybe even busier. With Dwalin’s words circling in his mind, Kili followed in silence as Fili forged their way forward. 

“Do you take my turn?” Kili whispered in his brother’s ear when they finally reached the bar. 

Shushing him, Fili stood on tiptoe to lean across the counter, waving to try and get the barkeep’s attention.

“Do you?” Kili’s heart sank. He'd assumed nobody minded, or noticed, that he was skipping some of his hours. It had never occurred to him that nobody had noticed or minded because someone else was covering up for him. “Fee?”

“I'm trying to order ale.” Fili glanced at him and smiled. “And it doesn't matter, I enjoy it and you don't.”

“But—"

“Hold on.” Fili held up seven fingers to the barkeep before turning back to Kili. “There, done. Sorry. You help our amad, and I do nothing around the house, simply nothing, so it’s a fair exchange. Now, how much coin do you have with you? Empty those pockets, brother.”

“Honestly, Kili—"

His brother stumbled, and Kili tightened his grip about Fili’s waist. He wasn't entirely sure anymore who was holding who up.

“—I've already said it doesn't matter,” continued Fili. “Stop going on at me.”

Staggering, they clutched at each other when Kili caught the toe of his boot on yet another uneven cobblestone. There seemed to be a lot of uneven cobblestones along the street outside the alehouse that he’d never noticed before, and he must’ve walked all the streets of the settlement a thousand times. It was very odd. Giggling, they righted themselves, and Kili tried to remember what they had been talking about. 

Oh, yes. Forges and shirking. “No, it does,” he said. “It does matter. Fetching a few things for Amad isn't the same at all.”

“I'm the eldest. I'm supposed to look after her and after you.” Fili hiccoughed, which ruined his gravitas a little. “But you’ve always done it, cheerfully and without complaint, even though I promised that I'd look after you both. I gave my word. So I’d really appreciate it if you would let me help you, just a bit.”

Kili wasn't sure any of that was right, but then his head didn't seem to be working properly. Fili lost his footing and they hit the wall.

“Will you two straighten up, please.” Molir stomped back along the street, and bulled his way between them. “We'll not have you home by dawn at this rate. Kili, give me your arm. You too, Fili. Good lads. Now, come on.”

Cosy light spilled out through a crack in the curtains that covered the front window. Stopped outside a neighbour’s house, they considered their options.

“Do you think she's still up?” Kili whispered.

Fili shook his head. “It's very late, but we're pretty much sober now so I don’t think we need to worry. We only had two or three anyway. Just like we said we would, and that’s hardly any at all.” He tried to ruffle Kili’s hair and missed. “Will you come in, Molir? I can make us some tea and toast. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? And I think there might even be some of that cheese left. Is there, Kili? Because I think cheese and toast would be really nice, and I don’t know about you two but I’m absolutely starving.”

“I don't think so, Fili,” said Molir. “I’d better—” His eyes widened as they were bathed in light. 

“Why are the three of you out here screeching at each other?” Amad hissed from the open doorway. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Pulling her wrapper tight about her, she stepped down onto the street. “Get in. Right now. And where do you think you're going, Molir? I said in.”

Chapter Text

The house was warm and, under the distinctive scent of his uncle’s pipesmoke, Kili could smell something delicious. Something sweet, delicately spiced, and buttery. Placing a hand on his belly to quieten its rumbles, his eyes drifted to the range. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until right this moment, and he was so hungry. He’d never been hungrier in his life. As he opened his mouth to ask Amad if perhaps there might be a tiny bit of dinner left, Kili was surprised to see Uncle Thorin relaxing in one of the chairs by the fire. He thought he saw his uncle smile, but when he blinked it was gone, and he couldn’t be completely sure that he hadn't imagined it.

“Boots.” Amad reminded them. Tutting, she pushed Kili further into the house and closed the door. “Look at the state of them, Molir. How much did you let them have?”

“We're fine,” said Fili. Trying to shuck his boots off, he leant heavily and suddenly on Kili, overbalancing them both. Kili managed to throw his arms around Molir for support before they fell.

“Kili, I was on one leg.” Muttering a curse, Molir propped them both back upright. “You nearly put me on my backside. Stand still.”

“Uncle Thorin's still here,” Fili whispered in Kili's ear, “and my boot's broken, I think.”

"Broken?" Kili looked down at Fili's feet. 

“It's not," Thorin's voice, so close when he was supposed to be on the other side of the living quarters, made Kili jump. 

"Let me." With his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smile, Thorin knelt. He lifted Fili's foot, tugging his boot off and lining it up neatly with the others. “Lean on the wall instead of Kili,” Thorin said gently, “and give me your other foot.”

Having become used to Fili’s weight, Kili staggered when it was taken away from him, but Fili grabbed his hand before he could fall. They grinned at each other, giggling, and Kili shook his head. His ears were ringing and everytime he moved his head his vision blurred at the edges. Maybe he should sit down? The floor looked really tempting, but then he'd have to let go of Fili's hand.

And Uncle Thorin was lifting his foot.

The flagstones were cold. Wriggling his socked toes against them and wondering if the cold would be nice against his flushed-feeling face too, Kili remembered he was really hungry. He opened his mouth to ask Fili if he was as well.

“You two need to sit down.” Separating their hands, Amad pulled Fili away from him. Kili's fingers twitched at the loss as he watched her lead Fili over to the fire and push him down into a chair. She lifted a hank of his brother's hair, holding it to her nose, and Kili's heart sank when her eyes narrowed. Fili grinned back up at her.

“Have you fallen asleep?” Thorin tapped Kili's shoulder and smiled. “I said, do you need some water, my little lad?" 

Amad was storming toward them, a frown on her face. She sniffed at Kili’s hair, then leant in to sniff at his mouth. Retreating quickly, Kili's back hit the door and she followed him. 

“Amad," he said, "What are—?"

“Have you two been smoking? The truth.”

“No.” The heat was rising in his face, he knew it was, and Kili willed himself not to blush. Just for once. He hadn’t inhaled so in truth it wasn’t actually smoking. Not on his part anyway. He couldn’t speak for Fili though, but then Amad didn’t seem to be asking Fili for some reason.

“Kili. I will count to—"

“Dis, Dis.” Molir took his life in his hands, catching a hold of hers. “They’re grown lads.”

Kili glared at Molir. He may not have been completely sober, but even he knew that was the wrong response.

“That’s the way of it, is it?" asked Amad. "They’re 'grown lads'.” 

It was such a good mimicry of Molir’s deep tenor that Kili snickered despite himself. Amad shot him a look before she stepped toward Molir, who scooted backward, releasing her hands and raising his.  

“Grown lads, my eye," snarled Amad. "Who put them up to it? Was it you? It was, wasn’t it? And what's next on your agenda for my 'grown lads'? Are you going to—"

Kili missed whatever it was that his Amad thought might be next for Thorin wrapped an arm around his shoulders, steering him away and toward the fire. The living quarters felt a lot bigger than usual, but at last they reached the fireplace. 

Spinning Kili around to face him, Thorin said something Kili didn’t catch, patted his cheek, and pushed him down into the chair across from Fili’s. Kili opened his mouth to say thank you but it was too late. His uncle had already left, padding away in his sock soles to the front door where there was a lot of finger-pointing going on and Molir was looking sheepish.

“Kili.” Fili leant over the arm of his chair, stretching out a hand. “I think I might be drunk after all. I didn’t know.”

He was too far away, and Kili's ears weren't working properly. Feeling like it might be too complicated to start moving chairs around, Kili pushed himself upright and made his way unsteadily across the rug between them. He settled himself on the arm of the chair and Fili wrapped an arm around his waist, smiling up at him happily.

“Did you have a good day, my big brother?”

Fili nodded, resting his head back against the chair and closing his eyes. As he studied his brother’s bruised face, Kili allowed himself a little moment of worry. Parts of the night were hazy, but he definitely remembered that Fili was going forward into the final stages of the tourney. 

They had argued back and forth about who would represent Thorin. The obvious choice was Dwalin, but the other two spots caused an issue. At long last, they had decided Fili would go through, but he’d shook his head and refused, claiming that he was far from the best fighter and that it wasn’t fair.

"Let's draw for it." With a flourish, Nori produced a deck of cards, and Kili watched, fascinated, as they were shuffled, lightning-quick, between Nori's nimble fingers. 

"Not with your cards, we won't," snorted Dwalin. "And certainly not if you're dealing. Fili, go fetch a deck from the bar."

Nori laughed. "You're a sore loser, Dwalin. Sit down, Fili, there's no need to battle your way through everyone, because there's nothing wrong with my cards."

"Nothing wrong?" Dwalin pointed a thick finger at Nori. "You're lucky I didn't break your—"

The argument drifted over Kili. He sipped his ale and looked around the tavern. So many of his kin in one place, all the tribes mingling together in laughter and song, it was truly wonderful. A lively tune was playing, and he tapped his toes on the floor in time with it, watching heads bob up and down in the crowd as dwarves danced and trying to identify their tribes from the glimpses of their braids. 

Maybe he and Fili could slip away and join in to have a dance? Since Fili wasn't taking part in the draw for the next stage. Maybe the musicians would even let Fili join them if Kili asked nicely? He'd love to see his brother play in front of more than just their own people. 

Kili craned his neck, counting off the tribes, and frowned. All the tribes weren't here. Where were the dwarves from the Iron Hills? He shook his head. The alehouse was crowded, he couldn't see all the way to the other wall, likely some of them were here somewhere. 

Maybe dancing wasn't a good idea after all. He shivered, imagining dancing and bumping into—

Kili sat up straight. As if his thoughts had summoned him, Fraeg was pushing his way through the crowd. Kili caught another glimpse of the big warrior as the crowd surged then parted. 

Fraeg was coming their way. 

He’d barely enough time to kick Dwalin under the table, and elbow Fili in the ribs, before Fraeg dropped a hand onto Molir’s shoulder. Leaning down to speak in Molir's ear, Fraeg’s eyes met his, and a chill shot down Kili's spine.

Molir's stool scraped on the flagstones. He pushed himself to his feet, towering over Fraeg, and, on either side of him, Kili felt Fili and Nori tense. He could feel the tension in himself too, but Fraeg and Molir appeared calm enough. Both of them were smiling as they bellowed into each other's ears, their words lost to the clamour of the crowd, then Molir laughed, throwing his head back, and Fraeg laughed too. To Kili's surprise, they clasped forearms before clapping hard at each other’s arms and shoulders, looking for all the world like the very best of friends.

Kili glanced at Fili, hoping to get his attention, but his brother didn't notice. Instead, Fili was staring at Fraeg, his brow furrowed. 

“You!” Slapping Molir's shoulder a final time, Fraeg turned to the table. He wagged a finger at Fili. “You’re a nasty little fighter, aren’t you? I’ll remember that." He grinned. "Now, come here, take my arm, and we’ll call it even, Prince Fili. I think you’ll agree that we’ve all had our fun.”

Kili wasn’t sure if Fili was going to. And he wasn’t sure that he would either, if he were asked. He frowned. He'd follow Fili's lead, whatever that was. 

Standing, Fili thrust out his hand and clasped Fraeg's wide forearm. For a heartbeat all was still, then Fraeg smiled. The table jolted, tankards rattling and spilling, as he yanked Fili toward him. 

Kili was on his feet with a boot on the table before he'd realised he'd moved. An arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him back down onto the bench. 

"Wait," hissed Nori, nodding toward Dwalin who was on his feet and beside Molir at Fraeg's shoulder. Balin and the others were on their feet too.

With his heart hammering in his ears and Nori still holding tightly to him, Kili watched Fraeg speak into Fili's ear. Despite the silence that was rippling outwards from their table across the alehouse as curious dwarves stopped to stare, Kili couldn't hear what was being said. 

But, whatever it was, it wasn't good, for Fili's fists were clenched. His brother had been dragged halfway across the table, and, needing to do something, Kili wrapped his fingers around Fili's ankle to let Fili know he was there.   

Then Fili was released and Fraeg smiled at Dwalin, nodded to Molir, and shouldered his way back through the crowd.

As the buzz of conversation started up again, Fili clambered back across the table and dropped onto the bench. Swiping at his ale-soaked trousers, he muttered, low enough that it was for Kili's ears only, "Rirlun. That’s the other one's name.”

Fili raised his voice, “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to fight if you’ll still let me.”

“Me too,” said Molir. “Arrogant sods. I'd like another crack at that one with a weapon in my hand.” He grinned. “Friendly-like. Because we’re all friends now.”

The others nodded and all began talking at once, asking Molir and Fili what Fraeg had said. Kili busied himself picking up the toppled tankards and tried to ignore the anxious pattering of his heart. 

"Fine," said Gloin, "if you're both insisting on being close-mouthed about it, then we may as well get on with celebrating. Kili, come help me, lad."

Squeezing out from behind the bench, Kili followed Gloin to the bar. It was easier going this time, whether that was because some dwarves had gone home for dinner or to their beds, or because people were staring at them, Kili didn't know. He kept his eyes on Gloin's boots. 

"Chin up, lad." Gloin nudged him, once they were side-by-side at the long bartop. "You know our Fili can hold his own in a fight."

"I know." Kili forced a smile. 

Gloin was watching him closely. "You don't need to worry about Fraeg. He'll not—"

"What can I get you, Gloin?" The barkeep leant on the counter. "Decided who you're putting through yet?"

"Aye. Dwalin, Molir and" —Gloin reached up to ruffle Kili's hair— "this one's big brother."

The barkeep raised an eyebrow. "Our prince is fighting? Well, that is a cause for celebration, and no mistake. And, I have just the thing." He ducked out of sight.

Little glasses clinked together as the barkeep piled them on the counter. He stood, a dark bottle in his hand, and Gloin's eyes widened. 

"Now," said Gloin. "Where did you get that?"

The barkeep tapped his nose, pulling the cork from the bottle. 

"What is it?" whispered Kili, watching the barkeep pour a small amount of clear liquid into one of the glasses. 

"Get a bit closer," said the barkeep, handing the bottle to Gloin. "And you tell me."

Holding his hair back so it didn't dip in the glass, Kili leant forward. He glanced at Gloin who was holding the open bottle to his nose and smiling. 

"Finest you'll taste this side of the Misty Mountains, Gloin," said the barkeep as Kili sniffed the clear liquid. "Well, what do you think, lad? What does it smell like?"

He didn't know. "Bread?" he guessed. It did smell a little like the dark bread that Amad made from time to time. "And…ale?" He took a deeper sniff. It smelt a bit like damp earth too but they'd think him daft if he said that. "Some sort of herbs?"

"Close enough," said Gloin. Lifting the glass, he tossed back the contents and smacked his lips. "I'll settle with you later," he said, nodding to the barkeep. 

"You will."

"With a discount, since we're celebrating our prince." 

The barkeep grinned. "We can discuss it."

"But, what is it?" Kili whispered when the barkeep turned away to serve someone else.

“Something that'll put hairs on your chest, lad,” Gloin said, tucking the bottle under his arm. Glasses clinked together as he lifted a handful. “Practically medicinal." He jerked his head at the remaining few glasses. "Can you manage those?"

The drink had certainly smelt innocent enough on the bartop. But, back at the table, as Gloin poured brimming glasses for them all, and the others tried to identify the scent, Kili realised that his fingers were tacky with the residue from Gloin’s glass. Licking them to get rid of the stickiness, he grabbed for the nearest tankard, not caring who it belonged to.

Mahal, it burned. 

With his face still buried in the tankard, he jumped when the table rattled. 

"Enough talk," said Gloin, banging the table again. He held his glass aloft. "To our champions."

Glasses were raised around the table. 

"Fee," Kili whispered, as his brother echoed the toast. "Fee, don't—"

"May they find glory," added Gloin, looking Kili firmly in the eye. 

Kili bit his lip. Against his better judgement, and with all his instincts screaming at him, he carefully lifted the brimming glass in front of him.  

The table went silent for a long moment before the cursing started.

It was barely a mouthful —Kili’s eyes watered as he forced himself to swallow— but it was a mouthful of liquid fire. And it burned its slow way to his belly, he could've traced its path with a fingertip. Unable to breathe, he panted for air while Fill coughed and swore breathlessly at his side. 

When he'd blinked away the tears, Kili looked around the table. Everyone appeared to be in the same state. Apart from Nori who was laughing and wagging a finger at Gloin. 

"How did you drink that?" Kili managed. 

Nori grinned and pointed to the floor. Sighing, Kili laid his head on the table. At least someone had had the good sense to spit it out. 

Balin, too, had seemed to recognise the danger. With his cheek against the sticky wood, Kili could see that his tutor held an almost untouched glass, sipping at it while he watched the rest of them, an amused smile on his face.

Kili frowned. He couldn’t remember much of the night from that point on. They hadn’t seen the Iron Hills dwarves again though, or at least he thought not. Stroking Fili’s hair, and being careful of his brother’s bruises, he whispered, “What did Fraeg say to you?”

Fili shook his head, mumbling something slurred and incomprehensible as Molir dropped with a thud into the chair opposite.

It didn't matter. They could talk later.

Thorin was busy dragging another chair from Amad’s room, and then, somehow, in what felt like the blink of an eye, Kili had a mug of ale in his hand. He looked up at his uncle.

“I’m sure you can both manage one more," said Thorin with a smile, handing a mug to Fili. "Then it’ll be water, and off to bed.” He poked at the fire before settling back into his chair and looking at Molir. “Care to explain what happened out there today, old friend?”

“I’d appreciate a bit less of the old if you don’t mind.” Nodding at Amad, Molir accepted a brimming tankard of foamy ale. “As you well know, I’m a dwarf in my prime.”

“He was looking after our boy,” said Amad. 

“I was, Dis” —Molir took a long drink—“not that he really needed any help.”

Fili snorted, burying his head in his mug when Thorin looked their way.

“It would have been better if my heir and my captain weren’t amongst the few dwarves who couldn’t control themselves, but no matter.” Thorin smiled. “You have resolved whatever caused it, I would imagine? There is no need for my involvement?”

Kili watched Molir and Fili nod enthusiastically.

“Good,” said Thorin, “then we can talk about more pleasant things.”

As they talked, Kili smiled. Thorin and Amad weren’t in a much better state than he, Fili, and Molir. When they’d stumbled through the front door, he’d thought Amad’s cheeks rosy with temper, but, as she and Thorin laughed merrily over a childhood memory and Thorin refilled the tankards, Kili realised that she and his uncle must have been drinking with their dinner. And quite heavily too.

They were left out of the refills, but Kili didn’t mind. Nursing his ale, he settled back further into the chair, toying with one of his brother’s braids and listening contentedly to the talk. Lulled by the warmth of the fire and the soft voices, his eyelids grew heavy.

He jerked awake at a clatter nearby, but it was only Amad building up the fire. Mugs were refilled —although again not theirs— and a fresh pitcher of ale set on the little carved table, within easy reach. A comfortable silence fell as Thorin and Molir busied themselves filling their pipes, and Kili stretched out his toes, luxuriating in the contented feeling of having all his family in one place. Nobody was needing to rush off anywhere, and nobody was late or worried about anything. It was perfect, and he could have stayed exactly like this forever. 

Fili’s mug had tilted where it rested against his lap. Pulling it from his brother’s slack fingers, Kili poured the ale into his own mug before setting the empty one on the floor. Careful to keep his movements as small as possible so as to not attract attention to himself, he settled back against the chair with Fili’s head heavy against his side. 

There would be singing soon, Kili reckoned, as Thorin and Molir lit their pipes and the talk began again. Sipping at his ale, Kili wrapped an arm around Fili. With a little luck, they could escape notice until then at least, because it felt as if it had been an age since he’d heard his uncle sing. If he hadn’t been trying his best to stay quiet, he would have bet with Fili on who might be the one to start it.

“—and I wasn’t the only one.” Molir was examining one of his heavy braids closely. “I’d say there was many a dwarf who went grey or white a good deal sooner than they’d ought to. It happens. I wasn’t much older than your Fili that day.”

“I can never thank you enough,” said Thorin. “I—”

“Don’t start that again.” Reaching out with his tankard, Molir knocked it hard against Thorin’s. Ale sloshed to the floor and, as Amad tutted, Molir continued, “It’s long done, and can’t be changed now. And nor should it be.”

Thorin’s brow was deeply furrowed. He stared into the flames. “Perhaps if—”

“No.” Molir smiled, although there was no humour in his voice. “No. I could not have got Thror out, and I would not have known to, and, even if I’d known to fetch him, he would not have listened to me.”

Kili barely dared breathe. Erebor. He knew only of its glory from the tales their uncle had told them, but there were many songs that mourned the last day —the day of the dragon and the flight of the dwarves. Every year, Thorin marked the date with a festival where tales were told over vast amounts of ale, and older dwarves would weep openly in the streets. He and Fili had never asked, and they never would, but they’d overheard snippets of stories of death and destruction, and pieced it together as best they could.

They’d never been told the details.

“You would have stayed with our Amad,” said Thorin to Molir, “and seen them all to safety. You would not have abandoned them to the beast.”

“Thorin,” Amad said. “You mustn’t—”

“I should have stayed right by her side,” continued Thorin, a crack in his voice. “I should have taken her hand in mine and stayed with her. She promised me that she would lead them straight out or I never would—”

“Then, in all likelihood, I would have lost you too.” Shifting her chair closer, Amad took Thorin’s hand in hers. “Whatever horrors befell them in their escape, that same horror would have taken you from me, and then Frerin and I would have been completely alone. Wherever would we have been without you, my brother? What would have become of us? Of any of us?”

Thorin bowed his head, and Amad set down her mug. Pulling Molir’s fingers from fussing with his braid, she held his hand too. “I am blessed in that I don’t remember much about that day, but I do know that I owe you both my life, and I know what my life cost.” 

“Dis,” said Thorin. “There was no cost—”

“I know well who we left behind,” continued Amad. “I may have forgotten many things, but I know their names, and I know their faces, and I know that we will never forget them. It was bad. It was terrible and awful and we had hard times that day and plenty since. But those hard times could have been so much worse.”

Kili stared down at Fili. In his mind, he could see narrow stone passageways, and the orange glow of flames amidst the darkness. He could smell the smoke. He couldn’t begin to picture what a dragon’s roar sounded like, but it must have been horrifying. His heart beat faster as he looked at Thorin, and he tried to imagine how it must have felt, the strength it must have taken, to say farewell to his brother and sister. To kiss them goodbye and turn away, running back toward the flames as the mountain crumbled around them. Not knowing if they were safe. Not knowing if you would ever see them again in this life.

Adjusting his grip on Fili to hold his brother closer and tighter, Kili’s heart swelled with pride. Their uncle was a hero. There was none greater.

And he was a coward. For he was certain that he would’ve let the world, and everything in it, burn to ash rather than ever be separated from Fili. Closing his eyes, Kili said a silent but fervent prayer that he would never have to find out, pressing a hard kiss into Fili’s hair. His brother murmured and shifted in his grip.

“To the fallen.” Amad raised her tankard.

“To the fallen,” Molir and Thorin echoed, raising theirs. 

As they all took a long drink, Kili took a sip and mouthed the words.

Flames crackled, the only sound in the silence, as they sat with their heads bowed, lost in their own thoughts.

Thorin took a breath. “But what if—”

“Thorin,” said Amad sternly. “That is a path that will lead you nowhere but into despair.” She dropped their joined hands and refilled the tankards. “And haven’t we all trodden and retrodden it in the dark hours before the dawn. For, what if the alarm had been raised earlier? What if the gates had been thicker? What if we had lost Sigin'adad that day? Perhaps with enough ‘what if’s’ there would have been no Azanulbizar, and perhaps then Frerin would be sitting with us now. Or perhaps we’d still be living in a wooden hut, with the wind driving between the boards, on the outskirts of some forsaken mannish village in the wilds of Dunland. Eking out a living on scraps. Nothing more than a cautionary tale to others of a people laid low, if any tales were told of us at all. Perhaps we would simply have been forgotten.”

“Or perhaps—”

Amad held up a hand and Thorin obediently fell silent. She took a drink and continued, “I’m not finished. Perhaps ultimately it would have changed nothing, because our paths are already laid before our feet, and because we do not get a moment longer than Mahal sees fit to give us.”

“This is very gloomy talk, Dis.” Molir drained his mug. “I’ll have you know that when I go it will be at a time of my choosing, and on my own terms. I do not like the thought of being a pawn in someone else’s game. That is old-fashioned, superstitious nonsense, and I don’t believe for one moment that you believe it either.” He waved his tankard at Thorin. “You, however, I’m not so sure about you.”

“I believe in fate, destiny, of course I do. I believe that, one day, I will be presented with the opportunity to take back what is ours, and I will not hesitate for even a moment when that day comes,” Thorin said, with conviction. “We will stand in Erebor once more, my friend.”

“Erebor is half a world away.” Molir smiled. “And that, I feel, is about the perfect distance to have between me and a dragon, because I for one have no desire to ever lay eyes on Smaug again. But, I have had a nice evening, and I am of a mind to humour you. So, tell me, however would you get there, and how in Durin’s name would you dispose of the beast?”

“The distance is a trivial matter. We have travelled it before, and we will do it again. And, as for Smaug, he is only a creature, and all creatures can be killed. For death comes to us all, whether we be dragon or dwarf. And therefore it is but a series of problems, and all problems have a solution if you have the will and the imagination for it." Thorin leant toward Molir. “I swear to you that, one day, we will take back our home.”

“Do you know...sometimes I almost believe you.”

Thorin grinned. “You should not doubt me. I would make a wager with you, but it would pain me to take your coin on a certainty.”

“It would be good to see the mountain again some day.”

“I would like to see it,” Amad said. “I don’t remember it.”

Thorin and Molir turned to Amad. 

She shrugged. “At least, I don’t properly remember it. Everything before that day feels like a dream, or as if someone has told me about it. As if it were a story that I have heard.”

“You were only a dwarfling, and you had a terrible shock. It will all come back to you when you see it again.” Stretching out his legs, Thorin settled back in his chair. “It will be a shame to leave this place though. Do you remember when we first arrived? It was but a shell, not much more than a ruin. I remember that every roof leaked, or at least every structure that had a roof. But, when the time comes, one of the boys can stay and keep it running. It would be good practice. Fili can—”

He must have made some small noise. All three of them swung their heads around and looked at him, Amad frowning.

“I’d quite forgotten about you two.” Thorin smiled. “It’s long past time you were both in bed. Is my Fili asleep?”

Feeling as if his whole body was trembling, Kili shifted to try and see Fili’s face. “Fee?”

Thorin stood. “Don’t wake him.” Stepping across, he slid his arms under Fili, lifting him to his chest as if he were only a little dwarfling. Fili grumbled sleepily, his eyes flickering open, and Thorin hushed him. “Do you need me to come back for you?” he asked Kili.

Kili considered it, watching Fili close his eyes and snuggle closer to Thorin. Maybe. 

He shook his head.

“Good lad,” said Thorin. “Lead on then.”

Scooting across to their bedchamber, Kili opened the door wide and waited for Thorin. 

His uncle grinned at them all, adjusting his grip to hoist Fili higher in his arms. “He’s a bit heavier than the last time I did this.”

Chapter Text

“He’s fast asleep,” Thorin laughed. Warm light had flooded into the bedroom from the main living quarters, and Kili pulled the covers closer about his neck.

“Of course he is,” Amad's voice drifted from beyond the doorway. “He’s exhausted, Thorin. He’s—”

“I know. I know. So you’ve told me, repeatedly, but Fili hasn’t said anything to—”

The heavy door closed behind Thorin, muffling the rest of the words, and although Kili listened hard in the dark, it was no good. He turned over, trying to get comfortable. Nothing felt right. Not the mattress, nor the pillow. Sitting up, he punched it and tried again. That made no difference either.

He opened his eyes at a familiar creak. In the doorway, Amad was silhouetted by firelight.

“There you are. I wasn’t expecting to see you in your own bed.” She bumped the door closed with her hip and made her way to him.

Kili sat up as she handed him a bowl. “Uncle Thorin said I should sleep here.”

“Oh.” Placing a jug of water on the floor, she glanced over at Fili’s bed. “Go on,” she said. “Eat up, and then it’s straight to sleep. Molir admitted to me that they didn’t bother themselves feeding you. Too busy drinking.”

He’d thought himself hungry, but, as Kili stirred the spoon through the spiced stewed apples, he found his appetite completely gone. His stomach felt as if it were tied up in painful knots. Steam rose from the bowl, warm against his face and sickly sweet, and he sighed. He didn’t want it. His amad was watching him closely though, so he lifted the smallest of spoonfuls to his mouth, forcing himself to swallow and smile. It didn’t taste as it normally would. It tasted of ash. “Thank you, Amad.”

The mattress dipped as she sat down. “You don’t need to worry about something that has not yet happened, and may never happen.” She smoothed the hair from his face, her voice gentle and kind. “No-one is taking your Fili away from you.”

Kili’s nose prickled. He stared into the bowl, not wanting to meet her eyes.

“That’s how it is, is it?” Amad smiled. “That’s fine, I’ll leave you be, and we can talk properly in the morning.” She pressed a kiss against his head, the mattress shifting again when she stood.

Stirring the apples, Kili watched through his hair as she crossed the room and bent over to kiss Fili. As the bedchamber door swung closed behind her, he heard Thorin and Molir's voices raised together quietly in song — a mournful, unsettling tune that raised the hairs on the back of Kili's neck. Pulling the blanket over his head, he squeezed his eyes closed.

Laughter filled their room. Laughter, and the sound of a wooden spoon rattling furiously against a pot.

Clapping his hands tight over his ears, Kili glared at Gimli. But Fili had more of his wits about him, dragging the pillow from under Kili’s head and hurling it. Gimli skipped aside, making for the door at speed as Fili flung the covers back, searching around for something heavier to throw. Kili watched his brother’s groping hand fall on the empty water pitcher.

“You had better run!” roared Fili as the door slammed shut after Gimli. Collapsing back onto the bed with a groan, the pitcher fell from his hand back to the floor and rolled onto its side — thankfully not only empty, but still in one piece.

Kili rested his aching head onto the mattress and listened to Fili grumble about murdering fool cousins with a spoon. “We should probably get up. He'll only come back if we don't,” he said once Fili had quietened.

“If he sets one foot back inside this room, I'll put his head in that pot and ring it like a bell.” Fili pulled the covers back across them. “I had a dream that I woke up and you weren’t beside me, little brother, but you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

The first light of dawn had been seeping into their bedchamber before the singing stopped. Still sleepless, despite his best efforts, Kili had waited, listening hard. Only after he heard the slam of the front door, and the sounds of Amad making her own way to bed, did he dare abandon his own to creep across to Fili’s. Pleased to find that, even in his tired and drunken state, his brother had managed to stay on his own side. 

It was simply impossible to sleep alone. No matter that Thorin had directed him to his own bed, reminding Kili with a smile that he was far too old to be still sharing a bed with his big brother, and that there was a perfectly good bed on the other side of the room. None of that mattered. Kili had crawled in against Fili’s back and fallen soundly asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He was still tired though, but they really should get up. Yawning widely, he smiled when he heard Fili do the same behind him. The mattress shifted, and Fili shoved the pillow back under Kili’s head before wrapping a heavy arm tightly around him. Closing his eyes, Kili snuggled back against his brother’s warmth. Another short nap wouldn’t hurt.

Fili wasn't at his best. 

In the coolest, shadiest corner of the training yard, Kili watched, chewing on his lip, as his brother picked himself back up and dusted himself down.

“Ready,” Fili said. Tossing his shield aside, he lifted his dropped axe, shifting it to a double handed grip this time, and planted his feet.

Dwalin laughed. “Go on, Molir. And wake up, Fili. You’re better than this.”

If looks could kill, Dwalin would have found himself in a lot of trouble.

“I wonder," whispered Gimli in Kili's ear, "would Dwalin let me have a try at Fili next? I think I might ask him. Molir looks as if he could do with a lie down.” An elbow jabbed into Kili's ribs. “I could be in with a good chance today.”

“Leave him alone.” 

Not taking his eyes from Fili, Kili held his breath as Molir charged. Fili skipped aside, Molir's blunted blade missing him by inches, and countered with a swing that Molir blocked easily. They moved slowly around each other while Dwalin roared at them to pick up their feet. 

“He’d be a lot better if they let him fight with his swords," said Kili. "It’s not fair. And he doesn’t like having to use a shield.”

“He’d be a lot better if you all hadn’t drank the tavern dry.” It was a poke in the gut this time. “You should have invited me.”

“Stop that." Kili shuffled away out of poking range. "And you’re too young.”

“I’m barely younger than you.”

“Fifteen years, Gimli.”

"That's hardly anything." Gimli snorted, scooting closer. “You should have seen my adad when he got home last night. He fell in through the door, singing.”

Kili laughed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive Gloin for that terrible drink. Fili had told him that they'd been dancing on the table with Nori before they left the tavern, but Kili had no recollection of it at all. It sounded like it had been fun, and he really wished he could remember it. 

And he could still taste fire every time he swallowed. He wasn’t convinced that he mightn’t be sick at any moment. But, at least Dwalin was busy with Fili and Molir, and wasn’t paying him and Gimli any attention, because Kili didn’t think he could manage anything more strenuous than sitting quietly in the shade. Lifting an axe was definitely beyond him, never mind swinging one. He'd chop his own foot off. Blunted training blade or not. 

“I found him in front of the fire this morning,” continued Gimli, “fast asleep, and all tucked up in his bedroll. Amad threw him out of bed for snoring. She said he was very lucky she didn’t just hold a pillow over his face and be done with it. He was still apologising by the time I left to come see you.”

“Did you wake him the same way you woke us?”

Gimli's peal of laughter was loud enough that Dwalin glanced their way. It was Kili's turn to jab his cousin in the ribs. 

“You should have seen your faces," Gimli said. "I honestly thought Fili was going to come at me, and I’d have to defend myself with only a wooden spoon."

"You'd have deserved it."

"But it wasn’t my fault. Dwalin sent to wake you both. And it wasn’t me who slept in past daybreak and missed their lessons.”

“Dwalin gave you the pot?”

“Well, no." Gimli snickered. "That was my idea. It was funny though.”

He and Fili had been cosied up, fast asleep, when Dwalin crashed into their bedchamber, flinging the door open hard enough that it bounced off the wall, and shouting far too loudly about lazy dwarflings and wasting the day. 

Threatening either a dousing or an ear boxing, the choice left up to them, if he didn’t see movement right now, Dwalin stamped across the room, each thud from his heavy boots feeling like a hammer blow to Kili’s head.

He managed to crack an eye open just in time to watch Dwalin wrench the curtains apart. Bright sunlight streamed across the room, boring fire straight into his skull, and, behind him, Fili unwisely chose that moment to grumble something loud enough for Dwalin to hear.

Before Kili realised what was happening, the covers were trailed rudely from them. Then, with a dip and a bounce of the mattress, and a shout of protest, Fili was gone.

With his eyes screwed tightly shut, Kili pushed his head under the pillow, wondering if the covers were within arms reach or if he would have to move, because he wasn’t sure he was capable of it. He had just steeled himself to have a look when a big hand wrapped around his upper arm, and he’d found himself unceremoniously yanked out of bed too.

Clasping his hands to his aching head, Kili wished Dwalin had left him there. The world was far too bright, and far too loud. 

“Kili!”

The shout jerked him upright. With his head spinning from the sudden movement, Kili turned cautiously and looked toward the entrance of the training yard. 

Balin waved at him from beyond the gates. “Good lad. Fetch your brother, and come up to your uncle’s chambers. He wants to speak with you both.”

By Kili's side, Gimli swore, sounding bitterly disappointed.

“You’re both looking a bit pale, my lads.” Thorin gestured to the chairs facing him. “Sit.”

Once they were settled, Thorin leant his elbows on the desk and looked between them. His stomach dropped to his boots and Kili glanced at Fili, suddenly frightened of whatever his uncle was about to say. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear anything about Erebor or dragons. He wished he had crept to their bedroom door and pressed his ear against it to listen, instead of lying fretting in his bed, sleepless and worried and useless. He wished his chair was closer to Fili’s.

Staring at Fili’s hands folded neatly on his lap, Kili wished he could reach out and take his brother’s fingers in his, and never let go.

The room had fallen silent. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Kili looked up. He’d missed something.

Fili and Thorin stared back at him with concern written across both their faces. 

“Are you feeling unwell, little brother?” Reaching out, Fili laid his palm gently on Kili’s forehead. He spoke to Thorin, “He feels cold, but he’s sweating.”

Kili nodded, although he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with. He did feel cold, and his mouth was dry, and his heart was pounding loudly in his ears. He jumped when Thorin placed a mug on the desk in front of him. He hadn’t even realised his uncle had moved. 

“Drink it.” Walking back around the desk, Thorin sat in his chair and smiled. “And that’s the last time you go to an alehouse with a bunch of reprobates. Next time, I’ll take you both, and show you how to drink like respectable and civilised dwarves.”

Both. His uncle had said both. 

Kili allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope. Lifting the mug with shaking hands, he gulped the water down, telling himself that he already felt better. If there was time, then he could work out a way to stop it. He’d ask Gimli to help, and together they would fix it somehow.

“Did you hear any of what I just said?” asked Thorin when Kili set the empty mug down.

Shaking his head, Kili mumbled an apology. Fili shifted his chair closer and smiled, his eyes still shining with concern as he wound his fingers through Kili’s and squeezed.

“I think we could probably risk taking these strappings off,” Oin said. “You’re absolutely certain this doesn’t hurt?”

As Oin manipulated his fingers, Kili nodded. It hurt a little. Well, it hurt a lot really, if he was being completely honest, but he reckoned it was mostly in his mind. Since Thorin trusted him to guard his brother on their first proper adventure, then he had to guard Fili properly. And he couldn’t very well do that without his bow. He schooled his face to stay smooth when Oin forced his fingers back.

“I don’t usually bend my fingers that way when I’m shooting,” he said, happy that his voice wasn’t giving away how sore it was. Sharp jolts of pain shot up his bones as far as his elbow, and it was a real effort not to pull his arm away.

“You’d be surprised,” said Oin, giving him a sharp calculating look, and Kili forced himself to nod and murmur some agreement through clenched teeth.

“What is this, Oin?”

Kili looked over his shoulder at his brother, full of gratitude to Fili for the distraction. As Oin released his fingers, reaching for the thick book Fili held out, Kili tried to resist the urge to shove his hand under his arm, or run for the door, or both. 

“Ah, that’s the one Balin brought back for me. He picked it up from a stallholder in some market town out toward Harlond. Bought it for next to nothing apparently, although I’m not sure what he expects me to do with it. It’s in some form of Elvish. Can’t make head nor tail of it.” Handing the book back to Fili, Oin returned his attention to Kili’s fingers. “You’d think they’d write their medical texts in Common, for accessibility.”

Kili exchanged a glance with Fili as Oin muttered under his breath about elves and their secretive ways. Balin’s library held a lot of texts, on every imaginable subject, and in every known language, but, as far as Kili was aware, the dwarven works were written almost exclusively in Khuzdul. And no dwarven text would ever be found sitting in a mannish market, to be sold for a coin or two to just anybody who came along and expressed an interest. Balin would burn the library to the ground before he would allow that to happen. Kili was certain of it.

He looked across the room at Oin’s bookshelf on the far wall. “Are our medical books written in Common?”

“Of course not,” said Oin. “Why would they be?”

“May I borrow it?” Fili asked.

“You may.” Oin stopped squeezing Kili’s fingers to look at Fili curiously, and Kili sucked in a quick breath, readying himself for whatever brand of torture Oin intended next. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m going to read it, or try to. I’ve never properly read any Elvish, and I don’t recognise any of this at all. It’ll be fun.” Fili wandered off and settled himself down in the armchair underneath the largest window.

Kili watched Fili make himself comfortable and open the book, almost reverently. Looking at Oin, he was sure his face mirrored the medic’s. There were times when he really didn’t understand his big brother.

“Fun?” Oin’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, whatever makes you happy, laddie.”

“Thanks, Oin.” Fili smiled across at them, looking very content. “If I can, do you want me to translate it for you?” Flicking through the book slowly, he continued, “I think the diagrams should help a good deal. It might take me a while though, because I don’t seem to have a lot of time at the moment to sit and read, apart from what Uncle Thorin gives me, and that has to be a priority.”

“Of course,” said Oin.

“But, come winter, I’m sure I’ll have much more free time. Perhaps you could help me, Kili?”

Right off the top of his head, Kili could think of at least a hundred things he would rather do, perhaps even a thousand, than translate a whole book of elvish runes. He didn’t know anything about elvish writing but, from what Uncle Thorin and others told him about elves, he knew that, as a race, they were terribly long-winded. Not to mention too fancy and pompous for their own good. Kili couldn’t imagine their books being any different. But, despite his misgivings, he found himself nodding.

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll try,” he said, not sure Fili even heard his answer, for his brother’s eyes were already drawn back down to the book.

Oin shrugged, pulling Kili’s hand back toward him. “A very kind offer, Fili. You enjoy yourself. Now, Kili, pay attention. What about when I do this?”

His hand was throbbing, but the strapping was off, and Oin content, so that was all that mattered. Kili wriggled his fingers. They felt odd after being so tightly wrapped together for so long, but he was sure they’d be fine once his bow was back where it belonged. Glancing out the window behind him, he wondered if he could persuade Fili to visit the range with him soon, even to take a shot or two. There’d been stern warnings from Oin not to overdo it, but emptying a few quivers would probably be fine. That could hardly be considered overdoing it, not by anyone’s standards, although Kili got the feeling that Fili was avoiding Dwalin, so perhaps not.

“You’ll be very pleased to know that I have your lessons entirely planned out for over the winter, Kili,” Balin said, placing a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of Kili, along with a plate that held two large seedcakes. Balin wagged a finger in warning. “Don’t spill a drop of that, or get any crumbs over my maps.”

Kili pushed the map away, suddenly realising how hungry he was as he tore into the first cake. Too worried, feeling too sick to eat, and being harried out the door anyway by Dwalin, he hadn’t managed any breakfast, and it was getting well past lunch. With the first bite, the sweet stickiness of honey coated his tongue, lifting his spirits, and giving him hope that it would take away the still-lingering taste of the firewater. 

Kicking his heels contentedly against the legs of his chair, he watched Balin talk with Fili by the bowed shelves of the library. He wasn’t sure how pleased he was about Balin’s plans. Winter days were short and dull enough at times without being trapped at a table and slowly bored to death. He’d much rather learn by watching Thorin as Fili did. Surely, he’d take in more doing that than reading dusty old books?

Wetting his fingers, he dotted up the last crumbs of cake and managed to resist, with some difficulty, the urge to lick the plate. He pushed it away, pulling the map back toward him as he drank his tea. Carefully, he wiped his fingers on his trousers, making completely sure they weren’t sticky, before he slowly traced the route they would take from Thorin’s Halls. His finger travelled from the gates of the settlement, down into the valley and across the River Lune, then across open country until it reached the Great East Road. He followed the road all the way to Bree, his heart beating faster with excitement. Every step they took past the river crossing would be a step onto new, unexplored ground. It would be a grand adventure, and he couldn’t wait to see everything.

It was a shame they had to travel with Dain.

“Kili,” Balin said. “Will you please stop kicking my furniture? We can’t hear ourselves think over here.”

Kili apologised, trying not to laugh as Fili wagged a finger and pulled a face behind Balin’s shoulder — a fine mimicry of their tutor that would earn his brother an equally fine earboxing should Balin turn and spot it. Setting his feet flat on the ground, Kili glanced back at the map. “We’ll need ponies, won’t we?”

“I expect so,” said Fili. “Some of Dain’s folk were on foot, but I don’t think we’ll be allowed to walk. Would we, Balin?”

“No.” Balin pulled another book from the shelves. “I think this might be the one that has the elf...no, it’s not. Never mind.” Sliding the book back into place, he continued, “You certainly won’t be permitted to walk. Dain has offered goats, but that would mean you’d have to walk back.”

Kili didn’t mind that at all, for if they walked back then they’d get at least an extra night of camping, maybe even two. His heart beat faster as he spread his fingers wide over their route, trying to work it out.

“I’d rather not make any of Dain’s warriors walk,” said Fili. “Or ride in a wagon.”

He hadn’t thought of that. Fili had told him, eventually, and after much badgering, that Fraeg had spoken only about friendship and expressed his excitement for the upcoming stages of the tourney when they’d talked in the alehouse.

But Fili was a terrible liar.

Nodding, Balin said, “And Dis will be pushing for ponies, I expect. She’ll be wanting you out and back as soon as possible. But, taking ponies will give you more things to look after.”

If they had to ride then ponies would be better. The goats seemed more spirited than the sturdy, steady mountain ponies Kili was used to. He and Gimli had visited the stables, hoping for a closer look at Dain’s warpig, their pockets stuffed full of apples to lure the creature, when they’d been distracted by the large pens full of innocent and playful-looking goats. Then Gimli got a nasty nip from one of them, and another had leapt right on top of the feed trough, balancing there unnaturally well, as if it were a huge cat or a rabbit, and not a hooved, ground-living creature at all. It stared right at them with cunning in its eyes, looking for all the world like it intended to bounce right across the high fence and do Durin only knew what. Lobbing the remaining apples into the pen, he and Gimli had hurriedly retreated before it could carry out whatever crazed plan was circling in its horned head. 

Kili shook his head. Ungrateful beasts. Ponies were much better behaved. You knew where you were with a pony.

“I think we can probably manage to look after a few ponies.” Laughing, Fili rolled his eyes at Kili. “This book looks like it might be exactly what I need to get started, Balin. Can I borrow it, and that other one?”

Chapter Text

Thorin, a sealed jar in his hand, called for silence from the platform set up at the front of the banqueting hall. An expectant hush fell. Leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table, Kili watched, waiting for his amad to join Thorin and draw the names. 

But, instead, his uncle crooked a finger at him. Kili stared back, frozen, a horrible, cold feeling creeping down his spine, as if his brother had trickled a handful of snow down his tunic.

“Go on,” said Fili, poking Kili in the ribs hard enough that he jolted almost out of his chair. “Get up there. You’re doing the draw.”

No one had told him. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Slowly and carefully, Kili got to his feet and walked around the hall toward the platform, smoothing down his tunic as he went and wishing that someone had thought to at least mention it. Surprises were nice, he liked them usually, but this wasn’t a good surprise. This was terrifying. He hoped he hadn’t spilled anything down himself at dinner. He really didn’t think so but you never knew, and he was too frightened to look in case he tripped over his own boots. Thorin smiled at him, and he tried to smile back, climbing the steps to the platform. 

Loud cheers followed each name, and at least the only name he stumbled over was Fili’s, so, as Kili rushed back to his seat. he didn’t think he’d made too bad a show of things. He could still feel eyes on him when Thorin called for the musicians. He didn’t like it.

“You did well, little brother.” Fili patted his shoulder and Kili huffed out a breath. Their table was mercifully partially empty already, the others leaving to circulate and join the dancing. Accepting the tankard Fili handed him, Kili gulped half of it down in one go. Perhaps it would help his hands stop shaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.

“Because I didn’t know. I thought it would be Amad or Dain. Uncle Thorin must’ve changed his mind.” Fili frowned. “How could you think I wouldn’t tell you?”

Flopping into a chair opposite, Gimli swiped a half full tankard of ale. “How is it that you can’t say your own brother’s name by now? I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. I thought my sides were going to split right open. Whose drink is this?”

Kili glared at him.

“Dain’s,” said Fili. “Do you want me to fetch you one of your own?”

Gimli twisted around to look out over the hall. At one of the far tables, Kili could see Dain deep in conversation with Thorin and Balin, gesturing with what looked like a fresh tankard in his hand. 

“No,” said Gimli. “This one will do fine. Looks to me as if he’s forgotten all about it.” Taking a large drink, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Keep an eye out for my amad though, would you? She's still annoyed with Adad, even though he’s sworn up and down that he’ll never touch a drop again, so I'll catch it if she spots me.”

“Prince Fili.”

Turning in his chair, Kili watched a dwarf bow low to Fili. The stranger extended an arm as he straightened, and Kili recognised the grizzled greybeard who had spoken with Fili by the alehouse doors.

“I believe your brother has chosen us to be opponents in the first round,” said the dwarf, with a wink at Kili. 

“Honlir.” Standing with a wide smile, Fili clasped the dwarf’s forearm and indicated his own chair. “Sit, please. Join us. I’ll fetch you an ale.”

The dwarf protested but Fili wouldn’t hear of it. As his brother disappeared off through the crowd toward the bar, Kili turned back to Honlir and introduced himself and Gimli.

“Oh, I know who you are, Prince Kili.” Honlir smiled. “I’m a little brother too, just like you. I’m sure you were smarting not to be drawn for the tourney, eh? But never mind, there’ll always be next time. I just hope I'm around to see it.”

Fili returned to the table with drinks in hand. “Here we are.” Plonking a tankard of ale in front of Kili, he handed out the others. “I didn't get to speak to you properly in the alehouse, Honlir, but I imagine you've some stories to tell, and we'd love to hear all about your adventures. If you're not in a hurry.”

“I'm not sure my tales would hold up against any King Thorin has told you,” said Honlir, laughing. “But I can try, if you like.”

Kili shuffled his chair back so Fili could get closer and hear properly over the noise of the hall. New stories would be wonderful, and he knew next to nothing about the Broadbeams as a tribe. Taking a sip of his fresh ale, he nodded happily at Honlir. “Yes, please. I'd really like to hear them.”

At that, Honlir launched into an exciting tale of a battle Kili had never heard of. Beside him, he could see Fili nod as if the name meant something to him, so he nodded along too. It was always best not to seem ignorant. Perhaps it was one Balin had told them about when Kili had been busy thinking of something else? He smiled into his ale. That seemed likely, even though he generally paid attention when Balin taught them about battles. But, maybe Balin had slipped it in amongst a lecture on other, less interesting, things. Sometimes he did that. Kili whispered the name to himself to commit it to memory. He’d ask Fili about it later. Mid-sentence, Honlir stopped, and they all turned to look at Gimli as he sputtered and swore.

“Milk?” Gimli thrust his drink at Fili.

As Fili laughed, Kili leaned forward to peer into the tankard. Gimli glowered back at him as if it were his fault.

“You're too young, Gimli,” said Kili, pulling his own tankard closer in case his cousin got any funny ideas, like tipping it over his head. “And Fee's right, I don't want your amad after me either.”

Amad hadn’t managed to get them hidden away in the crowded stands this time.

As she clapped primly beside him, Kili tried to hide a smile. Amad was still furious, he could tell by the depth of the frown line between her eyebrows, but she was trying her best to hide it. Failing badly, yet trying all the same — Kili could only hope that he was masking his own disappointment at being collared by Thorin somewhat better.

The smile faded as his thoughts turned to Fili. Some distance below their feet, dug into the thick wall of the arena,  was the chamber where his brother would be waiting with the other combatants for his name to be called. A chill ran down Kili’s spine despite the heat of the afternoon. Fili had seemed uncharacteristically, but understandably, fretful when they wished him luck before they parted, and seeing his brother worried hadn’t helped Kili’s own frayed nerves any. 

There’d been a tremble in Fili’s usually steady hands when Kili helped him pull on the heavy gauntlets outside the gates. And there had been an odd note in his brother’s voice as he muttered about his armour, claiming that something still didn’t feel right. While Amad held Fili’s face in her hands and talked quietly to him, Kili ducked about, checking all the buckles and straps and trying to work out what the issue might be. 

That meant none of them realised Thorin had tracked them down until it was too late. The crowd streamed noisily around them as Thorin touched Fili’s forehead with his own, whispering some final gentle words of encouragement.

Over Thorin’s wide shoulder, Kili met Amad’s eyes. She jerked her head in the direction of the gates, her intention clear, and Kili sidled back a step as she did the same. They would apologise to Fili later for running away, and make it up to him somehow. But, they had barely backed away another full step before Thorin spun, and, with the speed of a striking snake, caught a firm hold of both their arms. Once Fili left to join the other fighters, Thorin towed them behind him wordlessly into the arena — all the way along to the wide stone steps that led to the Royal stand, and to the very front row.

“And you’ll stay right here, where I can keep an eye on you, Dis,” Thorin had said with a smile as he placed Amad right beside him. “Both eyes.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on this one for you,” Dain said, slinging a heavy arm around Kili’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. “I’ll make sure you behave yourself this time, little cousin.”

There had been no point attempting to explain that both he and Amad had been perfectly well behaved during the first stage of the tourney, so Kili stayed quiet, watching Dwalin and his opponent stride out into the arena and had let Amad do the grumbling instead.

And now they were clapping Dwalin’s victory. 

“That was a good fight!" Dain leant across Kili and Amad to yell at Thorin over the shouts and stamps of the crowd. “I knew Dwalin would be one to watch. Disappointed that my lad is out, and doubly disappointed that he went down so fast, but not to worry. I’ve still got Fraeg and Rirlun, so the Iron Hills aren’t nearly done yet. Who’s up next?”

Thorin made what Kili was sure was a pretence of checking the piece of parchment by the railing in front of him. He was certain his uncle knew the running order by heart, the same as Kili did. “My Fili,” said Thorin at last. 

“Oh yes. Fili, and the greybeard. That should be good.” Dain turned to roar at the Broadbeam lord in the row behind. “Let’s see how yours gets on, shall we? Since you only managed to get one through!”

Kili thought he’d been deafened. Dain was very loud, and, although his cousin was shorter than him by some inches, the yell had been right by his ear. 

Turning back, Dain muttered low to him, “Your brother better wipe the floor with that one, and quickly too. Teach them for laughing about my lad.”

“He will.” Nodding, Kili leant as far over the handrail as he could. He stared down into the arena, not daring to blink as Thorin called out the names to loud applause and cheers, and, after a few frantic heartbeats, Fili came into view followed by Honlir. 

There was a tap on his shoulder and Kili straightened. 

“Good lad,” said Thorin quietly. “Stand up tall. Your brother will be fine.”

Kili nodded, unable to take his eyes from Fili as he walked toward the centre of the arena with Honlir. In his armour, with the bright sunlight glinting off axe and helm, and the dust swirling around his boots, his brother looked as if he were a proper warrior. One who had walked straight out of a story. 

But, he was a head shorter than Honlir and a good deal slighter. That couldn’t be ignored. With worry gnawing at his insides, Kili was suddenly struck by gratitude for the sturdy helm that Thorin had chosen. Fili had protested it, wanting a lighter one, and Kili had agreed, but Thorin and Amad had insisted and they’d been overruled. For once, Kili was thankful for it. 

Amad was worried too. Below the railing, she gripped Kili’s fingers tighter and they watched the marshals move forward into the middle of a ring freshly carved into the arena floor. Fili and Honlir met them there and, although at the distance, and over the noise of the crowd, Kili hadn't a hope of hearing the head marshal's words, it didn't stop him leaning forward with Amad to try. 

Barely daring to blink or breathe, he watched Fili bounce on his toes and shake out his shoulders. Honlir made no such preparations. Instead he stood still, as if he were carved from the mountain itself, and as solid as part of it. 

The Broadbeam did seem very nice. Kili liked him. When Fili had been called away from the dinner table to attend to his duties, Honlir had stayed and talked pleasantly with Kili and Gimli for some hours. But, friendly or not, Kili was sure the Broadbeam would not hold back on his brother's behalf. And Fili wouldn't want him to. There was honour at stake.

“Was he at Gundabad?” Dain leant across and spoke to Thorin.

“He was," said Thorin, "and with us at Azanulbizar.”

On tiptoe, Kili could just see past Dain. The marshals had finished and Fili and Honlir were walking to their marks on opposite sides of the ring.

“Ah," said Dain, nodding, his hair tickling Kili’s nose and disrupting his view. "That’s likely where I recognise him from. Thought his face was familiar.”

The whistle sounded, the crowd roared as one, and Kili jumped on his toes, catching glimpses over Dain’s head of Fili and Honlir charging towards each other.

“Move, cousin.” Amad growled as Kili caught a brief flash of Fili ducking under Honlir's first swing. “Else I’ll pitch you over the railing.”

Dain laughed, returning back to his place. 

Deflecting a strike from Fili, Honlir swung his axe in return, and Kili sucked in a sharp breath. The blow struck Fili's shield, the force of it knocking him back a half-step, and, as Fili blocked a second swing, Amad crushed their fingers together. A jagged jolt of pain shot through Kili's wrist. He bit back his whimper — it had to be nothing compared to what his brother was feeling. 

Fili wasn’t as quick as usual, and the difference was noticeable. Watching his brother barely sidestep another heavy blow, Kili wished Dwalin had thought to make Fili practise more in the armour. Or that Thorin had let him have his swords. It was very unfair to make everyone fight with axes.

He gasped with Amad as Honlir’s foot skidded. Fili noticed it too, taking full advantage of the stroke of luck to launch himself forward in a furious attack. Alternating blows from axe and shield hammered at Honlir, who, off-balance, retreated quickly. The noise in the arena swelled as Honlir finally lost his footing, falling flat on his back with Fili’s blunted axe tight to his throat.

As one, the crowd roared their approval. 

“Well done, Fili!” shouted Dain. His elbow slammed into Kili’s ribs, knocking him sideways. “Cheer your brother, lad! Let’s hear you.”

Kili wasn’t sure if cheering was allowed. Glancing at Thorin and Amad, he saw that they were clapping so it felt as if it might be more proper to mimic them — although he’d much rather be shouting with Dain for Fili. It was very exposed, much more so than when he and Amad were in the stands, to be in full view of the dwarf lords and the entire crowd. He didn’t want to make any more mistakes.

Out in the arena, Fili was busy helping Honlir to his feet. They embraced in a clash of metal before pulling their helms off, and, taking Fili’s gauntleted hand in his own, Honlir raised their clasped hands to the sky. The crowd shouted and cheered and Kili clapped as hard as he could, biting on his lip to stop himself yelling out for his brother. Fili and Honlir bowed together before breaking apart to lift their weapons and make their way together toward the gates, talking and laughing as they went. 

It was over. 

The crowd had to be sweltering and half-blinded by the bright sun, but, under the canopy of the Royal Stand, Kili decided that it was quite pleasant after all. Rolling the stiffness from his shoulders, Kili smiled at Amad and she nudged him with her shoulder. She looked a good deal more relaxed and he felt exactly the same way.

He was thirsty though. Kili glanced across the back of the Royal Stand to where he knew there were benches laid out with refreshments and frowned. It would be rude to push past, but maybe there was time? The dwarf lords and their councillors behind were holding tankards of ale so some of them had obviously slipped away for a moment. 

Dain’s elbow slammed into his ribs once more. “Pay attention, lad. Fraeg’s up next. This will be one to watch.”

It was. And it was also over before it really started. Kili blinked, clapping politely as the unfortunate Blacklock was slammed to the dust where he lay still. 

It had been short, brutal, and decisive. 

With Dain yelling happily beside him, Kili stared at Fraeg. The warrior raised his arms to the crowd, paying no attention to the marshals knelt over the Blacklock nor the medics running into the arena. 

As Molir and Rirlun took their places in the centre, the medics carried Fraeg’s fallen opponent past the Royal Stand and out of the arena. Kili avoided looking too closely. He should care about the Blacklock, and he did, but he didn’t want to think too much about anyone being injured. 

And he cared about the bout too. As he clapped, hope stirred in his heart. Heavily armoured, and with his axe slung over a broad shoulder to wave to the crowd, Molir stood a full head above Rirlun, the Iron Hills dwarf looking nothing more than a scrawny little dwarfling by comparison. 

Kili clapped harder, smiling, and the knot in his belly loosened. He'd never seen Molir dressed in anything other than his lightly-armoured guard uniform, or off-duty in tunic and trousers, but, in full armour, he looked completely different. Intimidating. The outcome was surely a certainty. 

A small —unlikable— part of him hoped they might see Rirlun carried out by the medics too. Kili squashed the thought quickly. That was cruel and unkind. He didn’t want to see Rirlun badly hurt. A few broken fingers though…something like that would be fine. And, if Dwalin, Fili, and Molir went through then there would be less chance of his brother being drawn to fight Fraeg. Not that Fili couldn’t win against Fraeg, but still, it would be good not to test it. It would be much more fun all round to watch Fili fight against Dwalin or Molir.

“Is he much of a fighter, your captain?” said Dain. “I don’t recall ever seeing him in battle.”

Without taking her eyes from the arena, Amad snorted. “He can fight. Your lad won’t give him much trouble.”

Dain chuckled. “We’ll see.”

The marshal signalled the start, the crowd cheering wildly as Molir and Rirlun charged toward each other, both oddly silent. They traded blows before breaking apart and circling each other. Rirlun was fast, much faster than Kili had expected, and Amad grabbed for his hand, crushing his already aching fingers together, when they engaged again. 

Throwing Rirlun back, Molir followed, pressing his advantage by pushing the smaller dwarf towards the line that marked the edge of the fighting area, obviously intending to force Rirlun across and end the fight without the need for a knockdown. But Rirlun had other plans. Amad gasped out a warning when Rirlun feinted, darting behind Molir. The axe blow was hard and fast, catching Molir in the small of his back. He staggered forward a step, his boot slamming into the dust just before the line, and spun with his shield up, expecting the second strike, but not quickly enough. Kili winced when the axe struck against Molir’s neck, between helm and shoulder, in the place where everyone knew the armour was weakest.

Molir stumbled backward, one foot crossing the line, and the marshals whistled. Beside Kili, Dain reached out to pat Amad’s arm. 

With Amad distracted by Dain, it was Kili’s turn to grab her and gasp out a warning, for Rirlun wasn’t finished yet. Discarding his shield, Rirlun leapt high into the air with his axe in a double-handed grip. The marshals whistled urgently in unison, the sound clear and sharp even over the noise of the crowd, and mid-swing, Rirlun managed to pull the strike before it landed. It glanced off Molir’s helm, striking against his raised arm instead.

While Rirlun raised his axe to salute the crowd, a marshal caught hold of Molir's arm, and motioned for him to take off his helm. Leaning forward and listening with half an ear to Amad and Dain arguing behind him, Kili watched Molir shake his head and brush off the marshal. Which was foolish, for it seemed to Kili that he was worryingly unsteady on his feet. Leaning further out over the railing, Kili looked for the medics, but instead it was Dwalin who appeared from the direction of the gates and jogged across the arena.

Behind him, Dain laughed. “No need for that language, Dis. Rirlun didn’t notice he’d stepped over the line, and, let’s face it, your old lapdog was no match for my wild dog.”

Kili straightened, tearing his eyes away from the arena, and Dain grinned at him. “That’s what I call them, lad. My wild dogs. It’s no insult. We’re used to fighting in the Iron Hills. Plenty of vermin on our doorstep to keep our axe blades sharp and our wits keen. Now, that's a thought.” Nudging Kili aside, Dain poked Thorin’s arm. “When’s the last time you had orcs here, cousin?”

Thorin was clapping slowly and seemed not to have heard, his eyes thoughtful and fixed on Molir and Dwalin as they made their way slowly toward the gates.

Chapter Text

The dwarf lords were supping at their ales, talking amongst themselves, and generally showing no inclination to move.

Trailing behind his uncle as Thorin spoke at length to what felt like everyone, Kili scuffed his boots against the stone, trying to smile and look interested as he waited. But there was a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t loosen and he couldn’t seem to fill his chest with enough air. The stairs were so close, barely a dozen steps away, and somewhere down there Fili would be waiting on him, and likely Gimli too. He glanced over his shoulder out toward the almost deserted arena. The barkeeps and their helpers looked to be the only ones left, roaming up and down the stands and collecting empty tankards. Maybe Fili would have gone on already? 

At last, Thorin began to usher the dwarf lords and their kin toward the stairs, and, at last, Kili was able to get a boot on the top step. He peered over the heads of the dwarves in front, willing them to hurry, jigging from one foot to the other as they filed their way slowly down. And then he spotted Fili. His brother stood alone by the arena wall with a faraway look on his face and his helm abandoned at his feet, and it took all of Kili’s self control not to shove his way past everybody and race down the stairs. He restrained himself to a wave when Fili eventually seemed to hear the dwarf lords’ chattering and looked his way. 

After what felt like forever, Kili’s boots touched dust instead of stone and he was clear. Slipping and dodging his way through the lords at an almost-run, Kili pretended he didn’t hear his uncle say his name. He’d been good and respectable, and whatever he’d done he could apologise later. 

This was more important. 

Meeting him halfway, Fili wrapped him up in a hug, crushing Kili against his armour. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Kili whispered, “and I’m sorry I couldn’t cheer you. And I’m sorry—”

Fili laughed. “Hush, stop apologising. You looked quite the prince up there, little brother. Very grand. I think you’re getting the hang of it all.”

“Hardly.” Kili pulled back to look at Fili properly. “You look warm.”

“I am. I think I’m melting, or cooking. It’s hotter than working in the forges in this armour, but Dwalin said I’ve to keep it on. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him want to torture me.”

“Let me help.” Pushing tendrils of damp hair back from Fili’s face, Kili gathered handfuls of braids and curls to blow lightly on the flushed skin at the nape of his brother’s neck.

Fili groaned, resting his forehead on Kili’s shoulder. “Please don’t stop. That’s bliss. Do you think Uncle Thorin would mind much if I cut my hair off?”

“I think Amad might have a—” The clip around the ear wasn’t hard, but it was unexpected. Dropping Fili’s hair, Kili stepped back, muttering an apology. Even though he didn't know who had hit him or even what he was apologising for.

“What, exactly, do you two think you’re doing?” Dwalin thrust the discarded helm into Fili’s hands. “Come on, Crown Prince. You’re with me. We’ve a few hours before dinner, and from what I saw out there today we’ve a lot of work to do. And what have you done with your axe?”

Lowering his bow, Kili flushed with pride as Dain clapped.

“Go on then,” said Dain. “Run and fetch them and you can show me again, but from further back this time. Let’s see if we can make it a challenge for you.”

As he ran to the target, Kili tried and failed to keep the happy bounce from his steps. Carefully slotting the arrows back into his quiver, he lingered, listening to the sound of clashing metal drift from one of the private chambers that surrounded the empty training yard and trying to peer in through the partially-open doors. Shadows moved within and a command from Dwalin rang out, but he missed his brother’s reply.

Behind him, Dain whistled. Kili spun and raced back.

“Right.” Dain pointed out a spot a lot further from the target than Kili usually stood. “Take your mark. Let’s see you.”

It wasn’t simply a lot further back. It was impossibly further back. Kili drew and sighted slowly, trying to push away the doubt and steady his breathing. It mustn't be impossible, for Dain seemed to think he could do it. When at last he was ready, he released and they watched the arrow fly across the yard to strike the target. Barely. Kili’s shoulders slumped.

“What?” asked Dain, stopping mid-clap.

“It was a poor shot.” It was more than that. It was an embarrassing shot. A finger's breadth to the right and he would have missed the target entirely. Kili reached for another arrow, determined to show Dain that he could do better before his cousin left in disgust.

Dain snorted, gesturing toward the target. “Hardly a poor shot, lad. That’s an impressive distance, but we’ll move closer because I want you to show me how quickly you can empty that quiver.” Pulling Kili forward a dozen steps to a new mark, Dain frowned. “No. Did I say you could prop your quiver there? Would you have it sitting nicely by your feet in a battle? I don’t think so. Get it on your back.”

Obediently, Kili slung the quiver across his shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t fumble and drop any of the arrows. Shifting his stance, he stretched out his fingers.

“That hand bothering you?” asked Dain. 

Kili shook his head. “I’m a bit out of practice, that’s all.”

“Ah, so you’re normally even better than this. Is that what you’re telling me?” Dain grinned, raising an eyebrow.

It wasn’t pride that made the heat rise in Kili’s face this time. As Dain’s words sank in, he kicked himself for not stopping to think for a single moment before he spoke. Thorin drilled it into him over and over, and yet every time he forgot, unable to stop himself from saying the first foolish thought that came into his head. 

“No.” He shook his head. Dain must think him a show off. “I didn’t mean...I’m…”

Desperately, he searched his mind for some way to explain himself without making it even worse and couldn’t find any words. Dropping his head, Kili avoided Dain’s eyes. Perhaps silence was best. 

A big hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“Don’t ever put yourself down,” Dain said, his voice unusually low and kind. “You’ll find more than enough folk in this world happy to do that for you.” Giving Kili a hard shake, he smiled. “Get your head up, lad. Show me what you can do.”

Dain was still in fine spirits at dinner.

Poking at his food, Kili listened with half an ear to the conversations going on around him. The food was wonderfully rich and tasty, as usual for the celebrations, and he had thought himself hungry, but he seemed to have completely misplaced his appetite. His afternoon with Dain had been a welcome distraction from his thoughts, but now, with all the loud talk and excitement about the final day of the tournament, the worry was back. He shot another sideways glance at his brother. By his side, Fili seemed fine, smiling and talking as if there was nothing the matter and it was just a night the same as any other.

Which it wasn’t. 

The draw for the next round had taken place immediately after Molir’s bout. Despite his whispered protests, Kili had been commanded to switch places with his amad. 

The arena was deathly silent. This was worse than the draw in the banqueting hall. Far worse. At least in the hall there had only been a few hundred of his kin watching him intently. 

“All I need you to do is draw the names,” Thorin said quietly. “Unfold the parchment and I will read them out for you.”

Kili nodded, torn somewhere between a wave of relief and a rush of embarrassment. The relief won out and he grinned, thrusting his hand into the jar that Thorin held. That his uncle no longer trusted him to complete a simple task like reading out a few names was fine, he didn’t care. 

His heart hammered furiously, as if it thought he were in a race rather than stood at his uncle's side. Kili unfolded the first of the names. He didn’t even look at it, his eyes fixed on Fili who stood in the centre of the arena with Dwalin, Rirlun and Fraeg, all of them waiting to hear who they would be fighting next. 

“Dwalin,” called Thorin, his voice carrying as clear as a bell out over the hushed arena. 

Kili’s fingers shook as he reached back into the jar for the next name. It would be Fili. It had to be. 

But his fervent prayer had been unanswered. As always.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Fili smiled, refilling Kili’s wine glass but leaving his own untouched. “Stop apologising. I can do it.” He lowered his voice further, “I’ve done it before, haven’t I?” 

Nodding, Kili tried to put the thought of the Blacklock dwarf lying motionless on the arena floor out of his mind. Amad had told him that the dwarf was with the medics, and that Kili wasn’t to worry. The lad just needed some rest and he’d be right as rain and cheering with the rest of them in the stands by tomorrow, but Kili wasn’t sure he believed it. 

As Fili turned away to speak with the dwarf on his other side, Kili looked across the banqueting hall. Molir was talking animatedly with Dwalin at one of the far tables. 

‘Only some hurt pride.’ That was what Molir had told him before dinner, with a too-wide smile and a brisk pat on the head. ‘ Not even so much as a bruise.’ Nothing for Kili to concern himself with.

Kili narrowed his eyes, watching Molir pick up his tankard with his non-dominant hand. He wasn’t sure he believed that either. 

From his seat next to Thorin at the top of their table, Dain laughed, and Kili tore his eyes away from Molir. 

“Never?” Dain clapped Thorin’s shoulder. “How is that possible? They’re not both untested, surely? At their age? I can understand Kili, almost, but not Fili too?”

“I intend to take them come spring.”

“Excuse me?” Amad frowned. “Where do you intend to take who, Thorin?”

“Orc hunting, of course.” As Dain winked, Kili felt rather than saw Fili turn away from his own conversation to pay attention. “It’s past time the two of you were blooded. Don’t look at me like that, Dis. You were younger than them.”

“It was a different world then,” said Amad.

“It is exactly the same world,” said Dain, turning to Thorin. “If not growing worse. You are sheltered here, and that is good, and I’m happy for you because a peaceful life is a beautiful thing, but it is not real. Because I can tell you for a fact that they are on my doorstep, growing more numerous and bold with every passing year, and, someday, they will sniff you out, and come to your gates, and you do not have enough warriors. Not nearly enough. It’s beyond complacent and irresponsible for you to think otherwise, and I’m disappointed because I thought you had some sense. My boy was out with me before he was even little Gimli’s age.”

Covering a smile behind his fingers, Kili stole a glance at Fili. Little Gimli. Their cousin was going to be really annoyed when Kili told him, and extra annoyed when Fili likely started using it.

“I’d expect my Thorin to be running his own patrols by the time he’s this one's age—” Dain pointed a thick finger at Kili “—yet he can barely be trusted outside the gates on his own without getting himself into some sort of mischief by the sounds of it. What sort of pampered dwarflings are you raising here? I know you’re right by the Shire, and whatever witchcraft keeps that soft country safe from harm likely keeps you protected. But that could change at any time. You, Thorin, of all of us, should know better. And the same goes for you too, Dis. You should all be better prepared.”

At his back, Fili had stiffened, and Kili knew his own face was flamed red by the lecture. It was an insult to his uncle. Well, to all of them really, although the mischief comment might not be entirely without merit. He pretended to study his plate, and hoped his hair hid his face as he watched Thorin closely.

Thorin glanced down the table at him and Fili before he patted Amad’s hand. “This isn’t dinner table talk,” he said, shooting a hard look at Dain. “I intended to tell you immediately after the celebrations, Dis. It’ll be good for the boys and, as Dain says, even if I don't completely agree with him myself, it’s probably past time. I’ll take a hunting party north after the snows melt and you can look after the halls in my stead. We won’t be more than a week or two, I expect.”

Dain raised his eyebrows.

“There’s no one I’d trust more to look after my people in my absence,” Thorin added pointedly.

With her eyes hard and fixed on Dain, Amad didn’t look especially happy about it. Kili wasn’t sure which part exactly had upset her —all of it, maybe— and he glanced at Fili, but his brother too looked annoyed, glowering down at his plate. He should copy them. However, Kili couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips because, although much of what Dain had said was offensive, a hunting trip with their uncle sounded wonderful. And, if that was intended for the spring, then that also meant Thorin had no immediate plans to take Fili half a world away. Kili would have all of autumn and the long winter months to plot out a way to stop his uncle’s plans. Several ways. Suddenly feeling very hungry and a lot better about everything, Kili turned his attention back to his dinner. 

“A few weeks of hunting is a good idea, but I've a better one. I'll take them both on with me from Bree,” said Dain. “Get them trained properly and send them back to you in a few years. Warriors, rather than—”

“No,” Thorin and Amad both spoke at once.

“Fine. I'll just take Kili then.”

Dropping his fork with a clatter, Kili stared at Dain. 

“Fili's old enough to make his own way back, or you can send Dwalin or someone with them if you feel he needs a guard.” Dain reached across the table to ruffle Kili's hair. “No need to look like a frightened rabbit, lad. We get on all right, don't we? You can come with me, and we'll see that fine bow of yours in some real action. I know you'd love to shoot a few orcs. Get the heart going a bit harder than shooting at a target in a yard. And there's been a lot of wargs these past years too. You know what a warg is?”

He’d lost his voice. Kili licked his dry lips to see if that would help, but no sound came out.

“He knows what a warg is. It's a wolf,” said Fili. There was an odd note in his brother’s voice, and Kili wanted to turn to look, but he was pinned by Dain's gaze. 

Ignoring Fili, Dain nodded at Kili encouragingly and Kili nodded back. He did know what a warg was. As his tunic tightened about his waist he knew Fili's hand had fisted in the material, and the panicked thought crossed his mind that Dain might have thought the nod wasn’t agreement about wargs at all, but an agreement to go. He opened his mouth to tell Dain, he didn’t know what but something, but Fili got in first. 

“Kili's killed a wolf before,” Fili said. “A big one. He doesn't need to go away to do it. He saved my—"

Holding up a hand for silence, Dain leant toward Thorin, lowering his voice. “You know it's the best course, and it'll do wonders for his confidence. You'll not recognise him when he—"

Fili banged the table with his fist hard enough that the tableware rattled. “No, you will not take—”

“Fili,” Thorin’s voice might have been pitched low, but it was a command, and, without looking, Kili knew that dwarves at nearby tables were straining to hear, their own conversations forgotten as silence spread out in waves from the royal table.

Fili was undeterred. “But—”

“Nephew, must I send you from the hall?” 

With Fili still holding on to him tightly, Kili wriggled around in his chair, sending a pleading look at his furious brother and grasping Fili's clenched fist where it still rested on the table. 

“No, Uncle,” muttered Fili through gritted teeth. His fingers flexed around Kili’s. 

“Good.” 

Slowly, the buzz of conversation started up again around the hall and Kili breathed out. 

Fili's eyes were no longer dark with anger, but wide and locked on his. “You don't want to go, do you?” he whispered.

Dain was still talking in a low voice with Thorin, and, although Kili was sure the words were not meant for their ears, they carried to him regardless.

“—could do with a proper archer. Have to get him on something other than a pony though. Useless creatures. He was showing me earlier—"

He could make a name for himself. Kili looked at Fili's fingers intertwined with his. 

When Dain had walked back with him and Amad after the tourney, Kili hadn’t thought much of it. They’d had tea together, Dain had poked around their house for a while, and then he’d suggested he could watch Kili shoot. There hadn't been any reason to refuse. And Amad was enthusiastic about the idea, almost pushing them out of the house. It wasn't as if Kili had any other plans. And, if truth be told, he was flattered and excited that Dain wanted to spend time with him alone. Dain’s interesting ideas for exercises had been a lot of fun too, much more fun that the ones Dwalin always made him do, although, with hindsight, they now made a lot more sense. For he realised now why Dain had him racing around and aiming at the target from different angles. Before they’d parted ways to get ready for dinner Dain even insisted on a lesson himself, although his beard got in the way, and he was an even worse shot than Fili. Kili had tried to hide his winces as he fretted for the fate of his bow in Dain’s big hands.

“Kili?” His brother's fingers touched his face.

It gave Kili a warm glow inside to think that Dain wanted him, needed him even. He could imagine himself standing on a rocky outcrop somewhere in the East, protecting his kin as they charged to engage a horde of fast moving orcs. Arrow after arrow would find their mark, in the neck and under the arm, just as Dain had showed him. Kili remembered his cousin’s calloused fingers pressed tight against his throat, his own heart beating hard against them, as Dain told him about the heat of battle and staying calm. 

In time, he might become an accomplished and fierce archer. Perhaps, someday, he might even be skilled enough to teach others. It was a thrilling thought. 

“—clever lad, I reckon,” continued Dain. “Given half a chance, but they’re far too dependent on each other. It's not healthy to—”

The corners of Fili’s mouth were downturned, and Kili shook his head. Suddenly fearful that his brother could read his thoughts in his eyes, he wrapped his free hand around the back of Fili’s neck and pressed their foreheads firmly together. 

It didn't matter. Kili screwed his eyes shut. None of it mattered. He wasn't going anywhere. He'd make do with shooting the mountain rabbits, and maybe an orc or two on the hunting trip if he were lucky. Dain could put him in a sack and take him if he wanted, but he'd have to let him out at some point and Kili would find his way home. They couldn’t watch him all the time.

“—out from under his brother's shadow—”

They were close enough for Kili to both hear and feel the huge, shuddering breath Fili pulled in before he spoke, “I won't stand in your way if you want to go, my brother.”

“No,” Kili whispered as Fili's fingers wound tightly into his hair, his brother holding on hard enough to hurt. “My place is by your side. Always.”

Thorin cleared his throat. Slowly, they released each other and Kili turned to their uncle. 

“Thank you, cousin,” said Thorin. “It’s a kind and generous offer, but the first time either of them lay their eyes on Erebor will be right by my side. Dwalin and I are more than capable of training them, and there are plenty of fine warriors here too. No matter your opinion of them.”

“That's quite selfish of you. But, what does the boy say? He's an adult, after all, in age if nothing else.” Dain turned to Kili. “Go on. I know you've a tongue in that head of yours. What say you?”

“No.”

“No?” Dain raised his eyebrows.

Remembering his manners, Kili tried again, “No. Thank you, my lord, but I belong here.” He groped under the table, catching hold of Fili's fingers and holding on tight. “With my brother.”

Chapter Text

A shimmering wave of dust swept across the arena floor. 

Watching it swirl and eddy in the warm wind, Fili leant against the doorframe and tried, again, to fix the strapping on his vambrace. He snorted. When the location was chosen for the arena’s huge gates, the builders had failed, not thinking to take into account the unseasonable stretch of warm and dry weather, and, more importantly, the prevailing wind. But, perhaps, if he were lucky, their miscalculation would be his blessing. For the stinging dust might hide him somewhat from the hundreds of sharp eyes waiting to watch and judge his every move. 

He glanced upward at the carved roof of the waiting chamber where only a few feet of solid stone separated him from his uncle. Thorin said it didn’t matter, but it did. What happened today, how badly he failed and made a fool of himself, it mattered more than anything. 

And the arena seemed even more packed this morning, which couldn’t be possible. The crowd sounded more noisy and boisterous than for the previous heats, and the excitement and anticipation rolled off them in waves. Fili wished he felt excited, and able to enjoy this wonderful opportunity that he had once thought he wanted, but instead he just felt sick to his stomach. His kin were ready to be entertained. To cheer and perhaps, if they were feeling unkind or the situation warranted it, to jeer. What had he been thinking? 

Hawkers, their hands full of tankards or carrying trays of food, weaved a path through the surging, singing crowd, and Fili looked desperately amongst them for a friendly face he recognised, but they blurred together in movement as they shifted and vied for the best positions. His eyes flickered faster. He couldn’t see Gimli, or Balin, or anyone. Why was no-one here? 

Taking a breath to fight a rising panic, he closed his eyes and tried to force his heart to slow. It didn’t matter. His family were here and he knew exactly where they were, and the others were out there somewhere. They would cheer him on. Maybe in pity or through a sense of obligation, but he wasn’t alone. 

At least it was blessedly cool in the waiting chamber. That was something to feel cheery about. 

Cold metal touched the back of his neck, and Fili jumped.

“With me,” Dwalin hissed, low in his ear. 

Armour rattled, Dwalin already moving away, and Fili reluctantly turned his back on the arena, following his tutor to the furthest corner of the cramped chamber. 

“What’s—” He yelped when his back hit the wall, the clash of metal against stone loud in the quiet chamber.  

“Fili,” said Dwalin.

On the bench nearest the doorway, Fraeg and Rirlun sat close together. Rirlun only glanced in their direction before he returned his gaze to the arena, but Fraeg was watching him and Dwalin with interest — and with a small, knowing, smile on his face.

“Look at me.” Dwalin gripped his jaw and Fili snapped his attention to his tutor, although he didn’t like taking his eyes from Fraeg. 

“Good lad, now listen.” Moving closer until they were chest to chest and Fili was forced to look up at him, Dwalin lowered his voice further, “Are you listening?”

“Yes, Dwalin,” Fili mumbled. It was hard to nod or speak with his head clamped tightly in place by Dwalin's big hand.

Dwalin smiled. “Your armour is fine. The helm, the axe, all of it. Fine. I promise you.”

It really wasn’t. “But, I—“

“No. You’ve been fussing and fidgeting since we arrived. It’s all fine. What’s not fine is in here.” Tapping Fili smartly on the temple, Dwalin continued, “And it’s what’s in there, not what you’re wearing or what weapon you have in your hand, that’ll put you on your back with his axe to your throat. I said, look at me.”

Fraeg was grinning. Flicking a glance over his shoulder, Dwalin moved to block Fili’s view. “Ignore him. He’s got to you. But I know you can win this. You know you can win this.”

He really couldn’t. Fili wished he had kept his mouth shut in the alehouse. Instead, he had let Fraeg’s words crawl under his skin, and he'd let the drink to fuel his bravado, and now he'd pay the price for it. Because Dain was right, he was nought but a pampered, spoilt dwarfling. His kin had humoured him. They had pandered to and indulged him, for who would refuse their Crown Prince the chance to try his luck? And so, this was the outcome, and it was no more than he deserved, because this place by Dwalin’s side belonged to a warrior. A warrior like Balin, for he would not tremble under his armour. Or Gloin, for he would be able to look his opponent in the eye. To Nori, perhaps, who would return Fraeg’s smile with an unsettling one of his own. Or to Bombur, who would have stood sure and certain that, no matter the outcome, his family would never, ever, think any less of him.

Fili sighed. He’d stolen a place in this final bout, and this would be his lesson. He should have spoken up after the first draw, and told the truth — that he hadn’t even been brave enough to enter at all for fear of being disgraced. Yes, he might have been able to pretend that he hadn’t entered because he’d wanted to enjoy the tourney from the sidelines with Kili and Gimli, but, in the shadow of the arena walls, he could finally be honest with himself. It had been fear. Fear of this. And now his fears would be realised and he would be thrown to the ground and embarrassed in front of all his kin —in front of Thorin— and it was too late to make amends or change things. Fili sucked in a ragged breath. All that was left to him was to pray that he managed to land a blow, or at the very least not make too big a fool of himself.

Cold metal tapped his cheek. “Are you still with me?” Dwalin frowned. “Your uncle was a lot younger than you when he fought in his first battle. A battle. This is nothing. A bit of fun. It’s not life and death. No-one is trying to kill you.”

That was debatable.

“And no-one will be disappointed in you,” said Dwalin. “No matter the outcome.”

When they had said their goodbyes, Kili’s face had been pale as milk. Fili's slowing heart kicked up again. He was going to disappoint his baby brother. That was a thousand times worse than disappointing Thorin, and a thousand times worse than any humiliation he could possibly face in the arena. Fraeg had hurt Kili, by more than a few broken fingers, for Fili had watched with concern as his once overconfident and carefree little brother flinched every time Fraeg so much as looked his way. And now he had let Kili down. Badly. He’d let pride and bluster get the better of him, and Kili was going to have to watch his defender —the one he always looked up to no matter how many times Fili told him he shouldn’t— be defeated.

“Dwalin." A marshal waved from the doorway. "Rirlun. You're on."

Dwalin held up a finger. His gauntlet rang as he clapped Fili’s shoulder, placing his lips by his ear. “Remember what I told you. And no matter what happens out there, I’m proud of you.” Smiling, he straightened with a final pat to Fili’s cheek. “Relax and enjoy yourself, lad, and I’ll see you when it’s over.”

The noise swelled, cheers echoing and bouncing off the chamber walls, as Dwalin and Rirlun walked out, side by side, into the bright sunlight. Fili knew he should move to the door and watch the bout, he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t, but his legs were uncooperative and refused to obey him. Resting his head back against the wall, Fili watched Fraeg move to the doorway, the warrior’s bulk blocking out the light and leaving him in shadow.

Dis gripped the stone railing, trying to calm her thoughts as she watched Dwalin and Rirlun take their positions. She should clap and smile, like her brave young son beside her, and make small talk with every outward show of enjoyment. Kili was an example to her. Despite his pale face and the tightness around his eyes that spoke of yet another sleepless night, he looked, to anyone who didn't know him as she did, as happy as if he were heading out for a day’s hunting.

Her fingers tightened on the railing until the tips whitened and her bones hurt. She couldn’t bring herself to let go. Fearful that if she did she might not be able to stop herself from strangling her cousin. 

Dain’s laugher still rang in her ears. She had collared him after last night's dinner. After she'd kissed her worried boys and sent them home with instructions to go straight to bed and to sleep, which, of course, they didn’t do. The pair of them were still awake by the time she finished with Dain, completed her duties by Thorin’s side, and got home. Hearing the fiddles from halfway down the street, she'd stopped to gather herself before entering the house and demanding to know what in Durin’s name they thought they were doing still up at this hour. 

And she’d heard one of them, she suspected Fili, roaming around in the pre-dawn hours, although he'd scurried off back to bed by the way she got her wrapper on and made it to her chamber door. 

If Fili was hurt through inattention today, she intended to lay the blame directly at Dain’s feet. 

She’d asked him to explain exactly what he was thinking even considering taking her boys halfway across the world. He shrugged it off, of course, patted her, and told her not to worry, saying that it had only been an idea, and a good one. As she’d ground her teeth he’d told her with a smile that if she wanted to coddle her boys, considering her own past, then that was fair enough. He wished them all well.

She’d almost murdered him right there, and she might yet, for Fili was beside himself with worry and with guilt. They hadn’t had the time to speak properly, but she knew her eldest. He was distracted when he really couldn’t afford to be, and preoccupied and fretful when his thoughts should be focused on the match in front of him. That was Dain’s fault and, if she was feeling uncharitable, which she was, then she was inclined to believe the timing had been deliberate.

“Dis,” Thorin’s voice was low in her ear. The crowd howled around them, a wave of clapping and celebration breaking through her thoughts. Thorin’s fingers gently pried hers from the railing. Wrapping his hand around hers, he squeezed it. “Hold on to me, and take Kili’s hand. He’ll need you.”

She blinked, watching Dwalin raise his axe over his head in victory. Blindly, she reached out and grasped Kili’s fingers in hers.

The crowd roared and Fraeg swore, turning to Fili. “Looks like I’m up against Thorin’s warmaster then, or the dwarfling tutor. I’m not sure what exactly he is, or what he’s actually taught you, apart from dancing around. Tell me, what is the point of a warmaster if you never actually go to war?”

Fili picked up his helm. 

“Ah. We’re not speaking then, Prince Fili. I understand.” Fraeg grinned before pulling on his own helm. His eyes, the only part of his face left visible, glittered, and his voice was muffled as he continued, “But you should have taken the opportunity, for you may not be able to speak when I’m done with you. I do feel like I should give the crowd a bit of sport though. How about I switch my axe to my left hand?”

“You mean you can’t use both?” Ramming his helm on, Fili lifted his axe and shield. “Let’s get this over with.”

Once out from under the shadow of the arena wall, the full strength of the sun beat down on them. Fraeg was somewhere on his right, probably, for Fili could hear the crunch of heavy footsteps against the gravel and feel a looming presence, but he couldn’t see anything because of the fool helm that restricted his eyeline. It was ridiculous.

The sweat was already rolling down his back when they stopped in front of the marshals to listen, again, to the rules. Fili huffed out a breath. He just wanted to be done now, whatever was to come, and then he was going to go straight down to their ridge and remove every single piece of armour. He would pile it all up and then pitch it piece by piece down into the valley below. Kili could help if he wanted. It would be a fitting end to the day. Which had to be the hottest day of the year, maybe even his life, and the hottest time of the day into the bargain. And it didn't help that he'd barely slept, or that every bit of him ached from the hours of practice with Dwalin the day before. He was tired to his very bones, and he hadn’t even so much as swung his axe yet. 

He snorted, remembering Dwalin’s parting words. Relax and enjoy himself. He would do that when this was over. 

Stopping mid-sentence, the marshal looked at him and Fili muttered an apology, gesturing for the marshall to continue. 

At last, they were released to their places and instructed to turn and salute Thorin. Fili moved automatically but didn’t see his uncle’s face. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Kili.

The petty annoyances faded, his blood cooling, as he studied his brother’s smile. He was more rattled than he cared to admit about Dain’s suggestion. Even though Amad had pulled him aside when she got home and whispered that she would never allow it, not in a hundred years, yet it still preyed on his mind. The expression that flickered across Kili’s face at the thought of orc hunting by Dain’s side had been one of excitement and longing. It would be a true adventure, and one that he was willing to deny his brother. Which was hardly fair when Fili was being taken away so often to work with Thorin, and, according to Balin, his responsibilities as the Crown Prince would only increase as time went on. It was beyond selfish of him to expect Kili to always be there, waiting patiently for any crumbs of time that could be spared, but the thought of his baby brother so far away from him twisted and tore at his heart. He couldn’t remember a time without Kili by his side, not with any clarity, and he didn’t want to.

Thorin was speaking, his uncle’s clear voice carrying across the silent arena as he wished them well. Rolling his shoulders and neck, as much as the restrictive armour allowed, Fili forced himself to focus on Fraeg and the task immediately ahead of him. 

He could worry about everything else later. 

They turned on their marks to face each other and the marshal began to count them down.

“How many this time?” called Dwalin when Fili stopped at the line carved into the arena floor.

Under the bright light of the summer moon, the fine dust beneath his boots seemed to glow, sparkling as if it were a seam of silver. Or maybe he was simply exhausted and seeing things that weren't there. “Thirty eight,” said Fili, stifling a yawn. 

“I got thirty one,” piped up Kili, sounding much brighter. Fili looked across at his brother who beamed back at him. If Dain’s words at dinner had upset Kili in any way, he was hiding it well. 

“That’s because you’ve your uncle’s long legs,” said Dwalin, a faint smile on his face when Kili’s grin widened. “Like a spider.” 

“Master Dwalin! I’m not a—”

“Go again, Fili.” 

Pacing from one side of the circle to the other, carefully counting and hoping he got the same number this time, Fili looked up at the stars. Out to the east he was sure the sky was beginning to lighten. 

As if he could read Fili's thoughts, Kili said, “Amad told Fili to go straight home.”

“And he will. Soon as he’s got this into his head. How many, Fili?”

Fili swore, staring down at the line before his boots. “Forty.”

The whistle blew. Gravel kicked away under his boots as Fili charged. Thirty nine paces walking, but only twenty one running. He counted them off in his head, feinting before he reached Fraeg, who’d expected it but, mercifully, lunged the wrong direction, and Fili was past. The axe blow as the warrior reacted was only a brush against Fili’s shield, and not nearly enough to knock him off balance. He even managed to get a quick hit in himself, which made him feel much better, before retreating quickly out of range.

Fraeg roared and charged, but Fili skipped away. A half step closer to the line.

He could hammer at Fraeg until full winter arrived, but there was no possible way he could hope to knock the fully armoured warrior off his feet. Dwalin had told him so. The weight difference between them was far too great, and one solid hit from Fraeg would knock him flying. Dwalin had told him that too. Fast and agile would serve him better than his axe in this fight.

Fraeg’s next lunge was closer, and Fili retreated, feinting again, but Fraeg had the measure of him now, and the axe swing was too close for comfort as Fili dodged past. He considered his next move. If he could just work out a way to lure Fraeg over the line then he would have the win. Until then —he shot out of range again— he just needed to keep moving and wait for an opportunity to present itself. 

Leading the warrior a merry dance around the ring, Fili felt his confidence slowly rise. His eyes burned from the sweat rolling down his face and he comforted himself that, if he was feeling the effects of the heat and exertion, then the relentless sun and movement must also be sapping Fraeg’s strength. He ducked under another strike. Spinning away, he heard, even over the noise of the crowd, Fraeg grunt out a swear and his heart lifted.

And then his luck ran out.

Fili saw the incoming heavy overhand blow in time to fling his shield desperately above his head, but the impact reverberated through his bones, driving him to one knee. His first thought, that it would take more than one hot bath to soothe his neck and arms, was followed swiftly by a more sensible second one, to shift the shield and block Fraeg’s next strike. The blow buckled his shield, pushing him backward, and nearly down fully to the arena floor. Thick dust puffed around him, stinging his eyes, and he waited, watching Fraeg step closer from under the protection of the shield. 

He was down and off his feet. It was over. 

Now the marshals would whistle and stop the bout. Fili’s heart thudded in his ears, drowning out the roar of the crowd. But why hadn’t they whistled already? What if they didn’t stop it? The armour suddenly didn’t seem like such a terrible thing. Thoughts of Dain’s war stories flitted quickly through Fili's head, gruesome stories of rent breastplates, and split helms stained black with blood. The shield's thin layer of metal held over his head was barely any protection.

Dropping his axe, Fili cursed the clumsiness of the gauntlet as he scraped together a handful of dust and gravel. From beneath the shield, he heard Fraeg roar and saw him lift up onto his toes, and Fili knew the axe was being drawn back for the third, and probably final, blow. But still, there were no whistles. 

He couldn't wait for the marshals. With the battered shield still held over his head, he shot to his feet with a yell, flinging the handful of stones at Fraeg’s helm. Not pausing to look, and braced to be flung from his feet once more, he raced for the furthest edge of the ring.

Spinning with his shield raised, Fili blinked, surprised to find himself alone. The desperate attack had worked. Fraeg stood exactly where he’d left him, and Fili grinned, watching Fraeg vigorously shake his head. Some of the stones and dust must have fallen inside. He whooped in triumph and relief. Now, he just needed to get to his axe, which unfortunately lay just behind Fraeg’s feet, and go back to the original plan. But the axe didn’t matter, although it would look better if he had an actual weapon, what did matter was that his aches and the heaviness in his limbs were a distant memory, swept away as if by magic, and he felt lighter, as if he could run all day.

He shifted his stance when Fraeg lifted his head and glowered across the ring. Fraeg couldn’t run all day, and, more importantly, he looked angry. That was good, because angry dwarves made stupid mistakes. Dwalin said that all the time. So all Fili needed to do was make him even angrier.

Which should be easy.

He bounced on his toes, beckoning to Fraeg. “Come on then!” he yelled. “Or do you yield?”

Roaring in response, Fraeg lumbered toward him with his axe raised. Fili took a final bounce and charged to meet him.

Just out of range of the axe, and with a quick prayer that he hadn’t miscalculated and was about to be split in two, he threw himself into a slide under Fraeg’s shield arm. Half-blind from the dust,  he scrambled for his axe, laughing when his fingers wrapped around the shaft.

But, he hadn’t counted on rage giving Fraeg speed.

Almost on his feet, and with axe firmly in hand, he didn’t even see the blow that caught him. It struck his side like a hammer, lifting him completely off his feet and over the line. Fili landed shoulder first, rolling head over heels as whistles cut through the cheers of the crowd.

It was definitely over this time.

And it hadn’t gone as badly as he’d reckoned it would. 

Trying to spit the dust out of his mouth, Fili staggered to his feet. His legs were shaking and it hurt to breathe, although not half as much as he expected it might have done without the armour. He rotated his shoulder slowly, looking around for his axe and shield. One of the marshals shouted at him and he raised a hand to confirm he was fine. 

It was so hot he felt lightheaded. And it didn’t just hurt to breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

Tugging off his helm, he ignored the sharp stabbing pain in his ribs to suck in a deep breath, then another. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and he willed himself not to faint or be sick, because either would be embarrassing now he’d gotten this far. After a few more shaky breaths, the dizziness began to subside and Fili considered the helm clutched in his hand. Perhaps he would spare the armour from a sail off the ridge after all, but first chance he got he was taking the helm to the forge and melting it down. 

A marshal was moving toward him with a look of concern on his face that told Fili he was about to whistle for the medics. He had to move. Signing that he was fine, Fili walked away, moving as quickly as he could toward Fraeg, and hoping he didn’t look half as unsteady on his feet as he felt, because he felt as if he were weaving, swaying like a dwarf deep in their cups. He reached out a hand. For a moment he didn’t think Fraeg would take it, but, after a heartbeat of hesitation, he did, and Fili raised their joined hands to the crowd. 

The roars were deafening and Fili grinned. He might have barely managed to land a blow, but he wasn’t being carried out of the arena and things could have been a lot worse. It was more than he'd dared to hope for. 

He wasn’t entirely sure that Fraeg wasn’t holding him up though. 

It started in the northernmost stand, and spread through the others like a wildfire. A rhythmic stamp of boots against stone that echoed around the mountainside, and the chant of a name like a drumbeat.

With his ears still ringing, Fili thought it was Fraeg they called for, and, as Fraeg abruptly dropped their hands, he made sure of his balance before turning to applaud him. The best warrior won after all. Tucking the helm securely under his arm, he began to clap and stopped, confused, when he saw Fraeg slowly clapping him. 

One of the marshals grinned, jerking his head toward the crowd and only then did the realisation set in. Fili looked around the stands in wonder and disbelief, not sure what to do. Uncertainty, he raised his helm. The crowd responded with wild cheers. 

His hurts forgotten, Fili grinned, dropping the helm so he could raise his hands above his head and applaud them all as hard as he could. Then he made sure to turn and bow low to all the sections, including the Royal Stand where he could see Kili and Amad cheering and his uncle clapping, all with huge smiles on their faces.

He could have stood there basking in it forever, and the crowd showed no signs of stopping, but it was probably enough showing off for one day. With a final wave to the crowd and a bounce in his step, he followed Fraeg toward the gates.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t waiting about for anyone else this time.

Murmuring apologies, Kili squeezed past Dain and the other lords in the front row. He flung himself toward the steps that led down the outside wall of the arena and raced down them two at a time. Dodging around the dwarves milling about at their base, he made it to the gates at a full sprint just as Fili passed through the archway. Not caring who saw him, he flung himself at his brother, knocking Fili a full step backward, despite the armour.

“Hello, little brother.” Fili laughed. “Turns out I couldn’t win for a second time after all. Didn’t I tell you?”

With his face buried in Fili’s neck, Kili said, “You’d have won if you had your swords.”

Fili patted his back. “You’re very kind, but you still think too highly of me. Let me go. I can’t breathe. And there’s Gimli. Gimli!”

Gimli hurried down the last turn of the outer stairwell that led to the western stand and jogged toward them. A bulky wooden tray hung from his shoulder by a leather strap and a heavy looking bag bounced against his hip with every step.

“It suits you, cousin,” said Fili when Gimli reached them. “A bit of honest work. Have you sold out?”

“Hope not.” Gimli waved the empty tray. “I'm going back to Bombur to fetch more, but I wanted to say hello first. It’s completely mad out there. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been up and down those steps, but it must be a thousand at least. I haven’t stopped for a moment. Didn’t miss you getting knocked on your backside though.”

“Good,” said Fili. “So long as you saw that. What’s in the bag?”

“Get out of it.” Gimli slapped Fili’s gauntlet away. “Coin, and some pies that I dropped when someone fell into me.”

“Give me one. I’m starving.” Pulling the gauntlets off, Fili threw them to Kili. He eyed Gimli. “How badly did they fall? Did you put your feet on them? Or did anyone else?”

“No. I’m going to get Bombur to heat them up again, and then I’m going to sell them. Get off me. You can buy one, like everyone else.”

“What would I buy them with? Where exactly do you think I'm keeping a coin purse tucked away in this? And anyway, I’m not about to buy something you’ve already kicked around the stands.” Gimli squawked in protest as Fili wrapped an arm around his neck, flipping the bag open. “These look fine though. Oh, and they’re still warm too. Relax and stop squirming, cousin, you’ll hurt your hand hitting me. Do you want one, Kili?”

Kili shook his head, watching as Fili released Gimi and ruffled their cousin’s hair. They had been setting out lunch in the Royal Stand when he left, but he wasn’t sure he could stomach anything just yet, and certainly not something covered in dust — and Durin only knew what else. His brother tore into the pie happily and Kili smiled. It was good to see Fili relaxed. His brother looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Fili held out a piece to him and Kili shook his head.

“It’s from the middle,” said Fili, through a mouthful, “but if you’re sure.”

“You’re an animal, and you owe me a coin.” Showing Kili the bulging purse tucked inside the bag, Gimli said, “You should have worked today too. I’ve made a fortune. See. It’s not all mine, obviously, but I get a coin for every twenty I sell, which Adad said was a pretty good deal. We could have worked together.”

Thorin would never have allowed it in a thousand years, but Kili knew Gimli was feeling left out with all the princely activities so he nodded. “Next time, hopefully.”

“That was really good.” Fili licked his fingers. “I’ll have another one, Gimli.”

“No.” Clutching his bag tighter, Gimli brandished the tray at Fili. “No, you won’t. Back off. Back. You’ve to go upstairs, and there’s plenty of food up there. I’m already losing coin by standing here and talking without giving you any more of my earnings.”

Fili glanced toward the steps. “That’ll be all fussy, polite food.” Pulling a face, he said, “If there’s anything left. But it’ll have to do I suppose. Since you’re being a—”

“I thought I told you not to let him hit you?”

Fili spun to face Dwalin. “I told you I couldn’t see in that helm!”

“And where are your things?”

“Oh.” Fili looked through the gates.

“Yes, oh.”

“I’ll get them,” offered Kili. He didn’t particularly want to run out into the arena, but everyone would be having a break before the final and not paying attention. And, from what he could see of the stands through the open gates, they looked relatively deserted, so likely most of the crowd would be at the temporary taverns set up around the outside of the arena walls.

“You’re not his servant.” Gripping Kili’s forearm, Dwalin jerked an armoured thumb toward the gates. “Off you go.”

Grumbling darkly under his breath, Fili jogged back through the gates and into the arena.

“Should you not be resting?” Kili looked up at Dwalin.

“Resting.” Dwalin snorted. “Hardly necessary, and I’ve had enough of sitting in that chamber and listening to Fraeg rabbit on. He talks the biggest load of— What, in Durin’s name, is going on in there?”

Loud cheering drifted from beyond the gates and Dwalin released Kili’s arm. The three of them followed the noise. In the centre of the arena, Fili stood alone with the axe and shield at his feet, and the helm dangling from his hand. As Kili watched, Fili pointed toward the remaining crowd in the north stand who roared as one in response.

“Don’t you dare,” muttered Dwalin.

Bouncing on his toes, Kili cheered as Fili charged toward the north stand, hurling the helm underarm high above the crowd. A clamour broke out, and the crowd roared wildly as, after a short brawl, a dwarf waved the helm triumphantly above his head. Fili crowed with them, before running back to pick up his axe and shield, clapping the crowd as he went.

Gimli sighed. “He’s going to be insufferable after this.”

There wasn’t much food left by the time they made it up the steps and joined the dwarf lords. Kili picked through the scattered remains, filling a plate for Fili.

“I think Bombur has more set aside, in case we ran out.” The dwarf behind the long table smiled at him. “I can fetch some.”

Kili glanced around the Royal Stand. Everyone else seemed finished with the food and looked well settled into their tankards. He shook his head, not wanting to put her to any trouble. “No, thanks. This will do fine. It looks really nice.”

“Hello, Dirga.” Fili’s armoured shoulder nudged his. “Did you leave anything but crumbs for me, Kili?”

He offered the plate, but Fili smiled at him and shook his head.

“No, brother,” said Kili, “it’s for us to share.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.” Lifting a piece of chicken, Fili popped it into his mouth and sighed happily. “Wonderful. Is there any ale?”

Dirga lifted two tankards from under the table. “There’s plenty of that, but you should maybe have some water first, Prince Fili. Here. You’re looking very warm.”

“Less of the prince, please, and I expect you’re right.” Accepting the tankard, Fili drained it. He handed it back to her with a smile. “Done. I think I’m melting inside this armour. It's the strangest thing. I can stand for hours in the forges but in this... It's all too close. Anyway, when I tried to take it off Thorin caught me and made me put every piece of it back on. Even though I’m wearing a mail shirt underneath, so it’s not as if it’s even close to indecent. But no matter, can I have ale now? Where’s the little ones today?”

“Running rings around their uncle, I would imagine. The boys were very disappointed that they couldn’t come, but I’m glad. It’s far too rough for them out there today, although everyone was very good with them during the first round. I lost count of how many sets of shoulders they were perched on.”

Kili hadn’t realised either Dirga or Bombur had a brother, and Fili must have seen it in his face. 

“Bofur, Bombur’s brother, travelled in with the Stiffbeards,” said Fili, giving him a pointed look. “You’ve probably seen him amongst all the new faces, but I’ll introduce you at dinner. You’ll like him. He’s very funny.”

“He managed to get himself that stall in the market. We found out yesterday,” said Dirga, handing them brimming tankards.

Taking a sip of the cool ale, and watching his brother nod and smile, Kili wondered how it was that Fili always seemed to know everything and everybody, although perhaps this was all part of their quest for information, and Fili just hadn’t had time to tell him yet. 

Not that their quest for information was going very well. They’d studied faces at dinners and gatherings the whole way through the celebrations, whispering together as they searched smiles and eyes for a family resemblance, and watching closely in case Thorin or Amad paid anyone any special attention. It was worrying, and more than a little frustrating, that everything was already drawing to a close, and the Stiffbeards would leave to return to their homes far to the East, and yet he and Fili were no further forward.

With Fili’s prompting, Kili had gathered up his courage and spoken to a few of the Stiffbeards at the various feasts throughout the celebrations, but none of the dwarves he spoke to had volunteered any information or introduced themselves as family. And he knew Fili hadn’t managed to nose out anything either. Maybe they needed to rethink their questions, and be a bit more direct. 

“That’s excellent news.” Turning to him, Fili lifted another handful of chicken. “Eat up, brother. So, Bofur is staying then?”

Kili juggled plate and tankard, managing to break off a small corner of pie. He nibbled at it to keep his brother happy. Maybe this Bofur would have information, if they could ask in such a way that it wouldn’t get back to Amad and upset her again. Fili had already been told once, in no uncertain terms, that their family were right here in the halls and they needed no other. He glanced at Fili. Maybe it was time they thought about changing their plan and asking Thorin outright before everyone left, or perhaps Balin. 

“Yes,” said Dirga. “He says he doesn’t want to be so far away, and miss the little ones growing up. Isn’t that nice?”

That made sense, and it was right and proper. Nodding, Kili smiled at Dirga and tried not to feel jealous. For dwarves, family was all that mattered, so surely there must be at least one uncle or distant cousin that they should meet? It was all very strange. He couldn’t help but feel that they were a disappointment in some way, and that was why no-one would acknowledge them. But then, he’d been watching the stands after Fili’s bout with Fraeg, and the Stiffbeards that he recognised had shouted for his brother as enthusiastically as anyone else. So, perhaps, if Fili made a big, but subtle, effort tonight at the feast they would finally have some luck.

Fili nudged him. “You haven’t seen the brand new dwarfling yet, Kili? She’s a lovely little thing. All smiles, and with the tiniest fingers and toes you’ve ever seen. Thorin took me with him to talk with Bombur about the food for today.”

“I don’t think you heard a word of it,” said Dirga.

“No.” Fili grinned. “I might have got a bit distracted.”

Dirga laughed, taking Fili’s tankard to refill it. “You should have seen him, Prince Kili. I popped into the work kitchen for a moment and when I came back your brother was settled down on the floor with the boys, and my little lass in his arms.”

“They were showing me their new toys,” said Fili. “They have a wooden horse that moves all by itself, and I’ve never seen anything like it, so I’m really looking forward to seeing Bofur’s stall. And then the little one started making noise as soon as you stepped out, Dirga, so I thought I should have a try and see if I could quieten her. Seems like I haven’t forgotten how to, even after all these years.” Fili winked at Kili. “She was a lot easier than you though. You were deafening, and once you got yourself wound up properly there was no reasoning with you.”

“You’re a natural,” said Dirga with a smile. “I think she would have gone home with you without so much as a second glance, and the boys too. Fickle creatures. Do you two want any more before I start clearing up?”

They shook their heads and Kili handed her back the empty plate.

“I suppose we should go back to our seats. I’m looking forward to seeing Dwalin in action.” Metal rattled as Fili shook out his shoulders. “Thanks, Dirga. Nice to talk about something for a moment or two that isn’t axes, or how much I owe Thorin for that helm. I have a suspicion that I might be mucking out the stables for some time, or trying my hand properly at mining.”

From the increasing noise level of the crowd, they were all back at their places and impatient for the final bout to start. As Kili turned away from the table, Fili whispered, “Will you stand beside Dain and let me stand with Amad? I’m fairly certain he called me some sort of dog earlier, although I might have misheard him because three of them were trying to talk to me at once.”

“Of course.” Underdog, that was likely what it was, but Fili probably didn’t need to hear that though. “Dain was cheering for you.”

“Was he?” Fili seemed pleased. “That’s good to hear. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Kili nodded. No one had expected it. 

Turning to look around the stunned faces, Dain shrugged. “He’s still going to lose,” he said as the crowd howled with laughter and Fraeg tried to shake the dust out of his helm. “But I like to see a bit of spirit. Go on, the lot of you. Cheer the lad on properly. Look, he hasn’t even got his axe.”

At Thorin’s encouraging nod, Kili had lent his voice to Dain’s, shouting for Fili before falling back into polite clapping when Dain did. Joining in with the stamping and chanting for Fili at the end wouldn’t have been proper, but Kili’s heart had filled with pride for his brother as the entire arena reverberated around them. And, by the smiles on their faces, he was sure Amad and Thorin had felt exactly the same. 

The dwarf lords were already returned to their places by the time he and Fili made their way down to the front row. Beckoning them along to him, Thorin pulled Fili across to his other side while Kili tried to tamp down his disappointment. He’d hoped they could stand together for the last bout.

Amad nudged him. “You’ll just have to make do with me and Dain. Did you eat anything, or were you just drinking ale for lunch?”

Thankfully, the roaring from the stands at the appearance of Dwalin and Fraeg distracted her before Kili could answer. Looking around the crowd for Gimli, Kili spotted him down in the front row of the east stand with Balin, Gloin and Molir. Kili grinned. Even from this distance, he could see the pink in Gloin’s cheeks. It could have been the sun, and the tankard in his hand could have been water, but both were fairly unlikely. Watching them roar with laughter about something and Gimli shake his head in response, Kili felt a wave of jealously. It looked as if they were having fun. Maybe he and Fili should have sneaked off when they had the opportunity rather than rejoining the stuffy lords in the Royal Stand? Glancing past Amad at his uncle talking quietly with Fili, he sighed. 

Thorin stepped forward to announce the bout and Kili exchanged a smile with his brother. No. They had made the right decision after all. His uncle was right when he said that they were getting far too old for mischief.

As Thorin stepped back into his place, Kili turned his attention back to the arena, and just in time. 

Slamming his axe and shield together, Dwalin bellowed a challenge that echoed around the stands, and, kicking up a cloud of dust, the two warriors charged toward each other. Cheers swelled as weapons clashed and Dwalin and Fraeg met each other strike for heavy strike. 

Forgetting to clap, Kili leant forward, watching them break apart to circle each other. It was easy to imagine them on a noisy battlefield, surrounded by enemies, and sobering, like nothing he’d ever witnessed before. He stole a quick glance at Fili who was leaning forward too, hands gripping the railing, and focused intently on the bout. They’d seen Dwalin and Thorin spar many times before, and grown up watching all the older, battle-hardened, dwarves spar, but this was different. To Kili, Dwalin and Fraeg looked as if they truly intended to kill each other.

Cheers rang out as Dwalin blocked an axe blow and spun, slamming an armoured elbow hard into Fraeg’s visor. Kili winched despite himself. That had to have hurt. But Fraeg rallied, even though he must’ve been seeing stars, with a heavy swing that Dwalin just blocked. 

Kili’s mouth hung open. He watched spellbound. He couldn’t believe he’d dreamt of battle and making a name for himself. What a fool he'd been. If this was even the smallest glimpse of what it could be like he’d be dead within moments, him and Fili both, although Fili might last a while longer.

More shouts shook the arena when Dwalin was driven to one knee, and Kili was certain he heard Balin’s voice ring out over the rest, even though that surely wasn’t possible. He definitely heard his uncle make a noise though, and Fili completely forgot himself, yelling for their tutor to get up. 

But Fraeg didn’t push his advantage, perhaps suspecting a trap and another handful of gravel in his face, and allowed Dwalin the moment he needed to leap back on his feet. The fury of the blows that followed drove Fraeg back almost to the line, and Dwalin’s plan was obvious. Both to the crowd, and to Fraeg who fought with a renewed spirit. With his boot surely on the line, Fraeg knocked away Dwalin’s axe, slamming a shoulder into Dwalin’s chest in an attempt to knock him back. Dwalin responded by crashing his head into Fraeg’s, and Kili grimaced. It was bound to have stunned them both, but it was Fraeg who seemed to have come off worse. For, as Dwalin stepped back, Fraeg was unable to raise his shield in time to stop Dwalin’s axe tucking in tight between his neck and shoulder. 

The crowd roared as one, almost drowning out the sound of the marshals' whistles, and Dwalin raised his arms in triumph.

Chapter Text

The heavy door slammed closed behind her —hard enough to flicker the flames in the grate on the opposite wall of the study— and Dis grimaced. That had been somewhat more forceful of an entrance than she’d intended. 

“Dis,” Thorin said, not glancing up from his paperwork. “This really isn’t a good time. I have—”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“No.” Marking his place in the papers, Thorin fussed them into order before he placed them to one side of the wide desk. He gestured to the chairs opposite. “No. You haven’t.”

Dis would have preferred to stand, but Thorin looked insistent, and annoyed to be disturbed, and it wasn’t worth a small battle over something so trivial as sitting in a chair. Not when there was a more important fight ahead. 

“Do you want some tea?” he asked, after she had settled herself. 

It was unbearably warm and stuffy in the small chamber already, and how Thorin managed to work, or even think, in such conditions was beyond her. Shuffling her boots against the threadbare rug, Dis glanced at the archway that led to the small kitchen, and considered offering to make tea. That way she could throw the small window beside the stove wide open and let some fresh air in. When Thorin raised his eyebrows at her she pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand. 

“No, I don’t want tea.” What she wanted was her boys safe inside the thick walls of the settlement, and crucially, with her. “I want you to go to Bree and meet with the merchant, and Fili can go next time. When he’s older.”

Thorin sighed. “We’ve been through this. He’s more than old enough now, and I promise you it will be trouble free. I have had dealings with Gernac, and his father before him, for years. They would never dare to cross us. Our trade, and the trade from the northern settlements, is far too valuable to him. There is nothing that can go wrong. Fili knows his prices, and Gernac will agree to them.” 

That wasn’t what she was worried about at all, or at least not entirely. 

Dis opened her mouth to explain, but Thorin cut her off. “And who knows? Perhaps Fili can wrangle a better deal than I managed last year? I certainly wouldn’t put it past him.” Leaning back in his chair, Thorin looked at her with something like disapproval. “You should trust your son a little more.”

Dis bristled. “I do trust him.”

“It won’t look much like it if you insist I go in his stead.”

She didn’t care. Fili’s disappointment was a minor issue and could be dealt with later. He’d understand when she explained it to him and, if she knew her boy at all, which she did, better than anyone, he might even be secretly relieved. “It’s too much, Thorin.”

“I’ll make us some tea.”

Before she could protest, he disappeared off into the kitchen, and Dis drummed her fingers on the desk as she listened to him clatter about. He was correct that they’d had this argument before. They’d had it when Thorin suggested it in the first place, and again when he mentioned it in front of Balin. In fact, Dis had believed even then that it was still only a suggestion and not entirely agreed — which in hindsight had been very foolish of her. 

She should have known better. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that —suddenly, and without any further consultation with her whatsoever— it was all arranged and the boys told. Her wishes, her fears, pushed aside by Thorin and the others as if they were of no consequence, as if she were some weak fluttery creature prone to hysterics. 

It was maddening.

They were all maddening. 

“Here we are” —the tea tray landed on the desk between them with a rattle, and Dis shook her head. How he ever had any crockery left unchipped was a mystery to her, even after all these years— “and Balin brought some seed cakes around earlier,” Thorin continued cheerily. “I think he was probably hoping they would still be here for our afternoon meeting, but never mind. He’d mentioned he was putting on a bit of weight around the middle, so we’ll be doing him a service. Go on, take one.”

Dis had precisely no interest in seed cakes She poured the tea, since Thorin was settled and looked to have no intention of doing it himself. “You are putting too much pressure on him, brother.”

“Balin?”

She wasn’t in the mood for jests.

Thorin set the seed cake he was examining down with a heavy sigh. “Dis, at Fili’s age I was—”

She held up a hand. “That was entirely different.”

“And you were—”

“That was entirely different too.” Setting the teapot back on the tray, she looked for the milk, which was nowhere to be seen. Black tea then. For now that the conversation was started, she had no intention of leaving until it was done. She passed Thorin a mug and took a sip of her own, screwing up her face at the bitterness. “You always promised me that they wouldn’t live the lives we did.”

“It’s a trade negotiation, with an old man, I’m not sending him into a dragon’s den.” Thorin pushed the tea things out of the way, reaching his arms across his desk toward her. “Here. Take my hands.”

Reluctantly, she set down her mug and placed her hands in his. He gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I would never dream of them living the lives we did, and they haven’t. They’ve led a charmed existence. Doing what they want, whenever they want, within reason. But they’re both grown now, and they need to learn how to be independent. Because what sort of uncle would I be if something should happen and Fili wasn’t ready? I could fall down a mineshaft tomorrow, or this very afternoon, and then where would he be left?”

She smiled despite herself. “You had better not.”

“I have no intention of it. I plan on dying white-haired and happy in my bed, with my heirs ready and able to take over, and with families of their own to support them in their grief, for you will all grieve terribly for me. I expect there to be statues, and that's plural in case you misheard, and much mourning and song.” Thorin flashed a grin at her before he sobered. “But, sometimes Mahal has other plans, and we should all be prepared.”

“He would have Balin and me. If you fell down a mineshaft, I mean.”

“Remind me not to visit the mines with you, but yes, of course he would. However, there’s no substitute for experience, and that’s something he won’t come by watching over mine, or yours, or Balin’s shoulders. You must trust me. This will give him the chance to think for himself, without looking to me or you for guidance, or to check he’s not said or done the wrong thing. It will give him confidence. Which neither of them have in abundance, and I don’t understand where we’ve gone awry there.”

Dis didn’t either. They must have missed something, or did something wrong. Perhaps she should have taken more advice from other dams? But, between them, they thought they’d managed to give the boys a normal upbringing. More normal than their own anyway.

“It will give Kili a much-needed boost too,” Thorin continued. “I told him he was to be his brother’s guard, his captain, and I thought the lad might burst with pride. Don’t take that away from him.”

That was a low blow. Thorin gripped her hands tighter when Dis tried to pull them away.

“I don’t like them travelling with Dain’s folk.” The words were out before she could think how to phrase it better.

Thorin’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I…don’t know.”

“He’s not going to spirit them away, Dis, and they wouldn’t go for a start. Nothing Dain could offer them would ever persuade them to leave you.”

She knew that, but there was something, more than something, for she had been watching her boys. Kili’s retinance around the Iron Hills dwarves, the way he had disappeared into himself after his injury, even though he’d been so excited for weeks about the celebrations, worried her. She’d watched him carefully at dinners and events as he paled, melting away from any conversations with Dain’s warriors, whereas Fili stood straighter and seemed to make even more of a point of looking them in the eye. That was a challenge in defence of his brother, unless she was very much mistaken, and for her eldest to behave in such a way meant something very serious had happened. She just didn’t exactly know what. But her suspicions had deepened after she cornered Molir, asking him outright if he was keeping anything from her, and her captain had shuffled his feet about like a dwarfling, avoiding her eyes and telling her that she was imagining things. That was almost proof enough in itself. Almost.

“What are you thinking?” asked Thorin. “Whatever it is, tell me, and I will help.”

She looked at her brother, considering her options. He would listen if she told him. She could lay her worries out as if they were cards, and he could do with them as he wished. But, they were a small settlement, with their fortunes balanced on a knife-edge, and Dain was their powerful cousin. Dis sighed. Thorin would be furious if he so much as suspected anyone had hurt either of the boys. She needed more time to be certain, and she was out of time. 

“A feeling,” she said at last, her teeth gritting on the words. “That’s all.”

“I understand, completely, because I want nothing more than to keep them here too, where we know exactly where they are, most of the time, and that they are safe. But that’s not fair on either of them.” Ducking his head, Thorin met her eyes. “I know I didn’t give you the best childhood, and I’m sorry.”

It was her turn to squeeze his hands, and Dis blinked to clear the sudden tears that threatened. Perhaps he was right, and it was nothing. Only that she was clinging on too tightly, and imagining threats where none existed. 

“Think on it a while longer,” said Thorin, “and if you truly don’t want them to go then they won’t. It’s as simple as that. I know you’re worried about the hunting trip too, and I apologise. It wasn’t fair of me to spring it on you without a consultation. But, it was a spur of the moment decision, and I personally think it’s a very good one. I know why it worries you.”

His thumbs ghosted over her knuckles as they sat in silence, each lost in the past and their own thoughts.

“I promise you that I won’t leave their sides,” continued Thorin. “Dwalin will be there, and whoever else you want. Every dwarf fit to lift an axe can go if that’s what it takes to reassure you. It’ll be as safe as I can make it, but the final decision is yours. I’m only their uncle. You’re their amad.” He released her hands, patting them gently. “The final decision is always yours. Why don’t you think it over tonight, and let me know in the morning about Bree? If it comes to it, I will tell the boys that I’ve had a change of heart.”

He would too. She knew he’d take all the blame and all the responsibility, as he always had. Dis stared into her mug of cooling tea. She didn’t know what to do for the best.

“I don’t want to upset you, Dis. Not ever, and I’m aware I do it all the time so hopefully you’ll allow me once more.” Thorin lowered his voice, even though there was no possibility they could be overheard through the thick walls, “You do know that they’ve been making enquiries?”

Dis smiled. Of course she did. Neither of her boys were blessed with much subtlety, which was something else they should really learn before being let loose out into the world. 

She had watched both of them target the Stiffbeards at dinners and events. Kili would talk to one of them first, and then she would notice Fili hours later speaking with the same one, the pair of them desperately searching for information, and thinking they were being very clever about it. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d caught them amid whispered conversation, and seen their frantic glances at each other as they hurriedly changed topic. Or just ran away. 

No talent for subterfuge, either of them.

“We should probably talk to them at some point,” said Thorin. “It’s only natural that they’re curious about their adad’s family.”

“Fili asked me if I recognised any of them as kin, and I told him the truth. I told him that everyone he has is right here in this mountain.” Dis sighed heavily, plucking at her skirts. “He doesn’t believe me.”

“Of course, he doesn’t. They have not the first idea of war,” Thorin said, “and why should they? For we certainly didn’t until we were in the midst of it. But I can talk to them if you like, after Bree.”

Dis nodded. It was past time for that too, and, if Thorin was beside her, she could perhaps manage it. “We both will.”

“I can’t believe Adad took my coin.”

“I can.” Kili shaded his eyes, smiling up at Gimli’s annoyed face. “For if I suddenly had a pile of coin I know my amad would take it from me, and I'm a lot older than you.” 

He ran his fingers through the prickly tufts of dry grass by his side, and considered whether to wriggle back from the sun-warmed, bare rock onto the moss-covered ones behind them. But, the wind that swirled around the cliffs was nice and cool on his bare feet as they dangled over the edge, and the moss, although it would be softer, was bound to be dried out and crispy and itchy. 

Kili sighed. They should have picked a shadier spot. He should have insisted they stayed by the waterfall, instead of letting Fili and Gimli talk him out of it, even though the falls had been barely more than a trickle. At least the air had been cooler there, and they could have paddled their feet.

Gimli huffed out a breath. “You’re just trying to make me feel better. Thorin’s trusting you to take coin halfway across the world.”

“It’s hardly halfway across the world. We’re only going to Bree.” Ripping out a handful of the grass, Kili let the light breeze pull it from his fingers. He watched the strands float up and away, past his knees, before dropping out of sight over the cliff edge. “And he’s not trusting me to take it.”

Gimli lowered his voice to a whisper, “Is he asleep?” 

Lifting his head, Kili looked across to where his brother lay stretched out, several feet away on a patch of tufty mountain grass. After lunch, Fili had kicked off his boots and socks, and not spoken a word to them since, so it looked a lot like it. 

Kili grabbed his cousin’s wrist as Gimli lifted a stone. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. 

Wrenching his arm free, Gimli shushed him. 

“I am not asleep,” said Fili. “Only resting my eyes. So, if you are even thinking about doing anything foolish, Gimli, I'm warning you now that I will throw one of these boots at you.”

Bouncing the stone on his palm, Gimli laughed, fending off Kili’s hands. "Go on then, and I’ll throw it off the mountain.”

“And I’ll pitch you off after it.” Fili lifted his head. “Don’t push me, Little Gimli.”

The stone whipped past Kili before he could knock it aside, and bounced off Fili’s shoulder, ricocheting back over the rocks and clattering away over the ridge and down toward the valley below. There was a heartbeat of silence before Gimli it broke with a snicker. 

Fili leapt to his feet and Kili covered his head with his arms, rolling into a tight ball, as his brother hurdled over him and Gimli fled. Only once the thuds of heavy feet against moss, and Gimli’s laughter, seemed far enough away that he wasn’t at risk of being squashed did Kili stretch out again. The laughter turned into shrieks, and he rolled over onto his stomach to better watch Fili drag Gimli toward the ridgeline.

He was thirsty. 

Lifting the nearest waterskin, Kili tipped the last lukewarm mouthful down his throat, his thoughts turning reluctantly to dinner. Tonight was their very last chance to talk to the Stiffbeards before the clan packed up and left in the morning. After that, who knew when they might see any of them again? Perhaps never. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that, but couldn’t help the traitorous thought that maybe it might be for the best. 

He tossed the empty waterskin aside, shaking his head as Gimli clawed desperately at the tufts of mountain grass and howled at him to come and help. It was far too hot for wrestling, and they should really be running over their plans again for the evening rather than messing around. At least, in celebration of Dwalin winning the tourney, there would be vast quantities of ale served over dinner, which could only loosen tongues and help their investigations. 

Gimli’s boot landed with a thud beside him.

“Fee!” Kili called out indignantly when the second boot sailed over his head, ruffling his hair on the way past. “That nearly hit me.”

“Sorry, brother, they just flew straight off Little Gimli’s tiny feet.”

“I do not have tiny feet. You have tiny feet.”

“Witty. I expect you to do a lot better than that tonight.” Fili huffed out a breath when Gimli kicked out and caught him in the stomach. “That’s the way of it then? Fine, socks next.”

Kili’s eyes fell on his bow lying on the grass beside Fili’s pack. There would be no game for miles now. Not with all the noise those two were making. He knew that they should’ve hunted before lunch, rather than walking far down into the valley, and then back up past the settlement to the clifftops in their vain attempt to find a shady, cool spot. He’d wanted to catch a few fat rabbits for Amad before they left, and now, unless the rabbits had all gone deaf or were stupefied by the heat or both, they would be likely to return empty-handed. 

Kili glanced at the sky and sighed. It was too late for hunting. Instead, they should probably be thinking about heading back, because they would need to bathe and dress properly for the final dinner. Watching Gimli rub a handful of grass and dirt into Fili’s hair, Kili frowned. And hair washing and rebraiding would take time too. They definitely needed to pack up and go.

It was nice to see Fili relaxed though, even if his decision to loose Gimli at the Stiffbeards was questionable at best. Kili sat up and stretched before reaching for his own socks and boots. He had serious concerns that Gimli might not be the best dwarf for the job. 

A certain measure of subtlety was required and, although Gimli was all puffed up with pride and excitement at the thought that Fili needed his help, Kili feared his cousin’s best efforts might still be the equivalent of throwing a rock through a window. But then, he and Fili had tried and none of their methods worked, so perhaps Gimli might have better luck in coaxing or browbeating out some answers? To be fair, Gimli couldn’t do much worse than they had. Probably. Especially if everyone was drunk, and he and Fili would be too busy anyway to continue their own investigations. Thorin had told them to be sure to circulate and speak to as many of the clans as possible, thank everyone politely, and stay well away from the ale. He’d been very firm on that last point, and repeated it several times.

As Fili said, the time for gentle questioning had been and gone so they had nothing to lose by letting Gimli have a try.

Kili wasn’t so sure. He tugged his boots on and stood. It felt a lot like an act of desperation.

“Come on, you two!” he called, lifting his bow. “Let’s go.”

This was a lot harder than he'd thought it would be.

Frowning around the noisy, crowded hall, Gimli considered his next move. He definitely needed to make sure it was actually a Stiffbeard he spoke to next.

In his defence, which Fili really hadn’t cared about when he’d dragged Gimli into a shadowy corner by the bar and berated him, the Broadbeams did have very similar braids, and the torches scattered around the hall weren’t the brightest this evening. Gimli was half certain there were a lot less sconces spaced around the hall than on previous nights, but perhaps not. It wasn’t as if he had ever counted them, and why would Thorin remove sconces from the walls? 

It didn’t make any sense. He obviously just hadn’t been paying much attention before. Or maybe it was a different sort of torch? Because the hall definitely smelt differently. At least he thought so, but it was hard to tell over the smells of the remains of dinner, and the ale and wine spilt about everywhere. Fili would know, because he knew everything, but now was really not the time to ask him about torches. Anyway, whatever the reason, it made things very atmospheric, and perhaps helped with the sneaking about, but it did make identifying between Stiffbeards and Broadbeams a lot more difficult.

He’d honestly thought he was making progress softening up a target, although with hindsight the elderly dwarf’s enthusiasm to talk about new gold deposits discovered in the mountains to the north rather than the east should have been a clue that something wasn’t quite right, and Gimli had just been getting ready to start his proper enquiries when big fingers wrapped tightly around his arm and he’d met Fili’s furious eyes.

Another mistake like that and Fili might actually strangle him right in front of everybody. His cousin seemed more overwrought than usual this evening.

A dwarf pushed past with his hands full of brimming tankards, close enough for Gimli to see the runes carved into his braid beads, and his heart lifted. Definitely a Stiffbeard, and one Fili hadn’t pointed out as not to speak to. Gimli watched closely as the dwarf made his way through the crowd and joined a very merry looking group. It looked promising. He could walk past and pretend to slip, for that had seemed to work quite well at starting a conversation the last time.

He set off in pursuit and stopped mid-stride. Mahal’s beard. Dis. Not again. She was on the prowl and, as he watched her pause to talk to a group of Iron Hills dwarves, far too close to his Stiffbeard target. Swearing under his breath, Gimli looked around for Kili. His task was to run interference with Dis and Thorin. Where, in Durin’s name, was he?

A peal of familiar laughter rang out from somewhere behind him — loud and distinctive enough to be heard even above the fiddles and drums, and above the sound of everyone having a great time. Everyone, that is, who hadn’t offered to spend the most exciting party he’d ever been to trying to help his fool cousins. Gimli turned, standing on tiptoe to try and see past the dwarves between him and the bar.

“Hello, son.”

He spun, remembering too late the ale in his hand. Tucking the tankard behind his back, Gimli smiled widely at his adad. “Oh, hello.”

Gloin was studying him closely. Gimli racked his mind for something to say and could think of nothing but Fili’s list of questions. Which were daft questions. It was no surprise whatsoever to him that Fili and Kili had got nowhere and learnt nothing. They should have asked him to help earlier rather than leaving it until it was nearly too late. He’d nodded along when Fili made him recite the list back, and not mentioned that he intended to add a few clever ones of his own. 

Fili would be so pleased with the results, or at least he would be if everyone would just let him get on with things.

First things first. Small talk. All he needed to do was make some small talk with Adad and then think of some sort of excuse to get rid of him. Then go track down Kili, shake him hard, and throw him at Dis.

“It was a nice dinner tonight, wasn’t it?” he began. “I really liked the…” 

Salted fish? Pork? Gimli realised with horror that he couldn’t remember. Too busy and excited with his plans and his very important task to care what he shovelled into his mouth. He searched his mind desperately. Chicken? Or had that been the previous night? His adad was looking at him oddly. He needed to say something. Anything. 

“Chicken.” That was probably right, or close enough. There was usually some sort of bird on the table. “I don’t know what sort of sauce it was though, do you know? Some sort of fruit I think. I might ask Bombur.” 

Actually, that was a good idea. Congratulating himself, Gimli made a show of looking for Bombur in the crowd. “Have you seen him? I might go ask him now. In case I forget.”

His adad raised an eyebrow.

Annoyingly, he couldn’t see Bombur anywhere. Why was nobody about when he needed them? More small talk was required. 

“It’s going to be really strange going back to normal after this, I reckon.” He was rambling, but maybe if he talked enough his adad would get bored and go away. “I don’t think there will be any more of these fancy—”

“Have you been drinking?” Reaching behind Gimli, Gloin tugged the tankard out of his hand. “How many of these have you had? And who gave them to you?”

Gimli wasn’t sure which was worse. Tell the truth and say that Fili had thrust it at him and pretty much thrown him back toward the crowd, or lie and say he’d lifted it from a table. He strongly suspected he was getting his ears boxed either way, so maybe he should just take Fili down with him. But, Fili was already annoyed enough, and Gimli really didn’t want his cousin to renege on his agreement to ask Thorin to take him along with them on their hunting trip. And there had been mention of some other present. Several mentions. So it must be something good.

He really wanted the present.

“Go on. Which one of your cousins was it?” Gloin glanced past Gimli. “Kili? He looks fairly well on himself.”

What? Gimli turned, furious, and stared at the solid mass of chests and beards that blocked his view. He couldn’t see anything. Tugging out a chair from the table beside them, he jumped up onto it. Gloin yanked him down quickly but it didn’t matter. He knew exactly where Kili was now.

“Excuse me, Adad.” Ducking into the crowd as quickly as he could, Gimli ignored the shout for him to behave himself. He always behaved himself, unlike some other dwarves he could think of.

Kili had the nerve to smile at him as Gimli approached the bar.

“Hello there, young Gimli,” said Molir, tapping out his pipe on the bar top and lifting his tankard. “Are you enjoying yourself?” 

Molir was obviously off-duty this evening from the way he was leant against the bar, as if it was the only thing holding him up, but then everyone seemed to be off-duty this evening. Gimli wondered if he might be the only one in the entire settlement who was sober, apart from maybe his adad. Although, now that he thought about it, Gloin had been quite rosy cheeked too, and hadn’t followed him. So maybe not. 

“Oh, yes. It’s a lot of fun.” Gimli ground out through gritted teeth, grasping Kili’s sleeve. “Kili, can I talk to you?”

Kili laughed when Gimli dragged him away from Molir and Dwalin, who barely seemed to notice them leaving. “Gimli, what are you—” 

Once they were out of earshot of anyone who mattered, Gimli pushed his cousin against the bar. “What are you playing at? I’ve just had Fili in my ear, and you’re over here—”

“Working,” Kili hissed. “I’m working. Thorin is just over there with Dain, and I’ve got Dwalin and Molir here, and Balin is—”

“And where’s Dis? Where’s your amad?”

“She’s over with...oh.” Kili swore, and looked around the hall. “Where’s she gone? She was right there a moment ago.”

Gimli pointed her out and Kili mumbled an apology. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Just get over there and move her.” Gimli glanced across the hall at Fili, who was doing a very good job of appearing to enjoy a pleasant conversation with one of the Stonefoots. But Gimli knew it was all pretence. They were being watched. There was a good chance Fili might murder them both if Kili didn’t start behaving himself. “And, for Durin’s sake, be subtle about it.”

As Kili meandered his way toward Dis, Gimli lifted one of the abandoned tankards from the bar. He took a large swig of the warm, slightly flat but better than nothing, ale and straightened his tunic. 

This hunting trip better be worth it.

Chapter Text

It was impossible.

The filling leaked over his fingers and Kili growled in frustration. He tried to push it all back in and the wet pastry split further, falling into pieces in his hands. It shouldn’t be this hard. When Bombur had showed them before he left for the mountain halls he made it look so simple. Kili shot a sideways glance at Gimli’s efforts. They weren’t much better. “I think we need to fetch Bombur or ask Dirga to show us again.”

Gimli tutted. “I’ll show you. Come here, and watch carefully this time.”

Leaning close, in case there was some trick or technique he was missing, Kili watched Gimli spoon meat and vegetables onto a circle of dough before folding the edges together. He twisted them about, all the while grumbling about how he would be quicker working on his own. 

“But that’s exactly what I’m doing.” Kili shooed Bombur’s rat-catcher away as it crept along the counter toward his abandoned pie. “And it doesn’t work.”

“I think you’re being deliberately rubbish to get out of your punishment. But I know what you’re up to and it won’t work. You owe me, Kili.”

He wasn’t, and he really didn’t think he did. “Yours don’t look anything like Bombur’s either though.”

“Mine are perfect. Yours…” Gimli sighed. “I’m going to end up owing Bombur coin at this rate. Go make yourself useful and check the ovens.”

Bombur’s ovens were a feat of engineering — a sweltering wall of iron and fire that entirely covered one side of the neat kitchen. Kili swung open the first set of heavy doors, stepping back as a wave of hot, fragrant steam rolled over him. His mouth watered and he peered in at the rows of neat, and some not so neat and leaking badly, pies.

“How are we getting on, lads?” Dirga, with a sleeping dwarfling held against her shoulder and her two little boys tugging at her skirts, made her way in from the living quarters. Turning, she chased the dwarflings back out of the kitchen. “Go play, you two. Smells wonderful in here. They’re done, Kili. Will you lift them out for me?”

Carefully, Kili lifted out the first tray, carrying it over to the huge table in the centre of the kitchen. Under Dirga’s watchful eye, he slid the pies onto the racks and returned to the ovens for the next batch.

“You boys have worked hard.” As Kili added the contents of the last tray to the pile, Dirga glanced across to their messy counter. “Put those new ones in and that will do. Then take some water and one of these each and go have a break before you deliver everything up to Bombur.”

She chivvied them from the kitchen into the small yard at the back of the house when Kili offered to tidy up. Juggling the hot pie from hand to hand, Kili flopped down onto the flagstones beside Gimli. It was wonderfully cool outside in the shade and far away from the ovens.

Gimli bit into his pie and swore, grabbing for the pitcher of water. “It’s hot!”

Of course it was hot. It was just out of the oven. Kili watched the huge, stripey cat, Bombur’s rat-catcher, wind its way out through the kitchen door and settle in the far corner of the yard. It stared at him with unblinking eyes and Kili pulled a piece of pastry from the edge of his pie, blowing on it before tossing it across.

“Kili, don’t feed that thing.”

“It’s not my fault it hates you.” Kili flicked another piece of pastry across the yard and the cat chased it down. As it settled itself a few steps closer to his boots, Kili took a large bite of his own pie, cursing his stupidity and snatching for the pitcher of water when the hot filling burnt his tongue. Once he’d recovered, and Gimli had stopped laughing, he turned to his cousin. “Are you ever going to tell me what you found out last night?”

“I’ve already told you. I didn’t find out anything. This must be one of the pies you made, there’s far too much meat in it.”

Kili was fairly sure that no one in the entire history of Middle-earth had ever complained about having too much meat in a pie. Unless maybe they were an elf. “There isn’t. And I can tell, you know, when you’re lying. Your face goes even redder than usual.”

“It does not.” Gimli threw a piece of pie crust and Kili ducked away. “And I’m not lying. I’m just hot and thinking that we need to finish these and get everything up to the hall before lunch, and now I’m also thinking that I need to check everything you’ve made because you’ve probably put far too much meat in every single one, and I’m thinking how in Durin’s name I’m going to even start to fix that. How are you ever going to manage to help run this settlement someday if you don’t understand the very simple basics of how to make coin? Fili’s lucky he’ll have me about to advise him.”

Gimli huffed out a breath, shooting Kili a quick sideways glance. “So, as you can see, my mind is very busy.”

Busy lying. Kili took a more cautious bite. Fili would get it out of Gimli, whatever it was, although it was disappointing his cousin didn’t trust him with whatever he had discovered. They sat in silence with their backs against the warmed stone of the yard wall, listening to the birds that always perched in a line along Bombur’s roof, awaiting crumbs, twittering down at them.

Maybe it was bad news? Kili swallowed too big a mouthful, half-choking as the thought occurred to him. Maybe they weren’t wanted? Fili was adamant that they must have distant cousins in the East, but either they hadn’t come or they’d decided not to identify themselves. Maybe Gimli had found out for certain that nobody wanted to claim them as kin? The pie turned to ash in his mouth and Kili set the remains down on the flagstones, suddenly no longer hungry.

Fili would be devastated.

“Don’t tell Fili if it’s going to make him unhappy. Tell me instead.” Gimli looked at him oddly and Kili was convinced he had the right of it. Fili must’ve made Gimli promise to tell him first if it were bad news, because it would be just like his brother to try and protect him. But Fili was wrong this time. “I don’t mind anywhere near as much as Fee does. You know I don’t. Tell me first, and then we’ll decide together what to tell him.”

“That cat’s going to have that if you’re not careful.”

Kili glanced toward the cat which sat, radiating innocence. It licked a paw and began to groom itself. “I don’t care.” He turned back to Gimli. “Tell me. Please.”

“If you weren’t going to bother eating it, then why did you take one? You owe me coin for today, and you better hope Dirga doesn’t tell Bombur that I was the useless one. He left me in charge.”

“He did not.” Despite himself, Kili laughed. “He left Dirga in charge.”

Gimli snorted and didn’t answer.

“You do know he has two sons already? And he’ll likely have a dozen more. You’re never getting the stall, Gimli.”

“It’ll be years before his boys are big enough, and I’ll be a guard well before then.”

“A guard?” Kili was surprised. They’d talked for years about what they would do when they were grown, and Gimli was always going to be a merchant. A rich merchant who travelled all over Middle-earth and made his fortune trading in expensive goods. What the expensive goods were had changed over the years, but the plan was always the same. And while guards led very interesting lives, they definitely didn't make fortunes. “Guarding merchants?”

“No.” Gimli coloured, flicking a pebble at the cat.

“That’s why it hates you. What sort of guard?” Kili tried to keep his voice light. Usually they would discuss everything, at length and in great detail, and it felt odd and unpleasant that Gimli would think to make such a big decision without talking it over first. ”When did you decide this?”

Gimli squirmed, flushing further before he squared his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You two are going to need guards, because neither of you can stay out of trouble, so I’ll be a guard. And then, when Molir retires, I’ll be the captain. Because you can’t be captain.”

Kili wasn’t sure he wanted to be captain. He didn’t mind guarding Fili on the trip to Bree, but that would likely be plenty. They’d listened to Molir grumble often enough about being slowly buried alive under a mountain of paperwork for Kili to be fairly certain that he wouldn’t want to be a captain forever.

But still, he didn’t like the choice being taken away from him. Especially when Gimli hadn’t even thought to so much as mention it before. Kili tilted his chin. “I’m Fili’s brother, so I think I should be his captain.”

“You can’t. But you can maybe look after things when Fili needs me to go on adventures, and do important things for him.”

“Why can’t I be captain?”

“Because you’re a prince. And princes aren’t captains. Princes go to dinners and talk nicely to people and get married and…” Shrugging, Gimli stuffed the remains of his pie into his mouth. He licked his fingers and continued, “do the things that you do when you’re married. Argue, most likely. And I’ll be out fighting orcs. Fili promised he’ll speak to Dwalin about me training with him properly as soon as you get back, and you’ll have to start doing some more training too rather than messing about and—”

“I’d already said I would. I already told Fili—”

“Said isn’t did. That’s what your uncle always tells you, isn’t it?”

Kili frowned. He was pretty sure Uncle Thorin had never once uttered such a thing. It sounded more like something Balin might say, or Dwalin, or more likely something Gimli had just made up on the spot. He opened his mouth to say so but Gimli had moved on.

“And then we’ll have the hunting trip in the spring. That will be good practice too, and it’ll let me know what sort of foolishness to expect from both of you.”

“Gimli, Fili only promised that he’d ask Uncle Thorin. He might not agree, and even if he does your amad might say—”

“I expect when I’m captain I’ll probably have a few scars,” said Gimli, ignoring him, “because you can’t expect to fight hordes of fierce orcs single-handed, and constantly save everyone, and not pick up an injury or two. And I’ll definitely be taller than you. Taller than Dwalin probably by the time I finish growing.”

Wider anyway.

Gimli glared at him and Kili realised he’d said it out loud.

Before Kili was halfway through his apology, the air was driven from his chest. He yelled, trying to wriggle his way free as Gimli pinned him to the flagstones and rubbed the remains of the pie that the cat hadn’t wanted into his hair. In the struggle, Kili’s foot bashed against the pitcher and he laughed helplessly, begging Gimli to let him up as the cool water running across the stone soaked into his trousers.

“Working hard, I see?”

With his head pinned tight to the flagstones by Gimli’s elbow, Kili could only see Dwalin’s boots framed in the kitchen doorway.

Dwalin crouched, the cat bumping against his knee and winding about his legs. “Where’s your brother?”

“At home.” Released by Gimli scrambling away, Kili sat up to shake the pastry from his hair.

“Oh. I must’ve gone blind then,” Dwalin’s voice was unusually soft and sing-song as he scratched fingernails against the cat’s bony skull. “Go fetch him. Your uncle wants him.”

“But Uncle Thorin said we’ve got free time today until dinner?”

Dwalin looked up. “Kili. I’m going to count to three.”

“But dinner's still hours away.” Gimli was urgently hissing something in his ear and jabbing him in the ribs. Kili ignored him. “And we’re supposed to help—”

“One.”

 It wasn’t fair. Fili was supposed to have some time for himself. Thorin had promised. “But—”

“Very small yard Bombur’s got here. Good high walls though. Solid. I think even I’d struggle to get up and over one of those if I was in a hurry.” Dwalin stood and smiled. “Two.”

Dwalin was right. Fili wasn’t at home. Kili knew it the moment he opened the front door. The house was empty and silent, his footsteps echoing against the flagstones as he made his way across to Amad’s bedroom. The door was ajar and he knocked out of habit, waiting for a response before pushing it further open. 

“You know, if you’re going to be a captain you’ll have to be able to run a lot faster than that,” he said when Gimli arrived at his shoulder. “Especially when it’s downhill.”

“I’m not going to be running from orcs.” Gimli stared at the empty space above Amad’s neat bed. “I’ll go tell Dwalin, and you run and fetch him.”

Kili nodded. His trousers were sticking to his legs from their soaking in Bombur’s yard and he toyed briefly with the idea of changing, but it was a sunny day and they’d soon dry in the mountain winds. As Kili headed for the outer door a sudden thought occurred to him. He spun to point at Gimli. “Don’t you dare touch our packs.”

“I had no intention of touching them,” said Gimli, raising his chin and giving a very convincing impression of looking deeply offended. His eyes slid toward the packs where they rested against the wall by the door. “Don’t forget your sword.”

Waving to the guards, Kili strode out through the gates, hoping he hadn’t just put a fine idea for mischief into Gimli’s head. The path, blessedly cool in the shade of the huge, western wall of the settlement, curved away and up the mountainside and Kili followed it, kicking at the dry, late summer grass as he went. Fili would be beyond annoyed if he opened his pack and found it full of random kitchen things. Not to mention that Amad would be furious if she found her spoons missing. He’d check the packs when they got home, just in case.

The breeze picked up, the rough path moving gradually away from the wall and winding steeply toward the crags and on to the jagged summit of the mountain that towered above them. It was less travelled here, the moss and grass almost covering the stone flags, and Kili climbed steadily onward with the sun in his eyes until the rock shaped like a giant fist came into view. He turned off and headed for the cliffs. There wasn’t a path, there weren't nearly enough visitors for that, but Kili could see enough signs to know that his brother had passed this way recently. Not that he needed to look, it was only a habit, for he knew exactly where Fili was.

Approaching the cliff edge, Kili’s footsteps slowed. Tracks from the wild goats that lived on the mountainside criss-crossed the grasses ahead of him and he knelt to examine them, working out the size and speed of the animals as he followed the marks into the undergrowth, and knowing as he did that he was stalling. He didn’t come here as often as he should, he knew that, but it felt wrong to visit more often, like it would only be a pretence. Amad barely came out here either, or Uncle Thorin, or anyone really. Not that he’d ever counted it, or paid that much attention, but Kili suspected it was only his big brother who made the journey to this lonely, windswept place more than twice a year.

The grasses and spiny bushes that covered the mountain’s flanks gave way to bare windswept rock. A winding stair was carved into the cliff face, and Kili held his hair out of his eyes with one hand, trailing the other along the rock and making his way down slowly and carefully until the narrow stone slab that lay before the entrance to the tomb, and Fili sat cross-legged upon it, came into view. Kili stopped, considering whether to clear his throat or make some small noise to alert his brother. Fili might appreciate some time to compose himself.

As he dithered, trying to decide what to do, Fili glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

“Hello, little brother. What are you doing all the way out here?” Shifting on the rock, Fili looked Kili up and down suspiciously. “Have you any weapons on you?”

Kili turned to show Fili the sword on his hip. He’d lifted his bow and set it down again because even if he saw a rabbit they wouldn’t have time to do anything about it, not if Fili had to go straight to Thorin, and anyway his arrows were all newly-fletched and ready for their trip.

“Uncle Thorin wants to see you, Fee.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Fili’s face. “I thought…” He sighed and stood, brushing the dust from his trousers. “No matter.”

“We can stay longer if you want.” Kili offered. He skipped down the final few steps. “I came up the mountain quickly and I can just say that it took me a little while to get here. I don’t mind.”

“Well, in that case, maybe just a few more moments.” Settling himself back down on the stone, Fili smiled. “And you’ve only just got here. I’m sure you want some time too.”

Not really.

Kili dropped down beside Fili, their knees close enough to touch, and obediently stared at the tomb. The runes of their adad’s name were carved deep into the smooth stone that covered the entrance, and the axe that normally hung above Amad’s bed rested against it. A neat pile of dried grass lay to one side. Kili searched for something further to say as the wind lifted a few strands from the pile and twirled them about in the shadow cast by the tomb.

“You’ve tidied it up.”

Fili plucked something from Kili’s hair, pastry most likely, and flicked it away. “A bit. It was getting overgrown. I’d done it last time too but the grass around here grows so quickly and it forces its way up through all the cracks.”

“It always grows quickly in the summer.”

Fili nodded, bowing his head. He reached out and rested his fingertips against the stone. A clear sign that it was time to be quiet and respectful. Bowing his head too, Kili’s gaze was drawn away from the tomb, past the edge of the stone plinth and out to where the grassy ground sloped sharply downward before dropping out of sight. It was a truly breath-taking view. Far away, stretching as far as his eyes could see, lay a sparkling, shining mass of silver and blue — The Great Sea. And Kili knew that if he wriggled out on his belly to the cliff edge he would be able to look down on the great swathes of dark forest and lush lowlands that lay between the solid stone of their mountains and the edge of the world.

Ever since he first saw it, Kili had wondered what the sea was like, and Fili did too. Thorin had told them stories. Tales of a wild place where the very air tasted of salt, and where waves taller than their house crashed against rock with unimaginable power and a noise like thunder. A place where monsters waited in the depths to nibble the toes of little dwarflings and steal away the unwary. Their uncle had promised to take them both there someday.

Kili plucked at the grass that swayed and rustled in the wind just beyond the edge of the stone plinth. It was a nice place. If you had to pick somewhere to be buried then this seemed as good as anywhere else. He turned his eyes reluctantly away from the sunlight-dappled sea and back to the dark tomb. When they were dwarflings, Fili had asked their amad why she’d chosen this spot, and she’d explained to them that their adad’s homeland was close to another sea, far away to the east, and that here, on the steep slopes of the mountain, he was always reminded of home. Sad-eyed and close-lipped after that, she’d refused to say anything further, but Balin’s maps and books helped them work out that their adad must have been a Stiffbeard. It wasn’t exactly difficult once they knew where to start looking since the Stiffbeard settlements were the only ones that faced the sea on the other side of the Orocarni mountains. Balin had been pleased to see them studying their geography, and if he suspected what they were up to he didn’t mention it, at least not to them anyway.

Fili’s lips moved, either in prayer or perhaps some secret conversation, and Kili closed his eyes again to give his brother privacy. That was more proper behaviour anyhow, rather than gawking at the view and thinking idle thoughts about sea monsters. It made him feel truly guilty that he had no real attachment to this place — other than it being the best spot to look out to the sea.

If he had some sort of memory to think about when he came here, like Fili did, then everything would be different. He was certain of it. And he wished he did, because Fili remembered their adad and missed him deeply and genuinely, and, while Fili whispered to the tomb in an attempt to feel closer, Kili felt, not exactly nothing, but not anything close to the loss that his brother carried around in his heart. It felt wrong. As if he were a fraud, only play-acting at mourning, with only a vague, selfish sense of sadness that he’d perhaps missed out on something special. Sometimes, because barely anyone mentioned his adad and because Kili had never known him, it almost seemed like he didn’t have one.

Fili did his best, and told Kili everything he could remember, sifting through his own faded, childhood memories for Kili’s sake to try and describe the sound of their adad’s voice and the shape of his face. But Kili couldn’t imagine it. He cracked open an eye, watching the fierce wind that swept across the cliff face tug at Fili’s braids. It was difficult to picture someone you had never met. To Kili, his brother’s hair, that shone golden in the sunlight and snarled into a tangled mess at the least provocation, was his and only his, and it could never be their Uncle Frerin’s. No matter that everyone said it was. In the same way that Fili’s bright, green eyes were only Fili’s, and could never be their adad’s.

Kili pulled a lock of his own wind-mussed hair forward, rolling it between his fingers. Balin had said once that Kili had their adad’s hair, and Fili said the same, but he didn’t think so. It was just normal, dark hair. There was nothing special about it, and most of the dwarves in the settlement had the same. As for his eyes. Fili reckoned Kili’s dark eyes must be from their adad’s family, because they certainly weren’t Durin eyes, but they’d searched the Stiffbeards faces for any that matched without success. 

If he had seen their adad just once, or even if they had a likeness to look at, then maybe he would feel the connection. But there wasn’t so much as a simple sketch. Only a stone slab and some carved runes, and an axe that perhaps someday Fili would take up as his own. Kili sneaked a glance at his brother’s hand that rested on the axe shaft. He thought it unlikely. Fili had tried to wield it a few times but said it didn’t feel right. He’d even offered it to Kili, but it was too much responsibility and he’d refused. His bow suited him fine, and since Fili preferred to use swords rather than an axe it made sense for Kili to do the same. Perhaps if the axe had been entombed with their adad instead of his fiddle one of them might have used it? Staring at the runes, Kili tried not to think too much about what lay mouldering beyond the stone. He shuddered. Perhaps not. Likely the fiddle would have been too much responsibility too, and upset Amad more. It was better where it was.

He’d never admitted it to anyone, not even Fili, but he was jealous of Gimli. It wasn’t a good feeling. But, when he saw his cousin laugh with Gloin, or when Gloin wrapped an arm around Gimli’s shoulders and ruffled his hair and told him he was proud of him, something nasty and dark twisted like a knife in Kili’s heart. Because it wasn’t fair. It was hard to listen to Gimli complain about Gloin —and Gimli complained a lot— because he still could go to his adad about anything. He could talk to Gloin anytime he chose to and Gloin would answer. He might tell Gimli to go away and stop bothering him, but that was still a flesh and blood answer. 

Unclenching his fists, Kili stared at the silent, grey stone in front of him. It wasn’t Gimli’s fault that he didn’t understand or appreciate how fortunate he was, and Kili wouldn’t for a single moment wish Fili’s grief on his cousin. He and Fili were very fortunate too, everyone said so, because they had Thorin, and Dwalin, and everyone else. If they had a worry or a question they had lots of dwarves they could choose to talk to. And then they would meet adad in the Halls someday. But it would be nice to have someone right now. Someone to tell them to go away and stop bothering them, or to help fix a bowstring, or chop firewood. Or tune a fiddle.

Someone of their very own.

The last of the grass piled beside the tomb lifted in a strong gust of wind and swirled away over the cliff. Kili watched it go and looked back at Fili. His brother opened his eyes and smiled.

“I probably shouldn’t keep Uncle Thorin waiting, should I?” Leaping to his feet, Fili hefted the axe in one hand and offered Kili his other. “Come on. We’ll not be long until we’re back. Race you to the gate?”

Chapter Text

At the smart rap on the study door, Thorin began to gather up his papers. “Come in, Fili.”

Closing the door behind him, Fili tried and failed to hide his look of surprise. Thorin smiled. “I was expecting either you, your amad, or Dwalin, and it’s not hard to tell the difference. My door is still on its hinges for a start. Sit down.”

With Fili settled himself in the chair opposite, Thorin reached for the saddlebag resting on the floor by his boots. “You were visiting your adad?” The tangled hair, obviously hastily combed through with fingers on a race through the mountain’s passageways, and Fili’s wind-reddened cheeks, told him the answer, but Thorin waited for the quick nod before he continued, “I didn’t realise or I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but I wanted the chance to speak with you again whilst we both still had some time.”

Fili shook his head. “I was only—”

“And I wanted to give this into your safekeeping.” The gold coins inside the heavy saddlebag clinked together when Thorin dropped it onto the table between them. Fili’s eyes widened and Thorin flipped open the bag. “It’s padded well so it shouldn’t rattle about too obviously, but reorganise it as you see fit. This is your responsibility now.”

“I’ll guard it with my life.” Fili reached out, touching his fingers to the gold.

“See that you do.”

It was said in a light tone, but Fili paled. He closed the bag carefully and slid it toward him, his eyes fixed on it as if it might sprout legs and run away.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, Fili. I know that you’ll do fine.” Thorin smiled, tapping the desk to get Fili’s attention. “So there’s no need to look so nervous.”

Fili glanced up. “Yes, Uncle.” 

“It’s a substantial amount, and I’ll be wanting some of it back.” Thorin held up a finger as Fili nodded. “Only wanting, not expecting. It pains me to part with any of our hard-earned gold, but if you have to give it all to Gernac as the downpayment then you have to. I trust you to do what you think is best.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“I’ve put some extra in there. I’m fully expecting Gernac to try to raise his prices because I am late in the year, but I’m also expecting you to drive a hard bargain. Make him work for every coin. If we don’t buy his stores then they will rot where they lie, and he will earn nothing. Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Good. But also remember that we’ve dipped into our winter stores already.” More than dipped. Inviting the dwarf lords to stay for weeks had been akin to throwing open the doors to a plague of locusts. “And we can’t eat gold. So Gernac needs to get the grain up here quickly before the weather turns. Persuade him that we require him to make haste to his lands and send a caravan straight away, and set penalties or incentives as you see fit to keep him on time. That’ll encourage him to put us first.”

As Fili nodded and murmured assurances that he would remember it all, Thorin allowed himself a moment of worry. Perhaps Dis was right and it was too much to ask of the boy? They were far from starving, but they needed Gernac’s trade and it was much too late in the year to make arrangements with any of the other mannish settlements. Perhaps it would be better if he went himself this time, and took Fili along to observe? 

It was a pity that the nearby hobbits were such odd little creatures with no concept of proper trading, for the rich, fertile lands of the Shire could have supplied his halls ten times over had the hobbits only chosen to do so. It could have been extremely profitable for both their races. Thorin didn’t understand them at all. Men were much simpler to deal with, although crafty with it.

Leaning back in his chair, Thorin mulled it over. There was one thing he was completely certain of. If Gernac crossed him, and dared to take advantage of Fili’s inexperience, it would be the last piece of dwarvish coin he and his folk ever received. If that happened, Thorin would return to the hobbit clan leader at the first sign of snow melt, and discuss again the mutual benefits of growing enough to supply the settlement. It hadn’t worked before, but Thorin had been taken aback by the refusal and then formed the relationship with Gernac’s father and thought no more about it. He and Balin would try again, with a properly thought out and persuasive proposal this time, and they wouldn't leave until they had a deal. Hobbits, like men, didn’t live long lives, and the last one Thorin had spoken with had grey in his hair and was nearly as wide as he was tall. There was bound to be someone new by now. Someone with a bit more sense about them.

Fili had fallen silent. His face pale, and staring at the bag as if it were full of snakes and not merely some coin. Thorin watched with concern his pre-occupied nephew’s fingers quickly tracing over and over a knot on the tabletop. That was the nervous habit of an anxious dwarfling, and one that should have been left well behind by now. It was also one Thorin hadn’t seen in a while.

Reaching across the table, Thorin placed a hand gently over Fili’s to still the rapid movements. No. The lad needed to learn, and if Fili made a mistake and they overpaid a little what did it matter? Gernac would send his men to the settlement with the supplies, and Thorin could discuss the consequences of poor behaviour at length with them then.

“There’s no need to be worried.” He patted Fili’s hand. “You’re the one with all the power. They’re only men, after all. What have I told you about negotiating?”

“The best negotiations are where everyone thinks they’ve won.”

“Good boy. All you need to do is let Gernac believe that he has won. Start low and meet him in the middle. Look at me.” When Fili met his eyes, Thorin smiled. “I know you’ll make me proud.”

“Let me have a look at that.” 

Swapping the bowl of porridge to his other hand, Kili lifted his pack onto the kitchen table. “Do you want to check Fili’s too?” he asked around the spoon in his mouth, but Amad only smiled and didn’t answer.

While she rifled through his pack, Kili flopped down on the bench beside her. Everyone else seemed to have finished with their breakfasts so he scraped the last of the stewed apples from the pot on the table into his bowl and stirred them in. No sense in wasting them. 

Across the house, Fili and Gimli sat cross legged and deep in conversation by the fire. Fili had his back to them but Kili could see Gimli’s face in the flickering firelight and his cousin did not look happy at all. “I don’t think Gimli thinks much of his surprise,” Kili said. 

Amad glanced up from his pack. “It’ll keep him busy, and I’ll try and help him with it. Not that I know so much as a single word of elvish, and I’ve never in all my years felt any desire to learn. Three languages have always been enough for me, and, in my experience, the elves always like to make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be. Secretive, uppity creatures that they are. So I’m not sure how far me and Gimli will get. Fili might find his book much the same as he left it. But it’s good to try and learn new things, isn’t it?” She tipped the contents of the pack over the table. “I think he’ll miss the pair of you.”

“Amad! I had that how I wanted it.”

She tutted. “Watch me and I’ll show you how to pack this properly, and you’ll need another shirt.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. Go fetch one.”

He didn’t think so but it was easier not to argue. Leaving his cooling porridge behind, Kili trotted to their room to rummage through his trunk. As he passed by the fireplace on his way back to the table he collected the empty bowls on the hearth and Gimli scowled at him. Kili grinned back, trying not to laugh, lingering for a moment to listen to Fili sternly remind Gimli to wash his hands before touching the book, and to make sure he didn’t eat or drink anywhere near it. 

He was still grinning when Amad took the shirt from him. As she folded it neatly and packed everything back in, Kili watched her closely. It did seem less bulky. Which was strange when there were more things in it. He looked around for what she had set aside and couldn’t see anything.

“There.” Amad smiled. “Try and keep it like that and it’ll be easier to carry. I still think the pair of you should be in armour.”

Fili had refused to wear any armour and Kili wholeheartedly agreed. The days were still hot, even this high on the mountain, and Molir had told them that it would be even warmer down toward Bree-land and The Shire. Definitely far too warm for wearing extra layers. Even if, as Amad had argued, all of Dain’s guards would be wearing theirs.

He glanced out the window. The grey light of early morning was giving way to bright sunlight and it would be time to head to the gate soon. Amad was obviously thinking the same. She sighed and tied his pack.

“Fili,” she called. “You need to get ready.”

The wide street before the gate was packed tightly with dwarves and mounts and luggage, and the air was filled with the jingle of harness and voices calling out cheery farewells. By his side, Amad's face was pale. Kili released her hand so he could hug her tightly and she pressed her forehead to his. Someone passing by snickered, but he didn't care.

“You'll remember everything I told you?” she whispered. 

He nodded.

Drawing away, Amad looked up into his eyes as one of Dain's guards pushed past leading a fully laden goat. “Anything feels strange, anything at all, and you run straight home to me.”

“We will, I promise.”

“I mean it, Kili. I'd rather your pride hurt a thousand times over than for harm to come to even a single hair on your head. Yours, or your brother’s.”

Her hands smoothed down imaginary creases on his tunic and tidied his, already tidy to Kili’s mind, hair behind his ears as he nodded and promised for the hundredth time that they would be careful.

“You're his captain now,” said Amad. “Not his baby brother. So he will listen to you, but you need to speak up and be confident.” She glanced down the crowded street and Kili followed her gaze to where Thorin and Fili stood with Balin near the ponies. They looked deep in a very serious conversation. Kili watched his brother nodding earnestly at whatever last minute lecture Thorin was giving him and wondered if he should be over there too. In case it was something important. 

Amad tapped his cheek, lowering her voice, “I'm sure Molir has given you some advice?”

He had. Molir had taken Kili aside after dinner the previous evening, and they'd sat wreathed in the smoke from Molir's pipe over a few ales in a quiet corner of the hall and talked. Well, Molir had talked and Kili had sipped at his ale and listened. It had been eye-opening. Then Molir had given him some coin and sworn him to secrecy.

Everyone had given him coin. Even Gloin had pushed one into Kili’s hand, reaching up to pat him on the head with an instruction to be good and enjoy himself. The newly acquired wealth sat heavy in his pockets and Kili was sure he rattled loudly every time he moved. It was more than he'd ever had on his person before.

Amad smiled. “Don't worry. I won't ask you to repeat what Molir told you, in case I need to dismiss him. I've got used to having him around over the years, and he's probably completely ruined for any real work by this point. No matter what lies he's told you about how hard his job is. Go and say your goodbye to Gimli quickly. I think Dain's ready to be off.”

Gimli was fussing with their ponies as Kili made his way through the crowd toward him.

“I've put some apples in your pack for them,” Gimli said. “Remind Fili they're for the ponies, not for him.”

“They'll have plenty to eat. We won't starve them. “

Gimli snorted.

Stroking his pony's shaggy neck, Kili looked out over its back toward Dain. He was already mounted on his warpig to one side of the gates, with Fraeg beside him on a huge, angry-looking goat. The first wagons were rumbling out through the gate and Dain was shouting orders that were swallowed up by the noise of the crowd. It seemed like the entire settlement had turned up, even at this early hour, to see them off.

Whatever the orders were, all of Dain's guards seemed to be mounting up. Hooves rang out against cobblestones as goats and pigs snorted, sidestepping under the weight of dwarves. Kili's stomach fluttered with excitement, or nerves, he wasn't sure which, and he looked around for Fili. But his brother stood with his arms wrapped around their amad, talking and smiling with Thorin and Molir, and seemed in no hurry.

He turned back to Gimli, not sure what to say to his cousin, and Gimli seemed uncertain too, shuffling his feet on the cobblestones and avoiding Kili’s eyes. They probably should say something though. 

Realising he was shuffling his own feet, Kili took a deep breath. “I'll—”

“I'll—”

They looked at each other and laughed.

“You go first,” he told Gimli but his cousin shook his head.

“Right. Up you get.” Patting Kili's back, Thorin pulled the reins from his hand to throw them over the pony's neck. “Dain will leave without you if you're both not careful.”

After Thorin gave him a boost up, even though it wasn't necessary, Kili settled his hands on the reins. He rocked side to side in the saddle as his uncle muttered, fiddling about and adjusting the pony's girth strap and the stirrups, before moving on to check that the saddlebags and Kili’s pack was secure. Eventually, Thorin seemed content and placed a big hand on Kili's thigh.

“Keep both hands on the reins at all times, even if your bad hand is hurting you. I know you said it's healed, but you're a poor liar,” Thorin said. “You'll have to do better if you ever want to try your hand at trading with merchants like your brother. Men are wily creatures—”

Kili opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again. His uncle probably had a point. He glanced suspiciously at Fili who was mounted on his own pony and looked ready to go, and a bit amused. Fili wasn't any good at lying, or so Kili had always believed, but now Thorin had put doubts in his head he wasn't so sure. He'd ask Fili later and watch his brother’s eyes carefully. That's how Balin always said you could spot untruths, although now that Kili thought about it Balin hadn't explained what to watch out for.

He'd work it out. 

Thorin was still giving instructions. Kili sat up straighter, feeling the heat rise in his neck, and hoped Thorin hadn’t noticed his inattention. He'd missed some, but hopefully Fili had been listening.

“—and make sure you rub the ponies down tonight. There will be stableboys at the inn, but I wouldn't trust men to look after anything properly, and it'll be a long day for the beasts today. They're not used to hard riding, and if I know Dain half as well as I think I do he'll set a quick pace.”

Kili nodded enthusiastically to show Thorin he'd been listening very closely.

“You can take it a bit easier on the way back.” Thorin frowned. “That doesn't mean that I don't want you home promptly, but you can camp for one night. If you feel the ponies need the rest.”

That sounded a lot like permission. Kili tried to keep the happy grin off his face. “Yes, Uncle Thorin,” he said.

“Good boy.” Thorin's eyes twinkled. He looked between them. “Behave yourselves and I'll look forward to hearing all about your adventures when I see you again. I'll take you both to the alehouse and we can talk about it all properly. How does that sound?”

It sounded wonderful. Kili grinned across at Fili. Thorin looked like he was about to say something more but smiled instead, slapped the rumps of their ponies, and pointed them to join the riders and the line of wagons following after Dain.

They were through the gates and on the road leading down toward the valley before Kili remembered.

“What's wrong, brother?” Fili asked as Kili twisted in his saddle. “It's too late now if you've forgotten something.”

“Gimli.” Kili searched the faces of the dwarves that crowded out through the gateway to wave them all off. He waved to Amad and Molir, and he could see Thorin standing with Balin, but couldn't see their cousin. “I forgot Gimli. I didn't say goodbye.”

Chapter Text

Sunlight sparkled on the churned up waters of the River Lune. It was a beautiful, still day and the ford that spanned the wide banks of the fast-flowing river should have made the crossing easy — had Kili’s pony any intention of behaving herself. He wrestled her head back round to face the water when she made yet another attempt to turn back toward the valley path and home. 

“Come on,” he hissed. “Everyone else is doing it. Don’t be such a coward.”

The last of the wagons rumbled past, its driver carefully guiding it down and into the ford while the dwarves jouncing about in the back chatted noisily amongst themselves. They seemed to pay neither Kili nor his misbehaving beast any mind. 

Everyone was apparently relaxed and happy to be out in the sunshine. But, as the final company of mounted guards splashed in after the wagon, Kili was certain that his horsemanship, or lack thereof, was being thoroughly judged and found lacking. Even though no one spoke to him to tell him so outright. His cheeks warmed at the thought. They really needed to move. 

But, as Kili watched the wagon and the rearguard pass the midpoint of the river, he found that he couldn’t really feel too angry with his pony. It was deeper than he’d first thought, the water splashing up well over the hocks of the goats and even higher on the pigs, and, even in the comparative stillness of the ford, it was turbulent. He and Fili were going to get a proper soaking on their shorter ponies.

Kili shook his head. It didn’t matter. They'd all dry out soon enough riding in the warm air. Not that he was particularly looking forward to wet boots and trousers, but it was the least of his worries because he could see Dain grinning as he spoke with Fraeg on the far bank. 

This was beyond embarrassing.

Bouncing in the saddle, he kicked the pony hard to encourage her, but the beast only tossed back her head and wickered, and completely refused to take another step forward.

“Kick her properly, Kili!” called Fili. 

If he kicked any harder Kili thought his boots might go straight through the pony's ribs. Whispering an apology, he tried again. The pony snorted and took a step backward. 

Below them, Fili’s pony stood quietly in the stony shallows, staring up at its stablemate on the grassy bank and seeming quite relaxed about things. Kili couldn't help but feel a bit jealous, but at least one of their mounts was behaving themselves. “It's no good,” he said. “She’s too scared.”

“I know what to do.” Encouraging his pony back up the steep, earthy bank, Fili dismounted. “You take mine and I’ll get yours across. If she gets a kick from me she’ll know all about it.”

That was probably true. Eyeing the saddlebag tied securely to the back of his brother’s pony, Kili thought about the offer. Likely a heavy bag of gold wouldn’t drift away if it somehow fell off, no matter how deep and fast the water of the ford, but it was still a risk. He met Fili’s eyes and shook his head. It was too much responsibility.

Fili smiled in understanding and nodded.

“No.” Kili protested, realising his brother’s intentions, when Fili grabbed hold of the bridle. “Fee, no.”

“I'll just take her in a bit. She'll be fine once she gets started.”

“Fee, stop.” Kili tried to peel his brother’s fingers loose. “No. The water will be freezing. Please stop, I'll go to the bridge and catch you up.”

The bridge was only a few miles downstream. Squinting against the sun, Kili thought he could see its metal span shimmering in the heat in the far distance. At least, there was definitely something crossing the river, unless his eyes were playing tricks on him. They should have used it, but, as Dain told them when he’d turned their host away from the valley road and toward the ford, it was an elf bridge. Built by elves and maintained by elves, and their cousin had declared that he didn't want to be beholden to those creatures if he could avoid it.

Right this moment, Kili didn't care if it was an orc bridge, and guarded by trolls. It would do just fine. 

His pony stamped, trying to resist as Fili dragged her forward.

“Put your heels to her, brother,” Fili commanded, backing down the bank and into the water and slowly pulling them along with him. His own pony needed no persuasion, making a mockery of Kili’s stubborn mount as it trotted down happily with its reins only wrapped loosely around Fili's wrist.

Cautiously, Kili touched his boots to the pony’s sides. The last thing he wanted to do was panic the poor creature further. And certainly not when his brother was below them. and on unsteady ground into the bargain, for she might decide that a sudden leap forward was the only sensible course of action. 

It didn’t matter anyway. No match for Fili, the pony slid on her haunches down the bank and into the water with a splash and a shrill whinny. She panicked, knocking Fili aside and plunging forward into the deeper water before realising her mistake. Kili wrestled with her as she tried to turn back for the bank.

With a curse that would’ve had Amad reaching for the soap had she heard it, and a slap that must've rattled the teeth in the pony's head, Fili caught hold of the bridle again. Kili winced in sympathy as the pony snorted, stilling under him. He would've been stunned into obedience by the blow too. 

He smiled at Fili when the pony took one small, reluctant, step forward, then another. “You owe her an apple for that. Two apples, and an apology.”

Fili didn't reply, backing deeper into the ford and pulling them slowly after him, hissing as the rushing water crept up past his boots. They were completely alone in the river now but, unless Kili was very much mistaken, it looked like Dain was about to send Rirlun back to help them. 

And they had more of an audience than just Dain, Fraeg and Rirlun. 

Why hadn’t Dain at least sent the wagons on?

“Fee—"

Letting go of the bridle, Fili worked his way past Kili. “She'll go now, I reckon, little brother. Hold on tight. I'm just going to encourage her.”

The slap echoed across the river. Kili hung on as the pony screamed, lunging forward, her fear of his brother behind overtaking any fear of the water ahead. Water which —as Kili had expected since the river was fed by ice melt from their mountains looming high above them— was shockingly cold. He tried not to yell as it splashed into his face and dripped down his neck.

Behind them, Fili was swearing loudly but Kili dared not to look back. He kicked the pony onward, trying not to worry as the mid-river current caught them in its grip. Dain was shouting something from the far bank but Kili couldn’t make it out over the splashing, the pony’s desperate whinnys, and the thunder of his own heart in his ears.

A wave of icy water washed across the pony's back, soaking him to the waist, and, as he squeaked at the sudden cold and stood in the stirrups, Kili tried very hard not to join in with her panic. It suddenly felt very like they were floating. The pony thrashed, sinking in the water under him, and he frantically tried to remember if ponies could swim. He was sure they could, but that wouldn’t matter if his pony didn’t know. 

He could swim though. And pull her along behind him. That would help. With his decision made Kili swung a leg over the pony’s back just as she jolted, almost pitching him between her ears and into the river. There was the shock of hooves striking rock underneath the water and he had just time to regain his seat before the pony threw herself forward, flinging water in all directions and making for the safety of dry land.

As the pony scrambled up the bank, tossing her head and with her eyes rolling in terror, Dain cheered loudly, followed by the rest of the Iron Hills dwarves. With his hands full, Kili ignored them. Pulling the poor pony to a halt, Kili patted her trembling neck and whispered a solemn promise that they'd definitely take the bridge on the way back.

Fili's pony climbed the bank much more sedately. His brother looked as soggy as Kili did when he brought his pony alongside. They grinned at each other through wet hair.

“Thought you were going to get a full bath there, Fili.” Dain laughed as he pushed his way through the crowd on his warpig.

“I did when it eventually got going.” Fili reached across to pat Kili's pony's neck. She wickered nervously and shied away. “Our mountain ponies aren't familiar with deep, moving water.”

Dain looked between the ponies and smiled at Kili. “I expect not. Come on then, boys, up the front with me. I promised your uncle I’d keep an eye on you both.”

The sun beat down on them as they left the river —and all they'd ever known— behind and made their way in the direction of the Great East Road. Riding slowly behind Dain and Fili at the head of the winding column, Kili flicked a huge fly off his pony's neck and listened with half an ear to them as they talked. 

Everything was so much greener and lusher than Kili had imagined. They’d seen the low country many times from the mountain’s sides and from their trips into the valley, and he and Fili had studied the maps, but it was all so completely different now they were trekking through it. Softer. Even the flowers and bushes that Kili tried to study as they rode past were strange and new, and to him it seemed no two were the same. He badly wanted to stop and look at them all properly. 

Or just to stop. Because his heart, which he was doing his best to ignore, was telling him that this was far enough away from home.

Watching a bee fly away from a patch of bright pink flowers, he wondered what Amad and Gimli would be doing right now. Likely it would be something very boring and unadventurous like having tea or visiting the market for pastries, or perhaps Gimli might be helping Amad prepare some dinner since Kili wasn’t there to chop vegetables and fetch things. He hoped so. Amad always got a little lonely in the house by herself. She needed someone under her feet who she could tell off, or sing a song with, or share a sneaky spoonful or two of afters with before dinner was even anywhere near ready. Kili sniffed hard. 

The heavily-armoured dwarf astride a goat to his left glanced at him. “It’s the different air, lad.” 

Kind, blue eyes twinkled at Kili from above an iron-grey beard, and he was reminded suddenly of Molir. Kili imagined he caught the scent of pipesmoke for a moment before it disappeared in a fug of flowers and greenery and wet pony.  

“It's thicker down here," the dwarf continued. "The air, I mean. Takes a bit of getting used to, but you’ll be right as rain in a few days, you'll see.”

Kili nodded and blinked suddenly misty eyes. That was probably all it was. Thicker air. He hadn't known. Thanking the dwarf, he forced himself to sit straighter. Molir had told him to always be alert, so he should be paying close attention to his surroundings and be prepared for danger — rather than distracting himself with silly, idle thoughts.

It was easy to become distracted though. Because everything was bigger, and stood straighter. The twisted, windblown mountain trees and the sheets of grey, wind scoured rock were long gone. Nothing hunkered down in this strange place. It was as if there was no need to hold tight to Middle-earth. Instead, the trees here were monstrous. Their trunks so thick that, even if he and Fili stood fingertip to fingertip, Kili wasn’t sure they would be able to reach around. Their long stout branches stretched up toward the sky, and were covered in a glossy foliage that surely hid a multitude of small, strange creatures. And there were so many trees, of all shapes and sizes. They covered the flanks of the gentle rolling hills and were dotted here and there along their path in clumps. It was all very unfamiliar. In the distance to either side, Kili could see mountains, much like their own, but between here and there were only vast swathes of soft grass. And the very air itself teemed with life.

Which was annoying. 

Kili flapped his hand in front of his face in an attempt to encourage the tiny flies to go bother someone else.

Dain smiled back at him. “They're a nuisance, aren't they? You get used to them after a while, but a breath of wind will take them away. Until then ignore them.”

He couldn't ignore them. Not when they kept flying into his eyes, and he was fairly sure he was being bitten all over. Kili looked hopefully up at the still clouds floating high above them in the blue sky.

“Tell you what,” said Dain. “The ground’s flat enough here. Why don't we have a bit of a race? That'll get rid of them, and give you something else to think about. What is it, Fili?”

Fili shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You have that pinched look on your face again, boy. What's troubling you this time? Think that nag of yours can't keep up with a fat, old dwarf on a pig?” Dain slapped his pig on its thick neck and pointed toward a dark mass of trees in the distance. “Our path leads through that forest, so let’s say first past the treeline wins.”

“Wins what?” asked Kili, before he could stop himself. 

“Good lad, that’s the spirit. I think an ale when we get to the inn should do it.” Dain stood in his saddle. “Fraeg!”

Behind Dain’s back, Fili shot him a disapproving look and Kili felt the heat rise in his face. There was no need for his brother to voice his worries, for Kili knew what they would be. And Fili was right. He shouldn’t have encouraged Dain. They'd never properly ridden fast before. For it was too easy to break a pony's leg, or their own neck, by haring about on a mountainside — if they didn't pitch themselves screaming straight off a cliff edge. 

Thorin had told them so many times, and they’d listened. Mostly. Kili’s cheeks burned hotter, remembering he and Fili’s one and only attempt at a race. Not that it had been a race, barely more than a fast walk, and it hadn’t lasted long. 

They’d been a good bit younger than Gimli was now, and it had been their very first time out on their own with ponies. Someone —he thought it might have been him but it could just as easily have been Fili— came up with the fine idea to see who could reach the waterfall first, and they’d urged the ponies along. It had all gone well, and been great fun, until Kili’s pony stumbled, pitching him off into the rocks alongside the valley path, and, although Fili had washed Kili’s bloody face clean in an icy stream, and walked him and the ponies back, they hadn’t been able to hide what had happened from Amad. Their carefully crafted tale, which most definitely didn’t include racing ponies, had fallen apart quickly on the march to Thorin’s chambers and they'd confessed everything to Amad outside the door of their uncle's study in the hope that would be enough. It hadn't. Their uncle had been furious. Poor Fili hadn’t been able to sit down without wincing for a week —something about grown dwarves who behaved like dwarflings being treated like dwarflings, Kili had never gotten the full story— and Kili had joined his brother in mucking out the stables until Thorin and Amad felt they had both learned their lesson. Confined to the mountain for most of that summer, they’d had plenty of time to consider their bad behaviour. Not that it mattered for they’d never been allowed to take ponies out alone since. 

Until now.

From the expression on Fili's face, Kili knew his brother remembered their lesson well. But, on the other hand, Uncle Thorin wasn’t here, and Dain was right. The ground was certainly flat. There were no rocks to break their necks on, and definitely no cliffs to fall over. Only an unbroken carpet of rich green, scattered with wildflowers, that stretched from the hooves of their ponies all the way to the distant treeline. How hard could it be? Perhaps this was his first big decision as captain? 

Kili chewed his lip, pushing thoughts of his uncle out of his head and instead trying to think of what Molir would say. They hadn't covered this scenario in their talk.

“Seems an easy win to me, Dain.” Steering his goat between Fili and Dain, Fraeg continued, “If memory serves me, the last time we raced I'd nearly time to drink an ale before you arrived.”

Dain laughed. “That's a good point. You can start from back there with the wagons. Go tell the lads at the rear what we're up to so they don't panic when they see us take off.”

As Fraeg protested, Fili took the opportunity to nudge his pony over to Kili's. “Raise yourself in the stirrups a bit” —reaching across, Fili adjusted Kili's hands on the reins as Kili tried to pay attention to the rapid, whispered instructions and wondered how it was that his brother knew everything—  “keep your hands like this, and your weight here. And please don't fall off.”

“Fee.”

Fili stopped, meeting Kili’s eyes. “You don’t have to do this, little brother.”

Kili nodded. He knew that. 

“Ready, boys?” called Dain. 

Not waiting for them to respond, Dain roared, booting his pig hard enough that Kili winced. As the pig squealed and jolted forward, Fili kicked his own pony onward with a yell of his own. And that decided things. Kicking his pony on too, Kili almost fell off straight away when the mare threw herself into the race with the most enthusiasm she’d shown for anything all day.

The burst of speed was exhilarating. Whooping happily, Kili tried to copy Fili, watching his brother lean forward across his pony's neck to urge it on. Somehow, he passed Dain, and caught up with Fili who flashed him a quick grin before returning his attention back to his mount. Kili grinned too. Despite Fili’s trepidation before the start, his eyes were shining and his braids were flying. Focused and determined, his big brother looked as if he were enjoying himself. Their ponies thundered together across the soft turf neck-and-neck.

Kili risked a quick look over his shoulder and his hair whipped about his face, half blinding him. He did his best to shake it out of his eyes and just made it worse.

“We're winning, Fee!” he yelled, wobbling in the saddle when he risked taking a hand off the reins to push his hair away from his eyes. He squeaked, regaining his balance and leaving his hair alone. Braids suddenly made much more sense. 

He could see enough anyway. Dain lagged several strides behind, although the pig was moving surprisingly fast despite its own bulk and that of its rider, and further back, but closing the distance rapidly, was Fraeg on his long-legged goat.

If Fili heard and answered, any response was torn away by the rushing wind and the pounding of hooves and heart. But Dain definitely heard, and his answering roar of outrage and raised fist made Kili laugh. Turning back, Kili shouted his pony on and watched the trees draw closer.

Whether spurred on by the joy of the race, or by fear of the snorting animals behind, his pony started to pull away from Fili's. With his heart hammering in his ears, Kili kicked the mare and shouted encouragement, promising her everything, as Fili yelled at him to keep going. Turf rushed past below the pony's hooves, a blur of green, and Kili gripped the reins tighter, leaning further forward along his pony's straining neck. He wanted to keep going. Yes, it would hurt if he fell off. And it was likely only a matter of time before that happened. And he hadn’t the first idea how to make the pony stop at this speed. But he didn’t care. Not about any of it. It felt as if he was flying. He wanted to go even faster. 

Behind them, Fraeg shouted something —Kili didn't catch the words but whatever it was it sounded angry— but he didn't dare glance back, for the ground ahead was growing rougher as they started the climb toward the trees. Underneath him, his pony was blowing hard but not slowing.

Someone was closing the distance fast. Over the jingling of the pony's harness, his own ragged breathing, and the sound of pounding hooves, Kili was aware of a presence. Something big, breathing on their heels. The pony felt it too, and, with a final desperate burst of speed, tore up the rest of the incline at a gallop. They raced through the treeline and along the edge of the path. An unnecessarily huge leap over a fallen branch that was little more than a twig took Kili by surprise, nearly tossing him headfirst into the undergrowth.

He landed hard in the saddle with a grunt, wrestling the panicked pony to a halt, and listening to the slowing hoofbeats and cheers behind. 

“Good lad!” Dain shouted. 

Managing at last to persuade his pony to turn, Kili forced her to walk reluctantly back toward the pig. 

“I was right behind you,” laughed Dain, “right on your heels, but couldn't catch you. You've earned your ale. That was fine riding.”

Fraeg scowled as Fili stopped cheering to call out congratulations.

“You did well too, Fili,” Dain added. “That pony of yours just didn't have the heart for it.”

Fili nodded. “I did my best, but he started flagging about halfway and—”

“Flagging?” Fraeg growled. “You pulled right into my path, you little—“

“Now, now,” said Dain, grinning. “No-one likes a sore loser. You owe Kili an ale. Just like the rest of us.”

Chapter Text

Fraeg was still glaring at him. And there was no need to look behind for confirmation because the constant itch between Fili’s shoulder blades told him it was true. Shifting in the saddle, he guided the pony along the edge of the path and tried to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into his back, concentrating on searching the thick sun-dappled undergrowth for Kili’s arrow instead. 

There. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and dismounted. Immediately, the pony dropped his head to a patch of long grass and Fili left it there, dropping the reins to slide down the muddy bank beside the path. Sunlight glinted on the arrowhead lying beneath a spindly bush, and he knelt to reach in for it, swearing under his breath as the thick brambles that seemed to wind around everything in this forest tugged at his hair and caught in his tunic. 

From somewhere ahead on the path there was the thunk of an arrowhead finding wood, followed by Dain’s loud cheer and a cacophony of birds squawking in fright. Fili smiled. It would seem Kili had finally found a mark. Yanking the arrow free from its nest within the thorns, Fili untangled himself with some difficulty and scrambled back up the bank, finding the pony exactly where he’d left it. He wrapped the reins around his wrist, tugging the reluctant pony after him. Walking made more sense than constantly hopping on and off the pony anyway. It wasn’t as if they were moving at any speed, merely ambling along as they waited on the main group catching up, and, if he walked, then it would be easier to hang back and keep Fraeg ahead of him. 

“There you are, Fili.” Dain waved vaguely into a thicket of trees close to where he sat on his pig. “We were waiting on you. There’s an arrow in the tree on your left, the big one.” 

Fili looked to his left. All the trees were big. 

“But watch your little brother first before you disappear off again. So you can see how it's done,” said Dain. “Ready, Kili?” 

By Dain’s side, Kili nodded and stood confidently in the stirrups with bow in hand. Fili glanced at Fraeg. That had sounded a lot like Dain expected him to try and shoot at trees from the back of a moving pony. Which would be a very good way to make a fool of himself, and therefore wasn't going to happen in a thousand years. No matter what Dain wanted. 

“That tree next,” said Dain, lifting Kili’s pony’s reins. He began to lead the mare forward slowly. “See that knot in the middle? I want you to hit it right there. Ah, good lad. Well done.”

Fili tucked the arrows under his arm, clapping as Kili wobbled but managed somehow to keep his balance. It looked impossible. It was impossible. 

As Dain moved Kili on to whatever target he'd selected next, Fili led his pony to the side of the path, searching the dark trunks and then the rustling greenery of the tree branches overhead for arrows. He turned over in his mind the best words to use for his refusal when Dain tried to force him to perform. He wasn't doing it. Falling on his face in front of Kili didn't concern him, his brother knew how bad he was with a bow even when standing on solid ground, but to fail in front of Fraeg and Dain… It was simply unthinkable. 

“Fili!” Dain yelled, just as Fili at last saw the arrow wedged in a bough high above his head. “Come on, lad. Get a move on. We're running out of arrows up here.”

Stretching on tiptoe, he could just brush the arrow shaft with his fingertips. Sweet smelling leaves floated down around him and, as his pony wandered off in search of more grass, Fili rocked back on his heels, considering whether to climb or jump. Kili wouldn’t appreciate him breaking any of the arrows. He was testing possible footholds on the deceptively smooth trunk when a twig snapped behind him and he spun, reaching for a knife in his belt. 

“Get out of the way,” Fraeg growled. Nudging his goat closer, he stood in the stirrups and yanked the arrow free. He tossed the arrow at Fili’s feet. “Useless.”  

“Thank you.”

Fraeg ignored him, yanking the goat around so quickly that Fili had to jump back or be knocked aside. 

As Fraeg moved off, Dain yelled again, and Fili scrabbled in the grass for the arrow, breathing out a sigh of relief to find it unharmed by the goat’s hooves. Grabbing the pony on the way, he jogged along the path to hand the arrows to Dain and frowned. Closer up, Kili wasn't nearly as confident standing in the stirrups as he’d looked from a distance. “Maybe this is enough for one day?” he suggested, resisting the urge to leap forward and steady his brother when Kili wobbled. “I’m sure—”

“Let's try moving faster,” said Dain. “See how you go, Kili.”

Dismissed, and trying not to call Dain nasty names in his head, Fili turned back to search the treeline for any arrows he'd missed. He accidentally met Fraeg’s eyes and a shiver shot down his spine. A lecture from Thorin rushed back to him. One about how, with practice, you could read a dwarf’s intentions in their eyes if you were clever and they were unguarded. Fili forced a smile, nodding at Fraeg as they passed each other. A dwarf wouldn’t need any practice, or to be particularly clever, to know that it would be wise to keep a safe distance from Fraeg until Dain and his company left Bree in the morning. 

With hindsight, he was lucky Fraeg had reined in his goat when they’d almost clashed during the race. If they'd met at speed, it would’ve been Fili’s pony, not to mention himself, who would have come off a lot worse. A spur of the moment decision, and maybe a foolish one, but worth it a hundred times over to see Kili's triumphant face. Fili grinned down at his boots. His pony had been slowing anyway on the approach to the treeline, so that much of what he’d told Dain had been true. And Fili was also fairly certain Dain had rigged the race as well, holding his pig back rather than urging it on — despite all the noise the dwarf lord had made. But, perhaps not. 

Either way, Kili hadn't stopped smiling and talking since, and he hadn't once glanced back toward the mountain, which was still just visible behind them through the gaps in the trees. It made a welcome change to see his little brother enjoying himself. Rather than continually twisting in his saddle to face the direction of home, looking sad and lost, as Kili had done ever since they’d left the river and up until Dain suggested the race.

An apology was probably due though. Fili touched the coins in his pocket. He could afford to buy Fraeg an ale or two at the inn. That might go some way toward softening the murderous glares, although it was probably best all round to keep pretending it had been an accident.

With as many of the arrows that he could find gathered, Fili turned his pony to follow Fraeg along the path and frowned. Past the bulk of warrior and goat, Dain and Kili seemed to be in the midst of some sort of debate, and Kili was back in his saddle, shaking his head emphatically at whatever Dain was saying. Fili quickened his steps to catch up.

“Go on, off you get.” Dismounting, Dain slapped his pig on the rump. “He's exactly like a pony. Just with a bit more spirit about him.”

“I think, maybe— " Kili yelped, dropping his bow when Dain trailed him from the saddle. 

Fili raced forward to snatch up the bow before it got trampled underfoot. A damaged arrow would be upsetting enough to Kili, but his bow… It wouldn't do for his brother's most valued possession to come to harm, even if Fili was a lot more concerned about Kili and the pig. Hugging the bow to his chest, he retreated, considering the creature warily. It met his eyes with a glare that didn't belong on any animal wearing a saddle.

No domesticated creature should look at its betters like that. It wasn't natural.

Kili must have been thinking along the same lines. “What happens if I fall off?”

“Oh, don't fall off,” said Dain merrily, throwing Kili into the saddle. “He’s a simple creature. If something's on the ground, it's fair game. So, if you do come off, be sure to cover your face. Fraeg, bring me your goat. Kili's pony will never take my weight, and it won’t take yours either. You can lead it.”

Fili watched, chewing his lip, as Dain adjusted the odd-looking stirrups and complained that Kili's legs were too long. Even from several feet away, he could see that his brother's hands were white-knuckled on the reins. 

Dain was rattling off instructions. “Pay attention. You see this one.” Dain tapped a wide strap of leather that ran from a ring on the pig's snout, between its eyes and ears before it attached to the harness. “This one is very important. It he goes on you properly— "

“Goes?” Kili's voice was higher than usual.

“Yes, lad. You'll know, trust me. If he goes and doesn't respond to the bridle, sometimes that happens, grab hold of this and give it a good yank. Don't be timid about it, mind. But hold on tight with your knees.” Dain laughed. “Hold on tight with everything you've got because he really, really hates it. It'll stop him dead in his tracks though— ”

Kili paled and, behind Fili, Fraeg snickered.

“—but he'll only be stopping because he's going to try and kill you.” Patting Kili's knee, Dain smiled. “So only tug it as a last resort. Right, where's that bow of yours? Good lad, Fili, bring it here.”

Dain mounted the goat and Fili clutched the bow tighter. 

“Come on, boy,” said Dain. “Hurry up or the wagons will be caught up with us.”

Reluctantly, Fili moved forward. He met Kili's wide eyes. This didn't seem like a good idea. “I don’t think we should— " 

Dain tugged the bow from his hands. With a whistle, he tossed it to Kili who scrambled to catch it while still trying to keep his hands tight on the reins. The pig snorted, side-stepping when the bow slapped its flank, and Fili and Kili yelped in unison. 

Laughing, Dain reached down to ruffle Fili's hair. “Don't you fret. You'll get your turn. Kili, kick him on and don’t be shy, but get the feel of him first before you let go of the reins. Don't look at me like that, lad. How are you intending to shoot if you've got the reins in a death grip?”

The pig and goat moved off at a trot and Fili watched them go, jumping when Fraeg chuckled low in his ear. 

“This should be good.” Fraeg pushed him forward. “Go on, keep walking.”

Fili shot him a glare, tugging his pony on after Kili. 

“You ever noticed the scar on his hand?” Annoyingly, Fraeg kept step with him. “Have you?” He nudged Fili hard when he didn’t respond. “Fili? Dain's left hand?”

“I've seen it.” Fili would have preferred to try and listen to what Dain was telling Kili, but if Fraeg was making an effort then he supposed he should too. “The one from the warg.”

Fraeg laughed. “That was no warg.” He laughed harder when Fili glanced at him. “It was that beast. That pig of his. Nearly took his fingers clean off and would've too, had me and Rirlun not pulled it off him. Should’ve put an axe through its skull right there and then but Dain wouldn't hear of it. So rather your brother than me up there, that's all I'll say.”

Biting his lip, Fili watched Kili raise himself to standing in the stirrups and slowly draw his bow.

“Dain was lucky he got his hands up in time,” Fraeg continued. “Reckon it'd have taken his face off if— "

“Kili, hold on!” Dain shouted. 

The world slowed and went silent. Fili's blood ran cold. He was too far away. Dropping his pony's reins, he ran. The pig was far ahead, bolting, with Kili clinging to its back, and Fili cursed both his and Dain’s stupidity as he passed the abandoned bow and raced, too slowly, along the path after Dain. 

He should have taken his pony because, even at a full sprint, he wasn’t nearly fast enough. Ahead of Dain, the pig bucked and Fili stumbled on the uneven ground, crying out a useless warning as Kili was thrown from its back, tumbling off the path and out of his sight. With a burst of speed and agility that Fili hadn’t dreamt it capable of, the pig turned in pursuit. Branches snapped under huge trotters, the beast too vanishing from sight, squealing into the darkness between the trees, and Fili’s heart stuttered at his baby brother’s shriek of terror.

Dain reached the broken trail first. He was mid-dismount when Fili pounded past and skidded down the bank. He landed in a pile of leaves and debris with a yell, but the pig didn’t so much as look up from what it was doing, snorting whilst it trampled around the bracken and worried at a dark shape on the ground — a dark shape that was calling Fili’s name. Scrambling to his feet, Fili threw his full weight at the pig's side. It didn't budge, or even seem to notice, and he shoved and kicked at it, barely able to see his brother past its bulk. But Kili was still moving and making noise so he had time. Drawing a knife, he realised with a jolt over the pounding in his ears that Kili's shrieks had turned to laughter.

“Oh no, you don't.” Strong fingers wrapped around Fili’s wrist, the crushing grip hard enough to grind his bones together. As Fili gasped in pain, Dain reached past to tweak the pig's ear. 

The beast stepped back with a grunt.

At their feet, Kili giggled uncontrollably in the crushed undergrowth. He was dishevelled and muddy, with scratches on his face and twigs in his hair, but he was smiling. Not bleeding. Not hurt. Fili dropped to his knees in the dirt with the knife still clutched in his hand. His head spun and he lowered it to the bed of rotting leaves, fighting down a rolling wave of nausea.

“Dain,” said Kili accusingly. His voice faded in and out as Fili dug fingers into the damp earth and tried to breathe. “It licked me, and right in the mouth too. Fee? Fee, what’s wrong?”

The scent of his own sweat and fear was turning his stomach. He needed a bath, or an ale, or preferably both at the same time. And, although he didn’t do it often, he really, really wanted a smoke. More than anything in the world. Gentle hands touched his hair and Fili lifted his head to look into his brother’s worried eyes. 

“Aye,” said Dain. “He does that. He’s an affectionate old sod. Just likes a cuddle.”

Fraeg. Fraeg had lied to him. From somewhere on the path behind, Fili could hear booming laughter. The heat rose in his face.

“But I told you to put your hands up, didn't I?” Dain’s boot nudged Fili’s thigh. “Come on, lad. Put that knife away and get on your feet. Your turn now.”

His men talked amongst themselves. Loudly enough to not look suspicious, but not so loud that Ralt couldn’t hear every word the two dwarves at the table behind them said to each other.

Congratulating himself on a decision well made, Ralt took another small sip of the hoppy ale and leant back further in his chair. This was even better than he’d first expected when Hald had slammed his way back into their lodgings, breathlessly reporting to Ralt and Derild the arrival of a mass of heavily armed dwarves, and their loud, red-haired king, to the fancy inn on the far side of Bree. 

They’d rushed down the stairs and through the busy streets to take up position outside the inn, watching with a growing excitement the dwarves move to and fro like ants between the inn’s front doors and the stables at the rear. At length, a small party of dwarves had wandered off and Ralt ordered Derild to follow them, since Hald wasn’t exactly built for stealth. Returning within the hour. Derild reported a small number of disappointingly, but not unexpectedly, heavily-guarded dwarven wagons camped in a field on the outskirts of the town.  

Likely the wagons held a fortune, and Ralt had been leant against a wall opposite the inn, considering the risk and his options, when two dwarves strode out through the doors. The pair swaggered their way through the crush of market stalls and men that packed the square in front of the inn, but, instead of turning toward the field, they moved deeper into the town. Ralt perked up. From a sensible distance, they shadowed the dwarves through the crowded, darkening streets, and it seemed to Ralt that at last his luck was finally on the turn. It wasn’t the dwarvish way not to stick together.

The dwarves eventually selected an inn and Ralt grinned at his men. It had been the right decision after all to stay in Bree and work the crowds on market day. The big, scarred one was of no interest —Ralt knew a fighter when he saw one— but the runty one looked much more manageable. It was a rare dwarf that didn’t have something interesting on him. And, in Ralt’s experience, if you looked hard enough, and everyone behaved themselves, then usually some sort of very profitable arrangement could be reached in a short space of time. All in all, it would be much less work than a day spent cutting purses and looking over their shoulders for guards. 

Fortune smiled on him again when Ralt pushed open the doors of the inn and strode inside. The dwarves had chosen a table furthest from the musicians, near the smoky fire, and, despite the crowd in the tavern, there was just enough space at a long table nearby for three. It was fate. Ales were ordered. Ralt tried not to wince as he handed over the coin —why did dwarves have such expensive tastes? Bree was full of taverns, and the coin for three ales would have bought many times that elsewhere— and settled his men down to wait for an opportunity. 

They didn’t have to wait long. For the big one —Frug or something in that heavy, almost incomprehensible, dwarf accent— started to talk and hadn’t quietened since.

Between the sounds of fiddles and the drunken conversations all around him, Ralt wasn’t catching every word, but he was hearing enough to work out that these two were heading home. And, unless he’d completely misunderstood, they were leaving something very interesting and potentially very profitable behind. And Frug was angry, which was very helpful because he was a lot easier to hear as he growled again about being forced to buy an ale for a smirking dwarfling prince. The runty one, Rur-something, kept muttering for Frug to keep his voice down, and Ralt smiled into his ale. Seemed there were two dwarf princes, at the moment anyway, unless Frug went through with his plan to gut or strangle one of them before the night was over.

He didn’t fully understand yet why the red-haired king would leave the princes behind to meet with a merchant, and the word dwarfling was unfamiliar to him, but from Frug’s ranting he surmised at least one of the princes was young. All in all, it didn’t make a lot of sense to Ralt or fit with what he knew about dwarves. Maybe it was some sort of dwarven test? Or maybe, and more likely, he’d missed something. The beginnings of a plan swirled in his mind, but they would need to be very clever and very careful. 

Fortunately, he was good at being both.

Hald poked him in the ribs. Frowning back, Ralt mouthed at him to keep talking. When Hald tipped his tankard and glowered to show he’d no more ale, Ralt shrugged. That was too bad. They needed their remaining coin now for other things, not least of which was an overpriced room at The Prancing Pony —unless he could talk the innkeep into an agreement for payment on departure— but, with a bit more luck, their fortunes would soon be completely changed. Because everyone who knew anything about dwarves knew their mountains were packed full of gold, although Ralt had never met one yet that didn’t cry poverty.

He snorted and Derild glanced at him curiously. Ralt signalled that he should return to his conversation. Poverty. Dwarves hadn’t the first idea what the word meant.

The temptation to cross back through the town and take a look at this prince, or princes, and their king for himself was almost too much, but there was more valuable information to be gathered here. Ralt watched Rur-something make his way across the bustling tavern and stand on tiptoe by the counter in an attempt to catch the barkeep’s attention.

Should he go and stand beside him? Strike up a conversation? Or perhaps take this opportunity to turn and speak with Frug? Ralt dismissed the idea. Dwarves were notoriously secretive and uppity creatures, and they never spoke with men if they didn’t have to. Chances were if he drew attention to himself they’d disappear back to the rest of their kind before they told him what he needed to know. 

And there was more he needed to know. The merchant's name would be useful, and he could do with one, or preferably both, of the princes' names too. He thought Frug had said one, but he hadn't caught it properly and he wasn’t entirely sure it hadn’t been just a dwarven curse. However, since Frug seemed to be fixated, Ralt was certain he'd say it again.

But Rur-something had no patience to wait his turn for the barkeep. He pushed his way back through the crowd and stomped past their table empty-handed. After a rapid conversation between the dwarves in what might have been Common, Ralt heard the clunk of a tankard hitting the table hard. The two pushed past and, as the tavern door slammed closed behind them, Ralt huffed out a breath.

Never mind.

He turned to grin at his bemused companions. They’d make do. By the sounds of things, the king and his dwarves were due to leave at first light so, with a bit of luck, there wouldn’t be many of their kind left to choose from. And Frug had said enough to give Ralt something to work with. Sharing the dregs of his ale with the other two, Ralt raised his tankard to theirs in a silent toast. They grinned back.  

It would be fine. Yellow-haired dwarves weren't that common.

Chapter Text

Leaning against the wooden upright of the stall, Kili yawned, staring out over the busy market square.

“Am I keeping you awake, brother?” Fili tucked the book he was holding back into its place and lifted another.

“Gimli is going to be beyond furious if you bring him back a book. He’s annoyed enough at being left behind.”

“I know,” Fili said, sounding distracted. 

“And I’ll be the one who has to listen to him. He’ll not say anything to you, but he’ll go on and on about it to me. For years, most likely.”

“I know that too, and I’m not looking for him. I’m just looking.” The stallholder, who had been hovering nearby with a hopeful smile, frowned and turned away. Watching him go, Fili shot Kili a grin. “We’ll buy Gimli something else as a present, there’s plenty to choose from. Why don’t you have a look around the other stalls and see what you can find? I know you’re bored. Don’t go too far though.”

“I’m not bored.” He was, but Molir had warned him that being a good captain meant a lot of standing about with nothing to do, so Kili had known to expect it. But it didn’t help that he was tired too. He hadn’t slept well. Partially because of Dain and the amount of ale they’d drank with him —Kili’s head still pounded despite the large breakfast and several pitchers of water he’d forced down— and partially because Fili had tossed and turned all night, mumbling in his sleep.

The pages of the book rustled and Fili shifted position to lean his weight against the stall. Watching the frown line deepen between Fili's eyes, always a sign that his brother was concentrating hard, as he slowly turned a page, Kili bit back a sigh. It was obvious that they weren’t going anywhere for a while, but at least if Fili was lost in a book then he was happy. Even if the stallholder didn’t look best pleased. 

He smothered another yawn. Fili’s restlessness could have been down to the beds being bigger than they were used to — everything was bigger than they were used to—  or it could be because he missed the familiar sounds and smells of home, but Kili suspected it was much more likely that his brother was worried about the merchant. Even though when he’d asked Fili about it at breakfast his brother had said that he was feeling fine and relaxed about everything. That had to be a lie, although Kili had watched his brother’s eyes carefully and seen nothing out of the ordinary. 

It was odd that the inn had no rooms suitable for dwarves. Their choices had been either hobbit-sized, where everything was a bit too small, or man-sized, where everything was far too large. And in the common area all of the tables and chairs, and even the dishes, were sized for men. Kili had felt like a little dwarfling again as he sat beside Dain at dinner, which had been admittedly very good, with his feet swinging inches off the floor. It was all disconcerting. But it had been funny seeing Dain and all his guards perched on the benches like little dwarflings too. Dain had found it funny too, laughing uproariously when Kili whispered as much in his ear, and they’d snickered together until Fraeg had gotten annoyed and left with Rirlun. They’d laughed a lot after that, and Fili had relaxed, joining in with the merriment and listening to Dain’s stories until long after night fell. Until long after the innkeep had tidied up around them, blew out the candles, and left them to it. 

Kili missed their cousin already. But it was nice to not have to worry about bumping into Fraeg in an empty hallway, and it was even nicer to have Fili all to himself.

Across the market, the inn sign swung to and fro in the stiffening breeze. The Prancing Pony. A silly name that made no sense whatsoever for an inn, but then all the other inns they’d seen so far had odd names too. It had to be a mannish fancy, or maybe a hobbit one, because none of the alehouses at home had names. They didn’t need names. They were just the alehouse by the gate, or the one by the western wall, and if Uncle Thorin ever decided that they should have names then it would be something sensible. Something to do with ale rather than animals, because what prancing ponies had to do with anything at all was a mystery.

“Why do you think they called it The Prancing Pony?” he asked. 

Fili didn’t respond.

“I expect there’s a story behind it.” Kili stared up at the blue skies that still lingered over Bree. “Maybe ponies prance if you give them too much ale? Whatever prancing is. Do you think something happened and that’s why they called it that? Although, if that’s the case, then what about the one that we passed near the road that was called something about a dragon? I couldn’t make out all the words because some of the letters were covered in flowers and green things, but I’m sure there’s never been a dragon in these parts, has there? Unless maybe there was years ago. I suppose it did look as if it were a very old building.”

His brother wasn’t listening. Kili smiled at the stallholder. Fili couldn’t very well stand and read all day, and the man behind the stall was starting to look really annoyed, so perhaps they should take the ponies out? Gernac wasn’t expected to arrive until some time tomorrow, and that meant they had the entire day to themselves. And it was far too fine a day to waste, especially as the sky was dark and ominous-looking off to the west, toward home. A little adventure in the sunshine would help Fili relax and take his mind off things, and Kili could practice shooting again while riding. He wriggled his fingers, pleased that they weren’t hurting too badly from the bow work. He’d enjoyed himself anyway so a few twinges were more than worth it. Fili hadn’t enjoyed it so much though, but then his brother had only had a go from the back of the pig. The ponies would be much easier. He tapped Fili’s arm to get his attention. “Why don’t we go for a ride?”

Fili smiled but didn’t look up.

“It’s a lovely day, and the ponies will need some exercise.” Kili scuffed the toe of his boot on a cobblestone, scraping off some of the muck that covered it. “Thorin did say we were to look after them,” he added.

“I think the ponies will be glad of the rest after yesterday. They were asleep on their feet last night when we were brushing them down.” Fili glanced up from the book. “They really won’t thank you for a long run today.”

Perhaps not. Kili huffed out a breath. And perhaps, now that he thought about it properly, it wasn’t wise to practise racing-about. After all, he was supposed to be looking after Fili, and if his brother took a tumble before they met Gernac then Thorin would be unhappy. Especially if it were Kili’s fault. And Fili hadn’t looked his usual confident self when Dain forced him up onto the pig. Kili had watched anxiously as his brother wobbled about standing in the stirrups. It was a relief when Fili completely refused to try Kili’s bow, likely because he didn’t want to lose face in front of Fraeg, and insisted on using his throwing knives instead. And, even though his bow was safe from harm, Kili's heart had remained in his mouth as he followed slowly behind, worrying that Fili might fall and stab either the pig or himself. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse, but either would have been disastrous.

Maybe a walk would be a better idea. The road they’d taken to Bree was surrounded by beautiful countryside which looked perfect for exploring. They could go for a long stroll, clear their heads, and perhaps even take a picnic rather than going back to the inn. A late lunch or early dinner outside would be a good thing, especially since Kili wasn’t sure he could stomach the inn’s musty smell of stale ale and wine just yet. Bree’s barkeeps obviously didn’t know how to clean properly, as none of the alehouses back home smelt as if spilled ale and pipeweed had been ground into everything. He nudged Fili again. “What about a walk then?”

“Maybe later.” Lowing his voice, Fili continued, “I’d rather not go too far from the inn, brother. I know we have the key, and it’s a good solid door at least, but there’s a lot of gold in our chamber.” Fili bit his lip, frowning toward the inn. “We should probably not have left.”

“It’s fine,” Kili said quickly in an attempt to get that thought out of his brother’s head before it could take a proper grip. “Dain said it’s a respectable place, and the gold is hidden away. No one knows it’s even there.” There was no possible way they were going to go back and waste their time sitting in the inn waiting for the merchant. He wouldn’t allow it. Not when the sun was shining, and there was so much to see.

Fili looked uncertain but nodded, and Kili relaxed against the post as his brother’s gaze was drawn back to the book. Fine. They’d stay here a little longer. 

Since he’d nothing else to do Kili looked again around the market, trying to commit it all to memory. Gimli would want to know everything when they got back, and, even though she had probably seen a thousand markets when she was younger, so would Amad. It was huge compared to the one at home. A mass of stalls, packed cheek-to-jowl together in no sensible order, filled the square in the centre of the town and spilled over into the side streets. And it was so noisy. There was always a hum of activity in the market at home, but here everyone was shouting. Men and hobbits roared out their wares and their prices as if people weren’t capable of quietly looking around and asking for a price when they needed it.

It was all very strange. And the oddest thing was that livestock and dogs roamed about unattended everywhere. They were under the stalls, and wove freely through the legs of the townsfolk. Which likely accounted somewhat for the smell, although the people of the town appeared a bit unwashed too.

Kili wrinkled his nose. Everything and everyone smelt like they’d been rolled in the old pile of hay that sat outside the small barnyard near the eastern wall at home. He and Gimli had hidden in it once when playing a hiding game with Fili, and Amad had known exactly where they’d been and what they'd been up to when they all arrived home for dinner. Kili smiled at the memory of Gimli’s howls when she’d thrown them both in the bath, scrubbing them raw before they were even allowed to sit down at the table.

And what was odd too about Bree was that everyone who passed by the stall glanced curiously at him, although he supposed that could be because he was staring at them. But he couldn’t help it. They were all so tall, and dressed so strangely. Men visited the settlement at home from time to time, to meet with Thorin, but they never stayed long, and Kili had only ever seen them from a distance, and in ones and twos. They’d all looked the same to him — tall, dark-haired, short-bearded creatures with grim faces who were always wrapped head-to-toe in cloaks and furs, even in the height of summer. But here the men were all different shapes and sizes, and there were so many of them bustling about. It was fascinating. A woman with a basket under her arm smiled at him as she brushed past, and Kili moved to make space.

So far, they all seemed friendly enough, harmless, and Thorin always told them that men were barely weapons trained and no threat to any dwarf with their wits about them. But, if that was so, then why did he have a prickling, unsettled feeling in his stomach? As if they were being watched?

He touched the sword on his hip for reassurance and glanced at Fili. Setting aside his brother’s obvious worries about the gold and the merchant, Fili seemed relaxed. And, if his brother wasn’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either. 

Another one of the townspeople walked past and looked him up and down. Kili rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. It was probably a combination of the headache from the ale, lack of sleep, and the general strangeness of the place that was making him feel a bit out of sorts.

A chicken wandered past and stopped to cock its little head at him. Kili shooed it away gently with the toe of his boot and continued scuffing at the dirt on the cobblestone with his heel until he’d scraped it all off. The whole town seemed to be built on earth and muck. When he and Fili had walked for a short while after breakfast they’d been surprised at the lack of good stone. Here and there the streets were roughly cobbled, as in this market square, but there was no delicacy to it, no craft or care. It was as if the men had found stones that were roughly the right shape and size and then thrown them down any which way. 

The houses were the same. Even the inn, which Dain had told them was by far the best the mannish town had to offer, was less than impressive. There wasn’t a single straight wall in the place. The pipes creaked appallingly and the doors on the storage cupboards were an odd mix of well and ill-fitted. It was all very odd. But at least the rough, barely-nailed-down floorboards had given Fili no trouble when he’d levered one up to hide the gold beneath. 

“Do you think we’ll see Dain again?” Dain had promised they would when they’d embraced at the wagon field outside the high hedge that surrounded Bree. And listed the things he expected Kili to be capable of by the time they did. But the list had been extensive, so it seemed like Dain didn’t expect to see them for a while, and it was a very long way East to the Iron Hills. Maybe it would be many more years before they met again? Kili hoped not, although that would give him plenty of time to learn to be the great warrior Dain seemed to think he could be. The thought made Kili tingle with pride all over again.

“Of course.” Fili looked up. “Why do you ask that?”

When Kili shrugged, Fili placed the book back on the stall. “Come on then, little brother. Let’s go do something else. We’ll check on the ponies.”

As they passed the open doors of the inn, one of the hobbit serving girls waved at them and Kili raised a hand in return. At least he felt tall when amongst the curly-haired halflings. A strange folk. He couldn’t understand how they went everywhere barefoot, and, even though he'd heard stories of them and had been expecting it, they had the oddest feet he’d ever seen. Fili had told him off for staring.

It was a shame that there weren’t more of the hobbits around, but then Dain had told them that it was a big market day in Bree today and menfolk travelled in from all the surrounding lands especially for the livestock sales in the evening. Maybe hobbits, like dwarves, weren’t overly interested in livestock. Maybe, on a normal day, Bree would have had more hobbits about, or even more dwarves. For they’d only seen one of their kin from a distance, and he hadn’t acknowledged them. 

“Should we go and watch the livestock selling this evening?” he asked as they turned into the street that ran along the side of the inn to the stables. “When you were speaking to the innkeep earlier, an old man sat down on the bench beside me. He’d gone by the time you came out but he said that the trading will be in the field where Dain’s wagons were. So it’s not far.”

Kili shot a hopeful glance at Fili’s face. They should really make an effort to see everything they possibly could whilst they were here. Because what was the point of bothering to leave home at all if you didn't have lots of adventures to tell people about when you got back? 

“It’ll be fun," he added, "and it’s only on tonight so we’ll miss it completely if we don’t go. But we need to be careful, that’s what the man told me. You have to keep really still and put your hands behind your back and be careful not to nod or sneeze or anything.”

Fili raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smile. “What?”

“That’s what the man said. He said that if you make a noise or move then you could end up accidentally buying a horse or a cow or even a bit of furniture. If we see him again later we should go down with him because he seemed really nice, and he’ll keep us right, I’m sure. He seemed to know how everything worked. And I think he was all by himself so he might be glad of the company.”

“I don’t know, Kili. I’ll think about it.”

That was a no then.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re excited, and I feel so guilty because I know I’m being boring but...this is a big responsibility.” Fili sighed. “I know I said I wasn’t worried, but I am, a bit. I can’t make any mistakes. But, tomorrow, when it’s all over, I promise that I’ll be more fun then. We’ll do whatever you want. We can—”

Kili touched Fili’s arm to stop him. “No, I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice, “I know you’re anxious, Fee, but you’ll be fine, I promise. And I promise I’ll stop. We’ll make sure the ponies are happy, and then we’ll go back to the inn and stay there. It’s only one day. I can sit still for one day.”

Fili smiled properly, nudging him. “Can you really? A whole day? That’ll be a first.”

Scuffling in the street wouldn’t be very respectable, and Thorin had warned them repeatedly to behave themselves like respectable dwarves, so Kili settled for pulling Fili to a stop. Stepping close, he touched his forehead to Fili’s and grinned. “And, after I’m done sitting still for a whole day, I’m going to teach you how to shoot my bow from the back of a pony. Since you were too much of a coward to try yesterday.”

Fili snorted with laughter. “I am no coward.”

“Liar.” Kili lowered his voice to his best imitation of Uncle Thorin, “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to do well at trading, my lad.”

There was a bit of a wrestle before Fili remembered himself and let Kili go. Straightening his tunic and hair, Kili grinned as they continued to the stableyard. Hopefully, nobody had seen that. And he’d nearly forgotten. “Oh, and the man I was talking to was able to do the best smoke rings I’ve ever seen. Better than you.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“Better than Uncle Thorin. If we see him tonight I’ll ask him how he does it.” Skipping along beside Fili, Kili continued, “I expect he's had plenty of practice because he looked really old. He had this walking stick that was nearly as tall as him, and I tried to have a look at it to see the carvings but I couldn’t get close enough and I didn't want to be rude. I bet he’s got some stories too. He looked like someone who would have a lot of stories.”

A stable boy leapt to his feet when they entered the dimly lit stables, rushing toward them. Fili waved him away. “It’s fine, lad. We don’t need anything.”

Kili covered a smile with his hand. He didn’t know much about human ages, but he got the feeling that they weren’t much older, comparatively speaking anyway, than the boy. It tickled him to hear Fili speak as if he were as old and sensible as Thorin. Maybe his brother was practising.

The ponies didn’t look especially happy to see them and retreated to huddle together in the darkness at the back of their stall. After some cajoling, they seemed to realise that they weren’t about to be asked to walk for miles and made their way cautiously to the fence for pets and strokes.

“We should have brought them both another apple,” Kili said, rubbing his pony’s velvety nose. The animal huffed warm breath contentedly into his hair, its long whiskers tickling his ear. “Maybe the boys here would have some to spare?”

Fili jumped off the fence and frowned, looking along the stable block. “I shouldn’t imagine so. We’ll come back later and bring them some.”

Once finished with the ponies, they ambled their way back around to the front doors of the inn. The market stall owners were in the midst of packing up and the wide street was thronged with people.

“What do you want to do now?” asked Kili.

“Shall we go up and just make sure that everything is as we left it? And then we can bring down the cards and maybe have an ale or two before dinner?”

Kili wasn’t sure he wanted an ale, but perhaps one would make him feel better. He nodded, leading the way through the common room. It was busier than he’d expected, perhaps with everyone arriving for the livestock trading in the evening, but there were still a few empty tables dotted about. As they reached the archway at the rear of the inn that led up to the floor above, Kili glanced over his shoulder. More men had walked into the inn behind them and seemed to be looking around for tables too.

“I’ll run up and check,” he said. “Give me the key and your weapons, and you take one of those tables and order.”

He didn’t mind speaking to men. So far, although he’d only spoken to one old man who spoke to him first, it had gone very well, despite Thorin and Dwalin’s dire warnings that menfolk were none too keen on dwarves. But, he’d rather that men joined him and Fili at a table rather than having to ask permission to join a table full of them.

Fili nodded, handing over the key and then his swords, followed by a long knife from his belt. 

“Is that all of them?” Kili watched his brother’s eyes carefully as Fili grinned. 

“There’s a table free near the fireplace,” Fili said. “I’ll be there when you come back down.”

It was warm enough without being anywhere near a fire, but there was no sense in wasting time on a discussion. Kili strode on through the archway with his brother’s weapons —or at least the ones that weren’t concealed, because Durin only knew how many his brother actually had on his person— certain that curious eyes followed him. Tilting his chin, he told himself to ignore it.

Once in the hallway, his shoulders relaxed and he stopped, considering whether to place their swords and knives into the weapons storage area that the tavern owner insisted on. Half-hidden by the long mannish cloaks draped over pegs, he could see a range of various weapons piled there already. Swords, of all shapes and sizes, and a few knives, as well as at least one interesting-looking mace.

It was strange that a respectable and civilised inn should need to enforce such rules on their customers. Kili stared at the alcove, tapping the hilt of Fili’s long knife against his cheek.

No. He’d just leave them back to the room. The rules were meant to be for those staying in the inn too, not just people using the common area, but he and Fili were dwarves, sensible and level-headed when it came to carrying weapons, and therefore Fili was likely right in saying that the rules didn’t apply to them. Apparently, men only learned weapon-craft when they were grown, and even then it was only those who would go on to be guards or warriors. Most men could barely tell one end of a sword from another. Like hobbits, men seemed a strange folk.

He loped up the odd-sized stairs two at a time and ran along the hall to their room. Thankfully, the door was still locked and the lock itself appeared untampered with. Propping Fili’s weapons against the wall, Kili opened the door cautiously, a hand on his sword, but all was exactly as they had left it.

Closing the door behind him, he made sure it was locked before he headed past the first bed to crouch beside the second one in the far corner. The floorboard between the bed and the cupboard looked fine, but he used the point of his knife to carefully lever it up anyway, breathing a sigh of relief to find the saddlebag sitting below it in the dust. Still there, still full of gold, and also exactly as they had left it.

Flicking the bag open to make absolutely certain, he ran his fingers through the clinking coins for no reason other than they were shiny and called to him to do it.

Cards. 

Kili dropped the floorboard back into place and made sure it sat flush with its neighbours. Rifling through Fili’s pack, he found the cards, piled his sword and his boot knives with Fili’s weapons on the chest behind the door, and ran back down the stairs and to their table.

He was two coins down and well on his way to losing a few more when he spotted the man making directly for their table.

The Prancing Pony was packed to the rafters. Ralt peered through the customers but couldn’t see any dwarves. He huffed out a breath. Crowds were good, useful, but not if you couldn't see your mark.

“Maybe they’re not here?” whispered Hald.

Nodding, Derild murmured agreement. “Hald’s right, for once. A load of folk are heading down to the fields for the animal market. They could have gone there when we were packing up?”

Ralt hushed them both so he could think. Leaning on the bar top, he watched what looked to be the head innkeep at the furthest end. With a final glance at his clothes, he was more respectable than half the dusty, unkempt travellers in the inn, Ralt lifted a finger, smiling widely at the harried man.

And was ignored. 

Listening to the loud conversations around him, with every appearance of being completely content, Ralt awaited his turn to be served. But his heart thudded in his ears. This was it. If he managed to pull this off they would not be scrimping again for a very long time. Perhaps forever.

The innkeep acknowledged him at last. “Can I help you, young sir?”

Ralt smiled again. “I hope so. My name is Meldron, and these are my men. I’d like a room for the night.”

The innkeep sucked in a breath through his teeth and Ralt fought the urge to roll his eyes. He hated it when someone tried to fleece him, especially when they put no effort into it.

“Well,” said the innkeep, drawing out the word much longer than necessary. “We are very busy.” 

Ralt nodded. “I can see that, but I’m due to meet with a dwarf prince...”

“Ah.” The innkeep brightened up. “So you’re the merchant they’re waiting for. I understood from Prince Fili that you weren’t due to arrive until tomorrow?”

A name, and so quickly too. The man had suddenly gone up several notches in Ralt’s estimation. 

“That’s true,” Ralt said with a genuine smile. “I’m early. But, despite the currently very fine weather, I’d much rather not sleep in a hedge tonight. To me, there is the feel of a storm in the air, and I’d prefer to look my best rather than windblown and bedraggled. So, if there’s anything you can do for me I’d be truly in your debt.”

The innkeep drummed his fingertips on the bar in what Ralt knew was a pretence of thinking, for there was the gleam of anticipated gold in the man’s eyes. “We do have one room left, and it is a fine one, but expensive.”

Of course it was. Placing a finger to his lips, Ralt frowned and made his own pretence of giving the offer some serious thought. Merchants were notoriously fond of not spending money, after all. That’s how they got rich in the first place. 

A man elbowed his way in beside Ralt, stealing away the innkeep’s attention with a demand for food and ale. As the innkeep became distracted, ducking under the counter to fetch a tray, Ralt turned, jerking his head at Hald and Derild. Stepping forward, Hald laid a huge hand on the nuisance’s shoulder. 

The man disappeared backward into the crowd with Hald, and Ralt smiled at the confused innkeep as he re-emerged from under the bar top. “You were telling me about your room?” he prompted. 

“Oh yes.” The innkeep looked around a final time and shrugged, turning his attention back to Rand. “It would suit your needs perfectly. It even has a private study area, much more suitable than a crowded tavern for doing business with dwarves.”

“How much?”

They haggled — Ralt for the look of things since he’d no intention of settling any bill— and when it had gone on long enough they shook on an extortionate price. Ralt sent Derild was sent to take their things to the room,with a whispered instruction to find Hald and make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid, and Ralt ordered ales for himself and the innkeep, and wine for the room.

“Do you know if Prince Fili is here right now?” he asked, once they had both had a drink.

The innkeep snagged the arm of a hobbit serving girl as she hurried along behind the bar with an empty tray. “Where’re the dwarf princes?”

The girl pointed out into the crowd. “By the fire. They’ve just ordered another two ales so I’m going to take them down now.”

Ralt’s heart beat faster. “I can take it,” he said, smiling at the girl. She smiled back. As the innkeep raised his eyebrows, Ralt continued, “I’d like to introduce myself anyway, and what better way to introduce myself to a dwarf than taking him a drink? Apart from maybe taking him two drinks, of course.”

He laughed and they laughed along with him. The innkeep flicked his fingers at the girl and she busied herself with the drinks.

“Truth be told,” Ralt leant in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I’m worried about dealing with dwarves. It’s my first time and Father warned me that they can be...difficult, and I’ve certainly never met any royalty.”

The innkeep laughed. “You’ll be fine. I’ve had years of dealing with dwarves. They’re friendly enough, a bit standoffish that’s true, they’re not hobbits after all, but generally they don’t cause any trouble. And these ones are young, I can never tell with dwarves but I’d say they’re probably about your age. You’ll be fine.” He patted Ralt’s shoulder as the girl placed two ales on the tray. 

Adding his own ale, Ralt gripped the edges of the tray. “Wish me luck,” he whispered, making a show of straightening his shoulders.

They laughed, chorusing good luck wishes at him, and, with a final grateful smile, Ralt pushed through the crowd, glaring at anyone who stepped into him or jounced the tray. As he got further away from the bar, the crowd thinned and he spotted the dwarves at a table close to the fireplace. Just as the girl had said. And, by yet another stroke of luck, there was no one with them. Ralt breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Derild had been watching the dwarves closely all day, and was certain that the princes were alone, Ralt had been half expecting to see a table full of the heavily-armoured creatures. The thought had been lurking in his mind that he would have to abandon everything. 

But no, because here they were. Unaccompanied, and with not so much as a scrap of armour between them by the looks of things. Which was disappointing in a way, for dwarf armour was worth a fortune, but also heartening. Ralt couldn’t decide if it was naivety or overconfidence on the dwarves' part, but either was fine. 

The dwarves were apparently absorbed in a game of cards, but Ralt knew he was being watched as he drew closer. The dark-haired one —scrawny by dwarf standards— made a quick gesture, and whatever he'd said, in that dwarven sign language that was a complete mystery to Ralt, the yellow-haired one stiffened, half-turning in his chair.

Green eyes narrowed as Ralt approached the table. From Derild’s careful reports of the dwarves as they had made their way around Bree, Ralt was certain this was the elder and the leader of the two, and also the sneaky one that Frug hated. Ralt smiled.

“Hello,” he said, setting the tray down on the table. “The innkeep allowed me to bring these down. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve just arrived, I’m a little early” —he made sure to stumble over his words— “but my father told me to not be late, so I might have hurried the horses on a bit more than I should have, and then the girl said she had an order for Prince Fili so I just thought...well, may as well get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” asked the yellow-haired one. The other looked as if he was trying very hard not to smile, and Ralt understood why. It must look ridiculous. A tall man frightened of two little dwarves.

Ralt widened his eyes. “Did I not even say my name? I’m so sorry, I’m a...my name’s Meldron. Meldron. And I’m here on behalf of my father to broker a trade deal with Prince Fili.”

The yellow-haired one gave him a hard, suspicious look. “Where’s your father?”

“He’s...unwell,” Ralt said, pleased that the dark-haired one jolted, staring at him with sympathy shining clearly in his eyes. Dropping his gaze to the table, Ralt blinked hard to make sure his eyes were suitably misty before they locked gazes, just for the briefest of moments. Looking away, he continued, his voice quavering, “He’ll be fine. He’s just—"

“And did he give you a letter? Something to verify you.”

The dark-haired one hissed something in reproach, something that sounded like Fee, or maybe Fili — which was very helpful. 

“Of course,” said Ralt. “I have it with my things. I didn’t want to risk getting it wet should it rain. Do you want me to run and fetch it now?”

The one that Ralt was fairly sure had to be Fili studied him. Ralt held the gaze. After long enough that Ralt began to feel the first prickles of nerves, the prince seemed to come to some sort of decision. His shoulders relaxed and he gestured at the table with a faint smile that made Ralt’s heart leap in his chest. “Later is fine. Sit, join us.”

Chapter Text

It could have been a run of good fortune, although a more likely explanation might be that, while Fili studied hard all summer under Thorin, Kili and Gimli had been busy whiling away the days with card games. But, whatever the cause, his little brother’s winning streak showed no signs of abating. Fili hid a smile behind his tankard when Kili revealed his hand with a flourish. 

Meldron’s hatchet-faced man, Lerdil, cursed and spat on the floor. “I’ll deal this time,” growled Lerdil, tossing his cards with the other discarded hands as Kili gathered the coins and stacked them with his growing pile. “Your luck will run out sooner or later, dwarf.”

Fili didn’t care much for the man’s tone, but Kili laughed good-naturedly. He flicked a coin onto the middle of the table. “My name is still Kili, Lerdil.”

“I know, dwarf.” Throwing a coin to join Kili’s, Lerdil grinned. “Now, hand over those cards, along with whatever other ones you have hidden up your sleeves.”

Kili rolled his eyes. “Fee, are you playing? Meldron?”

It was astonishing the change that a few ales and several winning rounds at cards had wrought on his baby brother. Only a few short hours ago, Kili had been too nervous to speak to a man unless spoken to first, but yet, here he was, brimming with confidence and happy to stand up for himself. Fili smiled, reaching into his pocket for a coin. “I’m in.”

By Fili’s side, Meldron leant in close. “I don’t know if this is the done thing,” he murmured, low enough that Fili strained to hear him over the chatter and laughter from the merry tables that surrounded them. “But…could we perhaps make our arrangements tonight? If you don’t mind. Because I’d quite like to leave at first light if I can, I feel I should hurry back to my father before...in case...” Meldron’s voice cracked, the man struggling to hold back a sob.

Over rounds of cards, Meldron had talked openly about Gernac’s worsening illness, and his fears that his father would be gone before he returned from his trip. They sounded close, as family should be, and it was only right and natural that Meldron would be anxious to complete his business in Bree to rush home.

Fili was certain he would be entirely the same had their positions been reversed. It would be churlish to stand in the way of what could be a man’s last few precious moments with his father for the sake of another few ales and a merry game or two of cards.

Returning his coin to his pocket, Fili pushed the thought of what he would have given for one more day, or even one more word, with his adad out of his mind. Such thoughts would not put him in the mood to drive a hard bargain, and that would disappoint Thorin.  “Of course,” he said. “I understand completely. Kili?”

Kili looked up from his ale. 

“No more cards. We’re—”

Touching Fili’s arm, Meldron jerked his head toward the bar. “Let him stay and enjoy himself. Haldic will be back soon with more ale. Look, there he is now.”

The thickset guard, carrying a tray which Fili knew was sized for men but yet appeared small in Haldic’s shovel-like hands, was making his way toward them. Despite the crush of the crowd, and the lack of space to move freely between the closely-packed tables, men and hobbits appeared to melt out of the man’s way. 

“We can go to my rooms,” continued Meldron, “and be back before your brother fleeces my men out of all their coin.” He laughed, gesturing at the table. “I’m sure our ales will be long gone by then, but I have wine so we can have a glass or two of that while we talk. My father always says wine is a bit more civilised so I made sure to ask the innkeep for a nice bottle.”

Haldic reached their table, settling himself next to Kili. The chair creaked under the man's bulk as he handed out the ales and he stopped, staring at the tankards as if they puzzled him. 

“Haldic,” said Meldron slowly. “What is wrong with you?”

The big man frowned at the tray. “I—”

“Were you stealing sips out of the tankards again?” Meldron flashed Fili a quick smile before turning back to Haldic. “Don’t give our new friends anything that you’ve already slobbered into.”

Pulling the fresh tankard from Kili, Haldic replaced it with another from the tray. “I didn’t drink out of this one.”

“You’re completely sure? Or do I need to send you up for more? Because I’m not made of gold, Haldic.” As Haldic nodded and Lerdil snickered into his ale, Meldron stood. “Good. Prince Fili and I are going to go and have a private conversation. You two stay here and behave yourselves. Lerdil, you be sure to fetch the next ales since Haldic can’t be trusted on his own in a tavern for more than two moments. Remind the innkeep that we’ll settle the bill in the morning, and don’t drink the place dry whilst I’m gone. I’m leaving you in charge. Don’t let me down.”

As Meldron finished his instructions and his men murmured their agreement, Fili quickly signed to Kili to keep his wits about him. Kili nodded, flashing back a sign to wish him good hunting. 

Fili smiled, but he was certain it was more of a grimace. Good hunting. He’d need it.

Scraping his chair back, Fili stood, running through the instructions from Thorin again in his head and trying to ignore the unsettling feeling that came with being the shortest person in the entire establishment — barring the hobbits.

It made no difference to anything that the top of his head barely reached Meldron's shoulder, or that the dark-haired man was the smallest out of his companions. And it wasn't as if he wasn't well used to tilting his head to look up at others anyway, for many years had passed since his little brother was shorter than him, and most dwarves in the settlement were taller.

Most, but not all. For Gimli was impatiently awaiting the growth spurt that would bring them eye-to-eye. Likely in a hundred years time, Gimli would still be insisting they stand back to back in socked feet to be measured, refusing to believe that Kili and Amad weren't lying or gone blind. As Fili smiled at the thought, Kili smiled back and it gave him courage. His brother believed in him, and nothing else mattered. 

The inn had become a good deal busier whilst they’d whiled away the afternoon. Meldron led the way through the crowd, carving a path through a sea of tankards and elbows and Fili followed in his wake. Away from Kili's quiet support, the doubts returned and, with his heart pounding in his ears almost loud enough to drown out the animated conversations going on above his head, Fili drew in one deep breath after another in an attempt to steady himself. It was foolish. A simple trade couldn’t possibly be more nerve-wracking than facing Fraeg in the arena, or giving a speech to miners twice his age, or any of the other tasks Thorin had assigned to him over the last year, and yet— 

Distracted, he narrowly avoided a drenching in ale, an intoxicated man stumbling backwards into him. The man’s friends pulled him away and Fili glared their insolent laughter into silence. 

Meldron waited for him on the other side of the stone archway. As the man pushed the large doors closed, the noise of the crowd became muffled. 

“It’ll quieten down by the time we’re back,” Meldron said with a smile as Fili brushed himself off. “They’ll all be heading off to the livestock trading or the evening market soon.”

“They might not.” The large window beside the weapons store overlooked the main square and, although the evening was yet fair, dark clouds were massing over the rooftops. Perhaps the weather down in the lowlands was gentler than in the mountains? It wasn’t something Fili had ever considered, but similar clouds at home were a clear warning to seek shelter unless you wanted to get very wet, very quickly. 

Interrupting Fili’s idle thoughts about storm clouds, Meldron laughed. “True, but we’ll not lose our seats anyhow. If there's one thing Haldic’s very good at, it’s discouraging company. Have you ever seen anything like this before?” He tugged back the heavy curtain that hid the weapons from view and peered into the alcove. “Which one’s yours? That’s my sword, and those are my men’s things are beside it.”

“It’s a good sword,” said Fili, pulling his gaze from the window. He and Kili hadn’t chosen to follow the innkeep’s suggestion that all weapons should be left unattended in a hallway. Dain had said that it was a foolish idea, one made for men who could not control their hands or their tempers, and therefore unnecessary for dwarves, and Fili agreed. It also seemed a very good way for well-crafted dwarven weapons to be stolen.

He glanced into the alcove. Some of the weapons seemed to display adequate workmanship, one of the longer knives might even have been dwarven-made —he would need a closer look to be completely certain— but, in the main, the swords and knives were shoddy and poorly cared for. The one that Meldron pointed to as his, and the other sword and mace that he claimed belonged to his men, were most definitely not dwarven-crafted. Fili didn’t need a closer look to determine that much. 

“I noticed there weren’t any axes.” Meldron looked down at him, “Do you both use swords then?”

“Yes.” Fili walked away, and, as he’d hoped, Meldron followed. 

“I’ll be honest,” Meldron continued. “I can barely use a sword, never needed to, but Father insisted that I carry one. For safety. My room’s this way.”

Instead of taking the stairs to where Fili believed all the rooms were, Meldron beckoned him down a corridor toward a set of double doors. He threw them wide open to reveal a vast room —opulently decorated with thick rugs, wall-hangings, and many pieces of furniture— and Fili forced himself to look unimpressed. The room was grander even than Thorin’s receiving chambers back home. Although, now that Fili thought about it, all of the rooms back home seemed bare and sparsely furnished compared to even the meanest room in the inn. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Meldron waved him in. “I expect you are used to much fancier places, and a lot more gold! This probably seems very plain to you.” 

Avoiding the man’s eyes, Fili stepped inside the room. He wished Thorin were beside him, or Dain, or anyone older and more experienced, because he hadn’t the faintest idea what the right answer should be.

If Meldron thought the settlement wealthy perhaps he would be less inclined to reduce prices? And Fili was determined that he would not leave the room without making Thorin proud, no matter his uncle’s assurances that the outcome wasn’t a concern. However, if he admitted that —apart from Amad’s wedding beads which were tucked away within a small wooden chest in her room, and the braid ornaments in his and Amad’s hair— there wasn’t a single piece of gold in his home, would Meldron think less of him and fight harder in the negotiation? 

Saying nothing might be the best course.

Fili pretended to study a poorly-made, overstuffed bookcase near the door until eventually Meldron broke the silence. “Well, it’s not plain to me anyway, I’ll admit that much. I’ve never stayed anywhere like this. Take a seat, there at the table by the window, and I’ll fetch the wine.”

Apart from the floor, every single horizontal surface throughout the inn was covered in trinkets, and with things that served no obvious purpose. And this room was no different. When Meldron disappeared into an adjoining chamber, Fili slowly made his way along the nearest wall toward the table. It was all very strange, and fascinating.

From the top of one of the many cabinets that lined the wall, he picked up a statue of a rearing pony, turning it over in his hands. Perhaps this one had a purpose because of the name of the inn? But, if that were the case, then what was the significance of all the others?

And the walls themselves were almost completely covered in drawings. Likenesses of men and hobbits stared down at him, interspersed with depictions of what looked a lot like the countryside surrounding Bree.

Gently placing the pony back where he had found it, Fili studied the nearest drawing. Their room upstairs had several much like it, and every bit as baffling. This one was a scene of rolling fields, in bright, unnatural greens, dotted with what Fili supposed might be sheep, and a crude depiction of a horse and wagon on a winding road. And that was it. 

It wasn’t as if they didn’t have such drawings at home. There was one which hung in pride of place on the wall behind Balin’s desk in his study. Balin had found it, long before Fili had been born, when browsing the stalls of a mannish market in Dunland. It was a drawing of a fearsome, horned beast with a long snout and a gaping maw. A beast so huge it towered over not only the men but even the trees that surrounded it.

The stall-holder hadn’t known what the drawing depicted, but Balin later discovered that the creature was probably an oliphaunt, and, as a dwarfling, Fili had been fascinated by it. Some of his earliest happy memories were of sitting on Balin’s knee whilst his tutor read out passages from his books about such beasts.

Then, as Fili grew older and learnt to read runes for himself, it was his turn to tell Kili, and later Gimli, about the curious creatures that roamed the faraway places of Middle-earth. They’d whiled away many long winter hours sprawled together in front of the roaring fireplace in Balin’s study, picking through the various descriptions, none of which exactly matched either each other or the drawing, and dreaming up their own stories. Stories of oliphaunts, dragons and brave dwarves. 

How Balin ever concentrated on his work whilst they bickered by his feet about who would strike the killing blow in their imaginary adventures was a mystery.

Gimli likely still thought he could take down a herd of oliphaunts single-handed. And Kili likely still thought none but his big brother could best a dragon, despite all the evidence that said otherwise. For it didn’t matter how many times Dwalin knocked Fili off his feet over the years, or even that Fraeg had so recently defeated him, Kili’s blind belief in Fili’s abilities remained steadfast and unshakeable. Even though a talented archer was a much better bet against dragon or oliphant than a dwarf with a sword would ever be.

Fili’s smile at the memory of their childish voices faded. He touched the wagon in the drawing. A likeness of an oliphaunt made perfect sense, for such creatures were from a strange land and unfamiliar to most. There was an excuse for potentially some inaccuracy. But surely everyone had seen a horse and wagon? How was it possible to not only get the proportions so wrong, but to also declare it an acceptable representation worthy of hanging on a wall? The only explanation was that it was deliberate. But why?

The other wall hangings with the depictions of men and hobbits at least made some sense. Dwarves did not —to the best of Fili’s knowledge— do such things, but the purpose of creating a likeness of a loved one was one that Fili could fully understand. It had to be a true comfort to have such a reminder, for he knew from bitter experience that even the most precious memories distorted and faded away over time. No matter how hard you tried to hold on to them. 

But why go to the trouble of creating a likeness of sheep or fields that could be viewed more accurately by simply stepping outside? 

The owner of the inn was a man, so likely there was a mannish reasoning for it. As Fili heard footsteps approaching, he considered asking Meldron to explain but, although the merchant was friendly enough, it would be admitting a weakness. And no matter how small or seemingly insignificant that weakness might seem, Thorin had warned Fili not to show any surprise or wonder at anything. Despite his questions, Fili dismissed the idea. He would follow Thorin’s command, and his curiosity would just have to wait to be satisfied until he saw Balin again. 

“You like this one, do you?” Meldron asked as Fili turned. He handed over a brimming glass of wine. “You might want to take a good slug out of that so it doesn’t get all over the rugs. Now, I don’t know much about paintings myself, but that looks like a good one to me. Probably cost a fair bit of coin, I reckon. Come on. I want to show you something. This is really special.”

The glass was far too full to attempt walking without spilling wine everywhere, so Fili took a large mouthful before following Meldron across the chamber to a door in the outer wall. By the time he arrived, Meldron had already unlocked it and passed through into the courtyard beyond. 

“As I was pouring the wine,” Meldron said. “I thought to myself. Since it’s still a nice night, why don’t we sit outside and relax? Enjoy the weather before the rain arrives.”

With its high walls, the courtyard outside the door appeared at first glance private, and, as the last rays of the setting sun fought their way through the clouds, it did look very pleasant. The scent of some flowers or greenery that Fili didn’t recognise drifted over him when he stepped outside.

Thinking about what to do, he took another sip of the wine and tried not to screw up his face at the bitter, slightly-sour taste. It must be some mannish blend, and it wasn’t pleasant to drink. Certainly nowhere near as nice as the wine that Uncle Thorin favoured and served on special occasions. 

Settling himself at a large round table near the door, Meldron patted the ornate, and inexpertly-carved, chair at his side. “Come on, come join me.”

Fili glanced upward. Their room was almost directly above Meldron’s, but there were other rooms along the passageway too, and he could see open windows. Even with the distant clamour of what must be the livestock trading, and the soft whickering from the stables that Fili guessed were beyond the door in the courtyard wall, there was a chance they could be overheard by anyone who cared to listen from the rooms above. 

“No,” he said finally. “I think it would be best that we talk inside.”

“Fine by me, whatever you prefer,” Meldron said. He stood and lifted his glass. “I expect you know how these things are done much better than I. Inside it is.” 

Once they were settled at the table and the door closed, Meldron began to talk. And talk. Listening, Fili looked past Meldron's shoulder through the window and watched darkness descend over the courtyard. As the first stars appeared above the courtyard wall, Meldron stood to light candles and Fili tried to politely steer the conversation around to the trade. But to no avail, for the man continued with more merry stories about his home and his journey.

Beginning to lose patience, Fili tried again to interject when their glasses were refilled, but somehow Meldron didn’t seem to notice and there was always just one more quick story.

Maybe he was being too encouraging? But he couldn’t see how that was possible. Despite Meldron’s many questions, Fili had managed not to answer any of them, and he had been careful not to draw the man into further conversation by asking any of his own.

Kili would come searching for him if he was much longer, and it would be embarrassing to admit that they hadn’t even so much as started. And it was frustrating. Meldron had claimed to be anxious to complete the trade agreement and rest before his return journey began in the morning, but now seemed in a lot less of a hurry than he’d been in the common area. 

As Meldron lifted the wine glasses once more and disappeared into the other room, Fili traced a knot on the table with his fingertips, fretting about how best to ask for the letter from Gernac. It felt very rude to do so when they had been talking for so long and when Meldron was being so open and friendly, but Thorin would be unimpressed if Fili simply took a man’s word without proof. He pulled his fingers away from the table, smothering a sudden yawn as Meldron reappeared. 

“Here we are.” Handing Fili a too-full glass, Meldron lifted his own in a salute. “I thought we may as well finish the bottle. What do you think of it? I must confess that my wine knowledge is a bit like my knowledge of paintings, and I don’t know good from bad.”

It would be impolite to say that it wasn’t to his taste when the man had spent coin on it to impress him, so Fili nodded and took a large sip. If that was the last of the bottle, then the quicker he drank it the sooner it would be gone. “It’s...different from what I’m used to. I expect it’s just made differently here.” 

Meldron nodded, leaning forward on his elbows as if Fili had said something inspiring, and the earnest expression on the man’s face suddenly reminded Fili sharply of Kili. 

He felt like he needed to say something more. “I think I just prefer ale. Not that this isn’t nice, but I have to admit that I don’t know a great deal about wine.” 

“That makes two of us then. Because I prefer ale too!” Meldron laughed, banging the table with his fist. “Next time I’ll know to ask the innkeep for his best ales instead.”

“We should probably—”

“I think we’ll be very good friends, Prince Fili, but I’ve just realised that I’ve been talking and haven’t given you a chance to speak at all. I don’t know anything about you. You must tell me all about yourself. Anything at all. Have you any other brothers, or sisters?”

More questions. Fili stared down into his glass and stifled another yawn, frowning. A few ales and half a bottle of wine shouldn’t be making him so sleepy and muddy-headed, but then it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Between the worry about Dain’s intentions toward Kili, and the tourney, and then on top of that the worries about all that could go wrong with the trade, it felt as if he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He scrubbed a hand through his hair in an attempt to wake himself up. 

“Are you feeling unwell?” Meldron tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m fine.” There was no way of doing it politely, and he wanted to get this over with and get back to Kili. Fili took a deep breath. “It’s getting late.”

Meldron glanced over his shoulder at the window. “Yes. I suppose it is.” 

“I think you should show me the letter from your father now. Then we can talk properly about what I need from you.”

“All in good time.” Relaxing back into his chair, Meldron laughed. “And I thought we were talking properly? Or beginning to anyway. Because you’re a quiet one, and a closed book to me, Prince Fili. Is that normal for dwarves, or is it just you?”

There was an odd note in Meldron’s voice. Perhaps he’d offended him in some way? Surely the man didn’t want to sit and talk all night? Unless this was normal mannish etiquette. But if that was the case, surely Thorin would have mentioned it? Fili shook his head. “I—”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Meldron. “Since you’re so anxious, why don’t I go and get the letter? Will that make you happy?”

“Thank you, I just think that we should—”

“No, I understand. First though, let's have a toast.” Raising his glass, Meldron stretched across the table. “To new friendships, and to fathers who trust us with their affairs.”

Fili touched his glass to Meldron’s and took the smallest sip that he felt he could get away with, not bothering to correct the man. It would only distract Meldron and start yet another unnecessary conversation. Now that they were actually getting somewhere his stomach fluttered with nerves, and Fili hoped he was hiding it well enough. He set the glass back down to wipe his damp palms on his trousers. 

“You’re supposed to drain your glass when we toast.” Meldron tipped his empty glass and grinned. “Go on.”

A heavy rap at the door distracted Meldron, and Fili breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure he could manage any more of the wine, and he had no intention of drinking a whole glass of the horrible stuff at once. As Meldron called for whoever it was to come in, Fili turned in his chair. He blinked in surprise at the man who entered. It was one of the guards, the heavy-set one, Fili knew that much, but as he tried to recall the man’s name it slipped like dust through his fingers. He frowned. He was certain it had been said several times. 

“Ah, Haldic,” Meldron said. “Come in, and shut the door. Me and Fili were just getting to know each other. Go on, Fili, finish your drink.”

Haldic smiled. He closed the door, dropping the latch into place. 

“Fili.” A finger poked Fili’s arm and Meldron continued, “You’re not listening to me.”

Reluctantly, Fili shifted in his chair to face Meldron. He didn’t like turning his back on Haldic, for in the quiet of the room rather than a crowded alehouse there was something in the man’s smile he didn’t care for. His fingers itched for his sword, which was ridiculous. There was no danger here. 

Leaning closer, Meldron's eyes glinted in the flickering candlelight. “Tell me, how did you both manage to avoid the red hair?”

“What do you mean?”

“Drink up.” Meldron flicked the stem of Fili’s glass. “Your father’s red hair. Why don’t you and your brother have it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is there a story there?”

To buy time while he tried to puzzle out what the man meant, Fili lifted the wine glass to his lips. 

Haldic laughed. “That wasn’t his father. Some cousin or something. He’s here for his uncle.”

“His uncle?” Meldron met Fili’s eyes. “What’s your uncle’s name?” 

A cold feeling spread over Fili. He set the glass down slowly, tensing at the sound of heavy footfalls crossing the flagstones to stop behind him. “What’s your father’s name?”

“No idea, as it happens.” Meldron grinned. “Well, Haldic, I think he’s onto us.”

“Thorin,” Haldic growled, from close enough that Fili could smell the man’s stale sweat and the scent of ale on his breath. “That’s the uncle’s name. The brother told us. Told us a lot of things before he stopped talking.”

Kili. 

Fili leapt to his feet. With his heart hammering, he grabbed the chair, dragging it with him on a quick retreat from the table. Haldic might be big, but the chair was heavy, a good weapon, and his knives would soon even things up. Careful to keep them both in his eyeline, he shifted his grip, readying himself. “Where’s my brother?”

“Ah,” said Meldron. He leant back in his chair, swinging his boots onto the table. “Careful, little prince. There’s a few ways we can go from here, and not all of them are pleasant. But, and trust me when I say this, they all end the same way. For you.”

Chapter Text

Haldic cracked his knuckles before dropping into a fighter’s crouch, and Fili reconsidered his options. The door that led to the courtyard was only a few steps behind him. Not taking his eyes from Haldic —he’d be a fool to underestimate the man who, like Fraeg, might be a lot faster than he looked— he backed slowly toward it, trying to remember if there was a key. And, if there had been, had Meldron used it. 

Meldron whistled. “As I said,” he began, twirling a long key through his fingers. “There’s a few ways we can go from here, so it’s really important that you listen to me carefully and think hard. I know that might be difficult just at the moment, I imagine you’re feeling a bit...not yourself?” 

Panic was making his thoughts slippery and hard to hold onto. Shaking his head to clear it, Fili eyed the window behind Meldron when the man looked away to tuck the key in a pocket. The angle wasn’t quite right, but if he threw the chair hard enough at Meldron it might still have enough momentum to break the glass and allow him to escape. And Haldic would struggle to fit through after him. That would buy some time. But if the outer courtyard gate was locked too, he could still be in trouble. The wall enclosing the courtyard was high, and he couldn’t clearly remember what the stone looked like for climbing, but there were houses all about and there would be stableboys in the stables. Surely if he called for help someone would come? Fili tightened his grip on the chair. 

“I’d urge you to keep your thoughts fixed firmly on your brother,” said Meldron, “because you have the look of a dwarf who’s planning something monumentally stupid, and that would be a real shame. Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk?”

“Where’s Kili? If you have hurt—” 

Meldron laughed. “I’d be a bit more careful about making threats if I were in your position, but I’m a reasonable man and I can understand you’re upset. So, I’ll make things easy for you. Go fetch the gold, because I know you have gold. And all of it, mind, because I know what your people are like. Then come back here with a more civil tongue in your head and a better temper, and we’ll talk. My man will go with you, and if you cause him any trouble...well.” Meldron’s eyes glittered. “My advice would be, don’t.”

“And my brother?”

“If you behave yourself, and do exactly as I tell you, then your brother will be unharmed.” Meldron turned to Haldic. “The brother is currently unharmed, isn’t he?”

Fili’s blood ran cold when Haldic smiled. 

“Off you go.” Meldron gestured toward the door. “And be quick about it.”

There was no other choice he could possibly have made. With Haldic’s heavy hand on the back of his neck, pushing him onward, Fili walked along the corridor. Turning to climb the stairs, one of the hobbit serving maids collided with him, and, as Fili steadied her and she apologised, he almost blurted out —something— a plea for help, or for a distraction. But the moment passed before he could decide, and what could she do? Haldic was twice her size. Involving her would only put her in danger, and it was clear to Fili now that they were in very grave danger. 

Once she was gone back into the common room, the door swinging closed behind her, Haldic pushed him up the stairs. Stumbling on a step, Fili fell forward onto his knees, and Haldic yanked him upright. “Keep going,” the man hissed. “Faster.”

For reassurance, Fili touched the room key in his pocket and tried to straighten his jumbled thoughts into a plan. Haldic would demand the key from him in a moment. Knives he had, but, even better than that, their weapons would be piled on top of the trunk near the door. And Haldic appeared unarmed — although it would be foolish to assume that the man didn’t have at least one knife on his person. But men were poor at swordplay, Uncle Thorin always said so, and, if he moved quickly when Haldic opened the door, he could reach his swords, overpower the man, and force him to take him to Kili. Then together they would raise the alarm. 

Missing his footing again at the top of the stairs, Fili muttered a curse, catching at the wall to stop his fall.  Fear was making him clumsy and weak. It felt as if his entire body was shaking. The sound of Haldic’s laughter echoed in the quiet passageway before a hand grabbed Fili’s collar. Gritting his teeth as the man dragged him toward their room, Fili forced himself to concentrate. He needed to think clearly and move fast. 

But the door swung open at Haldic’s push, and Fili’s heart plummeted to his boots. Another man, tall and wiry, sat on the end of the nearest bed. He stood as they entered, revealing a crumpled figure lying across the blankets behind him, and Fili rushed forward,  swords and all thoughts of a plan forgotten, only to be jerked to a halt when a big hand caught in his hair

“Easy,” warned Haldic. 

Fili stared unblinkingly at Kili, barely hearing the door slam shut behind them. 

"Key, dwarf,” said Haldic. “Don't make me search you."

Not waiting for him to respond, Haldic started rummaging and Fili grabbed the key, handing it over before the man could find his hidden knives. As the key ground in the lock, he tried to step toward Kili but Haldic jerked him backward. 

“No.” Haldic shook him. “Gold first. Where have you hidden it? Derild...I mean, Lerdil, keep an eye on the brother.”

Fili nearly lost his balance when Haldic shoved him forward. Their room was a mess. The contents of their packs were strewn across the floor and all the trunks and cupboards had been ransacked. With his eyes fixed on Kili, Fili ignored another push from Haldic, holding his breath as he watched his brother’s chest rise and fall. A wave of relief rushed over him. Kili was alive, unconscious but alive. “Kili!” he shouted. 

The blow knocked him to one knee. 

“None of that,” said Haldic. “He can’t hear you anyway. Get up, and get the gold. I won’t tell you again.” 

With Haldic at his back and his vision still swimming from the man’s strike, Fili picked his way through the debris to the other bed.

“It’s under there.” Pointing to the floorboard he’d hidden the saddlebag underneath, Fili added, “But I’ll need a knife.”

Haldic laughed, slapping Fili between the shoulder blades as if they were jesting. “The dwarf wants a knife.” 

To Fili’s horror, Lerdil —or Derild as he suspected the man’s real name was— hoisted Kili upright. His brother slumped bonelessly and Derild pushed Kili’s head to one side, pressing a knife against his exposed throat. 

“There’s your knife,” said Haldic. “So you can use your fingernails or your teeth, I don’t mind which, but, whatever you do, do it quick. My friend doesn’t have much patience, and you dwarves are heavy. You wouldn’t want that knife to slip, would you?”

It was hard to tear his eyes away from Kili but do it he must. Fili knelt to try the boards and, as he’d suspected, his fingers were too large to fit between them. With a growl, he pulled a knife from his boot. 

“Knew you’d have one on you somewhere,” Haldic said as Fili levered up the board. “Your kind always does. You can put it on the bed with the gold when you’re finished. Slowly, mind. No sudden movements or it won’t go well for either of you.”

Fili stood, tossing knife and saddlebag onto the bed. 

The gold clinked and Haldic’s eyes widened. “Good,” he said, picking up the knife. He tucked it into his belt. “Any more weapons on you?”

Fili tilted his chin. “No.” 

“Lerdil?” Haldic smiled, holding Fili’s stare. “Our little prince needs a bit of persuasion.” 

A red line bloomed along Kili’s throat and Fili lunged across the bed, making it halfway before fingers wrapped around his ankle. Laughing, Haldic dragged him back and threw him against the wall. 

“Here.” Tearing the knife from his other boot, Fili flung it to the bed. His hands shook uncontrollably as he pulled the remaining hidden knives from his tunic and added them to the pile. Cursing himself, he sank to the floor in front of Haldic. “That’s all of them, all I have, I swear to you, please don’t.”

“That’s better,” said Haldic. “Manners, that’s what I like.” Bundling up the saddlebag and knives in a blanket, he walked away. 

Fili struggled to his feet. Fighting a wave of nausea, he leant against the wall, black spots floating in front of his eyes. The two men talked in low voices nearby as they picked through their belongings, wrapping their swords up in the blanket with the other weapons, and they seemed to have forgotten him. Quietly, he crawled over the nearest bed and on wobbly legs crept across the gap to Kili.

“Kili,” he whispered, clambering unsteadily onto the other bed where his brother lay. He pulled Kili’s head onto his lap and pressed his fingers to the cut, breathing a sigh of relief. It wasn’t deep, only a long scratch, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his forehead to Kili’s. His hands roamed over his brother’s head, searching for the other injury that had rendered Kili unconscious and dreading what he might find. “Kili, open your eyes for me. I’m sorry. Please, brother. Please.”

The mattress dipped behind him.

“No.” Clutching at Kili with one hand, Fili struck out with his elbow. It connected with something solid, but Haldic only cursed and wrapped a thick arm around his neck.

“Yes.” Haldic trailed him backward, forcing Fili to let Kili go or drop him to the floor. Tightening his hold, Haldic continued, “Meldron wanted to talk to you, remember?”

“Do we want this?” Derild waved Kili’s bow. 

Fighting for breath and held against Haldic’s chest, Fili felt the man shrug. 

Derild turned the bow over in his hands. “Bit short, I reckon. The swords’ll sell, they’re fair-sized and the Rangers always need swords, or those orcs out near Tharbad’ll take them. But this is useless. Too small. I've never seen a hobbit with a bow, and no dwarf will buy it off us. Not with all these markings on it."

"Goblins?"

"Don't put that idea in his head." Derild shuddered. "I'm not going back near them."

“Leave it then.” Haldic lifted Fili toward the door. “Come on, dwarf. Walk. I’m not carrying you.” 

His legs weren’t obeying him. Released and able to breathe again, Fili tripped over his own feet as Haldic pushed him through the doorway. A loud crack, that could only be wood breaking — Kili’s bow breaking, Fili realised in horror— issued from the room before Derild joined them with the rolled blanket tucked under his arm. 

Meldron was still at the table when they returned downstairs. He sat up straight in his chair when Derild dumped the blanket onto the floor and dug out the saddlebag. “You’re looking a bit unsteady on your feet, Prince Fili. You should sit down,” he said, waving Derild toward him.

Shame burned under his skin, and Fili forced himself to remain silent as Meldron flipped open the saddlebag to paw through the coin. It didn’t matter. It was only gold. They could have it. All that mattered was keeping Kili safe. 

“Well.” Meldron sat back, crossing his arms, and Haldic shoved Fili down into the chair opposite. “Let’s get better acquainted. You can start by telling me more about your uncle. This Thorin. A king, is he?” When Fili didn’t answer, he continued, “And you’re a prince? Is that true?”

Pressing his lips together, Fili braced for another blow from Haldic. It didn’t come. 

“There’s no need to glare at me like that. I don’t know much about your people and I’m merely curious.” Meldron waved his hands about. “Now, I’m just thinking this out, and correct me if I’m wrong anywhere, but...if you’re a prince, and the king is your uncle, then that means your king doesn’t have any sons and isn’t likely to have any. Is that right? Your silence is a yes, by the way. And, if that’s the case, then it makes you and your brother very important, doesn’t it? Makes you worth something.” 

Fili shook his head. 

“I don’t think you’re being truthful with me. Bring him closer.” 

Shunted forward, Fili tried to yank his head away when Meldron’s fingers closed around a braid, but Haldic’s hand in his hair held him steady. 

“And, this little bauble, I’m assuming this means something?” Meldron rolled the golden braid ornament —the one that once belonged to Uncle Frerin and was worth more to their Amad and Uncle Thorin than a mountain full of treasure— through his fingers. “Why doesn’t your brother have any?”

It was a way out. 

“Because he’s not important.” Fili took a deep breath, the image of Kili lying hurt and defenceless only feet above his head foremost in his mind. Nothing else mattered. “I’m the heir, but he’s no one. Only my younger brother.” 

Meldron smiled. Dropping the braid, he slid Fili’s abandoned glass of wine across the table. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You should finish this. I’m sure you’re thirsty after your walk. And tell me more about your brother. He’s a prince too? Another heir?”

Fili shook his head as best he could with Haldic’s fingers in his hair.

“Not what I’ve heard.”

“He is a prince.” Fili’s heart beat faster as his mind raced. “But he’s not an heir, not like I am. It’s a title only, and he’s far down the line. I have lots of other younger brothers. Clever ones, and much stronger. Kili will never be anything. He’s worthless. He’s nothing to anyone.”

“Is that so? Worthless, and nothing to anyone?” Meldron stared into Fili’s eyes and pushed the glass closer. “Poor little Kili. That’s very interesting. Drink.”

A horrible suspicion was beginning to form. Fili looked at the wine. “Why?”

Meldron sighed. “Lerdil,” he said. “Fetch the brother.”

“No.” Grabbing the glass, Fili drained it. “Leave him alone. I’m telling you what you want.”

“That’s not entirely true, is it? But you’re telling me enough. What you need to understand is that I’m quite a good liar, Fili, and you’re not.” Meldron spun a knife through his fingers and pointed it across the table. “You’re a very poor liar actually, and, to be perfectly honest, I’m rapidly losing patience with you. So I think it’s past time for me to relax, count my new found wealth, and have a few ales, and, for that, I need you to relax too. Haldic, there’s no wine left. Fetch the prince a nice glass of water.”

Haldic coughed, muttering, “I’ve none left.”

“What?” Meldron glowered. “You used all of it? I told you...never mind. The pouch is in my room. Only a pinch, mind, and a normal person’s pinch at that, not one of your ham-fisted, giant ones. I’m not made of gold.”

The pressure on Fili’s head released. As Haldic lumbered off toward the other room, Fili stared at Meldron.

“Haldic can be quite heavy-handed,” said Meldron, “and he forgets the trouble I had getting a hold of that stuff. I had to spin quite a story, and pay a not-insignificant amount.”

Derild was lurking somewhere out of sight, which meant he had to be between them and the main door. But he was only one man. Leaning forward, Fili gripped the edge of the table with one hand. The world tilted sickeningly at the movement and, as his vision darkened at the edges, he squeezed his eyes closed, whispering a quick prayer for strength. His fingers tightened on the stem of the wine glass. 

“At last!” Meldron sounded pleased and oddly far away. “Honestly, the amount you’ve had would’ve knocked out a horse. It’s a good thing you had all that gold after all because I’ve made quite an investment in you. Dwarves really are the most stubborn—”

The heavy table knocked Meldron from his chair and shattered the glass in the window. Fili spun, staggering as he did, and flung the wineglass. 

As Derild clutched at his bloodied face and Meldron yelled behind him for Haldic, Fili hesitated, torn with indecision between the door or the broken window. He raced for the door, glancing over his shoulder to see Haldic emerge from the other room with a puzzled expression on his face. 

His hands weren’t working properly either. Fili cursed, standing on tiptoe to fumble with the high latch. He managed to flip it open, dodging aside as Haldic caught up with him. The man’s punch went wide, and Fili darted forward —ducking under Haldic’s arm when the man swung again— for a strike of his own. It caught Haldic in the gut and the man stumbled backward, winded. 

The key turned easily in the lock and Fili wrenched the door open, making it a full step into the passageway before hands caught at his clothes, dragging him backward through the doorway. Twisting in their grip, he caught at the door frame, clinging onto it as he shouted for help and kicked back at the men. 

A big hand wrapped over his mouth, stifling his yells, and Fili bit down hard, tasting copper. Haldic cursed and wrenched his hand away, and Fili shouted again, his cry cut short when something heavy struck the back of his head. Falling forward, he lost his grip on the door frame, the flagstones of the passageway rushing up to meet him.

Stunned, he couldn’t resist as they pulled him back into the room. The door slammed shut. A blow caught him in the small of the back and he rolled away, trying to gauge the distance between him and the window. 

Scrambling to his feet, he wasn’t fast enough, and raucous laughter filled the room when Haldic’s boot connected with his stomach. Fili collapsed, doubled over and coughing against the dusty floor, certain he would be sick. A weight landed on his back, pressing him against the floor and forcing what little air that was left in his chest out. Panicked and unable to breathe, he kicked out and hit nothing. 

“Stop.” Meldron crouched on the floor. He tutted, grabbing Fili’s chin as he tried to yank his head away. “That wasn’t very sensible, was it? You’ve made a mess of this very nice room, and I honestly don’t know who’s going to pay for that window, because I can tell you now it won’t be me.”

Strong hands grabbed at him, and Fili struggled as Haldic and Derild wrestled him up and onto his knees, forcing his hands behind his back. Cord bit into his wrists and as he drew in a breath to cry out for help Haldic forced a foul-smelling cloth between his teeth. The cloth tightened before he could spit it out and Fili screamed in a muffled fury, writhing in the men’s grip.

Cold steel touched his throat, stilling him. 

“That’s quite enough of that, I think.” Meldron nodded to Haldic. “Fetch the water.”

Apart from Fili’s own ragged breathing, the room was deathly silent until Haldic returned. As he handed Meldron the glass, he grumbled, “He bit me.”

“I know he did.” Waving Haldic away, Meldron placed the glass on the floor, and tucked his finger under the cloth. “Fili, listen to me carefully. This is what is going to happen next. I’m going to take this away, and you’re going to drink and, very soon with any luck, go for a nice sleep. But, if you make so much as a sound, even a whisper, or cause me any more trouble whatsoever, when I take this off then I will slit your throat. And after that, I will go upstairs and bring your little brother down here. Then, when he wakes up, I will show him what I’ve done to you, and then I’ll slit his throat. If he’s lucky, and I don’t have any better ideas in the meantime. Do we understand each other?”

Fili nodded. To his shame, he could feel the heat of tears beginning to gather in his eyes. He forced himself to hold Meldron’s gaze and not blink. 

“Good.” Meldron smiled and pointed with his knife. “And I’ll be needing that, I think.” 

It hurt more than it should. Fili blinked when his hair tugged sharply against his scalp, the blood rushing to his face when the first tear escaped, quickly followed by another. Straightening his shoulders, he tilted his chin as Meldron sawed through the final strands and the braid sprang free. 

Meldron touched Uncle Frerin’s hair ornament before tucking the braid away into his pocket. “There we are, now—” Glancing up, he cocked his head. “Oh, Fili.”

Leaning in close, Meldron wiped away the tears with his thumb and Fili flinched at the mockery of tenderness.

“Glaring again?” All pretence disappeared. Grinning, Meldron narrowed his eyes and patted Fili's cheek. “I really hope your uncle won’t be as difficult to deal with as you.”

“My uncle will kill you.” The words were spat out before he could stop them. 

Meldron rocked back on his heels. Licking his fingers, he dabbed at a small cut on his forehead. “You could have properly hurt me with that table, you know.” He turned his bloodied fingertips to Fili and continued, “But that’s very useful information about your uncle, so I’ll forgive you this once.”

“No. I didn’t mean—”

“You did. That’s exactly what you meant, and, if that’s the case, then I might have to reconsider my plan. But, you don’t need to worry about any of that. You just leave it all up to me and I’ll think of something. Drink up.” Wiping his fingers on Fili’s tunic, Meldron lifted the glass.

Fili jerked his head back as the glass was pressed to his lips. “No, what I meant was, if your man arrives with my braid, then my uncle will kill him, and you. So you need to send my brother. That’s the only way. You have to send Kili with it.”

“Once again, that’s very helpful. Thank you.” Meldron nodded and a hand grasped Fili’s neck. “Now, drink, or my men will make you drink, and that won’t be very pleasant. Because, although I’ve forgiven you, they’re not very happy. I can tell.”

Meldron tilted the glass and Fili gulped down the water, coughing when it spilled out too fast. Haldic and Derild laughed behind him. 

“No, wait,” he pleaded as Meldron took away the empty glass and lifted the gag. “My brother. Do I have your word?”

Meldron raised his eyebrows. “My word?” Tucking the cloth back into place, Meldron reached behind Fili’s head to tighten it. “Don’t be ridiculous. What you have, Prince Fili, is no choice.”

Chapter Text

The tap of rain against glass pulled him reluctantly from a deep, dreamless sleep. Kili yawned and rolled over, stretching out a hand for his brother’s warmth. When his searching fingers found nothing but scratchy woollen blankets between him and the edge of the bed, his eyes snapped open. “Fee?” 

The room was gloomy and chill — and empty.

“Fee?” Sitting up, Kili grasped his head in both hands. The world swooped and spun. At last, his vision steadied and he waited until he was certain he wasn’t going to be ill before starting to untangle himself from the covers. His boots caught in the blankets and he stared at them. He never slept with his boots on. In fact, all his clothes were still on. 

Tossing the blankets to one side, he swung his legs out of bed and yelped when something crunched beneath his feet. 

Crouching beside his broken bow, Kili lifted the pieces and tried to make sense of it. It had to have been broken before because his bow wouldn’t snap from being lightly trodden on. The wood was far too strong for that. He sat on the floorboards to gather his thoughts.

But his thoughts weren’t working. Holding a piece of his bow tightly, he searched his mind, but it was no good. He knew they'd been at the market, and he thought he could remember visiting the ponies in the stables. But after that...there wasn't anything. Nothing at all.

Had they fought? They didn’t argue often, and it had been many years since they'd come to blows struck in anger, but maybe they’d had too much to drink and quarrelled badly?

Kili’s blood ran cold. Amad would be furious. The first time they had ever been allowed a small mug of ale with dinner it had come with a dire warning of what could happen when dwarves drank too much. Tempers could flare, Amad had said, and it was very easy to say and do awful things that you didn’t mean.

They’d nodded along at the time, and every other time she’d given them the warning, but they knew that these things could happen anyway. There was more than one dwarf in the settlement who had found themselves in the deep cells under the mountain, awaiting their uncle’s justice, because of too much ale. Kili had never been present at any hearings or trials, although Fili had, but he'd seen the punishments his uncle dealt out. 

They'd known to be careful.

Kili swallowed hard, placing the remains of his bow on the floor. He'd never once considered that they might fall foul of a drunken argument themselves. Not a serious one. What could they possibly have to fight about? He loved his brother, and Fili loved him. They’d only ever laughed and had a good time when they drank together. 

And he couldn’t remember saying or doing anything that might have upset Fili. He couldn’t even remember drinking. 

His quiver lay half-hidden under the bed. Kili dragged it out. It was empty. Lifting the trailing bedcovers and blanket, he peered underneath the bed but there were only dusty floorboards and no arrows. Where were they? What had happened?

Holding tight to the bedframe and with his stomach swirling sickeningly, Kili pulled himself upright. He stared across the room at the other bed, hoping that Fili might be curled up under blankets. But there wasn’t even a blanket on the bed, only the bare mattress. 

Maybe they’d drunk something like Gloin’s firewater, and that was why he couldn’t remember? 

“He’s gone for a walk,” Kili told the empty room in the hope that talking would make him feel less lonely. “We’ve had a stupid fight, and he’s gone for a walk to cool off.” 

As he said the words aloud they made some sense. Fili had been on edge and fretful about the merchant. It would have been so easy to have said something thoughtless and stupid, and Fili always walked away when they fought.

Shame flooded Kili’s cheeks with heat. He wished he could remember what he’d done or said, but it didn’t matter. The moment Fili got back, he’d apologise and Fili would forgive him. They always apologised to each other after a disagreement, and it was always fine. It would be fine. 

Their things were strewn everywhere. For something to do while he waited, Kili gathered everything off the floor and tidied it all back into packs or cupboards. As he worked, a cold coil of dread settled in his belly and he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. The need to run and find Fili and sort things out right away was almost overwhelming. He straightened the beds, not that they really needed it, and placed the broken pieces of his bow on the trunk where the other weapons should have been. 

And where were their other weapons? Maybe Fili, or he, had decided they should follow the rules after all and store them downstairs with the other weapons? Maybe that’s what they had fought about? It seemed unlikely, but Kili supposed anything could be possible, and their swords definitely weren’t in the room. 

Fresh air. He needed to breathe. 

Flinging the window wide open, he scrubbed his hands through his hair and sucked in deep breaths of damp air. It didn't help. The walls still pressed in on him.

There was nothing else for it but to go and find Fili. He couldn’t sit about and wait any longer, trying to piece it together with guesses. It would drive him mad. Fili would know the answers to everything like he always did, and, although his big brother wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed before he was ready, it just couldn’t be helped. 

The decision calmed him — find Fili and sort everything out. With a spring in his step, Kili hurried toward the door, stopping to stare at their cloaks hung neatly on pegs beside it.

He glanced back toward the wide-open window. It looked as if it had been raining for some time, so Fili must have been beyond furious to storm out, and neither lift his cloak nor trust his temper enough to come back for it. Kili dithered in the doorway with the key that he’d found on the floor in his hand, doubting again his decision to go, and unsure whether to lock the door.

No. He needed to go and, although Fili would be annoyed if he came back and couldn’t get in —Kili locked the door, tucking the key away safely— his brother would be even more annoyed if the gold was left unsecured. 

Swinging his cloak around his shoulders, he was a few steps into the common area before remembering that he’d meant to check the weapons. All around him the room hummed with activity. Men and hobbits were sitting at tables, talking loudly and enjoying what looked a lot like lunch rather than breakfast.

A serving girl walked toward him with a tray and Kili stepped aside to let her pass. He frowned at the plates. Maybe men and hobbits preferred pies and vegetables for breakfast? He hadn't really been paying attention to anyone else's plates when he'd breakfasted with Fili yesterday so it was possible. And he hadn’t slept past lunchtime in years, not since he and Fili were little more than dwarflings.

A group of hobbits at a nearby table were looking at him oddly. Kili hurried on through the main doors and into the street. He’d check the weapons later. Fili would tell him off for being unarmed, but that was the least of his worries. 

The rain had grown heavier since he’d left their room. Ducking out from under the shelter of the inn’s front porch, Kili hugged his brother’s cloak tighter to his chest to keep it dry and quickened his steps across the quiet market square.

From the position of the weak sun filtering through from behind the rain clouds, it was indeed much later in the day than he'd thought. The urgent need to find Fili and apologise grew stronger. His brother wouldn’t have gone far, not with the merchant due at some point today, and not without his cloak, so there was no need to check the surrounding countryside. Fili would be somewhere close by. 

Beginning with the closest streets and working his way outward, Kili scoured the town. Only after he’d poked his head into all the taverns and checked every stall twice did a flash of inspiration strike at last.

The ponies. That’s where his brother would be, sulking somewhere warm and cosy, and not being soaked to the skin like a fool.

Kili shook his head at his stupidity and hurried back toward the inn as fast as he could without actually running — mindful of his uncle’s warnings to behave with dignity befitting a prince at all times. But surely princes, and maybe even kings, would run in such weather?

And there was barely anyone about to see. The only other people on the streets were swaddled in cloaks and hoods and intent on nothing more than keeping their own footing in the slippery muck. Splashing through another muddy puddle, Kili held himself with difficulty to a fast walk. Knowing his luck, if he ran he’d only barrel straight into the merchant, knock him head over heels, and ruin everything. And then Fili would be properly angry. 

He broke into a run once he turned into the deserted street that led to the stables. A shadow moved inside, one of the stableboys peeping out through the gap in the doors. 

“My lord!” the boy cried, swinging the door open. “You’re soaked through! You must be freezing. Come in. We've a fire going in the lodgings above if you want to warm yourself.” 

Kili apologised, water dripping from his clothes to the neatly brushed flagstones. “It’s only summer rain, I’m fine.” He glanced along the row of stalls. “Is my brother here?”

The boy shook his head. 

“Oh.” Kili’s shoulders slumped. He’d been so certain, and now he didn’t know where to go. And the boy was giving him an odd look. He straightened and continued, “Then, since I’m here, I’ll say hello to the ponies. They’ll be annoyed if they hear my voice and I don’t at least give them a pat.” 

The boy caught his arm when Kili walked past. “The ponies, my lord? But the ponies are gone?”

“What?” With all thoughts of dignified behaviour forgotten, Kili brushed the boy’s hand away. He ran down the stables to the end stall and stared at the straw-strewn cobbles in disbelief. 

“The men… They said they won them from you in a game of cards,” said the boy, arriving at Kili’s side. “Did they not? Were we not supposed to—”

Recognising the rising panic in the youngster’s voice, Kili touched the boy’s arm to stop him. There was no sense in the two of them losing their heads, not when he could do it well enough for both of them. “No, no. It’s fine. That is, I mean, I can’t remember, but maybe I had too much ale. My brother will know. If you see him, will you tell him I’m searching for him?”

With the boy's promises ringing in his ears, Kili left the stables, chewing on a fingernail as he went. It couldn’t be true, Fili wouldn’t have allowed it in a thousand years. But yet, it felt as if it held a ring of truth, and it would explain the fight. The cold dread that had so briefly lifted settled back again in his belly. 

Uncle Thorin would be so angry. 

The inn was suffocatingly warm. Kili pushed his hood down as he wove back through the common room toward the archway. He would stay in one place and wait for Fili —that’s what you were supposed to do when you were lost— and his brother might even be upstairs already, sitting in the hallway and waiting impatiently on him. And Fili would have a plan. Fili would make everything right again. 

“Kili. Wait.”

Stopping mid-stride, Kili looked around for who had called out. An old man at one of the man-sized tables set into the space within the inn’s large bay window smiled and waved, beckoning to him. 

Kili frantically tried to remember a name. He’d spoken to this man, he knew he had, and they’d obviously exchanged names since the man knew his — but all he could recall were magnificent smoke rings and some talk of horses and markets. Oh, and a twisted walking staff with strange carvings. He recognised it propped against the wall beside the man. 

“Gandalf,” the man prompted when Kili stepped closer. “We spoke yesterday.”

He had no recollection of the name at all, but Kili nodded. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I’m a bit… How was the livestock trading? Did you buy a horse?” He thought that much was right. 

To his relief, Gandalf smiled. 

“No. Nothing took my eye. Well, that’s not strictly true. A few animals took my eye, but they took others' eyes as well, and they had deeper pockets than mine. But, not to worry, that’s the way these things go, and there’ll be other horses, and other markets.” Gandalf pushed his empty plate aside and lifted a pointed hat from a stool by the table. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“No, thank you. I must… Gandalf, have you seen my brother? He’s, well, he’s a dwarf, like me but a bit shorter, and his hair is—”

“I am well aware of what your brother looks like. You both travelled with Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills, and I was here when you arrived. Although none of you noticed me.” 

“You know Dain?” Kili sat down slowly, aware that he was dripping rainwater all over the floor of the inn and that people were looking. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, he wished he’d thought to tie it up. This was a respectable place, and, from what he could see of his reflection in the window behind Gandalf, he looked bedraggled. 

“But of course. A great warrior, and not a bad ruler as these things go. And I know your Uncle Thorin too, or of him anyway.” Gandalf raised a gnarled finger at one of the hobbit serving girls as she passed the table. “And his father and grandfather. Terrible business, Erebor, simply terrible, and a tragedy for your people, and for the people of Dale. Much, much more should have been done to help, by a great many, and I regret to this day that I wasn’t closer for, believe me, I would have tried. It was badly done, and there will be a heavy price to be paid if I’m not very much mistaken. Mark my words.”

Kili stared at the man. Gandalf was old, but men were old at sixty, and the fall of Erebor was over a hundred years ago. It wasn’t possible. So he was lying, he had to be, but to what purpose?

“But, with any luck, that is all a long way off, and we needn't worry about it today at least,” said Gandalf, smiling as he fished a long-stemmed pipe from his pockets. He met Kili’s eyes and the smile disappeared. “Your family has my sincerest condolences, Prince Kili.”

“Thank you.” Kili managed, jumping when a hobbit arrived on silent feet by his side.  

“Yes, Master Gandalf?” she asked, picking up the empty plate and tankard. 

“Another ale for me please, and a plate of something for Kili.” Gandalf waved at him with the stem of his pipe. “What would you like? I can recommend the rabbit pie, and the cheese here is very good. Exceptional. Isn’t that right, Rosie?” 

Rosie bobbed a curtsy and giggled. “It’s from my uncle’s farm, the cheese, he’s over in West Farthing.” 

"There we are," said Gandalf. "West Farthing cheese. None finer. I think that settles it, don't you, Kili?"

Kili shook his head. His stomach was far too unsettled to think about food, and he’d no time to sit and talk and eat cheese, no matter how fine, with strange old men. “No, thank you. I need to find Fee, Fili, I mean. He might have come back whilst I was out. I expect he’s upstairs waiting on me and wondering where I am.”

“You walked past this table earlier and I called to you but you didn’t hear me.” Dismissing Rosie with a smile, Gandalf leant forward. “And unless your brother has some magic about him, which I think is very unlikely, then he isn’t upstairs.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“I haven’t moved from this spot.” Gandalf tapped the table. “And I’d no intention of moving until the rain stopped.” 

The intent stare reminded him sharply of Balin. Kili shifted away as far as he could on the stool. There had been so many times when he was certain his tutor was digging around in his head, searching through his innermost thoughts, and Gandalf looked as if he was doing the same thing now. He didn’t like it. 

 “There is no other way in or out of this inn.” Shaking his head, Gandalf’s long beard waggled. “Not that I am aware of, and I have visited this place many times.”

Kili’s heart sank before he rallied. The man was very old, and maybe not altogether right in the head with his talk of Erebor, so it was possible that Gandalf just hadn’t noticed, or had been distracted by his lunch and ale. Fili could be very quiet and stealthy when he wanted to be. 

“You are injured,” said Gandalf. 

“No. I’m just tired. I think I’ll—”

“Here.” 

Kili jolted when Gandalf brushed his hair aside, touching long fingers to his neck, below his ear. As Gandalf drew a line with his thumbnail, Kili raised his own hand to follow. He could feel torn skin and flaking, dried blood under his fingertips and suddenly, desperately, needed to find a mirror.  

“Are you in some sort of trouble, Kili? Would you like my help?”

“No.” Pulling his hair forward to cover his neck, Kili stood up so quickly the stool tipped. He wasn’t quick enough to catch it before it hit the floor, but Gandalf was — moving astonishingly fast for a greybeard. Kili leapt backward, startled.

Keeping well out of range of Gandalf's long arms, Kili remembered his manners enough to add quickly, “No trouble, and no, thank you. It’ll be fine. I’m fine. I think my brother’s perhaps gone for a walk, but if you see him will you tell him I’m upstairs?”

“Certainly.”

Leaving Gandalf behind, Kili made a real effort to keep his steps unhurried. The man was unsettling, and something about him made Kili’s skin prickle. He raised his fingers to his neck. At the very least it seemed that Gandalf knew a lot about a lot of things, and that couldn’t be natural. 

Only once he was through the archway and out of sight did his shoulders begin to relax. The curtain that hid the weapons from view was open and Kili’s fingers fell from his neck as he stared into it. He couldn’t see any of their things, but the inn was busy and their swords might have been pushed further back with the arrival of more people piling their weapons in. Crouching, he carefully dug through, searching for their swords and knives amidst the jumble. 

Nothing. 

As he put everything back the way he’d found it —as best he could remember— a well-made and sturdy bow that was propped in the back corner toppled over. Pulling it out, Kili checked it for damage before he returned it. 

Disappointed and even more confused, he stepped backwards without looking, colliding with someone. Spinning, he managed to catch Rosie’s arm as she overbalanced, but the tray she was carrying fell crashing to the ground. They both apologised over each other and he crouched to help her gather up the shards of broken plates. 

Piling the last of the crockery onto the tray, Rosie smiled. “Thank you, are you feeling better?”

“Better?”

“Yes.” Rosie picked up the tray and stood. “After last night?”

Leaping to his feet, Kili caught her arm, releasing her when she yelped in surprise. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands and stepping back. “But I...last night? What do you mean?”

“Do you not remember?” Rosie tilted her head. “You looked as if you were having a good time, but then the last I saw of you that man was helping you toward the door. And I think you might have been asleep on your feet for he was almost carrying you. I’m sure your head's sore today.” Frowning, she added, “Although I don’t think you had that many ales. Maybe you’re not used to it? That happens, sometimes.”

To be carried out of an inn by a man was embarrassing, Gimli would never let him live it down, but that wasn’t important right now. “What man?”

“The big one. Bald.” Kili shook his head and she continued, “He was a bit frightening to be honest. He smiled at me and I just got shivers all the way to my toes. And not the good kind, you know?"

She seemed to be needing a response, but he’d no idea what the right one was. Nodding and hoping that was correct, Kili waited as patiently as he could for her to continue. 

"Well, maybe you don't at that." Rosie giggled. "You're very young, aren't you? And my mother always says that dwarves are—"

"The man?" Kili prompted. He didn't need to know what her amad always said about anything. "Who was he?"

Rosie sniffed, appearing offended by the interruption. "He was with the merchant. I think he and the other one were his guards, and I suppose guards need to look frightening else they wouldn’t be—”

“The merchant? Gernac?”

It was Rosie’s turn to shake her head. “Gernac? No, that wasn’t his name. A young man, dark-haired, with a nice smile and merry eyes. He said he was early to meet you, and took the drinks to your table. They should still be here, although I haven’t seen them yet, but the merchant said he was staying for two nights.” She smiled apologetically, nodding toward the tray. “I should get these to the kitchen.”

“I’ll pay for them.” Kili dug about in his pockets. “It was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention and I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“It’s only a few plates and tankards.” 

As she began to bustle off, Kili called after her. “Wait! Rosie!” 

She stopped and turned. 

“You said that the man was helping me, but my brother. Did you see my brother?”

Rosie frowned at the tray. “He was with you earlier in the evening,” she said slowly. “I’m just trying to remember, it was very busy, but I think I saw you at the table with two men. So the merchant and your brother were gone, and you were playing cards.”

“Cards. Thank you.”  That made an awful amount of sense. Kili’s heart dropped to his boots. So he had gambled away the ponies after all. 

“Oh.” Lifting her head, Rosie beamed at him. “I did! I did see your brother. But it was later. I’d almost forgotten. You were already gone, I think, because there was a group of men at that table. I remember that because they were singing and I had to keep telling them to hush up a little. Anyway, I’d taken a tray up to one of the rooms, because the man staying there had wanted a late dinner, and I was coming down the stairs and I bumped into your brother with the big man.”

Rosie laughed. “And I reckon your brother might have had too much ale too, for he seemed very unsteady on his feet, and I think the man might've been holding him up. He had a hand on your brother’s shoulder anyhow. Now, I don’t know much about dealing with merchants but I think you should tell your brother when you see him that it’s not a good idea to drink too much before meeting with them.”

Kili forced himself to smile as Rosie said her goodbyes and hurried away towards what he assumed was the kitchens.

It didn't make any sense. Fili wouldn't have made a foolish mistake like that. Rosie had to be misremembering. 

Trailing up the stairs, he continued to check his pockets. There was not a coin in any of them, and the inner hidden pocket was torn and useless. He must’ve ripped it open somehow. Sighing, Kili unlocked the door to their room. It was exactly as he had left it —Gandalf had been right— and he shucked his boots off before climbing into bed, suddenly feeling bone tired. He just wanted to sleep, and to wake up and find Fili beside him, and for it all to be a bad dream. Drawing the blanket over his head to block out the dim afternoon light from the window, Kili closed his eyes. 

The gold. 

His eyes flew open. That should have been the first thing he’d thought to check. Cursing, he kicked away the blankets, scrambled out of bed, and raced to the other side of the room. And, even before he reached it, he could see straight away that the floorboard had been moved. With a bit of work, he was able to get his fingers underneath it and lever it up. 

The hiding place was empty.

Chapter Text

Cross-legged on the floor, Kili sucked at a splinter in his thumb and stared at the spot where the saddlebag should be. It wasn’t there. And it wasn’t further under the floorboards either — he’d pried up a second floorboard and then a third to make absolutely certain. It wasn’t anywhere. Which meant… Well, he wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but whatever it was it felt bad. 

But he couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts steady in one direction long enough to try and work it out, and the sound of his heart as it beat far, far too fast in his ears was distracting.

With shaking hands, Kili returned the floorboards to their places and circled the room again.

Something wasn’t right, lots of things weren’t right, and his mind kept returning to what Rosie had said about Fili and the man. Fili wouldn’t have gotten drunk with the merchant or with the merchant’s men. He just wouldn’t. The trade, and impressing Uncle Thorin, was far too important to his brother to ever make a silly mistake like that. And Fili would never have given the merchant all the gold. His brother’s pride wouldn’t have allowed it, even if it meant keeping only a handful of coin back. 

His pacing had taken him back to the trunk. Kili lifted his bow and removed the bowstring. Even if they’d broken his bow in a fight, Fili wouldn’t have left it discarded on the floor, and, besides that, all the arrows were missing. 

And something else Rosie had said tickled at his mind. Kili wound the bowstring around his fingers tight enough that his fingertips turned white. She’d definitely said the men intended to stay for two nights, but from what the stableboy had said the men had taken the ponies this morning. So that made no sense either. 

The sky outside the window was darkening. Kili shoved the bowstring in his pocket.

One thing was for certain, Fili would never torture him like this. Something terrible had happened. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him that something terrible had happened. And, although he hadn’t the first idea what the terrible thing was, Fili wouldn’t have left him. No matter how badly Kili had behaved or what mistakes he’d made, Fili would never leave him behind in a strange place. And, now that he thought about it properly, Fili wouldn't have gone out for even a short walk if there was the slighest possibility that Kili would wake up alone and worried. 

His brother would have left him a note. 

So there would be a note somewhere. He just had to stay calm and find it. 

Tugging the trunk out from the wall, Kili searched behind it. No note. When he lifted the trunk’s lid, the pieces of his bow slid from it and clattered to the floor behind. Frowning, Kili pawed through the pile of blankets inside the trunk. Nothing. Shoving it back hard into place, he ignored the crack of wood from his useless, trapped bow, and growled in frustration as he looked around the room.

There were so many places a thin piece of parchment could have slipped behind and been overlooked. Muttering to himself, he worked his way around the room as quickly as he dared, searching to the back of each cupboard, under each trinket, and pulling all the books from the bookcases to flip through their pages. He stripped the bedding completely from the beds and shook it all out, and peered down between the floorboards.

But there was nothing. Nothing but dust. And no weapons either. Not so much as a knife turned up, or even an arrow. 

And his heart was misbehaving again. Tugging at his hair, he turned around in the centre of the room, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. 

Perhaps it was time to give up and ask for help? But who? Who could he trust? Briefly, he was tempted to tell Gandalf or the innkeep everything, and he began to pace the distance between door and window to stop himself from running downstairs immediately. Pacing always helped Uncle Thorin think. It was worth a try. 

But the sound of the boards creaking in time with his rapid footsteps just made him more anxious, and no sensible thoughts presented themselves. Except one. His big brother wouldn’t need to ask for help.

For something to do, Kili lifted his pack and began to stuff things into it. Fili wouldn’t need to ask for help, because he would have worked everything out already, and he would’ve already thought of a plan — maybe even two plans in case the first one didn’t work. As for Uncle Thorin, he would’ve worked everything out in half the time. And neither Fili nor Uncle Thorin would be seriously considering running to strange old men or barkeeps crying for help. Because that was undwarvish. 

But he was useless. He couldn’t even do a simple task like pack away their things properly. 

Shaking the contents of his pack over the bed, Kili started again, the task calming his thoughts somewhat.

He was on his own, and Fili was gone. That much he knew. And Uncle Thorin always said that all problems had a solution. He knew that as well. And he knew what he needed to do — find Fili, say sorry for everything, and then all would be well again. How he’d solve the problem of finding his brother wasn’t clear to him yet, but he definitely couldn’t do it from inside the inn because Fili wasn’t here. So the only solution to that part was to leave. 

Kili huffed out a breath. 

But he couldn’t go with the packs. The innkeep would see him and ask him to pay for the room, and he didn’t have enough coin. That particular thought started his heart racing again, and Kili stamped his feet to try and settle himself. One thing at a time. That’s what Amad always told him when he didn’t know where to start with something. And even though it was usually to do with some impossible piece of study that Balin had set, the principle was the same. Probably.

Paying for the room could wait, he could work that bit of the problem out later. 

Shoving the last of his belongings into his pack any which way, he started on Fili’s. By the time he’d stuffed everything in, rolled up his brother’s cloak, and tugged the pack straps down over it all, his hands were shaking a lot less. Leaning his weight on the bulky pack to secure the clasps, Kili said a little prayer that it would hold and stepped back. 

Done. Now for the next part of the problem. 

The hallway outside their room was helpfully empty and silent when he peeped out through their doorway.

Before he could lose his nerve, Kili crept down the stairs and to the weapons alcove. Kneeling beside it and listening hard, he pretended to fix his boot. Through the archway drifted the clatter of cutlery and the sound of merry voices and, feeling very exposed, Kili took a deep breath.

It was now or never. He twitched back the curtain, rifled through the weapons to grab the bow he’d seen earlier, found its matching quiver, and then spotted a mannish short sword. Tucking the bow and quiver under his arm, he lifted the sword, added a knife to his haul for good measure, and hared back up the stairs. 

Once safely back in their room, he locked the door, pressing his ear to it. It was hard to hear anything over his own ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart, but he stood, with his spoils clutched in his arms, until he was fairly certain that he wasn’t being pursued. 

Shouldering the packs, he tucked the knife into his boot and stared at the oddly-shaped sword lying on the bed. He’d no sheath so he'd have to carry it, which was annoying but couldn’t be helped.

The quiver was strange too. Kili turned it about in his hands for what felt like forever before he worked out that it had to be attached to his hip.

Grumbling at the awkwardness of it all, he lifted the bow. He’d have to carry that too somehow, but it was all a great deal better than nothing because wandering about with no weapons in this strange land was just asking for trouble. He wondered whether to leave a note for the innkeep, some sort of apology or promise of payment, and decided against it. He had no writing things anyway. Fili likely did, but they would be buried somewhere in his pack, and enough time had been wasted already. It would be dark if he didn’t hurry up. 

He pushed the window wide open, looking down through the sheets of rain into the neat courtyard far below. It would be a big jump, or fall, but he and Gimli had jumped from higher rocks before. That had been onto soft grass and moss, but still. Kili eyed a wooden table just below the window and to the left. He dismissed the idea. It would probably hurt more to land on it and have it break under his weight. And then he’d have to add a broken table to his bill too.

This was it. The next step in the plan, and there was no going back now. And he’d need to be quick and quiet, because if there were windows in the rooms below — Kili leant out as far as he could but couldn’t see past the greenery that covered the wall like a leafy blanket— and if there were people in the rooms they would be very alarmed to see him. Tugging at a handful of the greenery, a thought occurred to him. 

The packs went first. They thudded against the wet stone and Kili tossed the weapons down after them as gently as he could, wincing at the crack when the bow bounced off the packs and landed on the flagstones.

Gripping the window ledge tightly, he fisted his other hand deep in the slippery ropes of greenery, swinging first one and then the other leg out. With his heart pounding loudly in his ears, his feet scrambled for a grip on the stone wall. Eventually, he found what he felt was a secure foothold and cautiously let go of the window ledge, letting out a sigh of relief when the plants held his weight. 

Barely a third of the way down he was cursing himself, for ‘quickly’ wasn’t going well. He should have jumped. There were cracks in between the stones of the wall, but most of them were tiny and his boots couldn’t get a proper purchase. It was frustratingly slow going. Glancing down between his feet, Kili slid a hand lower and froze when the greenery shifted, something deep within its strands snapping. 

Snatching for a different handhold was yet another mistake, and put too much weight on his failing rope. Kili hit the ground awkwardly in a tangle of green stuff, whimpering at the sharp pains in his hip and elbow where he’d smacked against them the flagstones. 

“Get up,” he muttered. Fighting his way free, he staggered to his feet. “At least you didn’t land on your fool head.” 

He told himself that dwarf bones were tough as he pulled up his hood, limped to the packs, and gathered up the weapons, anxiously checking the bow over for damage and breathing a sigh of relief to find it still in one piece. 

Picking up the packs, Kili glanced toward the room that seemed to belong to the courtyard. No light came from within and he huffed out another relieved breath that his luck appeared to be holding, but as he turned away, intending to leave the courtyard, he stopped.

How could it be, that, in such a nice inn, the large window nearest the door could be broken and not yet cleaned up? Glass crunched under his boots as Kili crept closer, rubbing at his hip. The door was ajar and he pushed it a little further open to peer in. 

“Hello?” he whispered, tightening his grip on the sword. 

There was no answer. 

Toeing the door open, he stepped inside and gasped. It looked as if there had been a brawl. He closed the door behind him and circled around an upended table. Moving further into the darkened room more glass popped underfoot, and Kili knelt to see better, muttering as the hip quiver got in his way. He poked at the remains of a wine glass with the hilt of the sword. 

It didn’t matter. Whatever had happened here didn’t concern him, and he was, once again, and as usual, wasting time. Turning to leave, Kili stopped. He glanced toward the adjoining room. What if someone was lying hurt, needing help, and he simply walked away? He sighed. Fine. A quick check, and then he’d go. 

Thankfully, the other room was still and empty. A large cupboard lay open beside a bed piled high with rumpled blankets and bedding, pillows were strewn all about the floor, and Kili shook his head at the untidiness of people, before remembering that he’d left the room above in just, if not moreso, as disgraceful a state.

But, there was no-one needing help, so he’d done what he planned to do, and could now leave with his conscience clear. He hurried back out and across the main chamber. No more distractions.

As he tugged the door open to leave, the pale light from the courtyard filtered into the room and a flash of gold caught his eye, forcing the air from his chest as neatly as if he had been kicked. The packs fell to the floor. Dropping to his knees beside the overturned table, Kili reached for the fraying braid with a trembling hand. 

“Fee,” he whispered, looking around the room, half expecting or hoping to see his brother sitting unnoticed until now in a darkened corner, and smiling at him, and for it all to be some sort of really bad joke. 

Searching frantically through his pockets for ties, he found none. But he did find the bowstring. Sweeping the patch of floor in front of his knees clear of dust and debris, Kili placed the braid down, and pulled the knife from his boot to cut two lengths from the bowstring long enough to secure the ends. Fili’s hair always fought braids, and it was already separating out into curls and half-unravelled. It would soon come apart completely. He had to fix it.  

His hands shook uncontrollably as he rebraided it, and it took several attempts before he managed to fasten the knots, and all the while his mind spun with questions his brother wasn’t there to answer.

When he was at last done Kili sat back, fingers stroking the loose ends of the hair.

It didn’t even feel like Fili’s anymore. It was too light. His brother’s hair was full of life and energy. Kili knew it better than his own, and he’d braided it since he was old enough to manage by himself. It was his responsibility. And before that, in his earliest memories, he’d sat on their amad’s knee with his fingers resting on hers as she deftly wove the thick ropes of hair together. But this —holding the braid to his face, Kili sank lower against the floor and choked back a sob— it was lifeless. 

Swiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand, he sucked in a breath. Now was not the time. No matter how tempting it was to curl up on the floor and cry until someone came to help, he had to get up. Something awful had happened, and his brother needed him, and there was no one else. 

With the braid carefully tucked away in a pocket over his heart, Kili lit a candle that he found on the floor and searched the rooms for clues. He checked all the cupboards and dark spaces carefully, in case his brother had left him a sign or was hidden away somewhere, maybe asleep, or discarded by whoever had left his braid. But his spirits sank to his boots as he finished and found nothing. 

The rain was slowing when he trudged back the courtyard. He tugged the hood of his cloak further forward anyway, in case he was being watched, although it was a bit late to worry about that, and made his way to the thick wooden door in the outer wall. Thankfully, this door too was ajar, as he didn’t think he could face climbing the wall, and Kili closed it tightly behind him, leaning against it. 

What to do next? He hadn’t the first idea what direction to go in or where to start. There were no solutions, only problems stacked on top of other problems, and no way out. He wasn't clever enough for any of this. Kili stared at the back wall of the stable block until his vision blurred. 

Uncle Thorin.

As soon as the thought surfaced, Kili's heart lifted with hope. Of course. He would go to Thorin and get help. He should have done it as soon as he woke up instead of talking to Gandalf and wandering stupidly about Bree, but better late than never. He closed his eyes to better remember Balin’s map. It was a long way on foot, but if he started right now and ran as fast as he could, and ran all night, then he could maybe make it in over a day. Certainly less than two.

His stomach twisted. Kili dropped both bow and sword, crouching to cover his face with his hands. 

He couldn’t run that distance. He knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t even run all the way from the gates of the settlement to the jagged stones that marked the very top of their mountain without stopping for air. Fili could do it, but he couldn’t. He’d never been able to do it. He wasn’t fast enough or strong enough. He wasn’t anything. 

The cobblestones were damp under his knees when he sank to them. It was too much. He needed someone to tell him what to do. 

He needed his big brother. 

“Master Dwarf?” 

The timid voice froze him in place. Kili peeped through his fingers, watching the stableboy approach.

“Are you unwell?” The boy tilted his head, looking Kili over. “You’re leaving? Did you find your brother?”

If he spoke he would cry in front of this boy. Kili shook his head and struggled to his feet. Even if he was a useless dwarf on the inside, he could at least pretend to be strong for a few moments. He lifted the bow and sword, hoping his hair, and the falling dark, and the weakness of human eyes were enough to hide his. 

“Come inside.” The boy took his arm. “Just for a short while. Come in and get warm.”

A light grip on his sleeve shouldn’t have been enough to move him, but somehow Kili found himself trailing along behind the boy. They walked together to the stable block and through the doors where the warm, comforting smell of horse and hay surrounded them. The boy tugged him on; past the stalls, up a rickety, wooden staircase that looked as if it wouldn’t hold the weight of a single dwarfling, never mind the two of them combined, and into a room perched in the eaves of the stables. 

Under Kili’s boots, the uneven floorboards creaked, and he looked down through the gaps between them to the stone floor of the stables far below. 

“Here, sit down.” Pulling the weapons from Kili’s hands, the boy pushed him toward a wooden chair close to the hearth by the gable wall. “There.”

“No. I—”

“Sit, please.” 

Shrugging off the packs, Kili draped his wet cloak over them. The chair groaned under his weight when he sat and he shifted to the very edge of it, just in case, and hoped it wouldn’t give way. He looked around the small room. There were no overstuffed bookcases covered in trinkets here, and no pictures on the walls. “This is where you live?”

“Yes.” The boy crouched by the fireplace, his tongue poking out from between his teeth as he filled a mug from a pot that hung from a hook over the fire. He held the mug out to Kili. 

“No. Thank you. I’m not—”

“Drink.” The boy thrust it into Kili’s hands, letting go so Kili was forced to grab the mug or have its contents thrown over his knees. “It’s only vegetables, but it’ll warm you up. We’ll have a bit of meat to put in it later with any luck.” Settling on a three-legged stool by the hearth, he nodded to the bow. “My brothers are out hunting so I’m hoping for rabbit, but anything will do. Do you hunt?”

Kili nodded, sipping at the soup to be polite. He couldn’t possibly eat when Fili was out somewhere in the world without him. But the soup was good and hot. Wrapping his cold fingers around the mug, he turned it so that he wasn’t drinking from the chipped edge, and took another sip. 

“I do too, but someone had to stay and look after things here.” The boy grimaced. “And I drew the short straw so here I am, but they’ll be back soon. Will your brother be back soon?”

Somehow, he’d drained the mug and not even noticed. Kili handed it back to the boy. “I don’t know.” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “I don’t know where he is.” 

Frowning, the boy turned the empty mug around in his hands before setting it on the hearth. “I can help you look, once my brothers get back.”

“No. I’ve looked everywhere. He’s not here. He’s not anywhere.” His voice had risen without him realising. Kili shook his head in apology as he glanced at the boy’s shocked face. “I didn’t mean to shout at you, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I found...something, and I know he’s in trouble. He’s somewhere without me and he’s in trouble, and I have to find him but don’t know what to do. Because he always knows what to do, and he always tells me what to do, and he’s not here.”

Drawing closer, the boy whispered, “What did you find?” 

Not quite sure why he was doing it other than he needed someone to talk to, Kili reached into his pocket and touched the braid. Before he could think about it too much, he tugged it out. 

The boy’s eyes widened. “Is that—”

“Someone cut it off.” Kili’s thumb brushed over the ragged, sharp ends of the hair. His fingers curled around the braid when the boy reached for it, and he tucked it away again out of sight. “They cut it off and they left it. Like it meant nothing. And you don’t cut someone’s braid. Or their hair. That’s...you just don’t. And Fili wouldn’t ever let someone do that to him. He’d die first. So he must have been—” Kili blinked, taking a deep breath. “I need to find him.”

“Where did you find it?” 

“In the room at the back of the inn. The one that leads to the courtyard.”

“But that’s—” The boy leapt to his feet. “The men you lost the ponies to? That’s their room. That’s where they came from this morning. I saw them.”

Grabbing Kili’s hand, the boy tugged him out of the chair and across the attic, around a pallet of rushes and folded blankets to a gap in the roof tiles. “I was standing here, looking out at the stars, when I saw them come out through the gate. It wasn’t even near dawn so I wondered what they were doing, but then they came this way and I woke my eldest brother so he could talk to them.”

Fury raged in Kili’s chest. He grabbed the boy. “But you told me you didn’t see my brother?” 

“I didn’t,” the boy squeaked in fright. “I didn’t see him. It was just the three of them, and their packs and other belongings. They came in, took the ponies and loaded them up. Then they left. And they said they were going to Buckland, but then my other brother passed them heading for the South-gate.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You didn’t ask.” Despite both Kili’s fists being twisted in his tunic, and their faces only inches apart, the boy seemed to have recovered his composure. “Do you want me to show you which way they went?”

Chapter Text

“You! Out of my potatoes!”

Kili’s head jerked up at the shout. He raised a hand, shouting back an apology to the old woman shaking her fist at them from a doorway.

As he ran, brushing his way through the chest-high, leafy plants, he looked out for the potatoes so he could take care not to knock or stand on any, but couldn’t see them. Maybe they were further along? Rushing along in the boy’s wake through the rest of the vegetable patch, Kili jumped over the low stone wall at the far side, landing in yet another garden. The boy was well ahead, already halfway across to the far wall and showing no signs of slowing. 

Led at a run through a maze of backstreets, over several small walls, a few larger ones, and through more than one vegetable patch, Kili was hopelessly lost and turned about, and he had a suspicion that they might have managed to upset half the inhabitants of Bree. Picking his way through the thick patch of flowers he'd jumped down into, and trying not to squash too many of the delicate stalks and blooms under his boots, Kili hurried across the garden, clambered over another wall, and landed beside the boy in a narrow, puddle-filled alleyway.

Wordlessly, the boy tugged him forward. They splashed together out into a deserted square. The houses backing onto it were run-down and ramshackle and Kili looked around, trying to get his bearings. He and Fili hadn’t explored this far. 

“The South-gate,” said the boy breathlessly, pointing to a wide gap in a tall, thick hedge on the far side of the square. “It’s not used that much as you can see. Just by the farmers going out to their fields.”

With his heart pounding in his ears and the boy trotting along at his heels, Kili crossed to the gate. He knelt to study the sodden and trampled ground. It might be lightly used but there had still been plenty of comings and goings over the course of the day. Tracks of iron-shod horses hooves, thin, deep lines from the wheels of carts, and many differently sized boot prints criss-crossed each other. The marks were confused and spoiled in the thick mud.

Kili glanced worriedly at the darkening sky. If he wasn’t mistaken, and by the feel of the close, damp air, there was more rain coming. He needed to be quick.

Keeping low, he moved out through the gate and cast about on the road past the turns that led towards the farmers’ fields. Then, as the muddy road gave way to stone and wet grass, he finally spotted it. 

“Here.” He beckoned the boy forward. “Look.” 

The boy crouched and shook his head. “What am I looking at?”

Kili pulled him closer. “Look, there. That’s a pony’s hoofprint. I’m sure of it. It’s hard to see, but the way it scuffs the moss off here...and there’s another.” Helpfully, some of the stones of the road were missing or buried under a thick layer of mud and Kili followed the trail, staying close to the ground. “Here it is again, beside the other one. It’s definitely deeper, so this pony is carrying something heavier.” 

He grinned up at the boy, feeling a sudden burst of hope despite the iron bands of fear that gripped his chest. “I expect that’s the one carrying the men’s things, or it might be my pony, dragging her heels. She does that. I thought you said you were a hunter?”

“Of rabbits.” The boy's smile faded. He looked out along the road. “What will you do now?”

A man was working at something mysterious in one of the fields further along the hedge. Kili watched him walk along slowly, head down and holding something in his hands, behind a huge horse. Beyond the man, the field was churned up, and it was a big field, so whatever he was doing he might have been at it for hours. Kili pointed. “That man could have seen something. I might ask him first.”

“No one sees anything here.” 

There was an odd note in the boy’s voice. Kili glanced at him. “You did.”

The boy snorted, scuffing his boot against the rough stones of the road, and said nothing. 

Kili considered the man again. “Then I’ll just go find them instead. I know they went this way.” He shifted the packs, something was digging into him but he’d deal with it later. “They hopefully won’t have gotten too far, and maybe there’s another inn down this road and they’ll have stopped to shelter for the night. I’ll catch up with them there.”

“There’s nothing down that road.” The boy shot a look at Kili’s borrowed sword. “And I don’t think you should go by yourself. The people here mightn’t help but there’s town guards and we should—”

“No. No guards. I’m just going to talk to them.” Kili had a feeling he was missing something, and that Fili would tell him it was a terrible idea, but, since this was the only plan he had, he would have to make do. And today was all enough of a bad dream without involving anyone else. Dwarves dealt with their own problems, and Uncle Thorin would be furious enough with them without Men knowing what had happened as well.

Chewing on his lip, the boy looked back toward the town. 

Kili added quickly, “And you can’t tell the guards either. I’m going to find the men, talk to them, and ask them what they know.” 

“But—”

“No, I’ll be fine, and I don’t know who I can trust, apart from you.” Grabbing the boy’s shoulder, Kili searched his eyes. “I can trust you, can’t I? You won’t tell anyone?”

The boy shook his head and jumped at a loud rumble of thunder overhead. “No, I mean, yes. You can trust me.”

“Thank you. I don’t have any...oh, I do. Hold on.” Tightening his grip on the boy’s shoulder, Kili stood on one leg to pull his boot off, saying a little prayer of thanks to Nori for his whispered advice on always squirrelling away a coin or two. Careful not to put his sock on the wet, muddy ground, he shook the boot about until the two coins rattled out of their hiding place. “Hold out your hand.”

The boy obediently held out his hand but protested when Kili tipped the coins into it. “No, I can’t—”

“You can.” Kili hopped about, tugging his boot back on. “Please, take them. It’s all I have right now, but I’ll come back when I have all this straightened out and thank you properly.”

They both looked up as the rain started to fall. 

“I suppose I’d best get back,” the boy said, pocketing the coin. “I’ll be in big trouble if someone comes needing their horse and finds the stables locked.” 

Staring at the tracks, Kili nodded and worried at his lip. He needed to go before the rain washed them away, but now the time had come he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing at all. 

“My name’s Birch,” added the boy, disturbing Kili’s thoughts.

“Kili, at your service.” Remembering his manners, and annoyed that —despite his promise to return and thank the lad properly— it hadn’t once crossed his mind to ask the boy's name, Kili bowed deeply. Much lower than a prince should, but Thorin wasn’t here to see so it didn’t matter. As he straightened, the name tickled at his mind.

"Birch?” he said, wishing he’d paid more attention to Balin’s lectures on greenery rather than staring out the window. “Is that a tree?”

“That’s the one.” Birch thrust out an arm and grinned. “My mother liked trees. She named us all after them. Pleased to meet you, Kili.”

Birch let out a surprised squeak when, instead of clasping forearms as was proper, Kili pulled him into an embrace. Whether it was gratitude, or that he just needed someone to hug, Kili wasn’t sure. Either way, it felt nice and it would have to do until he saw Fili again. 

He released Birch and they both jumped as a flash of lightning lit up the sky and the rain started in earnest. 

“Go,” said Kili, tugging up his hood. He gave Birch a push. “Hurry, or you’ll be soaked to the skin.” 

With a nod, Birch ran a few steps toward Bree before he stopped and turned back. “But if you’re going after the men, what about your brother? I think you should wait for him, and then you can both decide what to do about the ponies. He might want to tell the guards.”

“No, he won’t.” Kili was certain of that much, although waiting instead of rushing headlong into what might be a bad plan might be the better idea, and now that Birch had said it too...

Circling the toe of his boot in a patch of sticky mud, Kili listened to the rain patter off the stones and thought about it. He did want someone else to tell him what to do. Maybe he should listen?

But then, even if Birch seemed very sensible and grown-up, he was only a little boy. 

“I think Fee might have gone after them.” It didn’t feel quite right when he said it out loud, and he couldn't see his brother's prints amongst the others in the mud, but that didn't mean anything. Fili could have followed after the Men from a distance, not using the road. 

“Would he?” Birch frowned, interrupting Kili's thoughts. “Without telling you?”

“No...” And that did feel right. But, now that Birch had suggested it the doubts were creeping in. Kili stared down the empty road. It would go someway toward explaining the missing weapons. Maybe Fili took them all so that he'd be forced to stay in Bree and not follow him? 

That thought hurt. 

But Fili wouldn’t have left him with no coin and no note. 

And he wouldn’t have broken his bow. 

There was a chill winding through his bones. Kili shook his head. He couldn’t think about it too much. One problem at a time. 

“Sometimes my brothers think I can’t do things so they just—” Birch shrugged. “Go without me. But they always tell me. Mostly always.”

“Maybe he couldn’t wake me up?” 

Or didn’t try. 

Kili huffed out a breath, meeting Birch’s eyes. “I think it’s because I made a mistake, maybe something worse than losing the ponies, with the men, because we were supposed to meet with them for my Uncle, but I think I might have said or did something stupid. Maybe I offended them or made a mess of everything? I do that sometimes.”

Birch nodded with a grimace. “Me too.”

“And so I think Fee went and talked to the men, to try to fix it somehow, because he always does that, he always has to fix my mistakes, and it’s gone wrong this time. Maybe things didn’t go as he expected and he lost his temper? That happens sometimes if he’s not careful. But he’s usually careful.”

Birch winced in sympathy. “My big brother is like that too. But everyone knows that you can’t undo a card game.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped him trying.” 

“Do you think that’s why...” Birch gestured at Kili’s pocket. “Why they—” 

“I don’t know. That’s why I need to ask the men.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would he go after them if he’d already tried and it didn’t work? Why wouldn’t he wake you and tell you?”

“I don’t know that either, Birch!” Kili dropped his eyes to the mud, muttering an apology when Birch stepped back. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything for certain, only that the men went this way so I’ll go this way too and...see what I can find out. Maybe if I talk to them I can fix it. I have to fix it.”

Birch looked doubtful and Kili couldn’t blame him. If Fili hadn’t managed it he didn’t see how he could fix things either. But he had to try. He’d talk to the men and apologise and somehow make sure that the trade went ahead. Or Fili might have already done it? He could already be on his way back.

His heart lifted, despite the doubts, and Kili looked over his shoulder, searching the road for a glimpse of a distant figure. 

“And then you promise you’ll come back?” Birch asked. 

Kili nodded, trying not to think about how angry the innkeep would be. He turned his attention back to Birch. “Will you keep an eye out for Fee in case he turns up when I’m gone? I might be wrong and he might not have followed them. He could have just gone for a walk. After they… His pride would have been hurt and he would’ve wanted to think and make a plan.”

“Then I expect he’s waiting out the rain somewhere, or he might have got lost, because you’re not from here,” said Birch brightly, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. “I know you said now to tell anyone but I’ll tell my brothers a little bit, not all of it, and we’ll go search for him? They know how to keep a secret and we know all these lands. Better than anyone. We’ll find him.”

Fili wouldn’t get lost, but he might have lost track of time if he was worrying about what to tell Uncle Thorin, or if he’d walked further than he’d meant to. Kili nodded. “You can tell your brothers, but no one else.” 

“I won't. I swear.”

“He might have gone somewhere where he can see the mountains. Maybe. Or maybe he’s had a fall, or—” Kili shook that thought out of his head. He couldn’t think of Fili hurting and needing help.

Maybe he should stay and search rather than chasing after the gold? He wrestled with his indecisiveness. Fili might have sorted out the trade before whatever happened. It was possible. 

What if he chased the men, caught up with them, and then somehow made things even worse? Because that was definitely possible. It wasn’t as if anyone had told him how to do the trade. Why would they? That was Fili’s role. 

Kili squared his shoulders. No matter. He’d just have to make it up. And hope for the best. 

Wriggling out of the packs, he passed Fili’s over to Birch. “Here. My brother’s things. If he’s been out all day he’ll be wet and cold. Will you—”

“We’ll find him.” Birch pushed the pack back into Kili’s hands. “Don’t worry. Just you worry about catching up with the men and doing whatever you have to do. If your brother needs anything we’ll help him. You keep that in case you need it. In case he’s followed them.” 

“Thank you.”

Birch waved away the thanks. “What will I tell him when we find him?”

“Tell him to stay here. It’ll be hard because he’s stubborn and he’ll want to come after me but there’s no sense both of us running around. He’ll be worried, but tell him I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll steal his boots when he’s sleeping.” Birch grinned through wet hair. “That’ll keep him here.”

Snickering at the thought, Kili shook his head. “Don’t annoy him. Just tell him that I’ll be back soon. Go, you’re getting soaked.”

Birch strode forward, thrusting out an arm with a meaningful look and Kili nodded, clasping his forearm in farewell. 

“No.” Birch laughed. “My hand. Take my hand.”

“Oh.” Uncertain what they were doing, Kili took Birch’s hand in his and laughed as Birch pumped their hands up and down. 

“Do dwarves not do this?”

“No.” It felt strange, but nice, and Birch didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping. Kili gripped the boy’s hand tighter. “What is it?”

“It’s...we’re making a deal.”

“A trade?” Kili frowned. “You’re supposed to tell someone before you do that.”

“Not like that. It’s…” Slowing their hands, Birch released him. “More like we’re friends, and we’re making a promise. So I’m promising to look for your brother, and you’re promising to come back safely.”

“Oh.” That sounded exactly like a trade to Kili, but it was a good one. And, now he knew this mannish custom, it might come in useful. Kili smiled. “Of course. Thank you.”

Birch waved back toward the gate. “This gate isn’t guarded like the main one. There might be someone about at night but not usually. So, when you come back, if you don’t want to go to the inn and speak to…” He shot Kili a glance. “Anyone, or have anyone see you. Then come to the stables, the way we came today, do you remember the way?”

Kili nodded. He wasn’t sure, all the houses and gardens they’d run past looked so similar, but he’d work it out. 

“Good. If it’s late at night and the stable doors are closed then throw a handful of stones at the room, at the bit we looked out of. We sleep just under there and so I’ll hear the rattle on the roof and come to let you in.”

Kili’s eyes misted. He blinked them clear. “Thanks, Birch,” he managed. 

“Good luck, Kili.” Birch frowned. “Be careful, and stay on the road.”

With his eyes firmly fixed on the hoofprints Kili began to run down the road. Behind him, Birch shouted out some sort of warning, something about trees, but whatever the meaning behind it was lost in a rush of wind and rain, and likely wasn’t important anyway. Half-turning, Kili raised a hand in a final farewell and Birch waved back before running back through the gate and out of sight. 

Gandalf sighed heavily into the dregs of his tankard. He couldn’t very well put it off any longer. Rain or no rain, if he didn’t leave this afternoon there would be no possibility whatsoever of arriving in Rivendell in time. It was a pity about the horse, and more of a pity about the poor weather he'd be forced to trudge through, but these things couldn’t be helped. 

As he reached for his hat and staff a familiar figure stood up at a table on the far side of the crowded inn and Gandalf brightened. 

Raising a hand in greeting, he called out, “Hamdor!” The tables around him fell silent at the shout, men and hobbits looking at him curiously before returning to their conversations. 

The Ranger raised a hand in return, bending to speak to his companion. He made his way across the inn, his arms spread wide. “Well, well, if it isn't my favourite wizard,” he said, arriving at the table with a broad smile. “I didn’t notice you hidden away over here, Gandalf, or I would have been over sooner.”

“Likewise.”

“What an unexpected surprise. Let me find myself a seat and I’ll join you.” Hamdor wandered away, searching the tables nearby until he found an unattended stool. He returned, waving away the protests behind him that the seat belonged to someone already, and sat down at Gandalf’s table. “I had not expected to see you until year end, at least. What brings you all the way to Bree?”

“Just passing through, and what brings you so far south?”

“Some business to discuss with the smith. We arrived late last night, nice to spend a few hours on clean sheets for a change, and I’ve been enjoying, or trying to enjoy despite my friend’s best efforts” —Hamdor snorted out a laugh— “a very relaxing day. We’ll head back north in the morning.” Hamdor waved a hand in the direction of his younger companion who was passing through the archway that led to the back of the inn. “Have you met my friend, Raithon?” 

“I don’t recognise him.” 

“I’ll introduce you. He’s a good lad, very capable.” Raising a finger at Rosie as she rushed past, Hamdor said, “An ale for me and one for Gandalf.”

“Oh.” Gandalf shook his head. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Of course you can. I owe you more than one ale, although I’m sure Raithon will give me an earful when he sees me with another drink. No respect for his elders, that one.” Hamdor grinned, fishing about his pockets. He produced his pipe and then a thin pouch that he threw on the table. “Help yourself, it’s not Old Toby but—”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

They sat in a contented silence, busying themselves with their pipes. Rosie bustled up with their ales and Hamdor puffed out a smoke ring, raising his tankard in a salute. “To your very good hea—”

“Hamdor!”

Raithon strode across the inn to their table and Hamdor rolled his eyes. “It’s one ale with a very old friend and I—”

“I don’t care about your ale.”  Crouching by the table, Raithin shot Gandalf a suspicious look. He lowered his voice, “Our weapons. They’ve been stolen.”

Chapter Text

“Nonsense.” Hamdor laughed, exchanging a look with Gandalf. “They’ve likely slipped down behind something else. Go and check again.”

“I don’t need to go and check again. Unlike some, I’ve only had three ales. I’m not impaired. My bow is missing, and so is your short sword.”  Raithon stormed off toward the bar, shouting for the innkeep as he went. 

“So much for a relaxing drink.” Hamdor tipped his tankard, his throat bobbing as he drank. Setting it back on the table with a clunk, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stood. “I’d best go and help him, before he causes a lot of fuss about nothing. Good to see you, Gandalf.” 

“And you.”

Sipping his ale, Gandalf watched the animated conversation at the bar, and he wasn’t the only one. The conversations at tables around him quietened as many sets of eyes were drawn to the raised voices in anticipation of some late afternoon entertainment. At length, the innkeep chivvied the two Rangers through the common room, on out through the archway, and well away from curious ears and eyes. Gandalf could see perfectly though, if he just shifted on his bench and leant forward. 

The men and hobbits of the Prancing Pony shrugged, returning to their conversations, and the bar filled once again with merry talk and speculation. Unable anymore to hear the goings-on through the archway, Gandalf glanced out the window behind him. The rain had eased, trickling down the thick pane of glass, even if from the look of the darkening sky it was only a temporary reprieve, and if he was intending to leave now would be the proper time.

But, perhaps he could be of some assistance? And it would be remiss to vanish without saying a proper farewell to Hamdor. 

His staff tapped against the flagstones as he wandered through the archway. The innkeep stood with Hamdor and Raithon by the storage area, where the weapons, excepting Gandalf’s sword of course, which was safely attached to his hip, were piled.  A worried expression crossed the man’s face before he hurried toward the archway with hands outstretched. 

“Gandalf, my friend, can I help you with something?”

“No, thank you, Butterbur.” No matter how many times he had visited The Prancing Pony over the years, the innkeep was always a Butterbur. It made things very easy to remember. Gandalf smiled warmly at the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But perhaps I can help you? What seems to be the matter?”

“Ah, there’s nothing at all the matter. Just a bit of a misunder—”

Raithon growled, fingers brushing the hilt of his longsword. ” Do not say that word to me again, Innkeeper. Not if you value your life. My companion assured me that this was a reputable establishment, and I followed your rules, and yet I find that I have been robbed.”

“Peace.”  Placing a hand on Raithon’s arm, Hamdor shook his head at Gandalf. “It would appear that my friend was correct and some of our weapons have indeed gone missing. Butterbur here assures me that he will look into it. Right away.”

“That bow is irreplaceable,” said Raithon. “I made it myself from—”

“Yes, yes, we know.” Hamdor patted Raithon’s arm. “You said.”

“I have been here most of the day,” said Gandalf as Rosie joined them. “I am quite certain I have not seen anyone pass through with a bow.”

“A bow?” Rosie peered past Raithon and into the alcove. “There was one here earlier when I was talking to the dwarf prince. Fili, no, Kili. The dark-haired one. I think he was looking for something.”

Gandalf nodded. “He was. When I spoke with him he was looking for his brother.”

“No,” said Rosie, pointing at the alcove. “I mean in there.”

Butterbur frowned. “I shouldn’t imagine so. I’ve never had a dwarf stay here yet who actually followed my rules.” Lips pursed in mild disapproval, he shot a glance at Gandalf’s sword. 

“I know what I saw.” Rosie tilted her chin. “He was holding a bow when I approached him, but he put it back. He didn’t lift anything out. And he seemed worried. He became very pale when we spoke.”

Raithon made a furious noise and Hamdor hushed him sharply. “I think we need to talk to this Kili,” said Hamdor to Butterbur. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Raithon, you stay here and—”

“No.” 

Hamdor pulled Raithon down the hallway. As the two Rangers hissed at each other, Raithon gesticulating wildly, thunder rumbled overhead and the rain began pattering against the hall window in earnest. 

With an eye on the Rangers, Gandalf smiled at Butterbur and Rosie. “As my friend says, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

Raithon stomped toward them, shouldering his way past and on through the archway. 

“Lead on, Butterbur,” said Hamdor with a sigh. “Let us go speak with this dwarf prince and get the matter over with.” 

As Butterbur bustled off toward the stairs and Rosie slipped back into the common room, Hamdor lowered his voice, “I’ve ordered Raithon outside to cool off. Let us hope for everyone's sake that no-one walks past with a bow.”

Gandalf nodded and they made their way up the stairs and along the hallway. Ahead of them, Butterbur was knocking on one of the doors. 

“There’s no answer,” he said. 

Hamdor frowned. “Well, open it then.”

“My paying guests have privacy when they—”

“Not this time they don’t,” said Hamdor. “Open it.”

“Hamdor, you know as well as I do not to surprise a dwarf. Out of the way and let me try,” said Gandalf. He knocked smartly with his staff. “Kili? It’s Gandalf. We spoke earlier. Open the door, please.” He waited for a response but no answer came from beyond the heavy door. “That’s odd. Perhaps he is in another room? Go ahead and open it.”

He stepped aside as Butterbur produced a key and wriggled it in the lock. The innkeep turned to him with a worried frown. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s not stuck.” Hamdor pushed Butterbur to one side and knelt to examine the keyhole. Glancing up at Gandalf, he pulled a knife from his belt and muttered, “It’s locked from the inside.”

As Hamdor worked on the lock, swearing quietly, Gandalf took off his hat and laid his ear flat against the door. “Kili?” he called, listening for any response. “Kili? Are you injured? We are going to open the door.”

With a click the lock gave and the door swung slowly open, chill air sweeping from the room and into the hallway. Jamming his hat back on, Gandalf lowered his staff in readiness and nodded to Hamdor crouched by his side with a knife in hand. They stepped as one over the threshold. Lightning crackled, the flash blinding as it lit up the darkened room, and they both pretended they hadn’t jumped. 

Hamdor cleared his throat and straightened. “Well…”

“Well, indeed.” Gandalf blinked to clear the after-images from his eyes. The room was empty. He didn’t need to check the cupboards or under the twin beds to be certain. There was no feel of life here.

Beyond the closest bed a window lay wide open, creaking in its frame as the wind pushed it to-and-fro. Gandalf crossed to it. Wet, rain-stained curtains flapped around him as he leant out and Hamdor joined him. 

Above their heads, the thunder rolled, sheets of rain pouring down from the heavy clouds onto a bundle of ivy lying in the courtyard below. 

“That’s that then,” said Hamdor. 

Gandalf reached out and snagged the window frame, pulling it closed and securing the latch. “It would appear so.”

“What’s happened?” Butterbur wrung his hands as they returned to the doorway. 

A trunk by the door sat askew and Gandalf lifted the lid. He poked through the blankets inside and, finding nothing of interest, dropped the lid back into place. The trunk shifted, and something that had been jammed behind thudded to the floorboards.

“It would appear that Prince Kili has some explaining to do,” said Hamdor. “Come on, Gandalf, I need a drink.”

Gandalf waved them away.

When their footsteps faded toward the stairs, he propped his staff against the doorframe and peered behind the trunk. Tugging it further from the wall revealed dusty floorboards, and the remains of what was obviously a dwarven bow. Picking the pieces up, he ran a thumb along the meticulously carved sigils. 

“Well, this makes things somewhat clearer,” he murmured to the empty room. 

Hamdor was settled at a hastily cleared table by the fire in the common area when Gandalf returned downstairs. Before he was fully settled in his chair, Raithon joined them, his lips pressed into a thin line above his short beard. Shrugging off his sodden cloak, he flung it over a chair and dropped into another. Butterbur opened his mouth, watching the drips fall from the cloak to the flagstones, and closed it again. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Gandalf, once Rosie had brought them a round of ales and quietly lifted Raithon’s cloak. 

“It makes perfect sense,” grumbled Raithon. “The dwarf’s a thief. We’ll find him, retrieve our weapons, and return him to the guards here. They can deal with him.”

Gandalf tapped the table with the stem of his pipe. “Kili is not a thief, at least not in the conventional sense.”

“Conventional sense?” Raithon spluttered. “A thief is a thief.”

Holding up a hand, Hamdor smiled. “Gandalf, on some things Raithon and I don’t see eye to eye, but, in this instance, I believe he is right.  I’m a simple man and I see things in a certain way. Perhaps in the northern lands we are ignorant of the difference between a conventional thief, and any other sort. Or perhaps you are seeing something that we are not? For, to me, it looks very much like this Kili has absconded without” —he nodded to Butterbur— “settling his bill, and with weapons that don’t belong to him.”

“There is more going on here than meets the eye, I warrant.” Gandalf sent a smoke ring spinning across the crowded tavern as he thought. “When I spoke to Kili earlier he was worried and distracted. Nervous. His concern for his brother was written clearly on his face.”

“There was nothing in the room,” said Hamdor. “He and his brother are gone, and I know you may not want to believe it, Gandalf, but all signs are pointing toward your good judgement being awry this time.”

“I say we follow them.”  Raithon stood. “They won’t have gone far on foot.” 

“They had ponies,” said Butterbur.

“And we have horses. Come on, Hamdor.” 

“Excuse me.” Rosie had returned to the table on silent hobbit feet. She touched Butterbur’s arm. “There’s someone here to see you.”

As Butterbur pushed back his chair and followed Rosie, Gandalf turned to the others. “Sit down, Raithon. My good judgement is never awry. Now, I do not know Thorin Oakenshield personally, but I know of him, and I would be very surprised indeed if he had chosen a common thief, or two common thieves as you both seem to believe, as his heirs. Dwarves, as you well know, have very firm ideas on that sort of…”

Butterbur was approaching the table in a hurry, gesturing toward an elderly man in a sopping wet cloak who stood at the bar flanked by two large men. Lowering his voice to an urgent whisper, he said, “That man claims he is a merchant, Gernac, and here to meet with Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Is he, indeed?” Gandalf peered at the supposed merchant. “To meet with Thorin?”

Butterbur shook his head and continued, “But there was a merchant last night who met with the dwarf princes. A young man called Meldron. Very well-spoken and polite. I remember he was worried about the meeting.”

Gandalf met Hamdor’s eyes. 

“And where is the young man now?” asked Hamdor. “Is he still here?”

“He asked for a room for two nights.” Butterbur frowned. “I haven’t seen him or his men today though, now that I come to think of it.”

“Then perhaps we should check on them.” Raithon scraped his chair back. 

Draining his tankard, Gandalf followed Butterbur and the Rangers back through the archway and along the hall to a set of double doors. After a quick knock and a call that got no answer, Butterbur unlocked the doors. As he pushed them open he gasped. 

“What happened here?” Gandalf murmured. Whispering a command, he lit his staff and held it high. 

By his side, Hamdor swore as the soft glow lit up the darkened room. The once-grand chamber looked as if it had been ransacked. An overturned table lay near a shattered window and the flagstones were wet by the open door that led to the courtyard. Gandalf knelt, studying the remains of a glass shattered on the floor. 

“We’ve wasted enough time,” said Raithon, emerging from a side-chamber. “I’m going after those dwarves, and I’ll find out what happened here. Stay and talk more if you wish, Hamdor.”

They listened to him leave, footsteps echoing along the hallway as he shouted for Rosie and his cloak. 

“I think you should tell Gernac that he may need to wait.” Gandalf patted Butterbur’s shoulder. “Go on. Leave this with us.”

They caught up with Raithon in the stables, leading a black warhorse out of a stall and waving away a scrawny child. “I can manage, boy, go back to your other duties.”

The child slunk off and Raithon nodded to Hamdor. “Good, you’re coming. I wasn’t sure. Get your horse ready. You can take the west gate and I’ll take the southern one. We’ll find this Kili and his friends and bring them back here to answer to the guards.”

“Hold on, Raithon,” Hamdor raised his voice to be heard over the hammer of rain against the stable roof. “We have business to conclude here in Bree, and then we must return north. Is it really worth racing through a storm to chase a thief?”

Raithon threw a saddle onto the horse. “Yes.”

“I think it might be,” said Gandalf. 

Hamdor raised his eyebrows. “How so, Gandalf?”

“I’m not completely certain yet.” 

“Hamdor,” said Raithon in disgust. “Have you not even fetched your pack?”

Whilst Raithon and Hamdor bickered about the merits of setting off in the dark, waiting until morning, or not going at all, Gandalf watched the boy.

The child seemed very busy, fetching pails from underneath drips and emptying them outside the stable doors, but Gandalf knew an eavesdropper when he saw one.

When another of the boy’s trips took him on an unnecessarily and lingering route around the Rangers, Gandalf intercepted him. “Let me help you with that.” He tugged one of the pails from the boy’s hands as the lad squeaked in protest. “No, no. I insist. Outside?” 

Outside the doors, Gandalf took his time pouring the water out onto the cobbles of the stableyard and gestured at the rain. “Terrible weather, isn’t it?”

The boy was skittish, murmuring some sort of answer and shifting from one foot to the other, glancing back at the Rangers, obviously unwilling to be out of earshot. Raithon raised his voice, a tirade about Kili drifting toward them, and the boy stiffened. 

“Why don’t you show me where these pails need to be?” Gandalf nudged the boy. “Go on.”

The boy’s route led them once more past the Rangers, his footsteps slowing as they passed then quickening as he led Gandalf to a darkened corner and replaced the pails atop puddles. 

“Thank you, Master,” the boy said. 

When the boy made to scurry off, Gandalf caught his sleeve. “Let’s sit together for a moment. I expect you’ve been working very hard all day, haven’t you?”

“I have to—”

“Only for a moment.” Sitting down on a bale of hay, Gandalf patted the space beside him. “I’m an old man, and all old men need to have a rest from time to time.” He pulled his pipe from his pocket. “I don’t expect the stables will flood any time soon. Now, what’s your name, lad?

The boy sat slowly, his eyes still fixed on the Rangers. “Birch.”

“A fine name.” Gandalf felt about in his pockets for his pipeweed. “You look worried, Birch, and I saw you were listening closely to my friends. Don't worry, you're not in any trouble. Do you know something about Kili?”

The boy shook his head and pressed his lips together, shrinking back against the stable wall. 

“Are you completely sure? I know you know the name. I can see it on your face.”

“He’s not a thief. He’s…” Birch tilted his chin. “It’s a secret.”

“Ah.” Gandalf nodded, puffing out a smoke ring and smiling when the boy by his side gasped.

A cheap trick, perhaps. But, in Gandalf’s experience, cheap tricks generally worked just as well as any other. He sent a second smoke ring, this one shaped like a leaping rabbit, after the first. The wisps of smoke pulled apart, curling toward the roof, and Birch turned to stare open-mouthed at him.

“A secret, of course," Gandalf continued. He leant in, lowering his voice, "I completely understand. I have those too. Heavy things, secrets. A lot of responsibility.”

As the boy skipped away and ran up the stairs to the hayloft, Gandalf returned to Hamdor and Raithon. “I will come with you, Hamdor," he said. "We will take the south road along the Greenway. That’s the direction Kili has gone.” 

“How do you—?” Raithon scowled upward at the hayloft. 

“With any luck, we can catch up with him before he approaches this Meldron character.” Gandalf patted the neck of Raithon’s stallion. He would miss at least the start of the council meeting, but these things couldn’t be helped. Radagast could catch him up on anything pertinent when he arrived. The horse snorted, shaking out his mane, and Gandalf smiled. Elrond would assume that he’d been deliberately late to avoid Saruman’s opening lectures, but this time that truly wasn’t the case. It was obvious that his help was needed here. “This is a very fine horse. What’s his name?”

Raithon narrowed his eyes. “That’s my horse.”

“An interesting choice.” Gandalf raised his eyebrows at Hamdor. “Shall we be off?”

Chapter Text

Barely more than a dozen miles, as far as he could tell, from Bree, the road was rapidly turning into slippery muck.

With his head swirling, Kili stopped again. Resting his hands on his knees, he gulped in air and looked back the way he’d come. The road behind was almost hidden from view through the sheets of rain and ahead it was much the same. It felt as if the entire world was grey and miserable, and as if he was the only grey and miserable creature out in it. Shifting the packs and wishing he was at home in front of a cosy fire, and with Fili sitting by his side, Kili tugged the wet hood of his cloak up further over his head and trudged on. 

He’d seen nothing since he’d left the farmers fields of Bree behind. Not a deer, nor a rabbit, nor another person. Only the raised causeway-like road that led on and on, dotted with overhanging trees that dripped with rain, and the rolling grassy lands that stretched out to either side.

Pushing away the unsettling feeling that he was all alone in a world that seemed to be darkening further with every breath he took, Kili decided that he would stick to walking for a while, catch his breath and let his aching, empty stomach rest before he started running again. And if the rain, and the sucking mud and slippery grass that almost fully covered the stones of the road, was slowing him then it would be bound to slow the men as well. So if he kept moving quickly he was bound to catch them up sooner or later. And surely it was approaching dinner time by now? They wouldn’t walk on through such a dreary evening. 

Not that he quite knew anymore what he intended to do when he caught up. But he was sure a plan would come to him. One thing he was certain of, now that the continual pounding of the rain had cleared his muddy head, was that talking to the men, as he’d told Birch he intended to, mightn’t be the best idea. He just hadn’t worked out a better one yet.  

Searching the mud ahead for pony prints, the worry gnawed at him when he saw none. They were gone. Again. Reassuring himself that every single time it had happened before they'd reappeared, Kili broke into a jog. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d panicked that the men had left the path and they hadn’t. All he needed to do was hold his nerve and the tracks would pop up again, as they always did. The most important thing was that he needed to be faster. 

Thunder rolled overhead, followed a few rapid heartbeats later by a bright flash of lightning that lit up a good stretch of the deserted road in front of him. Kili frowned. No, that was fine too. The men had a head start of several hours so not seeing them was nothing to worry about. Probably. And the road wasn’t dwarf-road straight so there was bound to be a dip a little way ahead, somewhere, and he’d see them then. He was sure of it. 

Kili’s steps slowed. He stopped to look over his shoulder. 

Maybe he should just go back and find the last prints and check more carefully? 

He ran back the way he’d came — a sense of unease growing with every step. Stopping at the last tracks, he was casting about for others when another clap of thunder shook the sky. As one, the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stood on end, and Kili glanced around, remembering Balin’s lectures on storms. Yes, the road was higher than the lands about him, but he couldn’t possibly be the tallest thing around? Could he?

The last trees that he’d passed were some way back, and there was something tickling his mind about trees and storms being a bad idea. Kili turned around. Off the road, to the west, there was the paltry shelter of the low hills. It was close and would do. He was racing toward them when a loud crack issued from overhead and a flash of lightning painted his world a blinding white. Flinging himself down by a tall rock at the base of the nearest hill, Kili wrapped his arms tightly about his head as lightning streaked again across the sky. 

It was so close, and he could taste iron in his mouth. 

About to scrub at his lips, Kili froze. Iron. Metal. Everyone had warned them about the danger of metal when lightning was near. Scrambling to unbuckle the sword, he flung it as far away as he could into the gloom. The metal-tipped arrows were tossed after it before Kili burrowed down into the long wet grass, pressing close to the security of the rock and trying to make himself as small as possible. 

“It’s not like storms in the mountains,” he whispered, hugging his knees in tighter and squeezing his eyes shut. “Nothing to worry about.” As he huddled he wished for Fili. Anytime they’d been caught in a storm at home his brother would have shielded him with his own body. Kili tried to pretend that the weight of the packs on his back was the comfort of his brother’s arms. Another crack of lightning made him jump. 

The pretence didn’t work, and he trembled as the storm raged on overhead. Another deafening roll of thunder announced a deluge of heavy rain. It pelted him in earnest, lashing down the rock and soaking through his cloak. But, after what felt like a lifetime, the space of heartbeats between the thunder and lightning grew longer, and the rumbles grew softer as the storm moved on to torture someone else. Even the rain began to ease. 

Kili peeped out from beneath his hood to, if not a brighter world, then at least a less frightening one. 

Pushing himself shakily to his feet, he wiped his wet hands on his trousers —which made no difference whatsoever—  and picked up the discarded bow. His feet squelched in his boots and he huffed out a breath, grumbling his way across the grass in the direction of where he’d thrown the sword. 

Was there anything in this world worse than wet socks? The silly thought, and the relief that the storm had passed, and that he wasn’t dead, drew a short laugh from him before he sobered. Kili chided himself for even thinking such a thing. Losing his brother, that was worse than any amount of wet things. 

The rain pattering on the sword made it easy to track down in the dark, but the arrows were more troublesome. Kili muttered angrily at the time he was wasting as he searched for the last one. When he eventually found it lying in a patch of long grass he stopped, swearing under his breath. Beside the arrow, the grass was flattened by the heavy boots of men who didn’t care, or didn’t know how, to hide their trail. Kili’s heart beat faster in his throat as he followed the track back to the road where it was obscured by the mud and puddles. 

He wanted to shout out in triumph, but bit it back. Pulling the damp bowstring out of his pocket, he wrestled with restringing the too-large bow. There was no point whatsoever in carrying a weapon if it was useless. The bow fought him, the damp wood and string slippery, and Kili cursed the awkwardness of it all. His own bow could have been restrung in moments, but this mannish bow was uncooperative and flimsier than he’d first thought. Despite the unwieldy size, it felt as if it might break in his hands at any moment.  

After what felt like forever, it was done. Checking the sodden fletching on the arrows, he tried to reshape them as best he could with wet fingers. Useless. He’d be lucky to hit the side of a barn even if he were stood right next to it. But it would have to do. 

In the time it had taken him to restring the bow, a fog had crept up between and over the low hills and almost to the road itself. Kili huffed out a breath before deciding that this was a good thing. It would hide him from view. 

He stared down at his boots and thought hard. Had Birch found Fili by now? If he had then his big brother might already be running down the road in search of him. Storm or no storm. 

Gathering some small stones from the road’s banks, he left a clear sign to show which way he was going. Once he’d checked it from every angle and contented himself that Fili couldn’t possibly miss it, even at a run, Kili left the road behind. 

He crept into the mist and along the track, following the prints as they wound between the first of the hills. Moving quietly, he reminded himself to be cautious. The storm would have driven the men to shelter too and they could be hidden anywhere. 

With every step he took the air thickened around him, turning his world grey and muffling all sound. The skin on the back of Kili’s neck prickled. It felt as if he was being watched. Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder and up the hills of either side as far as the heavy fog let him see, Kili waited for the telltale sound of clumsy mannish footsteps — but the dead silence was only broken by the sound of his own quick breaths. 

Creeping forward, he scolded himself quietly. He’d been in mist before, and this wasn’t nearly as dangerous as a heavy fog in the mountains. At least here there were no hidden drops to worry about. Probably. 

As he walked, he tried to remember Balin’s map. He’d been focused on their route rather than the lands surrounding Bree but, even so, he was fairly certain this had to be the Barrow Downs. Which was a foolish name, even as foolish mannish names went, although there were plenty of hills so he could see why they’d chosen it. But at least hills were gentle, soft things. If he missed his footing on a hill the very worst that would happen would be he’d get wet knees, and his knees were already wet. 

Sneaking around the curve of another hill, he sighed. The rain was steadily growing heavier once more. Kili yanked his hood over his wet hair. Oddly the clinging fog showed no signs of clearing with the fresh rainfall, as Kili felt it should, but at least the tracks were easy to follow as they led him on toward a dip between two hills. Two ponies, three men, and—  

Kili stopped, pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle the cry. How had he missed it up until now? A familiar boot print was clearly outlined in the grass and mud by his toes, and, a pace forward, there was another. He tracked forward and back, careful not to step on any of the prints. 

His first thought, the one that made his whole being glow with happiness, was that he’d been right after all. His brother had followed the men. But it was quickly replaced by another one, one that made his heart plummet to his boots. 

There was something wrong. 

Kili had learnt to follow Fili’s tracks when he was a dwarfling. He knew his brother’s strides as if they were his own. He knew them better than his own. Kili crouched to take a closer look. His brother wasn’t stalking. He wasn’t making any attempt to tread lightly. In fact, Fili appeared to be making every attempt to tread heavily. And he was limping. 

Fili was hurt. 

Nose almost to the ground and barely daring to breathe, Kili followed the trail. The ground dipped down into a deep muddy hollow, and, in the thickest mud, the tracks were ruined, obscured by a flurry of spoiled marks. Then Fili’s boot-prints disappeared. Fighting down panic, Kili swept around the nearby hills, the swirling mist feeling like ghostly fingers touching his face and neck, but his brother's tracks that had appeared so briefly were nowhere else to be found. Only the men and the ponies continued onward out of the hollow. 

“Fee?” he called in a whisper as loudly as he dared. 

The mist swallowed up his voice and he forced himself to wait, listening hard, for any response. But there was nothing, the silence complete. Kili shivered, suddenly wishing he'd told the guards, or Gandalf. He wished he’d brought Birch. 

But there was nobody. Only him. And the only option was to carry on. Hurrying forward past the hollow, he froze in place and glanced upward. Dark shapes loomed out of the mist at the top of one of the hills. 

He was in the open. They would see him. Dropping into a low crouch, he retreated at a fast lope into what he hoped was the cover of the hill behind. As he watched from his hiding place the mist thickened, swallowing up the figures, and he held his breath, waiting for a shout or some sign that he had been spotted. 

Nothing. And he couldn’t keep hiding in case they moved on and he lost them. But, bow or sword? Torn with indecision, Kili tucked the sword hilt into his belt and nocked an arrow. He inched forward, hoping the mist hid him from sight and frantically trying to think of what to do. With all the worry about finding the men, he hadn’t properly considered what he would actually do when he did. 

And what if Fili was with them? What if they had his brother? What if they had hurt his brother? Kili’s breaths quickened, his stomach clenching, as the panic rose. With a trembling hand, he reached inside his cloak to touch the braid in his pocket. 

The mist swirled, thinning enough that Kili briefly spotted the men above before they were once more hidden from sight. He frowned, shifting his weight on his toes. He couldn't just wait about, worrying about things he didn't know for certain. That wouldn't help anyone. He needed a plan. Even Gimli would have thought of one by now. It wouldn’t have been very clever. Likely no better than ‘run at the men waving an axe and work it out from there’. But, surely any plan was better than the mist clearing completely and the men spotting him first? 

His heart hammering in his ears was a distraction as he tried to mull over his options. They were limited. He would have the element of surprise if he moved fast. But there were also three of them, and they had the high ground. Creeping closer, Kili left the bow and packs at the bottom of the hill. He freed the sword, his wet fingers slippery on the grip. 

Swords were better for close work. 

And the high ground didn’t matter if they didn’t know he was there. 

With a yell he raced up the hill, stumbling to a half and almost over-balancing when the nearest dark figure revealed itself to be nothing more than a rock — a flat, grey stone standing upright and towering above his head. Kili’s shoulders slumped, the sword falling to his side. He looked around the hilltop. Nothing. Only stones spaced out in a rough circle, like jagged teeth. 

Looking down, he couldn’t even see the base of the hill through the fog. But all around him the flattened tops of other hills, some with standing stones and some without, floated above the fog, like rocks in a river. And, over the patter of the rain, a faint noise, like the whisper of stone scraping on stone, seemed to be coming from somewhere beneath his feet. 

The watched feeling was back, stronger than before, and Kili whirled around, half-expecting to see someone standing on another hilltop and looking at him. But there was no one.  Turning slowly in a full circle with the sword gripped tightly in both hands, he forgot the odd noise and all the strange feelings. His spirits lifted. From here, he could see the end of the hills, and beyond them loomed what looked to be a great forest. It seemed to cover the whole horizon, stretching out on either side as far as he could see. 

Surely that’s where the men would have gone for shelter rather than exposed hilltops? 

It made sense. 

He stepped forward to cross the stone circle for a better look and stopped, remembering his bow. Sliding down the slippery grassy slope, he gathered his belongings up and thought for a moment about returning to the hilltop. But what purpose would it serve? 

But something in his mind was pulling at him to go back up the hill, like an insistent whisper, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, torn, while he tried to decide. 

No. Follow the trail. Don’t get distracted. He’d lost enough time. 

The fog was thicker than ever, he could barely see more than a few steps ahead, but, even without the tracks to guide him, Kili felt certain that he could have found the forest by smell alone.  He snorted. He could have found it blindfolded. The damp, earthly, and strangely sweet but rotten scent grew stronger with every step he took. 

Stopping at the treeline, Kili peeped around a wide trunk into the drifting fog and shadows beyond. He listened hard for voices but heard nothing. Nothing apart from strange creaking and groaning noises —which were probably perfectly normal in a forest and nothing to worry about— and his own frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

With each cautious step past the border, the clinging fog lessened until only patches remained in the hollows between trees, and Kili supposed he should be grateful to be rid of it. But he wasn’t, because it had been replaced by an ever-deepening gloom that set his already ragged nerves on edge. 

Creeping forward through waist-high ferns that left wet trails and strange burrs on his clothes, he nocked an arrow to the bow and told himself that there was nothing to worry about. Until he found the men, it was only trees, bushes, and a lot of green stuff. Exactly the same as the forest, or wood, or whatever the difference was, that they’d ridden through with Dain. 

“Except it had been sunny then,” he muttered, stumbling over some unseen root hidden beneath the thick fern fronds, “and I wasn’t on my—”

Something creaked above him and he spun, aiming into the canopy and holding his breath. That had sounded like...well, he didn’t know what it sounded like. Something big. Something big and heavy, and shifting its weight. 

Kili felt backwards with his foot before taking a cautious step, not taking his eyes off the net of waist-thick branches and dripping greenery above his head. He couldn’t see through it. Anything could be up there, watching him. 

Stalking him. 

What lived in trees here?

Dwalin’s stories of huge striped cats with teeth the size of fingers sprang to mind. But they were in the north, weren’t they? And dragons lived in caves and mountains, not forests. He was almost sure of that. 

He retreated further, letting out a yelp when behind him, and far too close, something crashed to the forest floor. Turning, he sighted into the shadowy hiding places between the tree trunks and saw nothing. No movement. No glowing eyes or mouths full of sharp teeth. 

Leaves rustled urgently above him and he looked up in time to spot a rat-like creature with a long fluffy tail make an impossible leap from one tree to another. Flashes of black fur flickered through the leaves, claws scrabbling on wood as it scurried up the trunk and out of sight. 

As flakes of bark floated down, Kili let out a breath and lowered the bow, feeling his face heat even though there was no-one there to see it. 

Gimli would die laughing if he saw him jumping at strange little tree-rats. 

The nuisance ferns gave way to deep leaf litter and muck that showed the pony hoof prints as clear as day. A little dwarfling could have tracked it. With an eye still firmly on the branches above, Kili followed the weaving path around the tightly packed trees, and felt his spirits begin to lift. This was much easier. When at last the tracks led through a deep, muddy ditch and joined what seemed to be an old road, its stones overgrown and slippery with moss and grass, the tension fully left his shoulders.

Above him, the branches were thinner and Kili huffed out a relieved breath. At least if something did decide to drop on his head wanting to have him for dinner it would be smaller and much more manageable. But that thought was closely followed by the more unwelcome one that it was well past dinner time. Listening to the hidden creatures rustle and chitter at each other in the branches and bushes as he passed, Kili tried to pay no mind to his rumbling stomach. There was no time to hunt, not even for a quick stop to gather the jewel-like berries that hung temptingly amongst the thorny hedges that lined the road. Somewhere out of sight a stream babbled and Kili licked his lips, trying to push aside all thoughts of thirst too as he pressed on. 

The forest pushed down on him with every step he took. He couldn’t believe that he’d ever wanted to explore such places. Everything was wet, everything smelt damp and decaying. Flies buzzed about his head and Kili swatted at them, trotting along with his eyes fixed to the trail, longing for fresh mountain breezes and the sight of an open star-filled sky. 

Singing one of Amad’s favourite songs quietly to keep himself company, Kili looked up from the trail to the realisation that a complete darkness had fallen. He stopped and dithered about what to do. Rest and pick up the trail at first light? Or continue and perhaps lose it in the dark? He scuffed at the mossy stone with the toe of his boot as he thought. He didn’t want to stop, the urge to keep going and find Fili was almost overwhelming, but the sensible thing was to wait for first light. 

Kili sighed. He’d wait. 

Not on the path though. 

Muttering to himself, he shoved his way through the thorns and bushes, searching for somewhere relatively dry and safe to spend the night. He’d only seen more of the furry tree rats and a few oddly silent birds, but Durin only knew what creatures slumbered in here and woke up to hunt at night. Monsters of all kinds, most likely. Yawning, he slumped against a thick tree trunk to think. 

A reddish-gold leaf swirled lazily past his face, coming to a rest by a crop of red-capped mushrooms that sprouted through the leaf litter by his boots. Kili looked up. 

It wasn’t anything like climbing on rock, and if he didn’t know better he’d think that the tree was trying to push him off. Feeling about for another handhold, Kili cursed the awkwardness of it all.  A wet branch slapped his shoulder, snagging in his hair, and, just as he found a hold to boost himself up, the bow caught on another. It was impossible. Untangling himself one-handed, Kili swung the bow back over his shoulder. Perhaps he should have left it hidden with the sword and packs? His foot skidded and he yelped, scrambling for purchase against the slippery wood. Somehow, he managed to fling an arm over the lowest branch and haul himself up. 

Panting, he settled back against the trunk of the tree and waited for his heart to go back to something like normal. If he was being sensible he should climb higher, up to the thinner branches that should support him but not big cats — but he’d fallen out of enough things for one day. And his hand was hurting him. Resting the bow across his lap, Kili stifled another yawn. He’d slept until past midday so he couldn’t possibly be tired, and yet his eyes were doing their best to close, despite the knots in the wood that poked at him no matter how much he shifted about. Above him, the leaves rustled together like whispers, like fell voices in the dark. 

He sniffed, rubbing at his nose, and his eyes watered. Now that he’d stopped, it was unbearably lonely. 

A thick-bodied spider the size of his fist crawled slowly and purposely along the branch toward him, and Kili flicked it off with the hilt of his knife. As he leant forward to watch the creature’s flight through the broad leaves and toward the forest floor, he gasped. 

There was a light amongst the trees. 

A flickering, orange glow, bobbing about as it drew closer.

Chapter Text

Moving as slowly as possible, Kili lay flat along the branch. 

He pulled his legs up and hopefully out of sight as the biggest man he’d ever seen lumbered through the trees toward him, holding a torch aloft in one hand. There was a bundle of sticks tucked under one meaty arm—and on his hip was a sword that Kili recognised at once as one of his brother’s. He sucked in a sharp breath, willing himself to stay quiet. This, then, was the bald man that Rosie had spoken of. It had to be. 

This man would know where Fili was. 

Grumbling to himself, the man passed close by to Kili’s tree, close enough that the acrid smoke from the badly-made torch rose thickly through the foliage and nipped at Kili’s eyes, making them water. 

Only a step away from the hollow of tree roots where the packs lay, the man stopped, stooping, and Kili held his breath. He’d tossed handfuls of leaves over the packs and the sword, but not with any great care, because he’d stupidly only been thinking of wild animals. If the torchlight caught on metal the man—

Leaves rustled and the man stood, shoving another stout branch into the bundle he carried. With a heavy sigh, the man grumbled something that Kili couldn’t make out over the thunder of his heart in his ears, and moved off.

Torn with indecision, Kili watched him go. He wanted to run after the man and ask him directly for news of Fili, but something within him, the same instinct that had told him to stay quiet and hidden, was warning him against drawing any attention to himself. And his instincts had taken him this far. So that left either following the man, or backtracking along his trail. 

Either way, he couldn’t remain in the tree and expect to find his brother. He dropped the bow to the leaf litter before swinging his leg across the branch and lowering himself after it. A twig snapped under his boot as he landed in a crouch and he froze in place, listening hard. 

But the light from the torch continued to move steadily away. Unsure once again and cursing himself for it, Kili dithered by the packs. No. Leave them. Follow the man. Digging the sword out from its hiding place, he looped the hilt into his belt and crawled backwards out of the cage of tree roots, trying to work out if the packs were well enough hidden. 

He stood and kicked another drift of leaves into the hollow.  It would do. And he didn't want to hide them so well that he'd never find them again. He looked around his hiding place, trying to commit the placement of his surroundings to memory. There were no stones to leave himself a sign, but he could mark the tree roots. His hand hovered over the knife on his belt and he glanced around at the dark forest. No. Best not. He'd remember.

And he was wasting time. 

Keeping an arrow held loosely on the bow, he stalked along the trail, ducking behind trees or dropping into the dark undergrowth every time the man stopped. 

Their path took a winding route through the closely-packed tree trunks, doubling back a few times when something or other attracted the man’s attention, but steadily moving further and further away from the road. It was so meandering that Kili was beginning to lose track of exactly where the tree he’d hidden in was. He was just beginning to suspect that the man might have lost track too when the man cursed, dropped firewood and torch to the ground, and cupped his hands about his mouth. 

“Ralt!” the man yelled. “Ralt!”

A yell like that in the mountains would have echoed for miles, but here the forest swallowed the sound. Thorns tugged at Kili’s hair as he pushed himself further out of sight behind a tree. His imagination was running wild in such an unfamiliar place, but it felt as if the forest was leaning in and listening. Kili shivered, glancing up into the web of branches above his head. It felt as if the very trees were intent on the man with the torch burning at his feet. And on him. 

“Ralt! Where are you?” Snatching up the sticks and the smouldering torch, the man blundered on deeper into the woods. 

Slipping out of cover to follow, Kili stopped at an answering shout from the east. He eased back behind the trunk, waiting for the big man to turn, but instead his quarry kept going, crashing through the spindly low branches that stretched across his path, and seemed not to have heard. 

Keep following or go? With a final glance at the big man disappearing from sight amidst the trees, Kili ran in the direction of the shout, hoping he’d made the right choice. He listened hard for another call, cursing the noise he was making as leaf litter rustled and twigs snapped underfoot, and then cursing his decision at all.

He slowed and stopped, looking back the way he'd come. The forest felt vast, stretching away in all directions, and all the trees and shrubs looked the same. Exactly the same. Kili's heart dropped to his boots as he stared at a fallen tree branch covered in moss. Did that look familiar? He thought it did. He could easily be running in circles and not realise. 

Just as he turned, intending to backtrack and pick up the man's trail once more, he heard another yell. The same voice as before, but from further to the northeast than Kili had been heading. He frowned, looking up at the patches of stars that peeped through the gaps in the branches overhead and saying a quick prayer of thanks that the storm clouds had passed over. For without the comfort of the stars to guide him he would be utterly turned about. 

Ignoring the thought that, without a full view of the night sky, he could very well be relying on the wrong stars, Kili adjusted his course in the direction of the shout. The woods grew more familiar as he went, and relief washed over him that his imagination wasn't playing tricks with him when his steps led him back to the stone road. 

After carefully checking that there was no one in sight, he crossed it at a run and slid down the ditch on the other side, slithering in between a patch of brambles and a wide tree trunk and waiting for another guiding shout.

He didn’t have to wait long. 

“Hald!” 

He was close enough to hear the frustration in the caller’s voice. Kili peered around the trunk into the shadowy darkness between the trees. Nothing moved. Creeping forward, he kept himself low and silent, carefully placing each footstep. 

Passing another head-high tangle of brambles and bushes, he stopped. There were trees on the other side of the bramble hedge and, try as he might, he couldn't see through, but it suddenly felt as if he were no longer alone. 

A soft stamp, a hoofbeat thudding against wet leaves, confirmed it a heartbeat before the scent of damp pony reached him.

And not any damp pony. Kili smiled at a familiar whicker of greeting. Their ponies.

With his heart pattering wildly, Kili drew his hood over his head, sinking to the ground and beginning to inch forward, searching the brambles for a gap he could see through.

At last he found one, looking out through the thick spiky vines into a clearing faintly lit by starlight. The ponies had followed him and he peered through their legs as they stomped about, catching glimpses of a dark-haired man—Ralt?—sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the centre.

A whiskery face blocked his view. 

"Move," he whispered, brambles scratching his hand and catching on his sleeve as he reached through to push at his pony's velvety nose. 

She pushed back, forcing her head further into the gap. Snorting warm breath against his fingers, she whickered again—a happy sound of recognition that in any other circumstances Kili would have been overjoyed to hear. He hissed at her to be quiet.

And Fili's pony was getting involved, jostling the mare. She dragged her head back to snap at him and Kili caught a glimpse of Ralt on his feet, turning toward the noise.

Whipping his hand back, Kili scuttled away, shrinking against the thicker vines and holding his breath.

"What's wrong with you two?" asked Ralt.

The ponies snorted in response. 

“Derild’s tied you up too tight, hasn’t he? Can't get to the grass." There was the slither of rope against rope before Ralt clicked his tongue. "Come on. Come." 

Hooves and boots moved away and Kili counted to ten before sliding forward to peek out once more. 

Ralt was walking away, skirting around the fallen tree.

“And what about you?” Ralt laughed. “Did he tie you up too tightly as well?” 

Kili leant forward with his heart hammering in his ears, biting back a whimper when he heard his brother's voice raised in reply. Or what was barely recognisable as Fili’s voice. It was slurred and slow, but his big brother was here and he was alive. 

“None of that.” Ralt laughed again. “I mightn’t know your filthy dwarf language, but I do know a curse when I hear one. Do I need to have Hald teach you some more manners when he gets back?”

Kili crawled along the bramble hedge, holding his breath. A plan. He needed a plan. A sensible one. 

And he needed his mind to stop bouncing about in panic like a cornered mouse.

Reaching a tree clear from the brambles, he stood slowly, flattening himself against the trunk and hoping he'd gone far enough to see around the fallen tree. He needed to see what and who else was in the clearing and check exactly where Fili was. Then...he didn’t know. But that would do for a start. 

Taking a deep breath, he peeped around the tree. The clearing was no more than a small patch of fairly open ground, the web of branches overhead thinner where they stretched between the rough circle of trees. Stars twinkled down through the gap the fallen tree had left. 

And, less than twenty strides away, Kili reckoned, maybe twenty-five, beyond the fallen tree trunk, was his brother. Despite the building panic, Kili could have wept for joy. 

He clutched his bow tighter. Despite being tethered to a tree with a stout rope wrapped about his wrists, and with a dark shadow on his face that to Kili’s horror looked like blood, Fili was rising to his feet. That was a good thing. If his brother was able to stand and, crucially, run that made things easier.

"Go on," said Ralt, stepping closer, a smile in his voice. "Answer me. I know you've something to say." 

There was an expression on his big brother’s face that Kili hadn’t seen before and never wanted to see again. He willed Fili to look at him. 

Instead, his brother spat another curse at Ralt. But this time it was louder and not hidden in Khuzdul. 

All thoughts of any plan forgotten, Kili moved as Ralt did. 

Darting from cover, he sprinted across the clearing, but too late. He let out a cry as Fili slammed against the tree trunk, falling heavily to the ground. 

“Hald?” Ralt spun, the smile dropping from his face. 

The man was fast, ducking behind Fili, wrestling him to his knees by the time Kili skidded to a halt.

Drawing back on the bow, Kili’s instincts screamed at him to take the shot. But Fili was fighting back and he was as likely to hit his brother as Ralt. “Let him go," Kili said, surprised his voice wasn't shaking.

Metal flashed in the starlight and Fili stilled instantly, a knife to his throat. Ralt looked at Kili. 

“No. I don’t think I will.” Pulling Fili further in front of him like a shield, Ralt said, “Come out from there and let me have a look at you."

The fallen tree was waist-height and would only slow him down should he have to race to Fili's side. It made some sense to edge out beyond it. 

"Good boy," said Ralt. "Next, set the bow on the ground, and the rest of your weapons. And then we’ll talk.”

Locked on Kili's, Fili’s eyes were wide and his fingers flickering a command to shoot.  

It wasn't often that he directly disobeyed his brother. But this was one of those times. Pulling the string back further, Kili cursed himself for not practising with the bow. “Let my brother go and I’ll put it down.” 

“Where'd you steal that bow from?” Ralt sounded too relaxed for someone with an arrow pointed at their head. “Granted, I’m not much of an archer, and I know nothing about archery, but it looks a bit big for you.”

Kili eyed the rope that snaked from the tree boughs to his brother. “Cut my brother’s hands free. As a gesture of goodwill, and I’ll… I’ll put the bow down.”

Ralt laughed and Fili jerked when the man nudged him. “Your uncle should've sent your little brother to do the negotiations instead of you. Look at him. If it wasn’t for how hard his hands were shaking on that bow I’d believe him.” 

Turning his attention back to Kili, Ralt narrowed his eyes. “But you’ll have to try harder than that. Put the bow down. You know as well as I do that you’re as likely to hit your brother as me, and even though he thinks you’re worthless, I suspect you don’t feel the same way about him.”

Worthless? Kili glanced at Fili’s face. His brother looked stricken, adding weight to Ralt’s words, but it didn't matter. They could deal with that later. 

Ralt sighed and shifted, sitting back and pulling Fili with him. “It’s been a long day, Kili, and I expect you’re every bit as tired and footsore as I am. So why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk properly? I’m sure we can come to some sort of civilised arrangement that suits us both?”

He wasn’t used to keeping tension on a bow for this long. Kili could feel the muscles in his arms beginning to shake. 

“You’re in my debt actually,” said Ralt conversationally. “I stood over you this morning, you know. In your room. With this knife in my hand. You wouldn’t have known anything, just a quick cut from here to here.”

Kili sucked in a breath as the tip of the knife moved across Fili’s throat. 

“You wouldn’t even have woken up," continued Ralt. "But, as I stood there, I found I couldn’t do it. I had a little brother too once, and you seemed such a merry little thing when I met you in the tavern. You reminded me of him. The way you were so pleased with yourself to win a few games of cards, a child all puffed up with their cleverness. It was endearing.” Ralt bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. “It touched my heart and so I spared you.”

Kili could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Maybe he’d take a chance with the shot after all. He aimed for the widest part of the man’s thigh that he could clearly see. At least if he missed and hit Fili by mistake it wouldn’t be as bad. 

“And it would have made a mess that would have been hard to cover up,” added Ralt, his eyes narrowing. “Obviously, I’m regretting my mercy now. I should've smothered you instead. But it’s fine. Plans change, and I think you're going to come in very useful, after all.”

Fili’s eyes widened at the very moment Kili heard movement behind him. He spun, dropping the bow and scrabbling to free the sword from his belt. From behind him, his brother’s cry of warning cut short nearly stopped his heart more than the sight of the tall, wiry man rushing at him with sword raised. 

“I want him alive, Derild!” Ralt shouted. “Hald! Hald! Where are you, you—”

From Ralt’s grunt of pain and the swearing that followed, Fili was alive and fighting back somehow. That gave him courage. Kili swung his sword up to meet Derild’s. The shock when blade met blade reverberated down his arm, knocking him a half-step back. 

“Kili!” Fili yelled. “Move!”

He was moving. 

Gritting his teeth, Kili retreated as quickly as he dared, blocking strike after strike from Derild. Twigs snapped under his boots, the fallen tree's branches snagging at his cloak and trousers as he used it to shield his left side.

“Hald!” Ralt raced for the ponies.

Using the tree was a stupid plan. Stumbling over a branch, Kili barely deflected another overhead blow from Derild. 

"Derild!" Ralt yelled. "What did I tell you? Alive."

Glowering, Derild glanced toward Ralt and Kili took the opportunity to throw himself across the tree trunk. Spinning to face Derild, he caught a glimpse of Ralt pulling a longsword from amongst a pile of bundles.

Derild leapt the tree trunk and Kili slashed wildly at him, scrambling back the other way when the man dodged and swore.

He needed a much better plan. Because Ralt was skirting the clearing, obviously intending to flank him, and he couldn’t fight two of them. He knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t nearly good enough. 

“Kili!” shouted Fili.

He couldn't look back at his brother and keep both men in his field of vision. Slashing again at Derild, and pushing aside the thought that Dwalin would murder him if he saw him fighting this badly, Kili backed away, creating space between him and the men. He drew level with Fili who was tugging at the rope tethering him to the tree. 

There was no winning this fight. Not on his own.

But he could cut his brother free. If Fili held the rope taut then one, maybe two, sword cuts would do it. Tightening his grip on the sword, Kili side-stepped.

Fili glared at him. "Kili, run!"

Tossing his blade from one hand to another, Ralt laughed. “Run, and I’ll kill him.” He nodded to Derild who jumped over the fallen tree. “Then we’ll come and find you, and make you wish you’d never followed us.” 

If he ran to cut the rope and needed a second swing, Derild would be on him. 

The knife. Switching to a one-handed grip, Kili skipped a few more steps back, the quiver of useless arrows rattling on his hip. Keeping his sword levelled at the men, he freed the knife and tossed it toward his brother.

When the knife landed in the leaf litter near Fili’s feet, Ralt shook his head. His eyes held Kili’s as he advanced, stepping over the abandoned bow. “Put the sword down and I’ll be more inclined to a better deal. You touch that, Fili, and I’ll kill him slowly. In front of you. We’ll cut him to pieces.” 

To Kili’s horror, Fili froze in place, his bound hands hovering over the knife. 

“Fee,” he hissed. “I can hold them off. Do it.”

“Run,” Fili whispered back. 

He wasn’t running anywhere. Not without Fili. And, since his brother wasn’t helping, he needed a new plan, and one he’d already seen work before against a bigger opponent. Taking a deep breath, Kili charged. 

Ralt caught the blow easily on his blade and Kili let go of his sword hilt, throwing himself into a slide. He was certain he felt the breeze from another strike miss him, but then his fingers wrapped around the bow and he was rolling to his feet and running. Doubling back around Ralt, and somehow dodging both the flat of a sword and the man’s grasping hand, Kili raced for Fili, making it to his brother’s side a few steps ahead of Derild. Reflexively, he reached for an arrow over his shoulder and found none. 

He spun, snatching an arrow from the hip quiver, his hands shaking hard as he fitted it to the bow and aimed at Derild, who retreated quickly until he reached the fallen tree. 

“I’ll shoot you!” he yelled, switching from Derild to Ralt. “Both of you. Stop.”

Dropping the point of his longsword to the leaves, Ralt nodded to Derild. “Fine. We’ve stopped. See.” 

Leaves rustled behind him, and Kili spun, searching the edges of the clearing. Nothing. He turned back to Ralt, who hadn’t moved, but Derild had slid forward a full pace. Kili stepped back, closer to Fili. “Ralt, tell your man to stop moving. I’ll shoot him, I swear.”

“We’re not moving, Kili,” said Ralt with an easy smile. “Hald’s behind you. But don’t let him frighten you. Hald, come out, but slowly.  Come join us.” 

Another step backward let Kili better see the big man emerge from amongst the bushes. Hald stopped and stood still, looking between them all with an armful of firewood and a confused expression. 

Ralt whistled, waiting for Kili to look directly at him before he spoke, “Kili. What’s in your mind? Where do we go from here?”

This wasn’t how people were meant to react with an arrow pointed at them. Kili was sure of it. And it was difficult to keep an eye on all three of the men at once. Behind him, he could hear the rasp of a knife on rope. “Fee?” he whispered, “Are you nearly free?”

“Kili?” Ralt called. “Pay attention. You’re in a tricky situation. One I expect you haven’t been in before so, because that’s the kind of man I am, I’m going to help you out.”

Kili aimed from Ralt to the others and back. 

“You’re thinking of shooting me, because it’s clear to you that I’m the one in charge. But that’s a bad idea, for two reasons. One” —Ralt held up a finger, spinning the sword in his other hand— “because if you miss, you’ll make me angry, and if you hit me you’ll make me very angry. So you had better kill me, and that’s very, very hard to do. And two, or perhaps it’s three, if you kill me my two friends will be upset and I won’t be here to control them. Ask your brother about that.”

Behind him, Kili heard the slither of rope hitting the leaf litter. Fili growled. 

“Or, perhaps you’re thinking you should target Hald, since he’s the biggest. Take him out of the fight? That would be sensible.” Ralt moved a half-step closer. “But me and Derild are fast, and you have no sword. We’d be on you before you could reach for another arrow.”

“Stop moving.” Kili drew back further on the bow. “Stop.”

“And I’m pretty sure Hald’s half-troll.” Ralt laughed. “Meaning no offence, Hald. But it might take more arrows than the, what have you got there, five? Five arrows for three of us? You had better make every shot count, little Kili.”

In the spiderweb of branches above the clearing, a black bird perched, beady eyes watching them through the thick leaves. Big. Stationary. And an easy shot. A dwarfling could do it. 

Kili shifted and fired. 

Birds burst out of the trees around them, squawking in alarm, and, as their shadows circled up into the night sky, Kili swore. Unharmed and unruffled, the black bird glided off amongst them. Snatching another arrow from the quiver, Kili fitted it to the bow as something dark and furry-tailed thudded squeaking to the forest floor between him and Ralt. 

Ralt stepped back, his eyes wide. 

“You were right,” said Kili, his heart pounding wildly in his ears. He sighted on Ralt. “This bow is a bit big for me. I was aiming for the head.”

In the quiet of the clearing, they watched the dying creature kick out its last with the arrow through its chest. 

Once the squeaks had faded and all was still except for the soft rustle of the wind through the branches, Ralt looked up. “Fine. What do you want?”

Chapter Text

Keeping the tension on the bow, Kili said, “My brother.”

“Done. Take him.”

“And you give us back what is ours,” said Fili, stepping forward, the knife clutched white-knuckled in his hand. “Gold, weapons, all of it. Then I might let you live.”

“No, Fili. This isn’t your negotiation, and you don’t get to threaten me.” Ralt stepped forward too. “And if you interrupt again we’ll be finding out exactly how good your brother is with that bow, and… Four arrows is it now, Kili?”

“You'll let us go and you don’t follow us?” asked Kili quickly, wishing Fili would retreat. He was trying to keep all three men in his line of sight and his brother wasn't helping. “You swear it? You can keep the gold and weapons.”

“Kili.” Fili turned to him. “They have Uncle Frerin’s—”

“I don’t care if they have Uncle Frerin.” Ignoring Fili’s horrified hiss, Kili aimed over his brother's shoulder at Derild who was moving slowly to flank them. “All I care about is you. Please get behind me. Ralt, tell your man to stop. Do we have a deal?”

“Derild, stop scaring him. Come on, Kili. Come shake my hand and we have a deal.” Stretching out a hand, Ralt smiled. “If you don't, the deal’s off.”

He couldn’t lower the bow. Not with Derild creeping still closer. And, mannish gesture of trust or not, moving to take Ralt’s hand felt as if it were a bad decision. He didn’t trust the man. Not one bit. Kili glanced at Ralt who wriggled his fingers and smiled wider in response. 

“What do I do?” he whispered to Fili. His brother was glaring at Ralt and didn’t answer. Kili tried again, “Fee?”

His brother’s fingers twitched on the knife. 

Fine. Then he’d make his own plan. “Fee, can you run?”

That got Fili’s attention. “We’re not running,” he growled. 

“We are,” Kili hissed. “The moment I say.” He raised his voice, “Ralt, tell your man to stop or I’ll shoot him.”

Ralt grinned. 

It all happened in an instant. A knife whirred past Kili and Ralt leapt out of the way, letting out a yell as it grazed his shoulder and flew on past, disappearing into a bush. Fili’s roar of fury was deafening. Dropping bow and arrow, Kili managed to wrap an arm around his brother’s waist and stop his charge toward Ralt. Somehow, he found the strength to fling Fili bodily backward toward the trees. 

“Go!” he yelled. 

Fili stumbled but managed to stay upright, and Kili spun, racing for the sword as Hald and Derild ran toward him. 

He'd enough time to curse himself for being stupid enough to try for the weapon before his fingers were around the hilt and then he was dodging outstretched hands, leaping over a kick from Hald, saying a prayer of thanks that Ralt was still distracted by his bloodied arm, and running flat out back to Fili. 

Throwing his brother the sword, he snatched up the bow and fumbled the arrow, abandoning it. 

But Fili wasn’t moving. “Go!” Kili shoved at him. “Run! Now!”

Maybe it was what Fili could see that he couldn't—with his back to Ralt’s men Kili could only hear their rapid footfalls—or maybe Fili just decided to listen. But, whatever the cause, his brother ran and Kili raced behind him, pushing him along. 

Ferns slapped at his boots and legs and branches snagged in his hair as they tore through close-set trees, the forest doing its utmost to slow them down. To his left, Kili caught a glimpse of the road through the tangles of thorny brambles. 

He caught Fili’s sleeve. “This way.” 

Scrambling through a gap, they were out and onto the easier going of the road. With his boots pounding on good stone and still holding tight to Fili, Kili risked a look over his shoulder. All three men were behind them, although not as close, and the heavy-set Hald was already lagging behind. 

If they stayed on the path they could outrun them. Kili's heart lifted. It was possible. And then he glanced at his brother. Despite always being the faster out of the two, Fili was already breathing hard and limping, his strides uneven. And who knew where the road might lead to? The men had been heading this way, maybe they had more friends deeper in the forest? Kili shot another glance over his shoulder. Derild was closing the distance, pulling ahead of the others, his face determined and his sword in his hand. 

“We’ll lose them in the trees, Fee. Follow me.” Tugging at Fili’s sleeve, Kili took a hard turn off the road. Forced to let go of his brother or tumble them both, he slid down the bank, turning to grab Fili once again. 

The forest was denser here, the trees were bigger and wide branches overhead blocked out the starlight. In the murky gloom, Kili ran, pulling Fili behind him, jumping over tree roots and dodging around muddy patches that would mark out their trail as clearly as if he'd written the Men a sign. 

He only wanted the Men to find the signs that he wanted them to see. 

Twisting and turning through the trees, he slowly led them back the way they’d come, leaving as confusing and patchy a trail for anyone attempting to follow as possible. Moving at speed, it was impossible to hide their tracks completely, but Kili was determined to make it difficult enough that the Men gave up. And it was working, he was certain of it. For under the sound of their running footsteps as they crashed their way through the drifts of leaves and snapped twigs underfoot, the sounds of pursuit faded away. 

They should keep running. But Fili’s face was pinched and he was unusually silent. Shooting another glance at him, Kili began to slow their steps, watching and worrying as Fili stumbled to a halt, gripping at a tree trunk for support. 

His brother could go no further without a rest. That much was clear. While Fili caught his breath, Kili listened hard, staring back the way they had come and barely daring to blink. Nothing. Only a steady drip all around that told him the rain had started again in the world outside the shelter of the forest, and the occasional small rustle in the leaf litter and above their heads. The shadows remained still and silent. There were no footsteps, either running or creeping. 

Letting out a cautious breath, he retreated to Fili. “Men can’t see in the dark like us, can they?” he whispered. He thought he remembered that from their lessons. 

Fili shook his head. 

Then I think we’ve lost them." Kili smiled, feeling a rush of relief course through him from head to toes. “We’re safe for now.” 

Fili nodded, sliding down the tree. Dropping the bow, Kili caught him before he hit the ground. “Brother?”

“I’m fine.” Fili shook his head. “Tired.”

Kneeling, Kili took his brother’s head in his hands. Under his thumb, Fili’s forehead was sticky and Kili carefully brushed away some of the dirt and matted hair to take a closer look. A deep gash that snaked into Fili’s hairline bled sluggishly. “You’re hurt.”

Fili’s fingers were busy too, tracing the cut on Kili’s neck. “I thought you were dead.” Hands wound into Kili's hair and Fili dragged their foreheads together. “He told me you were dead.”

“I’m not. I’m right here, Fee.”

“He told me exactly how he killed you,” Fili’s voice was a broken whisper, “I could see it.”

Sinking to the wet leaves, Kili wrapped his arms around his brother. As Fili’s head dropped to his shoulder, hugging Kili hard enough to squeeze every bit of air from his chest, Kili whispered, “You don’t have to see it anymore. Or think about it. I’m right here.” 

They couldn’t stay here though. Rubbing his brother’s back, Kili looked around. His first instinct, of going back to the road and heading to Bree that way, wasn’t the right one. He knew that. Unless it was still misty, there would be next to no cover in the Barrow Downs, and even less on the road to the South-gate. And if there was mist it would work as much to Ralt's advantage as theirs. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember Balin's map. If they stayed amongst the trees and headed north, they would come back to Bree, or near it. That would take longer, and he wanted out of the forest, but staying within the shadowy protection of the trees felt safe. As he stroked Fili’s neck in an attempt to offer some comfort, he frowned at the feel of cold, damp skin under his fingertips. 

“If they followed us the gold is unprotected,” Fili murmured. “We have to try.”

“No. We don’t,” Kili said, trying to push away the ache in his chest that the decision meant abandoning the ponies to their fate too. But the risk was too great. He had Fili back and nothing else mattered now but getting home. 

Kili took a deep breath. It was time to be a proper captain and take charge. “What we need to do is get you warmed up, and your cloak will help. I know where we are. I’ll slip back, grab our packs, and then return to you.” He untangled himself from Fili’s arms, ignoring the muttered protest, and went searching for one of the broad trees that had the high, thick roots with hollow spaces underneath. Finding one nearby, he crouched and scraped drifts of wet leaves out from the cage of branches. 

“Here.” He beckoned to Fili who had followed him. “Climb in here and hide. I’ll cover you up and even if they happen to walk past they’ll never see you.”

Men couldn't track. Not like dwarves. Kili knew that much. They kept animals in pens for food, he'd seen that for himself in Bree and was sure he'd heard Uncle Thorin say something similar, and they were too lazy and soft to bother themselves with hunting. He pushed aside the memory of Birch telling him about hunting rabbits. Likely, that was nothing more than a boyish sport and easily forgotten as Men aged. 

“No," said Fili. "We’re not splitting up.” 

Kili looked at his big brother swaying on his feet. “Yes. Do as I say.” Taking Fili's arm, Kili pushed him toward the tree. “Rest, close your eyes, and I’ll be back before you know it. Anyway, you’ll only slow me down.”

The hurt on Fili's face almost made Kili take the words back. But he swallowed the apology when Fili bowed his head in defeat and crawled into the tree’s roots. Pushing leaves back in, Kili scurried about to find more fallen branches and piled them about the tree. He stepped back to scrutinise his work. Perfect. And he’d apologise when he got back. Lifting the sword from where Fili had dropped it, he passed it in. 

Green eyes flashed at him from the darkness. “No. Take it.”

The thought of leaving his brother unarmed made Kili reconsider everything. Maybe they should just both go? With the sword dangling from his hand, he shifted from foot to foot and tried to think straight. 

Leaves rustled as Fili moved within the tree roots. “The packs are a good idea, Kili. Take the sword, but be careful. If you see anyone, or even if you have a feeling that anything is wrong, come straight back. Don’t take any risks.”

That settled it. He’d wanted someone to tell him what to do, and Fili was doing just that. Unbuckling the hip quiver, Kili passed it and then the bow in.

“No. Keep them," he said when Fili tried to shove them back at him. "Please, Fee. Just in case.”

His brother was still grumbling quietly when Kili slunk off through the trees. With his hands sweaty on the sword hilt, he kept low and quiet, making his way through the silent forest back toward the road. He turned before he reached it, flitting from tree to tree and heading back eastward toward the Barrow Downs. 

Trying not to startle at every shadow, his nerves were rattling long before he found the tree where he’d hidden. The leaves at the base were trampled, likely by Hald, and the patch of mushrooms were scattered about as if by big, careless boots, but the hiding place itself looked undisturbed. Propping the sword up against the trunk and trying to calm his pattering heart, Kili knelt and scooped out an armful of leaves, tossing them aside. 

With his head and shoulders squeezed into the hollow, he balanced on one hand and stretched out, his fingers falling short and only brushing the straps of one of the packs. Grumbling under his breath and wishing he'd not shoved them so far back, Kili wriggled in further, enough to get a firm grip. He tugged the first pack toward him, and froze. 

There’d been a snap from somewhere above his head, somewhere outside the cage of roots. Letting go of the pack, Kili scrambled backward, but too late. 

A heavy weight landed on his back, knocking all the air out of his chest in a rush. His hands skidded on the damp leaves. His first panicked thought—of Dwalin’s cats—was quickly replaced by a worse one as his head was pushed to the forest floor and a voice, Derild’s, growled behind him. 

“Fight back, and I’ll stick you.” 

He fought anyway, kicking out and trying to free his arm that was trapped beneath him. Yanked backward, he squirmed, almost free, but the weight on his back shifted and what felt like an elbow or a knee jammed into the back of his neck instead, forcing his head down further into the leaves and muck. Another sharp, heavy knee pressed against the small of his back. Desperately gasping for air, Kili tasted only the mud filling his mouth and nose, but his arms were free. 

His elbow connected, Derild spitting out a curse, before his hand was caught and twisted behind his back. Scrabbling for purchase on the slippery leaves, Kili yelled uselessly into the ground when Derild grabbed his other wrist. Rope snapped tight, the speed of it burning his skin, binding his wrists together. 

He couldn’t breathe. Fear gave him strength and he twisted about in Derild’s grip. The weight shifted again, pressing harder against the back of his head, and Kili kicked out, hitting nothing but air, his empty chest filling with nothing but dirt. His next kick was weaker as the dark spots danced in front of his eyes. 

“That’s it.” Derild, had laughter in his voice, “Relax. Thought you were so clever, sneaking about, thinking you’re the only one who can follow a trail. Dwarves. We knew you’d come back, here or for the gold. Where’d you hide that brother of—”

There was a loud crack from above. The weight released, and Kili jerked upright only to fall forward again, gasping and coughing for breath. Strong hands caught him, a stout branch falling to the leaves beside his knees.

“I’m here.” Fili’s voice was low and frightened, “Breathe.” 

Kili could have wept. Gently, Fili wiped at the muck on Kili’s face before undoing the rope about his hands and tossing it aside.

“You followed me,” Kili managed, leaning against his brother while Fili chafed his wrists. 

“Of course.” Fili’s face swam in and out of focus. “I waited as long as I could, wasn’t very long as it turned out. Can you stand?” 

With Fili’s help, Kili wobbled upright. Beside the tree roots, Derild lay in a crumpled heap. “Is he…?”

Fili lifted the sword. “Not yet.”

“No.” Kili dropped back to his knees. Crawling past Derild, with a wary look at the man’s face to make sure he was definitely asleep and not pretending, he wriggled back into the hiding place, dragging out first one pack and then the other. He turned to look up at his brother. “You can’t kill him.”

Fili shifted his grip on the sword. “Can’t?”

“Not in cold blood. You mustn’t.” Swaying to his feet, Kili swiped at his mouth. He could still taste dirt. He shouldered the packs, adjusting the straps, and frowned at the bow and quiver where they lay discarded on the other side of the tree. “You’re supposed to put the quiver on your belt.”

Fili ignored him, staring down at Derild with an odd look in his eyes. The tip of the sword pressed tighter to the man’s throat when Derild’s eyelids fluttered. “My blood is far from cold,” said Fili quietly. “He was going to hurt you.”

“That doesn’t make it right. He’s not an orc, or a wolf.” Wrapping an arm around Fili’s waist, Kili forced him back a step. “Come on, let’s just go. The cats will find him and they’ll—”

“Ralt!” A big shadow moved amidst the trees, Hald’s voice booming out, “There they are!”

“Run.” Kili pushed at Fili. “Go.”

Perhaps they were slower, or maybe the men’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, but, either way, as Kili raced through the forest behind Fili it felt as if Ralt was only a few steps behind. The men were close enough that Kili could hear their pounding footsteps, and hear their whistles and shouts to each other. 

They were being hunted. 

Fili pulled him into another sharp turn, stumbling over a fallen branch, and, as Kili caught his brother’s arm before they both fell, he glanced over his shoulder. Branches waved close behind them, less than a dozen strides, and Hald crashed through, swiping and hacking at the leaves with his sword. 

“Faster, Fee,” Kili urged, willing his own legs onward. They raced away. 

Another few twists and turns and they lost Hald, only for Kili to spot Ralt darting through the trees to their right, with Derild a long quick-moving shadow behind him. Kili swore. The bow. He’d forgotten it. And, in the heartbeat that he’d seen Derild before losing him again behind greenery, he’d spotted the longbow in the man’s hand

Ralt met his eyes, silent but smiling, as Fili tugged Kili to their left and away. 

The trees were thinning out the further they ran, the wide trunks giving way to slender ones with long spindly branches, and the gaps between cover lengthening. And all around was a roaring of the wind and rain in what remained of the branches above. And something else. Over the pounding of his heart, Kili realised what it was at the same moment Fili did, his brother skidding to a halt and swearing. 

Ahead of them, the ground was bare and then nothing. Nothing, but the tops of trees peeking up from below a ridge, and all around them the crash of water. They jogged forward and Kili grabbed for Fili’s arm as stones rolled away under their feet, showering down a steep bank to churning, storm-swollen waters far below. 

“Go.” Fili pushed him and they raced along the ridge, skidding to another stop when Derild strode out from amongst a line of trees ahead, cutting them off, the quiver on his hip and an arrow nocked to the bow in his hand. He aimed and they spun only to find Ralt and Hald closing in from behind. 

“We had a deal!” Kili shouted. 

Ralt laughed, slowing to a walk and signalling the others closer. “Did we? But you didn’t shake my hand, Kili.”

“It was still a deal.” Kili glanced at Fili who was looking down the bank not two steps behind them. His brother’s fingers flickered a plan and Kili felt himself pale. He peeped over the edge. It was a long way down. “No, brother,” he whispered. There was a gap still between Hald and Ralt. If they were quick they could break through. He was certain of it. “We make for the forest, we can lose them again.”

“Did you really think we were going to let you go?” Ralt laughed again, snapping Kili’s attention back to him. “Let you run home and send him a pack of dwarves me? No, I don’t think so. You’re coming with us, or we can kill you right here. Your choice.”

With Fili’s hand fisted tight in his tunic, pulling him sideways and backward, Kili retreated a cautious step, and then another. He could feel the emptiness of air at his back. Keep talking, as his brother wanted him to. Keep them busy until Fili found a likely spot that they could jump from. He mightn’t agree with Fili’s plan but they’d no time left for a discussion about it. “We won’t remember your faces,” he called. 

Ralt snorted. 

“You all look the same to us,” said Kili quickly. “And you’ve got plenty of gold, you don’t need us.”

“That’s perhaps true enough.” Ralt nodded to Derild who drew back on the bow. “But plenty of gold runs out sooner or later, and I have a little plan for getting more. And that little plan involves you. So, there's that."

"But we’ll fight you," said Kili, "every step of the way. It wouldn’t be worth your—"

"I don't doubt that, but I suspect your brother will be a lot quieter and easier to manage now that we have you.” Ralt was watching them closely. “Isn’t that right, Fili?”

Fili snarled a curse, shifting Kili along another step. 

“Maybe we should test it,” said Ralt, shrugging. “Because I feel we know each other quite well by now, Fili, and I can just tell when you’re up to something. So, here’s the new deal. Drop the sword. Get on your knees. Put your hands on your head. Nice and high, where I can keep an eye on them. Or...we’ll put an arrow in your brother.”

“Our uncle will search for us forever,” said Kili desperately. “Whether you kill us or take us, it wouldn’t matter, he will hunt you and find you.”

“Not where we’re going, he won’t.” Ralt glanced at Derild. “On my mark. Shoot the brat. Somewhere he won't bleed out if you can manage it.” He raised his voice, “Fili? Are you listening? Because I think you’re not listening to me properly. I’m going to count to three. And, before I get to three, I want that sword on the ground and you on your knees. One.” 

Fili slid in front of Kili, forcing him another step backward. 

His heels scrabbled on the ridgeline. Kili caught Fili’s sleeve for support, trying to regain his balance, the packs pulling at his shoulders.

“Now?” he whispered in Fili’s ear, glancing down at the river below. It was hardly an easy drop, but there was a narrow gap amongst the trees and bushes that clung to the bank. If they jumped properly, and if there were no rocks hidden under the water, they might be fine—finer than being shot at close range by Derild anyway. 

Fili ignored him, his grip tightening on the sword hilt before he tossed it to the ground at his feet. 

“Fee,” Kili hissed. “What are you—”

Ralt clapped. “Good boy, Fili. That’s a very good first step, but I’m still counting so you’d better hurry up with the rest. On your knees.”

Turning, Fili untangled Kili’s fingers from his sleeve and gripped them in his. “Go,” he said quietly. 

“Two!” shouted Ralt. 

“No,” said Kili. “I’m not leaving you ag—”

The punch to his chest drove the air from him, and Kili stepped backward into nothing, his limbs pinwheeling, reaching for his brother as the world tipped.

Chapter Text

There was a flash of the star-filled night sky and a moment of weightlessness before first the packs and then Kili's shoulder hit something solid. He yelped, the impact flipping him head over heels and knocking the wind from him. Frantically, he scrabbled for a grip on the steep bank, searching for anything to arrest his slide. 

But it was no good. There was nothing to hang onto. He tumbled faster and faster, thumping off gnarled roots and tree trunks, his ears filled with the clash of metal from above. It called to him. Loud and insistent, even over the sound of snapping branches.

A panicked heartbeat later, he splashed into rushing water and its roar was all that filled his ears.

Thrashing, he broke the surface, coughing up river water before sucking in damp air. He flailed for something to grab onto, his teeth chattering. A boulder. A branch. Anything to stop the current dragging him away from his brother. 

But, no matter how hard he fought, the river fought harder. And he could no longer hear anything above the tumult of water. No yells. No sounds of fighting. No calls from Fili to say that he'd won and to return.

With the packs and his cloak doing their best to strangle him, Kili spun, knocking his hip against a hidden jagged rock. He spat out a curse that would've had Amad reaching for the soap. There were more rocks ahead, and this was no good. He had to get back to Fili, and being dashed to pieces or drowned wasn’t going to help anybody. 

As the current swept him around a bend, the bank—albeit the wrong one—drew tantalisingly close. Kili struck out for it, swimming as hard as he could, hampered once more by the packs. 

As the thought crossed his mind to ditch them and let the water take them wherever it wished, his toes brushed soft silt. The river bed. Another few frantic strokes and he tried again, getting his boot fully down this time. It sank to his ankle but held. 

Stumbling, and trying to keep his balance while neck deep in water that seemed determined to pull him downstream, Kili half-waded, half-swam, his way to the nearest flattish rock. Hauling himself up on the second attempt, his arms shaking, he stood and looked upstream, past the reeds and long grasses that hid the bend. Nobody was in the river. He raised himself on tiptoe, waiting and trying to make sure. Definitely nobody. Not his brother, and not any of the men.

Wriggling out of the first pack, he hurled it to the bank, followed by the second, and followed by himself. His knees hit slippery mud. Grabbing at grass and reeds and with his clothes pouring cold water, he dragged himself out before staggering to his feet and running back upriver. 

He rounded the bend, skidding to a stop and shouting a warning cry. Across the raging river, and too far ahead of him, and so high up that he looked as if he were amongst the treetops, he could see glimpses of Fili. Running, his big brother flitted in and out of sight between the branches. And behind him, and too close, was a larger shadowy shape, closing in.

His brother was fast, but not fast enough. 

“Jump, Fee!” Kili yelled, sweeping a stout branch off the riverbank. He dropped it. What had he intended to do? Throw it? He was too far away to be of any use. Fool. 

Sliding down the bank, he waded out into the water, cupping his hands about his mouth and shouting again in the hope that Fili could hear him above the torrent. His heart hammered against his ribs, his eyes flickering from Fili, to the drop, to the men. 

His boot rolled off a stone and Kili twisted, falling with a yelp into the deeper water. Splashing upright, he was in time to watch his brother leap from the bank opposite, Fili’s hair flashing silver in the starlight. He hit the water feet first, a sword gripped in one hand and the bow in the other. 

High above, Ralt skidded to a halt, stones skittering out from under his boots and bouncing down the bank. As he wobbled, his eyes found Kili’s. And, even in the darkness, even at the distance, Kili could read the fury in them. 

More than fury. There was murder in Ralt’s eyes. 

But there was no time to worry about Ralt or his men right now, for Fili’s head had broken the surface, already further downriver. Kili hared back the way he’d come. Turning his back was a risk, the river wasn’t so wide that Hald couldn’t throw a rock or whip a blade across, and Kili was half-expecting something to strike him in the back as he ran, but nothing came. He raced back through waist-high grass and towering reeds and around the bend to where he’d found a way out what felt like a thousand years before. Jumping over the packs, he threw himself into the river. 

“This way, Fee!” he shouted, gasping with the shock of the cold once more. He was only a few frantic heartbeats ahead of Fili but—even if Fili hadn’t heard his calls or seen him—he’d worked out by himself that the bank away from Ralt was the one to aim for, and was swimming as hard as he could one-handed, trying to break free of the current.

Why had he thrown away the stick? It would’ve been useful now for Fili to grab onto. Hanging onto a rock, Kili stretched out as far as he could. The neck-deep water tugged at his legs and waves broke over him. 

“Fee!” He spat out a mouthful of cold water. “Here. Take my hand.”  

The more sensible thing to shout would have been for Fili to drop the weapons, for he’d swim better with two arms. As he opened his mouth to tell his brother so, another wave hit him, half-blinding him with a mix of water and his own hair. Coughing, Kili shook his head to try and clear his eyes. 

Fingers wrapped about his wrist a moment before Fili’s weight slammed into him, almost knocking Kili from his feet. Taking a firm grip on Fili's tunic and still hanging onto the rock for support, Kili pushed him ahead. 

“Keep going,” he urged, spitting more water as he shoved at Fili. “A little further, and you can get your feet down.” 

The river seemed determined not to let either of them go this time. Unseen rocks kept trying to trip him, and underwater weeds tangled tight about Kili’s ankles with every step. But they were making progress, slow as it was. He held on to Fili, even after the water fell lower than chest height, allowing Fili to get his feet down. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Kili searched the opposite bank. The trees were taller, clustered close together and tangled with undergrowth, but he was certain that shadows were moving beyond them in the darkness. Ralt? Or had the men gone back to where Kili had fallen from? Or further upriver, where the banks might be easier to climb down? Kili’s heart pounded and he clung tighter to Fili. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever let go again. 

“Come on, brother,” he urged when Fili stumbled. “Keep going. Nearly there.”

As the water level lowered, and the river’s fury died away close to the bank, Kili pulled the bow from Fili’s hand and tossed it ahead. It landed against the packs with a clatter and Kili tried to take the sword to do the same, realising only then that Fili had an arrow too clutched tight in his hand, but Fili gripped it both tighter, grunting something under his breath. 

Fine. Fili could keep the sword if he wanted. The arrow as well. Whatever made his brother happy. Leaning against the bank, Kili offered his hands to give Fili a boost up. 

“No, little brother,” said Fili. “You first.” 

They exchanged glowers and Fili dropped his eyes first. Grumbling, he stepped onto Kili’s hands and Kili shoved him upward, pushing at Fili until he was up and safe. 

The first attempt to climb out himself didn’t work and he slid back into the water. With his entire body shaking, Kili leant against the bank, his forehead pressed against the mud as he gathered his strength for a second attempt. It wasn’t even a climb, and he’d done it once before, without thought.  

Fingers tapped the crown of his head and he looked up. 

“Take my hand,” said Fili. “Come on.”

With Fili pulling at him, and his free hand and boots slipping and sliding, Kili dragged himself up and over. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the stars through the thick tangle of branches overhead. By his side, he could hear Fili’s laboured breathing, and Kili was sure his wasn’t much better. 

But they couldn’t stay here. Even now, Ralt would be searching for a way across, and men were so much taller. Maybe the steep banks and the fast river would be no true obstacle to them at all. They had to go. And they had to hide their tracks well this time. Kili shivered. All that he’d thought he’d known about Men had turned out not to be a truth, for Derild at least was a hunter capable of following them. 

They needed to go. Now. 

“Are you hurt?” he whispered, forcing himself to sit up. 

Fili shook his head. 

It was probably a lie, but his brother had his eyes closed so there was no way to tell. And they didn’t have time to check. Kili attempted to pry his brother’s fingers once more from about the sword, frowning as he noted Fili’s freshly split knuckles, but Fili tightened his grip. 

It didn’t matter. Kili pushed himself to his feet and shouldered the packs. “You took the bow?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. Asking his brother to explain why he’d pushed him could wait until they were somewhere safer. “Is that why you didn’t jump with me?” 

And how had his brother managed to get an arrow? Had he been shot at? Or had he rushed Derild? 

Fili took a deep breath, opening his eyes. “I couldn’t let them keep it. We would’ve been easy targets in the water. I’m sorry, Kili. I didn’t have time to explain, and you wouldn’t have gone if I had.”

That was true. He would’ve stayed and helped. And then the odds would have been a lot closer to even rather than Fili foolishly staying to fight three men all on his own. Any one of them could have cut his throat, or Fili could have been shot. He could have been wounded, overpowered and spirited away again long before Kili could catch up.

It didn’t bear thinking about. 

Forcing a merry smile, and trying to ignore his panicking heart leaping in his throat and his mind conjuring all sorts of terrible images, Kili offered his hand. “Doesn’t matter. It was a fine plan and it all worked out for the best in the end. Can you walk? We need to get away from this river.”

Chapter Text

Staring into the flickering flames dancing in the grate and listening to the wind howling in the chimney, Gimli smothered a yawn. What time was it? He glanced toward the window. From the darkness outside it was late, and his head was telling him the same, but it had to still be far too early to be yawning. 

Likely, it was only feeling so late because of Dis and Molir's insistence on squabbling over every card and every hand they played. Likely, if he excused himself and headed home to bed, he'd only end up lying awake and staring at the ceiling anyhow. 

Likely, if his cousins were here, the thought of yawning or bed would never have crossed his mind at all. 

With a sigh, he lifted his tankard. The last mouthfuls of ale were overly warmed by the roaring fire and criminally watered-down, but ale—even this ale—was ale after all. Perfectly drinkable. So long as he tried not to think too hard about fun taverns in Bree far away from fussy old dwarves and their jugs of water. And so long as he didn’t think too long about all the unwatered-down mannish ale and hobbitish beer his cousins were likely drowning in right now. 

At least he wouldn’t be waking up with a thick head. Staring sadly down into the tankard, Gimli huffed out a breath. Not waking up with a thick head was something, he supposed, so long as he didn’t think too hard about that either. 

“You’re right, Gimli,” said Dis, her attention snapping back to him. “It’s getting late.” 

“Don’t you dare.” Molir grabbed her wrist as she moved to throw her cards onto the table. “Not when I’m winning for the first time in days. You can manage to stay awake a while longer, can’t you, lad?” 

“I’m not tired,” said Gimli. 

Dis raised an eyebrow and Gimli shrugged, swirling the last dregs of ale in his tankard. He wasn’t tired. Not at all. What he suspected he was…was bored. Completely bored. Out of his mind bored. 

Not by the nightly games of cards. Those were fun, if overly long, and he’d even won a bit of coin here and there. But the days dragged on. Hanging about the gates from the moment he'd finished rushing through his chores and lessons, waiting for his cousins’ return, was beginning to wear on him. Dis kept him company more often than not, the two of them making polite conversation about the weather or the contents of the market or all manner of things that neither one of them listened to as they stared down the valley road. 

When would Fili and Kili be back? 

To be left behind, twitching at every shadow that moved on the road, feeling Dis’s fingers tighten on his arm, and knowing she too felt the rush of hope before each disappointment, was torture. Setting down his tankard, Gimli glowered down at his cards. It was torture. It was. Trapped here all on his own, he was going to go mad long before his cousins returned. It wasn't fair. 

Why hadn't Thorin commanded him to go with them? Not as captain, obviously, that would have been too much of a blow to Kili's fragile ego. But he could have gone with them as an additional guard or as Fili’s advisor or some other made-up title. For, and it wouldn’t have been fair to his cousin to point it out, anyone with any sense—and Gimli had always thought Thorin sensible—should have had their concerns about Kili as a captain. 

It wasn’t that his cousin would be rubbish at it. Not exactly. But, without Gimli’s good sense and guidance, Kili was likely to get distracted by a rabbit or a butterfly or something and make a hash of things. He could only fit so much in his head at any one time. 

Anybody with any sense would know that, without Gimli to subtly help, Fili would end up having to play the roles of both captain and prince. For Durin’s sake, Kili hadn’t even remembered to say goodbye at the gate. He’d just ridden off, without so much as a backwards glance, as if Gimli wasn’t the person who loved him most in all the world. 

Not that Gimli was still annoyed about that—for nobody knew, or forgave, his fool cousin like he did—but it did completely prove his point that Kili could only handle so many tasks at once. 

To take on all of the responsibility for everything wasn’t fair on Fili. Thorin should have sent him too. 

Or, at the very least, he should be allowed to leave the mountain and stretch his legs properly. Anyone would think that he was a foolish little dwarfling, unable to be trusted to stir outside the gates without his older cousins’ supervision. 

Gimli snorted. Little did anyone know that every—or almost every—bit of trouble the three of them had ever gotten into outside the gates was not his doing. It had never been his fault. Nobody knew that he’d been the innocent victim every single time, advising caution and agreeing reluctantly to come along, for somebody had to go and try to keep his cousins in one piece. Yet he’d always kept his mouth shut about it. 

For all the good that had done him. 

If anyone should be allowed outside the gates for a stroll, it was him. What did they all think he would do? Run all the way to Bree? 

He sighed heavily. He was a prisoner. They may as well have tossed him into the cells under the mountain until Fili and Kili got back and been done with it. 

“You'll all be together again before you know it,” said Dis, reaching across the table to pat his arm. “They’ll have met with the merchant today so will already be on their way home, and we’ll see them coming up the road late tomorrow or early the next day, I expect.”

Gimli nodded. He knew that. He and Dis had already discussed it many times at the gates, and over dinners. And, before Kili had left, Gimli had pored over maps in Balin’s study with him, working out all the details of Dain’s likely route and making certain his cousin had it all hammered into his head. He knew all of it. Kili knew all of it. Every step. 

It didn't stop the niggling worry that, despite all his best efforts, they'd still manage to get lost on their way home. But surely even his cousins weren't incompetent enough to lose sight of an entire mountain range?

They wouldn’t. Would they? 

“Perhaps,” said Molir while Gimli chewed on a thumbnail and worried about exactly how incompetent his cousins could be, given half an opportunity.  

“They’re young,” Molir continued, “and they’re in Bree for the very first time. Without escorts or anyone to answer to but themselves. They could be a little longer in returning than you think.” He gestured with his tankard toward the window where the rain streamed in rivers down it. “And, if the weather is anything like this in the lowlands, then the sensible thing would be to spend some coin on an extra night and wait for it to pass. You know your Fili is a sensible lad.”

Dis glanced toward the hearth as a shower of sparks puffed from the fire. Frowning, she ground the largest ember into the rug and nodded to Gimli to deal with the rest. “I do,” she said. “But Fili promised me that they would set out as soon as they had finished with the merchant.” 

“Well…” Molir placed his cards carefully facedown with a sideways look at Dis. “Then I’m sure that’s what they’ll do. But merchants can be delayed, or negotiations take longer than expected, and—”

“Yes, yes, Molir. I know all of this.”

“I know that you know.” Molir stood. “We all know everything, and we’re worrying about nothing, and I’m just making small talk. Another ale, Gimli?” 

Stomping out the final burning ember, Gimli thrust out his tankard before Dis could intercept it. At least Molir wasn’t so heavy-handed with the water jug. 

“You both need to find something else to occupy your time,” said Molir.  

Dis rolled her eyes at Gimli as Molir walked away. 

“If the weather breaks tomorrow,” continued Molir, his voice muffled as he rummaged in a cupboard. “Why don’t we take a walk up the mountain? I can shift some things about to make sure I’ve covered Thorin, and I’m due, long overdue, a day off anyhow. Anyone for some toast?”

“You’re hungry again?” asked Dis. 

“Peckish.” Molir stood. Patting his expansive stomach, he grinned before waving the end of a loaf at Gimli. “No need for that tone. You'll give me notions about myself. Gimli? You’ll take some toast?” 

Gimli nodded. 

“Good lad,” said Molir. “I’ll make enough for three, just in case. What do you think, Dis? We’ll take a picnic with us, get some wind in our sails or whatever it is the shoremen say. The air’s always at its best after a good storm, and me and Gimli will stay over here again tonight. Your folks won’t mind, will they, lad?” 

He'd no idea. Between hanging about the gates and being here, Gimli had barely seen them. When he’d popped home this morning, Gloin had left him a note with his list of chores and—unexpectedly—a few coins to buy himself something at the market, but that was as much contact as they’d had. Shaking his head at Molir, Gimli rattled the coins in his pocket and smiled. When Kili got back, they could decide what best to spend his new riches on. Maybe, if they’d brought him a good present from Bree, he’d even treat his cousins to something sweet. His mouth watered, thinking of buttery pastry bursting with the sunshine taste of honey and late summer apples. It felt like forever since he and Kili had last strolled about the market, arguing about what to spend a coin on. 

And it would be his coin this time, so he’d have the final say. That thought lifted his spirits a little, but maybe something sweet now would cheer him up even more? “Molir,” he asked hopefully. “I don’t suppose there’s any jam for the—” 

“I am perfectly capable of staying in my own house by myself, Molir,” said Dis. “Stop fussing. I think you forget that I haven’t been a dwarfling for a very long time.” 

“No, I do know that, but—”

“Yet you treat me as if I am still ten winters old, to be bribed and distracted with picnics and promises of—”

All three of them jolted at a sharp knock on the door. Gimli leant forward, knowing his eyes were as wide as Dis’s as they watched the handle turn. Could it be…

The door swung open, the sound of rain gushing from the gutters and splashing over the cobblestones outside loud in the silence, and Gimli’s shoulders slumped. No. Of course it wasn’t. 

“Did I miss dinner?” asked Thorin, pushing back his hood. 

Gimli huffed out a breath. Not Fili and Kili after all. He was a fool to have even let the thought enter his head, for likely they would have heard his cousins approach long before they knocked. Neither of them were exactly stealthy. 

“I didn’t realise that you were coming for dinner,” said Dis. 

“I wasn’t.” Thorin swept his dripping cloak from his shoulders and hung it on a peg. Pushing the door closed, he added, “Merely calling in for a—”

“And is there any news?” Sitting up straighter, Dis gripped the chair arms. 

And she had abandoned her cards. Tilting his head, Gimli swore under his breath and tossed his to the table too. Mahal. He could have beaten her at least. For all her arguing, she’d had nothing to bet with. 

“Some news, yes,” said Thorin, busy heeling off his boots. “That’s what kept me so late, and I can’t stay long. Balin is still at the minehead, working out how best to—”

“No.” Dis shook her head, her fingers white-knuckled. “Not that news.”

“Toast, Thorin?” asked Molir. 

“Please.” Leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him, Thorin walked to the fire. He flopped down into Molir’s chair and smiled at Dis. “Patience, sister. They’ll be home soon.”

Rain rolled down Kili’s upturned face. 

Overhead, the branches wound together into a tangled net, some reaching out like long, crooked fingers right across the river to grasp at those stretching from the opposite bank, and some of them dipping down and brushing the water’s surface. Kili shivered, hugging his damp cloak tighter about himself. The glimpses of the sky that he could see outside the cage of branches were still dark and heavy, and there were some pinpricks of stars, but the world outside the forest was definitely growing lighter. Definitely. 

“Fee?” he called. 

Every instinct was telling him to leave the river far behind, and he’d told Fili the same. Over and over. And yet here they were, still doggedly following its many twists and turns, scrambling over and through bracken and reeds and low-slung branches, fighting their way through brambles, wading through sucking mud, and now… Kili kicked at the tendrils of mist curling about his ankles. It was only mist, he knew that. He’d seen mist a hundred times. A thousand. It was nothing more than a welcome sign of the coming dawn. But here, in this place, leagues from home, watching it rise like grey smoke from the river and pour toward them, it was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

At a snap, he spun on his heel, fitting arrow to bow, his heart pounding. 

What could possibly have snapped? Surely, there could be not a single twig or branch left in this place that wasn’t soaked through and rotten to the core? Even his bones felt sodden, as if he could peel back his skin and reach in to wring them out. Kili stared back down the trail they’d forged along the riverbank until his eyes blurred and his heart slowed. 

Nothing. 

He lowered the bow. 

Nobody there. There was nobody following them. 

As always. 

With a last hard look at their trail, he turned back and trudged after Fili. Not far ahead, his brother was cursing, slashing with the sword at a thick patch of brambles that entirely filled the gap between trees and river. 

It was a very good thing there was nobody following them. Kili slung the bow over his shoulders, adjusting it against the pack. Because, if anyone was following them, they may as well have lined the path with mithril or hammered neat signposts into the mud every so often saying, ‘The dwarves went this way’. 

It wasn’t like Fili to be so thoughtless of the trail that he was leaving behind. But then, Kili had mentioned that already too, and been soundly glowered at and thereafter ignored for it. The heat rose in his face as he remembered. He tried to push it out of his mind. It didn’t matter. 

He tried to push the thought out of his mind too that the Men didn’t need to follow them. With Fili not wanting to speak or sing or do anything distracting, Kili's mind was stuck on a circling worry that Ralt likely knew this place well. And that Ralt would know or guess that they didn’t know the forest at all. He could easily guess that they would follow the one landmark that they’d seen that wasn’t a tree in the hope it would lead them out. All Ralt had to do was think to cut across the forest while the river meandered on one of its many loops. He could set up a trap and wait for them to walk straight into it. 

But Fili knew that. Kili nodded to himself, standing on tiptoe to try and see further down the river. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that he was fairly certain his brother’s mind was now set on escape and not revenge. 

His brother had been leading for hours though.  “I think we should rest,” Kili said. 

Fili stopped, kicking at a bramble that took no notice and swung back to block their path. 

“Please, brother,” said Kili. Fili might be set on taking his bad temper out on anything that crossed his path, and letting him keep going was probably the sensible thing to do until the flames of his anger burned out, but his big brother had to be exhausted. “Just for a few hours, until it’s fully light.” 

If it ever got fully light here. Kili flicked away a huge, beady-eyed fly that was resting on his sleeve. Likely it had been gathering up the strength to chew its way through to his skin as so many of its kin had. He wished once more for mountains and stiff breezes. When Fili didn’t respond, he tried, “I’m tired.” 

Fili straightened, and Kili’s heart lifted. 

“Over here looks good.” He hurried forward to close the distance between them and touch Fili’s hand, his heart lifting further when Fili didn’t flinch away. Taking his brother’s fingers in his, he led him, unresisting, to the nearest wide-trunked tree. It was as good a place as any, they’d be shielded by brambles to one side, and had line of sight on the other, and truly Kili didn’t much care. Throwing his pack to the ground, he helped Fili with his.

The thick bed of leaves under the tree was soggy, but that didn’t matter either. Not when he was soaked to the bone anyhow. Tucking his cloak underneath him, Kili grinned when Fili sat cross-legged by his side. “Thank you, Fee,” he said. “Should we light a fire?”

He poked at the packs. Maybe the clothes inside them might have fared better with the ducking in the river and the incessant rain. But if they could get a fire going, they could drape clothes over the lower branches of their shelter. And they could be warm. And it would be cheery. Kili wriggled his toes inside his wet boots, waiting. 

Had it really been only a few days ago that he'd been riding beside Dain, slapping at flies and grumbling to himself about the heat? It felt a lifetime ago. 

"I'd give anything for warm toes," added Kili. 

But Fili didn’t answer, staring back the way they’d come. 

“Fee?” When Fili still didn’t respond, Kili nudged him gently. “Brother? Just a little fire?” There had to be some dry wood to be found in this place somewhere. He tapped Fili’s clenched fist. “You’ll feel a lot better with dry clothes.”

“I don’t need to feel better,” said Fili quietly. 

Kili wasn’t so sure about that. “None of this was your fault,” he said. He was at least certain of that much. Whatever had happened, and, despite the half dozen attempts he’d made to find out since they’d started walking along the river, it couldn’t be his big brother’s fault. 

That Fili wasn’t telling him, and that Fili was furious, so furious that he’d barely looked in Kili’s direction, meant only one thing. 

It was his fault. 

Kili only wished that he could remember. 

Picking at the tree’s bark with a thumbnail, Fili snorted but said nothing.

“Uncle Thorin will know what to do,” said Kili. “We’ll go back, and tell him everything.” He swallowed hard. He was going to be in so much trouble, but it was only right that, for once, he took full responsibility. “You have to tell him everything, Fee, exactly everything, don’t take the blame this time, and then Uncle Thorin will make it right. He always does. He’s always told us that—”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I am.”

“Then, why are you still talking?” When Kili flinched, Fili’s eyes at last sought his out, his voice softening, "Sleep, little brother. You look exhausted.” 

The whole point of him calling a halt was so Fili could rest. Huffing out a breath, Kili wrapped his arms around his knees. He hugged them tightly to him and tried not to be hurt that Fili not only didn’t want to talk, but didn’t want to hear his voice. 

Or maybe Fili just wanted him to sleep. Maybe that was all. 

Staring out in the same direction as Fili, his heart clenched at a swirl of movement in the thickening mist. Fili straightened too, his hand reaching for the sword by their boots. 

When long moments passed and no one leapt out of the river toward them, Kili risked a whisper, “Maybe we should go into the woods a little ways?”

“If they were following us we would know by now.” 

Perhaps. It was a fair thought, and one he’d been trying to convince himself of too. Kili looked at Fili’s fingers white-knuckled on the sword hilt and said nothing. Pointing out that he was becoming better at knowing when his brother was lying wouldn’t be helpful right now. And likely the Men weren’t following, but, if they were, the trail would lead them straight to their makeshift camp. “I think, as your—”

“Rest.” Fili glanced behind them. “I know you’re my captain, you don’t need to tell me again, and I am listening to you, I swear it. But I do not trust these woods.”

Kili twisted, leaning out to look past the wide trunk he’d chosen for their shelter and into the green darkness beyond. “We don’t need to go far,” he said, “only far enough to—”

“No,” Fili’s voice was stern. “Stop arguing with me and sleep.”

As Fili’s captain, he should really be listened to, and, no matter Fili’s assurances that he was doing just that, Kili wasn’t convinced. But then, he hadn’t done a very good job of being a captain so far. He watched Fili bed down amongst the leaves and sighed. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day. 

“Kili.” Fili tugged his arm. “Come on.” 

He should stay upright. He should insist on taking first watch. But the pull was irresistible, and then, before he quite knew he’d moved, he was tucked in against Fili, with the comforting weight of his brother’s arm about him, and Kili found that he didn’t want to insist on taking the first watch after all. He didn’t want to do anything that might cause an argument, or mean that Fili might take his arm away. Snuggling closer until he could feel the beat of his brother’s heart against his cheek, he stifled a yawn. He’d stay awake, and hopefully—he wrapped an arm about Fili—his brother would fall asleep instead. 

“I fear that if we leave the river we may not find it again,” said Fili. “Balin has told us of such places, do you not remember?”

Balin had told them a great many things. And he hadn’t always been paying full attention. “You mean magic?” Kili asked, feeling the light tugs against his scalp as Fili untangled snarled curls of hair. “Is there magic here?” Dwarves weren't magical, not like other races, but, if anyone could detect such a thing, he was certain Fili was clever enough to do it. “Can you feel it?”

“Perhaps.” Fili rested his chin against Kili’s head and laughed quietly. “Or perhaps I am only in need of a rest, as you said, but the woods feel watchful to me. As if they have no love of dwarves.”

Kili frowned, remembering the odd feeling when he’d been following Hald in the woods. But they were only trees? Wood and sticks and leaves. They weren't alive. 

But then, the world was an odd place. 

And he didn't care. So long as the trees let them go. Twisting in Fili’s arms, Kili tightened his grip on his brother and glared up at the branches overhead. 

He wanted to go home. 

If the trees were alive, and they tried to stop him, if they tried to get in his way of taking Fili home, he'd burn the place down. 

“Where will the river take us?” Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the maps in Balin’s study, and wished he’d memorised them better rather than being distracted by laughing with Gimli. He frowned. He thought he could remember seeing a large forest near Bree. But it hadn’t been on their exact route and so he hadn’t paid proper attention to whether there had been a river, and, crucially, whether the river actually went anywhere and didn’t just disappear somewhere in the depths of all this greenery. 

Because that was something he had been mulling over as he trailed behind Fili all night. What if the river just…stopped? What if it disappeared underground and they couldn’t follow it? 

Mountains were easier. You had to try really hard to become lost in the mountains. 

Kili sighed. He missed the mountains. "Will the river take us home?" he asked.

“It’ll take us somewhere,” said Fili, “and that’ll do for now.”

Chapter Text

In the growing grey light of dawn, the stallion’s iron-shod hooves rested lightly on the stones of the crossroad. 

“What are your thoughts, Gandalf?” asked Hamdor, rising with a shake of his head from his examination of the mud that bordered the road. “Dwarf prints, as you suspected. A dwarvish cart slid from the stones here. See? Then it regained the road and continued west, but there are too many tracks to be our quarry, and, regardless, they are too old.” He waved his hand in the direction of Sarn Ford. “No one has passed this way this night, nor travelled further south. Not unless I have lost all my skills.”

Or unless their quarry were skilled enough to hide their tracks from even a Ranger. 

Turning the restive stallion, Gandalf studied the little-used, moss-covered stones of the Greenway behind. It had been a wet and miserable night for riding, and the equally wet dawn was now upon them, and they were no closer to unravelling any further threads of the mystery. Could Birch have led him astray?

No. There had been no guile lurking within the little stableboy’s eyes. There had been nothing but a desire to help the dwarf who Birch clearly now considered a dear friend. If he was certain of nothing else, Gandalf was certain of that much. 

“We make our way back,” he said, deciding. “But slowly. I expect they took shelter off the road and remained quiet in the dark as we passed by, or were asleep. Or” —which he felt was more likely— “they had no inclination to hail us and bid us share their camp.”

“They’d be fools to not set a guard so close to the downs, but agreed. Particularly on the last, for, if I had robbed an inn, the last thing I would do is hail two fast riders following with haste from the direction of my crimes.” Pushing the hood of his cloak back, Hamdor shook out his hair. “The rain is easing, so I expect they’ll be striking camp if they haven’t already. We’ll trap them between us and Bree.”

Gandalf nodded. Unless the intention had been not to head south at all, but only to appear as if they had to anyone who might have been observing them? It was a concern that he had mulled over on their ride. Could the intention have been to skirt the town and rejoin the East Road? Throw off any pursuit? It was possible. But to cross the farmer fields that surrounded Bree—in the dark and rain, with their many low stone walls and thick hedgerows to negotiate—would have been a slow exercise in frustration with the ponies. Not inconceivable, but, Gandalf felt, unlikely. 

Therefore south was the most obvious route and by far the easiest. He had hoped to catch up with them on the road though, or to spy the flickering light of a campfire close by the roadside, for it would be a fool who attempted to pass the hours of darkness hidden deep in the Barrow Downs. That no campfire had been seen was a worry that niggled at him. But perhaps they had expected pursuit and it had been a cold camp? He could only hope so, and continue to hope that Kili was no fool. Nor his friends, if friends they indeed were. 

But, from Birch’s words, Gandalf feared they were not. 

“You look thoughtful, my friend,” said Hamdor, “and worried too. Dismount and let us walk awhile, to rest the horses.” 

Glad of the chance to stretch out his legs, even if he suspected that the stallion would have preferred a chance to stretch his on a full gallop back to Bree, Gandalf climbed down to the stones. 

“Smoke?” asked Hamdor. 

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

They left the crossroads and meandered back the way that they had come in a companionable silence. Out in the rolling downs that lay to either side of the road, the birds that nested within the long grasses were awakening, calling out their morning greetings to each other. And, further away, in the depths of The Old Forest, their tree-dwelling cousins were doing likewise, the merry calls carrying in the peaceful quiet. 

Hamdor’s smoke ring crested a gentle hill a few steps ahead of them. It broke apart, swirling away in the slightest of breezes, and Hamdor was next to cross the summit. He stopped, letting out a low whistle. “Well, Gandalf, my old eyes might be deceiving me, but has that the look of travellers ahead to you?”

“Your old eyes see true yet,” said Gandalf. They stood and watched the distant figures—three men and two ponies—walk out from amongst the barrows. They began to pick their way gingerly across the rain-soaked and boggy ground toward the road. 

“No dwarves with them,” said Hamdor. 

“There is not.” Gandalf swung himself onto the stallion’s back. “Let us ask if they have seen any.” 

The men didn’t slow in their trek, but Gandalf felt watchful eyes on them as he and Hamdor trotted closer. When they drew the horses to a halt, the men stopped too. They exchanged glances. 

“Have you journeyed from Bree?” Gandalf called. 

One of the men, dark-haired and sharp-eyed and matching Rosie's description of the so-called-merchant Meldron, sloshed forward. He clambered up the grassy bank that edged the road and turned away to help drag his companions and their laden ponies up. 

“We have.” Meldron turned back to Gandalf with a wide, friendly smile. “Yesterday. You’ll have missed the fair, my friend, if that’s what you were heading to town for.” 

“Shame,” said Gandalf, pleased that he saw no signs of recognition within the man’s eyes. Neither for him nor for Hamdor. There was, however, an interested and assessing flicker toward their weapons. It was brief, perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed it had he not been watching Meldron so closely, but it was there. “However,” Gandalf continued, with a wide and friendly smile of his own, "I'm travelling to meet with a good friend of mine. Perhaps you know of him? Or have met him. Kili?”

“Kili?” Meldron made a show of thinking, pursing his lips and frowning lightly as he looked off into the distance. “Kili. No, I can’t say as I recall that name.” 

It was convincing. And Meldron mightn’t have faltered, but the heavy-set guard behind him had narrowed his eyes before quickly smoothing his face into a disinterested stare. Watching the man’s knuckles whiten on the pony’s reins, Gandalf nodded. “No matter. I see you have two fine ponies there. Blue Mountain stock, are they?”

The pony, sensing the guard's tighter grip on its reins, snorted and side-stepped. As it shifted, metal flashed from beneath the rolled blankets and packs strapped to its back. Gandalf’s heart dropped to his boots before he rallied. That could have been anything. 

“No idea.” Meldron shrugged. “We won them in a lucky round of cards.” His eyes slid to Raithon’s stallion and his smile broadened once more. “A very lucky round, and more’s the pity that we decided to leave Bree so early. Had we lingered, perhaps you and your friend would have given us a game while our luck was in.” 

“Perhaps,” Gandalf said. A closer look at the ponies was needed. “By any chance, was this game of cards against a pair of young dwarves?” 

“That’s a good guess.” Meldron glanced back at his companions. “A very good guess. Where did you say you came from?” 

“I didn’t.” Dismounting, Gandalf heard a light jingle of harness behind him as Hamdor did likewise. Would the stallion remain standing on the road or take the first opportunity to gallop on in search of his master? Deciding not to risk it when still so early in their acquaintance, Gandalf handed the reins to Hamdor and shuffled forward, leaning on his staff. 

The two companions were on edge, their hands creeping toward weapons, but Meldron himself made no move, neither to stand aside nor to block Gandalf’s approach. Limping onward past the man with a nod, Gandalf made for the heavy-set guard. He stopped and stroked the pony’s velvety nose, smiling when she whickered. “This is a very fine creature,” he said, stroking along the pony’s furry neck to the rolled blanket strapped to its back. “And this” —he nudged back the blanket and met the man’s eyes— “is a fine sword. Dwarven-made, I warrant?”

“There’s no point talking to him,” said Meldron mildly, moving closer. “My friend Haldic here is a mute. A tragic story, and all the more tragic that I cannot spare the time to properly tell it. It would make the very stones and hills about us weep.”

“Indeed.” Rifling about under the blanket revealed another hilt—a twin to the one he’d already discovered. “Ah, but here is another blade,” said Gandalf, running a thumb over the runes engraved into the hilt. “Dwarven-made too. How very curious.”

Meldron gripped Gandalf’s wrist. “Not overly. I find dwarves make the sturdiest gear for travelling, and good weapons too. Pricey, I grant you, but they last.” 

Gandalf nodded. “Quite. However, they do not sell their weapons, created for their own, to outsiders. Unless things have greatly changed since I walked these roads last, and, unless I’m very much mistaken, these weapons were made for dwarven hands.”

“Were they?” Meldron’s grin was wolfish. He tugged the blanket back into place and turned Gandalf away, pushing him gently. “You know a great many things, obviously, old man, and I’ve been brought up to respect my elders, so I will bow to your superior wisdom. Foolishly, when I struck my deal, I understood that they were short swords, for my hands.” He laughed. “But I expect that they will work in much the same way.” 

He was being propelled back towards Hamdor. 

“Strange how you know so much about dwarves,” said Meldron, “and yet, for all your years and great wisdom, you don’t seem to know that it’s rude, perhaps even unadvisable, to go through another’s things.” Another push sent Gandalf stumbling toward Hamdor. “Here,” said Meldron. “Take your doddering father in hand and be off with you, before I lose patience.”

“What sort of deal did you strike with the dwarf princes, Meldron?” asked Gandalf. 

Meldron didn’t flinch at the name. “Princes?” He rolled his eyes at his men. “How I wish I’d known that.”

“I think you knew that very well. Where are they?” 

“The dwarves?” Meldron shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But, since you know my name, and since this is apparently some sort of attempt to waylay me and accuse me of something, then I'll play." Tapping his lip, he grinned. "I’d imagine, at this very moment, they’re slinking back to their mountains, having learnt a very valuable lesson about gambling. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll be off. I have some distance to travel this day, and I don’t have a fine horse like yours.” The grin widened, a fell look in his eyes. “More’s the pity.” 

Exchanging a glance with Hamdor, Gandalf stood aside. Once the two men following had pulled the ponies past and they were between him and Hamdor, Gandalf called out, “That blood on your shoulder, Meldron, how did you come by your injury?” 

“It’s going to rain, old man,” said Meldron. “And your son, or guard, or whatever he is, looks very capable, certainly not someone I’d want to cross, but who knows what ruffians you might meet on the road between here and Bree? I’d suggest you hurry on your way.”

“As you did?” Gandalf nodded to Hamdor who moved the horses to block the men’s path. As the men stopped, he continued, “The wound on your shoulder?  That bitemark on your man, Haldic’s, hand? All three of you appear to have been in some sort of fight.”

“Sometimes we disagree on our campsite for the night.” With a heavy sigh, Meldron dropped his head. “Are you attempting to rob us, old man? For I would advise against it.”

“There’s no robbery here. Not on my part, but I cannot say the same for you. What have you done with the dwarf princes?”

“Nothing,” said Meldron. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, or trying to accuse me of, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.  Now, get your man out of my way, and I’ll forget about all of this.” 

Dropping the horses’ reins, Hamdor closed the distance in a heartbeat, his sword to Meldron’s throat.

“Old man?” Pushing the sword tip away with his finger, Meldron turned to fully face Gandalf. “Call off your hound, or you’ll force me to release mine, and neither of us wants that.”

There was no fear in Meldron’s eyes, and none in Haldic’s either as he eased a mace out from amongst the packs strapped to his pony’s saddle. But the third seemed uncertain, his eyes flickering from ponies to Meldron to the boughs of the Old Forest, as if measuring the distance. 

Thinking of an escape? Or an admission of guilt? 

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” said Gandalf. 

“I agree,” said Meldron

“So we’ll simply check your packs, and you, and then be on our way.”

Meldron’s eyes narrowed. 

“We can do that here.” Gandalf freed his sword. “Or we can do it in Bree. But the decision is, of course, yours.”

There was a chill breeze coming off the river, and the cold, squashy dampness of the leaves under them felt as if it had sunk into Kili’s very bones. It was a cruel way to awaken, and crueller still that it had stolen away the cosy warmth of his dreams. He closed his eyes, trying to chase them for another moment more, hoping to fall back into imaginings of a soft pillow and a glimpse through a half-open door of their amad’s table groaning with all kinds of good food. 

No. It was no good. He was properly awake. And how ever had he fallen asleep in the first instance? He’d vowed not to. Kili scowled. He really had to be the worst captain that had ever lived. 

At some point, Fili must have fallen fast asleep too. Kili could feel his brother’s warm and even breaths on his neck, and the arm slung about him was heavy but relaxed. 

Which meant that they’d both let their guard down. That wasn’t ideal, but he supposed it didn’t matter overly much, not this time, for no harm had come of it and nobody was around to chide them for it. His spirits sank briefly at that thought before he rallied. How he wished a friendly face was here to chide them for it. Why couldn’t Dwalin or Thorin have somehow known that they were in trouble, as they usually did, and come to find them while they slept? He wouldn’t have minded the telling off. Not this time. Not one single bit. He’d have laughed and welcomed it. 

Kili sighed quietly. No matter. At least his back was warm, and, more importantly than anything else in the world, he had his brother again. 

Despite the damp and the cold and the suddenly very noticeably loud rumbling of his stomach, Kili smiled. Everything would be fine now. Better than fine. Carefully, so as not to wake Fili from what were hopefully pleasant dreams, Kili eased himself out from their nest. Unwrapping his brother’s cloak that was tucked tight about him, he wondered when Fili had gotten up to fetch it from the packs. As he draped the cloak back over Fili and tucked it in he tried not to add that to his list of failed duties too. 

All he’d had to do was stay awake so that Fili could rest up, and he hadn’t even managed that. But it didn’t matter. He dusted wet and clinging leaves from himself. Nothing mattered but that he was awake now. He was awake and alert and the very least that he could do was make sure that his brother was safe from harm, and had something good and warming to eat when he woke up. 

First, he patrolled back a short way along the river. With the sword clutched in his hand, and his boots sinking into the soft riverbank, he was careful to stay low and listen hard, stopping often to stare across the still mist-veiled river or into the gloom of the woods. But there was nothing. Nothing but the tempting sounds of small animals rustling about in the bushes all around and through the branches and boughs above. Content that they were safe from being followed, he looped back around to their makeshift camp, checking for any potential ambushes and finding none. 

No sounds. No smells. No tracks. They were alone. He was almost entirely certain of it. 

But what he was entirely, confidently, certain of was that the borrowed bow, even had he a dozen arrows rather than only one, would be as good as useless for hunting. He’d demonstrated that perfectly in the clearing with Ralt, and the weapon had had another ducking since—which wouldn't have helped matters any. Crouching, Kili undid the bowstring with chilled fingers, stopping when Fili shifted. He held his breath, and, for once, his prayers were answered. His brother didn’t wake. But he did whimper—the sound like that of a wounded animal. It pierced Kili’s heart. 

Still frozen in place, Kili watched Fili’s fingers and eyelids twitch. What should he do? Yes, Fili could sleep fitfully when he had something pressing on his mind. That was normal, for Kili had awoken to his brother suffering from bad dreams far too many times to count these past months, but Fili had never made such a sound before. Usually, if there was noise, it was kept to mumbles or teeth-grinding, and it would easily be fixed by gently jabbing Fili with a well-placed elbow. 

But that was at home. At home, his brother could startle awake in a warm bed, and with Amad’s comfort nearby, should he need it. At home, Fili would likely be asleep again within moments, reassured that nothing was amiss. 

But here, everything was amiss. 

Kili tapped the end of the bow against his teeth while he thought. Wake Fili? Or let him sleep and hope that he crossed over into sweeter dreams? How long had Fili lain awake and kept watch in the green dark of the forest before he’d finally succumbed to sleep? 

How could he possibly wake him? But then, what sort of brother would he be to allow Fili to suffer alone, even if only in his mind? Tapping the bow harder, Kili tried to hurry himself up. 

Finally, Fili decided for him, grunting something sharp and incomprehensible before turning away. Kili waited for more anxious long moments but his brother made no further sound and seemed to settle. 

And he’d kicked the cloak off. Wasting more anxious moments, Kili dithered about whether to tuck it in about Fili again and decided against it. No sense in risking waking him now. 

He crept back along the river, looking for a likely spot to set a snare and unable to make a decision about that either. Finally, he found a trail between bushes that looked promising enough, and then, after managing at last to set a snare that he was halfway happy with, he turned away back toward camp and immediately spied a second trail that looked even more promising. 

After he’d done with cursing himself for not searching more carefully the first time, Kili attempted to set a second snare with the remains of his old bowstring. Standing, he huffed out a breath and glowered at his efforts, hands on hips. Never mind. He stomped away. If it worked, then it worked, and he’d been away from Fili too long. 

That thought hurried his steps to a run, but the camp was exactly as he left it. As Fili slumbered on, Kili searched the ground all about for any wood that wasn’t so damp and rotten that it would be next to impossible to light. While he was clumsily shaving bark from a nearby tree with the sword, a light drizzle began, drifting sideways on the river breeze as much as falling from the sky. Grumbling under his breath, Kili tugged the hood of his cloak over his head and shifted the meagre pile of wood closer to Fili so that it would be under the protection of the branches overhead. 

Settling by Fili’s boots, he emptied their packs, one eye on his brother as he searched for either of their tinderboxes. What time of the day was it? Well past dawn by now, he supposed, but the sky was heavy and grey and offered no certainty. Maybe it wasn’t overly concerning that Fili was exhausted? But he couldn’t help being worried all the same. The head injury didn't look too bad, but then he wasn't Oin, and he was certain that his brother had other injuries too that he was hiding. The only comfort he had to cling to was that Fili could walk, so he couldn't be too seriously hurt. Could he? 

Hopefully not. Kili huffed out a breath, blowing his tangled hair out of his face as he glanced across at Fili. Serious or not serious, it didn’t matter, he still needed a look to reassure himself. 

To his relief, the first tinderbox he found was almost dry. Wrapped deep within still-damp clothes inside his pack, it had been well protected from its tumbles in the river. Kili congratulated himself on his sensible packing before settling into coaxing the pile of twigs and bark shavings into life. 

Seeing the first flames lick over his pathetic little fire lifted his spirits. Kili stood, shaking the rest of their things out of their packs and draping some of their damp clothes over a nearby bush to hopefully dry them out a little. As he was dragging some larger branches back toward the fire, intending to wedge them together in some way to act as a frame for drying out the rest of their clothes and the packs, Fili awoke with a cut-off yell. His kicking foot scattered the fire in all directions.

“Fee.” Dropping the branches, Kili rushed to his brother’s side. 

Fili was wide-eyed and breathing hard. His fingernails dug into Kili’s wrist, clinging on tighter and tighter as he closed his eyes, dropping his head. “Brother,” he whispered. “You’re here. I…”

“We’re fine,” said Kili. Undoing his cloak, he tugged it off and wrapped it around Fili as best he could one-handed, ignoring his brother’s murmured protests and trying to ignore that his wrist bones felt as if they were grinding together. “No, Fee. Take it. I’m warm enough.” 

That was a lie. Despite all his attempts at keeping busy, he still felt chilled to the bone. But the fire would help. So would something in their bellies. No matter Fili's opinions on the matter of either fire or breakfast. He had to start stepping forward and behaving as a proper captain at some point, and proper captains looked after their charges. Not the other way around. But Fili was being stubborn and resisting all efforts to be coaxed back down onto the bed of leaves. Dragging Kili closer, he pressed their foreheads together. 

“Lie down,” said Kili with what he hoped was enough command in his voice. Not that he wasn’t enjoying the closeness, and not that he couldn’t happily have stayed like this all day, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that the scattered embers of his fire were fizzling one by one on the wet leaves. It had been tricky enough to get it going in the first place. “And let go of me,” he added. “I’m busy.” 

That seemed to snap Fili out of whatever sleep-induced stupor remained. He let go and Kili scuttled over to the fire, pushing what was still smouldering together and quickly adding more bark and twigs. 

“We can’t risk a fire.” 

“We absolutely can.” Kneeling closer, Kili blew gently on the tiny flames. He looked up. “I’ve scouted and we’re alone. I’m certain of it.” 

Muttering under his breath, Fili pushed himself to his feet and Kili held up a hand. “Don’t you dare,” he said, guessing at his big brother’s intention. He huddled over the fire to protect it, glaring up at Fili. “It’s small and nobody would see it through the trees anyway, even if there was anybody to see it. Which there’s not, because I scouted, like I said. So do as I’m telling you and lie back down and rest. Now.” 

When he was almost certain from Fili’s frown that the fire wasn’t in danger from getting a drift of wet leaves kicked over it, Kili clambered to his feet. Placing his hands on Fili’s shoulders, he pressed down until Fili at last grudgingly obeyed him. 

“Good,” he said when Fili seemed to be content enough to stay down. “If you’re not going to rest, then look after the fire while I’m gone.” 

Fili jerked into a sit. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I am. I need to check the snares.” Kneeling, Kili looked into Fili’s worried eyes. “Then we’re going to have something good and hot to eat and a wash and you’re going to start to feel a lot better.” He stroked his fingers over Fili’s tangled hair, trying not to let them linger on the ragged, sharp-feeling ends of his missing braid. Once they’d washed, he could rebraid Fili’s hair in some way to hide it. It would be fine. Kili smiled, hoping for a smile in return. “It won’t be Amad’s cooking nor a piping hot bath, but we’ll get both of those soon enough.”

Fili nodded but didn’t smile. 

Nodding would do though. For now. 

But he could go nowhere with Fili’s fingers gripping onto his trousers. Kili pried them free, patting Fili’s hand. “I’ll not be long. Don’t forget to look after the fire.” 

To his joy, his snares had managed to trap a young rabbit. As Kili hurried back along the riverbank, still alert for any unusual noises but hearing nothing more alarming than his rumbling stomach, his catch swung from his hip and his mouth watered in anticipation. He wound the bowstrings around his fingers before putting them away. Two rabbits would have been better, but they’d make do, and he could gather more berries while they waited for breakfast to cook. He’d already picked and eaten some of the young blackberries as he’d walked and, although sharp and unripe still, they were food. 

Pushing aside thoughts of a grand breakfast, with bacon and eggs, and enough buttered toast that they would have struggled and yawned their way through their early morning training session with Dwalin, Kili poked at his teeth with his tongue, trying to wriggle the last of the blackberry seeds free. Amad reserved grand breakfasts for special occasions. She’d definitely make one when they returned. No matter how many mistakes they might have made since she’d waved them off at the gate. His briefly raised spirits plummeted at that thought and he tried to rally, concentrating on spotting and picking out the plumpest-looking blackberries for Fili. 

It didn’t matter. He swore, sucking at a finger where a sharp thorn had drawn blood. They’d be home, and whatever punishment Thorin decided on would be fine. And Gimli would stop laughing. Eventually. 

He should have told Fili to build the fire up. As the campsite came into view he could see his brother sitting cross-legged by it, staring into the dying flames. And with the cloaks that should have been wrapped around him bundled instead on his lap. Fili’s head lifted at his approach, relief followed by annoyance flickering across his face. 

“I wasn’t that long,” said Kili, turning to show Fili the prize on his hip. “And I have more for breakfast. Here.” He crouched, holding out the handful of berries. “Start on these while I sort out the rest.” 

Fili folded his fingers back over them with a small, forced-seeming smile. “I’m not hungry. You have them.” 

His brother had to be hungry? Even if the men had shared their food with him, and Kili thought that unlikely, it would have been a long time since he had last eaten. “I’ve had loads,” he said. “I expect my tongue’s purple already. Is it?” He poked his tongue out, hoping for a genuine smile, his heart lifting when Fili laughed and pushed him away. 

That was better. Kili left the small pile of berries by Fili’s boot, in case his brother changed his mind, and set to building up the fire enough to roast the rabbit on. He tried to ignore Fili’s frown and worried glances toward the river. They’d have to move on at some point today, sooner rather than later if they wanted to be out of the forest and heading for home by nightfall—and Kili really wanted to be out of the forest and heading for home by nightfall—but they were not going to eat raw rabbit like an orc. “We’re cooking it,” he said in his sternest voice. “That’s not up for negotiation.”

He was rewarded with a flicker of a smile and a raised eyebrow. 

Once the poorly butchered rabbit— an unwieldy sword, and equally unwieldy arrowhead that he didn’t dare detach from its arrow for fear of breaking it, and the sharpest stone he could find amongst the water-smoothed ones on the riverbank were far from the right tools for the job—was on an equally poorly constructed spit and crackling merrily, Kili checked the clothes draped around their campsite. He muttered under his breath when he found that they weren’t even dry from their ducking in the river yet. 

Never mind. 

He gathered up Fili’s, folded them, and took them to his brother. “Why don’t you have a wash now?” The rabbit would be mostly cooked by then and Fili could have something warm to eat and dry out by the fire. When Fili didn’t respond, Kili added, “You’ll feel a lot better.” 

“I feel fine.” 

“But—”

“I feel fine.” Lifting one of the berries, Fili began to roll it against his boot. 

Kili stood, hugging the clothes to his chest. As he watched, the berry’s delicate skin split, its purple juice staining Fili’s fingers, matching the red and purpling bruises on Fili’s wrists and hands, and the split skin of his knuckles. 

Kili hugged the clothes tighter. “What happened, Fee?” he whispered. "What did they do to you?"

The ruined berry was flicked away into the bushes and Fili sighed, reaching forward to turn the rabbit. “Nothing. I'm fine, as I said. Stop bothering me. Go and bathe if you wish, but be quick about it. We're leaving the moment this is cooked."

With his stomach clenching, Kili gathered up his own clothes and trailed to the river. Sitting on the bank to tug his boots off, his eyes prickled and he sniffed hard, scrubbing at his nose and willing himself to behave. His big brother being angry at him was a bad feeling, the worst feeling, but it would pass. He’d simply nothing to cry about. 

A layer of mist still clung to the dark water, even though it must be approaching mid-morning if not entirely afternoon. Kili stayed to the shallows, leaving the sword balanced on a rock and within easy-grabbing range. Who knew what hungry river creatures might dwell deep in the waters of this dark and gloomy place? Not him anyway. He didn't know anything.

At least the water wasn’t cold. It was nowhere near as cold as the clear mountain streams—full of snow-melt all year round—that he was used to. 

Sweeping handfuls of water over him and scrubbing at his skin, he wished that was where they were right now. He wished they were camping high up in their mountains. He and Fili and Uncle Thorin and Gimli. He wished they were on their hunting trip that their uncle had promised them. Or, if not that, he wished that he was helping Amad tidy away the breakfast dishes, or that he was taking turns with Fili chopping wood for the woodpile—making silly competitions out of it and laughing so hard that Amad would come out to shout at them. He wished to be anywhere but here. Ducking his head under the water, he opened his eyes to check for monsters sneaking up on him and saw nothing but drifting brown murk. 

Water poured from him as he stood, squeezing out his hair before combing his fingers through it to check for any stray leaves or twigs. He sighed. Maybe Uncle Thorin would change his mind now about the hunting trip? Maybe he’d even change his mind about Kili being a prince at all? Because, since Fili was still being tight-lipped about everything, Kili was growing more and more convinced that his brother was protecting him, as he always did. Would Uncle Thorin change his mind about both of them being princes if Fili stepped forward and told their uncle that he, Fili, was entirely to blame? 

Perhaps. But he couldn’t let Fili do that. Not this time. Even if the selfish, dark part of his heart tried to whisper to him that if they weren’t princes then they could go back to how things were. They could make silly competitions out of chopping wood, and run through the market with Gimli, hiding under stalls and jumping out at passersby. They could do all the fun things they used to do and it wouldn't matter one bit, for there’d be no trade deals to go badly, nor any need to be careful with their words at grand banquets. 

Clambering up the bank and trying not to get too much mud on himself, he dressed quickly, teeth chattering as hard as if it had been a mountain stream after all. By the time he’d stamped his feet into his boots, he was feeling better. Determined. His head clearer. 

They weren't dwarflings anymore. That time of their lives had been and gone and no amount of wishing would ever bring it back. And he wasn’t going to shelter behind his big brother this time. This time, he would be right by Fili’s side, shoulder to shoulder with him, whether Fili liked it or not.

Chapter Text

“Well, Gandalf,” said Hamdor. “What are your thoughts?”

There were many, as there were always many, all whirling around and fighting each other for space. Frowning, Gandalf nudged the scattered rocks again with the toe of his boot and pondered on the right course to take. 

Behind the mist-shrouded mounds of the Barrow Downs, the Old Forest loomed. Dark and forbidding, the trails and false paths that lay beneath its eaves were full of dangers for the unwary—assuming the unwary even made it as far as under its eaves. 

Glancing over his shoulder to where the men stood sullen but subdued for now by the ponies, Gandalf nodded, making his decision. It felt as if there could be only one true path. 

“Return with them to Bree,” he said. “Keep them under watch, and I will meet with you again there.”

Hamdor’s brow furrowed. 

“By full nightfall, I expect,” said Gandalf. “But if, as I dare to hope, I find Fili and Kili quickly, then we may arrive before sunset. Either way, warn the guards to stir themselves and set a watch on the south gate. For once.” 

Dwarves, even tired and injured ones, could set a fair pace on foot, and Raithon’s stallion had a sturdy enough back to carry two if it came to it, but better to be prepared for delays than find the gates barred and unattended and have to bang on them until someone came along. 

The guards wouldn't like leaving the comforts of beds and alehouses, but it was more than time for the Breefolk to start paying attention to the lands outside their hedges.

Staring at the mist curling like creeping fingers over the soft grasses of the Barrow Downs, Hamdor’s frown deepened. 

“There’s no need to look so troubled. If, by some chance, I haven’t returned by morning then come and meet me on the road,” said Gandalf. “But I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

“If your assumptions are right, and these men have…well, you hope to find the dwarves still alive?”

“I have to do more than hope.” Gandalf waved a hand at the marker. “One of them left this for us to find, on the chance that someone who might recognise it would follow. We have recognised it. I cannot abandon them.” 

He was far from an expert in spotting or deciphering dwarven tracking signs—for even the most outgoing and loose-lipped of dwarves that he'd met on his long travels across and under the mountains of Middle-earth kept those secrets well guarded. But this marker had been obvious, even from a distance. Although, he had to concede, it was not so obvious that a Ranger and a wizard hadn’t trotted straight past it in the dark. But, in their defence, it had been a moonless night, with barely any starlight, and they’d been hurrying and focused on their mounts footing on the pitted road ahead. When they'd looked out over the sides of the road, it had been to search for nothing smaller or more difficult to spot in the darkness than the glow of a campfire.

“Young Birch was sworn to secrecy,” he continued, “but Kili must have known that the child couldn’t be expected to keep such a secret for long. He must have inwardly hoped that Birch would confess and someone would then be prompted to track him.” 

“Raithon would say that’s a lot of speculation and guesswork, and I would say that I expect the dwarf left it for one of his own to follow,” said Hamdor. “Not for you. Didn’t the boy say Kili had doubts about whether the brother had gone ahead?” 

“Perhaps.” Gandalf swung himself into the saddle. “But, whoever it was intended for, I will heed it anyway, and see what I can find out. Be careful, Hamdor.” 

“I’m more concerned about you travelling alone through there” —Hamdor nodded his head toward the mist— “and then under the eaves of the Old Forest than I am about three ruffians.” 

“There's no need for concern.”

“I have journeyed those lands myself, many years ago, and they were fey and wild then. I expect time has not softened them in any way.” Hamdor took a light grip on the stallion’s reins. “That forest has a memory, my friend.”

Gandalf was relying on it. Dwarves could be notoriously difficult to track, even if Men generally were not, and there were those in the Old Forest who knew the movements of every bird and beast within it. He could find help—if there were any who weren’t too busy with their own amusements to give it. 

And if they wished to speak with him. 

“Promise me you’ll have a care,” warned Hamdor. “Don’t let your guard down.”

“I’ll say the same to you. Do not underestimate these three. I expect they may give you some trouble before you are in sight of Bree.” 

Hamdor grinned. “I expect so too.” Sobering, he glanced toward Meldron. “Is there any chance that we are accusing and apprehending innocent men, Gandalf? Have you any doubts in your mind about this?” 

“None whatsoever. You doubt it?”

“The gambling story feels plausible enough,” said Hamdor slowly, his fingers tapping on the reins. “Your young dwarves would be far from the first folk in this world to have chased after a loss in cards, only to wind up losing everything but the shirts on their backs. So I can see it being true. Lose the ponies, the weapons, and then bet more and more of their uncle’s gold on it in desperation, hoping for fortunes to be reversed.” Stroking the stallion’s nose, Hamdor laughed. “There’s been plenty older and wiser fallen into exactly the same trap. Myself included.” 

“It’s easy to lose more than expected in a game of chance,” said Gandalf. 

“And the tale was told as if it were the honest truth.” Hamdor’s frown returned. “But I agree something feels off with it, or off with them.”

Gandalf nodded. “I feel exactly the same. They did not come by this new wealth honestly. I am certain of it. Masquerading as the merchant? The wreckage left behind in their room and leaving like thieves? Bills unpaid? One of the dwarves missing? No. There has been too much deception for them to be telling the full truth, and we will get to the right of it in a little time.” 

Or Thorin Oakenshield would. But he would rather, for the men’s sake, piece together what exactly had happened before handing them over to dwarvish justice. Saruman would say he was interfering, Elrond would likely say the same, and perhaps they were both right, however…

“There has been some form of foul play here, but perhaps it was only the lesser crime of banditry,” said Gandalf. Even as he said the words, they didn't ring true.

“Perhaps,” said Hamdor doubtfully. “Perhaps, as Meldron, if that is indeed his name, claims, the dwarves are already on their way home. We should keep our minds open to that possibility.”

“Of course.”

“I would prefer that we return with Raithon and search the forest together,” said Hamdor, “but I agree that, if there is a chance that one or both are only injured, then time is against us, and them.” He stepped back. “I’ll keep talking to Meldron, maybe he or one of his friends will reveal something to remove doubt on either side.”

“The only true doubt I have is the brothers’ fate.” 

Hamdor grinned. “Ah, then I'll keep the open mind for both of us, shall I?”

Kicking the stallion on and down into the ditch that lined the road, Gandalf called over his shoulder, “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

By the time he'd persuaded the reluctant stallion to cross the grass and step into the shadow of the first barrow mound, Gandalf could hear Hamdor shouting, chivvying the men on. 

Halting the stallion, Gandalf turned in the saddle. The mist was closing in and he was given one last glimpse of the afternoon light and of Hamdor. And one last glimpse of Meldron and his men. 

Had they known the true stakes of the game that they had played with Thorin’s nephews? Gandalf frowned. Meldron, at least, even with his hands securely bound, had the look of a man who knew now what lay ahead of him. He would be planning an escape. 

But Hamdor was no child. He had faced far greater foes than three desperate men. 

No. Gandalf settled himself in the saddle. His path led directly ahead. And ahead, the barrows lay quiet. A watchful silence. 

The stallion's ears twitched and the great beast sidestepped, snorting at the mist that curled thickly around them. 

“I know,” said Gandalf. “I felt it too.” 

There it was again. A brush of minds. The whisper of a song within the swirling mist. Half-glimpses of glowing eyes and shadows moving between the deeper shadows of the barrows. 

With a quiet word, Gandalf summoned light. As he held his glowing staff aloft, the will bent toward them recoiled, the clammy bands of mist jerking back enough to show them a clear path ahead across the turf. 

Gandalf patted the stallion’s quivering neck and urged it on, step by cautious step. “There is nothing to fear,” he said soothingly. “They will not dare to trouble us.”

He wasn’t entirely certain of that. The minds were circling, probing for a weakness, offering promises of rest, strength, victory, gold. Gold beyond all imagining. 

Had they sang the same songs when Kili had passed this way? 

Their lulling whispers were dimmed to his mind by knowledge and by magic, yet might Kili, not knowing what it was that beckoned to him from within the mist, have been lured by its promises? Meldron and his men had clearly passed through unscathed, they were not interesting or powerful enough for the minds trapped here to bother with, but a lonely prize of Durin’s blood... It would have sung out wildly to them. 

“Do you have him?” His voice was swallowed up by the mist. “If you have him, release him.”

Silence answered him. 

“Tell me,” he demanded, fixing his mind on a vision of sunlight tearing through the turf-covered chambers. He let the toothless threat linger. 

Nothing. Only the whispers beginning once more, pricking at his mind with more purpose and clarity now that they could sense a weakness. Gold, they urged. We crowned him in gold.

There was a print ahead. Gandalf dismounted, hearing the first droplets of rain hitting his hat and a rumble of thunder off to the east. There was no storm that would dispel the mist, nothing would do that but scourging this place of its memories, but he suspected that there was another soaking in his immediate future.

Come and see him. Come and look. Come and see the golden crown. 

Keeping his thoughts fixed on inane, harmless ones of storms and warm fires, Gandalf bent close to the turf. Yes. It was the print of a dwarven boot. His heart lifted. 

“This way,” he told the stallion, swinging his staff ahead over the mud and grass, searching for more and finding first pony prints and then a print that could only be from Meldron’s hulking guard. 

Kili had tracked the men. Had he found them? 

Dwarves were stubborn creatures. The whispers faded, flickering between promises, as Gandalf strode on, telling himself that he felt much more confident. Yes, he hadn't seen another dwarf print, but Kili’s mind and heart had been fixed on a single purpose, and that purpose wasn’t gold. He would not have turned aside for anything less than his brother. 

The stubbornness of a dwarvish heart would have kept him safe in this place. 

“Kili!” he shouted, hearing the stallion snort in surprise. The mist trapped his call and Gandalf cupped his hands about his mouth, trying again, “Kili!”

Kili, Kili, Kili. The whispers echoed around him, his own voice reflected back and mingling with dry, scraping ones, with the sound of bones dragged over stone. 

He ignored all of it. Following the men’s tracks took them closer and closer to the forest and Gandalf hurried the stallion along. Until the bent grass where someone had crouched at the base of the next barrow gave him pause. 

Kili?

Gandalf followed the line of prints. They led up the next barrow.

No.

He hobbled the stallion before racing up the hill. Avoiding stepping through the ring of stones, he swept the light of his staff around the hilltop, searching for more prints. Why? Why had Kili run up here? What had he seen, what had he heard, that turned him away from the trail?

Us, whispered the mist. Grey fingers brushed Gandalf's robes, pushing him gently toward the stone ring. He ran to us. Come and see.

"Do not dare to touch me," Gandalf commanded. The mist retreated before returning twice as thick, thin voices laughing within in. Something touched his mind and held on for a heartbeat, whispering of power. Gandalf shook it off. 

Below, the stallion was whinnying, upset at being left trapped and surrounded by the unseen. Gandalf slid back down the grass and undid the hobble, barely able to see his fingers ahead of him in the mist. “We’ll check for signs in the forest,” he said brightly, thinking of sunshine and pipesmoke and fine, hobbitish dark ale. “I expect Kili ran up to check what he could see from the top. Nothing more than that.”

He hoped. 

Check the forest, and return to the downs if he must. It felt as good a plan as any. With any luck, they would soon find Kili a little way ahead, wandering and disorientated amongst the trees but none the worse for wear. 

The stallion was pushing at him as they passed out of the mist and under the eaves, and the beast did not want to stop with its hindquarters to the whispers and allow Gandalf to investigate the leaf litter for prints. When a whiskered muzzle knocked his hat askew for a second time, Gandalf stood. 

“Patience,” he said sternly, moving on to check around the roots of the next tree. “We can’t just wander off in any direction, and…aha.”

Warm breath blew into his ear as the stallion peered over his shoulder. 

“See,” said Gandalf. “Someone stood here, I’d say less than a day ago. Observe the damage to the mushrooms.” The stallion’s head dropped lower, huffing at the broken, browning stalks, and the scuffs in the moss. Made by a dwarf’s metal boots? Perhaps. A dwarf who’d been rattled by his time amongst the downs and had grown careless with stepping lightly. 

“Kili stood here,” continued Gandalf, looking up into the waving, rustling branches overhead and then out past the trunk, his heart feeling lighter as he imagined it. Not the barrows, after all. That was a relief. “Likely, our young friend was doing exactly what we are doing now and deciding upon which direction to go. It is lucky for us that he left us a sign.”

The stallion straightened, snorting, and glanced back toward the swirling mist . 

“Or perhaps it was Fili,” said Gandalf. “Maybe even both of them.” That was one of the more hopeful scenarios and he tried to hold on to it. 

Another snort. 

Gandalf scouted about the tree, listening to the crackle of bracken and twigs under the stallion’s hooves and the pattering of rain on leaves. 

Perhaps. Perhaps Fili had come to no harm, but all the signs said otherwise. All his instincts were telling him that the elder was lost, his body carried out on a heavily-laden pony and disposed of by Meldron’s men somewhere in the forest or in the lands outside Bree.

Whether by resistance to a robbery gone wrong, or by some other foul play, Fili was likely gone from this world. That was the most likely scenario, and that, in itself, would be a death sentence for the three men once Thorin found out. No matter the circumstances. 

“But if we can find Kili,” said Gandalf. “That will ease Thorin in his grief.” And they had to be as certain as they could be of what had transpired before they handed the men over. Kili’s testimony would help. 

A rough trail led onward through ferns, not made by a dwarf but perhaps followed by one, and he nodded. That would do. It felt correct. 

“Come along,” he said to the stallion. “This way. We have a lost dwarf to find.”

Fili had lost all interest in moving on. After barely touching his share of the rabbit, insisting that he had no appetite and Kili should finish it, Fili lay down again and curled up, covering himself from hairline to boots with a cloak. 

And that was that. 

And it had been a direct order, and his clenching stomach still felt empty, yet Kili couldn’t bring himself to eat another bite. Picking the last of the meat from the bones, he laid it with the rest onto the largest dry leaf that he’d found in the bushes about their campsite and wrapped it up, tying it all off with a piece of bowstring. There. He licked the juices off his fingers. Maybe Fili would wake up hungry later. 

Not that his brother was actually sleeping. Fili was only pretending. Flexing one of the rabbit’s delicate rib bones between his fingers, Kili watched the slow rise and fall of the cloak with Fili’s breaths. 

He knew Fili as well as he knew himself, and Fili wasn’t resting. His brother was pretending to sleep, because, if he was asleep, then Kili couldn’t talk to him. 

Because Fili didn’t want to talk with him. 

It hurt.  

Tossing the bone into the flames, Kili watched the flames spark and flare. He rested his elbows on his knees and huffed out a breath. 

It wasn't fair. Uncle Thorin always did exactly the same thing. He'd make them wait and think and worry about what they'd done. And Fili hated that too. He hated the waiting as much as Kili did. He hated the silence and the churning feeling in your mind and your guts as you waited, that feeling of an axe hanging over your head. Fili knew exactly how bad it felt to wait, and yet he was doing it. Maybe it was accidental, Kili tried again to tell himself that. Maybe Fili didn't realise.

But the silence felt deliberate. At the very least, he deserved to know what he had done, and why Fili was so angry, because Kili couldn’t help but feel that he’d done his very best to make things right. He’d tracked the men, and he’d helped, he knew he had, and yet he was being punished and he didn’t know why. 

Peering up through the tree branches, he stared at the sky, suddenly certain that he'd heard the distant rumbling of thunder. Over their little patch of forest, dark grey clouds were gathering, and there was the feel of more rain in the air and on the strengthening wind that rustled the leaves all about. 

Kili hugged his crossed legs closer. It was going to rain again, and heavily if he wasn’t mistaken, and if they weren’t going to start heading back toward the mountains today then they should really go and look for somewhere more sheltered further along the riverbank, or build a shelter, or both. He was tired of being damp. 

He should talk about it with Fili. They should talk properly and they should make a plan. But that would mean disturbing his brother, and, even though he thought he wanted to hear what was in Fili’s mind, and get it all out in the open and over with, he couldn’t help being a bit frightened too. Because, once Fili told him, whatever it was that he was withholding, it would make it real. 

Sniffing, Kili rubbed at his nose. He tossed another bone into the fire, watching the flames greedily lick around it. 

Maybe he should hunt again? Reset the snares in another likely spot and look for a good campsite at the same time? It would give him something to do apart from brood over things he couldn’t change, and that wouldn’t change until Fili chose to speak to him. He couldn’t just stare into the crackling fire until that happened. He’d go mad.  

Decided, he was getting to his feet when he noticed Fili had uncovered his eyes and was staring at him over the edge of his cloak. Still in a crouch, Kili forced a smile. 

“I’m off to set some more snares,” he said brightly, happy that his voice wasn’t quavering, because he felt like it should be. “And then I’m going to cut some branches and we’ll build a shelter for tonight, because I think there’s another storm on its way. But I might see if I can spy a better place to—”

“I don’t remember what happened,” said Fili quietly.

Kili sat down. 

Snares and campsites and shelters could wait. 

“I’ve been trying to think.” Throwing the cloak aside, Fili sat up. He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “But all I have left is fragments.” 

Kili nodded, wishing he had as much as fragments. “Rosie said that we’d had too much to drink.” 

“Who’s Rosie?”

“One of the hobbits who works in the tavern.”

It was Fili’s turn to nod. Picking at the dried blood on his knuckles, he remained silent, frowning, and Kili shuffled closer, willing himself to stay quiet too and just listen. 

“It wasn’t your fault," said Fili at last. "I know that you've been sitting worrying about—"

"No, I haven’t been—"

"I’ve been watching you, little brother." Fili smiled sadly. "I know you, as well as I know myself, and I know when you’re brooding.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“I should have said something earlier but I’ve been trying to get my own thoughts in order first. That was wrong of me, and it was cruel, and I’m sorry.” 

His heart was soaring. Fili wasn't angry with him after all. Relieved, Kili shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does.” Looking around the campsite as if seeing it for the first time, Fili stretched. A flicker of a wince crossed his face, and he rotated his shoulder slowly, stopping when he realised that Kili was watching him. “I’m fine,” he said. “A little stiff from sleeping on the ground, that’s all.”

No. He wasn’t fine. But Kili nodded along, pretending he believed him. Now that Fili was talking and smiling again, then the best plan was to stay quiet, and not irritate his brother with questions. 

Picking up a twig destined for the fire, Fili cleared a patch of ground of leaves and debris with his hand. “If I remember rightly from Balin’s maps, and I wish I’d thought to bring one with me, this” —he sketched out some quick lines in the dirt— “is the forest, and here’s Bree, and this is the road that we took with Dain.” 

Kili scooted further forward to see better. He nodded, tilting his head. If he’d been drawing it, he’d have changed the angle of the road, but, apart from that detail—which likely didn’t matter much anyhow— and perhaps the eastern line of the forest—which likely didn’t matter much either—Fili’s sketch matched fairly closely to the memory of the maps he’d seen.

“Following the river will take us a lot further south than I’d like, I think.” Fili tapped the end of the twig against his palm, frowning. “But I feel that it will take us west eventually, and lead us out to where it joins the Brandywine, perhaps somewhere along here. I feel that we’re less likely to become turned about if we keep to it?”

Fili was asking him? Kili sat up straighter. “Agreed," he said, although in truth he wasn't sure he did agree, because he'd thought about Balin's maps a lot and still couldn't recall the details of the forest itself. If the maps had shown watercourses within its boundaries, he couldn’t remember seeing them. Rivers in the mountains were reliable, they had no choice but to flow downhill, as sure as eggs were eggs, but on this flatter ground they could go anywhere. 

The forest could lead them wherever it liked. If it wanted. 

“Do you think this is a magic forest?” he asked in a whisper, immediately feeling foolish when his brother’s lips twitched into a smile. “I mean, you did say that it might turn us about.”

“I meant that only in the sense that neither of us are used to navigating in thick woods,” said Fili. “Not that we might become spellbound, or that the trees would have anything to do with it at all.” The smile widened. “Do you think you’re in a magic forest, little brother?”

Yes. 

“Of course not,” said Kili quickly, trying not to think of the odd swirling mist while out on the downs, or the feeling of unfriendly eyes on him when he’d been tracking Hald. “No, I was only asking, because of what you’d said. Because I feel we could probably use the stars, or the sun if we just wanted to head directly west.”

“We could, that would work well, until we can’t see either.”

That was a good point. He didn't trust this odd place not to suddenly close its branches overhead and trick them that way. At least, staying by the wide river meant that the tree cover would be thinner. They would see the sky, and seeing the sky was comforting. 

Not to mention that they’d done well so far not to have been eaten by anything. Kili leant back, looking into the green darkness beyond their shelter of trees. 

“Did you hear something?” asked Fili, turning to look too. 

Kili shook his head, reminding himself that tonight they did have to set a watch and stick to it. The river would draw predators anyhow, but he imagined that most of the bigger animals would remain for daylight hours hidden within the darkness of the interior. 

It would be at night that any monsters would prowl the water’s edge. They’d been very lucky not to awaken with something chewing on them. 

“We need to keep a fire going tonight,” he said. “And takes turns at watch, and I think we definitely stick to the river as much as we can.”

“We're agreed then.” Fili smiled. 

It was another genuine smile. And it lifted Kili’s heart, making it swell with pride, because this time Fili wasn't smiling because he’d said something daft about magical forests.  

“We'll set the snares again,” continued Fili, “and building a shelter is a good idea too. Nothing too complicated but enough to keep us dry and snug. Rest up tonight, start early, and by tomorrow afternoon, I’d hope to be well clear of this place. What do you think? I know it’s delaying getting you home, but if we rest up now and get some proper sleep, then we’ll move much faster. Would you agree?”

Kili nodded enthusiastically. He didn't care how long it took, not really. All that mattered was that Fili was talking and smiling as if they were on one of their normal adventures.

“I’ll start on the shelter,” said Fili, pushing himself worryingly stiffly to his feet. “And you—”

Kili heard it too. Bouncing up, he listened hard. 

It seemed as if the entire forest had fallen quiet. The incessantly twittering birds and the buzzing insects were all holding their breath too, listening, straining to hear above the rumbling of the river. 

There it was again. A voice. Far, far away. Just on the edge of hearing. 

A voice calling his name. 

“I think that’s Gandalf,” Kili whispered, unable to believe it. Was it really Gandalf? Had Birch gone to the old man for help? Hoping to hear better, he stepped toward the river only to be hauled backward several steps by Fili. 

“And who,” Fili hissed, “is Gandalf?” 

“He’s the old man,” said Kili. “I told you about him.” He frowned, shrugging free and listening to another call of his name fading away. “Or at least I think I told you, but it doesn’t matter. After I was, when I was looking for you, he asked if I needed help. And he knows Uncle Thorin, or at least he’d heard of him, And Cousin Dain. He knew all about Erebor and…” He trailed off at the stoney expression on Fili’s face. 

“We need to get away from here,” said Fili. He turned away, kicking leaves over the fire. “Gather your things. Quickly.”

Kili watched as Fili began to stomp out the scattered embers. That didn’t sound as if Fili intended to follow Gandalf's call. 

Smoke curled upward, tangling itself around the branches. Fili looked up from his stamping, seeming annoyed to see him still standing where he’d been left. “Now, Kili.” 

“But—”

“I said now.” The last glowing ember was snuffed out and Fili moved quickly around the camp, stuffing their scattered belongings into the packs any which way. “Brother,” snapped Fili. “Obey me.” 

“But I…” Kili looked uncertainly at the river. Yes, Gandalf had been a bit frightening, and maybe a little odd, but he was only a friendly old man? A friendly old man who’d come all this way, and could easily get lost or turned about in this forest too. He could run into Ralt. The thought chilled him. And maybe Birch had told Gandalf, or maybe Gandalf had simply worked it out himself, and decided to help? Either way, he couldn’t work out why Fili was so—

It struck him as he watched Fili tie a pack closed, shooting anxious glances toward the river. “Fee,” Kili asked, “you don’t suspect Gandalf had anything to do with Ralt, do you?” 

The look that Fili gave him was exasperated, and said clearly, without Fili needing to utter a single word, that it was exactly what his brother was thinking. 

“We can talk about it later.” Fili stood, hurrying over to grasp Kili’s arm as if he thought Kili intended to rush toward the call without thinking. “When we’re further away, because I can’t tell which side of the river he’s on, or how far away he is.” 

“Should we not take a look? If we sneak closer we’ll be able to see if he’s with Ralt?” Because all his instincts were telling him that Gandalf wasn’t with the men. 

“And if he’s luring us in? If Ralt and his men are flanking us right now?” Fili’s eyes were wide and frightened. “I’ve already lost you once, and I wasn’t in my right mind yesterday when I thought the gold and Uncle Thorin’s anger more important than keeping you safe.” Pressing their foreheads together briefly, Fili gave Kili a light shove toward the abandoned packs. “All that matters to me is leading you home, back to Amad. Your pack, and the bow if you want to take it. Quickly.” 

Chapter Text

The echoes of yet another call bounced from river bank to river bank before being swallowed up by the forest. Leaning far forward over the ridge, Gandalf waited, straining his ears for any reply and hearing nothing but the roar of storm-swollen waters far below. Behind him, before him, and all around him, the forest remained stubbornly silent. 

“Nothing,” he muttered to the stallion. “Nothing at all.”

Yet that wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t found nothing entirely. Far from it. It had taken hours of painstaking searching, and too many false starts for him to wish to count, but, at long last, and to the relief of the stallion who’d been growing more and more irritated by all the slow pacing back and forth, the Old Forest had reluctantly gave up its secrets. It had shown him a clear trail to follow. 

More than a trail. The large boot prints—left, Gandalf was certain, by Meldron’s hulking guard—had told him the tale of a flight, a hunt, under the eaves of the forest. 

In one direction, the prints had brought him to this place, to a high and lonely ridge above the Brandywine, where he had shouted himself hoarse to no avail. And, in the other direction, he had backtracked along the winding trail to the remains of a campsite in a clearing. 

His fingernails tapped against the hilt of the long knife he’d found there. Raithon’s, he presumed, for the blade had the markings and heft of a Dúnedain weapon. And someone other than a Ranger had known its value, for the thick piles of leaf litter around the bush under which it had lain had been disturbed and cast about by busy fingers. But the searcher had neither a wizard’s patience, nor the advantage of daylight. 

It had been thrown. At speed and with considerable force to bury it too deep in the undergrowth to be found by hurrying hands. But thrown by who, and at who, and for why, he couldn’t guess. 

Had it been made in desperation? Or simply ill-judged? 

He tried to be hopeful that the only body he’d found in his searching had been that of a black-furred squirrel, and he tried to be hopeful that, although he’d found a concerningly bloody, dwarf-sized handprint on a tree trunk nearby, two dwarves had been uninjured enough to flee the clearing. 

Two dwarves, three men and two ponies had all gathered together there. He knew that much. Something had transpired, some altercation, and two dwarves had raced hither and thither through the forest, for he’d picked up—and lost, and picked up again—their trail from the edge of the clearing. He’d found signs of a further disturbance by the hollowed-out roots of an old oak, but two dwarves had fled from there too, and they’d remained together until they’d ended up here—where they’d separated. 

The ground here too told of a fight, its grass torn and moss scuffed under fast-moving boots,  but Gandalf tried to take heart that one of the dwarves had run and leapt from the ridge further downstream. One had, at that very moment, that small speck of time in the recent past, still been alive. 

As to the fate of the other. He stared down at the prints before his boots, his heart sinking once more. A fall. A dwarf—and he couldn’t quite say for certain by the prints but, from a notch on the left sole, Gandalf thought it might have been Kili—had gone over the edge backwards. The trail of broken branches showed clearly how he’d tumbled down the steep slope and to the fast-flowing river. And, try as Gandalf might to hold fast to hope, he couldn’t shake from his mind either the stiffened body of a little squirrel or the certain knowledge that there had been at least one bow in play. 

And what of the leap from further downriver into the white-capped, churning waters of the Brandywine? Had it been Fili’s attempt to get ahead of, or chase after, his fallen brother? He hoped not. Had Fili, at least, been unharmed when he'd chosen to jump from the ridge? He hoped so. But, with every unanswered call, that hope was failing him. 

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Gandalf shouted again. First for Fili, and then for Kili. But only silence answered him once more. His shoulders slumped. 

There was always the guardian of the forest. But Bombadil too wouldn’t answer a call. He’d come, or he wouldn’t. He’d do exactly as it suited him, and at the precise time that it suited him to do so. Not a moment more or less. 

Sweeping aside his sodden cloak, Gandalf fished about in his damp pockets, deciding he may as well fill a pipe while he waited for the way forward to reveal itself to him. 

But the peace to ponder wouldn’t come. Pacing up and down the ridge, from where Kili had fallen to the spot where Fili had jumped, Gandalf puffed out wreaths of smoke. Back and forth he stomped with the stallion trailing behind him. What to do? 

The light was fading. Dark storm clouds gathered overhead, and it would be another wet and miserable evening for any travellers caught out of doors. Gandalf stopped once more at the spot where he’d lost Fili. From this vantage point, he could see to the far bank of the wide Brandywine and into the thick swathes of darkening forest beyond. Still nothing. No curling grey smoke from a campfire. No birds whirling above the canopy, spooked into flight by the sound of dwarven footsteps. No clues at all. 

“Fili!” he shouted. “Kili!”

Nothing. He shuffled as close to the crumbling edge as he dared, peering down between the thinly spaced trees that clung to the steep and rock-strewn bank. Far below, and a little downstream from where they stood, the ground levelled out, thick brambles and undergrowth sweeping over and down the lowering ridgeline to choke the riverbank and block any path alongside it. Fili had been lucky to judge his leap where he did. Or unlucky. For a fall broken by brambles might have been preferable to one broken by a rock hidden beneath white water. 

Someone had slithered down this way. There were gouges—imprints of feet and hands in the soaked mud. That same someone had hacked and stamped a short way into the brambles, before returning the way they’d come. 

So Ralt and his men had tried to follow the dwarves and been thwarted by the forest. That too was cause for a little hope. 

That there were no bodies washed up on either bank as far as he could see was cause for some cautious hope too. It didn’t mean there were none caught on rocks further downriver where the Brandywine narrowed before it widened and calmed, but dwarves were stubborn creatures. They were exceptionally hard to kill. 

Live dwarves did, however, also have exceptionally good hearing. 

“Kili!” he shouted, telling himself it would be the last time. “Fili!”

Nothing. 

By his ear, the stallion snorted, huffing hot breath against his neck. 

“All may yet be well,” said Gandalf. A fat raindrop bounced off his hat. More pattered to the rocks and dotted the river below. “I expect that they have climbed out on the other side, wet but none the worst for it, and journeyed on.” 

Another snort. Gandalf could hear the derision in it. 

“And, I expect,” he continued, “that they are simply now outside the range of my calls. Dwarves can move quickly enough, when they wish to.”

He studied the steep bank, trying to recall the exact course of the river as it flowed onward through the forest. Scrambling down here to cross, as one of the men had done, was possible, but the stallion, if he could be persuaded from the ridge at all, would struggle. And the river current on this stretch was fierce, the river strewn with unseen hazards. To attempt a crossing here was folly. 

They could circle back through the forest and pick out a path downriver, but, if memory served him correctly—and it usually did—the banks further on would be choked even more thickly on both sides with bracken and bramble. Cutting his way through to reach the water would take a considerable time. 

Returning upriver to where the river widened and the banks were shallow enough to lead the stallion down was a possibility, but, again, time-consuming. 

Finding the dwarves' trail, once he did make his way across, would be the same. Time-consuming. If he could even find their trail at all. For, if one, or both, of the brothers yet lived, they would be wary of being chased down once more by Meldron. To find signs of their passing might be beyond even his considerable skills entirely. Gandalf sighed, shaking raindrops from his forgotten pipe. He knocked the ruined pipe weed out against a sturdy sapling. What, then, was he to do? If they both yet lived, then to abandon them to the forest felt wrong. That would be bad enough indeed. But to abandon a lone and grieving dwarf? That felt completely immoral. 

But if he found, either by chance or skill, a trail? What then? Likely, one, or both, of the brothers would already be crossing the forest at speed, heading west. They might even, if they had been frightened badly enough and were both yet hale and hearty enough for such speed, be already approaching the High Hay. They could be, at this very moment, searching for a way to cross it. 

Hopefully, if that were so, they didn’t do anything foolish, like try to hew a way through the trees blocking their escape. 

The stallion nudged his hand. 

“I feel that we will meet them on the road,” said Gandalf, telling himself he felt very hopeful indeed. Crossing the river was a foolish waste of time. If they lived, he’d never catch up with them, and if it were otherwise…. Well, crossing the river was as good as admitting to himself that he was searching for bodies—and he wasn’t quite at that stage yet. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The stallion snorted, stamping a heavy foot in the mud. 

“Quite right, my friend,” said Gandalf. He stood, listening hard to the returning forest sounds and the rumble of distant but growing closer thunder. No. He’d reached a decision, and it felt, for now, the correct course. “Let us return in all haste to Bree, and hear for ourselves what Hamdor and your master have discovered in our absence.”

It was barely dinnertime, so far as Kili could reckon, but, under the low-hanging, lichen-bearded boughs that stretched out over the river, the forest was as dark and quiet as if it were midnight. The thick riverbank mud sucked at his boots and he squelched along after Fili, yanking his sodden hood further over his head when a trailing vine tugged at it. 

“Will this rain ever stop?” he asked. And he wasn’t expecting his brother to answer, not truly, but it stung at his heart anyway when he got not a single word—not even a grunt of acknowledgement—in return. 

They’d been trudging for hours, all the while in a stony silence that Kili was trying very hard to pretend was nothing more than simply being quiet for fear of being followed, and they’d kept to the many twists and turns of the river as they’d planned to do. But the forest was showing no signs of thinning out. If anything, to Kili’s mind, it was getting thicker and more impassable, the brambles and tree roots spreading right down to the water’s edge. Time and time again, they found their path blocked and were forced to slash and clamber their way through with thorns catching in their hair and scratching at any slither of exposed skin. He’d run out of curses an hour ago for the vines that constantly wrapped about their ankles to try and trip them up. It was as if the very greenery itself was trying to thwart their plans and push them away from the reference point of the riverbank and deeper into the forest.

And, into the bargain, the brambles were vicious. Kili was certain they’d poked holes in him in a hundred places. Every time they stopped and slid down the muddy bank to scoop up palmfuls of the strangely sweet-tasting river water, he’d look down at himself, half-expected to find that he’d sprung a leak. 

He’d told Fili as much on their last clamber back up the bank, hoping for a smile, or even an eye-roll at the very least, and got absolutely nothing in return except a sharp command to keep moving. 

The silence was going to drive him mad long before they reached the edge of the forest, he knew it was. And it was more than simply Fili not speaking to him—even though that was bad enough on its own. No. It was the forest itself. It was silent. Watchful. Ever since they’d left Gandalf’s calls behind—and the old man had called for them for a long, long time—all Kili had heard, apart from the squelch of mud and the huff of his own breathing, was the incessant burble of the river. It was a merry enough sound, but Kili had grown unfairly sick of hearing it, and its happy song only served to draw attention to the fact that there was nothing else to listen to, and nothing to be happy about. Where were the birds? Why hadn’t they heard a single call of a startled deer? Why was it so quiet?

Why wouldn’t his brother speak to him?

Clambering over a toppled tree trunk that tried to grab at his cloak, his pack, and the bow with its spiny, bare branches, Kili hurried to catch up with Fili.

“I’m sorry, Fee,” he said once he was close enough, because he couldn’t not try again. “I didn’t think and—”

Thunder rumbled overhead and he stopped to look through the web of branches to the rapidly darkening sky, pretending he hadn’t jolted at the sudden noise. Ahead, Fili had stopped too, glowering upwards. 

“Stop apologising,” said Fili when the world fell silent once more. 

It was an order. Kili hung his head. 

Heaving out a heavy sigh, Fili said, “We should find somewhere dry to camp, before it's full dark.” 

And before the rain started up properly again. Kili nodded. He doubted they’d find somewhere dry, but perhaps they could—

“And…I can’t go any further today.” 

Shocked into stillness by his brother’s admission, or almost admission, he’d frozen in place. Kili forced himself to nod again, and to smile, as if Fili hadn’t said anything of consequence at all. “That doesn’t matter,” he said, keeping his voice light. If he didn’t push Fili, or bother him with questions, then Fili would tell him, in his own time, how badly he was hurt. Eventually. He just needed to be patient. Then, when Fili finally admitted it, he could work out how best to help. 

“I need a rest too,” he added, hoping that might prompt more talk.  And it was true enough, Kili supposed. It wasn’t that he was hurt—although his hip was aching where he’d smacked it against the courtyard stones of the inn what felt like a lifetime ago—but he was tired. Not so tired that he couldn’t walk on all night if they must, but tired nonetheless. 

It felt unnatural. 

Kili stifled a yawn, looking at the tangle of wet greenery ahead and behind, and listening to the rain dripping once more off and onto everything around them. More rain. He sighed. Was that what was making him weary? Or was it the forest? Or was it nothing more than that they were at odds? Any time they fought, it always made him despondent and listless. 

“I think if we were to start at first light, we’ll be out of here by lunchtime,” he said as brightly as he could, not having the first idea whether it was anywhere true or not, only hoping to break through a little more of the coldness between them. “It’ll be easier going then.” 

He was rewarded by a flicker of an exhausted smile from Fili, and his heart instantly felt lighter.  

“Agreed,” said Fili. “We haven’t heard anything for hours so I think it’s safe enough to have a proper rest. But step carefully, and listen well.” 

Kili plodded after Fili, treading lightly through the bracken and brushing aside spindly branches. Despite the river noises still being easily heard behind them, Fili marked every third tree they passed, little flicks with the sword tip that hopefully any men following them, if they were still being followed, would think nothing of. Knee height; waist height; shoulder height. 

A dwarf would spot them, but not a man. Hopefully. 

Otherwise, they would be leading Ralt right to their camp. 

But Kili supposed that small risk was better than the alternative, for he still didn’t fully trust the forest not to have hidden their path back to the river by morning, so his brother marking the trees was sensible. Even if Kili didn’t like the thought that followed—that perhaps Fili, despite appearing amused by the idea of a magical forest, didn’t trust this place either. 

The ground underfoot grew drier the further they went. Kili’s boots still sank to the ankle with every step, but they were breaking through a crust of leaf litter rather than sticky mud, which he supposed was better—even though the forest here smelt mustier than it had by the river. Musty and old, like something left out too long in the rain. He wrinkled his nose, shifting the pack on his shoulders, feeling his damp tunic unpeeling from his skin, and looked up. 

“Fee,” he called, the idea striking him. “Why don’t we climb one of these?” 

It wouldn’t be warmer, or any drier, but maybe it would feel fresher, and they might even be able to see the river, or out to the world that surely still existed beyond this place. 

Without waiting to see if Fili had stopped or even heard, Kili searched about for a likely trunk to climb. It would mean no fire, but he strongly suspected Fili wouldn’t permit one anyway, and they could huddle together for warmth. 

There. 

He hadn’t the first idea what sort of tree it was, but it was broad and tall, stretching up and up and away out of his sight. Its trunk was wrapped in the thick vines of glossy greenery that Kili now knew better than to trust, but he could also see knobbled lumps of bark sticking out from beneath the green that looked as if they’d be good hand or foot holds. In fact, if Fili gave him a proper boost, Kili was certain that he could avoid climbing altogether and get his fingers to the lowest branch. If he really, really stretched for it. Once he was there, he felt certain he’d be able to find them a comfortable enough place to rest a little higher up. They’d be easily hidden by the saucer-sized leaves from the eyes of any wandering monsters or men. They could talk, if Fili wanted to, or just sit quietly and wait for the new day. 

It would be perfect. 

But, if Fili wanted to camp on the forest floor, if he’d rather be able to easily run if they needed to, then that was fine as well. Whatever his brother wanted. He opened his mouth to tell Fili so, and only then realised that they were standing shoulder to shoulder.   

Fili was silent, but it was a different kind of silence. It was a thoughtful, undecided, silence. 

“They won’t think to look up into the trees,” said Kili, watching Fili frown and chew at his lip. “I hid in one and they didn’t see me, even when they were right underneath.” 

It was his turn to frown. 

We knew you’d come back, here or for the gold . 

That’s what Derild had hissed in his ear when he’d pinned him to the dirt. Had Derild known he’d hidden in the tree? 

No. Surely not. Likely, the man assumed Kili had curled into the little cave under the tree roots along with the packs. 

Fili nodded, looking around at the forest. 

This was progress. Kili watched his brother prowl a circuit around the tree. They were communicating again, Fili was listening to him, and what he shouldn’t do right now was ruin things. Not by saying anything about Derild being able to track him, or by picking at old wounds. 

But…he couldn’t help himself. “Fee?” 

Fili stopped moving, his frown no longer thoughtful but suspicious, and Kili almost reconsidered. Almost. 

“I’m sorry,” he said in a rush, pressing on before he could change his mind. “I am. I’m truly sorry. About Gandalf. About everything. I was looking for you, and I was worried, and, when he spoke to me...I didn’t think.” 

There was no response and Kili stepped closer, trying again. “I didn’t. If I’d known that he and Ralt were—”

“How could you possibly have known?” Fili closed the distance between them. “And why would you ever think before speaking? When, in your whole life, have you ever stopped, for even a single moment, to do so?”

Never. He never stopped and thought. Not once. Kili hung his head. 

“Who else did you tell?”

“Nobody.” The lie stuck in his throat. Kili scuffed at the leaves underfoot. “Birch,” he admitted. “The stableboy at the inn, but he promised me he wouldn’t—”

His brother’s exasperated sigh cut him off. 

“I’m sorry, Fee,” Kili whispered. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Fili leant back against the trunk, closing his eyes. He sounded exhausted when he spoke again, “None of it matters, and I can’t in any good conscience berate you when I’m guilty of exactly the same crime.” He smiled grimly. “We both trusted too easily, and we have paid the price for it. But it’s been a lesson, if a hard one, for the both of us, and it’s one you’d do well to remember when you get home.” 

Kili nodded eagerly. “I will. I won’t forget, I swear.”

“Good.”

He wanted to keep the smile on Fili’s face. Reaching out to lightly touch his brother’s forearm, Kili grinned. “I expect we’ll be mucking out the stables again for a while to make it up to Uncle Thorin?” It hadn’t been the worst of punishments. They’d made games and races out of it, and Gimli had helped. It had been almost fun. 

Hopefully, whatever Thorin decided to punish them with, he let them do it together. 

“Perhaps.” Fili didn’t laugh, but his smile looked slightly more genuine. He looked away. “But I shouldn’t worry, little brother. Uncle Thorin will be happy to see you safe and whole, and that will matter to him a great deal more to him than a few ponies or a saddlebag of gold ever could.” Turning back, he met Kili’s eyes and grinned. “So, tell me exactly how you intend us to perch like little birds for the night.”

Chapter Text

Outside, the rain poured in thick rivulets down the window panes of the Prancing Pony. Inside, at a cosy table near enough to the fire to warm chilled toes but situated far enough away from the music and the night's merrymakers to hear himself think, Gandalf tamped down his pipeweed and tried to do just that. 

He watched the inn doors swing closed behind a party of hobbits, a smile twitching at his lips when they immediately called for ale and food and hot baths before even shaking the raindrops and cool night air from the cloaks, their spirits undampened by the dark and a summer storm. But then, whose spirits would not be lifted when stepping in from foul weather to warmth and song? Keeping your spirits undampened when lost and frightened and having only yourself to rely on for shelter and warmth—that was the trick. 

Finished with lighting his pipe, he shook out the taper and dropped it to the flagstones, crushing the last of the glowing embers under his boot. “Our friends haven’t swayed from their story?” 

“Not in the slightest,” said Hamdor, his eyes on Rosie weaving through the crowd toward them bearing a heavy tray. He stood to take it from her and Gandalf busied himself making space for the fresh mugs of ale and spiced wine, tableware, and a platter groaning with meats, cheeses and warm bread, fresh from the oven. When Rosie had gathered up the empty mugs and bustled away again, Hamdor continued, “Raithon questioned them, then I, separately, and they're almost word for word. Their leader heard a rumour of rich dwarven princes, planned a ruse to gain an introduction from our good but trusting innkeep—”

Gandalf snorted. Which he knew was unfair. For Hamdor was right, Butterbur’s only mistake had been to be a good man. A trusting man. And good men expected to see that same sense of fair play in others. Which was how it should be, for where would this world be if they all mistrusted each other? He waved Hamdor on. 

“Once they’d been introduced,” said Hamdor, lifting a hunk of bread, “Meldron engaged the dwarves in a few games of cards. The princes discovered quickly, he claims, that his stories were false, that he wasn’t the merchant they’d been waiting for, but found it all very amusing and played on regardless. And, as I said, the guard, the one who can speak, confirmed the tale exactly as Meldron told it.”

They stared at the dwarven braid bead and Raithon’s long knife laid out on the edge of the table.

“There’s no law against cards, my friend,” said Hamdor. “Nor in winning at them.”

Gandalf drummed his fingertips against the table. 

“If what this Meldron, if that is indeed his name, says is true,” continued Hamdor. “They drank, they gambled, Kili was escorted to his bed, Fili returned to Meldron’s rooms where they played a few more hands, and they all parted ways amicably enough.”

“Do you believe it?”

Hamdor slathered butter on his bread. “That Meldron is his name? Or do I believe that someone might gamble everything they had? The gold and ponies. Weapons. Yes.” With the butter knife, Hamdor pointed at the braid bead, frowning. “This, though, I don’t know. Even after all these long years wandering Middle-Earth, I don’t know nearly enough about dwarves and their customs, and I suspect I will never know enough. But…perhaps. Perhaps this too made its way onto the table when all else was lost. Perhaps this Meldron character is telling the truth.”

“Perhaps.” Lifting the braid bead, Gandalf rolled it on his palm before tucking it away carefully in his deepest pocket for safekeeping. Thorin Oakenshield would want it back. 

“I’ve seen such ornaments on market stalls before,” said Hamdor. “Dwarves do not let them go easily, but they do let them go.” 

“When you are in need, you sell everything that you have of value.” Had Fili and Kili been desperate enough? It was possible. Anything was possible. But what was probable? 

“If I’d gambled away my uncle’s coin that he’d intended for winter grain…maybe I too would have been panicked enough to bet anything and everything I had left on a last roll of the dice or turn of a card.” Hamdor shrugged. “They have an answer for everything, Gandalf. Plausible answers.” He tapped the hilt of Raithon’s knife. “I expect that they will have one for this as well.”

He expected so too. Yet he was still certain none of their answers rang true. Or, if there were truths, then they were carefully buried beneath the lies. But, could it be possible that his instincts were wrong? Gandalf tapped out his pipe. Perhaps. Perhaps it could. “I believe that I will speak with them now. Let us see if their story changes. They are in the room they had previously?”

Hamdor nodded. “Butterbur was very good about it.”

Of course he was. Butterbur would be blaming himself—and worrying about the impact this sorry incident might have on his, small but lucrative enough, place on the dwarven trade route. The man might be many things, but he wasn’t a fool. 

The room had been cleaned and tidied, the damaged furniture removed, but the broken window had not yet been repaired, only hastily boarded over to keep out the night. Raithon waited inside, lounging in a chair by the open bedchamber door with his sword across his knees. He opened his mouth as Gandalf approached. 

“Birch is caring for your horse as we speak,” said Gandalf, stepping past and into the bedchamber. “Go and join Hamdor in the common room, Butterbur sent enough food to satisfy a whole party of hungry Rangers.”

There was a large, snoring bundle beneath the blankets on the bed, but Meldron stood by the window, one finger holding the curtain away from its frame to peer out into the darkness. He glanced at the bed and then Gandalf. “Did you find your little dwarven friends, old man?” he said quietly. 

Gandalf beckoned to him. Meldron sighed but followed him out and to the table in the main chamber. 

“I suppose, in a way, I should thank you,” said Meldron, flopping into a chair uninvited. He rested a boot against the table and waved a hand airily toward the chair opposite. “Sit, please. If you hadn’t waylaid us, then we would have been sleeping out in that.” He jerked a thumb at the boarded-up window. “Under a hedge somewhere. This way, as your guests, at least my men are warm and dry, and I don’t have to listen to them whining at me that they’re cold and wet all night. And paying them for the privilege of hearing their complaints.”

“Indeed.”

Leaning forward, Meldron rested his elbows on the table, his eyes narrowing. “But you have waylaid me, Gandalf, if that is indeed your name. And you’ve waylaid me without any proper cause. First thing in the morning, I will wish to speak with the guards, at length, about that.”

Gandalf expected that Meldron wished to speak to anyone who would listen about it. That was, he expected, one of the reasons why this room—with its access through the courtyard rather than dragging the men through the public bar—had been chosen to hold the men. 

And, by the looks of things, there had been some resistance to the Rangers’ choice of room at some point, for in the candlelight, what he’d at first thought to be a streak of dirt high on Meldron's cheekbone appeared instead to be a darkening bruise. Gandalf made a note in his mind to speak with Hamdor about how that had come about. 

But, for now, his purpose was to attempt to ferret out the truth, and to decide fully on his next steps. “I would imagine you do,” said Gandalf mildly. He pulled out his pipeweed pouch, glancing at Raithon who was still loitering at the main door. “Raithon, would you be so good as to fetch us up some ales, please?”

“And I will be expecting to be compensated for the time that I have lost on my journey,” added Meldron. 

“Ah. Of course. Your journey. Where, precisely, were you intending to make for?”

Meldron was watching Raithon leave. “South.” His attention flicked back to Gandalf when the door clicked closed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“South covers a great deal of ground. Where south of here was your intention?”

Meldorn rolled his eyes, swinging back in his chair. “I hadn’t quite decided when you and your men kidnapped me. My intention had been to visit some of the great markets there with my newly acquired wealth, spend some coin, buy some trinkets to trade on. An honest living. Does that satisfy you?”

That had the ring of truth about it. “And your intention with the dwarves. With Fili and Kili. What of those? Were they to be part of your newly acquired wealth? For I can't imagine either of them would have taken kindly to it.”

Meldron sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. “Again? How many times must I tell it? Over and over. We played some cards, and yes, I admit that I pretended to be the son of the merchant that they were waiting for. That's not a crime.”

“We might disagree on that.”

Meldron rolled his eyes. “But they caught me, and we all had a good laugh about it. Bring Fili in here, let me look him in the eye and ask him, and you'll see.”

“I haven't found either of the princes yet,” said Gandalf, watching closely for a reaction. Had that been a flicker of something in the man’s eyes? Guilt? Relief? Worry?

“Because they've run home,” continued Meldron, not missing a beat, “exactly as I told you. So ask someone else. There's a hundred witnesses who saw us playing together.”

“I’m aware of that. Continue with your tale.”

“My tale?” Meldron snorted. “Is there any point continuing if that's what you think of it?” His chair banged back onto all its legs. “But fine. My tale. The younger one, Kili, was put to bed, drunk and barely conscious, by my man, Haldic. Then Fili came to my rooms, this very room, where we continued playing. He lost. He didn’t take it well” —Meldron waved a hand at the boarded-up window— “as you can see. But we resolved matters between us before Haldic escorted him to bed also. The pretty hobbit serving wench who saw them going upstairs can testify to that.”

“I understood your man Haldic was a mute,” said Gandalf. “I believe you also inferred that he was illiterate.”

“There are other ways than with speech or by letters to communicate,” snapped Meldron. “But, to answer your question, he didn’t tell me. He didn’t think to. Your lurking, dead-eyed Ranger friend did. And there ends the tale that I grow tired of telling. We packed up. We left before first light. The end.”

“Not informing anyone of the damage to the room, leaving your bill unpaid.”

“Because who would the innkeeper believe? Me? Would that be before or after I admitted to taking his room knowing, at the moment I did, that I’d no current means to pay for it?” Meldron barked out a laugh. “For all I knew the dwarves were already up and whispering lies in his ear. For all I knew there were guards in the common room with swords drawn and promises of dwarven gold and dwarven gratitude fixed in their heads awaiting us. I’m no fool, old man, but I’m no thief either. I’m an opportunist. And I know to people like you and your Rangers and your jolly round-faced innkeep that looks like much the same thing. Do you deny it?”

Lighting his pipe, Gandalf leant back in his chair and puffed out a smoke ring. “I have not yet made up my mind about you, but there are words for men who prey on the trusting nature and goodness of others. And those words do not include opportunist.”

“See?” Meldron laughed bitterly. “Exactly as I said. So what do you expect would have happened to me after I admitted impersonating someone else to lure the dwarves into a game? All I wanted was to win enough to rest my head somewhere in comfort for once. It’s not as if a dwarf can’t spare some coin. And I saw their fine clothes and weapons, I saw the fine clothes and weapons of the dwarves they rode in with…” He rocked back in his chair. “I didn't begger them. We both know a single saddlebag of gold is nothing to dwarves like that. All I did was teach them a lesson.”

“Ah. A lesson.” The next smoke ring battered against the boarded window. Gandalf nodded. “I see.”

Meldron snarled, his fists clenching. “I’ve met your like before, Gandalf. Interfering, malicious, old men. Men who look down their long noses at the likes of us. You’d rather we kept ourselves scrabbling about in the dirt where we belong. No. I know exactly what you are and how you think. You’ve made up your mind and your mind is to take my gold, that I won fair and square, and claim some sort of reward from a dwarf king for doing it. That’s why you came hunting for us. But I’m telling you I did nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong, you say?” Gandalf pulled the long knife from his robes. He laid it on the table between them. “This, if nothing else, tells me that you are not an opportunist as you claim, but rather an opportunistic thief. What did you do with the rest of Raithon’s weapons?”

Meldron spared the knife no more than a glance. “I didn’t know anything about that until we were in the woods. You’d asked me if we’d had an argument, and we did, but not about where to sleep. I told Haldic to get rid of it and swore if I ever found him thieving again, I’d cut off every one of his fingers and turn him loose.” He crossed his arms. “You can believe me or not, and I imagine you don’t, but I know the truth of it.”

“Why didn’t you mention it when my friends questioned you?”

Meldron glared at him stubbornly. 

“And your man, Lerdil, he made no mention of the knife in his story either.”

“Well, he wouldn’t, would he? He’s not an idiot. He knows how thieving looks. And your men didn’t ask either of us anything about this knife, only about the gold, and the dwarves, and why we were in the forest. Lerdil knows to not say a word more than he needs to. He knows how guards and those with coin twist and turn things about to suit themselves when it comes to the likes of him and me.”

A glib answer for everything. With a sigh, Gandalf put the knife away. “The dwarves who you claim not to have seen in the forest, even though the stableboy swore that Kili left to follow you.”

“I told your men, as I told you, I never set eyes on Kili. Not since he was carried out of the common room.” Meldron scoffed. “A dwarf who can’t hold his ale.”

“And yet Kili came to me the next morning, distraught and claiming that he hadn’t seen his elder brother, despite your man, who you know to be a thief, claiming to have returned Fili unharmed to his room.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Meldron. “Haldic’s a lot of things, but he didn’t touch the dwarf.”

“That Fili wasn’t in their rooms when Kili awoke says different.”

“No. It doesn’t. It doesn’t say anything at all.” When Gandalf raised an eyebrow, Meldron threw his hands up. “You think I know where the dwarf went?”

“I do.”

“Why? How could I possibly know? I didn’t have him on a leash, Gandalf. He could have gone for a walk. He could have gone to another inn for breakfast. He could have gone home, or been sitting in their rooms, waiting for his brother to return from speaking to you for all I know. They could have been plotting it out between them, sowing seeds for you and your pet Rangers to chase me down and return their gold to them, save them the bother of doing it themselves. Dwarves are cunning creatures.” Meldron scrubbed his hands through his hair, his voice cracking, “Oh, how I wish I’d never laid eyes on them.”

“Yet Kili left by the south gate, in the same direction as you. He was following you. Why?”

“I don’t know.” When Meldron lifted his head, his eyes were red-rimmed. “I simply don’t know. All I know is that I never saw him. I never saw either of them again, I swear it. I can guess at what their plans were, but that’s all it would be. Guesses.” He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, straightening. “But you won’t believe me, no matter what I say. I know I’ll never convince you otherwise.”

“I'm sorry to say that I agree, Meldron.” Gandalf stood at a gentle tap on the door. “For your sake, I wish that were different, but then, it was never me you needed to convince. Perhaps you will have better luck in Ered Luin.” 

Waiting at the door was Rosie, bearing a tray with two brimming tankards of ale. Gandalf took them from her, blocking her view as she tried to look around him. “That will be all, Rosie,” he said, nudging the door closed with his hip. 

Returning to the table, he set the ales down in front of a silent, frowning Meldron. 

“If, as you claim,” continued Gandalf, “Fili and Kili have returned unharmed to their uncle, then we will simply get to the heart of the matter there. In Thorin’s Halls. I will take you myself.”

Meldron’s eyes widened as the words sank in, the colour draining from his face. Beneath the bruising and the layers of dirt and sweat, and beyond the mop of uncombed dark hair,  a young and suddenly much less certain-of-himself man looked back at Gandalf. 

“Get some rest,” said Gandalf, not unkindly. “You’ll need it.”

Chapter Text

Fastening his cloak, Gandalf stepped over the inn’s threshold, waving off Butterbur who was fluttering about him. He took a deep breath of the morning air. Outside, the rain that had lashed The Prancing Pony overnight had eased, giving way to dry dawn—although a bank of dark clouds to the north spoke of another soaking later. Gernac, already breakfasted and in his travel clothes, sat smoking a long-stemmed pipe on one of the benches lining the front of the inn. He looked deep in thought. But, as Gandalf raised a hand in greeting, Gernac nodded back—one old man to another. 

At least, there, he may have been able to do some good. Whatever other heartaches Thorin Oakenshield might face this winter, with a little luck, and a lot of goodwill from Men, his people going hungry wouldn’t be one of them. Hoisting his satisfyingly heavy pack, Gandalf set off toward the stables, meeting Hamdor searching for him. 

“We have them out and into the stableyard,” said Hamdor, taking the pack and slinging it over his shoulder. “But, as expected, Meldron is causing a fuss, demanding that he speak with the guards here before he agrees to leave peaceably.” 

Gandalf huffed out a breath. He’d expected as much. “The Bree-land folk have no further interest in a few ruffians, or in a robbery gone wrong, not now the bills have been settled. Meldron will find no sympathy here.” 

“I know that, and you know that, and I expect that he too knows that. He’s playing for time, and to what end I don’t know.” Hamdor tapped his fingers against the pack strap. “Waiting for friends, perhaps?”

Perhaps. Or perhaps Meldron had spent the before-dawn hours dwelling on thoughts of all the possible fates which might await him and his men in Thorin's Halls. “I think it’s more likely to be a fear of the dwarves.” 

Hamdor nodded. “That would seem most likely to my mind too, but we should be wary on the road regardless. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come with me? Raithon can check for tracks in the Old Forest and catch us up?”

Likely, that would be more sensible. Gandalf shook his head. In truth, his refusal was less that he felt himself more capable than one of the Dúnedain, and more a hope that one of the guardians of the old forest might choose to show themselves today. But, at the very least, he might find some small clue that he’d overlooked. Not that a Ranger mightn’t also find some clue, and likely be a good deal faster about it, but still…this felt like the right course. 

The stableyard was busy. Ahead, Birch was waiting, and the boy was a bundle of restless activity, shifting his weight from foot to foot, toying with the reins held in his hand. The stallion by his side was picking up on Birch’s anxiousness too, stamping iron-shod hooves against the cobblestones and blowing hard. Hamdor’s calmer mount, still chewing on its breakfast of hay, was being saddled by what Gandalf assumed were two older brothers of the worried little stablehand. 

“Birch.” Gandalf took the stallion’s reins, reaching down to ruffle Birch’s tousled hair before tilting the boy’s chin. He tutted. “Have you slept at all?” Dark circles under the lad’s eyes gave the lie as Birch nodded. 

“Fretting ‘bout them dwarves, Mister,” said the tallest of the brothers. “I told him not to, but he won’t stop it. Tossing and turning all night, muttering to himself, he was. Kept us all awake.” 

“Ah.” Handing his staff and the reins to Hamdor, Gandalf crouched on the damp cobbles to look the boy in the eye properly. “Is that true, Birch? Have you been fretting?”

Birch glanced at his brother and then toward Raithon standing by the stable wall with Meldron and his men in a huddle nearby. “They’re all saying as your man did,” he lowered his voice further. “They say Kili’s a thief, but I know he’s not. I know it.” 

“And so do I. Here.” Gandalf dug about his robes until he found his coin purse. It was light, and would remain so until he made it as far as Rivendell most likely, but he could spare a few small coins for a good cause. He winked, unfurling Birch’s tightly clenched fist and pressing some silver into it. Birch’s eyes widened. “This will distract your brothers from gossip,” said Gandalf, “and you needn’t worry about listening to anyone else.”

The boy was quick, the coins pocketed in a flash, but Birch’s worried frown was still firmly in place. “Will you bring Kili back today?” he asked. 

“I am certain I will catch up to him and his brother long before nightfall,” lied Gandalf. “Quite certain. I have a fast horse, and…” He tapped his nose. “I might be an old man, but we both know I have some tricks up my sleeve. Eh?”

Birch didn’t look convinced—likely thinking that a few smoke rings wouldn’t go far to finding two missing dwarves. 

And he’d be right. They’d need a lot more than that. “Birch,” said Gandalf quietly. “We may not be able to return to Bree. Kili’s family will be waiting for him too, and they’ll be worrying that he’s been delayed, thinking the worst, just as you are doing right now. We may have to cut across country rather than double back. Do you understand?” 

Slowly, Birch nodded. 

“And do you trust me?”

Another slow nod. 

“Good boy.” Ruffling Birch’s hair again, Gandalf stood. “I will make things right, don’t you spend another moment worrying about it. There’s no need to watch the road.”

Birch nodded again. Perhaps a little faster this time, and perhaps his eyes did seem a little less clouded with worry, but there were no more assurances Gandalf could give. It would have to do, and perhaps he had spoken the truth to the boy. Perhaps he would indeed find Fili and Kili today. 

Giving Birch a head pat and a gentle push toward the stables, Gandalf turned to Hamdor. “Reassure Raithon that I will be back, I have no plans to not return his horse.” 

“No current plans anyhow,” said Hamdor with a smile. 

“Precisely.” They clasped shoulders and Gandalf nodded a farewell across the yard at Raithon who was staring at him with suspicion. “Do you want me to speak with Meldron before I leave?”

Hamdor laughed. “I can manage three ruffians. Meldron might think he can dig in his heels and refuse to leave, but he’ll discover he can move well enough when Raithon and I tell him to. And he’ll discover that not a single one of these good folk of Bree will speak up on his behalf. Not against a Ranger.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Not on either account. “Keep a close eye on them, Hamdor. They may be desperate, become more—”

“More inclined to attempt an escape,” Hamdor said grimly. “I’ve dealt with prisoners before, and more desperate and dangerous ones than these, but we won’t underestimate them. Never fear.” He eyed the men huddled by Raithon. “Did sleeping on it help with your decision? Since you’re not insisting on Bree, I’m assuming that we make for Ered Luin?”

“I don’t see how we could avoid it,” said Gandalf. Or even if he wished to. He’d tossed and turned for all that had been left of the night, thinking it over, his mind tugging him this way and that. Dwarvish justice would be swift and decisive. Perhaps it was no less than Raithon and his men deserved. “Michel Delving first, I think,” he said. “It’s in the right direction, and the hobbits can hold them easily until we decide what is to be done.” 

“Which gives the princes’ time to make their way home, if they are able to.” Hamdor nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Unless we discover something between here and there that tells us for a certainty of their fates.” Gandalf swung himself onto the stallion’s back, tugging his hood forward as the first fat raindrops fell. He waved away the pack when Hamdor offered it to him. “Keep it. No. No matter what I told Meldron, I would prefer to be certain of what mischief has been done before I hand anyone over to Thorin. Dwarves are not known for their mercy at the best of times, and for injury to close kin…” He sighed, wishing once more that he’d insisted Kili accept his help. If only he’d gained the prince’s trust, the situation wouldn’t feel quite so hopeless. “Watch for me this evening.” 

From their vantage point atop a low rise, they could see the river winding its way onward. Beyond the last trees, it crossed open ground until it reached a tall dark shape that stretched up and up into the grey sky. A wall? Could it be a boundary wall? Kili hardly dared to hope. 

Under the shelter of a wide-trunked tree whose branches wove tightly over his head before sweeping down over the steep riverbank, he studied the maybe-wall while wringing out the ends of his sodden cloak. Giving up, he sighed. After a promisingly dry and clear start to their day, he’d allowed himself some foolish hopes of staying dry for more than a few hours. In fact, after a promising start to the day, he’d harboured all sorts of foolish hopes. That they’d be out of the forest by now. That they’d be looking at their mountains in the distance. He’d even combined all his hopes into a very merry imagining of being out of the forest, looking at their mountains, and standing in the sun while they were doing it. Ideally, with dry socks. Or at least less damp ones. He’d cheered himself up with all sorts of hopes as he’d trudged along behind Fili. But now this, whatever this was, blocked their way and most of the gloomy sky.

It was too much. It really was. 

“What do you reckon?” he asked, nodding toward the shadow. 

Not only did it stretch as high as the tallest trees, higher, and as far away to either side as he could see, but it swept all the way down to the ground without a break, cutting across the river like a dark knife, hiding everything beyond from view. Or almost everything beyond. Kili wasn’t entirely sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, but he thought he could see a glimmer, a small sliver of a less grey world where river and shadow met. 

Likely, it was only a reflection of the river. Kili sighed again. Likely, there were just more trees beyond. Trees and trees, briars and ferns, all stretching on in one green, endlessly wet mass forever. 

From his seat on one of the sweeping boughs, Fili frowned. “Some sort of boundary. A wall, perhaps. I can’t see any movement upon it though. Perhaps it’s unguarded.” He stood, his frown deepening. “I don’t recall a wall marked on Balin’s maps though.” 

Neither did he, and a huge wall felt a little out of place in this empty land, but perhaps the maps were old and the wall new? But it didn’t matter. Fili’s agreement, that Fili felt it might be a boundary wall too, lifted Kili’s spirits somewhat. “It’s high,” he said. Far too high to climb, surely? Trying not to let hope lift his heart too far, Kili squinted toward the gap. If they were in luck, there would be enough space or some safe way to wriggle through. If they weren’t…well, he didn’t want to think about that. 

“If there’s a wall,” he said, half to himself, “then there’ll be a gate.” 

Fili glanced at him, his expression unreadable. Or almost unreadable. Kili grinned back. 

Because surely their luck had to turn at some point? Refusing to give in to despairing thoughts, he hoisted his sodden pack from where he’d dumped it at the base of the tree. Yes, there would be a gate—preferably open and unguarded—nearby. There simply had to be. Or, if they were really, really lucky, there would be a gate, open and unguarded except by friendly folk with plenty of leftover breakfast going spare. And not a single blackberry in sight. He’d never once thought he could ever grow tired of blackberries, but, as it turned out, he could. 

At the thought of fat strips of bacon, their edges crisping, sizzling on a pan, maybe with an egg, its yolk a cheery sunshine yellow, sliding in alongside, Kili’s stomach growled. He placed a hand over it quickly, hoping Fili hadn’t heard. 

“It is high,” said Fili, shouldering his pack and giving no sign of having heard anything. “And I don’t expect it’ll get any lower simply because we’re standing here staring at it. Come on. But stay alert. Just because we haven’t spotted anyone doesn’t mean they aren’t there, watching us approach.” 

Kili nodded, sobering and pushing thoughts of bacon firmly aside. They both knew who they were. It wasn’t hobbit or mannish guards Fili feared. 

They crept closer, sticking to the darker shadows under the trees and edging around the boulders that dotted the river’s edge until both trees and boulders ran out. Ahead, the river burbled on across a wide strip of grass dotted with brightly coloured wildflowers until it reached…

“Trees?” Kili frowned. Now that they were closer to the shadow, it was clear this was no wall. Beyond the grasses, nothing more sinister or difficult than a thick hedge reared above them, birds tweeting from amongst its cover. Not stone at all. Barely an obstacle at all. It was nothing but tightly woven branches and greenery. And birds. A lot of birds. 

“Come on.” Fili grabbed his elbow. “Go, brother. Now.”

Together, they raced across the open area, keeping low, and skidded to a halt half-in, half-out of the hedge at the spot where the river flowed on and out. Spiny branches jabbed at them and something was squawking unhappily from somewhere just above Kili’s head, but they were across, and safe. He looked back the way they’d come, watching the butterflies and bees they’d disturbed on their run settle back to the grasses. Nobody had shot at them or was trying to chase them down. As Kili’s heart slowed, Fili held a finger to his lips. Over the splashing of the river where it narrowed and deepened to fit through the gap beneath the hedge, and over the rustle of the leaves all about them, he heard it. Voices. Kili crouched as Fili did. But—

“That’s children, Fee,” he whispered. The voices that drifted in from beyond the barrier were too high-pitched and merry to be anyone or anything else. They certainly didn’t belong to Ralt, Hald, or Derild, for he’d never forget those voices—not if he lived to be three hundred. Five hundred. As Kili made to stand, Fili grabbed his arm. “Surely,” said Kili, “you don’t think—”

“I don’t know what to think.” Fili nodded along the hedge. “We’ll follow it north. Come on.” 

“But…” Kili’s shoulders sagged. No. He recognised the expression on his brother’s face. It was one that he knew brooked no arguments, and one that said it would be a pointless and futile waste of time and breath to even try. Fili’s mind was entirely made up. 

Huffing out a sigh, Kili nodded, staring despondently as a sudden patch of bright sunlight sparkled on the river rushing past his boots. Perhaps it would have been too tricky to squeeze through anyway? Not that it would have mattered. He’d not have minded one bit getting soaked to the skin if it meant escaping this gloomy forest. 

“Once we know it’s quiet on the other side,” said Fili as they slunk away. “We’ll climb through, or cut our way through, if needs be.”

Branches creaked above them. Fili looked up as Kili did, both of them freezing mid-step. 

“I don’t think the trees liked that, brother,” said Kili once his first, inane, worried thought of big cats had passed. Yes, the hedge might be thick and bushy enough to hide one above them, but any fool could tell it wasn’t weight-bearing, its branches, although many in number, were all far too spindly and thin for any size of cat to climb. He nudged Fili on. “What you said about cutting. Don’t say such things again, not until we’re out.”

Fili snorted. “Trees don’t like nor mislike anything.” He grinned over his shoulder before reaching back to grab Kili’s hand, dragging him forward so they could walk side by side. “You’re missing the mountains, that’s all.”

“I know where I am with mountains.” A bunch of merry yellow flowers nodded in the grass a few steps ahead. Without thought, Kili kicked out as they passed, instantly regretting it when petals swirled about his and Fili’s shins. The stems bobbed upright once more, seemingly unharmed, but they were naked, damaged irreparably and changed by a moment of lost control. His fault. 

Glancing up at the towering hedge, Kili told himself it wasn’t looking at him disapprovingly or leaning any closer than it had been. He bit back the apology that was on the tip of his tongue. As Fili had said, it was only a hedge. And, anyhow, he’d nothing to be ashamed of, or to regret. He was being foolish. Melancholy. It was nothing but a few flowers, and they’d grow back. Likely, they were growing back already, the moment he’d stepped past, the same as all the moss and leaves they’d crushed underfoot would be growing back, covering their passing. “I’d like to leave these woods,” he whispered. “They’re strange, and wet, and I don’t like it here.”

“I feel exactly the same, and we will. As soon as we can,” said Fili, squeezing his hand before dropping it. “I swear we’ll leave this place at the very first opportunity. The moment I feel it’s safe to do so. Be patient a while longer.” 

The children’s voices were lost behind them, and they walked on and on in the cool shadow of the hedge with the watchful, heavy silence closing in about them once more. As he walked, Kili kept a wary eye on the hedge, just in case, and hugged his cloak closer about him. It wasn’t cold, not compared to the fresh breezes of their mountains, but yet he felt chilled to the bone. And it wasn’t completely silent either, but it was all forest noises. Tweets, and cracks, and rustles. It felt lonely here. It felt as if they might be the last two people in all of Middle-earth. Which was better than hearing Ralt’s voice, he supposed, if he were trying to look on the bright side, but still, it was lonely all the same. Glancing behind him at nothing but turf and leaves and trees, he shivered. 

“Soon,” said Fili, nudging him. “Keep your spirits up a while longer, little brother. The bridge we crossed with Dain’s folk is not far past the northernmost edge of the forest. We could see the outline of the forest from there, remember? Then we’ll be over the river and on the road and heading for home.” 

From his brother’s tone, he was appearing more a pouting dwarfling needing comforting than anything like the brave captain he’d hoped to be. Kili forced himself to stand straighter as they walked. “It’ll be good to get home,” he agreed. “I’m looking forward to an ale.”

He wasn’t. He was looking forward to hugging their amad until she told him to stop, and then having a hot bath. Followed by another hot bath. But an ale sounded more like something a brave captain would wish for. 

Fili didn’t answer, looking lost in his own thoughts, and they plodded on in silence once more. 

On and on and on, through drizzling rain and proper rain and even a few spots of dazzling sunshine, over every possible shade of grass imaginable, they trudged. They were losing the light when Fili at last held up a hand for them to stop. “There’s something ahead,” he said, shrugging out of his pack. It hit the turf with a wet thud. “Stay here.” 

He should offer to go, but Fili was already stalking onward, toward a darker shadow at the base of the hedge. Picking up the discarded pack, Kili crept along behind. Not much point being a captain, even a poor, complaining one, if he was too far away to help should his brother need it. 

The shadow turned out to be a tunnel, stretching down and away under the hedge. They peered into it. Empty? It sounded empty. “I’ll go first,” said Kili, handing Fili his pack.

“And if they’re waiting on the other side?” hissed Fili. 

“They’re not.” Kili eased himself into the tunnel, shaking off his brother’s grasping hand and ignoring the angry, muttered swear. The sword was pressed into his hand. 

And then he was on his own. The steps were roughly hewn, covered with moss and debris, but there was a worn track in their middle where he could see to the stone that spoke of frequent use. Kili crept down, listening to the plink of water dripping from the cobblestoned roof. Was that voices ahead? He stopped. Yes, it was, but away in the distance, and they were high, chirping hobbitish voices. He slid forward once more, ducking a little in the hobbit-sized tunnel, his eyes fixed on a patch of light ahead, his hands tightening and embarrassingly sweaty on the sword hilt. There was no one on the other side. He was almost certain of it. 

Telling himself that the chances of Ralt’s men having known they would follow the river, then knowing they would leave the river and come to this exact tunnel, was slim to none, Kili crept on. If Ralt’s men had followed them, they’d have known about it long before now. If Ralt’s men had been creeping along on the opposite side of the hedge, intending to waylay them in this exact spot, they’d have heard a noise or something by now. They were safe. It was fine. 

And, even if this did feel like an ambush spot, there were hobbits nearby—within shouting distance. Hearing a footstep, Kili whipped his head around, but it was only Fili, losing patience and scrambling in behind. He waited for his heart to settle before taking another step. Yes, there were hobbits nearby. And they might be a gentle, peaceable folk, but Ralt wouldn’t attack near witnesses, even witnesses who’d be more likely to run screaming than intervene. 

Probably. 

Something snagged in his hair and he jolted, banging his head hard on the roof, before realising it was only a tree root and not fingers after all. Dirt trickled down his neck and Kili freed a hand from the sword to rub at his collar. Fool. Ahead, more long, thick roots poked out, forcing their way down from above and between the cobbles, running along the tunnel walls. 

Trying to shake images from his mind of the trees above tightening their grip on the tunnel walls and collapsing it around them—for why would trees think to do such a thing?—Kili hurried on, ducking under and around the dangling roots, to the steps. He ran up them two at a time to emerge into the evening cool. With sword raised and ready, he looked about. 

Nothing. Nobody. Exactly as he had expected. Beyond his boots, a path led away and down across a wide expanse of grass to hobbit gardens and on toward a cluster of grass-roofed, oddly shaped hobbit houses. Or at least he supposed they were hobbit houses. They looked like little hills with doors and windows banged into them. Beyond that, the river, having widened once more now it was free of the forest’s shackles, sparkled in the last of the evening sun. A raft bobbed on its near shore. But there were no other people. Whoever had owned the voices he’d heard wasn’t in sight. 

Probably because it was dinner time. Kili sniffed, wished he hadn’t when his stomach rumbled. He turned to wave Fili out. “All clear.”

They wouldn’t stop here, he knew that, for there was no cover, they were exposed between the hedge and the river with nothing but tufts of grass or low rocks to duck behind. And, with Fili’s mind fixated on the Men that perhaps still followed them, there was no sense in asking his brother anything about their own dinner. Handing Fili back the sword, Kili adjusted the awkward bow and tried to resist sniffing the air again. Not that he needed to sniff. The mouth-watering scent of roasted meats was overpowering everything. He eyed the nearest hobbit hill, watching smoke curl from a chimney that seemed to sprout from the grass.

Fili was watching it too. “A few hours to the crossing,” he said. “Three, I reckon, if we can keep a pace. We can stop and rest once we’re clear of it.” He walked away, glancing back over his shoulder. “Are you content to keep going?” 

Joining Fili on the path, Kili nodded. Perhaps they would flush out a rabbit as they walked? Not that he’d be able to do much about things but watch it hop away if they did—unless it were a particularly daft rabbit and ran straight into his waiting arms. But, as soon as they stopped, he’d set up snares and Fili could rest. He glanced at his brother’s tight, worried face, wondering if Fili would truly rest before they reached the wide-open gates of home. 

To be fair, he wasn’t sure he would either. In his mind, he could tell himself a thousand times—and he had—that the men had given up. He could reassure himself that they’d taken Uncle Thorin’s gold and were already many, many leagues from here, spending the coin on ale in some tavern in the opposite direction. But his heart was refusing to believe it. Every noise in the forest had set him on edge, tensing his muscles, making him reach for any weapon, just as it did Fili. 

Out here though. This felt better. They could see further, and the air was lighter. Kili ran his fingers over the bow. Maybe talking about their worries would help? Or just talking, because they’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences in hours. “I don’t like feeling that we’re being hunted,” he said. 

They veered away from the path, Fili obviously intending to follow the hedge once more rather than heading for the river as Kili had expected, and there was no response to his overture. 

“I think,” Kili continued, hoping for at least a smile or a snort of laughter. “I may feel sorry for rabbits after this.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for them,” said Fili. “For I don’t intend to eat only berries between now and the mountains.”

Kili grinned, a skip in his step once more. Good. They were talking, and Fili was making jokes. He ran his hand along the hedge, its spiny needles pricking lightly at his fingers, tickling him. “Whatever the hobbits are eating smells good. Do you think—”

“We’re dwarves,” snapped Fili. “We don’t beg at doors for scraps. And we don’t faint from hunger from a few missed meals.”

“No, I…I was only making conversation.”

Fili glowered at him. “All you’ve made conversation about all day, and all of yesterday, has been your belly, and how empty it is, and how you’re longing to eat this or that. On and on and on. I’m tired of listening to your griping.” 

Kili hung his head. He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t, for they’d hardly spoken more than a dozen words to each other. He stared at the turf before his boots, gripping the bow tightly. 

Had they spoken more than he’d thought? Had he been talking to fill the silences and hadn’t realised? “But I don’t know what else you want me to speak of, Fee,” he said quietly, glancing at his brother. “You don’t seem to want to talk about anything, and I’m only trying to cheer you—”

“I don’t want to speak of anything,” said Fili, “and I don’t want to be cheered up. What I want is for you, for once, to be silent.”

When Fili picked up the pace, Kili let himself lag further and further behind, his face burning. As they walked on into the evening, the gap between them grew as the gap between hedge and river slowly narrowed, their path taking them closer to more hobbit homes. Laughter and merry voices drifted from open windows and across the neat gardens. Kili rubbed at his still-prickling nose, telling himself to stop behaving like a dwarfling. The hobbits were enjoying a pleasant evening after the rain and summer storms of the last few days. That was good. It was a nice evening. Maybe it would even stay dry overnight. That was something to feel hopeful for. 

But he couldn’t feel hopeful. No matter how hard he tried. He stared at the back of Fili’s head, certain that he could feel the anger emanating from his brother. Anger that was directed at him. 

This wasn’t how it should be. Anytime they’d left the settlement before, their days had always been filled with laughter and story-telling. They’d only ever fall silent when it was time for silence, and sometimes not even then. Even when stalking, there’d still be jokes, told in whispers. They’d let their quarry escape more than once from laughing too hard.

Why was this different? If anything, they should be merrier now than on any other trip. They’d been in danger, real, proper danger, and escaped with nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes, and they’d slipped from the forest’s clutches unharmed. Their hearts should be light. So why did his feel as if it were in his boots, making his steps drag? Yes, they were going home to confess to Thorin that they’d made a mess of things, but that had happened a thousand times before, and likely would happen a thousand times again. Thorin would sigh, perhaps rage for a while—in the quiet, disappointed way that he did—and then he’d issue whatever punishments he thought necessary, and it would all be done and forgotten. 

He hurried his steps, closing the distance between them. 

“Fee,” he tried, because he couldn’t not try. “Should we talk more about what happened?” Maybe that would help. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as pleasant as telling each other stories, or laughing together, but it would get whatever was circling in Fili’s head out, and then they could get back to how they should be. “Shall we agree on what we’re going to say to Uncle—”

An irritated noise from Fili silenced him. 

Maybe later. 

Maybe later, when Fili decided that they were done walking for the day, they could hunt, and build a fire, and he could attempt to untangle Fili’s hair and rebraid it, and his brother might begin to soften. Maybe they could even find somewhere safe to have a proper bathe? Likely, Fili was just tired and worried. It wasn’t true anger. He’d feel better and better the closer they got to home. 

And there it was. As they rounded a long curve of the hedge, it was there, laid out before them. Kili sucked in a breath. Home. Ahead, straight ahead, over the river and past the rolling, forested hills, was their mountains. They were a purple bruise against the darkening sky. 

Realising his mouth had already fallen open, ready to blurt the good news out to Fili, Kili clamped his jaw firmly shut again. Fili could see as well as him, if not better, so he’d let Fili mention it on his own. He’d let Fili be the one to start the conversation this time. 

Home. 

Kili grinned, unable and unwanting to keep the skip out of his step, his heart spiralling up from his boots and returning to its proper place once more. Home. They were going home.

Chapter Text

Across the wide river, a small and curly-haired—but then they were all small and curly-haired—hobbit stood in the falling dark, waving a lantern in a wide arc and hello'ing. 

From his vantage point crouched in long grass in the deep shadow of the high hedge, Kili watched another hobbit leave one of the houses dug into the grass on their side of the river, a shaggy-haired dog running ahead of him, its sharp barks loud in the evening’s quiet. Following in the dog’s footsteps, the hobbit ambled down a path toward where a jetty jutted out into the water.

Was this the boat hobbit? It had to be. But, if so, then where did the hobbits hide their boat? Kili frowned at the jetty, watching the dog run in excited circles on it, and then back at the hobbit house. He and Fili had assumed that the riverboat must be stored in or beside one of the houses. He’d expected to see the boat hobbit, or hobbits, portering it down to the river. Was it beneath the jetty? Hidden in a shadow? They hadn’t dared go close enough while there was yet a glimmer of light in the sky to look—no matter how quiet and settled the hobbit houses seemed. 

“You’re late out wandering tonight, Ted,” called the maybe-boat hobbit, pulling a napkin from about his neck and dabbing his lips with it before tucking it in a pocket. “Thought we mightn’t see you at all.”

Across the river, Ted lifted an overflowing basket by his feet. He held it and the lantern aloft. “You’d be late too if you’d found these lovelies. Do hurry it along, Clovis, there’s a good fellow, and maybe I’ll think about giving you a few handfuls for a fine supper.”

As the hobbits shouted merrily to each other and the dog barked, Kili leant forward. Mushrooms? Some had tumbled from the basket and Ted was busy gathering them up. It did look like mushrooms, and there were certainly plenty to be had hereabouts, they’d been dotted all through the forest, and of all shapes and sizes—although he hadn’t noticed many on this side of the hedge. His stomach rumbled and he tried not to think of their missed dinner, or how they’d likely miss breakfast too, or of how he wished he and Fili knew how to tell a good mushroom from one that would give you a bellyache. 

Clovis clambered onto the jetty. It rocked beneath his weight and Kili shuffled forward in the grass, watching him untie a rope from about one of the jetty’s stout posts. Then the hobbit pottered to the other furthest end of the jetty and crouched. When he stood, he was holding fast to another rope. It trailed water as he pulled it in hand over hand. 

“Oh,” said Kili when, instead of the rope raising a little boat from beneath the river’s surface, as he’d expected it to, the entire jetty wavered slowly out into the current. “The whole thing’s a raft. That’s clever. Isn’t it, Fee?” And much more promising than they’d thought. He had been wondering how they might cross the river in a small boat made for light, little hobbits and not sink it. He supposed they could have gone across one by one, but this was much better. This meant he could keep Fili within arms reach. 

By his side, Fili had shifted forward too. He made a noise that Kili decided to believe was agreement rather than irritation. Likely, Fili had worked out the mystery of the hidden boat long before he had. 

The raft was making its way steadily across the river and, despite the rushing water, and despite Clovis’s exertion and the incessant barking from the dog, the hobbits were keeping up their merry conversation, discussing how best to cook Ted’s haul. Kili’s stomach rumbled too loudly at the talk of frying pans of butter and herbs and the end of a crusty loaf Clovis’s daughter had baked only that morning cut into slices and toasted over the fire. 

All of it. He’d eat all of it. He didn’t even know if he liked mushrooms all that much, he’d only ever tried them a few times—when Amad had found some punnets for sale in the market and been feeling particularly adventurous—but he didn’t care. He’d take anything fried in butter and herbs and spooned over bread. He’d take the bread all by itself for that matter. Toasted or not. Buttered or not. He’d have it dry, or stale. Or both. He wouldn’t have minded one bit. 

And he couldn’t listen to any more talk of elaborate hobbity supper plans or he’d scream loud enough that they’d hear him all the way back in Bree. He smiled at Fili. “I think hobbits must know a good deal more about mushrooms than dwarves do, brother.”

“It sounds that way,” said Fili. 

Kili beamed. A full sentence. And he hadn’t truly been expecting one in response to such an inane observation, especially when it had been about food. The most he’d been hoping for was an eye roll or maybe a hiss to be quiet. Really, if he was truly honest with himself, the most he’d been hoping for was any distraction from Ted and Clovis and their basket. But then he’d been being very, very careful not to mention anything about hunger, or anything to do with food or eating at all, ever since they’d left the forest and Fili had told him off about it. 

This was progress—hopeful, wonderful progress—and it almost made him forget about his aching, growling stomach. Almost. Maybe Fili was feeling better? His brother’s temper usually did burn out quickly. Trying to think of something else to keep the conversation going that wasn’t about his empty belly in any way, Kili concentrated on the raft. It had reached the far bank and Clovis was tying it off around a post. The basket was passed aboard, Ted hopping nimbly on after it, as the dog dashed up and down the bank, barking its head off all the while. 

The hobbits hadn’t exchanged any coin. He was certain of it. And if Clovis was willing to punt across the wide, swift river for nothing more than a few handfuls of mushrooms, then there was bound to be something they could interest him with in their packs. Wasn’t there? Kili looked at the sword resting in the grass between them. 

No. They couldn’t. The weapons weren’t theirs to barter away. Kili bit his lip, thinking about it. No. The right thing to do, the only proper thing to do, was to return them to The Prancing Pony with some sort of apology—even if their owners might be long gone by the time Thorin took them there. Bartering the weapons away would be properly stealing, and they’d already lost the knife when Fili had hurled it at Ralt. 

Maybe he could make a knife before Thorin left for Bree? Or maybe, since he knew he was no smith, Uncle Thorin would make one? It wouldn't be the same, but it would go some way to an apology. Especially if Uncle Thorin made it. 

The hobbits were heading back, both of them hauling on the rope this time, the dog back on board and wriggling between them, its tail wagging hard. Merry laughter rippled across the water. Running the contents of his pack through his mind, Kili started to stand. 

He stopped when Fili grabbed his wrist, yanking him back into cover. 

“No,” said Fili. 

“But…” Kili watched the raft draw closer. “I thought we were intending to cross here? We’ll have something to barter for passage, I’m sure.”

Fili shook his head. 

“We won’t beg.” Well, he might, but not in Fili’s hearing. “Look, brother, he’s only taking a few mushrooms as payment by the sounds of things. That’s nothing at all. I expect Clovis might just row back and forth for amusement, or that he'd let us across in exchange for a story or something.”

Fili snorted. 

“It’s worth a try,” said Kili. The river crossing would cut hours off their journey. Fili had said as much when they’d stopped their trek along the hedge and crept down toward the water. True, his brother hadn’t used very many words to say it, and it was possible he’d misunderstood and Fili hadn’t meant them to cross here at all. But why would they waste time, watching the hobbits, if Fili hadn’t meant them to use a boat? Why had he changed his mind? “Fee, if we—”

“We’re not crossing anywhere while it’s still light.” 

It was barely light. Barely. Kili pressed his lips together and said nothing, watching Clovis and Ted tie up the raft while the dog, its barking stopped, danced in circles around them. Surely, running down to the river now, rather than letting Clovis return to his little house and start cooking his supper and then disturb him all over again would be better? 

Fili was frowning once more as Ted and Clovis said their goodbyes. Kili watched his brother’s eyes track Ted’s path along the riverbank toward a little row of hobbit houses, and Clovis’s path back toward his house.

“It’s too much of a risk,” said Fili quietly, “even if I trusted any of these people, which I don’t.”

“But—”

“I thought to stop us here until full nightfall and slip across then, when they’re asleep, but I feel the hobbit boatman is too alert, and, even if he wasn’t, there’s that dog to consider.” His smile looked forced to Kili. “No. It was worth stopping to check, but we’ll press on. Keep an eye out though, little brother, for more crossing points. I can’t recall any others marked on the map, but there might be some smaller ones, or perhaps a boat hauled up on shore. I can’t imagine anyone leaving the oars in one, and I wouldn’t like to chance the current without them, it looks strong enough out in mid-river, but you never know, we could get lucky.”

Kili nodded mutely, his mind whirling. Get lucky? Leaving the oars in one? Why ever would it matter if oars had been left or not? 

“I know you’re tired,” said Fili, “but your eyes are a good deal sharper than mine. You’ll spot things I never could.” 

He should be thrilled. That had been several entire sentences, and a compliment, and all of it kindly spoken too, but Kili couldn’t find a single word in response. He watched Fili shoulder a pack and lift the sword, still in a crouch. “Fee,” he managed as his brother crept away. “But…”

Had his brother just said that he’d intended them to steal Clovis’s boat? Is that what Fili had meant? And that he still intended them to steal a boat? From some other poor, unsuspecting hobbit?

Quickly, he slipped into his own pack and grabbed the bow, following Fili at a crouching run through the grass, trying to think of a gentle argument against this terrible, cruel plan. “But, Fee,” he whispered when he caught up. “Then that would mean that we’d be leaving the boat on the other side of the river.” 

“I am aware of that, brother.”

They straightened from their crouches as the long grass gave way to stubbly trees and the deeper shadows of the hedge. 

No. He couldn’t tiptoe around it. He wouldn’t be the dwarf Amad always said he was if he didn’t speak up. “We’re not thieves, Fee.” When Fili’s wry glance took in the bow and sword, Kili felt his cheeks flush red-hot. “That was different,” he said, “and I’ll apologise for it as soon as I can. But these are hobbits, not merchants or fighting men. What if one of them were hurt trying to swim across and retrieve it? What if they drowned? Or what if we sank it? Or—”

“Do you think I haven't thought the same?” The amusement was leaving Fili’s eyes. His words were clipped and irritated once more when he continued, “This is my decision, not yours. It’s my responsibility to get you home as quickly as I can. All you have to do is keep an eye on the bank as I ordered you to.”

Silence fell thickly between them once more. As they walked, Kili did as he had been ordered, peering down toward the river bank and reluctantly searching the shadows for anything that could be a hobbit boat, but the hobbit homes fell away behind them and he found nothing. Then another cluster of hobbit homes appeared before them and they skirted past and still he found nothing. And he couldn’t help but be glad of it, because this wasn’t Fili. Whoever it was that walked by his side and spoke with Fili’s voice wasn’t his big brother, because his big brother wouldn’t ever consider stealing from anyone. Not properly. Not even as a last resort. Not without trying absolutely everything else first, and Kili just knew that Fili could have charmed Clovis into helping them. 

His fingers had wrapped around the bow. Kili looked at it. Was it his fault? For he’d never once considered himself a thief either, he’d always thought himself to be an honest dwarf, like Uncle Thorin, or Dwalin, or every other dwarf he knew, yet he was a thief now. He’d stepped over a line.

Had that made it easier for Fili to do the same? 

“I think I should be able to mend this,” he said quietly, running his thumb over a thin crack in the bow grip. How had that happened? “Once we get home, I’ll ask Uncle Thorin to help me. And I'm also going to ask him to help me make a knife to replace the—”

“Do you know,” said Fili, equally quietly. “For a dwarf who’s been claiming all day to be so hungry, I thought you’d be much more interested in looking for rabbits than talking. How very strange.”

Oh. 

Determined not to speak until he was spoken to this time, Kili trudged on while thick, rain-swollen clouds rolled in overhead and the last of the day’s light left the sky. He watched the distance between the hedge and the river grow as they walked, and tried not to be annoyed that, by sticking so closely to the hedge’s shadow, he was moving further away from home once more. 

But he was annoyed. He couldn’t help it. As the first fat raindrops fell, he yanked his hood up over his hair and sighed. It was dark tonight. Dark enough that he mightn’t even have spotted a rabbit had a dozen of them rushed past, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to spot a boat all the way down at the riverbank. Dark enough that even their dwarven eyes might have trouble spotting anything at all. Smothering a yawn that had crept up on him, Kili half-tripped over a clump of grass, half-tripping next over the stupid, mannish, too-long bow when he tried to compensate. Somehow—and he wasn’t sure how—he stopped himself from ending up face-first on the turf by his brother’s boots. 

Had Fili seen it? 

Did his brother intend for them to stumble about blindly all night? 

Just as he decided to give up on his vow of silence and ask, and then suggest that—if Fili didn’t intend on them stumbling about in the dark—they should find some sort of shelter before the proper rain that was threatening started in earnest, Kili looked ahead. Lights. A smattering of lights pinpricked the darkness to their west. His heart fluttered hopefully. 

“The Brandywine Bridge,” said Fili. “We crossed it with Dain, and it’ll serve us again now.”

They’d walked that far already? Kili could have capered for joy, even if it meant likely tripping over something else in the dark. But… “We’re crossing there?” he asked, wanting to be sure he wasn’t misunderstanding and Fili had some other plan. 

“We are.” There was the sound of nails drumming on the sword hilt. “I’d have preferred to have found some other way across, for the bridge is the obvious crossing point, but now I’m thinking that perhaps there’s safety in that? Perhaps they’ll assume that we wouldn’t take the obvious road. And they can’t be everywhere at once, can they?”

He could hear the doubts creeping into his brother’s voice. “No, Fee,” Kili said quickly. “They can’t. The bridge is a fine plan. One no one would expect.”

They walked in silence, Fili’s steps slowing, and Kili tried to ignore his own doubts creeping in. Was the bridge a fine plan, or a foolish one? He didn’t know. He was too tired and hungry to think straight. No. Why would Ralt follow them? He had their gold. He had their weapons. He had no further need for them now. Likely, he thought them lost forever or eaten by big cats somewhere in the vast, sprawling forest. 

“Let’s leave the hedge,” said Fili before Kili could find enough words to make a convincing argument for the bridge. “I think, if I remember correctly, it starts to curve even further east soon and I feel that it's dark enough now that we could risk walking along the river. I expect that there might even be a path.”

Yes. That meant they were making for the bridge. Kili could feel the bounce in his step, his tiredness and doubts being swept away as if by magic. Soon. Soon, they’d be over the river, and then it would be no time at all until they’d be home. Although he didn’t actually know exactly how long it would be on foot. A day? A full day? Surely not. Maybe they could make it home for breakfast? “That sounds a fine idea too, Fee.”

Actually, probably not for breakfast. That felt a little ambitious, and dangerous too, for the mountain slopes and even the familiar valley road could be dangerous in the dark. Fili would never allow it. 

But perhaps they could be home in time for supper tomorrow? Or dinner?

“Keep a sharp eye out though,” said Fili quietly. “We don’t know who else might be out here with us, or lying in wait for us. We could be guessing wrong and they’re watching the bridge. If you hear anything, or see anything, anything out of the ordinary at all, then run. As hard and as fast as you can. Don’t wait or say a word. I’ll do the same. Agreed?” 

Oh. Kili nodded, even though Fili likely couldn’t see him do it, for that had been an order. He slowed his steps, stowing away his thoughts of all the lovely things Amad might happen to have lying about the kitchen for supper and telling himself to pay attention. Proper attention. Because Fili was right, he supposed, they hadn’t the first idea who might be abroad in the dark. But he expected it would be hobbits. Apart from Clovis’s dog, they’d seen no one but little hobbits since they’d left the forest, and he hadn’t spotted a single boot print—old or new—that wasn’t their own. For, despite what Fili might believe, he had been looking. 

The rain grew heavier and more insistent as they made their way down toward the river, but, exactly as Fili had said, they did stumble across a well-used path that ran alongside the bank, and soon they were close enough to the town to make out the details on the tall buildings rising up ahead of them. As the flattened grass underfoot gave way to stone, and they slipped into the deeper darkness of an alleyway between the first houses, Kili’s heart pattered with excitement. This was it. He couldn’t see the bridge yet with all the walls in the way but this was it. 

He looked up, searching the darkness above for dangers, feeling the excitement drain away and the doubts creep in. Strange how the houses hadn’t seemed to loom overhead so much when they’d passed through on their ponies. Strange how the town hadn’t felt so empty and lonesome.

But then, they’d been further off the ground, and with company, and in sunlight. Then, there’d been townsfolk watching them pass, little children had raced from the alleyways to run alongside the ponies and the wagons, shouting merrily and waving. He’d even waved at a few in return until Fili had leant over and whispered to him to remember who he was and behave. 

But here, now, as they crept along over the rain-slicked cobblestones, Kili could see a hundred hiding places he’d never spotted or even thought about. Rickety sheds with their doors hanging open; log stores with space to duck behind; sturdy wooden steps leading up to the second floor of each house where someone could easily crouch and watch them pass by; the alleyway was filled with places that could hide even a man as big as Hald easily. 

Kili’s heart thudded in his chest, but not with anticipation this time, and, without realising he’d done it, he shifted closer to Fili, glancing at the darkened windows. 

If they were here, if they were being watched, then they wouldn’t get between him and Fili. And—no matter what he’d promised—he wasn’t running unless Fili was safely ahead of him. Reaching out, he clasped Fili’s hand in his, half-expecting his brother to pull away. 

Instead, Fili squeezed his fingers. “Nearly there,” he whispered. 

That was true. They’d passed the halfway point, for Kili could make out where the shadows lessened not far ahead, and he could see the shapes of the houses that lined the other side of the road. And the town wasn’t lifeless, or entirely sleeping—even at this late hour. Here, just ahead, was a house where light seeped out from between pulled curtains. Mannish laughter, high and merry, drifted out from within. And there, across the alleyway, a candle guttered on a windowsill. Above his head, somewhere in the upstairs of one of the crowded-together houses, a child wailed, high and keening over the sound of a woman's voice raised in song. 

Kili's heart began to slow. Yes, the men in these houses were strangers, and they were hidden away behind shut doors and curtained windows, but they still existed. They would still look out from their doors and windows should they hear a commotion in the alley. And maybe some of them would draw the curtains and pretend they saw nothing, but others, like Birch, would run to help. He was sure of it. 

It felt like safety, of a sort, and almost like a merry thought, and it might not have stopped him from checking every shadow, or his hand from sweating on the bow, but it did make him feel a little more hopeful.

At the end of the alley was an overflowing drain. They edged around it and stopped under the dripping eaves of the final house. To the east, the road stretched away into shadow, but to the west, there was a flickering glow atop shadowed pillars. Kili strained his eyes in the gloom. The bridge markers? It had to be. And the house-like shadow just outside their puddle of light must be the gatehouse. He thought he remembered it being to the left of the bridge when they'd passed through with Dain. 

“Come on,” Fili said, nudging him. “We'll make a run for—”

They heard it at the same time. The ring of horseshoes against stone. Distant, but fast-moving, and coming from the east. Coming closer. Kili was already moving back and out of sight when Fili’s hand landed against his chest.

“Good,” whispered Fili, shoving at him. “Quickly. With me.” 

Torn between happiness that his brother had praised him, even just a little, and annoyance, Kili let himself be pushed and prodded into the shadows of a stairwell leading to the upper floors of a nearby house.

What had Fili thought he might do? Hurl under the hooves of an unknown rider? Wave a stranger to a stop? His cheeks burned as he crouched beside Fili. “You need to start trusting me, Fee,” he whispered. 

Fili hushed him sharply, dismissively, even though the approaching rider would never have heard, and they waited, Kili’s heart pounding harder in time with the rain on his hood. His temper rose. 

“You do,” he hissed. “I know that I’ve made some—”

“Quiet.” 

That was a command. And it wasn’t fair. He was doing his best, and it wasn’t right that Fili continued to treat him as a dwarfling. Or even worse than that, a nuisance, a burden. They were equals. They were brothers. They were—

The rider galloped past, their grey robes and cloak flowing out behind them like a banner. The clatter of fast-moving, large hooves shattered the quiet of the sleeping town. Kili’s mouth fell open.  

As Fili slipped from their hiding place, Kili followed slowly, his mind whirling. 

But…it couldn’t be?

Reaching the end of the alleyway, they peeped around the corner once more. They watched the rider rein in their mount as they approached the bridge. But, slowing or not, they were still moving far too fast. Any thoughtless human child or a hard-of-hearing greybeard could easily have stepped or run out unawares from between the houses and been hurt. Kili frowned. Uncle Thorin would have been furious. He would have meted out a harsh punishment for anyone urging a pony through the streets of the settlement without a very pressing reason. And by a pressing reason, it had better be life and death. Kili was certain of it. Once safely through the main gates, all riders had to dismount. That was Uncle Thorin's rule. And it was a good one. 

And his mind was wandering to thoughts of home, and to his uncle’s very sensible rules, because he didn’t want to admit—either to himself or Fili—that he knew exactly who the hurrying, careless rider was. He’d known it as soon as he saw the grey robes. He'd known it by the gnarled staff held aloft and by the long pointed hat. 

Maybe it was some other old man? Maybe all old men wore grey robes and had pointed hats and gnarled staffs? Kili stared down the road toward the bridge markers, watching the horse and rider turn in a tight circle.  It had to be. It must be someone else. Because why would Gandalf be here? Why would Gandalf be riding hard along the Great East road as if engaged in a matter of life and death? 

Maybe Birch had sent Gandalf this way? Was that it? Kili tried to recall his conversations with the little boy. Had he told Birch about Ered Luin? He didn't think so. But maybe Gandalf had guessed, or known. He'd known of Uncle Thorin. 

If the man on the horse was even Gandalf? Maybe this was someone else entirely. 

“Hamdor!” called the man. 

Kili's heart flip-flopped over. It was Gandalf. The voice confirmed it, and—if there were any doubts left in Kili's mind whatsoever—a glimpse of the old man's face when he turned the horse again swept them away. Even at this distance, he recognised the eyes twinkling above a bushy beard and below equally bushy eyebrows—if not the furious expression in them. 

Gandalf was angry. Why was he angry?

“Raithon!” called Gandalf.

Twin shadows detached from the deeper shadows by the bridge, slinking out from beyond the gatehouse. 

Kili pressed himself tighter against the wall, not daring to blink or breathe. Names. Gandalf had been calling out names. What was happening?

“Anything?” It was one of the shadows. Torchlight glinted on the hilt of a longsword half-hidden beneath a dark cloak as they moved closer to Gandalf. Their deep voice—a voice used to giving commands and having them obeyed—reminded Kili instantly of Dwalin. 

Gandalf shook his head. “Come out,” he ordered. “All of you. Quickly.” 

By his side, Fili stiffened. More shadowed figures moved out into the street. Men and another horse and—

Kili gasped. Their ponies. He’d recognise them anywhere. Iron-shod hooves chimed on stone as they trotted out into the ring of torchlight. One of them—he couldn't tell which one—whinnied.

Where had Gandalf found their ponies?

“Go,” whispered Fili. “Now.”

Stunned by the order, by the ponies, by Gandalf, and not least by Fili heading toward the bridge and not away from it, Kili was a moment late in reacting. Keeping low, he raced after his brother, catching up as they ducked into the cover of the next alleyway. 

They were too close. And his heart was pounding loud enough that he was sure the men would hear it. And he didn't know if that was good or bad. 

Had Gandalf organised a search party? Had he found their ponies abandoned somewhere in the forest? 

“Brother,” whispered Fili. “Is that—”

“Yes.” Kili nodded. “That's Gandalf.”

And he knew what Fili was thinking. His brother was thinking this could only be a bad thing. Fili was suspicious of Gandalf, and that was fair, after all that Fili had been through. But, if Gandalf had searched for them in the woods, calling and calling, then returned to Bree and arranged a search party, if he'd found and cared for their ponies, then that meant Gandalf had to be a frien—

“Empty-handed, Gandalf?” 

Fili jolted every bit as hard as Kili did. 

“Thought you would be,” continued Ralt, stepping out into the light. He laughed, the merry sound hopping and skipping along the road, tumbling all the way to their hiding place and sending a shiver down Kili’s spine. “So I reckon I’ll be taking that apology from you now.” 

Kili stared at the bridge markers, watching the grey smoke from their torches streaming downriver. The wind was picking up. And perhaps that was an inane thought, a useless thought, but he didn't want to think about why Ralt was speaking to Gandalf as if they were old friends. Good friends. And he didn't want to look at Fili. He didn't want to meet his brother’s eyes. 

They were too close. Why had Fili brought them so close to the men? He risked a glance at his brother, watching Fili draw his hood further forward over his face, tucking his hair beneath it. Kili frowned, trying to work out what his big brother was thinking. Fili had moved them as soon as he saw the ponies, and his brother wasn't a fool—not like he was. Fili wouldn't have trusted Gandalf for a single moment. 

So why had Fili brought them closer? 

“Hold your forked tongue,” snapped Gandalf.

Kili bit his lip, hard enough that he tasted copper. He watched Fili’s fingers flex on the sword hilt. Did his brother intend to try for the ponies? For the gold? Because either of those ideas would be madness. They were outnumbered, and out-weaponed, and, even though Gandalf didn’t seem best pleased with Ralt, the men would band together against a common enemy. They’d be captured, or worse. He nudged Fili, intending to tell him so, but Fili ignored him, his narrowed eyes fixed unblinkingly on Ralt. 

The man with the longsword stepped forward, holding the reins of the horse while Gandalf dismounted. “No dwarves have been sighted crossing,” the man said. “Not today, nor yesterday, and none have been seen on the road. If they’re ahead of us, then they've been keeping well under cover.”

“Thank you, Hamdor,” said Gandalf. 

“They’re ahead.” Ralt’s voice was full of taunting laughter. He spread his arms wide. “Exactly as I told you all. They’re running back to their uncle as fast as their little legs will carry them. There’ll be no catching up to them now.”

In the torchlight, Gandalf’s eyes were hard as he looked down his long nose at Ralt. And, even a dozen steps away, gripping onto the solid cornerstone of the house, breathing far too quickly, Kili fought a sudden urge to run—as if he were a deer scenting danger on the wind. 

This was no harmless, doddering old greybeard. 

He didn’t know where the thought had come from, but, as soon as it flickered through his mind, it felt as if it had written itself on his bones. He knew it. And it was impossible, but, half-hidden by gathering shadows, Gandalf seemed to grow taller, then taller still, looming over Ralt. 

Ralt seemed to sense it too, taking a slow half-step back.

“I told you to be quiet,” said Gandalf. And they shouldn’t have been able to hear him, not at this distance, not with the rumble of the river, and not with the rain plinking on the roof above them and dripping off the stone all about them, not with the whispering wind, but the quiet words, dripping with menace and dark promises, reached their ears regardless—as if Gandalf were standing right beside them. 

Or behind them. 

Feeling foolish, Kili quickly checked over his shoulder, peering down the alleyway behind him, feeling slightly better about himself when he caught Fili doing the same. No. It was empty. They were alone. Definitely. 

“Hamdor,” said Gandalf, sounding and looking more like himself again. “Check the Bucklebury Ferry, wake the keeper if you must, but speak kindly. That will serve you better with hobbits.”

Hamdor laughed. “Come now, Gandalf. Have you ever heard me speak anything but kindly?” He strode off and leapt upon the other horse. “I’ll catch you all up on the road,” he continued, his clear voice ringing out. “But don’t despair, my friends, we’ll find our dwarves on the morrow. I’m certain of it. If we don’t hunt them down tonight.”

Fili grabbed him, shoving Kili flat against the wall and yanking both their hoods fully down. Through the gap between his hood and Fili’s shoulder, Kili watched Hamdor thunder past, his horse’s broad hooves striking sparks on the stone. 

“Quick,” whispered Fili, dragging Kili by the pack strap. An overflowing rain barrel near a doorway made for poor cover but Fili squashed them both in behind it. 

Why weren’t they leaving? 

“Gandalf,” said Ralt. “You have the gold, the dwarves weren’t in the forest, exactly as I said, what more do you want of us? I've only ever told you the truth. Over and over.”

“Silence.”

“Take the gold, the weapons. Take the ponies,” continued Ralt doggedly. “Even though I won them all fair and square. You’ll not set eyes on me again, I swear it.”

They should be leaving. They shouldn’t be here. But he didn’t know where to go. Which direction was safe? The road was guarded. Ted’s little ferry would soon be guarded. Could they cross somewhere else? Somewhere to the north? He didn’t know. He couldn’t form a coherent, sensible thought. And Fili wasn’t helping for, under Kili’s palm, his big brother’s heart was beating too rapidly, far too fast. It wasn’t making him feel any better. Neither of them breathed as they waited, huddled behind the damp-smelling barrel, not daring to move an inch or to look out. 

“What do you think you know of Thorin Oakenshield?” asked Gandalf. 

Was Gandalf closer? He sounded closer. Much closer. Did he know where they were hidden? 

Was he in the alleyway? 

He couldn’t be. If he was in the alleyway, they’d have been spotted, because this was barely a hiding place at all. It had to be a trick of the wind, or his racing, panicking mind, or both. 

But, if Gandalf were in the alleyway, if Ralt were in the alleyway, then where were Ralt’s men? And the other man? What name had Gandalf said? It suddenly seemed important that Kili remembered. Raith-something? Raithon? Was that it? It felt as if that was it. But were Raithon, Hald and Derild circling around even now, creeping closer? While he and Fili thought themselves hidden, were they, in truth, being outflanked and pinned down? His blood ran cold. 

It was a trap, a snare, and closing tight around them. Suddenly, Kili was certain of it. This conversation was a distraction. Tapping Fili’s chest, he received a sharp sign to be quiet for his trouble. 

“No,” Kili hissed. “We need to—”

His brother’s hand clapped tight over his mouth. 

“Never heard of him.” Ralt sounded closer too. “Like I told you before. You keep saying the name as if I should know it and I keep telling you I don't. I don't know anything about anybody, and less about dwarves.” He heaved out a sigh. “Look. I’ve done everything you wanted, haven’t I? And there’s no harm done. So we’ll head south, you can go wherever you—”

“It will not be far enough,” said Gandalf. “Should Thorin become aware of your existence, of what you have done, the very ends of Middle-earth will not be far enough.”

“But I haven’t done anything! I told you. It’s you who keeps going on and—”

“His vengeance will be terrible,” continued Gandalf as if Ralt hadn’t spoken, “and, should the worst happen, should I discover that you have lied to me, even by a single word, then I will hand you over to him, and to the full measure of dwarven justice, gladly.” 

Whatever Ralt’s response was, it was whipped away by a gust of wind and a smattering of rain. 

“You have no understanding of the havoc you have caused,” said Gandalf.  “The princes were of the line of Durin. Thorin’s Oakenshield’s heirs. They are more valuable than you could ever hope to realise."

Ralt snorted. "He's got more."

"He does not," snapped Gandalf.

"What?” Ralt sounded shocked. “Why, that lying, little—"

"Enough. Move, all of you, and not one more word, before I lose my temper. Raithon, after you.”

Were they leaving? Holding his breath, Kili strained his ears, knowing Fili was doing the same. It sounded as if they were leaving? He could hear footsteps, the jingling of a bridle, a man’s voice muttering something. But were they moving away, or was this part of the trap? He wished his heart would stop hammering in his ears. It was making it difficult to work out exactly where anyone was, especially when his heart was telling him that they were, even now, being surrounded. Anxiously, he looked at Fili. 

Fili raised a finger to his lips. Then he was leaving, sliding around the barrel and creeping into the open. 

And his brother wasn’t going anywhere without him. Kili caught up before Fili made it a half-dozen steps. 

They sneaked back to the end of the alleyway and peeped out. 

Empty. The road was empty. 

Together, they stood in silence, watching the torches on the bridge markers flicker and burn, staring into the shadows beyond them, listening to the rain and the wind. In one of the houses opposite, a voice was raised in a merry song. Somewhere further away, towards the east, a kettle began to whistle, its noise shrill yet oddly homely in the night. 

Slowly, Kili counted to a hundred. Two hundred. Four hundred.

Chapter Text

He was at four hundred and twenty-seven and the moon was peeping out from behind the clouds when Fili grasped his hand. They dashed along the empty street, their footfalls sounding far too loud to Kili’s ears against the wet cobbles, and shot into the poor cover between the bridge marker and the gatehouse. They pressed themselves into the shadows of the remains of a low wall.

Hear anything? signed Fili, releasing his hand. 

Kili shook his head. His heart. Only his thumping, tired heart battering against his bruised ribs. That’s all he could hear. 

And he’d have to do much better than that. With Fili crouched by his side, Kili closed his eyes. He touched his aching forehead to the damp stone of the wall and took a deep, slow breath. 

Listen. That was all he had to do. 

‘That lad can hear the twitch of a rabbit’s nose a league away.’ He’d overheard Uncle Thorin say those exact words to Dwalin once. True, he’d been much littler then, barely more than a dwarfling in truth, and even a dwarfling would have known his uncle to be exaggerating wildly—for who, even had they been standing right on top of the creature, could claim to hear the twitch of a rabbit’s nose?—but he’d hugged the words to his heart regardless. Hidden behind a door in the training yard, he’d felt as if he were bathed in starlight, glowing brightly in the reflected pride he could hear in his uncle’s voice. 

He’d run straight home to Fili, of course, and whispered it all out breathlessly to his big brother, his words tripping over each other in their excitement to get out, and Fili had nodded, smiled, ruffled his hair. He’d said ‘Of course, little brother. Why, you have ears just like a bat’s! Look!’ Then he’d tugged the tips of Kili’s ears upward hard enough that Kili had yelped in surprise, and they’d both laughed. Then Kili had leapt on him, nearly knocking Fili into the fireplace. Then they’d wrestled until they upended the contents of the coal scuttle all over the freshly-brushed mat and Amad had shouted at them to behave. 

They’d played listening games for years after that, sitting side-by-side out on the mountain’s slopes, or bored on their beds in their room, or waiting anxiously with their hands clasped behind their backs and their heads close together outside Thorin’s chambers. And, each time, Fili had smiled and claimed that Kili could hear sounds well beyond what he was capable of hearing. 

With his forehead still pressed against the stone, Kili peeped at Fili. Had his brother been telling the truth all these years? He’d never once doubted it. Not until this very moment. Not until he’d spent days in the company of a dwarf who sometimes didn’t feel much like his big brother at all. But Fili’s fingers were wrapped tight around the sword hilt and his eyes were wide, searching the shadows all around them. He looked to be relying on Kili to tell him for certain that the way was clear. 

And he couldn’t concentrate on it. He couldn’t concentrate on anything. All he could hear was his pattering heart and all he could think about was the memory of Gandalf’s voice, kind and quiet amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy inn, saying over and over. ‘Are you in some sort of trouble, Kili? Would you like my help?’

It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, he knew it shouldn’t, for Gandalf was nothing but a trickster and a liar. Gandalf was exactly like Ralt. In fact, Gandalf was worse, for he was Ralt’s leader, or master, or…something. The pieces didn't all feel as if they all fitted together, as if he was missing something that should be obvious, but how had he not known? He’d thought something was off, that the old man was odd, but he’d never for a moment suspected the kindness Gandalf had shown him to be a trap. 

Stop, just stop. His brother, strange though it seemed to Kili right now, was counting on him. Digging his fingertips into the joints of the wall, Kili forced himself to take another deep breath and let it out of his tight chest slowly.

And another. In and out. In and out. He tried to push all thoughts of Gandalf and Ralt and Uncle Thorin and upended coal scuttles out of his head and just listen, feeling his way out in all directions. 

The river. It lay several feet below them, on the other side of the wall. It dominated all other sounds, louder than the rain on the gatehouse roof, and almost drowning out all the little noises from the sleeping town. Kili squeezed his eyes tighter shut. No creeping footsteps. No huffs or stamps from the ponies. No jingling of bridles or creaking of leather. But there was something closer, something splashing in the river. Something was…

His heart flipped over. His fingers twitched, his entire body screaming at him to grab Fili and run. Run for their very lives. For it was Hald. The splashing was Hald wading slowly toward them, his meaty arms outstretched. It was Derild, slipping quietly through the water, a cruel smile on his thin face and moonlight glinting on the long knife gripped in his long fingers, the knife Fili had hurled in a fury at Ralt. It was Ralt—

No. No. 

Kili listened harder, willing his heart still and his mind to behave—just for a moment. And there. There it was again. A small splash followed by a scuttle of claws through leaves, moving downriver. He breathed out. Only a nighttime creature playing in the water. That’s all it had been. He’d made monsters out of nothing at all. 

“Brother?” whispered Fili. 

His hands were slick with cold sweat. Kili wiped them on his trousers and straightened, forcing a smile at Fili. “There’s no one nearby,” he said, wishing he felt just a little more confident about it. 

There wasn’t anyone nearby. Was there? 

While he tried to squash his doubts, he watched Fili wrestle with the decision of what they should do next. Kili knew what the choices would be. Go forward here, following in the men’s footsteps, and cross the bridge. Or head further upriver and try and find a crossing point somewhere else, or, if not a crossing point, then a spot where they might wade across. They couldn’t go back. They knew there were no crossing points the way they’d come, excepting the ferry, and the danger of running into Hamdor that way was too great. They would be trapped between the hedge and the river, and, yes, Hamdor was only one man, but he was a powerfully built one, and one who looked to know his way around the sword he wore. 

And look how he’d fared against Derild. Yes, Fili might fare a little better, maybe even a lot better, against a man like Hamdor, but his brother was still hiding injuries. Kili knew he was. He’d been watching. He’d seen Fili wince from time to time, clamping a hand to his ribs or to his left shoulder as if they pained him. And he’d seen Fili’s steps begin to drag toward the end of their marches. His brother tried to hide it, and he refused to answer any questions properly, no matter how gently Kili asked them, but Kili knew. 

So…cross or not? Move upriver or not? Kili had no idea. And, even if he were asked for his opinion—and he suspected Fili wouldn’t ask—he couldn’t in all good faith give one. They both knew now exactly how badly his judgment was flawed. Kili rested his tired head against the stone again while he waited. A captain? He scoffed quietly under his breath. How had he ever thought he could be Fili’s captain? He wasn’t even any good at play-acting as one. 

“The bridge,” whispered Fili. “Come, brother. Stay low and close behind me, but be ready.”

The span of the bridge was unbearably wide, and the drumming of their boots against its stone was unbearably loud. Louder than the river itself. Running in a crouch behind Fili, with his pack bouncing on his back, Kili kept his eyes fixed on the wavering flames of the torches on the opposite bridgeposts. They drew closer, closer, and he didn’t dare blink, waiting for the shadows beyond the torches to spill forward and transform into the tall shapes of men, blocking their path. A trap. It felt like a trap. He dared a quick glance over his shoulder. 

No one. He’d half expected Hamdor and his horse to be charging toward them. 

“Come on,” hissed Fili. “Faster.” 

No one stepped out. No shadows moved any more suspiciously than shadows usually did. They heard no footsteps but their own as they raced off the clean stone of the bridge and onto the mud-covered and pitted stones of the road. Fili didn’t stop to draw breath and Kili hared after him through the puddle of torchlight by the bridge post, along the moonlit road, then off the road and through a ditch before they plunged into the darkness of the woods. They ran, and ran, flat-out but silent, dodging grasping branches and curling roots and fallen trunks in the gloom, until Fili stopped abruptly in the middle of a little clearing. Kili narrowly avoided slamming into him. 

Why had Fili stopped? Taking his place at his brother’s back, Kili stared into the woods, watching the dark shadows of branches waving against the dark sky and gripping the bow as if it were a staff—for all the good it would do as one. Still breathing hard, he listened. 

Nothing. 

What had Fili seen? Heard? 

Because there was nothing, wasn’t there? He could hear tiny paws scurrying through leaves. He could hear the groaning of a bough somewhere above their heads as it rubbed lightly against another. He could hear the light rustle of wind passing through fronds of bracken. But no men. No horses. No ponies. 

A twig snapped, and he felt Fili turn toward the sound as well. 

“Too small,” Kili whispered quickly, trying to reassure himself as much as Fili. “I don’t know what it was, but it was too small to be one of them.” He hoped. 

Something swooped by on noiseless wings through the trees to his left and, without meaning to, Kili trod backwards, onto Fili’s heel, his heart spiking once more, but this time with temper. Mahal, but he hated the woods. He hated these woods, and he hated the forest they’d left behind. He hated them all. He hated how they smelt, how they sounded, and how they squelched and squashed nastily underfoot. And he hated being unarmed. His fingers tightened on the useless bow. Fili was right, as he had always been right, and he was never going to be anywhere without a knife—or half a dozen knives—ever again. 

“I think we’re alone,” said Fili. 

Kili nodded. It seemed so. He loosened his grip on the bow and turned, watching Fili frown at the trees, the sword point trailing in the leaf litter that covered the clearing’s floor. Obviously, Fili was deep in thought, but his apology couldn’t wait a moment longer. “I’m sorry, Fee,” Kili said, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think.” 

“About what?” 

He couldn't look Fili in the eye. But, luckily, there was a broken branch near his boots, half-buried in the leaves. Kili prodded at it with the bow before turning it over and disturbing a half-dozen tiny, well-armoured creatures. They bolted in all directions. “Gandalf,” he confessed, following the path of one as it panicked its way past his toes. “I thought…I suppose I didn’t trust him, not fully, but I—”

The hug when he was so focused on his boots and on the little running creatures and on his useless, mumbling apology took Kili by surprise. Yanked in hard against Fili’s neck, Kili heard the sword thud to the leaves a moment before both Fili’s arms wrapped around him. 

“I left you alone with him,” whispered Fili. 

Kili shook his head as best he could.

“I did,” Fili’s voice cracked and his grip tightened. 

He couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t want to break the hug for any reason, he’d happily stay here forever, but he properly couldn’t breathe and, if he couldn’t breathe then he couldn’t talk, and he knew Fili needed him to talk. He needed to make Fili feel better. Or, at the very least, he needed to try. With difficulty, Kili broke free enough to press his forehead to Fili’s instead. “No,” he said firmly. “You didn’t, Fee. It wasn’t your fault. Those men had taken you, and I—”

“No.” Fili looked into his eyes. “Not then. I mean the day before, when he spoke with you outside the inn. Don’t you remember?”

Oh. Kili frowned, sifting through his hazy memories. If he thought about it really hard, he could recall Gandalf sitting on a bench, his staff beside him. He could recall kindly eyes and a warm smile. “But—”

“It was before we went to the market,” continued Fili. His fingers wound into Kili’s hair, holding him tightly. “I left you alone with him. I didn’t think there could be any danger, not to us, not in a busy town in the sunshine. I was a fool. Blinded by pride and overconfidence. I thought…do you recall what he said to you?”

Not any exact words. Could Fili remember? He couldn’t rightly recall if Fili had been close enough to overhear, but he supposed his brother hadn’t been—since Fili was feeling bad about leaving him alone. Kili shook his head. “Not in full,” he admitted. 

“You'd spoken together of the livestock-mart and of horses.” Letting Kili go, Fili shrugged out of his pack and tossed it aside. It landed in the leaves with a thud. He began to pace, his hands scrubbing through his hair. 

“I remember that,” said Kili. Or he remembered an impression of it anyway. But maybe confirming Fili’s memory would help his big brother a little, for Fili was tugging at his hair as he walked as if he might tug the thoughts hidden inside his head free. “He told me he was buying a horse,” Kili added. “Or thinking about buying a horse.” That felt more accurate. Had Gandalf invited him to go along too? He thought perhaps he had. 

“He was trying to confirm who we were.”

Kili’s heart sank to his boots. No. It was all becoming clear to him. He watched Fili cross and recross the small clearing. “Or how suspicious of strangers we were,” he said quietly. 

He’d been so excited, by everything that had felt so strange, by his grand adventure, had it been obvious to Gandalf as they’d spoken that he knew nothing of the world? His heart sank further still. Of course, it had been. It had been entirely obvious. How could it not be? “He knew who Dain was,” Kili whispered, “and of Uncle Thorin. He knew all about us. He told me that the next day, when he called me to him.”

“His intention was to confirm if we were alone,” said Fili, as if he hadn’t heard. “After he spoke with you, and realised that he would be unable to lure you away with him to the mart, where whatever he intended to do could have been hidden by crowds and chaos, he sent Ralt, and a few of his men. Or perhaps he always intended it to be Ralt and his horse-trading story was only ever a cover, I don’t know. But he must’ve waited with his other men about the inn somewhere that night. Perhaps they took a room. Or his men could have been hidden in plain sight in the common room, keeping an eye on Ralt, making sure he carried out his orders. Did you recognise either of them?”

Kili screwed up his nose, thinking hard. Had he seen either Hamdor or Raithon before? He shook his head. Men all looked so similar and there’d been so many of them in Bree. “I…don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” said Fili. “I recall the common room being busy that night. I could have walked right past them and not thought to pay them any more attention than anyone else. Fool.” He gave his hair a savage tug, hard enough that Kili’s fingers twitched in response.

“Please stop, Fee. It’s not your fault.”

“Then, the next day, Gandalf shows himself in the common room. He lingers there all morning, waiting to see if there was any fuss or if any alarms have been raised. Simply an old man, readying himself to leave town.” Fili’s voice dripped with anger. “Who would ever suspect an old man?”

Dwalin or Thorin would have. Kili hung his head, his eyes hot. So would Amad. Molir. Perhaps even Gimli. Any dwarf with a scrap of sense about them would have known something wasn’t right. “But Ralt left me behind.”

Fili nodded. “He did. He changed his mind and—”

“Because he pitied me.” Kili’s cheeks heated at the memory. “He thought me only a child.” 

Why couldn’t his patchy memories have extended to include the words that Ralt had said in the forest clearing? Kili wished they had. He wished he couldn’t recall a single one of them. They rang in his ears and felt etched onto his skin. And the worst of them? The very worst of them? 

‘He thinks you’re worthless’

Those words felt etched into his heart. No blade could have cut him deeper. Realising he was hugging the bow to his chest as if he were a little dwarfling in need of comfort, Kili let it go, tossing it to the leaves to join the sword.

“I don’t know if it was pity, or indecision,” said Fili. “Perhaps he only thought that two of us would be too much for him to handle. But, whatever his reasoning was, I’m glad of it. More glad that you’ll ever know, and I never expected to feel any sort of gratitude toward him.” His steps slowed and he stopped by Kili. “Gandalf must have had such a shock to see you—”

“I told him,” admitted Kili. What was the point of holding anything back when Fili thought him worthless anyhow? “I told him that I couldn’t find you, and he saw” —he pulled his hair back, tilting his head to show Fili the cut on his neck— “this, and asked how I’d come by it.”

“I watched Derild do that to you,” whispered Fili, his face turning deathly pale in the moonlight. “That memory was left to me. I remember thinking he intended to kill you there and then, because of me, because I thought of fighting back, and then, later, when I awoke and Ralt told me he had, and how…I knew it was all my fault. I couldn't remember exactly what I’d done to cause it, but I knew, deep down inside, that I must have said something, or not said something quick enough. He kept calling me a liar, and I supposed he'd caught me in one.” He sucked in a ragged breath, burying his face in his hands.

“Fee.” He tried to pull his brother in for a hug, but Fili shook him off. “Fee,” Kili tried again, managing to grasp Fili’s shoulders this time. “Don’t. None of this is your fault.” Because it was his. And the more he thought about it—which he didn’t want to do—the more convinced of it he became. Why hadn’t he behaved as Dwalin would have? Or Uncle Thorin? They wouldn’t have smiled and laughed and chattered with old men about horses. They would have looked menacing. Ralt would never have dared. “At least I refused Gandalf’s offer to help me, I suppose,” he muttered. “That was something.”

“Thank Mahal you refused him,” said Fili, lifting his head. His red-rimmed eyes shone. “And thank Mahal you knew to walk away from him. You are so clever, little brother, to have realised the danger you were in.”

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t realised a single thing. He hadn't thought at all. He'd been in nothing more than a whirl of panic. Kili opened his mouth to say so but Fili was already continuing, “And you are so clever to have left the inn when you did, in the manner you did. Gandalf must have been furious to discover you’d slipped his clutches. He must’ve been questioning everyone to try and find out where you’d gone.”

There’d been no cleverness, none at all. It had been luck and luck alone that led him to make the choices he did. And, if he were any sort of dwarf at all he’d speak up right this moment and admit it all to—

Gandalf had followed his trail. The thought struck him like a hammer blow between the shoulder blades, knocking the breath from his chest in a strangled gasp. It was Gandalf. Gandalf had tracked him all the way to the forest. He’d been there, calling out his name. He’d been calling out Fili’s name. 

“Brother?” asked Fili, gripping Kili’s forearms. “Kili, What is it?”

Kili shook his head, trying to connect the pieces together. How? How had Gandalf known to leave Bree by the southern gate? How had Gandalf known he wouldn’t make for home instead? He supposed he hadn’t exactly been covering his tracks as he’d run down the southern road, he hadn’t thought he had any reason to, and he had left the marker when he’d struck out towards the forest, but…

“It was an accident,” said Kili, his thoughts racing. Had Gandalf and his remaining men split up? Had they searched out in all directions from Bree, knowing that Kili must’ve left the town? “I nearly went to him. When I was in our room, and I didn’t know what to do, I nearly went back and asked for Gandalf’s help. If I hadn’t been so confused, and…embarrassed, I suppose, I think I would have.”

“But you didn’t.” Fili squeezed his forearms. “You trusted your instincts, as you should, and you made your own way. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit, little brother.”

Kili shook his head. Fili wasn’t listening. “But I didn’t make my own way. You don’t understand. There was a boy….” 

‘He must’ve been questioning everyone’

Perhaps someone whose garden plants he and Birch had trampled had told Gandalf which direction they’d gone? Or perhaps someone had been looking out a window when he and Birch had said their farewells at the gate? Perhaps Gandalf hadn’t bothered asking about him at all and had simply been always intending to catch up to Ralt? Maybe that was all it was? 

But his heart was telling him no. His heart was telling him Fili had guessed right, as Fili always guessed right. Gandalf had questioned everyone. 

Or just someone. 

“Birch,” Kili said, his voice catching. “The boy’s name was Birch. He helped me. He didn't have to. He found me, and brought me into the warmth, and gave me soup. And he’d little enough to share.”

Fili smiled. “I’m glad you found a kindly face amongst them.”

“No. You don’t understand.” Turning, Kili looked back the way they’d come.  How far was it to Bree? And how had he been so blind? So heartless? He’d been so caught up with himself and with Fili that he’d barely spared a single proper thought for Birch at all. And he hadn’t considered at all that he might have put Birch in danger, not until this very moment. “He has brothers,” Kili said, stumbling over the words, “older brothers, I don’t know how many, but they were all out hunting. He was all on his own.” 

The thought of Gandalf, or one of his wide-shouldered, cloaked men, looming over Birch, pulling him from his bed of tattered blankets, questioning him, chilled Kili’s blood. 

Would anyone have missed a stableboy? Or even thought to raise the alarm? He supposed they would, if they had been looking their horse readied or some other task done, but would anyone think foul play? Or would they simply assume Birch was being a little boy as all little boys were and had become distracted somewhere? 

What would the men have done to a little boy? One who didn't have the protection of a powerful uncle? 

“We have to go back,” Kili said, staring at the yellowing bruises on Fili's face and at the healing welts on his brother’s wrists. They had to go back. They must. Right this very moment. Because Fili was a strong dwarf who did have a powerful uncle, yet Ralt and his men had still beaten him, not caring about any consequences. And if they hadn’t cared about daring to hurt Fili, then how much less would they have cared about hurting a little stableboy? His heart was racing as if he were already running hard for Bree. How many leagues was it? Kili grabbed the bow and tightened his pack straps. “I made a promise to him that I would come back. We need to go now.”

“No.”

“But I shook his hand. We shook hands like the men do, and, more than that, I gave him my word. I swore that I’d come back and—”

“Absolutely not,” said Fili, stepping away and sweeping up his pack.

His brother had to be overtired. Fili was overtired and he was worried. He wasn’t listening, not properly, he couldn’t be, because, to a dwarf, their word was everything. Always. Uncle Thorin; Amad; everyone. They’d had it drummed into them since they were little dwarflings, from the very moment they could understand. Fili knew it as well as he did. Better. He knew that, when their people had left Erebor, they’d had nothing, nothing but the clothes upon their backs and their word. And Fili knew that now, now that their people had a home and safety, they could never forget that it was by keeping their word and remaining true to who they were that they had all the good things in their lives. Hadn't they listened to variations on the same lecture a hundred times? A thousand? He felt he could recite it by heart. 

“Fee,” Kili said gently. “Did you not hear me? I said that I gave Birch my—”

“It’s a no,” snapped Fili. He lifted the sword and seemed to be studying its hilt for a moment before he spoke again, his voice gentler, “And it will remain a no. No matter how many times you ask. It’s too big a risk. But don’t look so worried, little brother. The boy will be fine.”

He wasn’t worried. He was horrified. “But it’s my word, Fee. And you don’t know that, not for certain. You can’t.”

“No. You’re right, I don’t. But what I do know is that there is nothing we can do for him.” Fili held up a hand when Kili opened his mouth to protest. “We can’t. His elder brothers were due to return?”

Kili nodded, his heart hammering in his ears.

“Then, should anything untoward have happened, they will have discovered it.” Fili winced as if suddenly hearing his own heartless words. “For good or for ill, events have moved far beyond us.” 

“But, Fee…”

“I like this as little as you do,” said Fili. “You know that.”

Did he? Did he know his brother at all? Kili hung his head, not wanting to meet Fili's eyes, not wanting to see a stranger in them. 

“But you’re my priority,” continued Fili, “my one and only priority, and I can’t spare any thought for a boy who is more than likely even now sitting down for his supper, or dreaming in his bed.”

Or staring out at the darkness of the road beyond the southern gate, awaiting the return of a dwarf who’d sworn to come back. Would Birch have told his brothers? Would they have gone to the guards? 

Or worse, would they have kept to Birch’s promise not to have involved the guards and followed Kili’s tracks themselves? 

Or, even worse, could they have run into Gandalf and his men in the forest, far from help and with not the first inkling of the danger they were in? Maybe Gandalf hadn’t needed to question anyone at all. 

His empty stomach was churning as if he might be sick. Kili pressed a hand tight to it, breathing in the damp, green air of woods. It didn’t help. He could taste the woods in his mouth. He could feel the memory of Derild’s hand pressing against the back of his skull, pushing his face down into the wet leaves and mud. 

“I expect the boy hasn’t spared you a single thought since you parted,” said Fili. “Anyhow, we can’t go back. We don’t have time. Thorin needs to know about the trade.”

The merchant. Kili shook his head, trying to push aside visions of Birch lying still under the trees and far from home, or of shadowy figures creeping up the stairs of the rickety hayloft. “But,” he said desperately. “But, if we went back, then we could still meet with the merchant. We could tell him that—”

“What have we to offer him now? Even if he’d waited and not left immediately the moment he heard from the innkeep that we’d left without settling our bill?” Fili snorted. “Durin only knows what he thought had happened. Likely that we and Dain, in some dwarven feud, robbed Thorin on the road and intended the same for him.” Fili shook his head. “No. We go back, and that’s the last I’ll say on the matter.” 

Somewhere, out in the woods, an owl hooted. The rising wind tugged at Kili’s hair.

Fili sighed. “I am sorry, little brother, and your concern does you credit, but my concern is all for you. Only for you. What if Gandalf has men still in Bree? Waiting there in case we return? Or what if they are waiting on the road between here and there? He could have men watching every gate and we wouldn’t know them for what they were until we were amongst them and it too late.”

It must be well past midnight, and the sky was beginning to clear. Kili looked up at the bright stars twinkling high above their heads. They blurred when he blinked. 

“I know,” said Fili quietly. “I know exactly what you think of me, little brother, and I’m sorry for it. Believe me, I don't think much of myself at this moment either. But, once we get you home, Thorin will send Dwalin out, or maybe he’ll go himself, and likely he’ll come to Bree in search of another merchant who can provide enough grain to see our people through the winter. There must be one.”

Kili nodded. 

“Especially if you ask him to,” added Fili. 

But it would be too late. Birch, if he were in trouble, would be far beyond Uncle Thorin’s help. Lost in thought, Kili jolted when Fili touched his arm. 

“Look at me, little brother.” Fili smiled when Kili reluctantly met his eyes. “I know the wait will be painful, and I know that you’ll worry, but the boy—”

“Birch.” His voice sounded thick to his ears. “His name’s Birch.”

Fili nodded. “Birch, of course, you’d said the name already. Birch will be fine. I swear it. And Uncle Thorin will want to reward him, I expect, and say his thanks in person for helping you. Wouldn’t that be better? That Thorin is the one to go to Bree?”

Kili shrugged. He swiped at his eyes.  

“He’ll want to give Birch and his brothers a bag of coin, I would imagine,” said Fili, his voice soothing. He rubbed Kili’s arm. “And that’s a lot more than we can offer them, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be so much better, and quicker, for Birch if we were to hurry on home now?”

Maybe. Kili toed at the leaf litter. He supposed, if Birch was unhurt, then it would be better all round to return not empty-handed. And they were already halfway home, if not more. 

“Perhaps you could even go with him,” said Fili. “If you and Thorin went together, then you could meet with Birch, and even tell him a little of what happened. It sounds like you were becoming good friends.”

Birch was a little child. How could a grown dwarf be good friends with a little child? Kili frowned, thinking over Fili’s words. “If you’re not going to Bree with Uncle Thorin,” he said. “Then I’m not going.”

Fili smiled. 

Kili didn’t smile back. That hadn’t been a joke. “I’m not going anywhere without you ever again,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

“I expect that feeling will wear off soon enough.” Fili’s smile broadened. He ruffled Kili’s hair. “Come on then. We’ll need to hurry if we want to catch them up before they stop for the night.”

Chapter Text

“He claims he can’t bear any weight on it,” muttered Raithon as he joined Gandalf, the stallion, and the ponies in the middle of the road. He wiped his hands on his jerkin. “But there’s nothing broken as far as I can tell, nor is there any significant swelling.”

Yet Haldic was groaning where he lay sprawled on the stones, Meldron and Derild fussing around him. “I expect it is nothing more than yet another play for time,” said Gandalf. The men had been dragging their feet ever since he had rejoined them at the Brandywine Bridge, and, according to Raithon and Hamdor, long before it too. “Keep a watch on the woods.”

For Haldic’s noisy collapse had, perhaps conveniently, happened in a lonely spot where the road dipped low for some leagues through pine woods. And while it was true that they were well within the borders of the Shire, and also true that the Bounders and Rangers were ever vigilant as they patrolled those same borders, banditry wasn’t entirely unheard of. 

And they were escorting, at best, bandits, of that much Gandalf was certain. 

Lerdil scuttled backwards when Gandalf approached, but Meldron remained exactly where he was, crouched by Haldic’s side and stroking the giant’s brow tenderly. And Gandalf had to admit that Haldic certainly looked the part. He writhed on the wet road, clutching at his bare ankle with both hands, and moaned at Gandalf’s approach as if in a great deal of pain. “I will examine him,” said Gandalf, moving Haldic’s discarded boots to one side. “Lie still, Haldic, and allow me to look at you properly.”

“Why?” snapped Meldron. His hood had fallen back, and his hair was plastered to his face from the rain that had dogged their steps these past hours. “So you can decide too that he’s pretending? As your man has? Why trouble us any further, Gandalf? We both know you won’t believe a word we say either. I can see it in your eyes every bit as much as I could in the Ranger’s. He thinks Haldic’s lying, and so do you, but I told you that we shouldn’t walk on through another night, I told you someone would get hurt for it, and now, here we are, exactly as I said. We’re not orcs, Gandalf, or” —he glowered towards Raithon— “whatever manner of creatures you and he are. We’re nothing more than men, made of flesh and bone. We need to rest.”

“We will stop in Michel Delving, and you can rest there while I fetch Thorin Oakenshield.” 

It was his turn to be on the receiving end of one of Meldron’s glowers, but Gandalf was certain that he could see calculation too hidden in it. He could see Meldron’s mind working as he tried to find a new angle on this change of plan. 

And a change of plan it most certainly was. For it was clear to Gandalf now that Meldron and his men were determined to be as difficult as possible, and he was certain the complaints and problems would only increase the closer they drew to the mountains. No. He couldn’t spare the time for it. Once the men were safely in the custody of the Sheriffs of Michel Delving, in a cell preferably, he and Hamdor, or Raithon—if Hamdor had not yet caught them up, and if a spare horse could be found deep in hobbits lands—would make at speed for Ered Luin. Thorin had to be told. To delay the news a moment more than they absolutely must was cruel. 

And perhaps, perhaps, Fili and Kili would already be there before them. He had to hold on to that hope. 

“Michel Delving?” Meldron’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Where’s that?”

“Still in the Shire.” Gandalf pried off Haldic’s hands and prodded at the offending ankle bone. He compared it to the other. A slight swelling? Perhaps. But, exactly as Raithon had found, not one of any significance. He met Haldic’s eyes. “You are certain you cannot bear weight on this?”

“He’ll need to ride,” said Meldron before Haldic could so much as nod in response. “You know as well as I do that we can’t carry him between us, especially not if it's just me and Lerild having to do it. Not for any distance. He’s far too heavy, and we’ve barely eaten or rested since Bree.” He touched Gandalf’s sleeve, his tone suddenly switching to accommodating and friendly. “This wasn’t on purpose. I want to get this over with and straighten it out with the dwarves every bit as much as you do, but if your man won’t let Haldic ride that horse, then none of us can go any further. Not tonight.”

Gandalf glanced towards Raithon. The night wind rustling the pines on either side of the road would have stolen away much of the conversation between him and Meldron, but Raithon must have heard or sensed enough of it. He shook his head emphatically. 

And Gandalf supposed that was fair. The stallion was a magnificent beast, and strong with it, but Haldic was very heavily built. Far too heavily built to ask either of the dwarvish ponies to bear, and perhaps even for the stallion’s broad back too. There had to be giants-blood in the man’s ancestry somewhere. And Gandalf hadn’t the first idea how that might be possible, but the man was certainly a curiosity—although a most frustrating one at this precise moment. Gandalf stood, brushing pine needles and road dust from his robes. “We will camp here,” he said, deciding. Even if the stallion could be persuaded to carry Haldic, putting any of the men on a fast horse was folly. It would be asking for an escape attempt. “Wrap his ankle well.”

Meldron bowed his head. “Thank you, Gandalf.” 

It was said meekly enough, but Gandalf could hear the triumph in it. He returned to Raithon who raised an eyebrow at his approach. 

“They will need a rest,” said Gandalf, drawing Raithon further away, well out of earshot. “Better it happens here than them causing a fuss at the next hobbit inn we pass.” Which would be The Floating Log, if his memory served him correctly. 

Raithon snorted. 

“I know,” Gandalf said. “I also expect they will cause a fuss there anyway, but we two at least will know that they’ll have a lot less cause for it. Perhaps a few hours of sleep and a chance to dry out will make them a little more inclined to be cooperative.”

“I don’t like this, Gandalf.” Raithon’s eyes flickered towards the northern slope of pines. 

Then the Ranger had suspicions too. He thought it had just been him. Taking off his hat, Gandalf shook the worst of the raindrops from it before returning it to his head. “You believe this is more than a trick to slow our progress?”

“I don’t know,” said Raithon. “This injury feels too well-timed, and ever since the bridge…”

“You’ve felt as if we were being followed,” finished Gandalf. He nodded as Raithon did. “I have felt it too. But perhaps it is nothing more than an expectation of foul play on our part. The attempts to delay us, and now this, feel purposeful, they do, but it could simply be their clumsy way of stalling for time.” 

“Perhaps.”

They stood, listening to the men rustling through packs, and to Meldron talking loudly about not being able to find something clean and dry enough to wrap Haldic’s ankle with. 

Foul play. Could it be that? Could Meldron be expecting help to arrive? Or was this forcing of a halt nothing more sinister than Meldron hoping for the chance to make an escape attempt in the dark? 

“I’ll check the woods,” said Raithon. “I won’t be more than an hour or so. If there’s anyone out there tracking us, I’ll find them.” 

Gandalf frowned at the looming pines on either side of the road, and then up at the night sky. It was rapidly clouding over, the stars winking out one by one, the moon’s glow already dimmed. Soon, the darkness would be complete. “No,” he said, stopping Raithon before he’d gone a half-dozen steps. “Take them into the woods aways and set up camp, but keep within sight. I will watch the road from here.” 

Sending Raithon to search the woods was a sensible idea, but to leave Meldron and his men with only a single guard, and for that guard to be the one who Meldron still discounted as nothing more than a feeble old man…well, that felt a lot like foolishness. It would make an escape attempt, if that's what this ploy of Meldron’s was, far too tempting. More than tempting, it would be almost inevitable that the circumstances would encourage the men to make a dash for the cover of the darkened woods.

Then there’d be unpleasantness. 

“I do not feel that we are in any real danger here,” Gandalf added. “Not presently anyhow. And I expect that Hamdor will catch up to us soon. We may as well wait for him until morning. It’s not far off.”

Raithon considered this for a long moment. “Fine,” he said. “I disagree. Not with the waiting, but with the waiting idly in such an obvious trap without thinking to find out whether it would be wise to set one of our own.” He sighed. “But I know Hamdor trusts your judgement on such matters. We’ll remain here as you say, and set up our camp, and see what happens.”

And wait, they did. Raithon chivvied the men into the woods while Gandalf saw to the ponies and the stallion, and by the time a merry fire could be seen sprouting up a little way under the eaves, and well within shouting distance of the road, Gandalf had found himself a comfortable enough, if damp, seat on a fallen pine tree. 

And there he remained, working his way steadily through his dwindling pipeweed supply. Overhead, the clouds rolled in fully overhead, darkening the world to a pitch black disturbed by nothing more than the glow of his pipe and the glimmer of the campfire. Night creatures swooped and moved through the trees, crossing the road before and behind him on fast and almost noiseless wings and paws. Mice, owls, foxes, and, once, a deer, ventured close to him before realising he was there. But nothing paid him any real mind, and no ruffians came rushing to Meldron’s aid either from the woods or along the road. Then the wind rose and the stars returned for a while, and he saw the moon, making its slow way across the sky before it disappeared below the tops of the swaying pines. 

The first light of dawn was bringing with it a clammy, clinging mist. It swirled thickly, creeping through the pines that surrounded them and drifting along the road to where Gandalf still sat, as unmoving as any grey rock. Kili pulled his damp hood further up over his head and shifted position against the bed of pine needles beneath him. He glanced at Fili. 

As hiding places went, the spot his brother had chosen was far from perfect, but they had a clear enough area behind them where some past winter storm must have toppled an entire swathe of the tall pines. The ones that remained upright leant precariously against each other like they’d had too much ale, creaking and groaning with every breath of wind and making Kili’s heart patter, as it pattered with every shadow he spotted moving in the woods. But at least he had decent lines of sight in most directions, and at least the ground was fairly dry and littered with fallen twigs. Yes, the twigs were damp from the recent storms, and from last night’s rain that had seemed determined not to stop, but some of them still might snap. 

Maybe. 

It would have to do. 

But he wished it didn’t have to do. He wished they could go. More than that, he wished they were already long gone. Right now, they should be heading back towards the mountains that he couldn’t even see anymore. They shouldn’t be here. Whatever this plan of Fili’s was, and Kili wasn’t entirely confident that there even was a plan, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. 

“I find I’ve grown tired of being hunted, brother.”

That was it. That was pretty much all the explanation Fili had given him as they’d left the bridge behind and raced across the darkened hobbit-countryside after Ralt, through patches of woods, and across open farmlands, and through ditches and hedgerows and over low stone walls, always trying to keep close to the road—but not too close. 

As explanations went, it hadn’t been good enough then, and it still wasn’t good enough now. But every single time Kili dared to ask for anything more, he got hushed, as if he were a dwarfling, and as if Ralt might be just over the next rise, or standing on the other side of a hedge. 

Or creeping up through a mist-shrouded pine forest where the trees that remained standing grew too thickly together for there to be any decent ground cover. 

And Ralt could have been any of those places. He could still be in any of those places. He could be anywhere. That they could see the glow of a campfire through the trees beyond where Gandalf sat smoking meant nothing at all. How many men still sat around its flames? All of them? None of them? It could be a trick. A trap.  

This all felt like a trap. 

“Fee,” Kili whispered, trying to keep one eye on Gandalf while he checked the trees behind them for signs of sneaking men. This was madness. His fingers tightened on the bow by his side. This was utter madness. They had to leave. Now. “Fee.”

It shouldn’t be possible for a low whisper to be heard, not at this distance, not with the wind still just about in their favour, but yet it felt as if any time either he or Fili had moved an inch or made the slightest of sounds during the long, cold night, Gandalf’s attention had turned towards them. Or so it felt to Kili anyway. Gandalf never moved his head, nor gave any indication whatsoever, but Kili had just known it, down in his bones. 

They were being watched. 

But Fili was still staring unblinkingly at Gandalf and at the woods beyond, lying so still and silent that Kili wasn’t entirely certain that his big brother hadn’t fallen asleep with his eyes open. Like elves did, or like Balin said elves did anyway. Not that Kili was entirely sure that Balin hadn’t been making fun at the time. How could anyone sleep with their eyes open? 

He fought back a jaw-cracking yawn, only to hear his stomach rumble loudly instead. 

No. This was no good. None of it. And Fili had told him back at the bridge that he should trust his instincts. He’d told him his instincts were good. “Fee,” he tried again, adding a gentle poke to his brother’s arm this time. “Fee.”

Fili didn’t move, but his fingers flickered, ‘What?’ 

There was no tone with Iglishmêk, Kili knew there wasn’t, but he could hear it anyway. He stretched out his hand until it was in front of Fili’s nose—since his big brother hadn’t so much as turned to look for any reply—and signed slowly, making certain he had every movement exactly right so it couldn’t be misinterpreted, ‘I don’t want to hunt anybody.’

Fili blinked. He pushed Kili’s hand to the carpet of pine needles and patted it. ‘Wait,’ he signed. 

His brother wasn’t listening. Again. Wriggling his hand free, Kili added, ‘I want to go home.’

This time, Fili rolled to his side, and, at last, Kili had the eye contact he’d been waiting for. “I know you do,” Fili whispered, so low that Kili had to lean in to hear it. “We’ll move soon, I swear. Be patient.” 

“We should go now, before it gets lighter.” Kili glanced at Gandalf. The old man had lit his pipe again and was puffing smoke rings along the road. They spun and danced in the breeze. And…was that one green? He shook his head. “We’ll be seen if we stay here much longer, Fee.”

“They can’t see us.” 

Not yet, and perhaps they wouldn’t be seen if they stayed lying down as they were. But they couldn’t lie here forever, and the moment they moved to crawl away… “Please, Fee,” said Kili. “Let’s just go, before they break camp. What if one of them comes this way, looking for firewood, or berries, and they—”

Fili shook his head. 

“Why not?” Kili lowered his voice. “Why are we still here?”

“He’s hurt,” said Fili, as if it should be obvious. 

“He’s hurt,” whispered Fili, sounding oddly pleased about it. 

Wondering how long Fili intended them to lie here with no cover beyond a few tree roots snaking across the pine-needled ground, Kili nodded. It did seem that way. Hald was half-leaning on Derild, and Ralt was gesturing at Gandalf, and at the other man who was leading the ponies and the huge black stallion. “I think they’re planning to stop here,” Kili whispered. 

“If they do, they’re fools.” Fili leant forward as if, above the rustling and creaking of the tall pines that surrounded them, he might be able to hear what the men were saying to each other all the way down on the road below. “Look at where we are, brother. This is perfect ambush territory.” 

Fili had sworn that he wasn’t planning on ambushing anybody—Kili managed to get that much out of him before getting hushed once more—but Kili hadn’t been fully convinced then that his brother was telling him the truth. And he still wasn’t convinced of it now. Because Fili still had a feral gleam in his eyes. 

He’d had enough. Even if he got hushed again, he had to know. 

“What does it matter if he’s hurt?” hissed Kili. “That still leaves four of them. That’s two more than us, in case you haven’t been counting, and we’ve one weapon” —because he wasn’t including the ridiculous bow— “between us. Those aren’t good odds, Fee. Not even if we managed to hold onto the element of surprise, which we won’t if we stay here much longer.”

Fili raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s what you’ve been thinking of,” said Kili. “Isn’t it?” 

“No.” Fili laughed quietly before his eyes grew serious again. “Although apparently you have. No, I’ve been thinking about whether they’ll be able to put the troll on that horse, or if he's too heavy for it and they’ll be forced to wait here.”

“I think he’s too heavy,” said Kili. As he’d watched Hald roll about on the ground, hugging his ankle, he’d feared for their ponies. For the men mightn’t risk the back of their well-brushed and well-cared-for warhorse, but would robbers spare any thought at all for the welfare of two mountain ponies? 

Again, guilt prickled at him. How dare he fear for their ponies when he was content to leave them to their fate? He hadn’t even so much as suggested a rescue attempt. He’d abandoned them in his mind every bit as easily as he’d abandoned Birch. 

“Then perhaps they’ll leave him behind for us,” said Fili, meeting Kili’s eyes and making him forget all thoughts of ponies or little stableboys or any rescues for anyone. 

“What?” Kili managed. 

“If his ankle won’t hold and they can’t carry him,” Fili smiled. “Then they’ll have to leave him behind, won’t they? What do you think of those odds?” 

His mouth had fallen open. Kili knew it had. “I…” He tried again, “I think that we… I mean, I think that Uncle Thorin would say—”

“I’m jesting, brother.” Fili turned away. “Don’t look so horrified.”

No, he wasn’t. Or he was. He was horrified. Because Fili hadn’t been joking at all, Kili was certain of it. “Fee,” he whispered. 

“But what I am thinking,” Fili continued, as if he hadn’t just admitted that cold-blooded murder had crossed his mind, “is that if they do wait here, then will they decide to send someone on ahead with the news? Or will they just wait for any of their friends waiting further along the road to come looking for them instead?” 

What friends? An unpleasant shiver ran up Kili’s spine, leaving his skin prickling. And, if there were friends, then whyever would they want to be within ten leagues of here? 

Fili must’ve been able to guess at what he was thinking. “Little brother,” he said. “I, for one, would like to know who, if anyone, still lies in wait for us on the road between here and the Lune. Because we know that Gandalf knows of Thorin. So I believe that we can expect he also knows the way to our halls. Agreed?”

That felt sensible, if also more than a little horrifying. Kili nodded. “Then we’ll just go home a different way,” he said. There were at least a dozen ways up the mountain. True, they’d have to be careful of quite a few of them, considering the amount of rain that had fallen in the last few days after such a long, dry summer, but that still left them with plenty of options. 

Although…perhaps it didn’t leave them as many options as he’d thought. Perhaps all the rain meant that it would be crossing the River Lune, and not sneaking up the mountain, that Fili was more concerned about? How many crossing points were there? 

“And if they expect that?” Fili frowned down the hill at Gandalf. “If they anticipate that we will stay away from the valley road? Or if there are enough of them to set a guard on every likely route? We don’t know what they know, brother, and, as I said, I’m tired of being hunted. I’ve no intention of being the fool who, once again, walks blindly into another of Ralt’s—”

Kili heard it too. 

Hoofbeats. He and Fili froze, staring down at the road. “They’re coming from Bree,” whispered Kili. He was certain of it. And Gandalf had heard them too, the old man rising slowly to his feet. 

Fili nodded. “How many?”

He didn’t know. One rider. Maybe. Or perhaps two? Kili strained his ears, wishing they’d picked a less noisy spot to set up camp in. Above him, it felt as if a thousand branches were clicking and clacking together, and, somewhere nearby, what seemed to be a full flock of birds had just chosen this moment to wake up and start an argument with each other. All of which was fine for when they were avoiding Ralt and Gandalf’s ears, but annoying right now. Could it be two riders? His body flooded with hope. Could it be Uncle Thorin and Dwalin? Or guards from Bree? Maybe Gernac had suspected something was wrong and sent out riders? 

That did seem unlikely though. 

No. Kili frowned as the hoofbeats drew closer and more distinct. “It’s one,” he said. Which didn’t mean it couldn’t still be Uncle Thorin, he supposed, but it sounded more horse than pony to him. He hoped it was a guard and not some poor unsuspecting and defenceless rider about to gallop straight into trouble. Would they run to help if it were? Or would they choose to abandon them to their fate too? He glanced at Fili. 

“It’s him,” muttered Fili. “It’s the other one.” 

Oh. So it was. They could see him now, his long cloak flowing out behind him. Kili could even see the hilt of the greatsword on his hip. “Hamdor,” he sighed. Why couldn’t it have been Uncle Thorin? Was their luck ever going to turn? “That’s what Gandalf called him.”

In silence, they watched Hamdor begin to slow his approach. He stopped by Gandalf and swung down from the horse. The two of them began talking, Hamdor gesturing back towards Bree.

Fili eased himself up onto his knees and elbows, and Kili followed suit, grabbing the bow. At last, and about time too. He peered down the half-gloom of the long, still mist-covered, slope behind them. What tree had they left the packs half-buried beside? Oh yes, that one. 

He frowned. Was it that one? 

No, it was. He recognised the tangle of crossed pines beyond it. They were shaped a bit like the rune for sausage—if he were to squint and tilt his head a little. 

Satisfied he’d pinpointed the correct direction they should retreat in, he turned his attention back to Fili and barely managed to strangle his squeak of horror. His brother was going the wrong way. Kili grabbed Fili’s ankle. “What are you doing?” he hissed, knowing that he’d spoken too loudly. 

“Getting closer.” Fili tried to shake him off. “We need to hear what they’re saying.”

No, they didn’t. They really didn’t. And had Gandalf just looked right at them? Kili was suddenly certain he had. Willing Fili not to move, or argue, he raised his free hand far enough above the pine needles to sign, ‘No.”

Hamdor was looking too. And now Raithon was walking out from the woods opposite. 

Where was Ralt? Where was Ralt?

They hadn’t thought to lay any false trails. Not here, and not after they’d left the bridge. Not anywhere. They’d trodden lightly enough, Kili was fairly certain of that much, but what tracks might Hamdor have found in the mud and the soft ground of all the farmers’ fields they’d crossed? 

Who was hunting who? 

His heart was going far too fast to think straight, but his mind was still hanging on to good sense. As it screamed at him to run, Kili tightened his grip on Fili’s ankle. “We need to go, brother.” He dragged Fili backwards. “We need to go right now.”

There was a rider approaching from the east, and at great speed too. Gandalf stood. He tapped out his pipe against the tree trunk, tucked it away for safe-keeping, and busied himself shaking the clinging mist and dew from his hat and robes. “I expect that will be Hamdor,” he told nobody in particular. 

It was, indeed, Hamdor. 

“Gandalf!” Hamdor slowed his horse to a walk and then a stop. He dismounted. “I hadn’t expected to find you so quickly.”

“You come in haste,” said Gandalf, almost dreading the answer to the question he must ask. “Is there news?” 

Grimacing, Hamdor shook his head. “My haste was nothing more pressing than a quiet stretch of road, a restive horse, and an old Dúnedain well past his prime playacting at being a much younger man once more. I’m sorry, Gandalf. I didn’t intend to raise your hopes.” He patted the sweating horse’s neck. “No one I spoke to has seen them, or even heard the whisper of a rumour of two dwarves around these parts, and, if the princes crossed the river, they didn’t do so at the Buckleberry Ferry, or anywhere else that I could see.”

“Ah.” 

Hamdor clasped Gandalf’s shoulder. “Don’t give up yet, old friend. They could easily be ahead of us, or perhaps they went further south along the Brandywine to find a crossing. Or they could have returned to Bree. There could be a dozen reasons, and none of them sinister, as to why we haven’t yet come across our lost dwarves.” 

Or their lost dwarves might have become lost indeed under the eaves of the Old Forest, or within the Barrow Downs. Thorin Oakenshield’s hiers could be trapped. They could be spellbound. Or they could have escaped both fates only to risk a crossing of the Brandywine in a fast and dangerous spot. Like Hamdor, Gandalf could easily think of a dozen reasons why they hadn’t found any trace of the princes, but, unlike Hamdor, none of the reasons were anything but sinister. He sighed, looking past Hamdor and up the pine-covered slope beyond. Hope. They all had to cling on to hope.

Hamdor turned to look up the slope as well. 

“You didn’t hear any rumours of any other strangers around these parts?” asked Gandalf, not taking his eyes from a patch of woodland a few yards below the brow of the hill. Had something moved? 

“None of the hobbits I spoke to mentioned any Big Folk, if that’s what you mean,” said Hamdor thoughtfully, staring up at the pine-covered hilltop too. “Are we expecting trouble, Gandalf? More ruffians?” 

“I don’t believe so.” 

He couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on him, and it felt as if it might be more than just the creatures of the forest. But what didn’t make sense was that, whoever the eyes belonged to—if they existed at all anywhere but in his imagination—they didn’t feel entirely unfriendly. As he’d kept watch, he’d set aside the idea that Meldron had friends in the woods. But it did feel as if someone or something was out there, watching. 

It was very curious. 

But, likely, if it were anyone at all, it was Shirefolk. Hobbits certainly could move stealthily enough at will, and was it any surprise if they weren't keen to introduce themselves in the middle of the night? Gandalf chuckled. Yes, that was likely it, and it should have occurred to him before. Of course, it would be hobbits. They had more than enough good sense not to approach strange Big Folk. Even a party of Bounders, fierce enough as those particular hobbits could be, wouldn't have chanced an encounter in the dark with five men—not unless in great need and with the knowledge of reinforcements on the way. “I expect we may be receiving visitors at some point along our journey this morning,” he said. “Perhaps we will even have an escort of hobbits to direct us to Michel Delving.”

Hamdor frowned before laughing. “Oh,” he said. “I see. For a moment, I thought you meant the dwarves, but then they would not be so shy in introducing themselves, I warrant.” 

“They would not,” agreed Gandalf. “And, of course, we have already been introduced. Well, myself and Kili have been anyway, but I believe Fili too would recognise me well enough, should our paths happen to cross. He glimpsed me outside the inn and that’s usually plenty for a dwarf.”

“They do have sharp eyes and long memories, that is true.” Hamdor’s merriment died away. He squeezed Gandalf’s shoulder again. “As I said, do not lose hope, Gandalf. All may yet be well. You’ll see,”

“You’re back.” It was Raithon. He stomped out from the woods, calling out as he came, “Hurry up, all of you.” Joining Hamdor and Gandalf, he shook his head. “The big one is still whining about his ankle, but he’s walking now, though Meldron is insisting we cut a staff for him.” 

“I see,” said Hamdor. “So they want a weapon. Very clever.” 

“And the tall, scrawny one,” continued Raithon, “Lerild. He’s woken up claiming to be sickening for something, a bellyache. I’ve told him I’ll bury him and his bellyaching here if he doesn’t start to move, and Haldic along with him, but…” He sighed. “We were only supposed to be stopping in Bree to speak with the blacksmith, Hamdor.”

There was movement below the eaves. Meldron and Lerild staggered out, supporting Haldic between them. The three of them stopped by the ponies where Lerild pressed a hand to his stomach, doubled over, and retched. 

Raithon heaved out a sigh. 

“But isn’t it fortunate that we decided back in Bree to stay on for the night?” Hamdor grinned as he clapped Raithon’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Not that Gandalf couldn’t have managed all of this by himself, of course, but this way he has our good company, and escorting a few ruffians is guarding these lands every bit as much as stalking the woods and valleys in search of orcs.” He held out his reins to Raithon and winked at Gandalf. “Let me see if I can’t encourage our new friends to hurry themselves along a little.”

Gandalf watched Hamdor go, his thoughts circling as they had circled all night while on watch. He looked up the hillside once more. Was the watchful presence gone? He thought it might be, or perhaps he was only feeling the difference of the weight in his mind now that he had made the decision he’d been wrestling with. 

In truth, it was the only decision he could make, the only course left open to him. No matter how much Hamdor might encourage the men, or how much Raithon might threaten, the going to Michel Delving would be slow, much slower than any grave news should ever travel, and he had delayed more than enough. Thorin needed to be told. And now, with Hamdor returned to them, there was not a single reason for him to wait a moment longer. Two Rangers could easily manage to wrangle Meldron and his men across the Shire without the help of a wizard, and a wizard could easily manage to find a dwarven hall hidden deep within a mountain range without the help of two Rangers. 

He hoped. 

“Take anything from the ponies that you want for the journey,” said Gandalf to Raithon, “and I’ll be needing to borrow your fine horse once more.”

Chapter Text

The walls of their settlement were thick, intimidating, fashioned from huge stones so cunningly fitted together that barely a join was to be seen. In fact, had the settlement gates been closed, and had a traveller not been looking in exactly the right place to spot their outline on the southern-facing wall, and had that same traveller not had dwarvish wits and cunning about them, they’d walk right on past, thinking Thorin’s Halls nothing more than just another unclimbable rocky face in the mountains of Ered Luin, and thinking the cleverly-sculped battlements nothing more than rocky outcrops. 

They’d never know they were being watched. 

High up on those same cleverly-sculpted battlements, Gimli leant his cheek against stone warmed by the sun, yet still damp from the morning’s rain. He traced one of the almost-indiscernible joins with his gauntleted thumb and huffed out a sigh, watching steam rise from the battlements all around him. 

Where were they? And did they have any idea, or even care, how much trouble they were going to be in when they got home? 

Gimli snorted. No. Of course not. His cousins had no idea whatsoever, and they hadn’t cared at all. Why would they? It wasn’t as if such thoughts had ever troubled their heads before. Oh, Fili might have pretended they did. He might have sighed and shaken his head and said that they were all far, far too old and grown up for mischief now. Hadn’t Gimli seen and heard it a hundred times? But he knew better. He knew the truth of things. He knew his eldest cousin liked to claim he was as responsible as any dwarf, and maybe Fili even believed it, but it was all just words, little puffs of air to be whipped away by mountain winds and forgotten about. And Kili was no better. He was as easily distracted by new and shiny ideas as he’d ever been. They’d seen something interesting, or maybe just heard of something that might be interesting, and they’d both trotted off after it, with not a single care for anyone or anything else. 

And what if something had happened here in their absence? He knew no such thought would have crossed either of his cousins’ minds, but what if a bellowing horde of thousands of bloodthirsty orcs with hundreds of hungry, howling wargs had charged up the valley road? What if that had happened and the settlement had been besieged? What if, while Fili and Kili skipped around Middle-earth doing Durin only knew what manner of fun things, the dwarves who loved them had been launched into war? Why, he could have been up on these very battlements at right this very moment, axe in hand, fighting for his very life, and the lives of all their people, for all Fili and Kili knew. 

True, there hadn’t been anything half as exciting as even a small war since before Gimli had been born, or even well before that, but it could have happened. It could still happen. It could happen at any moment. Hadn’t they all read the stories? Or listened when Fili read the stories, at least. 

He sighed again. The air felt as if it had been heaved up from the very bottom of his chest. 

How long had it been since Fili had read to them? It felt as if it had been forever. Gimli frowned, thinking back. Yes, that was it. It had been just after Durin’s Day, when the settlement had still been sleeping off the celebrations, and it hadn’t been a story either, or not a proper one, not one that made you sit up and pay attention, but some history book of Balin’s that had had no right to have been half as dry as it was. Even Fili hadn’t been able to make it come alive. 

Had they ever finished it? He couldn’t recall. 

But that settled things. When Fili and Kili got back, he’d make Fili find that book, and they’d finish it. His cousins would be banned from leaving the settlement anyway, probably for life this time, so there’d be plenty of opportunities to sit around together and read. Of course, it was likely Thorin would put his cousins straight to work digging coal, or mucking out the stables, or both, and Dis would find them plenty of extra chores to do as well for making her tear her hair out waiting for them, but there’d be time at night for reading. 

Maybe he could even read a bit if Fili was too tired? 

Not that his big cousin deserved the help. Not that either of his cousins deserved even the smallest bit of his help. But he’d do it anyway. Because that was the kind of dwarf he was. Maybe he’d even take a turn to dig a little coal for them as well. Maybe. If they apologised nicely enough for being fools and leaving him here all by himself to patrol the battlements. 

Which reminded him. Snatching up the double-handed battleaxe Oin had lent him, and that he’d left propped against the battlement wall in readiness, Gimli scoffed to himself. He was supposed to be patrolling. As well as watching for his cousins’ return, he was supposed to be on the lookout for orcs, since nobody else, apart from Fili and Kili, and occasionally Thorin, ever bothered themselves to climb all the way up here and stand in the blood-freezing cold to do it. Shouldering the axe—carefully, since he was still getting used to the weight and heft of it and he didn’t feel much like chopping an ear off—he set out on a quick, blood-warming march. 

Not that it was particularly cold at all today. In truth, he was sweating a little in the armour he’d borrowed from Gloin, for the strong breezes coming off the mountain were warm enough, and the sun was busy making up for the storms of the past days…but that wasn’t the point. It could have been cold. He’d been up here plenty of times with Fili and Kili when it’d been dark and freezing. 

At the western point where the view of the valley road started to disappear, he spun on his heel, his armour plates clanking, and marched back smartly in the direction he’d come.. No sense in losing sight of the road. That’s the way anyone would come, be they orcs or merchants or tardy, thoughtless cousins. 

As he passed his post and drew closer to the gatehouse pillars and the steep stairs that led down to the courtyard below, he slowed his steps. Voices drifted up from below, the guards merrily talking about—Gimli strained his ears—which alehouse to go to after dinner, by the sounds of things. He snorted under his breath, creeping ever closer. Alehouses? Were any of them watching the road at all? It didn’t sound like it. It sounded as if they were having a party, or at least arranging a party. 

A wisp of smoke curled up past the pillars and broke apart in the wind, and it was more than just the scent of coal burning in the braziers. Within it, Gimli caught a whiff of not only pipesmoke but bacon too. He shook his head, his breastplate rattling quietly. It wasn’t good enough. It really wasn’t. Why Thorin let them all get away with standing about and smoking and eating bacon was a mystery to him, although he supposed it was Molir’s job to keep an eye on the guards and not Thorin’s. That’s what captains were supposed to be for. That’s what captains were paid to do. Although he supposed that it was true that no one unexpected ever braved the long and winding valley road to Thorin’s Halls. They didn’t get visitors. Why would they? Nobody knew they were here. And nobody with any sense about them would simply stroll up to Thorin Oakenshield’s hidden dwarven fortress without a proper invitation. And a good, dwarven map into the bargain.. 

And he supposed it was a good thing, after all, that the guards never bothered with any real guarding. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be up here, able to patrol the walls properly and keep everyone safe. Would he?

But someday he would be captain, Fili’s captain, and then things would change. He’d light a fire under all of them all right. He’d look after them all properly, rather than trusting to luck and the mountains themselves to do it. Fili would agree. And the first, or almost first anyway, thing on his list would be to make sure that there were patrols up here. Proper patrols. 

Listening to laughter rising up from below his boots, Gimli shook his head. As far as the current batch of guards were concerned, why bother oneself to puff and pant all the way up a steep staircase just to stare out at an empty road, when you could just as easily watch it from the shelter of the gatehouse? In fact, they didn’t even need to bother themselves with watching at all. All they needed to do was listen out for the occasional rumbling of merchant wagons—and listen out a good deal sharper in the other direction for the clump of Thorin or Molir’s boots. 

Oh, things would change when he was captain. Then they’d snap to attention all right. 

There’d been guards up here for the arrival of the dwarf lords, of course, a full two dozen of them ranged along the southern face, but Gimli was certain that had been done simply for appearances. Likely, Thorin had ordered it all well in advance, and reminded Molir to have the guards shine their breastplates and wear their helms into the bargain. 

He peeped around the pillar and down into the courtyard below. There. There they were. Exactly as he’d thought. From his vantage point, he could see three of the guards, and all of them were helmless. Two of them—and did the task really take two of them?—stood by a brazier, feeding coal into it. And there, lounging in a patch of sunlight by the stairs, leisurely pulling on a pipe, was the third, Dwati, who was supposed to be in charge in Molir’s absence. True, it was possible that the other three were somewhere about and busy with their duties, perhaps patrolling outside the gates that were lying wide open and seemingly unattended, but Gimli suspected not. He suspected they were inside the gatehouse. Napping, most likely. 

He slipped away lest someone look up and catch him. Returning to his guardpost, he stood to attention and stared down the valley. Nothing. Not a single living thing moved down there. Not one. He sighed. 

Bored. He was so incredibly, utterly, continually bored. It wasn’t half as much fun dodging lessons and chores to defend the settlement walls from hordes of orcs when you were left to manage it all by yourself. And he kept forgetting, just for the tiniest of moments, that he was all alone. He kept turning around to speak to one of his cousins, only to find them not there. 

The birds weren’t helping. Left mostly to their own devices up on the battlements, they nested wherever they chose, and the occasional flashes of movement that he caught in the corner of his eye always, without fail, made his heart skip with treacherous hope. He’d spin, thinking that his cousins had snuck up, attempting to surprise him—even though he had the sharpest ears of any of them—and be disappointed each and every time. 

Although he supposed he should get on his knees and thank Durin that it was only the fluttering of wings he’d spied. Things could be worse. A lot worse. It could have been the flap of Thorin’s furs. They’d been trapped up here by him once, the three of them huddled together behind nothing more concealing than a curve in the wall, their limbs cramping and barely daring to breathe, and certainly not daring to move. 

Fili had even clapped a hand over his mouth! His! As if he wasn’t the stealthiest by far out of the three of them! Despite his heavy, bored heart, Gimli chuckled, remembering. It had felt as if they’d been stuck crouching in place for hours, watching Thorin. He’d stood by the gatehouse pillars, staring out towards the east, as unmoving and as silent as the stone itself. 

Afterwards, soaked to the skin by ice-flecked winter rain that had, at long last, driven Thorin down the stairs, and late for dinner besides, they’d scrambled down by their secret way, with Fili playing rearguard as always—and only half-concentrating on what he was doing as he lowered them on the rope. Gimli had been certain either he or Kili would be dropped on their heads as his big cousin fretted about whether it had been a ruse and Thorin had known they were there all along. 

But they weren’t dropped, and Thorin hadn’t been waiting for them at the entrance to the tombs, and nothing had ever been said of it. And they’d returned to this spot only the following week, and a thousand times since, sometimes with Fili but lately more often without, to patrol the walls, or lie stretched out, sharing a pipe—not that Kili had the first idea how to smoke properly—in the sunshine, or stargazing after dinner. 

What with all the staring off into the distance, and with the constant buffeting from the mountain winds, his eyes were blurring. Gimli blinked to clear them. He swiped at his prickling nose. To be all alone, for so long, days and days…it was unbearable. Surely they must make it back before nightfall? Or tomorrow morning at the very latest? 

And what to do now? He patted the pipe he’d borrowed from Molir’s pocket to check it was still safely tucked deep within his own. He supposed he could have a smoke. He was due a break from patrolling. He could stretch out here between the walls and get out the twist of pipeweed he’d borrowed from Adad’s pouch, and practice his smoke rings. Then, when Fili got back, he’d be able to show his cousin just how good he was getting at them when he’d had some peace to practice. 

But it wouldn’t be the same. He knew it wouldn’t. Nothing was the same. It wasn’t half as fun when there was no one to point out a smoke ring to. He even missed listening to Kili trying to muffle his coughs every time he tried to inhale. 

And, if he did that now, and got his smoke rings perfect, and it barely afternoon, then whatever was he going to do with the entire rest of his day? 

At least it wasn’t raining yet. Last night, when he’d clambered down entirely unaided from the battlements—Fili was going to be so impressed when he found out that one dwarf could manage it perfectly fine by themselves, and in a summer storm too with the rain battering off his helm and pinging off his armour—and sloshed his way home, he’d gotten himself a proper earful from Adad for staying out long enough to get half-drowned. 

Which wasn’t fair. Because Fili and Kili would have been somewhere out in the wilds getting half-drowned too, and they wouldn’t have had a piping hot bath to climb into. And maybe, depending on how far they’d been from town, they wouldn’t even have had a hot dinner. As he had stood on the battlements, watching the dark clouds roll in, again, and knowing that the guards would likely be in the shelter of the gatehouse and not watching the road, again, it had felt as if the least he could do was wait a bit longer for them. 

They’d both better appreciate all the trouble he’d gone to for—

The axe slid from his shoulder and clattered to the stone. With his heart pattering furiously, Gimli leant over the battlements. Movement. Had he imagined it? No, there was movement. There. Down where the valley road dipped away and out of sight between the rocks. 

Fili. Kili. It had to be, and, by Durin’s magnificent beard, he’d strangle the pair of them. Once he’d finished hugging—

No. Gimli squinted against the sun as the moving speck became a shape. No, not Fili and Kili. It was someone else. Someone…tall? Far too tall to be either of his cousins, unless his eyes were playing tricks. He rubbed gauntleted knuckles hard against his eyes before looking again. 

No. Not his cousins, not unless it was some joke of theirs, and it wasn’t even a horde of orcs either. It was nothing more than a traveller, grey-robbed and with a strange pointed hat and staff, leading a huge, glossy-black horse. Gimli’s shoulders slumped as he watched the small company draw slowly closer. Disappointment soured his stomach. Only a traveller. Nothing exciting at all, or at least not nearly as exciting as spotting a traveller when his cousins were here to watch them approach as well. He huffed out a breath. Who was he going to play at guessing at stories with? Himself? That was no fun at all. It would only be fun if Fili and Kili were on either side of him, the three of them competing to see who could tell the best tale of where the traveller might be going and why. And Gimli knew what would happen. The guards would close the gates, and the traveller and their horse would trundle on past Thorin’s Halls, on their way north to who knows or who cares where. 

His disappointment was suddenly spiked through with a beat of panic. What if he’d chipped Uncle Oin’s axe when he let it fall? His uncle would murder him. Or, not murder, but he’d grumble about it for years at every opportunity, and that was almost the same thing. Ducking down to grab it and check, Gimli froze in place.  

What had that been? He’d glimpsed something behind the traveller’s swirling robes, something behind the flanks of the horse. He was sure he had. He peered, willing another gust of wind to sweep over the mountain and catch the grey robes once more. Yes. There it was. A rope tethered to the saddle, stretching back to—

He gasped. 

He ran, his armour clanking and axe forgotten, barrelling for the steps. There was no time for their secret way. No time at all. Skidding around the gatehouse pillar, he flung himself down the steps, two at a time, leaping the last half-dozen to land in a rattle of armour. 

The guards scattered around the courtyard leapt to attention. 

“Fili!” Gimli yelled, pointing, not knowing why he was shouting for his cousin when the saddles had been empty. He’d seen that the saddles were empty. Why were they empty? Were they behind? Why would they be behind? Why would they be behind and walking and have a man be leading their ponies? 

Maybe the ponies were injured. 

Maybe his cousins were injured. 

Dwati had intercepted him, grabbing his arm and stopping him from running. Not that Gimli knew what direction to run in first. The mountain? The valley road? He’d never regretted only having two legs and being one dwarf more. Thorin needed to know. Dis needed to know. But someone needed to go and fetch the traveller. Someone needed to run and check if Fili and Kili were following just behind. Someone needed to—

“Lad,” Dwati said. “I’ve told you boys before about being up there without permission, and I know I haven’t given you permission.” Gripping Gimli firmly, he glowered at the others. “Who let him up? Go on then, confess, which one of you fools was it? You know Thorin’ll have all our heads if one of theirs gets squashed.”

There were shrugs and mutters in response, and they weren’t listening, and they weren’t looking. Feeling as if his heart was about to burst right from his chest, through boiled leather and steel plate and all, Gimli jabbed a finger towards the open gates. “The ponies,” he said. Why weren’t they looking? “That man’s got their ponies.”

“Whose ponies?” asked Dwati. “What man?” But he’d loosened his grip to turn and look. Gimli twisted free. 

Useless. They were all completely, utterly useless. And he’d made his decision. He ran, heading for the mountain, hearing a shout of his name and the chase beginning behind him. Putting his head down, Gimli forced his limbs faster, his boots drumming a tattoo on the cobblestones as he raced through the streets, dodging past dwarves returning from the market or heading to the alehouse or just ambling about and getting in his way, all of them blissfully unaware of the urgent news he carried with him. 

Thorin had to know. Dis had to know. They had to know right now. “Move!” Gimli shouted, as much to himself as anyone else. “Hurry up!”

The late afternoon sun sparkled on the fast-flowing water. It glowed golden on the wide, clear swathe of grass that ran along either bank. And, crouched amongst the bracken and hidden by the shadows of a stand of trees,  Kili’s heart glowed and sparkled too. Every bit as much. 

Almost home. They were almost, nearly home. It felt unreal. Beyond the river, looming high above it and far above them, were their mountains, and, nestled amongst them, was their very own mountain peak, with its mines, and its grand banqueting hall, and Uncle Thorin’s chambers. It was hidden from his view, but it was there. Right where it always was. True, they’d had to come a lot further north than either he or Fili had first thought or expected to come, and this aspect of their mountains was unfamiliar, but here, at this crossing point, they could finally be certain they were alone in the wilds. 

Or he was certain anyway. 

Almost certain. 

But his opinion wasn’t the one that mattered. For he’d been certain at the last crossing point too—the one that was actually a ford—that they were alone, and he’d been very much overruled. Kili glanced at Fili, who was crouched by his side. His big brother’s brow was furrowed as he studied the swollen river, and his fingers were busy, fussing with the fraying knot that held the bowstring to the bow. Kili wanted to tell him to stop. 

But then, what difference did it make if Fili broke the string? Even if Fili stood and snapped the bow itself across his knee, it didn’t matter overly much now. It needed to be repaired and restrung anyway, and it, like them, still had one more river ducking ahead of it, and it wasn’t as if it were any good to him for hunting or for anything anyhow. It wasn’t much good to anyone in the condition it was now in. But in one more day, maybe less, they’d be home, and Uncle Thorin could examine it and see what could be done. 

Then it and the sword could be returned to their owner in Bree, with his sincere apologies, a new knife to replace the one that had been lost, and his heartfelt thanks for the loan. He’d already planned out a note to send along with the parcel. Of course, he couldn’t and wouldn’t go into any detail of his flight from the inn, or the necessity that had driven him to steal the weapons, for that was dwarven business, but the bow had played no small part in their escape from Ralt. It deserved to be returned in as good, if not better, condition than he’d found it. 

And a small, cowardly part of him, that he didn’t like very much, was hoping the note would be enough, and that Uncle Thorin didn’t send him along with it to give his apologies in person. As part of his punishment. Not that he would go, he’d meant it when he’d told Fili that he was never leaving his side ever again, but if their uncle commanded it, he supposed he’d have no choice.

His heart beat faster as he stared up the tree-lined lower mountain slopes beyond the river. Their uncle, their amad, Gimli. Hot baths and a hearty meal. Dry socks. He sighed happily. Truth be told, he couldn’t find it within himself to care overly much about punishments anymore. He just couldn’t wait to be home, and he expected Fili was thinking and feeling the exact same. But he had to mention his misgivings, misgivings that were tickling at his mind and trying to get his attention. Pulling the bow gently from Fili’s hands, he asked, “Do you mean for us to cross here?”

Fili flinched—as if he’d been startled from some deep thoughts or a waking sleep. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I believe we’re safe now.”

That was a matter of opinion. But at least Fili was finally satisfied that they were far enough away from Gandalf and Ralt to risk breaking cover. It felt as if a weight shifted in Kili’s chest. Safe. They were safe from the men at last. He stood as Fili did, brushing pointlessly at his clothes. “Are you sure there’s not a better ford further up?” 

Because, if he was being honest, this crossing point didn’t look sensible at all to his eye. True, it was a wide point of the river and looked a little slower than the narrow, tumbling, roaring parts they’d passed, but it still looked deep, and he imagined it would be cold, and—

“Are you worried about getting your toes wet, little brother?” 

No. Not his toes. He wasn’t overly worried about them. And his socks were still damp anyhow from the rain that had dogged their steps almost from the very moment they’d left Gandalf and the others at the road until just a few hours ago. What he was concerned about was one or both of them getting swept away and drowning right before they got a chance to hug Amad again. 

Kili frowned at the river and shook his head. It felt like cowardice to admit it, even if he was only admitting it to himself, because he was a dwarf, and a young, strong one at that, but the fast march, the lack of sleep, and their barely having eaten since Bree…it was taking its toll. His entire body and mind felt as if they were trembling. 

But they were so close to home. So close. 

“The river rises further upriver before it forks,” said Fili. “It’ll be faster and deeper there, and I don’t know of any other fords.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’ve tried to recall the maps, but I can’t, and here, we’ve only one river crossing to manage, not two. Then, once we’re across, it’ll be easy to get you home. You remember the way from there? From where the river splits?”

Not really. It had been years since they’d explored this far north of the valley road, and they’d never been this far east. But how hard could it be? They were mountain dwarves, and these were their lands. His feet would know the way. 

And Fili must be exhausted too, for that had to have been the tenth time he’d asked a variation of the same question. Kili nodded. “I do,” he said, feeling pride stir once more in his chest at the thought that Fili wanted him to be the one to take them home. Maybe Fili was unsure of the way, or maybe it was just a sop to him because he’d whined so much about being captain, but, either way, he’d take it. He’d take the opportunity in both hands and he’d make Fili proud. “I can lead us back. I’ll find a trail easy enough.” 

The mountain goats and deer would have left hundreds of tracks up and down. He’d find one to follow that took them straight up, or, maybe, and maybe more sensibly, he’d have them follow the river fork until they reached the lake. That sounded as if it were the route Fili had intended before he’d decided to hand over command. True, it had been a few summers since Uncle Thorin had last taken them to the lake, but if he found the lake, then he knew the way home. 

Kili tapped his lip with the bow. Yes, the lake would be the sensible option, but he really didn’t want to go that far if they didn’t have to. To walk to the lake would be backtracking, in a way, and they’d definitely have to camp, and he wanted to hug Amad sooner rather than later. 

What to do for the best? 

He didn’t know. 

Could they run to the lake? He glanced sideways at Fili and considered the darkening shadows under his brother’s eyes. No. He wouldn’t make Fili run all that way. Not that his big brother couldn’t do it, for likely Fili could manage it a lot better than he could, but it didn’t seem fair. Not when Fili had barely eaten and barely slept, even when they’d had the opportunity for both. But then, was it fair to lead his tired big brother straight up into the mountains and then find that any trail could only be negotiated by fleet-footed mountain goats and not tired, footsore, heartsore dwarves? He couldn’t decide. 

But he didn’t need to decide just yet. Because the river was in their way, and Fili was right. Who knew where there might be a better place to cross? The next ford could be leagues away, or impassable, or both, and, even if it wasn’t any of those things, they’d only be crossing to end up on the wrong side of yet another river. 

He snatched up his pack. 

“That’s it, little brother,” said Fili. Shouldering his own pack, he ruffled Kili’s hair before picking up the sword. “I don’t reckon the water’s going to get any less cold the longer we leave it.”

Chapter Text

“Come on, lad,” said Dwati gently. “Get yourself away from the door. You know better than that.”

He didn’t. He didn’t know anything at all. That’s why he was being forced to eavesdrop, as Dwati well knew. Ignoring the tugs on his tunic, Gimli pressed his ear tighter to the wood panelling. This wasn’t fair. None of it was. He should be inside. After all, it was him who’d brought Thorin the news of the old man in the first place. Him! And it was him who’d run all the way back to the gate to let the guards know that Thorin wanted to see the old man at once. Yes, so Thorin might not personally have ordered him to do that, and, yes, so the guard Thorin had actually sent had longer legs and was fresh having been doing nothing but hanging about outside Thorin’s chambers all day, and, yes, that guard had made it across the settlement quicker—but Gimli had been right on his heels. 

“Gimli,” Dwati ordered. “Come away.” 

Fine. He could hear nothing anyway, not anymore, not with Dwati hissing constantly in his ear. To be absolutely certain, Gimli tried one last time, even holding his breath as he crushed his entire body to the door. No. Nothing. Not a thing. Not even the rumble of voices. He huffed out a breath. Thorin must have heard Dwati fussing and taken the old man through the antechamber and on into his study, fearing folk listening in as shouldn’t. 

Straightening his clothes, he stepped away from the door and looked around. Apart from him, Dwati, and the two guards standing idly on either side of Thorin’s chamber doors, the passageway was empty. It was silent. And there were no hurrying steps drawing closer. In fact, there was no sense of urgency at all. In any direction. “Who have you sent to fetch Dis?” he asked Dwati. “For I think they must've stopped at the alehouse, or tumbled down the mountain. What's keeping them?” 

The two guards and Dwati exchanged looks, and likely they thought they were doing it above his head and with a great deal of subtlety, as all older dwarves thought they did. But they were no better at it than Gloin was. Gimli glowered at them all. He could see sympathy—which he didn’t need—and…something else. Confusion? Why were they confused? It was a simple question. 

No. 

Surely not? 

“You haven’t sent for her?” asked Gimli incredulously. And he should have known. That she hadn’t been told was the only possible explanation for why Dis wasn’t here beside him, demanding that they both be told exactly what was going on. She’d never have been forced to glean what little she could from listening at doors. And the old man must’ve been closeted away with Thorin for over an hour already. She’d be furious. “Why wouldn’t you send for her right away?”

That had sounded a lot like he was pulling rank. And he was certain that Fili, not to mention Gloin, would have given him a very stern look for it, even if Kili might have giggled, but Gimli didn't care. Thorin was busy, and clearly somebody around here needed to pull rank. 

“Because Thorin hasn’t commanded it, lad,” said one of the guards. His voice was muffled by his helm and hollow-sounding. “Now, be off with you. Either get on home for your dinner or wait out there.” He jerked his armoured thumb towards the open doors at the end of the passageway. 

How dare they dismiss him? But Dwati had taken a firm grip of his shoulders and was attempting to steer Gimli away. “I expect Thorin just doesn’t want to worry her,” said Dwati comfortingly. “No sense in that until he’s got to the bottom of whatever’s going on, is there? Then, once there’s news, proper news worth telling, we can send for her.”

Planting his feet, Gimli shook himself free. No sense in worrying her? Not send for her? Was he surrounded by fools? How could they even think that Dis hadn’t been going out of her mind with worry from the very moment his cousins grew overdue? Even before that, he warranted. She might think she hid it from everyone well enough, and apparently she had, but Gimli had been keeping a close eye on her—exactly as he’d sworn to Kili he’d do—and he knew her moods almost as well as he did his own amad’s. He knew Dis had been fretting since the moment his idiot cousins trotted out of the gates. 

And now their ponies had trotted back in without them, and nobody seemed to think that she shouldn’t be the first to know that Fili and Kili were— 

No. His stomach lurched, and he pushed that thought away without finishing it. He pushed all thoughts away. Thinking was for later, when he had the time to sit and think and fret. Now was the time for doing. It was the time for actions. 

“Go home,” said the guard. Gimli glowered at him and thought about ordering him to take the helm off so he knew exactly who he was speaking to. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of,” added the guard, “it isn’t your place, lad. None of it. You’ve done enough.”

Of course it was his place. Exactly as it was their place. And no, he hadn't, he hadn't done anything. Not really. Rolling his eyes, Gimli stomped away, trying to push away the annoyance at it all and think straight. 

Dwati was wrong. If Thorin hadn’t sent for Dis, then that could only be because he’d forgotten to give the order. Not that Gimli would ever say such a thing out loud, and even thinking it felt a bit like a betrayal, but Thorin was only a dwarf, same as everyone else, and, no matter how much he tried to hide it, he was going out of his mind with worry too. Hadn’t Gimli, only this morning when he’d been passing on his way to the walls, overheard Thorin in the training yard telling Dwalin of plans to give Fili one more day to return before they’d go out and bring them back? Why would Thorin even be thinking of sending out a search party if he wasn’t worried? Gallivanting, Dwalin had called it, and said that Fili and Kili both were due a good earboxing the moment he clapped eyes on them. Not that Gimli had heard what Thorin said in return, for he’d knocked over a stand of practice swords and called attention to himself, but he expected it had been much the same sentiment. This morning, Thorin had been annoyed, frustrated, but he hadn’t been worried. Not overly. 

But, an hour ago, when he’d finished panting out his news of the old man and the ponies and Thorin had finally, finally understood, Gimli had seen his big cousin's eyes widen. He’d seen the flash of something close to fear before Thorin recovered. 

It had given him a jolt then, and it was making his heart pound now. Because Thorin was never scared. Never. And Gimli hadn’t thought to offer to run and fetch Dis at the time because he'd suddenly felt frightened too.  In fact, the fear had knocked all sensible thoughts out of his head, just as it must’ve done with Thorin, and Gimli still didn’t know which one of them had recovered faster. Although, in his defence, he’d still been trying to catch his breath, and he’d assumed—foolishly as it turned out—that Thorin’s guards, who were paid good coin to think of these things, would have the wits to sort it all out without having to be spoon-fed orders. 

What were guards for if not to anticipate their King's needs as well as to follow orders? Must Thorin think every thought for them?

Passing out through the doors and into the main passageway, which was thronged with dwarves heading to and from the mines, Gimli forced himself to keep to a fast walk. It was important not to draw eyes and start a panic. He had to look as if everything were normal and under control. He tilted his chin. Honestly, why, if there was something wanting doing, did it fall on him to take the initiative? Why was everyone so useless? He was half their age, for Durin’s sake, and half of them still had the cheek to call him a dwarfling. A dwarfling!

“Gimli!” Dwati was panting as he joined him. He clapped Gimli’s shoulder. “You all right, lad?”

No. Gimli lifted his chin higher, blinking suddenly misty eyes, and chose not to answer that. Because, no, he wasn’t all right at all. How could he be? “You could have gone to fetch her,” he said accusingly. 

“I couldn’t. I was busy running after you,” said Dwati. He nodded to the guards at the mountain gatehouse. Once they were out and through the wide archway, he asked, “Shall we take ponies?”

He’d almost missed the first step on the stairs. He’d almost tumbled right to the bottom. He’d almost broken his neck in front of the mountain gatehouse guards and everyone in the market and been forced to die of embarrassment. Open-mouthed, Gimli stared at Dwati. “What did you just say?” he managed. 

“What?” Dwati shrugged. “Did you think I was going to let you go and fetch her yourself? Do you even know where to start looking?”

He did now. Now that Dwati had suggested ponies, there was only one place Dis would be. Well, that or halfway down the mountain looking for his cousins. “Thank you,” Gimli said. 

Dwati waved off the thanks. “So, shall we go and fetch them? The ponies, I mean. It’ll be quicker.”

No. It wouldn’t. By the time they ran to the stables, saddled ponies, hauled the stubborn beasts to the gates, and got them pointed in the right direction, they’d already have made it most of the way to Dis. 

Besides, he hated riding. Fili always said he sat on a pony as if he were a sack of potatoes with legs. But that was entirely beside the point. “I’m running,” Gimli said. “Go fetch a pony if you want.”

“Dis?” 

The wind that swept over the clifftops and that swirled its way down to where she sat with her back against the sun-warmed stone of Afli’s tomb carried Molir’s voice to her. Dis closed her eyes. 

“Dis,” Molir called again. “Can you hear me? We should really start thinking about making our way back. Sun’s halfway to setting up here.” 

Settling the weight of Afli’s axe better across her knees, Dis sighed. “I know.”

“What’s that?” 

“I said,” Dis raised her voice, “I know the sun’s setting, Molir.” She had a perfect view of it doing just that from where she was. It was one of the reasons why Thorin, and her, to a certain extent, as much as a dwarf could choose anything when lost and drowning in grief, had chosen this lonely place and not the tombs inside the walls. 

Another day was ending, the dusky pinks and oranges that painted the vast eastern sky would soon fade, and another long night would begin. 

Where were her boys? How had another full day passed with no news and no word from them. Her world felt as if it were crumbling around her once again. She couldn’t bear this, the waiting. “Where are they, Afli?” she whispered to the stone, placing her hand flat against it. When there was no answer, she leaned in close, pressing her forehead to the stone too. “Are they safe? Can you see them? Tell me.” 

But there was still no answer. Or, if there was, if her husband was sending her soft words of reassurance, then they were hidden amongst the distant calls of the clifftop birds settling in for the night, and lost to her in the whispering of the wind through the long grasses. She couldn’t hear a single one of them. Heaving out another sigh, Dis bowed her head before getting slowly to her feet. 

What did it matter? Even if she'd heard his voice, even if he could have let her know that he was watching over their sons, it wouldn't have helped. Afli had never wanted to tell her bad news. He’d been exactly like her brother in that way. 

Feeling her bones creak as if she were a hundred years older than she was, Dis hauled herself up the winding stair that led to the clifftops, using the axe haft to lean on, and hanging onto the rock with her other hand. Out of the lee where they’d placed his tomb, the wind grew fiercer. It yanked at her clothes. It tugged at her braids as if wanting to pull her back down. It stole the breath from her chest. 

It was exhaustion. That’s what it was. This leaden feeling in her limbs. Ever since her boys had left, even before they’d grown late back, sleep had been slow to come to her, and fleeting when it finally did arrive. Her thoughts were muddy, her reflexes slow, and she needed them. She needed her boys in her arms. How could that be too much to ask for?

Molir met her at the top. He reached out a hand that Dis batted away. “I’m not an invalid,” she said. “I can manage a few dozen—” The words dried in her mouth. Far away, across the mountain slopes, someone was coming towards them. Two someones. One of them was well ahead of the other. She peered into the deepening gloom, her heart pounding in her ears, feeling Molir turn to stare too. 

He frowned. “Is that…”

“Gimli?” It was. They could hear his voice now on the wind. He was calling for her, and he was running. Dis shaded her eyes—as if that might help her see and hear better. She leant forward. Who was with him? Her heart leapt with a mix of hope and dread before her mind caught up. Whoever it was, they were too short to be Kili and too broad to be Fili. One of the guards? Disappointment was a bitter taste in her mouth, and then, in a rush of cold, the fear swept over her. 

Before she had made up her mind to do it, she was running, Afli’s axe gripped tight in one hand and her skirts fisted in another. She could hear the heavy tattoo of Molir’s boots on the turf behind her. 

It was news. It had to be. 

Gimli slammed into her in a rattle of ill-fitted armour. He grabbed her arms, and she managed to keep enough presence of mind to toss the axe aside before she grabbed at him in return. His hair was wild, and his eyes were as red as his beard. “Tell me,” she demanded. 

“A man,” he panted. “There's a man.”

“What man? The merchant?” Her blood, already cold, grew colder. Why would Gernac be here? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if its him. Nobody would tell me, but he had a grey beard, and a hat, and he looked at me as he went into Thorin’s, and…and…”

She tried to resist the urge to shake the words from him. “Are they with him? Gimli, tell me. Are Fili and Kili with him? Does he have news of them?”

“The ponies,” Gimli managed before bursting into tears. 

“The ponies?” 

But if there were further words, they were hidden amongst heartbroken sobs, and no amount of patting at Gimli's shoulder or repeating the question made whatever news the boy carried any clearer. Dis met Molir’s eyes when he joined them and shook her head. 

It was Dwati who had come with Gimli. By the time he arrived, panting heavily and holding his side, Dis had given up on any further interrogation and wrapped her arms around Gimli, hushing him. “Well?” she asked. 

Dwati bowed. “Apologies, Princess. Captain. We don’t know anything further as yet, only that the lads’ ponies are back—”

“Without them,” finished Dis. A weight settled in her gut. She’d known it. Somewhere in her heart and in her blood, she’d already known it, perhaps even before she’d heard Gimli’s words. Her voice was steadier than she’d expected it to be. 

Dwati nodded. He avoided her eyes as he continued, “That's the right of it, Princess. A man’s brought them in. He’s up at the mountain with Thorin at the moment, but young Gimli here thought you’d want to know right away.”

As she should. Thorin should have sent for her immediately. Dis nodded, stroking Gimli’s hair. “Take me to my brother.”

The lake, his reference point as he’d searched for the best way to climb the slopes of the upper mountain, lay half-hidden in the valley below them. Its deep waters were already dark. 

In his still river-damp clothes, now sweat-dampened too, Kili stood in the mountain’s shadow and shivered, watching night creep far too fast over the valley. What was wrong with him? He felt beyond winded, and the mountains on this side of their home seemed steeper and less friendly than he remembered them ever being. Was it simply that he was tired? He didn’t feel tired. Not overly. 

It didn’t seem fair. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that the mountain was working against him, for every path that looked likely to his mind seemed to peter out or grow quickly impassable. Maybe the mountain was offended because they’d been away, travelling through woods? But that was a silly thought. He pushed it aside, looking downslope towards Fili, who was slumped against a wind-stunted tree. Was his brother holding onto his ribs? He’d felt as if they were moving too slowly, but had he set too hard a pace after all? 

“What do you reckon, Fee?” he called. “Should we camp or press on?” 

The sensible thing would be to backtrack—again—down this narrow, twisting goat trail a ways, find somewhere flat enough for the two of them to stretch out, somewhere out of the wind and the cold, make a fire and wait it out until sunrise. That would definitely be the sensible thing to do. 

But he didn’t want to do the sensible thing. He wanted to keep running until full dark. Then he wanted to walk on, minding their footing, up and up until the rock levelled out beneath his boots and he could see the final mountain peak— their mountain—outlined in stars. He wanted to get home and be knocking on the gates before the sun rose. That’s what he wanted, and his whole body was trembling with the anticipation of it. A hot bath. A cold ale. A warm hug from Amad. 

But it wasn’t just himself and his wants he had to worry about. He had to think like the captain Fili was finally trusting him to be. What if his brother made a misstep and slipped in the dark? True, Fili was every bit as sure-footed as him, moreso usually, but ever since they’d crossed the river, his big brother’s steps had seemed to be dragging, and Fili had kept falling further and further behind. 

Not that Fili had complained about it. He hadn’t said a word about the pace, or about the amount of backtracking they’d had to do, and they’d done a lot of backtracking. In fact, he hadn’t complained about anything. 

Kili frowned at his brother and slowly sidestepped along the trail until he had a better angle. Yes, Fili was holding onto his ribs. Or at least it appeared as if he was. 

That settled it. They couldn’t, shouldn’t, go further. He’d stop being selfish and be sensible instead. He’d get Fili warm and make him rest, make him sleep. Kili scrubbed his fingernails over his prickly stubble, thinking back over the way they’d come. “Do you know,” he said, raising his voice in case Fili hadn’t heard his first question above the howling wind that scoured the mountain’s upper slopes, “I think we should wait for first light, after all. Let’s go down a little and I’ll find us somewhere to camp.” 

They’d passed a stand of pine trees about a half hour ago. That felt like a good place to try first. 

With the decision made, and telling himself it was the right one, the proper one, Kili tramped down to Fili. He smiled when his brother seemed to rouse from his thoughts at the movement. “I don’t know about you, Fee,” Kili continued merrily, “but I’m tired, beyond tired. And I reckon that Amad would box our ears if she were ever to find out that we roamed these slopes in the dark, never mind roaming them sleepy into the bargain. Let’s rest.”

Fili nodded. Lifting his pack from it lay by his feet, he slung it over his shoulders. 

They picked their way back down in the fading light in silence and made their way off the trail and to the huddle of pine trees. 

“Here, I think,” said Kili, finding a sensible-looking spot in their midst. As he’d hoped, the trees cut the wind nicely, and he felt instantly warmer. He rubbed his chilled hands together and peered up at the nodding branches above their heads. “Do you think these look safe enough?” 

They should be, the wind wasn’t really that strong this far down, and if the pines had survived every winter storm over the last however many years then surely they should make it through one more summer night? But Kili suddenly found that he wanted to hear Fili’s voice, because he felt as if he’d been talking entirely to himself since they’d hauled themselves out of the river. 

In fact, had Fili said more than a dozen words since the river? 

No. He had. He definitely had. They’d briefly discussed which trail to follow when they’d passed through the treeline at the very base of the mountain, and then, when Fili seemed satisfied that Kili wasn’t about to lead them off a cliff anytime soon and did actually know what he was about, his brother had lapsed more and more into silence. Sentences had become words and words had become nothing at all, and there’d been nothing at all for hours. Kili was sure of it. He’d just been so busy with finding the right trail, and then with not finding it, that the quiet hadn’t been properly noticeable. 

But here, in the hushed quiet of the trees, it was noticeable. 

Was Fili hurting? Was that why he wouldn’t speak? Kili chewed at his lip. Could he ask? Anytime he’d tried to ask or check, it had seemed to make his brother angry. 

“What about a fire?” he tried instead. Shrugging out of his pack, he hung it and then his soggy cloak from a low-hanging branch. “We could make one here? The needles should work as kindling, and there’s plenty of twigs about. Maybe we can warm our things a bit. I’d like to be dry, I think.”

Nothing. Only the twitter of little birds in the pines and the rustle of branches answered him. 

“Fee?” 

Fili jolted. He’d been tugging at a spindly branch, and it bounced upwards when he released it. “Yes,” he said quietly.

Was that it? Was that all that Fili intended to say? It seemed so. “Yes, what?” Kili prompted. 

“Yes, you should have a fire. Here.” Fili untied the sword from about his waist and tossed it. It landed with a dull thud at Kili’s feet. 

“I don’t…” Kili frowned at the sword. “I think there’s enough fallen wood without having to cut…” The words he’d intended to say faded from his mind as he watched Fili tighten his pack straps and pull his hood up. “What are you doing, Fee?”

“I checked through our packs last night,” said Fili, looking about the small clearing and not towards Kili at all. “I don’t believe I have anything of yours, but I don’t really have time to go through them again now, not if I want to get back to the river by full dark, and it looks as if there won’t be a moon tonight. So if I've taken something, or left something, I’m sorry.”

There was a cold, twisting feeling in his stomach. Kili shook his head. “Fee?”

“You’ll manage fine from here,” said Fili. Finally, he met Kili’s eyes. “In fact, you haven’t needed me at all, little brother, but I haven’t been able to make myself leave and—”

“No.” They were close enough that it was an easy grab for Fili’s wrist. “Stop it, Fee. I don’t understand.” Or he thought he didn’t. Or he didn’t want to. But he could see the shape of what his brother was saying to him, and it was sending shivers through him that were nothing to do with damp clothes or the falling temperature. “I think we should build a fire,” he said. “We’ll have a rest, and then we’ll talk. Properly talk.”

“There isn’t anything left to say.”

“There certainly is.”

Fili’s lips twitched. Gently, he twisted his wrist free and stepped back. “I said that I’d see you back, and I have, but I’m going no further. I’d told myself I’d leave after we'd crossed the river, but” —he shrugged— “like I said, I just couldn’t bring myself to—”

“You’re not going home?” His voice sounded shrill. Kili swallowed and tried again, “Fee, is that what you’re saying to me? But why wouldn’t you go home?”

“Because, brother…” Fili sighed. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand, and I haven’t time to explain.” 

“I would understand.” When Kili shifted, intending to grab a hold of Fili’s wrist again, his brother slipped back out of reach. 

“I’ve failed you all, that’s why,” Fili said. “That’s the crux of it.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“You are always too loyal to me, little brother.” Fili glanced at the sky. 

“If you’re set on leaving, then the least you owe me is a proper explanation,” said Kili, trying to think quickly. If he could get Fili to sit down and talk for a while, then he could talk him around, or at least stall him until the morning. 

Maybe Uncle Thorin or Dwalin or someone would arrive while they were talking? Kili’s heart fluttered, hope trying to push down the despair and panic rising in his chest. Surely someone would come? Surely, even if everyone thought that he and Fili were just taking advantage of their freedom, they’d be searching the mountainside and all the way to Bree by now? Anytime they’d ever been gone for even half a day longer than promised, Uncle Thorin and Amad always sent someone out. It was usually Dwalin, and he’d always be grumbling about it, and threatening to pull them home by the ears as if they were still little dwarflings. 

Would Dwalin think to search for them on the northern slopes? 

Why that they come this way?

“Tell Uncle Thorin I’m sorry,” said Fili. He stepped back again. 

“That’s it?” Fili was retreating faster as Kili followed, and his brother was about to run. Hot tears stung at Kili’s eyes. He blinked them back. Could he tackle Fili? Could he wrestle his brother to the ground and sit on him until he saw sense? 

Then he looked into Fili’s eyes. Properly looked. “Wait, just a…” Kili’s voice cracked, and the decision was made, as he’d always make it. Running back, he grabbed his pack and the sword. 

“What are you doing?” snapped Fili. 

“Going with you.” Had he forgotten anything? Kili dashed at his blurry eyes. His cloak. He’d forgotten his cloak, and he’d miss that. He’d definitely miss that. He yanked it from its branch, dropping his pack, and swung the cloak around his shoulders. It wouldn’t fasten. His hands were shaking too hard. 

“No,” said Fili. “You’re not.”

“You can’t stop me.” Why wouldn’t it fasten? Was it broken? “If you failed anyone, then so did I, and if that means you have to go, then I’m going too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He wasn’t the one being ridiculous. And the wretched fastening must have broken, but he didn’t have time to deal with it now. Bundling the cloak up into a wet ball, Kili ripped open his pack and stuffed it in. It’d get everything wet, but that didn’t matter, because they’d get wet going through the river again, wouldn’t they? Or it’d rain on them. Or both. Maybe at the same time. And what did any of it matter anyway? It didn’t. Being wet, or cold, or hungry, or tired didn’t matter one bit. He wasn’t going home, and nothing mattered any more. 

“You’re not coming with me, little brother,” said Fili. “And that’s the end of it. You’re staying here, and in the morning you’ll go home, back to where you belong.”

“Where you belong.” Why wouldn’t his pack straps fasten now? Kili yanked them tied any old way and leapt to his feet. He slung the pack over his shoulder. Fine. It’d do as well. He’d fix it all later. 

Was there a pine needle in his boot?

“I don’t want you.”

Fili’s voice had been a whip crack. Kili looked up from stamping his boot against the ground to dislodge whatever it was that was jabbing at him. The world around them had fallen utterly silent. “Fee?” he asked. 

“I said” —Fili tilted his chin and met Kili’s eyes— “You’re staying here. I don’t want you with me.”

His mouth had fallen open, and he tried to speak, to ask something, say something, but all that came out was a small squeak, like that of a wounded animal. Kili touched his chest. 

“I’ll send word when I’m settled,” continued Fili. He looked away. “Tell Amad not to worry, and tell Thorin not to come after me. Tell him not to send anyone. I don’t want any of them following me. I don't want to talk, and I don't want to listen. Tell them to leave me alone.”

“No.” Kili shook his head. He couldn’t arrange his thoughts in any meaningful way. This was madness. His heart felt as if it were breaking, but that didn’t matter. His heart didn’t matter at all. What mattered was that they were four, maybe five, hours at most from the settlement gates, from home, and that was nothing. It was the smallest of marches. They had to get home. He had to get Fili to somewhere where there were a hundred dwarves who could talk sense into him.  

How could he do it? What could he say or do to get Fili there? 

Fili’s eyes narrowed as if he knew what Kili were thinking. “I can’t look after you, Kili, and I don’t—”

“But I can look after myself. You don’t need to worry about—”

“You can’t, and you won’t. You never do. You never think, Kili. You’ve never had to.”

But he did think. He thought all the time. He just couldn’t think now, not when Fili’s words were landing as if they were blows. And he was gripping his pack straps too hard, making his still-healing fingers hurt. It was distracting. Rubbing at them, Kili froze when he realised that Fili was looking at them too. 

Fraeg. The thought dropped into his mind like a stone. Of course, his brother was thinking of Fraeg and of how Kili had been the cause of all of that mischief, and yes, they’d all parted on well enough terms, but it could have gone very differently. It could even have caused a rift between Thorin and Dain. And it had been far from the first time Fili had hauled him out of trouble. The flush rising in Kili’s cheeks felt as if it were burning down into his bones. What about the last time they’d been to the lake? If it hadn’t been for him and his bright idea for a fun game, they’d never have lost Amad’s knife and—

“I could have gotten away,” said Fili. “I could have fought my way free, and I almost did, but they had you.” He stepped closer, and his eyes were hard in a way that Kili didn’t recognise. It made the shattered pieces of his heart shrivel in his chest.

“Don’t you see?” continued Fili. “Don’t you understand? All Ralt needed to do was threaten to harm you if I didn’t obey him, and he’d won. How could I risk it?” Turning away, Fili huffed out a breath. “You’re a liability to me. My weakness.”

“I make you weaker?” Kili shook his head. That wasn’t true. Amad always told them that they were stronger together. He knew they were stronger together. He knew he was stronger with Fili at his side. Surely, it had to be true the other way around? His thoughts faltered. It was true. Wasn’t it? “Fee, please. You can’t leave. Please don’t—”

“I don’t need you slowing me down, and I don’t need you causing me any more trouble. I don’t need you at all.” Fili shifted his pack. “Go home, Kili. Just go home.”

Chapter Text

They shouldn’t be arguing in front of the stranger. And neither should they be arguing in front of their people. Why couldn’t she, for once, do a single, simple thing that he ordered her to do without causing an uproar about it? 

He glared around him. Despite the early hour, there had been an unusual number of dwarves out and about in the settlement’s streets. There was also an unusual number of dwarves milling around in the vicinity of the gatehouse now, all of them pretending that they just so happened to have important business to be about before the sun had even reached their mountain. 

His people were curious. Curious by nature, and exceedingly curious about the strange, greybearded Man who looked far too elderly by mannish standards to be a merchant, and far too elderly by anyone’s standards to be climbing onto anything more strenuous than an armchair—never mind a snorting stallion. And Thorin knew his people well. By midmorning, rumours would be spreading through the settlement like summer wildfire on the mountain. 

He sighed. Balin would deal with it. He always did. But, still, he should have left earlier. He should have left under the cover of darkness. And he should have known better, about all of it, but especially about his sister. 

Taking Dis’s elbow firmly, Thorin drew her further away. “We agreed on this last night, sister,” he said. 

“You agreed on it. I did not.” 

In the shadows of the gatehouse, Dwati stood, holding onto Dis and Molir’s ponies and awaiting further orders. Thorin jerked his head and watched the guard start back toward the stables. He turned his attention back to his furious sister. “I need you to remain here,” he said as gently as he could. “I need you to look after things in my absence. You know that I rely on you to—”

Dis shook off his hand. “Don’t give me that. You can’t wave a treat under my nose and distract me. I’m not a dwarfling any longer, Thorin. I haven’t been one for a very long time.”

He and Dis obviously remembered her time as a dwarfling very differently. “Dis,” he said calmly, trying to reason with her again. “I understand that you feel—”

“I’m a mother,” snarled Dis. “Don’t tell me how I should feel. They are my sons, and you will not stop me protecting them.”

“Of course. But as I said, I need you to—”

“You have Balin here. He’s more than capable.” Dis half-turned, glowering at the empty space beside the gatehouse where Dwati and the ponies used to be. Her beard beads rattled when she whipped back to face Thorin. “Dwalin will accompany me to Bree. It’s all arranged. You can go and speak with these men in Michel Delving, make them tell you everything they’ve withheld from the wizard, and then join us.”

“No. It is not arranged, for I have unarranged it. Did you truly think Dwalin wouldn’t speak with me? I’m not having you running around the lowlands, getting into trouble exactly as your sons have done.” 

Dis’s eyes flashed. The rising sun creeping over the settlement wall also caught on the keen edge of Afli’s axe that loomed high over his sister’s shoulder. It was a battleaxe, and far too large for her to wield—not that he’d dare say such a thing to her today, for Durin only knew how many knives she currently had on her person. But, even so, a too-large axe in angry hands was still a dangerous thing indeed. Thorin took a cautious half-step back, regretting his ill-considered words said in haste. “I cannot have all three of you unaccounted for,” he said, lowering his voice. “Dis, please. I need to know that you are here and that you are safe. I cannot bear it otherwise.”

The unintended confession seemed to knock her off-course. Dis blinked then shook her head. “You need me out there, Thorin,” she said. “Their trail will be cold by now. And, even had we been tracking them within the hour, we both know Dwalin would still have walked right past it.”

“That’s unfair, sister.” Although it was also true, and precisely why he intended to send Nori with Dwalin to Bree. He might even go himself, for three sets of eyes would always be better than two. But he couldn’t split himself in half, and someone had to visit the hobbit cells—if the Men who’d robbed his nephews were even in cells, because Gandalf hadn’t confirmed it in those exact words—and find out everything they knew. 

But what if he already knew everything that could be known? What if, by taking the road to Michel Delving rather than to Bree, he would be making a mistake, and wasting precious time that couldn’t be regained? 

He didn’t know the right course. He’d gone over it and over it and kept changing his mind. Perhaps, before his and Dwalin’s paths diverged, he would know in his heart what he should do. 

By the gates, Gandalf was puffing placidly on a pipe and looking around with interest. Thorin frowned. A wizard, allegedly, by the man’s own admission. But also, according to Balin's books, none other than Tharkûn himself. Again, allegedly, for they had nothing to prove the truth of matters, other than the man's words, and Balin’s books had proved unhelpful at supplying any description that wouldn’t have matched any old man, hooded and cloaked in grey. 

Not that it mattered overly much. Thorin had no use for magic, or wizards. And he especially had no use for magic or wizards when it appeared that there was no useful spell that could be employed to track either of his nephews. 

Which led him back to wondering… Did he trust the man? Did he believe any of the tale that he’d been told? Something in his gut was saying that he did, and he should, for there had been more than a ring of truth in Gandalf’s tale. But there was still a chance that this was all some sort of elaborate ruse, for some nefarious purpose not yet revealed. 

Thorin fingered the braid bead—Fili’s braid bead, once Frerin’s braid bead—that was tucked deep into his pocket. One thing was for certain, however Gandalf had come to have it in his possession, Fili would never have let it go willingly. It would never have been placed on a card table as the men in the hobbit cells claimed. Not in a thousand years, not for any amount of gold, would his nephew have even considered doing such a thing. Thorin knew that in his blood and in his bones. 

It had been taken.

Which was why Dis knew nothing about it. For if she knew half of what Gandalf had told him, or if she even suspected that either of her sons had met, as Thorin suspected and feared, with violence, there would be nothing he could say or do to persuade her to stay behind. 

“I need to find my sons,” said Dis, her voice cracking. “I need them home, Thorin. I need them safe.”

“I know.” Thorin patted her shoulders, feeling the leather and chainmail beneath her cloak. Not dressed simply for travel, his baby sister was dressed for war. Despite himself, he smiled. “Those needs are also mine.”

She shook him off. “I swear to you, Thorin. I will burn this world to ashes if any harm has come to—”

“I will find them.” 

“And you will bring them home safely.”

If only that were a promise he could make to her. If only that were a promise he was certain he could keep. Trying to push Gandalf’s description of marks on a riverbank from his head, Thorin took a deep breath. What did it matter if Kili had slipped and fallen? As a dwarfling, his youngest nephew had been prone to clumsiness at times. A fall didn’t mean that he’d been harmed in any way. It certainly didn’t mean he’d been grievously wounded when he’d tumbled. It didn’t mean Kili was… 

Thorin shook his head. Such dark thoughts would not aid him. “I need you to stay here,” he said. “I need to trust that you are within these walls. Tharkûn tells me that Gernac will honour our past agreements and send the grain we need, but I will need you to—”

“The merchant won’t be here for weeks. I cannot, will not, wait that long. Not without news.”

“You won’t wait that long. I wouldn’t ask it of you. But there are a thousand other tasks in the meantime that cannot wait. For our people's sake as well as mine, you must turn your mind to them.” Thorin gripped her shoulders this time, forcing her to look at him. “I need you to swear to me that you will stay and help Balin look after this place until I return. I need you to keep on with the preparations for winter, and I will return as soon as I can. I need to trust you. Promise me, Dis.”

She sighed. Thorin felt her shoulders slump before she knocked her forehead against his, not entirely ungently. “Bring them home to me, Thorin,” she said. “Bring them home to me soon.”

Over moss and stone and through dew-wet, knee-high grass, Kili’s feet flew, without thought, without any part of his mind being occupied with caring for them at all. He stumbled. He slid. More than once, he fell, tumbling head over hurrying heels, but he picked himself up and dusted himself off and ran on. Because he didn’t care. He didn’t care if the next time he lost his footing, he bounced all the way down the mountainside, so long as it was fast. 

Why had he fallen asleep? How had he fallen asleep? He’d been certain that he wouldn’t be able to so much as close his eyes, never mind fall asleep so soundly that it was the twittering of the mountain birds greeting the dawn that woke him. But he had. He’d slept. Then he’d awakened. Then he’d stamped out the ashes of the fire he’d made, ate a few mouthfuls of the rabbit left over from supper—even though it turned his stomach—packed up his sad, cheerless, brotherless little camp, and set off. 

In the wrong way. 

He’d trotted upwards, up and up and up, like an obedient little dwarfling, until he’d crossed over the late summer snowline. 

Only then did he stop, and hurl down his pack so hard that he was certain he’d broken something within it, and turn to look back the way he’d come. 

He'd wasted so much time. He’d wasted hours and hours, and he shouldn’t have delayed even a single moment. He was such a fool. 

“Fee!” shouted Kili again, hearing his voice echo back off the tree trunks and rocks around him. Somewhere far above his head, a rook startled into flight, cawing out a warning, but, no matter how he strained his ears, there was nothing else in return. No answering shout from ahead. No call from his right or to his left to say that Fili had slept on the mountainside. Only the whistling of the wind through the pines. 

What if he’d missed him? What if Fili had stopped for a rest, changed his mind, and turned back? What if Fili was already heading for the settlement gates, hoping to catch up to him instead? 

But his heart was telling him that wasn’t true. The few prints that he’d seen on his race down the mountain told him that Fili was still ahead, many hours ahead now, jogging east, putting distance between himself and home, putting distance between himself and his useless, worthless, weak little brother. Fili wasn’t stopping to think, not even for a single moment, of all the other dwarves who loved him. 

And his eyes were watering again. Angrily, Kili swiped at them, trying to ignore the prickling in his nose that had started up again too. No. No. No more crying like a little dwarfling. He didn’t have time for it. And he should have no tears left anyhow, he should be a dried-up husk of a dwarf, considering how he’d wept himself to sleep after Fili left, curled up around the pain in his chest, certain that his heart had to be breaking.  

Ahead, he could see the end of the woods that lined the mountain’s lower slopes, and, through the thinning trees, he could see all the way down to the fast-flowing river. It sparkled like silver in the dawn light. 

Kili tightened his pack straps, trying to tell himself to think of something comforting, because panicking wasn’t helping, because thinking about how he could now see clearly for at least half a league—all the way down to the river and beyond—wasn’t helping, and because thinking that he could also clearly see that nothing was moving out there, not on either side of the river, wasn’t helping. Not one bit. 

At least, today, so far, it wasn't raining. 

Was that a comforting thought? Maybe. 

Another much less comforting thought was that, in half a league or so, he’d have to cross the river alone. And following quickly behind that thought was one of the many he’d been trying his best to avoid. Had Fili gotten across safely? His brother would have been doing it alone too, but in the dark, and it had been a tricky enough crossing in daylight. 

Beginning his jog towards the river, and angling northwards to bring himself back to the crossing point where they’d forded it before, Kili tried not to think of how cold it had been when he and Fili had crossed it, in daylight, nor how strong the current had been as it tugged at him, nor how his boots had slid on the slippery river stones beneath his feet. He tried not to remember the feel of his brother’s hand holding tightly to his belt. 

Had Fili crossed it cautiously? Or, since he’d no clumsy little brother to worry about, had he rushed it, not caring if—

No. He couldn’t let those types of thoughts enter his mind. He couldn’t. He’d drive himself mad. Kili broke into a run, forcing his mind to concentrate wholly on his footing on the turf rather than the what-ifs, and soon the crossing point was looming ahead of him. 

His steps slowed as he waded through first bracken and then down the rough goat path towards the river. At its very edge, Kili stopped and heaved out a sigh. It hadn’t seemed as high yesterday—was it only yesterday?—nor as wide, nor as fast as it did now. And he expected that it would feel a lot colder today too. Likely because, yesterday, he’d known for certain that the next time he willingly submerged himself in water, it was going to be piping hot and scented with Amad’s handpressed soaps. 

Shrugging the pack from his shoulders, trying very hard not to think of hot baths or warm, fluffy, fire-dried towels, he sighed again. 

“Best get it over with,” he said to no one in particular. “It’s not going to get one bit warmer the longer you stand here looking at it.” And Fili wasn’t going to get one bit closer either. 

That thought got him moving, and it was exactly as cold as he remembered. In fact, it was colder. Holding the pack above his head, Kili waded as fast as he dared, huffing short breaths out between his teeth, and trying not to be angry at his big brother for making him do this again. 

But anger at Fili was good. It was better than bursting into tears again—especially in mid-river. And it was much better than worrying that his big brother was already too far ahead to ever be caught up with. 

Hidden by the foaming water, Kili’s boot skidded down between the rocks, dunking him in as far as his armpits and almost all the way under before he managed to catch his balance by jamming his knee against another rock. He yelped out a curse that would have gotten his ears boxed had Amad been about and close enough to hear him. 

The cursing made him feel better. Being much more careful with his footing, Kili splashed on, muttering all the curses he and Gimli had overheard the guards using over the years, and all the ones they’d heard Thorin and Dwalin use. 

And then he was across. Safe and sound, if frozen to the bone and with an aching knee. Tossing the bulging pack ahead of him and hearing the weapons tied to it clatter together as they hit the bank, Kili clambered up behind it—and was rewarded with the sight, right under his nose, of a fresh bootprint in the mud. 

“Fee,” he whispered through chattering teeth. 

The relief of knowing that his brother had gotten across safely warmed his mind, if not his body. Shivering hard enough that he was certain his bones were rattling together, Kili emptied the water from his boots before untying the pack straps with badly shaking hands. 

Dry clothes. Glad he’d stopped for a moment to think before he’d plunged into the river, Kili redressed, tying the spare shirt he’d used for a towel tightly to his pack so that it would dry in the afternoon sun. 

But there was nothing whatsoever that could be done about his wet feet. Feeling that it was a shame and a waste of dry socks, he tugged them on, shoved his boots over them and set to squeezing the worst of the river from his hair. 

Then he went searching. Chewing on strips of cold rabbit, he trawled up and down the riverbank, and back and forth, trying to be methodical about it, and trying his best to ignore the chittering voice in his head telling him that he was wasting precious time. 

At last, he found it. One partial bootprint, then another, heading towards the woods. Joyfully, Kili ran back and gathered up his things. 

But his joy didn’t last long. An hour later, with his feet still damp inside his boots, he was deep in the woods, and the trail he’d been so certain had been the right one was gone. Fully, completely, entirely gone. 

Backtracking, Kili tried to ignore the pounding of his heart. 

Once past the treeline, Fili had stopped running. Perhaps he’d felt that there would have been no hiding his river-crossing from keen eyes, so there was no point being cautious before that point? But, after it, he was treading lightly, doubling back, leaving a confusion of false trails. And, try as he might, Kili couldn’t work out which of his brother’s trails was the right one. They all headed roughly east, but one had led into the hills, one had disappeared into a gully, and one—this one that he was searching again—had led deep into the woods. He’d followed each to its end, then searched ahead in ever-widening circles, hoping desperately for any signs Fili might have missed when covering the trail. Because one of them had to be right. His big brother couldn’t just disappear into thin air. 

But he’d found nothing. Again, and again, and again, he’d found simply nothing. Kili stopped and looked up through the branches above him. The sun was still high in the sky, but dipping towards the horizon, and his stomach felt empty, hollow, clenched tight and knotted with worry. Half a day ahead, at least, by his reckoning, that’s what Fili was, and he was wasting time, being useless, going in circles. 

He was never going to catch up. Never. 

The thought jolted something loose inside him. “Fee!” he yelled, cupping his hands about his mouth. “Fee!”

Fili had been right. He was worthless. He couldn’t even follow a trail, and he’d always been able to track Fili—ever since he’d been a dwarfling. Even when Fili had been sneaky, and they’d played and practised at tracking, he’d known which way to choose. Always. It was as if there’d been a string tied tight about his heart, and he’d only ever needed to close his eyes and follow it to its end to find his brother. Fili couldn’t hide from him. Fili wouldn’t hide from him. 

But his brother was hiding now. 

“Fee!” 

Nothing. 

He ran. With no thought left in his head other than to head east, he ran, ferns slapping at his legs, brambles and branches catching in his hair, tearing at his pack and at his clothes. On and on he ran, calling out for Fili over and over, heedless of who or what might hear him, and, all the while, the ground rose steadily under his boots, and the skies and the woods closed in and darkened, and the rain began once more, growing steadily heavier. 

He ran until his breath and his legs gave out, falling to his knees in a clearing. Where would Fili go? Struggling out of the wet pack, Kili threw it aside, the weapons going one by one after it. He threw himself down too, scrubbing his hands through his weather and sweat-dampened hair. 

East? Why was he running east? Would Fili even go east? He’d assumed his brother would, either planning to visit Dain or to go even further, to the unknown lands their adad hailed from, but Fili had never said it. Not outright. He could have turned north. He could have turned south. He could be intending to go anywhere at all. 

The world was too big, too empty, and the useless tears were coming again, and, try as he might, no matter how hard he pressed his fists against his eyes, hard enough that lights exploded behind them, hard enough that it hurt, it hurt, he couldn't stop it, couldn’t stop them. Rolling onto his belly, Kili dug his fingers into the damp earth and screamed, and this time he could feel it. He could feel his heart breaking. 

Chapter Text

The snap of a twig stilled him, and the bow was out of reach, and the sword was out of reach, and—curled up knees to nose in his nest of cold, wet leaves with the rain pattering on him—Kili didn’t much care. Let it be a wolf, a bear, an entire battalion of orcs, he’d not the strength nor the will left within him to even lift his head. 

Let them have an easy meal. He’d nowhere else left to go. 

“Kili? Kili!” 

He was being propped upright and gathered into familiar arms, and he didn’t know if he was awake or dreaming. 

“Kili. Are you hurt?”

With his eyes screwed tightly closed, Kili clung on. His brother’s arms felt real, and Fili’s voice sounded real, but he didn’t dare answer or look and find out. If he was dreaming, then he was happy to stay dreaming, because he couldn’t wake up to a world that didn’t have Fili in it. He wouldn’t. He’d stay here. He didn’t care that he was wet and cold. He’d stay wet and cold forever. 

And he’d thought himself hollowed out with tears, but it seemed he’d managed to leave some wellspring deep inside himself still untapped for this very moment, because he was sobbing into his brother’s neck, letting himself be rocked and petted as if he were a little dwarfling again. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t care if anyone should happen upon them and think him behaving like a little dwarfling. He didn’t even care if Fili thought him behaving like a little dwarfling. It felt good to be held, and Fili had stopped asking questions and was just stroking his hair and hushing him. 

And the tears were drying out at last, leaving him feeling wrung out and exhausted. Slumped against Fili’s chest, Kili hiccuped, listening to the steady thump of Fili’s heart against his cheek, and this would do. He’d stay right here and be perfectly content.

“You fool,” murmured Fili, but there was no reprimand in his voice, and there was no anger. Instead, Kili heard nothing but affection, and it started the tears up all over again, even though Kili had been certain there really had to be none left in him this time. 

Why couldn’t he stop? He needed to stop. There’d be not a drop of water left inside him at all at this rate. He’d be a dried-up, crispy husk of a dwarf. “I’m sorry,” he snuffled, not knowing what he was apologising for. For Fili, thinking he had to leave? For not running after his brother right away? For being a weakness? Maybe he was just sorry for everything. 

Fili tutted quietly, patting at Kili’s back. “I told you to go home. Are you hurt? Sit up properly and let me look at you.” 

He wasn’t moving. Not one inch. Not ever. Kili clung on tighter. 

But Fili was every bit as determined. “Come, brother,” he said, shifting position. “Let me look at you, just for a moment, and then I can hold you again if that’s what you want. But I need to know first that you’re unhurt.” 

It was no good. No matter how hard Kili held on, his grip was being loosened, one finger at a time, and he was being pushed back. 

“Look at me, little brother.” 

There were fingers under his chin, tilting it up, and Kili opened his eyes. His heart flopped over in his chest. It wasn’t a dream. He pinched his wrist to be certain of it. No. Definitely not a dream. Fili was right here, looking windblown and bedraggled, and maybe a little angry. 

“I’ll ask you again,” said Fili, “and I need you to answer me this time. Are you hurt?”

His brother’s hair was a tangled, wet mess of snarls and twists. One of his curls had caught hold of Kili’s hair, binding them together, and Kili found himself staring at the light and dark rope hanging between them. 

“Did you hit your head?” asked Fili. 

Kili shook his head, watching the rope between them sway. And there were twigs and greenery caught in Fili’s hair, as if he’d been running through bushes or brambles, and a long scratch trailing across Fili’s cheekbone. Guilt surged in his chest. Had Fili gotten that looking for him? Or hiding from him? 

“Kili. I asked you a question.”

“I hurt my knee,” Kili confessed, because he had to confess to something, and he couldn’t tell Fili it was his heart that was truly hurting, aching deep within him. Was it broken? He thought it might be, and he’d hoped that finding Fili would mend it, but it hadn’t, not yet, and maybe some hurts couldn’t be mended. A sob rose in his chest at the thought of Amad, watching the door and waiting for them to return. 

“Is it paining you?”

It was. It was a sharp ache, right in the middle of his chest, and every breath he took made it ache more and not less. Realising Fili was asking about his knee, Kili nodded, stumbling over the half-truth, for his knee did hurt. A little. “I fell crossing the river. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me look at it.” 

And now, as Fili carefully rolled up his trouser leg, Kili did feel like a little dwarfling again, and maybe a bit of a fraud too. He watched his brother as Fili examined the small cut—and it was very small—on his knee, and watched while Fili fetched a waterskin, washed out the cut and wiped it clean, then thrust the skin at him. 

“Drink,” ordered Fili. “All of it. It’ll help.”

He was thirsty from all the crying, and there was bound to be a hundred streams in these wet woods to refill the skins from, not to mention the water still dribbling from the sky, so Kili drank as ordered, quite enjoying the feeling of being fussed over. Fili was a thousand times gentler at poking and prodding than Amad or Oin would have been. 

And the water did seem to make him feel better. A little. A very small, almost immeasurable, amount.

“I expect this’ll bruise,” said Fili. “We’ll wrap it and find somewhere dry for you to rest up. Then we can see how you fare walking tomorrow.”

Kili’s broken heart fluttered with hope. That sounded as if Fili wasn’t about to run off again. Not that he wouldn’t have chased his brother, he’d do that even if his knee had been properly hurt, even if his knee had been broken, but it did sound as if he wouldn’t need to. 

“Why didn’t you go home?” asked Fili, sounding annoyed. “Kili. Why didn’t you do as I bid you? Your knee doesn’t look too bad, and it’ll mend, but what if it’d been your head? What if you’d lost your footing entirely in the river? You could have been swept away. You could have drowned.”

Maybe his heart was mending after all, because Kili was warmed through from his toes to the tips of his hair by a flare of anger. How dare Fili say such things to him? How dare Fili tell him off, when it had been entirely Fili’s fault that either of them had been in the river again in the first place? And hadn’t he crossed while worrying the exact same things about his big brother? It was an effort to hold his tongue. 

“I told you to go home,” said Fili. Dragging a pack towards him, he opened it and searched through, pulling out a shirt. Then he fetched the sword and settled once more by Kili’s feet.

And he couldn’t sit here and let Fili rip apart a good shirt to make bindings that weren’t needed. “My knee’s fine,” said Kili, quickly unrolling his trouser leg. “And, anyway, I am home.”

Fili stopped. “What was that?” he asked. “What did you say?”

He wasn’t sure if his brother was asking about his knee or not. Kili shrugged, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth and his eyes prickling once more as he continued, “I am home. You’re my home, Fee. I couldn’t go anywhere else. There isn’t anywhere else to go.”

And he’d known it. He’d known it as he’d climbed upwards towards the settlement, feeling as if his boots were dragging, but then he’d always known it, hadn’t he? He just hadn’t been quick enough to put it together. 

And he shouldn’t have drunk all that water, because he had a feeling that he’d just refilled all the places where he kept his tears. He sniffed, swiping at his eyes, and jolted when Fili moved, half-expecting his brother to run once more. 

But, instead, a forehead pressed against his, and there were hands in his hair. Gentle, familiar hands. Ones he’d known for every day of his entire life. Kili sat still, and breathed, and tried very hard not to cry. 

“You’re a fool, brother,” said Fili quietly. 

Kili nodded. He knew that much. 

“You could be in a hot bath right now, with Amad fussing about in the kitchen, with Gimli and Uncle rushing over to see you, and you could be—”

“Without you,” said Kili. He met Fili’s stare, and he didn’t know how he felt about his big brother’s eyes being as reddened as he was certain his were. “I don’t care about anything else,” he continued, “or anybody else.” 

That was a lie, and they both knew it was a lie, because he cared, he cared a lot. He just cared about Fili more. 

“I can’t go back, Kili,” Fili whispered. “I won’t.” 

He’d hoped that, when his brother had spoken of resting and then walking, Fili had meant they’d then be walking in the right direction. That Fili hadn’t meant that at all, hadn’t rethought this madness at all, and instead still intended not to return to Amad… It felt like a blow to the chest. He just didn’t understand. 

And he’d expected to cry once more, but maybe he was finally, finally empty? When Fili let him go, Kili sat, feeling an odd sense of nothingness, watching his big brother use the point of the sword to rip the shirt stitches. It’d be ruined, for nothing, for a lie about a hurt knee, but it didn’t matter. Because what did a shirt matter to anything? What did anything matter anymore now that he’d found Fili? And he mightn’t understand why Fili couldn’t go home, but that didn’t matter either. Nothing did. Nothing mattered except that he’d got his big brother back and he wasn’t letting him go again. 

That felt a little as if he might be lying to himself, even if only just a little, but Kili decided that didn’t matter either. “Where will we go?” he asked, surprised that his voice sounded so steady and calm. 

Fili shrugged. Sitting back, he sighed and stared at the trees and the sky as if they might have some ideas. 

“Where were you planning on going, Fee?”

Another shrug. Fili turned his attention back to binding Kili’s leg. “Away, I suppose. I thought north.”

But there was nothing to the north? Kili frowned. All there was to the north, because he was assuming that Fili hadn’t been intending to call at any of the dwarven fortresses in that direction, were leagues of cold, frozen mountains—which was fine—and orcs, and dragons—which were less than fine, considering they hadn’t a decent weapon between them. Hadn’t they listened to Balin tell a thousand tales of the northern lands? He’d listened. Had Fili not been listening? “I thought you’d make for the east,” he said. 

“I might have done,” said Fili, busy with wrapping. “I don’t know. Does this feel tight enough?”

Kili glanced at his knee. First chance he got, he’d slip the wrappings off and back into a pack. Likely, they’d be glad of them at some point, especially if Fili decided they were going north to battle legions of orcs and dragons. “It feels fine. Much better. Where exactly in the north were you going?”

“Like I said, I hadn’t fully decided. Then I heard your voice on the wind and I had to come back.” Fili frowned. “I thought you were in trouble. Then I couldn’t find you. I ended up all the way back at the river, and there must have been a dozen trails, and I called and called for you, but these Mahal-cursed woods and rocks just swallowed up my voice, or bounced it back at me. I feared the worst, little brother.”

Some nasty little part of him was pleased that Fili had been rushing around and worrying about him. Kili squashed that thought quickly. “I think we should go east,” he suggested. “Perhaps we can look at Erebor, and then visit Dain.” Not that he had any real interest in either of those things. Not without Uncle Thorin or Amad knowing about it, or, even better, being there too. But it seemed a better idea than north, and, more importantly, he needed to get Fili’s mind back on making plans for both of them and away from thoughts about how his plan to run away alone had been interrupted, again, by Kili’s actions. He really didn’t want Fili to remember that he’d thought of him as a liability. Not now that they were together. 

Fili didn’t look thrilled with the idea of going east, but he didn’t say no. And surely Fili had to admit that any plan was better than none?

But there was one thing he had to insist on first. “We have to send a letter to Amad, somehow, before we go too far away, because it’s not fair, Fee. We can’t just disappear.” 

Kili could see his brother thinking it over. 

“She’ll worry about us forever,” said Kili. “You know that.”

Fili nodded. “Did I ever say you were a fool?” He smiled. “You’re no fool, and you’re a hundred times the dwarf I’ll ever be. Of course, we’ll send a letter to Amad. I didn’t think of it at all.”

Likely, that was because Fili hadn’t thought any further than getting rid of him, knowing that he’d trot on back to Amad, tell her what had happened, and then there’d be no need for letters at all. 

But it was a kindly meant sentiment, even if it were an overblown one, so Kili smiled back, hoping Fili couldn’t see in his eyes how disappointed he was that Fili hadn’t decided to change his mind about this whole thing and just go home after all. Because he just didn’t understand. Because they’d made a thousand mistakes, and been punished a thousand times, and this was, to Kili’s mind, no different. 

But then, it wasn’t his mind that mattered. 

Fili scrambled to his feet, holding out a hand. “Come on then, little brother. It’ll be a grand adventure, and all the better for sharing it.”

“It will.” Kili allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, feeling a little brighter despite all his misgivings. He watched Fili gather up their belongings. Maybe Fili was right? They could go for a little while, have some adventures, and he could gently and subtly persuade Fili all the while. Because the shortest, easiest-looking path wasn’t always the right one, that was what Balin always said, wasn’t it? So, he just had to be clever, hold his tongue, and wait for the right path to show up. Something like that. They’d be home before they knew it. He grinned. 

Fili grinned back. “Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

Tempting though it was to allow Fili to carry him, he wasn’t actually hurt, and Fili was already wearing both packs and carrying the weapons, and they were deep in the woods. He’d get his head bonked off every tree trunk. “No thanks, Fee,” said Kili. “I can walk.”

“Good,” said Fili. “But let me know if it hurts too badly, and lean on me if you need to.” 

Kili nodded. “I will.”

“There’s a hobbit town south of here,” said Fili. “Michel Delving, I think? Something like that, anyhow. Why don’t we rest up tonight, then head that direction in the morning? There’s bound to be an inn where we can leave a letter. Maybe we can even get an ale and get warm and dry for a while too. How does that sound?”

Kili nodded again. He looked up at the patches of grey sky overhead. Warm and dry, he could barely imagine it, and after lying and then sitting in wet leaves in drizzling rain, he was chilled to the bone.  “That sounds good, Fee.” 

“Cheer up, little brother.” Fili clapped him on the shoulder. “This weather’s bound to break eventually. Here, take my arm.”

His brother’s good humour lasted almost a full day. 

“I told you,” said the hobbit innkeep. “I haven’t got nothing for you. Now, if you’re not spending coin, you’re going to have to leave. Don’t make me call for the Shirriff.”

Kili hadn’t the first idea what that was, but it didn’t sound good, and the innkeep was fast growing as red-faced as Fili. Whatever or whoever it was he’d threatened them with, he meant it. 

If he had any sense, he’d turn away, just as Fili was doing, for they’d already attracted more than enough attention. All around the inn, hobbits were looking up from ales or the remains of their midday meals to listen in. 

But this was the very last of Michel Delving’s alehouses, and he’d spent far too long standing outside, under its dripping eaves, trying to persuade Fili to let them try this one more, to give up so easily. 

“Please,” Kili said, shaking off Fili’s hand on his arm. “Surely, you’ve some wood that needs chopping?” 

There had to be wood that needed chopping, and plenty of it. Because it was a chill, wet day, with the feel of autumn rather than late summer in the air, and the two fireplaces on either side of the common room were both lit. In fact, they were both blazing, with tables and chairs pushed right up to them, so that meant that the little hobbits were feeling the weather keenly. So surely no one would want to be outside hauling wood? Not with the rain beating once more on the inn’s windows too. 

Not that Kili particularly wanted to be out in it either. Once more, he was soaked to his bones, and he was certain that, in the heat of the alehouse, his clothes were bound to be lightly steaming. He looked down at the puddle around his boots. Then he looked at the trail of wet bootprints he and Fili had left behind them. 

Likely, their trailing in water wasn’t helping the innkeep’s temper any. But it did give him a fine idea. Kili turned back to the innkeep. “Or I could mop the floor for you?” he suggested. 

And it was more than a suggestion, because he was begging, he knew he was, exactly as he’d sworn to Fili he wouldn’t do. But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. All they wanted was a scrap of parchment and a promise that the innkeep would send a letter on. Or even just a scrap of parchment. They could get a promise from another inn. It wasn't asking for much. It wasn’t asking for anything much at all. 

Kili looked hopefully between the innkeep and the other grey-haired hobbit who stood behind the bar, the one with the crisp, white apron and the rounded cheeks like rosy apples, the one who appeared to be looking back at him with something like sympathy in her eyes. “Please,” he said, speaking to her instead of the innkeep this time. “I just need to send a letter. We’ll do anything you ask of—”

“Brother,” snapped Fili, slipping into Khuzdul. “Come.” 

Kili could feel the eyes following them as they strode back toward the door. And perhaps it could be blamed on the wind pushing inwards from outside, but it seemed to him as if Fili yanked the door open with more force than necessary. A swirl of rain blew past them, and Kili sighed, looking up at the grey sky.

“Go,” said Fili. 

He went, and Fili followed after, and the door was definitely closed by his brother with much more force than necessary. Kili winced, certain that the echo of it must be heard all over town. 

What now? Tugging his sodden hood back up, Kili considered the mostly deserted street and tried not to feel disheartened. Hobbits were supposed to be a jolly folk. That’s what Balin and Thorin had always said. Insufferably jolly. They liked good food and good cheer as much as any dwarf. But, perhaps, not in this place? Maybe the township of Michel Delving was different to other places that Balin and Thorin had visited? Maybe the hobbits here were simply miserable? 

Or maybe it was only that the rain was dampening everyone’s spirits, for it was certainly dampening his. Or maybe it was only hobbit innkeeps who were miserable, although Kili was certain being miserable had to be bad for business. Their own innkeeps back at home always had a smile and a friendly word—but then, he’d always had coin, or been with someone who had coin, and he was Thorin’s nephew besides. Kili picked at a chip on the bowshaft as he tried to think of what to suggest they do next. 

From somewhere close by, there was a shrill whinny. “Stables,” Kili said, his spirits lifting once more. Yes, so the innkeeps were all surly and unhelpful, as it turned out, but that didn’t mean all the hobbits of Michel Delving were. Hadn’t the Bounders they’d met on the Shire’s borders been cheerful enough, sharing their hot tea and their fire? In fact, Kili was certain they’d have been invited to stay on for a hobbit breakfast if Fili hadn’t been in such a hurry to get going, and if the Bounders hadn’t asked so many questions—his big brother had misliked that—and if Fili hadn’t been frowning so much. 

He wished they’d thought to ask the Bounders for parchment. But he’d been looking forward to an ale and a seat by a proper fire while he helped Fili write a letter to Amad, and he hadn’t imagined things would be half so difficult as they were turning out to be. “I know, Fee,” he said. “Let’s try the stabl—”

“No.” Fili yanked his own hood further over his head, glowering out from underneath it. 

Why not? All they needed to do was find a kindly hobbit who could help, just one, and there had to be someone in a town this size. One hobbit sitting in their house, or standing at a market stall, or talking to a merchant. Maybe there were dozens who could help? They just had to find them. 

Kili frowned, thinking over it some more. Or maybe Fili was right? He hadn’t seen much of anything in Birch’s attic home, so it wasn’t likely that stableboys, or stablehobbits, would be any better off. Why would they have parchment to spare for a stranger, if they had parchment at all? And, more than that, why would they share what little they had with a stranger who had nothing of value to offer in return? 

Birch had. Birch had helped him, for no other reason than he’d seen Kili in distress and wanted to do something to help. But then, from what he’d seen of Men, and hobbits, so far, Kili suspected that Birch was an unusual little boy. 

“Well, then,” he said, trying not to think too much of Birch. He peered up and down the street at the various establishments, and at their metal signs swinging in the wind, thinking instead of how much easier this would be if they just had a little coin or something to trade. He glanced at Fili, and at the shining beads at the end of the braids that poked out from beneath Fili’s hood, and a stray wish skittered across his mind. He shoved it away before it could fully form. 

Sell braid beads? What sort of dwarf was he? 

It didn’t stop him from wishing that he had a few threaded about his hair though. Just so he could turn the thought over in his mind and know for certain if he was the sort of dwarf desperate enough to sell off an heirloom or beloved gift at the first sign of hardship or not. 

Fili wasn’t. Kili knew the thought hadn’t so much as entered his big brother’s head. Not now, and not ever. Fili would starve or die first. 

And that thought had turned his mind towards Ralt, and Kili didn’t want to think about Ralt, or about Ralt cutting Fili’s hair, or about anything to do with Ralt, or Hald, or Derild, or what any or all of them might have done to Fili to allow them to get close enough to cut Fili’s hair in the first place…and yet, here he was, staring at his brother and thinking about it. 

He shoved the thoughts away and tried to focus on more practical, pressing, and less upsetting ones. Ones that didn’t make his heart pound in his ears and his fists and teeth clench. 

What did he have? Nothing. Nothing but a stupid bow and an old sword, and neither of those were his anyway. And he supposed he had his wits, but Balin always said that he’d little enough of those to spare. 

Kili huffed out a breath, watching the rain dribble off the eaves. 

On the opposite side of the street, a round hobbit stepped out from a doorway and stopped, looking up at the sky. Under their arm, they held a large bundle, and they wrestled with it and one of the flapping devices that Fili had called an umbrella for a while before giving up and scurrying away in the direction of the centre of town.

Kili frowned at the doorway and at the sign depicting a pig that swung above it. Yes, it wasn’t an inn, but had they missed a trick? 

“I think that’s a butcher’s,” he said, nudging Fili. “Why don’t we try there? They’ll have parchment.” Even some of the greased paper that butchers used to wrap portions of meat would do. Maybe. Would ink stick to that well enough? He didn’t know. 

And he had another idea, but he wasn’t sure his brother would like it much. “You could try taking your hood down this time?” Kili suggested. 

“No.”

Fine. That was fine. And he did understand why Fili wanted to hide his face—and particularly the shorn braid—and at least Fili had allowed Kili to uncover his face, but they probably looked quite intimidating to the little hobbits when hooded and cloaked. Especially with Fili growling at them. “Well, shall I do the talking this time?” Kili tried. “Why don’t you stand outside and let me handle it? You’ve done a lot of talking today, Fee. You could have a rest.”

This felt like a fine idea. And maybe the butchers might even have some scraps going spare? Kili tried not to think of his empty, growling stomach. 

“We’re not trying anywhere else,” said Fili. 

Busy with plotting out what he might say, and a little distracted by stray thoughts of plump sausages, their skins splitting and blackening over a campfire, their insides oozing juices onto the flames, Kili wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He opened his mouth to check, but Fili got there first. 

“I said no, brother. I find that I’m finished with debasing myself for one day.” Taking Kili’s arm, Fili stormed out into the street, dragging him along too. “And I told you not to beg.”

There was a river running down the street. An actual river. Kili kept his eyes on his boots as they jumped across it. “I wasn’t begging,” he said, trying not to think longingly of butcher’s scraps and wondering if he should mention that part of his idea. Would asking for scraps be debasing himself? Fili would likely think so. 

“We’re dwarves.” There was a snarl in Fili’s voice as he continued, “We don’t offer to scrub a hobbit’s floors, or to do their dishes, or wash their clothes or, or…anything else.”

Kili didn’t see why not. They did all those things and more at home. 

“Remember who you are,” said Fili. 

He knew who he was. He was a dwarf without a single coin in his pockets, no weapons worth speaking about, and no prospect of any bed any more comfortable tonight than sleeping under a hedge. Again. And so was Fili. 

But saying any of these things would only upset his brother further, for he knew Fili meant much more than empty bellies and wet clothes. Fili spoke of pride in who he was, of who they were, and at a blood and bone level, not just superficial discomforts and worries. When Fili let his arm go, Kili grabbed his brother’s hand instead, pulling him to a halt. “I know who we are, Fee. I do. I’m sorry.”

And he was. He was sorry. That didn’t mean he wanted to send a letter any less, but maybe there was another way to go about it. “Let’s go back,” he suggested. “We’ll check the snares and build a fire, have some rest. It’ll be getting dark soon anyway. We can have another think and try again tomorrow.”

Fili didn’t answer, and Kili knew his brother wasn’t really listening, not properly. Instead, Fili was checking the alleyways and shadows around them, searching for any movement that could be Ralt or Gandalf or their men. Was it any surprise that Fili was short-tempered and anxious? 

The chances of them having the misfortune to run into Ralt were slim, or at least that’s what Kili was trying to tell himself, but that hadn’t stopped him from jolting when they’d walked into the second inn, expecting just hobbits, and instead seeing a party of men, lounging by the fire in too-small chairs. In fact, Kili had been certain one of the men was Derild. He’d grabbed Fili’s arm, intending to launch them both back out and into the street. 

But it hadn’t been. The man had turned to look at them, and Kili had breathed a sigh of relief that the long nose and sunken eyes belonged to the face of a stranger, and he and Fili had then spent the entire morning and afternoon tramping around Michel Delving, which wasn’t even close to the size of Bree, and, despite a few more startles, saw none of them. They weren’t here. 

Maybe. 

Probably. 

Unless Gandalf had more of his men here, but Kili didn’t really want to think of that. Surely, if Gandalf had any other men in his band of robbers, like Fili feared, then they would have all met up on the road?

But that didn’t mean they shouldn’t be cautious, and they had been wandering around town a good while now, likely attracting attention despite the foul weather, and he was tired and wet and hungry. The thought of a fire in the woods and not having to watch over his shoulder quite so much for a while was a tempting one. 

It was a pity about the sausages though. 

Fili shook himself, his attention snapping back to Kili. “Agreed,” he said. “Let’s go.”

As they set off, the butcher’s sign creaked in the wind, and Kili glanced back at it. He was missing something, something obvious, something about the sign, he knew he was, and he knew it’d come to him before he was halfway back to the— “Fee!”

When Fili spun, with a panicked look crossing his face, Kili regretted his shout. He shook his head. “It’s nothing, I’m fine."

"Is it your knee? Did you twist it?"

He really had to stop forgetting about his knee, or at least admit to the lie and be done with it. Kili shook his head again. "No, my knee's fine. But look.” He pointed back at the butcher’s sign, then to the one hanging from the inn they’d just left. “And over there too.”

Fili raised an eyebrow. "And what am I supposed to be looking at?"

“Metalwork,” said Kili, “and in the same style too. We haven’t seen it yet, but I bet there’s a smithy around here somewhere.” And maybe the hobbits wouldn’t help them, but one of their own people would. And yes, maybe it was a hobbit smith, but the sign hinges looked dwarven-fashioned to him. 

It was worth a try. “Maybe it’s in a nearby town,” Kili continued. “But we could ask here or at the inn, and I bet they’d—”

“No.”

“We’re not begging them for anything, Fee. It’s only asking where a smith—”

“I know what you’re thinking, and no. We’re not going near any dwarves.”

“But—”

“No, brother.” Fili shook his head. “Anyhow, a dwarven smith, working in a hobbit village? That’s ridiculous.” 

Michel Delving was, technically, a town, Kili recalled that much from Balin’s maps, but he decided against the correction. Not when Fili seemed irritated all over again. “It’s not that ridiculous,” he said, knowing he sounded a little petulant as he did. “Hobbits need metalwork too.”

Fili scoffed. “Even if there was a smith here, they wouldn’t be someone we’d want to speak with. They’d be an outcast, someone—”

“Like us?” Kili said quietly. 

And he hadn’t meant to say it at all, and when he did, he’d hoped that Fili mightn’t have heard it, but he had no luck, as always. 

Without another word, Fili turned and walked away. Kili trailed after him. 

In silence, they walked all the way to the outskirts of town, then doubled back, through lanes and alleyways, until finally they joined a path that ran along behind the last inn they’d tried. 

Finally, Fili glanced over his shoulder and spoke, “Anyone?”

Checking the way they’d come one more time, Kili shook his head. No one had followed them. He was certain of it. And, by his reckoning, unless Fili had turned them around completely, all they had to do was follow this path, and it should join up with the track that led out and across fields to the wood.

They trod lightly, keeping eyes and ears alert. The imposing side of the alehouse fell away in a slope of thatch that reached almost down to the yard behind. And it was strange, how the hobbits seemed to choose to build their homes and businesses as rounded as possible. There had to be a reason for it. Was it because they felt safer? Like rabbits in a burrow? Not that Kili knew how safe rabbits felt, but he expected burrows were cosy and snug. Or maybe a rounded roof was good for when it was windy? He could imagine a storm just rolling right over the top of—

The grey-haired, round-cheeked hobbit was standing in the middle of the yard with a basket of washing in her arms. Chickens pecked around her bare feet. Without thought, Kili raised a hand in greeting. She waved back. 

“What are you doing?” hissed Fili, who’d looked behind him at exactly the wrong moment. 

Being friendly, Kili supposed, and he’d done it out of habit, exactly as he’d do at home—but he suspected Fili wouldn’t like that answer. Kili shrugged, skipping forward to join his brother. “Nothing.”

The hobbit was beckoning to them, glancing over her shoulder towards the inn as she did, and Kili stopped. He caught Fili’s elbow. “Look, Fee,” he said. “I think she wants to speak with us.” 

“Can’t think what for. Unless it’s to laugh at us again. Come on.” 

Nobody had been laughing at them? Had they? And Kili didn’t know that he cared overly much if they had been anyhow. Plenty of people laughed at him at home. He was well used to it. 

And what if she had some work for them, or knew someone who did? And she didn’t look like someone who found it fun to laugh at someone down on their luck anyway. She looked kind, if nervous. But Fili was already walking away. Kili shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to decide. 

“Kili,” snapped Fili. “I said, Come on.”

That was that then, and there was no sense in pushing Fili any further, not when he was in a foul mood already. Mouthing a sorry at the hobbit when she beckoned again, Kili ran after his brother.