Six

Kili finally returned to his own quarters well into the evening. He didn't notice that he was limping, but he did feel the sharp pain in his right thigh, just above the knee. In fact, he wasn't feeling well at all.

He poured a glass of plain water from the bedside table, drinking it dry. By Mahal, what did he expect? No one would feel well after even ten minutes with that ass Yngvli. But for the sake of his brother's negotiations, he was expected to bear up, and he would.

A quick summary of the day's Court events had told him that despite the day's disruption, the negotiations were nearly complete, though the Grey Mountains contingent was refusing to vote. Without all kingdoms ready to do so, King Elessar's treaty would remain unratified. And it was clear that the Grey Mountains dwarves were holding out for approval of Yngvli's petition. Fili's frustration was palpable, and even Lady An's nerves were on edge.

It made his head ache.

Then again, maybe it was just the weather, he told himself. A storm was brewing outside the mountain this evening. Ice storm, most likely.

And yet he was expected again at the revelries in the King's Hall tonight. He knew it. Tonight was Durin's Day Eve, after all. There would be songs, and there would be stories. Old Dwalin, Gloin, and Dori would be guests of honor, regaling all with re-tellings of that evening 80-odd years ago when a Hobbit helped his Uncle unlock the hidden door.

He and Fili, of course, hadn't been there. Hell, he didn't even clearly recall the day.

Except the Dragon. He remembered that, by Mahal.

And the aftermath. He stared at his little fire, so benign…

Yes, he would join the party, raise his glass, and with his friends, mourn their uncle and…his friend the Elf Maiden.

But maybe after a rest. His limbs felt like lead and the bed was inviting. Layers of soft blankets. Pillows stuffed with fine goose down. And there was his fire, burning gently.

Then a soft noise near the passage to the family quarters caught his ear. A very small face peered around the door, eyes wide.

"My Kee?"

He smiled at his niece's version of "Uncle Kili" as she tiptoed into the room, trailing the ties on her dressing gown.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured. "Mommy and Daddy off to the party?"

She nodded.

He limped to his fireplace and eased himself into his favorite chair, opening a hand to her in invitation to climb into his lap. It was a familiar uncle-niece tradition.

But Iri stood still as she considered the way he favored his right leg. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

"Nah," he said, shrugging off his discomfort. "Just an old injury. Acts up every now and then."

Iri frowned at him, then turned and ran back to her family's rooms. Kili watched her go, smiling in puzzlement, absently rubbing his leg and hoping the warmth of the small fire would ease the muscles.

She was back moments later, something small carried carefully in one hand. This time she did scramble into her uncle's lap and he caught her up, pulling her past the aching leg and settling her on the cushioned arm of the chair.

In her hand lay a folded, damp cloth, and suppressing a smile, he watched her very seriously pat it several times before reaching up to press it against his forehead.

"Do you think I hit my head?" he asked, amused by her focus on the task.

She nodded. "And you have a fever."

"Do I?"

She nodded again, switching hands. "You have shiny eyes. Mama says that's a gibba-way."

"A giveaway?"

"I will call my nurse. She will make it better." Iri started to slide off of the chair, but Kili grabbed her hand, holding her in place.

"No," he said, too quickly. Iri's eyes went wide. "No, sweetheart," he softened his voice. "I thought you were the nurse. I don't really need another one." He smiled as if this were nothing more than one of their pretending games, like having tea.

"Can you teach me more arrows tomorrow?" she asked.

Kili smiled. She was fascinated with archery and quite good at it for a child. Better than her brothers, actually.

"I would love to," he said. "But it's a holiday. You and I will both have other things we have to do."

She removed the damp cloth from his forehead, looking at him as if she expected him to be completely cured.

"Thank you," he said. "I feel better."

From deep within the family chambers Kili could hear the Nannies calling for their young charge.

He made a face as if he were scared of the nannies. "You better go," he whispered. "Before we're both in trouble."

She giggled, then scrambled from the chair and dashed back to the nursery, shouting "Here I am!" to announce her presence.

Kili laughed to himself and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He loved the little rascal and wondered what it would be like, years and years from now, when he supported his brother in a petition for her hand. Forget that, he dashed the thought. There's not a dwarf out there who will be good enough.

And then he snorted. As if what the menfolk wanted really meant anything. It was all bluster, really. The actual power in a marriage petition lay with the Lady. Tradition held that no petition would be valid without the Lady's Choice. His job, he knew, would be to support Iri's Choice, when she made it, whether he liked the lad or no.

And that made him open his eyes. That was the key, he realized. The Right to Choose. It belonged with the lady, not the menfolk. Maybe this problem with Yngvli was all misplaced self-importance.

But he didn't have time to think it through—a clamor in the outer hallway told him he was needed. He pushed himself up to find a small squadron of the Guard at his door.

"Rockfall," the Lieutenant said. "Western terrace. Your cadet Skirfir…a few others…injured and cut off from the gate."

Kili swore luridly in Khuzdul, grabbed his snow jacket, and forced his aching leg into action.