Author's note:
The extended version of BOTFA didn't help, I'm still in denial. So I hammered out an AU story that had been haunting me for some time. The setting is roughly 2987, over forty years after the Battle and shortly before Balin leaves for Moria.
The story is finished (more or less), I am currently editing, re-writing and having fun with it. Although it turned out to be much darker than I intended.
New chapters will be added regularly, please comment and make me want to do this!
It's not the first fanfic I've written, but the first I wanted to share.
The cover is created by UnicatStudio and fits as if she had this story in mind. Check out her amazing work at DeviantArt.
And now: Enjoy!
Sword
Encountering difficulties
„No." Fíli, King of Erebor, said, not even looking up from his paperwork.
„Why not?"
„You know why. I am not convinced it is a good idea. Besides, I need you here."
„Balin worked everything out. He wouldn't gather followers if he didn't believe his quest would be a success."
„I know." Fíli sighed, putting his pen aside but still not looking up to meet Kíli's glowering stare. „Why do you think Dáin never went back? He made it inside the mountain at the battle of Azanulbizar. He reported Khazad-dûm was swarming with orcs and goblins. Dangerous creatures from Gundabad and Nogrod, and they had centuries to get settled. They will know each and every cavern and tunnel. They will trap you. You know the likes of them, you've fought them."
Nearly were killed by them. Let them slay your uncle and king.
The words were pounding in Kíli's head, and he lowered his gaze.
Still he wouldn't give in.
„Balin has gathered a hundred stout warriors. We can take on those orcs and goblins. Drive them out of the mountain. Reclaim what is ours."
Fíli shook his head.
„Durin's Bane still lingers in the depth of Khazad-dûm. It is lost to us, and every dwarf who tries to reclaim it will be lost too."
„Yet you let them go."
Fíli took up his quill again, the feather quivering ever so slightly.
„I cannot forbid them to go." He corrected, quill hovering about the ink pot. „They are free dwarrows and if they choose to leave Erebor there is nothing I can do."
„Many of our soldiers chose to join."
Fíli sighed again. „Against their King's wish. But they left the Royal Service to join the quest. They are not Erebor's subjects any longer."
„Yet you supply them with weapons and ponies."
„If I cannot make them stay I will equip them as best as I can."
„I am the best archer. Their chances will improve if I join them. Balin would like me to command the soldiers."
„Of course he would. But you are not going."
„Is this an order?"
For the first time Fíli looked up. His blue eyes were hard and cold like ice. He looked so much like Thorin that Kíli had to swallow hard.
„Yes, it is. You are Royal Advisor, right hand to the King, Captain of the Forces. You will stay in Erebor at the King's command."
Fíli resumed signing his papers.
Kíli remained in front of the mighty oak desk, rays of sun fell through the slots in marble wall of the King's Study. The hall was impressive with a big fireplace, a table displaying maps of Erebor's mines and surroundings, big leather chairs and shelves full of old leather bound books. Intricate carvings reflected the sun and the shine of the burning fire, fine veins of silver and gold were shimmering in the columns. Fíli did most of his paper work here, he liked to have some space and time apart from his councillors who would forever pester him with his duties and their not always welcomed advice. And, Kíli reflected, his gaze lingering on the little wooden sword and shield under the King's table, Fíli could have his little ones playing at his feet while he had to read all those boring reports.
„You may leave," Fíli said matter-of-factly.
Kíli swallowed again, feeling the stab in his heart. He nodded and turned, half expecting Fíli to offer soothing words before he opened the door. But all he heard was the scraping of quill on parchment.
What did he expect?
It wasn't the first time they had argued about reclaiming Khazad-dûm. Haven't you seen enough blood? His brother had asked. Haven't you seen enough death?
Yes, he had. If he would never have to pick up his sword again he would be glad. But there was a depth to pay. He could not retrieve Thorin Oakenshield from the Halls of the Waiting. But he could fight for the uncle who had cared for him like a father, taught and trained him to be the prince he now was. The uncle he had failed so miserably on the battlefield.
Like Balin, he felt it was their duty to reclaim Khazad-dûm. Azog was slain, Bolg was dead, the battlefield had been soaked with black blood. What was left of orc forces the hardened warriors would be able to take on.
Balin even wagered Durin's Bane had returned to its eternal sleep deep inside the mountain. The Balrog hadn't been heard of for over a century.
Kíli didn't share Balin's optimism. Forty years ago he had set out on a quest that had involved a dragon. Smaug hadn't shown itself for centuries either. There had even been rumour of the dragon's death. But he himself had seen Smaug fly high above Esgaroth and bring death and ruin to the people of the Lake. He still dreamt of dragon fire sometimes, of that terrible voice conquering his head, the voice that promised to boil Durin's blood, to burn their flesh off their bones, he saw houses going up in flames, men burning like living torches. No, Kíli didn't believe Durin's Bane was gone. But he would march upon Khazad-dûm nonetheless.
Kíli was no fool. He knew very well that he could die. As he should have all those years ago on top of Ravenhill. Mahal, he had been as good as dead. Sliced open like a Durin's Day boar. Side pierced by a goblin arrow, shoulder smashed by an orc's mace. He had been buried under a dead warg and would have died within the hour, crushed and hidden by that filthy big creature spilling its guts all over him. Hadn't Tauriel searched for him. Rescued him. Threatened elven healers with her daggers at their throats to treat him, to keep him alive.
He had never truly forgiven her.
He knew it was preposterous. He knew he had been blessed to have a guardian like her. He was grateful to be alive even when it came with gruesome scars, a limp and an arm that rebelled against the use of a bow with sharp pain. He counted himself lucky to have survived while so many others had perished.
But. Some part still felt that the elf should have left him on the battlefield to die. Some part of him could not forgive her for meddling with what he believed had been his fate. She had robbed him of his only chance to fulfil the oath he had taken, to defend his uncle, his king, with shield and body to his last breath.
Kíli sighed. All those years hadn't cured these absurd feelings of guilt. His death would have made no difference. It only would have saddened his brother even more.
Walking through the fine carved corridors decorated with rich tapestries, illuminated by torches and glittering gems embedded in Erebor's precious stone, he felt the overwhelming need to breathe fresh air. To escape the mountain that had cost him so much.
Instead of meeting Balin as he had promised, Kíli went straight to the stables and saddled Ari.
„You don't intend riding out on your own, do you?"
Katla appeared at his side, grinning.
„You are not my body guard."
„Dwalin thinks I should be. You are the Prince, you need a guard."
„I can watch out for myself."
„I know. Still. Let me ride with you. Do you mind my company?"
He rolled his eyes, knowing she would pester him forever if he didn't give in.
„Alright then. But I am not in the mood for talking, it will be boring."
„With you it's never boing."
As his childhood friend, Katla knew of dangerous cave-tours and tree-climbing, of trailing after men and orcs, breaking through frozen lakes and trying to ride Thorin's pony without saddle or bridle.
„Nicest thing you've said to me since I asked you to go with me to Midsummer's Dance fifty years ago."
The Archer Master frowned. „Didn't I tell you to bugger off and grow a beard first?"
He flashed her a smile. „Exactly what I did. Guess you owe me a dance."
„There a still bets running whether this is a beard or just smut. Highest wages are on smut."
He ran his fingers over his stubbly chin. „This is a very fine beard."
„Of course it is." She winked and scratched her own impressively bearded chin.
Kíli harrumphed and mounted his stallion.
They rode in silence for a while until Katla finally spoke up.
„We have some promising new cadets."
„Good to hear. Put them with the ponies as soon as possible. We need that cavalry."
„Do you really want to supply the riders with those special bows you told me about?"
„Aye. The new design will improve our archers' performance on horseback. Berenor is confident he will have fifty bows ready at the next full moon."
„The elf? You have them crafted at the Woodland Realm? What about the weapon smiths of Erebor?"
„They lack experience. Berenor has been an archer for centuries."
„Putting an elf over a dwarf. You will make some enemies with that decision."
He shrugged. „I will get excellent weapons, that's all what counts."
„For Khazad-dûm?"
He nodded. „Balin and Dwoss reckon the number of orcs inside the mines has shrunken considerably after the Battle. They are willing to take the chance. So am I."
„Who else could lay claim on one of the oldest dwarven kingdoms than Durin's blood?" She acknowledged. „Who else could be crowned king of Khazad-dûm but you?"
He shook his head. „I am no king."
"You should be."
Just as he was opening his mouth to answer, a shrill shriek cut through the quiet. They exchanged a telling glance when more voices echoed through the silence.
„Orcs!"
They turned their ponies and raced back, but the shrieks were now approaching from the side as well.
„To the forest!" Katla shouted. „We can lose them in the pine grove and make it to the main road! They won't follow us into the realm!"
Kíli looked over his shoulder, and saw warg riders closing in on them. He let the reins drop and readied his bow but just as he was about to shoot his arrow, Ari whinnied in pain and stumbled. The last thing Kíli saw as his stallion went down in full gallop was the black arrow that had pierced the pony's neck.
