Chapter 33: Tiresome Investigations

Tilda visited the Mountain the very same day she received Tauriel's message about the new babe's arrival.

"He's darling!" she gasped once Tauriel had laid Galadion in her arms. "And I'm not Sigrid, who says that about every baby. Galadion really is the cutest thing I've ever seen."

He wasn't wrinkly or squished like some newborns, and his features, though rounded, were still perfectly proportioned and handsome. Some babies, she had always thought, bore an unfortunate resemblance to shrunken goblins. But of course elvish babies probably didn't have an ugly stage; surely they came out already perfect.

"You said you wanted a little Kíli." Tilda smoothed Galadion's soft tuft of raven hair. "I think he's going to be an elvish version of his Da, don't you?"

"I think so," Tauriel said warmly. She looked so pleased, watching her young friend admire the babe.

Tilda tickled Galadion's chin, and he gurgled, seemingly amused. "Where is your Da? I want to see you side by side," she said to him. Usually Kíli greeted her at the gate, even if he was on duty, but today she had made it all the way to his home without running into the dwarven prince.

"Kíli has gone to the Iron Hills."

"What?" Tilda stared up at Tauriel. "But he just came home!"

The elf sighed gently, and Tilda thought she sounded disappointed. "He still hasn't found the ones who poisoned the tea and kidnapped his brother," she said.

"Couldn't they send someone else to look?"

"Kíli has the best chance of finding the traitors."

"Ah." She frowned. "Can't those stupid dwarves just leave you and Kíli alone? Really, I think they just hate happiness."

Tauriel laughed softly. "You may be right."

"I mean it!" Tilda continued, smiling now, too, despite the serious subject. "I really don't understand why elves and dwarves can't get along. Don't you have a lot in common? You both love making pretty things. And you're both magic. I mean, maybe elves are more like stars and clean air, and dwarves are like gold and jewels and secrets buried under the ground. But either way, you're not ordinary. You both fit right down into things, almost like you've grown out of the woods or the mountains, instead of just living there."

Tauriel nodded. "I think so, too. There were times when elves and dwarves lived in friendship. And I hope, because of Kíli and me, such days can come again."

"You should just make everyone who disagrees meet Galad," Tilda said. "I'm sure he could convince anyone that you and Kíli deserve to be happy together." She tickled Galadion again. "Isn't that right? Nobody could be angry at you." The little dwelf squealed in answer, and Tilda laughed. "I think he likes me already."

"He remembers you from your visits."

"You really think so?"

Tauriel smiled. "Even in my womb, he could hear your voice. I can tell that he recognizes everyone who talked to him before he was born."

Tilda grinned with pleasure. "Ah, what a good boy you are! I promise you'll like me even better now that we can be real friends."

The unmistakable sense of tension in the air made Kíli's arrival in the Iron Hills feel distinctly different from his triumphal return to Erebor with Fíli ten days ago. Their cousin Daín's welcome was genuine and warm, but even so there was a strain about his eyes and in his voice that proved how troubled he was by the traitor within his own dûm.

"It's good to see you both here, safe an' sound," Daín said, clapping each prince on the shoulder in turn. "Welcome. I only wish my hospitality meant more than it has of late." His grey-blue eyes flashed. "As it is, you have my full support in finding and punishing whatever son of an orc is behind this."

Fíli nodded and clasped his kinsman's hand. "Thanks. We've always known we can trust you."

As he and Fíli were shown through the echoing entrance hall, Kíli felt sweat prick out on his skin beneath the heavy layers of his formal surcoat and his hidden mail. The attention of the other dwarves was a nearly tangible pressure. Not since the day of his own fatal decision in the Council of Seven Kingdoms had so many eyes been turned on him in curiosity and expectation.

Daín was as eager to continue the search as Kíli could wish; as soon as the public welcomes were done, the Lord of the Iron Hills had ushered the princes into a private meeting. Joining them were Daín's son Thorin and Bragi, a lieutenant in Daín's army.

"My first business is to find the ones who poisoned my wife's tea," Kíli said once everyone was seated.

"You've decided the two incidents are connected?" Daín asked.

"I do. This whole thing—it's been a plot against me from the beginning. First someone tries to hurt my wife, and then they try to have me killed. It should have been me on that envoy, after all." He eyed those at the table, seeing what effect this declaration earned.

No-one responded. They all knew this wasn't mere vanity on his part; Kíli had made choices that could earn him real enemies, though none would say so here.

"The Northmen who attacked Prince Fíli—I thought they could be no mere raiders." Daín agreed. "Someone let them past our border patrols."

"They were hired to kill my brother. Their captain told me so," said Fíli. Kíli noticed the crown prince's hands were clenched on the arms of his chair. "They didn't believe me when I said I wasn't him. I'm just lucky they had other plans for Kíli."

"Plans?" growled Bragi, who sat at Daín's left. "How did they dare—"

"They were going to sell me to Gundabad," Kíli said.

Daín cursed.

"It was an Iron Hills dwarf who hired the mercenaries," said Kíli.

"Have you proof?" Daín's look was dark.

"Beyond the Northman's word? Not yet." The dwarves he had sent to investigate the Red River trader had not yet returned. "But I expect they're the same as the ones who planted the rustleaf."

"Tis a step between drugging and murder," Bragi mused. "I'd say you're looking for two different parties. If it's all one plot, why not plant a deadlier drug in the first place?"

Kíli's stomach twisted; the possibility that Tauriel or Sif could have been poisoned still haunted him. "Rustleaf might have gone undetected. Poison wouldn't. I suppose the traitor was stalling for time till he could get rid of me without being caught. But he wasn't afraid to kill, even then. The rustleaf could have made Tauriel lose our child. I don't consider his actions any less than attempted murder."

"Nor should you." Daín gestured once more to Bragi. "We've traced the drugs. How do you wish to proceed, Kíli?"

"A brief interview with each person in the house where the herbs were bought—that's all I need."

"So you know who you're looking for," Bragi said.

Kíli nodded. "And till I find him"—he had almost said her, but it seemed prudent to keep some secrets even among Daín's trusted council—"I'm afraid no-one is allowed to leave the dûm without my personal approval."

"But, Your Highness—" objected Thorin.

Daín shot him a sharp look. "Prince Kíli is fully within his rights to order it. This is a case of treason."

Kíli turned to Thorin, the only dwarf here who was younger than himself. "I hate to order this, but until our assassin is found, I can't take chances. If everyone cooperates, the investigation should be finished quickly."

"Let's hope you're right," Daín said. "I want these traitors stopped before they can do any more harm."

The next morning, they began investigating one of the two the households who were known to have purchased rustleaf prior to traveling to Erebor for Fíli's wedding. Aided by young Thorin, the princes interviewed everyone connected to the Silverhand household, family and servants alike. Kíli didn't expect his questions to yield much information once the old cook had explained that he sometimes used rustleaf to help his indigestion, a tale Kíli only half believed. He peered in the face of every female, from the lady of the house down to the scullery maids, hoping to recognize the woman whom he had met in the royal quarters on the night of the wedding. Yet all he earned for his efforts were the tears of the serving girls, and a foul glare from the maiden heiress when he'd asked if she ever ordered rustleaf.

"Your Highness, I have a reputation to keep," she said disdainfully, and Kíli supposed that she meant he didn't operate under any such concerns for himself. "I wouldn't use such a medicine; you know how servants talk."

"I beg your pardon," Kíli said, bowing. "I'm afraid the recent attempts on my family haven't exactly improved my manners."

The following day's investigation was even less helpful. Lord Flói's housekeeper had instantly produced the package of rustleaf, still sealed and dated by the apothecary; and the only two women of the household—Flói's mother and her cousin—were both too aged to be the girl Kíli sought.

"Mahal," Kíli grumbled after the last of Flói's servants had been ushered from the parlor where they'd been conducting interviews. "We'd make more progress mining bedrock with a teaspoon. I really thought we'd find a clue if we followed the rustleaf." He combed his bangs back, then settled them again with an impatient flick of his head.

"If you want to trace the herb, I think my father-in-law could help," Thorin said, stepping forward from the back of the room, where he'd been watching the interviews.

"Oh?" Kíli glanced to his cousin.

"As Chief Tariff Officer, he has access to all the import logs. He could tell you if anyone else received shipments that could have contained drugs like that, even if they weren't going to market."

"Or perhaps tell me who might have traveled up East recently?" Kíli knew it was a stretch to expect the traitors had personally bought the herb in the distant regions where it was grown, but the possibility was still worth checking.

"I think he would remember," Thorin said.

Kíli nodded. "Good. Can I meet him tonight?"

"Of course."

The Chief Tariff Officer was a dour-faced dwarf with hard eyes, but he smiled as he offered the prince a curt, military bow.

"Your Highness, Reidhr at your service."

Kíli returned the bow. "I believe we've met before, but you'll have to remind me when."

"At the Council of Seven Kingdoms," Reidhr said.

"Ah, yes." Kíli still only half recollected the introduction. "I'm afraid I was preoccupied at the time."

Reidhr nodded, his look knowing. "You certainly caused a stir. But how can I help you now?"

"I need to know every shipment that could have contained herbs from up East. Someone put rustleaf in my wife's tea, and I want to find where the assassin got the drug."

Reidhr's look went stern for a moment. "I was sorry to hear the news, Highness. It was a most distressing misfortune." He shook his head. "I'll give all the help I can, and gladly."

Reidhr delivered the shipping lists to Kíli in the royal guest suite the next morning.

"I'm impressed by your dedication, Highness," he said as Kíli looked over the papers. "You could have delegated someone to handle this investigation."

Kíli glanced up. "Oh? This villain attacked my wife and son, my sister, my brother. I'd be searching even if I wasn't Captain of Erebor's Guard." He dropped the papers on the table before him. "Whoever planned this is a fool to think he'd ever get away with it. I'll find him if I have to turn the entire mountain on its peak. And when I do—" He slashed the air impatiently with one hand. "You know it's sacrilege to shed the blood of Durin's line. Oh, Tauriel may not be Khazad, but she is the mother of my heir. She belongs to Durin's house as much as I do."

"Durin's true heir wouldn't take such a wife."

Kíli's look sharpened to a glare.

"That must be what they believe, or they wouldn't dare to contrive against you," Reidhr said, his tone explanative, not accusatory.

Kíli huffed. "I know. But it's nonsense! I know the value of my lineage. I would never shame my First Father. I chose Tauriel because she is worthy." He knew his temper was heating, but he needed to defend himself, to defend Tauriel, even if Reidhr wasn't truly one of the dwarves who opposed him.

The young prince took a slow breath and pressed his hands over his face. "I understand why some don't want an elf on the throne. I would have renounced my claim, if Thorin had let me. But for them to think I disgrace myself by loving someone who's noble and good, to want to murder me and hurt my family for it—that's simply wrong-headed."

The other dwarf grunted in affirmation. "I'm afraid the wrong-headed are all the more given to desperate measures when they want their way. You can't be too careful while you're here, I think. Stay in your rooms at night, and don't go anywhere without your guard. Better to be over-cautious than come to grief through carelessness. The traitor can't hide forever, so there's no sense in taking unnecessary risks."

A smile flitted over Kíli's lips. "I've promised my wife I won't do anything reckless. So don't worry about me."

Over the following days, Reidhr's information led Kíli to several private shipments from the East, goods destined for household use rather than for sale. Kíli also broadened his search to the other households that had traveled to Erebor for Fíli's wedding. Yet all inquiries turned up no sign of the incriminating drug or of the girl who had planted it. Whoever was behind the rustleaf plot had covered his—or her—tracks well.

And as the days passed without bringing him any nearer to the traitors, Kíli's patience began to wear thin.

"I can't believe we've found nothing to go on," Kíli grumbled to his brother on the eighth night of their stay. He stuffed tobacco in his pipe, jabbing the leaves in place with his pipe pick.

Fíli made an affirmative sound from his seat by the fire, across from Kíli. "Yes, I hoped we'd have found the girl by now. Easy, Kí; are you trying to stab that pipe to death?"

Kíli grunted and set the pick down.

The elder prince went on, "Maybe she's not here any more. She might have fled the Iron Hills, knowing you'd seen her the night she planted the drug."

"I know; that's what I'm afraid of. Or maybe—" He paused, puffing at the pipe as he tried to light it with a dried rush match. "Maybe our enemies know just where we're looking each day and are keeping her out of sight."

"You mean you don't trust Daín?"

"Nah, I trust him. But we don't know which of his men are against us. Somebody let the Northmen raiders through the border patrols. That means anybody in the guard—even someone Daín trusts—could be our traitor." He hissed as he burned his fingers on the stub of rush. "Perhaps I just don't recognize the girl anymore! I remember her brooch better than I do her face." He had hoped that seeing her in person would spur his memory, but if his mind held no clear image to begin with, what could he really expect?

"She's not our only clue," Fíli reasoned; he sounded tired. "I hope by next sennight we'll hear back from the men we sent down the Redwater. They might be able to tell us who hired the raiders."

"Another sennight," Kíli muttered. "Unless they bring back a sealed and signed contract—or better yet, maybe they could just produce a portrait of our villain!—we still have to keep searching before we find him." His pipe smoked fitfully and went out. "Damn!" Kíli tossed it to the table, where clattered to a rest.

He kicked his feet out on the rug and leaned back in his chair, his thoughts already chasing to the one subject that rivaled the investigation in his mind. What were his wife and son doing right now? He could picture Tauriel in her chair, rocking gently while Galadion nursed or perhaps soothing him with sing-song Elvish words. Galadion always seemed to listen so intently when his mother or father spoke to him, and Kíli could imagine that the little fellow nearly understood them already. When would he speak his first word? It might not be long; Galadion had clearly grown in control and alertness in just his first sennight. Maybe Kíli was already missing his son's first smile, his first laugh.

"Maker's anvil, I miss them," he sighed.

After a moment, Fíli said, "Why don't you go home? You've done all you can, and I can take things from here."

Kíli shook his head. "I can't. I promised Tauriel I'd find our enemies. I can't just go home and tell her I gave up."

"It's not giving up."

"I want to be the one to protect her," Kíli protested. He stood and paced across the room. There had to be some way of pushing his enemies to reveal themselves. He rocked from heels up onto his toes, lowered himself back to the carpet, turned again and stalked to the other end of the room.

"I know! I'll close the gates entirely, till we find any clue leading to the traitors."

Fíli sat up straighter and eyed his brother sharply. "Stop all passage in and out of the dûm? You've heard the grumbles about exit restrictions as it is. You close the gates—if Daín will allow it—and you'll get more than grumbles."

"Daín has to allow it," Kíli said. "If he doesn't— Well, we'll find out who respects my authority."

"Nonetheless, people will be angry."

"That's exactly the point! Make my enemies angry enough to give themselves away."

Fíli rose and moved to his brother. "Kíli, that wouldn't be a good use of your authority."

"They wanted to kill me. They almost killed you!"

Fíli clasped Kíli's arm, the gesture fond, reassuring. "I know. But if you really want to piss them off, do the right thing. Don't anger good people who are already on your side."

Kíli gritted his teeth for a moment, then relaxed. "I know; you're right. I just want to find the traitors. We've been looking for months! And I've left Tauriel alone for too long."

"I'm frustrated too, Kí." Fíli gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Sorry. I know it's been hard for you and Sif. And now that she's with child— Don't you see that's another reason I can't leave you to finish this alone? It's hardly fair of me."

Fíli smiled then. "You're bloody stubborn, you know? It would be annoying, if you weren't so loyal, too."

Kíli shrugged. "I have a few redeeming qualities."

"A few." Fíli patted his brother's shoulder. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up and pace too much longer or we'll owe Daín a new rug."

Once Fíli was gone, Kíli strode back across the room, pausing at the door to his own bed chamber. His brother was probably right; there wasn't much else he could accomplish tonight. But every nerve was thrumming with impatience and frustration, and he knew it would be no good to lie down yet, not without Tauriel there to soothe him. Oh, he didn't like sleeping alone. The bed felt unbalanced, empty…

The thought of his wife likewise alone in their big bed under its dome of stars turned to inspiration: some night air might be refreshing. He hadn't been outside the dûm since their arrival over a sennight ago. Tauriel would never have let him go so long without standing under the sky. This little excursion wouldn't count as recklessness. He would take a bodyguard, and head for a place on the wall where no one would even know he was there.

Kíli hooked his sword to his belt and left the suite.

The night was cold and clear, and the stars, with no moon to outshine them tonight, glittered like diamonds flung by lavish handfuls across the sky. Kíli paused at the top of the watchtower stair, enjoying the sensation of crisp air in his nose and throat. Tauriel would have picked out the individual scents—dead leaves, dry earth, wood smoke, and mist—but to him, it was just a pleasant outdoorsy freshness.

He strode to the parapet and looked down over the dark cliffside. Away to his left, he could see the wall and battlement that defended the entrance to the dûm. Daín had expanded the original fortifications some fifty years ago, and as a result, this watchtower was rarely used, a fact for which Kíli was doubly grateful tonight. Since he had entered the Iron Hills, he had felt under constant watch. Daín's people followed everything he did with tense curiosity, and because he never went anywhere unguarded he couldn't even escape from the company of his own men. He had been starting to feel stifled, as when he'd been breathing the dense, still air of Mirkwood for too long.

He chuckled softly, remembering something Tauriel had once said about how the rest of the world seemed to fall away beneath the white light of the stars. He supposed Thranduil's guard captain must have felt stifled at times, too.

"What is it?" Sigthorn asked from behind him.

Kíli looked back at his trusted friend and fellow guardsman.

"I should take my wife's advice more often," he said. "I feel better already up here."

"She is older and wiser, sir," the other dwarf said with a grin.

Kíli leaned back against the stone and looked up at the stars. He could almost hear Tauriel's voice in his mind, naming constellations for him: the Sickle, the Netted Stars, the Swordsman. She had already done the same for their son, too. Though Galadion's infant eyes could not yet trace these celestial patterns, she had wanted him to be familiar with their names and stories from the first.

When he returned home, Kíli would have to take Galadion down into the mines and teach him gold and silver, ore and gems. He was excited to watch the lad grow in both sides of his heritage. Thanks to his elvish half, would Galadion develop the talents of his dwarvish half twice as fast? If so, Kíli had no time to lose instructing him.

He hoped Tauriel was right that Galadion would still remember his father after so much time apart: it seemed likely Kíli would not return to Erebor for another fortnight at the very least. He heaved a sigh. Oh, he wasn't a fool; he knew investigations took time. Still, there was that ever-hopeful part of him which had truly expected this search would be over in a mere matter of days, that he would simply walk in, spot the girl, and the rest of the plot would be uncovered in a matter of course. So now he had to reconcile himself to the fact that he would be away from his wife and son longer than he had imagined.

He reached in his pocket, then remembered he had left his pipe on the table in his room. Blast! Well, the cool air and starlight would have to be calming enough for him. He seated himself with his back to the parapet and tried to breathe slowly, deeply as Tauriel had taught him. Honestly, he had never found it very soothing to listen to the breath gusting through his nose. Tauriel had teased him for puffing like a bellows. He smiled, remembering.

But whether it was the elvish breathing exercise or the thoughts of a particular elf, he did eventually relax, enough that he drowsed. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the stars had shifted against the battlements above: it seemed he had been asleep for nearly an hour.

He stood up, stretched. "Must be past one now," he mused.

"Like enough," Sigthorn agreed.

Kíli started down the spiral stairwell. It was unlit, but with one shoulder against the outer wall it was easy to feel his way. Near the bottom, the light shone in from the hall beyond. As Kíli was about to round the last turn of the stair, the light dimmed for a moment, as though someone had passed in front of the doorway below. Kíli paused to let whoever it was move further down the hall. He didn't feel like explaining to some passing guardsman what the prince of Erebor was doing on a disused watchtower in the middle of the night.

The light dimmed again, and then someone entered the tower stairwell. Kíli put his hand to his sword hilt, but whoever it was did not come up the steps. There was a faint scraping sound and then a dry, papery rustle. Holding his breath, Kíli peered round the center of the stair. Below, a hooded figure was fitting a small block into an opening in the outer stair wall. Before the block slid into place, Kíli thought he glimpsed something pale—a piece of paper?—behind it. The unknown dwarf turned, pausing in the doorway to survey the hall beyond.

Kíli nearly descended the last few steps, but then caught himself. Clearly this person had secret business, but Kíli might learn more if he did not reveal himself just yet. Who would come for the message?

After the mysterious dwarf left, Kíli waited several minutes before going to the bottom of the stair. The loose stone block was hidden well by the natural seams in the rock; if Kíli had not known it was there, he would have missed it. But by running his fingers over the wall, he found that one side of the block tipped in slightly, leaving the opposite edge to project enough that he could grasp it and pull it out.

In the hiding place was indeed a folded piece of paper. Kíli stepped into the hall doorway so he could see the runes more easily.

My love,

All is prepared. Make ready to leave with me. I'll join you at this place two nights hence, midnight.

Yours,

R

"What's it say?" Sigthorn whispered. Kíli held the paper so the other dwarf could read.

"A lover's note," Kíli said. He started to refold the message, then paused, his scalp prickling as he remembered the last time he had interrupted what he thought was a lovers' meeting. Could this tryst also be a disguise for something more sinister? "At least, it's meant to look like one."

"You think it's a code? Every fourth word or something like that?"

"Could be." Kíli stared at the words again. "No, it's too short for that. And a code wouldn't be so direct. I think it means what it says: someone is going away, and secretly. I'd guess leaving the dûm. Somebody wants to get out without going past me." As it was, he currently required every dwarf leaving the halls to meet with him to obtain permission. "I suppose there could be any number of reasons for secrecy, but what if the girl who planted the tea is still here? She would want to escape unnoticed."

Kíli refolded the note and put it back in its hidden nook. "Let's come back here in two nights and find out what our 'lovers' are really up to," he said.

As they made their way back to the princes' guest rooms, Kíli found that the relaxing effect of the night air had been completely undone: his heart was racing with the excitement of his discovery, and his every sense was fully alert. He expected he would be lying in bed awake—and lonely—for what remained of the night. But since it seemed he might be on the traitors' trail at last, he wouldn't complain.

Well before midnight on the appointed night, Kíli returned to the empty tower. Only Sigthorn came with him—their ambush must remain secret, and more than two would surely draw attention passing down corridors in the night. Kíli also traded his rich, royal garb for plain dark clothing with a generous hood. No one must suspect that the prince had any business outside his quarters.

Inside the dark, quiet stairwell, the minutes stretched out seemingly forever. More than once, Kíli had to stop his feet from shifting restlessly on the stone; it was not in his nature to keep still when he had a task to do, even, apparently, when that task was to stay silent and wait.

As he caught himself making another involuntary shuffle, the hall light suddenly dimmed below and a female voice called softly.

"Ragnar?"

Blast! Had she heard him?

The woman stepped inside the tower door. "Ragnar, it's me. It's Freya," she whispered.

So she didn't suspect him yet. Kíli looked back at Sigthorn and mouthed wait. Then he tugged his hood further forward and came down the stairs.

The woman was a dark shape against the lighted hall door.

"My love," she began, then stiffened as Kíli grasped her arm. "You're not—"

"I'm not," he whispered and pressed a hand over her mouth in case she tried to scream. "But do as I say, and I won't hurt you." He turned her so that the hall light fell on her face.

Kíli only half recognized her features— wide blue eyes; full cheeks; red hair, though not so bright as Tauriel's own—but he perfectly recalled the brooch fastening the throat of her heavy wool jacket. Even distracted as he had been during that previous meeting, his keen jeweler's eye had been drawn to the intricately woven silver knot studded with rare star sapphires.

"It's you! You poisoned the tea." He tightened his grip on her arm.

Freya's eyes filled with tears and she choked softly. Kíli removed his hand from her mouth; he hadn't meant to smother her.

"Poison? Ow. I don't know what you mean." She trembled, clearly terrified.

Kíli relaxed his hold on her slightly. As angry as he was about what Freya had done to Tauriel, he didn't like to hurt a woman.

Freya lunged through the door away from him, the motion so strong and sudden that they both nearly tripped. As Kíli hauled her to her feet, someone shouted behind them.

"Take your hands off her!"

Kíli whirled to see a young dwarf in the livery of Daín's guard charging down the hall, sword drawn. He dodged the blow, but as he moved, his grip loosened and the girl twisted away.

"Freya, run! I'll catch up," the guard—Ragnar, presumably—shouted.

Kíli drew his sword. "Thorn!" he called, at the same moment as his bodyguard emerged from the stair door.

Ragnar threw himself at Kíli again, not bothering to block the prince's sword but taking it flat against his armor as he rammed them both into the wall. Kíli choked as the breath was driven from him. Ragnar was nearly as tall as Kíli himself, and twice as bulky.

Even with Sigthorn grasping Ragnar from behind, Kíli struggled to break away. The young guardsman didn't seem to care if he got hurt, so long as he stopped Kíli from chasing after Freya. He caught Kíli's arm in a wrestler's grip, wrenching so that Kíli nearly lost hold of his sword. Kíli head-butted Ragnar; then Sigthorn pulled Ragnar away and Kíli squirmed out of his hold.

"It's her—dammit—" Kíli tripped as Ragnar snatched at his hood; the shirt tore as Kíli pulled free.

He charged down the corridor. Freya was no longer in sight; she must have turned off the main hallway. Here! As he rounded the corner, Kíli heard shouting.

The passage was a short one, leading directly under the battlement wall. At the end was a small postern gate, narrow enough that a single warrior could hold the defense, if need be. The door was open, and in it was Freya, struggling as another Iron Hills guard dragged her through.

"In the King's name, unhand her!" Kíli cried, still running.

The guard holding Freya stepped out of sight.

Kíli charged on through the doorway and found himself outside the wall. Freya still fought someone off to his right, but surrounding him were four, no, five more shadows. It was too dark to recognize their faces.

"Unhand her. That's an order," Kíli gasped.

"Sorry, mate. Our orders come from higher up," the dwarf directly in front of him said and swung his sword.

Kíli parried. "I'm the prince!"

"Nice try. But we knew you'd be here with your lady friend." He slashed again, his deadly intent clear.

They thought Kíli was Ragnar. And that meant Kíli wasn't the only one to know about Freya's escape. Had the traitors themselves been betrayed? These guards didn't just mean to stop Ragnar: they meant to kill him, and probably Freya, too.

Kíli fought off the blows, trying to watch both his opponent and the dwarves encircling him—they held back from attacking him for now, but they closed in about him, limiting his movement. Soon enough, they'd have him pinned and unable to attack or defend himself properly. Where was Sigthorn?

He lunged and his sword skimmed uselessly off his opponent's heavy mail. Then he sidestepped, parried, this time barely fending off the attack as his arm struck one of the guards close beside him. Then the same dwarf cried out, staggering backwards.

"Freya!" someone bellowed.

Kíli glanced over his shoulder to see Ragnar—he was too tall to be Sigthorn—above the fallen guard.

The girl screamed, and Ragnar charged for her, away from Kíli and the ring of guards. One of them followed, leaving Kíli a little more space to move again. He stepped aside, centering his balance as he blocked another sword thrust. One of the other dwarves stepped forward, raising an axe. Damn! He couldn't defend against two at once. What had he got himself into? He'd promised her he wouldn't be reckless and still he had—

"Kíli!"

Sigthorn rammed into the guard with the axe. The swordsman also faltered, clearly surprised. Kíli saw his opening and sprang forward, his sword piercing the other dwarf's throat.

As Sigthorn moved to his side, Kíli glanced round. Freya had escaped from her captor and clung to Ragnar's arm. Two guards were down; the remaining four were drawing together, exchanging anxious glances that told Kíli they had expected an easier fight.

"You're not with them?" Ragnar demanded, peering at Kíli and Sigthorn. He kept his sword raised, ready.

"Stand down, all of you!" Kíli shouted. "In the name of King Thorin!"

The guards didn't move. Kíli couldn't guess if they would obey or fight.

"Who are you?" one of them called.

"I'm—"

"Prince Kíli," finished a familiar voice from behind him. "And I am Prince Fíli. Throw your swords down now!"

Author's note:

My dear readers, thank you for your patience with this story! I truly have been working on this darn chapter since last summer. But a bad case of writer's block plus a very busy semester teaching in the fall kept me from making very good progress. I'm really grateful to my friends That Elf Girl and the Lone Knight for all their writing advice; I couldn't have gotten this chapter done without them! I've got a lighter workload right now, so I hope to be back to regular updates for this fic.

If you're still reading, I'd love to hear from you! I worry that I lost readers when I couldn't update like I wanted to; I hope you can prove that I'm wrong. And tell me, do you think Kíli is finally going to catch the real mastermind behind the plot?

This fic is now being translated into Russian, thanks to the generous work of Ghostnata. You can read the Russian version on Fic Book. Ghostnata has also translated So Comes Snow After Fire, and a few of my other short fics.