**A/N: This story is the revised version of Erebor: 3022, Durin's Day...the first sort-of off the cuff story that I posted nearly two years ago. As the story has grown and developed, I've always wanted to flesh it out a bit more, so here it is, re-drafted as it's being translated into German. Find the German language version under the author name summerundJessie, story title Erebor: 3022 - 1 Cursebearer - Die letzten Schatten Morguls. Welcome aboard!**
Chapter One
Kili, brother to the King of Erebor, caught sight of orc-arrows coming from the trees south of Erebor's western outpost before anyone else.
He raised his bow and fired—his arrow zinged away and quickly hit its mark. Moments later, a scrawny figure in a ragged cloak fell from a tree. Three other Erebor dwarves fired, and several more rogues toppled out of trees with garbled cries.
"Shields up!" Kili yelled to his troops, sending another arrow to the source of enemy fire. On the road ahead, a contingent of traveling dwarves took heed of the fight and pressed together, axes out.
But the attack was over. Five skinny goblins lay dead on the icy ground. No more shots were fired.
Kili charged ahead, his young lieutenant at his back with arrow nocked, ready to defend his prince. Several more of the Erebor Guard fanned out to search for more hidden archers in the trees.
"Common goblin," Kili muttered when he got to the first one, shoving it over with his boot to get a look at the creature's gnarled face.
One of the travelling dwarves approached, axe at the ready, eyes roving the road and the trees around them.
"Skinny and underfed," the traveler observed. "Any more?"
Kili eyed the traveller, yellow braids marking him as a Firebeard. "If there were," Kili said, "they've scattered by now." Kili looked up to see a trio of ravens swooping past. The birds said nothing, which told him the threat was over.
The newcomer, dressed in Ered Luin blue, glanced at the ravens, then nodded, and considering the battle commander in front of him, he bowed. "Brunsder of Ered Luin. At your service."
Kili returned the bow, hand on heart. "Kili, Prince of Erebor, at yours."
Brunsder nodded. "I thought it was you. Mahal's blessings, lad," he reached for Kili's shoulder and the two of them exchanged the soldier's greeting, hands on shoulders. "We are glad to see you. The war's over and the Ring's destroyed, but there are still a mighty number of highway robbers on the roads. Even," he looked askance at the dead goblins. "This close to Erebor."
"Especially this close," Kili acknowledged, glowering at the goblins. "They're no longer organized enough to mount a full attack, but there's more than one lair left in northern Mirkwood...we burn them off Erebor's lands, but they hide in elf territory and we are barred from following. We need Gondor's new treaty."
"Agreed," Brunsder said. Ratifying it was why he was here, after all—him and envoys from all seven dwarf kingdoms. "But not everyone's convinced, I'm afraid. We hear rumors of contention..."
"Yes," Kili acknowledged. "But we have not come this far only to give up the fight." Kili turned and walked Brunsder back toward the path.
"We have not, indeed," Brunsder agreed quietly. "How's your brother? News travels slow back to the Blue Mountains. When we heard of the losses of the last battle...two Kings fallen at the gate...we feared for Fili. For you both."
"Fili is fit as ever," Kili confirmed. He carefully didn't mention Fili's battle wound, that his survival had been a close thing. "Though our losses were terrible. Brand of Dale. Our cousin Dain of the Iron Hills." Kili put a fist to his heart in salute to their feisty old relation.
"May he rest in Aüle's Halls," Brunsder said. He looked at Kili in sadness and then spoke more quietly. "Have a care, lad. Someone among the seven families is intent on disrupting the enclave."
"And who would that be?" Kili deadpanned. He'd heard the same gossip and sincerely hoped Ered Luin and the Firebeards had nothing to do with it.
"No idea." With that, Brunsder re-mounted his pony and signalled his caravan of travelers forward. He looked at Kili, sad regret on his craggy face. "And I wish I did."
Kili nodded. Ered Luin was too remote to be a likely conspirator, and he was inclined to take Brunsder at his word.
"We'll follow you in," Kili said, stepping back. "Keep the vermin off your back." At this, a loud quork took Kili's attention and he looked up. A large, glossy raven backwinged and Kili held out an arm for it to land. "Tell the King that Ered Luin arrives," Kili said to it. The raven quorked once, nibbled on his coat cuff, and then took flight.
Kili stood back then, remaining watchful as the long line of travelers passed by. The last late autumn leaves were falling and morning clouds hid the sun, but the path was dry and their ponies moved on firm ground. Yet the caravan from Ered Luin was a bigger group than Kili expected, perhaps fifty dwarves altogether. Fili would be relieved to hear they were here—the Blue Mountains envoys were several days overdue and they had begun to worry—at least until the ravens had alerted them yesterday morning of a caravan near the edge of the Greenwood.
So today, Kili had ridden out to meet them.
"They've travelled well armed," Kili commented when his lieutenant archer, young Skirfir, came up beside him. Every dwarf in the contingent carried weapons—from swords and axes to bows and long knives.
"Aye," Skirfir nodded. Then Kili noticed several lasses riding past—some dressed in archer brown, some in forge red. He recognized them as Erebor trainees sent on exchange some four years back. When the war heated up, it had been deemed too unsafe to bring them back.
"And here's our own trainees, returning home." Kili smiled at them. "I know some Erebor kin who will be glad to see them again." But he sighed. Some of those kin had likely perished in the siege...they'd lost so many at that last battle at the gate, including Skirfir's own father. Kili stood beside the lad as the group passed on ponies, travel-worn and eager for the safety of Erebor.
"Welcome," he nodded to a trio of archer lasses with Erebor sigils on their coats, "Welcome home." One looked at him, then raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile and Kili felt his cheeks heat up.
He'd just meant to be polite. He looked away. Most of the time he sidestepped interested lasses as a matter of course. What else could he do?
Look elsewhere, he wanted to tell the archer lass. You can easily find someone more suited.
And he was better off as a bachelor lad.
"My lord," a young lad greeted him with hand on heart as he rode past.
Kili nodded. A lad in healer blue. And right behind him, a tall fresh-faced healer lass with a single raven-dark braid and serious eyes—he couldn't help but admire her poise, and the lass had a good seat in her saddle.
One of the ravens flew past again. No orcs, no gobs, it quorked. No gobs.
The lass seemed slightly startled. She looked up and tracked the raven's flight, almost, Kili thought, as if she'd understood the raven's words. A moment later, the young healer's eyes met his, then she looked away.
He was imagining things. Only those with the blood of Durin in their veins could hear a raven speak.
Still, he looked again at the healers as they rode on.
Fili, King of Erebor, stood firm in full red-and-gold royal regalia on the battlements above the great Gate of Erebor.
A well-armed contingent of dwarves approached, their helms removed in respect, their ponies lined up three across, and one blue flag unfurled. A drummer beat a solemn cadence for their steps.
"Hail, Ered Luin!" The Guard Commander's words rang out.
Fili stood between the embrasures, raised his hand, and seven Erebor dwarves hoisted the royal banners high. They'd brought out the most festive of decorations and the Lonely Mountain indeed looked its best today, but the Gate had been properly repaired only six months past, and anyone with an eye could still see the great gashes of battle damage on the stone.
Fili hoped no one could see the battle damage on him. Hip pierced by a sharp lance, he'd been struck defending old Dain...and if Kili had not been quick to gut the bastard orc first, they would have both been flattened by its massive flail just as it had flattened their royal cousin.
Fili, stunned and in excruciating pain, had been whisked inside to the physicians, but he had no doubt that the entire mountain would have fallen that day if not for Frodo's deed in Mordor and Aragorn's victory at the Morannon.
By many sacrifices, the people of Erebor had endured; as had he, his brother, and his four young children, who'd spent the battle hidden deep inside the mountain with their royal mother.
Not all families had been so lucky.
Fili now faced the contingent of visiting dwarves with steel eyes. He was taking a chance, hosting such an enclave in support of Gondor's new King. Apparently he was the only Dwarf Lord brazen (or stupid) enough to do it. He'd heard the criticisms and objections already.
Still under the thumb of that wizard.
No dwarf will answer to the likes of a Ranger upstart.
What's Gondor's peace to us?
Gondor's peace was everything, Fili believed. Mordor might have fallen, but evil forces still lurked in Middle Earth and dwarves were still a target, the Sons of Durin in particular. They needed that mutual aid treaty with Gondor. And the truth was he did in fact agree with Gandalf—Aragorn represented their best chance for peace going forward, and Fili meant for the Seven Kingdoms to stand with their axes and swords alongside Gondor's new King.
Fili knew it would be his job, as a royal Son of Durin, to convince them all that it was time for old grudges to be set aside and for the dwarf kingdoms to support Aragorn's treaties.
To be honest, he'd rather face a goblin horde than an enclave of his feisty brethren, but he meant to prevail.
With a final drum cadence, the Ered Luin dwarves halted just before the new bridge at the moat, hands on hearts in respect. Adhering to protocol, the Erebor Guard sounded the great battlehorns in their honor: deep, bass notes that could be felt in a warrior's bones.
The horns finished their notes and the sound echoed in the vale. Fili let silence return before he stepped forward.
"Hail, dwarves of Ered Luin! With your coming, the Great Enclave begins. I grant you entry and welcome to Erebor!"
He was answered with cheering from both the Erebor Guard and the travellers, and as the Gates were opened, blue and silver streamers mingled with red and gold. The folk from the Blue Mountain rode forward, crossing the moat and passing through.
Fili smiled and waved, moving to the side overlook to watch them pass. At the back, he noted the tall figure of his brother in chain mail and armor, bringing up the rear with ravens swooping past.
For a moment, the brothers' eyes met. Kili was alert, stern, and nodded once.
Fili returned the nod and understood his brother's unspoken message: remain watchful. Things are not what they seem.
Two days later, Fili, King Under the Mountain, tense with pent-up stress, cornered his brother during the enclave's mid-morning break. They stood just inside the King's study while his councilors mingled in the chamber beyond. The Great Hall outside held a milling crowd—it was the largest gathering of the seven dwarf kingdoms since before the dragon years and Erebor was decidedly packed.
"We haven't even completed the opening statements," Fili murmured through clenched teeth. "No one's staying on track. Grey Mountains is pushing to resolve several side issues before they'll agree to even start talks on Gondor's treaty…" He shook his head. "And I've had six different private warnings about intentions to disrupt the proceedings." He glowered, then pinned Kili with a keen eye. "Anything from the ravens?"
Kili frowned. "I have them flying wide circuits...but so far, the only interesting news is an increase in elf patrols on the edge of the Greenwood. The Dale troops are alert, but they're only watching."
Fili let his breath out.
"I've heard more rumors as well," Kili lowered his voice. "From several of the Iron Hills lads and a bit more from the group out of Ered Luin," Kili said to his brother.
"Anything specific?"
"Just that factions against the treaty are planning to stop it."
Fili muttered a short curse in Khuzdul.
Kili went on. "Bofur spent last night drinking ale with the Blue Mountain guard. He says, look for ploys to disrupt the voting."
Fili narrowed his eyes. "Not hard to accomplish. All they have to do is prevent one of us from attending," he said. "All seven must be present for a vote to go forward." He frowned. "One of the Grey Mountains lords keeps making ridiculous demands. If I wanted a suspect, I'd start there."
"Yngvli," Kili went on, naming a Grey Mountains merchant known for trading ore to the Gundabad orcs in times past. "He showed up with their contingent. Brought his daughters..."
Fili snorted. "Looking to arrange a marriage? Who'd be foolish enough to take that bait…?" He looked away. "Not even An can stand them, and we all know she has more patience than any of us."
"Well, thank Mahal for that."
Fili nodded. He knew what a political marriage was about, having been matched with a lass from the Iron Hills some sixty years ago. Lucky for him, Balin had looked out for their interests and engineered the arrangements, but both brothers understood the pressures and the complications. Fili and An's first years had been more than a bit rocky, yet Fili had come to deeply love his Lady Wife for herself, not to mention her deft ability to manage both the court social matters and four active young dwarrows while never losing her cool. During the last war, she had managed the city under siege like a seasoned warrior.
If four bairns wasn't proof enough (twice the usual number), it was apparent any time Fili looked at her that she had come to love him with a fierce pride.
"You are very lucky to have her," Kili murmured.
"Yes," Fili's voice was firm. "Mahal willing, maybe someday you'll be lucky too." Fili's love for his four children was well known. "Look, there's a huge banquet tonight," Fili said, hand on his brother's shoulder. "Go mingle. You'll hear more news. Add enough food and drink and people will be talking…especially the maidens. They'll be keen to catch your eye...they'll tell you anything."
Kili said nothing. He had absolutely no desire to spend time with high-born lasses. When he looked up, he saw his brother's eyes, full of concern.
"How's your knee?" Fili asked.
"It's fine," Kili waved a hand. "Hasn't bothered me at all so far."
Fili's face was still. Kili still bore a terrible wound.
"Things have changed. Sauron is gone," Fili said. "Maybe this year you'll be fine."
Kili stayed quiet.
Fili pulled his brother into a quick embrace, held him briefly in a tight hug. "Get your mind off it. Go have some fun at the banquet. Dance, flirt...spend a little time with the lasses." He stepped back. "Tell me you will try." He said it as a direct order from the King, not just a request from a brother.
"All right. Yes. I will try."
"Thank you." And then Fili turned back to the open Hall, intercepted by two pages and the assistant clerk who seemed to follow him everywhere these days.
Kili sighed. Count on a brother to know exactly how to punch a guy in the gut. Fact was, he could admit to himself that he was lonely. Fili was more and more tied to the schedule of the Court, and Mahal knew that the security of Erebor took his own time and attention to its fullest.
It was true that things were quieter now with a King again in Gondor.
And because of it, Kili could feel his loneliness. It was like an aching war wound in the early morning hours when he woke in the dark. It was hollow regret late at night when he returned from long patrols to his empty chamber alone.
But high-born lasses…? Mahal. The over-primped gossips held no interest for him. In his heart, he was just a lad from Ered Luin, happier hunting out on the Mountain's western slope than mingling with the social crowd. And he just couldn't believe that any lass would really understand what happened to him every year…
What would happen in just a few days, in fact. Because it had happened every Durin's Day for the last eighty one years: the recurring fever from his morgul wound. Nightmares, voices in his head, visions of wreck and ruin…
It was a curse and the curse drew wraiths. Only the Mountain protected him. He was tied to Erebor and remained safe as long as he never left its lands. It was a family secret they'd kept closely guarded over the years for fear of what Sauron could do if he'd known. It was a curse that not even Gandalf had been able to break.
What lassie would put up with all that? What family would accept him if the truth were known?
The only two who might have understood were both gone. Tauriel...the elf lady who had saved his life more than once and then perished in that horrible roaring inferno of dragonfire in Laketown. And Jô...rough and tumble archer lass he'd met some forty years ago...first-rate fletcher and a merry soul. She was no one to the highborns, but if times had been different, she might have Chosen him, might have stayed when she learned of his curse.
But times had not been different and Jô had fallen in battle against an incursion of goblins. He'd not even known until two days later. She'd been under Dwalin's command, and his venerable cousin had brought him the news with great sadness.
Kili sighed. Their friendship had been passionate and fun, but what had started so impulsively in the spring was done before autumn. She had been a warrior, and she had lived and died a warrior without ever learning that he bore a morgul wound. He blessed her memory, and then he forced himself back to the here and now. Honestly, he'd rather fight wargs than dance with highborns tonight.
But he understood why he needed to.
He would go. But dejected, Kili strode for the guard quarters, finding solace the way he always did: in his duty to Erebor's people. That, at least, he could understand.
**A/N Thanks so much for reading! Huge thanks to Jessie152 for the German-language version, and special thanks to BlueRiverSteel and Cassandrala-please go check out their work if you haven't seen.
Please-leave a note or PM and let me know what you think! Mahal's blessing, Summer