The Whirlwind 9: Kíli


The Elvish tent was being raised just off to the road between Dale and the Gates of Erebor, in what looked to be an equal distance from both. It was certainly well out of range of arrows. Were the archers to stay on Dale's battlements, that was.

"Anyone see anything suspicious?" Dwalin asked from Kíli's left.

An assortment of grunts and growls was the only response at first, the Dwarves and a Hobbit all squinting their eyes into the distance. Only Óin stayed inside with Thorin, who still lay unconscious in the quarters the Company had claimed for their temporary lodgings. Everyone else stood in a row on the ramparts, fully armed, cautious and suspicious, staring down at the delegation from Dale who were setting up camp down in the valley under the light of several torches.

"I've heard of elven clothes that can make them practically invisible," Glóin grunted.

"Those would be the Lothlórien cloaks," Ori piped up, voice unsure. "I don't think Thranduil's guards would have any."

"If Elves don't want to be seen, we won't see them," Glóin insisted.

And yet, all twelve of them kept staring. When the foot soldiers finished building the open tent and turned to march back to Dale, Kíli carefully counted them, making sure that none of them stayed hidden behind. And indeed, it seemed that only three figures remained, none of them in armor, and all of them rather distinguishable even from the distance. The Elvenking, the Wizard and the Bargeman.

Fíli leaned closer to Kíli's ear. "Hoping for a certain redhead?"

In his surprise, Kíli couldn't quite hide the initial jolt of excitement at the idea. Then he threw a scowl at his brother.

Fíli only laughed at his perturbed face. "Oh please, you weren't being subtle, brother of mine, nor speaking softly enough. We were all just a cell away, for Mahal's sake!"

Kíli could easily see through his brother's desperate attempt at some levity, so he obliged. Lifting his chin, he bore the teasing even as the rest of the Company snickered around him. "She is quite the catch, even with those pointy ears. You have to admit that."

Fíli snorted again, but when his arm landed across Kíli's shoulder, Kíli saw the genuine warmth that peeked through the anxiety in his brother's eyes. "For what it's worth, you have my blessing." The hand on his shoulder squeezed tightly and Kíli knew his brother spoke the truth, no matter with what jab he was planning to belittle it next. "If only for the wrath you'll bring on yourself when Mother learns of it."

As snickers once again rippled through the assorted dwarrows, a bird shot up from behind their backs, flying out into the open sky.

"Is that the bird that carried Bard's message?" Dori asked.

"Aye," Dwalin grumbled. "I guess it got tired of waiting for an answer."

As one, the ten Dwarves and a Hobbit turned their eyes to Fíli.

Kíli watched as his brother tensed under the sudden scrutiny, but he didn't twitch, nor did he slumped, eyes unwaveringly staring ahead. Kíli followed their direction; they trailed after the bird, a grey falcon, as it glided down from the Mountain to the tent on the open plains.

"Right," Fíli spoke when the bird landed on the tent's pole. "Kíli, Balin, you'll go with me. Dwalin- whatever happens, don't leave the Mountain before Dáin arrives."

Fíli didn't wait for acknowledgement of his orders. He strode to the rope ladder they'd prepared an hour back. Kíli climbed down right after him, clunky in his armor and laden with heavy weapons, his back open to the drop behind him and to their enemies possibly lying hidden and waiting in the valley below.


"Balin, Fíli, Kíli!" Gandalf called when they stepped into the light of the tent, alive and not yet pierced by any Elvish arrows. "Where's Thorin?"

Kíli's heart rejoiced when he saw Gandalf, for it was unmistakingly the wizard, with his grey robes and gnarled staff, who greeted them with a worried frown. Some of Kíli's own worries ebbed away—no matter what Uncle had said, Kíli trusted the wizard not to betray them.

The other two faces in the open tent weren't as welcomed a sight. Thranduil looked down upon them as hauntingly as when they had first appeared on his doorstep. Bard was frowning in the background, leaning against the tent pole.

"Thorin was injured," Fíli answered levelly when they crossed the assumed threshold, "but he rests healing now."

Gandalf's impressive eyebrows furrowed further, whilst Thranduil twitched forward, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Bard's gaze turned towards the Mountain above Kíli's head, lips pursing.

"And when the King under the Mountain rises from his sickbed, Dwarf, will he honour the plan we will have agreed upon without his blessing?" Thranduil's words were as poisonous and predictable as they'd expected.

"I am Fíli, son of Dís, nephew to Thorin Oakenshield, and his heir. If I give you my word, the King Under the Mountain will honour it as his own." Fíli's voice didn't waver as he stared at the Elvenking, and Kíli puffed up his chest in pride.

Silence followed, before the elf inclined his head almost imperceptibly. He folded down onto his chair, the smooth move practiced to unnatural perfection, and turned towards the Man in the tent. "Well, Lord Bard. We gathered here on your beckoning. Parley away."

For a moment, Bard looked like a deer caught in torchlight and Kíli inwardly groaned.


The hour that followed was one the most tedious Kíli had ever been forced to suffer through. He would not recount it even under the threat of torture.

At the end of it though, they walked unharmed back up to the Mountain, instead of getting captured, getting into a fistfight with the insufferable leaf-eater or getting cursed by the irritable wizard.

Their kin were waiting for them with anxious faces when they climbed back up to the ramparts, eagerly watching their features for any clues. Fíli took pity on them and gave his report quickly.

"The Orcs will be here by sundown tomorrow. The Elves will stay in Dale, whilst Dáin will take a stand with us here at the Gates. We'll pierce the Orcs in from the two fronts."

"You told them about Dáin?" Dori asked in derision whilst Dwalin grumbled appreciatively at the plan.

It could prove to be a rather good plan indeed, which was lucky, as it was also the only plan the Dwarves and Elves could agree on: stay away from each other's arrows and spears, on the opposite sides of the valley.

"They'd already known about Dáin's army," Balin dismissed Dori's outburst.

"We agreed to take some of the villagers in," Fíli plowed right into the part of the plan that would undoubtedly cause the loudest protests.

"In?" Bombur repeated, his tone rather incredulous. "As in inside the Mountain?"

Fíli nodded, resolutely. "Yes. In the state Dale's battlements are right now, the city will be breached. There's no reason for women and children to be caught in the fight. Not when we can prevent it."

"But the Treasury, the gold- And the Gates-"

"The Treasury will be sealed. We have the rest of the night to do so. We'll also make more ladders to climb the ramparts," Fíli spoke over the protests.

"The Easterling will escape the Mountain in all the commotion," Bofur pointed out, and rightly so.

Fíli's next nod was slower, grave, but no less determined for it, letting everyone know he was willing to risk their chance for vengeance. A solemn silence followed, everyone acknowledging the sacrifice.

"What are we getting in exchange?" Glóin asked next.

Fíli bristled at the question but Balin beat him to the answer. "Nothing less than an ally for a neighbour, Glóin. One that, given enough time, could prosper again as it had in times before the dragon came, and not lay slaughtered at our doorstep."

Glóin grunted something inaudible into his beard but shut up afterwards.

"What happens after the Orcs are dealt with? Will the Elves leave?" that was Ori's voice, raising tentatively over the others.

Balin sighed. "Should we survive, the negotiations will be renewed."

Another wave of discomfiture ran through the assembly, but no real words could be heard until Dwalin summed up their thoughts rather succinctly, as he was wont to do. "Well, let's hope Thorin doesn't wake up before it's too late to chase them all out."


He didn't.

At least he didn't show any signs of waking up when the dawn was almost upon them, they'd finished preparing the Mountain for an influx of fishermen, and Fíli had forced Kíli to take some rest, the hypocrite.

Thorin wasn't awake when Kíli rose from his cot a couple of hours later, feeling more tired than when he'd gone to sleep.

Neither did he stir through all the shouting that boomed through the halls of the Mountain when Dáin arrived. Kíli checked with Uncle once again, finding nothing had changed, before he rushed back up onto the ramparts.

Below the gates, hundreds of Dáin's soldiers milled about in front of the water ditch, their weapons exchanged for shovels for the morning as new lines of defense grew quickly under their arms. Kíli was confident that by lunch, the three trenches would spread in wide half circles from statue to statue lining the two sides of the Gates.

The ramparts were also busy, with archers setting up stations along the Gates' entire width, even on the higher balconies further up above Kiri's head. The only part of the battlements bereft of soldiers was the bit where Kíli now stood, above the bridge to the barred entrance, the path and stairs down into the Mountain cleared away, making space for the incoming Men.

The women and children were already on their way, a continuous current of bodies streaming out of Dale and headed to the Gates. It was by the time the women in the front row got close enough for Kíli to recognise the features in their faces, when the ramparts beneath his feet started to shake.

His eyes unerringly followed the quakes in the stone, directing his gaze to the range of hills running out of Erebor on its eastern side. Just when his eyes landed on their slopes, a great mouth burst out of the ground, swallowing the stone in its way. Five more stone-eating worms emerged, only to disappear a moment later, leaving tunnels in their place. The ground around the tunnels shimmered in Kíli's eyes before war horns blasted through the valley and Kíli's mind processed what he was seeing.

The Orcs had arrived. Early.

His eyes shifted to the column of townsfolk, unarmed and unprotected, spreading from Dale almost to Erebor's gates. He looked sharply down, at the dwarrows who were hastily dropping their shovels, climbing up from the half-finished trenches and running for the cones of spears and shields back by the Gates. Lastly, Kíli looked back to the East, up at the Lake Hills and saw how far the hordes of Orcs had spilled out of the slopes in the few seconds he hadn't been watching.

He made a quick calculation and then closed his eyes, praying to Mahal to give aid to the poor souls on their next journey, as it was his children who'd unwittingly helped to bring the upcoming slaughter about. Then he forced his eyes open, knowing that he owed the women and children to at least watch their death if he could not prevent it.

He shook off the useless despair a moment later. Next, he was grabbing someone's prepared quiver and bow, swinging himself over the parapet and down the robe ladder there, hoping against hope that at least some of the townsfolk would run fast enough to get under the cover of his arrows.


A/N: I have another Hobbit story to recommend for your further reading. I should have probably mentioned this one at the end of the last chapter, as it contains glimpses of younger and more cheerful Fíli and Kíli:

I've Heard This Clan's All Trouble by Tawabids.

I guess it's technically an adoption story but it comes with none of the usual fluff and overt drama. Instead, we get realistic conflicts, all beautifully described, amazingly evocative narrative, and witty language that's just a joy to read. It's under 50k words and finished into a rather poignant end. Go ahead!

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(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)