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Chapter 12

"Every treasure is guarded by dragons. That's how you can tell it's valuable."
Saul Bellow

oOoOoOo

October 13th, T.A. 2941

Ori was unused to such attention. He squirmed under Kíli's and Balin's combined gaze, stuttering as they tried to pry the information out of him.

"Let me speak!"

Balin's exasperated cry interrupted Kíli's string of questions. Kíli scowled but stepped back, arms folded on his chest, acknowledging his elder's experience and wisdom. The older dwarf took Ori by his shoulders and sat him down on a boulder, motioning to the others to step back and give them both some space.

"Now, lad. The gems. Where are they?"

Ori glanced at Dori, who nodded in encouragement. "They are in the king's office," he said quietly.

"How do you know that?" Kíli couldn't help but ask. He ignored the warning look Balin gave him.

"I read it in the ledger," Ori replied. "The master jeweler's ledger, to be precise." He elaborated: "I've been tasked to clean up the library. There are many books there, but they're in a sorry state. I wish I had some of my equipment so I could restore them."

Balin shook him by the shoulders. "The gems, lad. Focus now."

"The jeweler's ledger mentions their examination," Ori continued. "They were brought to be repaired by request of the Elvenking, to be safeguarded in the king's office during their stay in Erebor."

"That's going to be a wee problem." Balin scratched his beard.

"Why?" Kíli sprung forward. "We wait until everyone's asleep, we get into that office and we take the gems!" He grinned. "What's hard about that?"

"What's hard," Balin answered, "Is that the king's office is the safest place in the mountain. Only two people have the key to its door." He glanced at Kíli. "That would be Dáin and his right hand."

"That bastard Nárin." Kíli balled his hands into fists. "I'll take care of him myself."

"That is your right, but I'll advise you to remain cautious." Balin muttered. "Now, it is best you returned to your cells before your disappearance is discovered."

"What?" Dwalin balked, "I won't be waiting while others do all the work!"

"And it's not what I'm asking." Balin rolled his eyes. "Dáin will send men to see that you, uh, don't pose a problem in the future. Take their weapons and find Nárin. Ori will provide you with a map." He lay a hand on Kíli's shoulder. "For the love of Durin, lad, remember that it is not vengeance you seek here. When in doubt, do what Thorin would've done." With those words he strode off into the darkness of the mountain.

"And what's that?" Kíli called out to his retreating back.

The answer came echoing down the corridor: "Use your head."

oOoOoOo

"Come on, they're sleeping."

The whisper drifted down the stairs, accompanied by the jingling of keys. As the footsteps drew closer Kíli willed himself to lie still. His pulse quickened, as it always did before a battle, even if this time the odds were not in his favor. He was unarmed, or as good as – the smallish knife Nori had provided would pose little threat to the guards' armor.

"Why's it so dark in here?" someone complained in a low voice.

Kíli smiled to himself. He'd snuffed out the torches beside the cells, and his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness.

"Leave it," another one spoke. "It may play out in our favor."

Kíli counted three sets of feet. He shut his eyes, focusing on his hearing, and pretended to be asleep.

"Nárin said to start with this one," one of the men murmured.

The click of a key inserted into its hole and the squeal of the door opening told Kíli how close they were, but he waited for the footsteps to enter his cell. The plan they'd constructed together with Bofur and Dwalin relied on the assumption that none of the henchmen would escape.

"You do it," the first voice said suddenly.

"Why me?" the second complained. "I still believe it's dishonorable to kill someone in their sleep, prince or no."

Kíli struggled to remain immobile and focused on his breath, keeping it as even as possible.

"Shut it, both of you. I'll go." The third man walked into the cell, his heavy steps betraying his size.

Kíli's eyes shot open. In a glimpse he took in the scene: the massive, ironclad figure beside his cot, the arm raised over his head and the sword intended for his own heart. He gripped the sides of the bed and kicked his attacker with both legs. The man reeled backwards, colliding with one of the other two. They crashed to the floor in a clanging ruckus that signaled the beginning of the fight. Above him, Dwalin's cell door banged open.

Kíli sprang to his feet and pulled out Nori's knife. "Don't let them escape!" he yelled out and lunged to avoid a slashing blow to the head. The blade scraped against the stone wall of the cell. Kíli ducked beneath the man's arm and came face to face with his second opponent. The guard pulled out his sword, blocking the exit. Behind Kíli, the first man was turning on his heels to strike again.

A warcry echoed within the prison. A shadow landed on the henchman who'd remained outside, knocking his weapon out of his hand. The blade skidded towards the chasm and toppled over the edge. Kíli's obstacle to freedom was removed as Dwalin reached out from behind and yanked the man outside. Grabbing him by the gorget, he slammed the man's face into the wall.

Kíli spun around in time to avoid another wrath blow. His own knife was useless against the heavy plate, and he watched for an opening in the armor he could use. When his attacker raised his arm once again, he saw his chance and took it. The knife entered the flesh beneath the arm, where the plackart met the vambrace. The guard's grip on his weapon vanished. In a cry of agony, he clattered to the floor together with his sword.

"Now that's a job nicely done." Bofur shuffled into the cell, dragging one of the men by the leg. The edges of the armor grated on the stone floor.

"Stop talking and get their keys," Dwalin growled as he shoved the last of the henchmen into the cell.

They locked the door behind them and Bofur hooked the keyring to his belt. Kíli examined the weapons they'd claimed: two swords and Nori's knife, a poor arsenal to storm a mountain. "Let's go," he commanded.

They crept along the corridors and over the bridges, avoiding patrols and stray footmen. Where Kíli once marveled at the vastness of the halls, he now saw occasions to be seen and stopped. However, Dáin's confidence in the success of the assassination attempt was such that he hadn't bothered to increase the rounds. The three of them reached the living quarters with no additional skirmishes, but the hardest part was still to come. Ori's map had led them to the doors of Thorin's former rooms, which Nárin had claimed for his own use. Kíli had seethed when he realized the affront made to his uncle.

He peeked from behind a pillar to count the sentinels standing guard by the doors. "Two," he gestured to his companions. Dwalin and Bofur nodded. They exchanged a glance, agreeing on a strategy, and slinked off into the darkness. Kíli remained behind, clutching his knife. He peered again to see both guards with swords at their their throats. They froze, not daring to move, as Dwalin's angry gaze could be very dissuasive.

"Disarm them," Kíli muttered, "And then gag them."

Once the sentries had been dealt with, they were writhing on the floor with their smallclothes in their mouths, their trousers at their ankles. Bofur had bound their wrists and feet with their own belts to ensure that no alarm would be raised until their mission was done.

Kíli looked at the doors before them and then to his friends. His grip on the sword he'd requisitioned from one of the guards tightened. The time to face Nárin had come at last. He lay his hand on the intricate golden panels, where the royal seal of Durin was engraved together with Thorin's personal sigil, and pushed.

The door swung open into darkness.

Kíli and Bofur slid into the room, pulling the doors closed behind them and leaving Dwalin to stand watch. Kíli's eyes soon grew accustomed to the dark again, and his ears were able to pick up the rhythm of a soft breath coming from the bed. The velvet curtains of the canopy hid the sleeper from his view, but the absence of movement comforted him in the certainty that Nárin hadn't been woken.

He nodded at Bofur and circled the bed, reaching out to pull the curtains away, when he felt a blade scratching at his throat.

"What do we have here?" Nárin smirked, showing a golden tooth. He was laying in the bed, unarmed and unarmored, save for the sword that prolonged his extended arm. A chain glittered around his neck, half-hidden by his tunic.

From the corner of his eye Kíli saw Bofur freeze on the other side of the bed, the silhouette of his hat barely visible in the light that filtered from outside.

"His royal Highness, Prince Kíli." Nárin pushed himself up. He twisted the sword so that the blade bit into the skin of Kíli's neck.

Kíli felt a burn, and the trickle of blood, but he refused to give Nárin the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

"I see that my men have proven ineffective. Are they dead?"

"Your men?" Kíli breathed out. "I thought they were the king's men."

"They are, but the orders were mine. Dáin is proud but too noble for his own good." Nárin shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter now." He nodded towards Bofur. "Tell your friend here to show himself, or I will slit your throat from one ear to another."

"I'm here," Bofur whispered into his ear, sliding his own sword under Nárin's chin. The hat hadn't moved but the dwarf did. He grabbed Nárin's braided beard and yanked his head back. "If you so much as twitch, I'll give you a nice clean shave."

Kíli stepped back hastily and rubbed his own throat.

"Drop your weapon," Bofur commanded, tugging at Nárin's beard.

The man relented, his eyes narrowed in fury. His sword fell to the floor, the sound absorbed by the thick carpets of the room, and Kíli kicked it under the bed. "Gag him," he told Bofur.

They bound him to the pillars of the canopy using his own sheets. Nárin didn't squirm; he only glared at them from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The same pride that had forced Kíli to endure the cut without a word flowed in his veins. He was joined by his two guards, whom Dwalin dragged into Thorin's former closet.

"We should kill him," the burly dwarf suggested, but Kíli shook his head. He remembered Balin's words of warning.

"Leave them," he instructed before turning to Nárin.

A small, delicate key dangled from the chain as Kíli tore it from his neck, leaving red marks on his skin. "I hope someone won't forget to bring you food and drink in the morning," He said, "Or you'll starve in this room, you and your minions."

oOoOoOo

"We should've slain that bastard," Dwalin insisted when Bofur disclosed what had happened earlier. "He tried to kill us!" He looked at Kíli. "I can do that real quick for you, if you want."

Kíli waved him into silence. They'd reached the entrance to the chambers that had been Thrór's office during his time as King under the Mountain. Fortunately for them, the doors weren't guarded, as Dáin relied on the complexity and sturdiness of the lock as well as the safety of the keys that opened it.

The doors' beauty surpassed everything they'd seen before. Carved out of black marble veined with white and rimmed with gold, they glittered in the light of the torches. Kíli inserted the small key into the hole and turned. A series of clicks followed, indicating that a complex mechanism was at work within the stone. The last latch snapped into place and the doors opened, swinging inward without resistance.

The chambers were lit with the light of dwarven lamps, which required no fuel and could burn for hours. Marble cabinets lined the walls, and an impressive desk, intricately engraved and painted, occupied the center of the room. Every inch of its surface was covered in old parchments and books.

"Find the gems," Kíli commanded as he headed towards the desk.

He pushed the papers around, feeling dust cover his fingertips. Documents bearing Thrór's seal crumbled under his touch, and some more recent scrolls tumbled to the ground. One of them in particular caught his eye, a missive bearing the royal sigil of the Iron Hills. Kíli picked it up. His eyes widened when he unrolled it.

"I think I've found them." Bofur announced. He held up his finding to the closest lamp.

A pure, white light illuminated the chambers, radiating from the cascade of gems that hung from his hand. Like stars caught from a clear night sky and imprisoned in a silvery web, they tinkled softly with every movement.

Dwalin touched Kíli 's arm. "Let's go."

Kíli nodded, pocketing the scroll. They hurried towards the gates, ready to fight their way out of Erebor. Kíli would've fancied a tour to the armory to fetch their weapons, but it lay dangerously close to the quarters of the guard, which implied the presence of armed men nearby. It was a risk he was unwilling to take.

The heavy steps of a patrol halted their run, and they hid behind a corner waiting for the guards to pass.

"Dáin will give chase as soon as he finds out," Dwalin panted, a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Kíli remembered the missive, and what it meant. "No he won't," he said.