Chapter 37: A Bargain

At first, Kíli thought Jari meant to fight both armies: the Stiffbeards held their position, half of the ranks facing Fíli and Kíli's army ahead of them, and half turned to face Thorin's army at their flank. The princes continued to march, but Kíli let his bow go slack, reluctant now to loose the first arrow while Jari still had time to surrender.

"What is he waiting for?" Fíli muttered at his side. "Can't he see he's surrounded?"

Kíli remembered a game he and his brother used to play as youths, riding their ponies at one another to see who would give in and swerve aside first. He had once been thrown off because he had stubbornly held his course and his pony had finally revolted in self-preservation. Was Jari trying to prove his valor, just as Kíli and Fíli had foolishly done back then? Or was the stubborn Stiffbeard still hoping that the odds would hold in his favor? Only the first ranks of Thorin's army had crested the hill, so their numbers were not fully apparent. Jari might still think he could withstand them, despite his poor tactical position.

Thorin's army sounded their horns, a deep battle-call that echoed off the peaks above. Then the warriors broke into a running charge. Swords and axes flashed, and armor clanked above the thunder of dwarven feet.

The Stiffbeard vanguard was only a dozen yards ahead now. Kíli shouldered his bow and drew his sword.

Then Jari's own horns rang out in signal. In a moment, each Stiffbeard dwarf sank his blade in the earth. The battle standard dropped.

"He yields," Kíli shouted, at the same time as Fíli called orders to halt the charge.

As they drew up mere strides away from their foes, Kíli gasped for breath, feeling suddenly as winded as if he had truly fought a battle, not narrowly missed it.

"Durin's beard, that shave was too close for comfort," he said at last. Fíli's only answer was a look of bemused relief.

If Kíli had not been so shaken by the prospect of a dwarven war, he might have gloated more over Jari's surrender. Even as it was, he didn't bother to conceal a grim smile as he received Jari's sword.

"Spared by your uncle, yet again," Jari observed sourly.

"Maker's hammer," cried Fíli, rolling his eyes. "This from the dwarf whose threats were sharper than his axe."

"At least I wield my own axe and bear my share of blame for it." Jari looked to Kíli. "But would you understand when you've got a king's entire army to defend your mistakes?"

"Your rebellion is your own choice," Kíli snapped, and it was only Fíli's grip on his arm that kept him from following the words with his fist.

When Thorin and his honor guard reached them, his first words were for his nephews.

"Good work," Thorin said, clapping Fíli and Kíli on the shoulder in turn.

"I'm glad you're here," Fíli said, his taut expression belying the easy words.

Kíli added, "You never sent a raven. I thought we were doomed!"

Thorin shook his head, an apologetic motion. "The mountain crossing was hard in the dark; we needed the bird to guide us." He turned to address Jari for the first time. "Well, Jari Stiffbeard. I had hoped that our next meeting—should Mandos, in his fathomless wisdom require it of us—would be more friendly than the last."

"Your Majesty." Jari eyed Thorin, his expression hard, but then he bowed. "I had hoped to avoid you, as well." His tone carried a definite note of irony. At least the bastard recognized his cowardice, Kíli thought.

"We were both of us overly optimistic, it seems," Thorin said. Then, the grim humor gone from his voice, he demanded, "What have you to say for marching on my heirs without cause?"

Jari did not flinch. "I came to the aid of my allies. Your armies would not stand down, so I was bound to attack, by honor to my allies."

Thorin raised incredulous brows and looked to Fíli.

"I informed him we were here to serve the king's justice on a traitor, and he actually ordered me to retreat," said the crown prince, clearly still astonished.

Thorin nodded; of course he knew this already from the note Fíli had sent by raven. "And did you warn Jari of the consequences for interfering with the king's justice?"

"I did, Sire. I told him that he and his men would lose their beards if they attacked us in protection of the traitors."

Thorin turned back to Jari. "As my lieutenant and heir, Fíli speaks for me."

Jari shifted his weight in a nervous, unconscious movement, but his voice was still firm when he said, "Your nephews are still your heirs by the will of the Council. You would have done well to remember your debt and give the Council what they asked in return: an honorable succession. Yet you let Kíli make a disgraceful match after all. At the least, you could have disowned—"

"Enough!" Thorin said.

Jari snapped his mouth shut and even Kíli jumped slightly. This was the tone that said his uncle had run out of patience. When Thorin sounded like this, you listened.

Thorin continued, "This is no longer about Kíli's marriage. It is about your respect for justice and for my authority as king. You have tried to protect those who have rightfully provoked Erebor's wrath, and thus you deserve to be punished beside those traitors."

"The rest of my clan will not stand for this," Jari said tightly.

"The rest of your clan cannot make your deeds just. I care not what they think of you."

"But Thorin—" Kíli protested.

The king looked at him.

"It's true that we won the Eastern clans' support with the promise that I would marry a Blacklock. Whose side do you think they'll take, now that my marriage to Tauriel brought this conflict?" Jari surely took this as an admission of guilt—Kíli thought with a flash of annoyance—but there was no escaping the facts of politics, even when those facts were unfair.

"I acknowledge we risk offending them," Thorin answered. "But if we forget this offense, we tell everyone—our enemies and our allies alike—that Erebor is weak, that we bow to any who brandish an axe against us. This goes beyond protecting our family, Kíli. What we do here proves whether we can protect our kingdom, our people."

"I agree," Kíli said vehemently, his frustrations and fears surging to a head. "But quarreling with our fellow dwarves only weakens us, when our real enemy sits in our sacred mountain—" He stabbed a finger in the direction of Gundabad, invisible in the distance. "—and gloats to see us destroy ourselves. Do you know why the Wraith didn't let the orcs kill me? It wanted me to come home and start a war among the Khazad—just like this." He glared from Thorin to Jari, chest heaving.

Thorin's look turned puzzled. "How do you know this?"

"I realized it's the only thing that makes sense." And Kíli explained his reasoning, as he had to Fíli earlier that morning.

Thorin's eyes darkened as he listened."Twice this past year Gundabad has targeted Durin's line. And if you guess right that the Wraith is directing the orcs, then Gundabad is a greater threat than we believed." He sighed, shifting his shoulders as if they bore more than the weight of his armor. "Ever since we retook the Lonely Mountain, there have been are some on my council who have argued we should clean out that slag pit. I didn't think it was worth the cost, but perhaps I should have listened."

Fíli put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I think Kíli is right about the Wraith's plans," he said. He squinted off in the direction of the orcish stronghold, and Kíli wondered if Fíli was imagining what might have been his own fate, had Scatha the warg rider delivered him there as intended. "I suppose after this mess is sorted we'll have to deal with Gundabad next."

Kíli nodded, feeling mildly sick. Was there to be no end of campaigning after their enemies? And if they had to attack the orcs' fortress, Erebor needed the rest of the dwarven kingdoms on their side, not opposing them.

"Thorin." Kíli gripped his uncle's arm, his dismayed look hardening into resolve. "I know what we have to do. Pardon them."

"What? I just told you—"

"Pardon them on one condition: they join us in scouring Gundabad."

"Hmm…" Thorin's brow furrowed.

"They regain their honor, and their debt against Erebor is repaid," Kíli explained.

"Indeed," Thorin agreed. He looked to Jari. "Would you accept what Kíli proposes?"

The Stiffbeard chieftain narrowed his eyes slightly. "You send us off to Gundabad for execution? How is that better than losing our beards?"

Kíli gritted his teeth over an unspoken obscenity. "Would you rather die fighting dwarves or orcs? You lecture me on dwarvish honor. So, prove you truly want what's best for all the Khazad."

Thorin said, "Thus far, you have excused your deeds with the name of honor. But will you have honor among your clan if you return home, shamed for defying a king?"

"At least we will return home," Jari grumbled. "But I suppose you would rather wipe out all dissenters and have them do your dirty work into the bargain."

"I do not mean this as a death sentence," Thorin said with more patience than Kíli could have mustered. "I will divide your men among Erebor's armies, so that there will be an even risk."

Jari looked from the king to Kíli, unyielding.

The man was a coward, Kíli thought with a sharp burst of annoyance. Jari had hoped to pressure his enemies into submission, but he had capitulated as soon as it was clear he faced a greater army than his own. And now when Thorin offered him the choice of a more honorable battle, Jari was still afraid that the dwarven king meant to cross him. Then again, could Kíli really blame him, when Kíli himself had given Jari reason to doubt Erebor's word?

The young prince stepped forward. "I don't send you to a battle I would not face myself," he said to Jari. "I will lead this campaign."

Jari nodded slightly, a motion almost expressive of respect. "Very well. I accept, on the condition that Prince Kíli keeps his word," he said pointedly.

It was Fíli who responded. "My brother will keep his word, as he always does. And I trust that as you hope to regain your honor by fighting at Gundabad, you will accept that Kíli proves his own by the same token."

Jari paused, as if waiting for Thorin to interject, but the king said nothing. "Aye, so I must," Jari conceded at last, extending a hand.

Kíli gripped it for a moment, perhaps a little tighter than was necessary, and the sun sparked off the starburst carved into his gold wedding ring.

The afternoon was spent agreeing on the particulars of Jari's eventual muster to Erebor the next year for the campaign on Gundabad, so it was not until early evening that Thorin was able to accompany his nephews towards Reidhr's delving. Ahead of them, the troop Kíli had left to watch the dûm were still waiting outside the farthest of the siege walls. These thirty dwarves would not have been enough to hold back Reidhr's forces, had they issued from their stronghold, but it was enough to slow them and sound the alarm to the princes' main force. Kíli was grateful that Reidhr had chosen to remain safe in his hole. If Thorin had not come in time, and Reidhr had marched out, it might have been Fíli and Kíli's army that was surrounded and overwhelmed today.

As Thorin and his escort reached the troop, its lieutenant stepped forward to give Kíli his report. "No movement all day, Your Highness, and the scouts are still in place along the—"

A bright horn call cut through his words, its rhythm the familiar alarm signal of Erebor.

"Spoke too soon," the lieutenant said. He turned to scramble up the wall, Kíli at his side.

Damn! It had been too much to think the fighting past for today, Kíli thought as he heaved himself up the steep and slippery earthwork. If Reidhr was coming out to fight at last, would Jari forget his oath to King Thorin and join his allies' cause after all? Then Kíli had done nothing to stop the Wraith's schemes; his nightmares of dwarvish war would come true. He grasped one of the wooden spikes and levered himself to the top of the wall.

There, at the end of the valley, was the very sight he had feared to see: the broad front gate of the fortress cracked open and dwarves already moving through the gap.

"He's marching out!" Kíli shouted over his shoulder. His own soldiers were already surging up the wall behind him. He could hear Thorin shouting orders to the warriors of his honor guard.

"Kí, we can't meet them up here," Fíli panted as he joined his brother atop the wall.

"I know, but I've got to see." Kíli stared at the dwarves coming through the gate. Something wasn't right: this wasn't an army sallying out for war in an orderly column. These dwarves moved in erratic clusters, shielding themselves from the rear. "I think they're fighting someone behind them." He pointed to the top of the rampart, where a number of guards had appeared to hurl spears down on the dwarves below.

"Maker's hammer," Fíli said. "So they've turned on each other?"

"Seems like it. Must not have all wanted to starve in a hole with that rat Reidhr."

"Who would?"

Kíli counted around fifty dwarves leave the gates. While there was evidently fighting inside the walls, none were pursued beyond the gates, which closed soon after the last of the rout had fled through. Once beyond the gate, dwarves regrouped and started climbing the first of the siege walls. At the top, one of the lead dwarves waved a white banner towards Kíli and his men.

Fíli shouted back to Thorin, "They surrender."

The escaping dwarves made their way down the valley. Atop the second to last siege wall, they laid down their weapons, then cautiously descended the small trough below the final wall atop which the two princes waited with their warriors. The dwarf who had waved the banner looked up to Fíli.

"Your Highness, we submit ourselves to you," he called. "May we presume upon your earlier offer of clemency?"

"You may," Fíli said.

The other dwarf nodded, a gesture of respect. "There may not be much virtue in our late surrender, but we are not so wedded to Reidhr's cause that we would die for it. Even should you choose to slay us for our rebellion, there is more honor in accepting the King's justice than in dying to defend that madman."

"So you admit he's more mad than I am," Kíli said, unable to resist.

Reidhr's former ally eyed the younger prince with an expression of strained self-control, and Kíli supposed this confession cost a lot from his pride. "Prince Kíli, our scouts saw how you treated our Eastern allies: you and your brother have not killed dwarves, even when you had just cause. But Reidhr sacrificed his own supporters to save himself, and that sat ill with us. Given the choices, we would rather follow you."

Kíli choked softly, taken aback by this unexpected expression of respect. He had been too angry with Reidhr's treachery to think of changing the minds of the radical dissident's followers.

"You'll have a chance soon enough to prove you'll follow my nephew," came Thorin's voice at Kíli's shoulder.

"Your Majesty." At the king's appearance, the dissenters' spokesman knelt, followed by the rest of his troop. "We acknowledge our failure to you and your heirs. We beg your pardon."

"And I grant it by the advice and example of my heirs, whom you first wronged. You may show your gratitude by mended loyalty to them."

"Yes, my king. Prince Fíli and Prince Kíli, Bíldr at your service."

When the army supply chain arrived that evening, there was indeed beer, but the strong dwarven ale did not warm Kíli nearly as much as the package from Tauriel. He retreated to the corner of Thorin's tent, where he sat beneath a lamp and read her letter several times through, lingering over each comfortable detail of her life at home.

My sweet Kíli,

I feel that I have been very busy this past sennight, but when I pause to think of what I have done so that I may tell you, I find there is not much to relate but that I have been caring for Galadion. Our little cub needs more looking after than the entire Elven guard—of course, he is likewise a far more fulfilling charge, even if he does sometimes spit up on my dress, an offense not even my most fractious soldier would ever have dared!

I can already tell he has your eager temperament: he does nothing by halves and is inclined to be happy. And stars! can he eat. Bersa says that beer is the best nourishment for nursing mothers and has been sending me a jug of thick dark beer each day. Morwen and I can't finish it between the two of us, but Bofur and Ori have very obligingly lent their services, and we do not tell Bersa where it truly goes! But I drink a cup of nettle and raspberry leaf tea each night and have no trouble providing Galadion with the milk he requires.

Your mother gave me a gift of a long silk shawl so that I may wear Galadion wrapped against my body, as your dwarven women do with their babes. 'Tis a most practical arrangement, for it frees my arms, and I can tell that Galad enjoys being wrapped up snug as a little caterpillar in his cocoon. It does not surprise me that dwarflings take comfort in being bundled—it must fulfill their natural burrowing instinct, something I first observed in you, my silly dwarf who cannot sleep without at least two blankets, even on the warmest days.

I plan to take my practice blades to the sparring ring soon. I have missed the exercise. I do not think I have ever gone so many months without training in my life! I wish you were here to practice with, but perhaps it is better that I am forced to take a different sparring partner. I am afraid you know my moves all too well, and this way I may learn a few new strategies to surprise you when you return.

Ah, my love, I do miss you! I am not lonely; our family and friends are so warm and kind. But I need you here so that I may hear you moving about the house and hold you close at night, trip over your boots and scold you for leaving hair on my comb. There, you see how much I adore you that even those last thoughts make me long for you! Take care, hadhodeg. We are counting on you.

With all my love,

Tauriel

With the letter was one of Ori's ink drawings of Galadion. Ori had captured the little dwelf in a moment of calm contentment, his mouth relaxed but eyes bright and alert. Kíli thought he recognized more roundness to his son's cheek, greater expression to his eyes, a fuller crown of dark hair. Stones, but the little lad must be growing fast! Perhaps he had already outgrown even this portrait.

How he wished he could march for home tomorrow. But there was still Reidhr and his last determined followers to deal with. From what Bíldr had said, Reidhr intended to resist to the last, since his past attempts on the two princes' lives had already earned him a traitor's sentence. Whenever Reidhr chose to make his final stand, whether tomorrow or half a year hence—Bíldr said the dûm was stocked with supplies to last at least so long—there would be true fighting at last, not an easy surrender like this morning. How many good Erebor dwarves would die before Reidhr's hundred and fifty men were overpowered?

I wield my own axe and bear my own blame. But how would you understand when you've got a king's entire army defending your mistakes?

Kíli laid down the letter and groaned, tipping his head back and pressing hands to his face.

It was not true; Kíli wasn't using the king's authority to settle his own personal quarrels. By attacking the royal family, these traitors had justified everything Kíli had done. He was performing his duty, defending not just his wife and son, but the kingship itself, Durin's sacred bloodline and all that depended on it.

Yet Jari's words still rankled, like a stubborn stone lodged in the sole of a boot.

Spared by your Uncle once again. A king's army defending your mistakes…

It was true that this had happened because of Kíli's choice to marry Tauriel after claiming at the Council of Seven Kingdoms that he would choose a dwarven bride. Oh, he still couldn't believe he was wrong: not for loving Tauriel, for returning to her, for marrying her and making her a princess. Perhaps he should have insisted on renouncing his claim to the throne. Perhaps he still should renounce it now. But even doing so wouldn't prevent dwarves from dying on his account.

That couldn't be helped now, could it? For all the good they managed today by averting a battle with Jari's army, they would still have to fight Reidhr and the last of his die-hard supporters. But Kíli would not have it be said that he let others pay for for his own choices. If Jari saw things that way, others would; and such a view must surely erode their peoples' respect, not just for Kíli, but more importantly for Thorin and for Fíli.

Kíli looked across the tent at his uncle and brother, seated at the camp table with Daín and discussing the siege over a pot of beer. Love and loyalty swelled fierce in his heart. Because Kíli had never wanted to rule, he had always understood his birthright to be serving those who did. It was both his duty and privilege to protect his king, first his uncle and, one day, Fíli. But how could he protect them if instead it seemed they shielded him from his own mistakes?

He was failing them all—Tauriel, Galadion, Fíli, Thorin—and he felt truly wretched.

It was not in his blood to let other people fight his battles. Kíli would not hide behind walls of stone, and he would not hide behind an army of his own loyal people.

The time had come to wield his own axe.

Kíli stood and approached the table where his kinsmen sat. "Thorin." His voice fell heavy into a lull in the conversation, so that all three of them looked at him. "I'm going to challenge Reidhr to dumsûbarâk."

Author's note:

Oh no, what is Kíli getting himself into now? Perhaps I need to change the title of this fic to Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire: the Kíli Durin Story.

I have plans to squish Kíli and that's always inspiring, so I hope my next chapter will be up a little faster next time. XD It's just so rewarding to make life difficult for the poor little dwarf...

Beer has traditionally been used as a lactation aid, and that seems like an idea dwarves would adhere to. Tauriel talks about Kíli's burrowing tendency and love for blankets in the chapter of Beneath the Moon, Beneath the Sun called "Blankets."

Leave me a review, and I'll send you a preview of the next chapter before it's published. :)

If you haven't already, check out my latest ficlet, "Perigee." It's the second half of Kili and Tauriel's conversation in the dungeons. Yes, I can't believe it's taken me 6 years to write that scene!