Chapter 9

Kili, Prince of Erebor, would retain his title until the moment it changed, and it would change on the day he was crowned King of the Blue Mountains. But for that day to happen, he needed to get himself to Khelethur, to the great Hall of the Blue Sky hidden within a valley deep in Ered Luin, somewhere west of the Grey Havens.

"Of the seven dwarf kingdoms," Brunsmund was lecturing Skirfir, riding at Kili's side. "Three remain the strongholds of dwarven power and might in Middle Earth: The Iron Hills, Erebor, and the Blue Mountains. Iron Hills has more people, Erebor more wealth, and the Blue Mountains: more land and resources, though both Moria and Gundabad were both far more powerful and richer than all of us in ages past."

"But those are both abandoned," Skirfir said. "Over-run by orcs."

"Yes. Though perhaps at least one will be reclaimed in your lifetime, Mahal willing." Brunsmund nodded at Skirf and smiled.

Kili listened with only half an ear as Brunsmund continued the lesson about Blue Mountains history. He was in no mood for a history lesson, and he was profoundly grateful for Skirfir's presence and his polite patience with the venerable older dwarf.

But for a dwarf who'd been blessed this past year with love and friends and family, Kili found himself feeling utterly bereft, even though they rode as part of a large company of men and dwarves. Over one hundred strong, Lady Lëofa's escort was well armed. Any wandering orcs or Easterlings would have to think twice before taking them on.

Though that wouldn't stop an enemy bent on throwing his life away.

So Nÿr was travelling apart with the healers for the protection of anonymity. Kili would not see her for the next several days, keeping his own disguise of a simple dwarf archer of low rank. He'd eat with the archers, sleep with the archers…and keep his head down.

Not hard to do. He'd just left his brother behind. He swallowed hard against the empty well of sorrow and misery he carried in his heart.

This was no different, he told himself, than the times Fili had travelled out. Fili had gone to the Iron Hills, one time for several months. He'd travelled as far as Minas Tirith and had even returned to Rivendell.

And Kili had stayed home and watched him go.

It was childish, to be finally able to do the thing he'd sulked about for years and then sulk again.

Shake it off, lad, he told himself. But he felt the separation from his brother as if an empty chasm now lay between them…all air and no ability to step across. On the other side was the red-hot forgefire that was his brother and family, and he was a single cooling blade becoming less bright the farther it was carried from the forge.

Silly way of thinking, Kili grumbled to himself. A forge heated blade cooled into hardened, formidable steel, ready to be a great weapon against evil.

Kili sighed, adjusting his grip on his pony's reins. If that was what he was, he didn't feel like it. Then he snorted. He wasn't the poetic one, anyway. That had been Ori.

He rubbed the collar of the plain shirt under his well worn leathers. On a leather cord next to his skin and over his heart hung a carved stone raven feather as long as Kili's ring finger, topped with a bead of Erebor stone. Somewhere under the mountain behind him, Fili wore its twin.

He had slept close to Nÿr all night. It was an intimacy greater than making love or having playful fun in the bedchamber. It was primal—his need to wrap himself close to her, as if giving protection and comfort all at the same time. She had tucked herself against him, her certain love and acceptance providing a shield against all his greater fears and worries. She was a balm, a stronger soul who could cover him with peace. The healer to his warrior.

The wake-up knock on their door had been expected, but it came too soon. They rose, helping each other dress in plain traveling gear, both prepared to spend the next few days apart, but neither of them really happy about it.

When Frea arrived, she was there to collect Nÿr the master physician, not Nÿr, Princess of Erebor.

Kili let her part in silence. He reached out and pushed raven-dark hair from her face, running his hand past her ear to cup her head, gently bringing her close for a kiss, a touch of foreheads, and a silent prayer to be safe.

Her fingers had touched his jaw, she had leaned into him, and her clear green eyes had looked into his with a confidence that told him she would be fine.

Of course she would. She was no stranger to traveling west. She'd done it before, under more dangerous conditions, even.

But he stood in the doorway to their sleeping chamber, watching her go and worrying.

And then his brother was there.

"Fee…" There were no words, really. They embraced each other, holding tight. A million memories flooded Kili's brain, from fleeing to the safety of his brother's bed in a thunderstorm when he was just Hannar's age, to defending a wounded Fili on the slopes of Erebor during the great war, to decimating a pack of Easterlings and finding Fili shirtless and exhausted in the grasslands south of the lake.

"I know this is hard," Fili said. "I must admit, I forgive you for sulking all those times I went traveling away." His hands framed Kili's face. "And left you behind," he said, his voice breaking.

They touched foreheads.

Kili had been too full of swirling emotions to speak. He'd never liked seeing Fili leave. Now their roles were reversed…and he felt in his gut that being the one to go was not any easier.

"I apologize…" he'd murmured. "I didn't realize it's just as hard to be the one going..."

"We'll see each other again soon enough."

"One year," Kili said, though it felt like forever.

And then Fili had something. "Gunz made these." He had two leather cords with carved raven feathers. Fili huffed with parental pride. "Lad has our mother's gift. Stone speller." He handed one to Kili. "We put them on each other and the spell begins."

"What spell? You know I don't like…" Kili's brows had come together.

"You kept that promise stone all these years. Stone spells work for you," Fili had said, his tone firm.

Kili had reconsidered. "What's it do?" He'd taken one of the leather cords and held up the carved raven feather, as long as a finger.

"Gunz made a reunion spell…the wearers will meet again. That's why there's two."

Kili had looked at the dangling feather and raised an eyebrow. "He's a good stone carver," he said.

"And I made him add a protection spell."

Kili shifted his eyes from the feather to his brother.

"Against metal magic. It's in the bead—it's a piece of Erebor stone. It's always protected you…this way you can carry a bit of it along."

Kili had understood then that his brother was making a ritual of their parting, just as their mother had done all those years ago. It made it easier, he conceded. Better than standing here and weeping, anyway.

He held up the leather cord, ready to drape it over his brother's head. "I promise that we will be reunited, and may the blessing of Mahal and of Erebor's protection be upon you, my nadad." He placed the cord around Fili's neck and the long slender feather rested against his brother's heart.

There.

Fili looked at it, then back at him. He raised the leather cord in his hands and placed it over Kili's head.

"I promise that we will be reunited. Mahal, who resides in our stone and blesses our people, keep my brother safe in the wilderness. Protect my nadadith from harm; surround him with a brother's love."

The twin raven feather rested over Kili's heart, the small green bead of Erebor stone with it.

Fili reached out and placed his hand flat over it. "Be safe, Kili."

Kili had reached out and grabbed his brother with both hands, pulling him close and kissing his forehead, first warrior-hard, then again with a gentle love.

He pulled back, tucking the smooth stone feather neatly beneath his shirt, well hidden by leathers.

They stepped back now and nodded. On impulse, Kili grabbed his brother's hands. "Ukrâd, nadad."

Fili suppressed a smile at the long used farewell. "Sankundim, nadadith." He looked Kili in the eyes while schooling his own expression to somber resolve. "You were born to do this. Son of Durin, lad of Ered Luin..."

And then Fili had reached for the doorknob, opened the door, and stood back, like a warden opening the prison door for a convict whose time was served.

Kili stared at the hallway beyond, then looked shyly at his feet.

"Thank you," he had said, touching his brother's arm and then stepping through by himself.

He took the wooden stairs down to the side exit, finding Skirfir in a lineup of dwarven archers and miners in the narrow road outside. He mounted one of the plain Dale ponies Skirfir had brought, and it was Gimli and Bofur who led them out to join the melee of Lady Lëofa's departure, complete with a royal sendoff from her intended, King Bard.


Just past mid-day the caravan stopped at the watering springs south of Esgaroth.

"What have you got there?" Kili asked, noticing an unfamiliar knife handle protruding from Skirfir's belt as they watered ponies and used hoof picks to check for stones.

"Old knife," Skirfir said, pulling the unusual blade from it's sheath and offering it to Kili, handle first.

Elven blade.

"Fjalar gave it to me," Skirf said. "Says it glows blue when goblins are near."

Kili frowned. "This is the one he picked up last year in that skirmish on the western slope?"

Skirfir nodded, bending to check the left rear hoof of Kili's black pony. "He swears it works. Do not," he rolled his eyes. "Ask me how he verified that."

Kili's somber expression broke into a slow smile, the first one in hours. Lads Fjalar's age were well known to get into trouble and take outrageous risks. Kili had no doubt there was a tale to be told here, but he didn't feel compelled to get that story out of Skirfir. There were limits, and the daily shenanigans of Fili's oldest son were no longer his concern.

With a grin, Kili flipped the heavy knife in his hand. It was well-balanced and it was sharp. He handed it back when Skirfir stood to move to the next pony.

"Best keep it safe, lad. Mahal forbid we should need it," he said, sobering. "If you get any goblin sign from it, I expect you to speak up."

Skirfir nodded, firmly re-sheathing it with a snick.

Together they finished tending ponies in keeping with their disguises as simple soldiers. As he worked, Kili scanned the line of larger horses at the watering spring, trying to keep his glances brief and nonchalant.

"She's with Fria, over by the second trough," Skirfir said after the fifth time Kili had managed to look around.

Kili's eyes went to the crowd of dwarves and men in that area, and then spotted his lady wife, tall for a dwarf and dressed in healer blue, long black braid down her back. She chatted and laughed with one of Lady Lëofa's horsewomen, and Fria, warrior and commander, stood nearby dressed as a simple healer's helper. Kili noted the skirt pouches that likely hid long knives and approved of Fria's watchful eyes.

He looked away, not wishing to draw attention. "Am I that obvious?" he murmured to Skirf.

Skirfir smiled. "Only to me, and only because I know you…"

Kili walked around his pony, pulled back the flap on his saddle bag and stowed the hoof pick. "Mahal's ass, Skirf," he said, looking bleakly at his young lieutenant. "Why is this so hard?"

Skirfir stowed his own hoof pick and leveled a frank look at his commander. "Because you love her."

Kili snorted. And because he did, he would protect her by keeping his distance. For now, anyway. Traveling separately, they easily blended in. If they rode together, it would be a certain giveaway.

They mounted up and headed out again. It was mid-afternoon and they were well south of the Lake when Corax caught up to them, swooping past and quorking loudly. At the edge of a small meadow, Kili pulled his pony to the side and dismounted as if taking a moment to recheck a hoof for stones. Skirfir pulled off with him as the rest of the caravan ambled past. He did a fair job of appearing bored while secretly being very much on guard as his prince crouched behind his pony and invited Corax to his arm.

"Elfins speak," Corax announced in a croaking voice.

"You have a message from Tuilind?" Kili asked softly.

"Elfins. Yes. Elfins follow. Caged one makes for stony mountain." Corax eyed him. "Elfins follow."

Kili frowned. Stony mountain? "Back to Erebor? Is the caged one back at Erebor?" Caged one, of course, was Corax's name for Levender.

Corax wagged his tail in a gesture Kili recognized as "no" in ravenspeak.

"Gunda. Stony mountain. Gunda-bad."

Kili sat back on his heels. Gundabad. Northern tip of the Misty Mountains, five days ride from Erebor, and still the home of the most wicked orcs in the north. Far fewer in number these days, but still dangerous.

He raised his head involuntary and looked back toward the Lonely Mountain.

"My brother..." he whispered.


Khuzdul words credited to the Dwarrow Scholar's Online Neo-khuzdul dictionary (google it!)

Ukrâd, nadad = great heart (I love you greatly) big brother.

Sankundim, nadadith = perfect travel (travel safely) little brother.

(This is the reverse of their greetings back in Kinseekers, when Kili stayed and Fili departed.)


Huge thanks once again to the fabulous beta-reader team: BlueRiverSteel, Cassandrala, and Jessie152.

And extra thanks to you for reading and for the kind messages and PMs...I do appreciate even the short messages-they keep me focused on getting the chapter out! Hope you are all able to enjoy the DoS ee when it comes out next week! And I'm soooo mixed about seeing BOFA next month...(eeek!) Stocking up on tissue even as we speak...

Mahal's Blessings...and hope you enjoy!

On a completely different note, it's National Novel Writing Month! If you are doing NaNo, feel free to Buddy me (SummerAlden on the NaNo site!) And if you're interested, I'm posting my original work, titled Omega Flight (a science fiction, non-fanfic), on Tablo...feel free to follow me. The link-remove the spaces and google: ta blo. io/ summer ald/