Uncharted Waters 5: Kíli
Glóin's fingers tapped the scroll in between them once again, the dreaded staccato ringing in Kíli's ears. "You've made a mistake here, you see."
The parchment was covered with barely legible scratches to its very last inch. Their meaning was quite lost on Kíli, even if he'd been the one to scribbled them down at the start of the lesson. Which seemed so, so long ago.
"When a craftsman takes on an apprentice," Glóin lectured slowly, "the expenses for his tutoring are an allowance he can adjust his profits with—that happens before his tax is calculated; not after."
Kíli blinked, and tried to follow Glóin's explanation, he really did. But there were many such scrolls on the desk between them, filled with Kíli's notes, and there were also numerous corrections in Glóin's neat handwriting lining their margins.
When Kíli continued to stare in silence, Glóin exhaled, long and articulated, the tired sigh expressing a lot of his frustration. Kíli should have known all of this by now. They had spent enough time over books and ledgers to avoid making novice mistakes such as these.
And although Glóin was too kind to ever voice such thoughts, he must have made one more observation, as surely as Kíli had—Fíli had been more patient with these matters of statehood than Kíli could ever hope to be.
As if sensing that both their minds had strayed into dangerous territory, Glóin rushed to continue the lesson with renewed vigor. "All right lad, let us have a look at a different scenario. You have a carpenter with a shop on the lower levels of the Floors of Guilds-"
Glóin trailed off when the door burst open and Gimli let himself inside. "I am sorry to interrupt, but the King asks for Kíli's presence."
As Glóin's eyes narrowed at his son, Kíli straightened in his chair, sensing an early release from the prison of Glóin's office.
"Indeed? Does the King command him to come immediately, in the middle of his lessons?"
To Gimli's credit, he didn't even twitch under his father's stern glare. "Who am I to question the King's orders?"
"Hmm," Glóin grunted, and for a tense moment of silence, Kíli worried his tutor would investigate Gimli's claim. Soon enough though, Glóin huffed and dropped his quill. "All right, you two ruffians—get out of my sight!"
"Am I really to hurry to see Thorin?" Kíli asked the moment Glóin's door shut behind their backs.
"Nah," Gimli replied softly, casting a cautious look around the various clerks that populated the office around them. Only when they safely left the Royal Accountant Chambers did he speak up again. "The King's request didn't sound that urgent. But I thought it could be interpreted as such, or even should be, when the alternative is working on more tax calculations with Father."
Kíli slapped Gimli's shoulder in appreciation. "You are a good friend."
Next, he clasped the same shoulder firmly, turning Gimli off course and directing him towards the nearby staircase. "Well, if there's no real hurry, we can take a detour. I could use the distraction."
Gimli surely guessed what distraction Killi had in mind. He rolled his eyes but let Kíli drag him down the stairs towards the Floors of Guilds without protest.
Firduna was indeed at the marketplace, as she was wont to do at this time of the day, sitting by her loom. Kíli knew better than to try to surprise her; the presence of the Crown Prince got noticed the moment he stepped into the hall. Instead, he took his time getting to her stand, returning the greetings of merchants. He made sure to glimpse in her direction every few moments, enjoying the look of her, tittering with impatience on her stool.
She was a classic beauty, with hair so black the beads adorning it shone like gems in bountiful mines. More importantly, though, Firduna was wedded to her craft as resolutely as a Dwarf could ever be, and would not confuse Kíli's attentions.
He picked her up into his arms, spun them in a circle and kissed the enticing peachfuzz on her cheek. Around them, the other young apprentices broke into excited giggles. "I am in desperate need of some exercise. Would you climb the slopes with me this eve, to catch the sunset?"
She grinned at him. "For a Dwarf, you spend an awful lot of time outside your Mountain."
He shrugged with more nonchalance than what he really felt at such a comment. "Mountains have eyes and ears," he whispered into her hair, leaning far too close than what propriety dictated. She grinned in response, giving him his answer.
He didn't linger long after that, knowing full well his visit to the market would eventually get to Glóin's ears and create trouble. As he strode back to the Grand Staircase, another familiar face caught his eye among the exasperated or outright scandalized glares of the merchants, and he nodded at the Dwarf in silent greeting.
Next to him, Gimli cleared his throat. "You do know what Frerik does with all the gold he wins off you, right?" he asked. Kíli didn't need to turn to see his frown; he could easily hear it in the disapproving tone.
He only grunted in reply, not really appreciating the show of concern. Of course he knew. He might choose to be rather indifferent these days, to issues others kept insisting on being important, but he had yet to turn dumb. Frerik was a bastard, but he was a bastard that did not allow awe or deference, or, Mahal forbids, pity, to stop him from robbing Kíli blind every time they gambled. Kíli treasured such impartial rudeness these days and found himself willing to forgive rather a lot for it.
Gimli didn't relent. "Then, you are fine with practically financing the fighting pits?"
"Frerik is free to do away with his gold whichever way he likes. As am I," Kíli added, shooting an unimpressed glare at his friend.
"Cut this wargshit, Kíli. I'm not Thorin or Balin, nor am I accusing you of anything you have to build a defence against; I'm just asking, for it doesn't sit very well with me."
Kíli slowed his steps, belatedly noticing how swift his pace had gotten. "Anyone who fights in those pits does so of their own free will. We would have shut them down long ago if we heard but a speck of a different story."
"I've heard Frerik rigs the betting. Rumour says the fighting is often staged; Dwarves win or lose by his order."
"And yet, they willingly enter the pits and besmirch their honour so, for nothing but a few coins. Who am I to tell them otherwise?"
Only the Crown Prince, Gimli's eyes seemed to say, echoing Kíli's own thoughts. He looked away from his friend and marched on.
If anyone had harboured hope that Durin's Folk would find peace the moment their home in Erebor had been returned to them, they only had to look at Thorin's swiftly greying hair to be cured of such naive notions. Kíli felt he could account for the cause behind every new grey strand on Thorin's head, be it another collapse in a city that only had a dragon for a caretaker for more than a century, another family returning to Erebor with only quarter of its recorded members, or another squabble between relations over the riches that survived the dragonfire whilst their owners hadn't.
And yet, Thorin withstood it all, strong and proud. Oftentimes, Kíli caught himself fervently wishing the Dwarf would be here for many more years, and then felt ashamed that such thoughts weren't grounded primarily on love and concern for his uncle, but on an all-encompassing fear that Kíli would have to step into the King's shoes.
Thorin looked up from the scrolls on his desks when the guards opened the door for Kíli. A look of apprehension flickered through his eyes, instead of the usual disapproval or reprimand Kíli had come to expect to greet him in this office. Kíli immediately grew unnerved.
When Thorin beckoned him towards the armchairs by the hearth instead of the wooden chair in front of his desk, Kíli realised he knew what this conversation was going to be about, and felt a sudden urge to turn tail and flee.
Instead, he squared his shoulders and strode towards the fireplace, with the grim determination of a convict marching to meet the executioner's axe. Thorin followed a few paces behind, a sigh escaping him as they sat down that told Kíli the King at least enjoyed this as little as Kíli did.
"I have summoned you to talk of-" Thorin started, only to pause, clear his throat and try again. "I have begun the search for an 'amadu-ê-nadan . I wanted you to know before the rumours reach you."
Kíli grimaced, and squirmed in his seat, as uneasy as he had expected to be if ever forced to talk of such personal matters, with Thorin of all dwarrows. "I'm afraid you've been putting it off for too long," he said at long last, watching as Thorin winced at his words.
Kíli frowned at the expression of surprise on the King's face. Of course Kíli had heard, he was made to hear. No matter how careful Thorin was—and given the fact he was searching for something as delicate as a Dwarrowdame to sire a child with, Kíli was sure Thorin was treading as discreetly as possible—there were dwarrows that would have always made it their vicious business for the King's plans to reach Kíli's ears. The fact that Thorin did not expect his people to ever be this malicious, that he'd never experienced such underhanded tactics aimed at his person, told Kíli a lot about the different levels of respect the King and his Heir enjoyed in the eyes of their people.
However, this was not the time to discuss Kíli's trouble with his naysayers. It appeared Thorin was indeed determined to have this conversation, so Kíli decided to plunge straight into the heart of the matter. "Why now?" he bit. "Have I finally been judged irredeemably insufficient?"
Thorin's eyes, which had been doing their best to avoid looking at Kíli up until now, had turned sharply away from the flames and met Kíli's, narrowed and angry.
"You're not being judged, irakdashat, neither can you be replaced. You are going to be a king one day, as surely as I am to die when my days in this life are counted, and hand you the crown over thus." Thorin paused to heave a sigh, and when he spoke next, his voice softened, though some of the steel remained. "And when that time comes, when you sit on the throne, then, yes—you'll be judged every day; judged whether you make a good king or you fall short of the title; but let me assure you—you'll be your own harshest critic."
"Why this sudden need for a spare plan, then?"
"Sudden? No, not at all sudden. Kíli- do you really find it so surprising that I would desire a child of my own?"
The question halted Kíli's next rebuttal because yes, indeed he had thought Thorin's plans rather suspiciously unprecedented. The King was now two hundred years old, long past the time when a Dwarf would go seeking a family if that was indeed what they wanted from this life. What else was Kíli to think, than that the King had decided a new heir was needed?
In the space of Kíli's flustered silence, Thorin spoke up again. "It is true that I had forbidden myself that path in my youth, but it wasn't for a lack of desire."
Even against the peak of discomfort Kíli was experiencing at this topic of discussion, Kíli felt a wave of curiosity wash over him. Thorin had never spoken about his reasons before, though Kíli and the rest in the family had long wondered about them.
"The why is not relevant right now," Thorin said next, most probably reading the curiosity in Kíli's gaze. "The important part is that I had been fortunate enough to have such a choice in the first place. I had a sister who gave the line of Durin two strong heirs, and as such, I was free to make my own decision. I would have you enjoy the same freedom, if that is what you desire."
"Freedom?"
Thorin nodded, now fully turned towards Kíli, his previous hesitation gone. "I could give you freedom to make a choice regarding the matters of the heart. If I were to sire a son, you'll have an heir and you'll be free to follow your heart even to directions that would otherwise be unacceptable."
For a moment, Kíli felt that he understood what Thorin was suggesting. Such a thing seemed too improbable, though, and he struggled to believe his conclusion. "Speak plainly, please."
Thorin sighed, tired but resigned. "You are the Crown Prince of Erebor and I will always have to treat you as such first. You are still my sister-son, though. If there is a piece of happiness I could award you, I will always seek to do so. Even if that happiness resides in the affections of a certain red-haired Elf."
Kíli's first thought, among the wave of shock, was that he must have appeared truly wretched if Thorin deemed it necessary to cheer him up with the idea of a Wood-elf.
After that initial thought passed, Kíli waited for the excitement to arrive. Afterall, six years ago, Thorin's approval had been his most fervent wish, seemingly unattainable. And yet, his heart now didn't stir.
With his emotions too numb to identify, he turned to logic. "If you were to sire a son, he would hold a stronger claim to the throne."
"Not if I decree it otherwise," Thorin said. Kíli took a breath to argue but Thorin halted him with a raised hand. "That is not to say your claim wouldn't get contested, especially if you were to make unpopular choices. Let me make it clear that I do not offer you assured happiness. It would be a continuous struggle to win your people's approval. But with a full-blooded heir, you'd actually have a chance at winning this up-hill battle."
"There would be another avenue altogether," Kíli pointed out and finally felt a jolt of excitement. "With a son as a new heir, you could grant me ultimate freedom."
"Aye, that I could do if you wished it so," Thorin nodded. "However, it wouldn't be my first choice."
"Why?" Kíli breathed out, finding himself suddenly desperate for the answer.
"I am getting old, Kíli," Thorin said. "Weren't it for your sake, I wouldn't have allowed my desire to seek a family tempt me. Any son I would sire now wouldn't be afforded the same long decades I was gifted with you. And what's more, he would be a child of prosperity, knowing little of the struggles his people have gone through. He would know little of what we sacrificed to get our home back."
Thorin reached across their two chairs, clasping Kíli's shoulder. "If I were a good king, a king without faults, I would make sure that your behind is placed firmly on my throne after I'm gone. I would not risk a divide and endanger your claim with any foolish ideas of sons of my own, for I know you are Erebor's best option. However, I have my faults—I love you too much not to offer you the choice."
Thorin felt silent with the air of someone who imparted all they had planned to. Yet, he didn't rush Kíli out, as was his habit once he'd given his directions. Equally strange, Kíli found himself without his usual need to flee.
"What was your reason for not siring a child before, when you were young?" he found himself asking. That was bold of him, but he felt he was perhaps owed the full explanation.
Thorin didn't answer right away, watching the flames in silence. Just when Kíli concluded the King had taken offence, Thorin stood up, stepping to the hearth and leaning against the mantle, his fingers caressing the seven stars of the Durin's crest engraved into the stone.
"You are familiar with the weight of a crown hanging over your head," he said at long last, voice soft. "Yet, there exists even a heavier burden."
"We seldom think of the legend that our line carries," he continued. "It is only in times of great despair that people turn to the old hope, to the promise of the last Durin, to be born the one final time. When Smaug attacked, when Thrór was killed and when we lost many of our number at Azanulbizar, cries rose loudly for the sliver of hope hidden in the old legends, calling for the prophesied King to arrive and lead us back home. How could have I brought a son into this world, and risk my child having to carry such a heavy task from the very first breath he'd take? Or, how could I risk that he'd prove just an ordinary babe, and thus crash the hope of my people, fragile and too rare a thing back then? I decided to keep the hope alive by leaving it blind, even if I had thus robbed myself of a chance for a family."
Thorin turned back to Kíli, bestowing him with a grim smile. "Having our destiny decided for us is indeed a heavy burden. Though only those who have never faced the frustration of a choice, would claim it the worse of the two. Go now, Kíli, and decide your fate. I would advise you to be quick about it though, for I'm not getting any younger and the chances of me siring a son are getting slimmer. It might be that all these words and what-ifs have been pointless."
Kíli did not step out of the Mountain that evening. He only barely remembered to send a runner to Firduna, to cancel their plans. Instead, he spent the rest of the afternoon on the balcony above the Gates, only his maudlin thoughts keeping him company.
Where Thorin saw three options, Kíli knew to be only two possible paths to take. Should Thorin sire a son, Kíli would renounce his claim without a moment of hesitation. Competing for the crown with a son of Thorin's own blood would be a battle Kíli had no chance of winning, Thorin's naive wishes notwithstanding. Should Thorin sire a son, Kíli would not delay in reaching for his freedom.
But when such a son existed only as a possibility, as a choice which Thorin put onto his shoulders, Kíli found himself hesitating.
Why?
It was on the ramparts where a different runner found him, much later. The sun had just disappeared behind the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains and the skies above Mirkwood caught ablaze with the warm colours of twilight.
"Master Nori bids you to rush to the King," the lad managed to say in between his heavy pants, adding further urgency to his words. He must have sought Kíli far and wide, and with great haste. "I'm to tell you it concerns the Easterling's sister."
Kíli blinked in surprise at the Dwarf, but in the next instant, he sprung to his feet and beckoned the runner to lead the way. He rushed them back into the Mountain proper, unsympathetic to the lad's breathless heaving. As they hurried down the many staircases, his thoughts ran ahead of him even more swiftly.
He had of course heard of the new Easterling in town. Everyone in Dale and even some in Erebor seemed to take interest in the stranger. The trade was booming once again, yet travellers from the far east were still a rarity. It wasn't only for her origin that the Easterling quickly became the talk of both the city and the Mountain, though; it was mainly for the interest she seemed to have woken up in the Lord of Dale, an interest that Bain hadn't shown any lady before.
Kíli cared very little for the sensation of these rumours. He belonged to the selected few, the Dwarves of the Company, who paid close attention to the Easterling's sister for far grimmer concerns.
To Kíli's surprise, the runner did not lead him to Thorin's office or chambers, but down to the Gates. A party of several dwarrows was assembling at the end of the hall, stable boys running hectically around, getting their ponies ready. Spotting Dwalin's imposing shoulders first, Kíli quickly headed his way, noticing Thorin and Nori by the guard's side just a moment later.
"The Easterling's been taken," Nori explained in lieu of a greeting. "A band of Men snatched her on the way down from Ravenhill. She hadn't been seen since."
With a frown, Kíli took in the activity around them in more detail—dwarrows were harnessing supplies on ponies that Kíli recognised as the fastest stock of Erebor's stables, Dwalin and the other soldiers were donned only in light leather armor over their chainmail, yet armed to the hills. "Is it really our place to give pursuit?" he voiced his doubts.
"You're not the only one who will question that," Dwalin grunted. "Bard is bound to have lots of objections."
"The men must have been following the lass; they were ready to snatch her the first opportunity she gave them. They're taking her south, Kíli," Thorin spoke over Dwalin's mutterings, his tone fierce and solemn, before he fell silent again, as if no more explanation was needed. And indeed, Kíli understood.
Gandalf was right.
As if reading his thoughts, Nori piped in. "'Tis as Gandalf feared—the Wraiths' campaigning, their harassment of the lands south of the Long Lake—it is now doubtlessly clear it was for the Easterling thief the Nazgûl had turned their attention to Dale. We cannot let them capture him; not even through ransoming his sister."
Gimli walked up to them at that point, also dressed for the journey. He clutched a bundle of chain mail and leather guards in his arms that he tossed to Kíli with a nod of greeting. Kíli stumbled under the weight even as he recognised his hauberk. "Who's going, then?" he asked as he hastily took off his outer layers, leaving only his tunic to put the mail over.
"You know the lands best, so you're taking charge of the chase. When the time comes to engage though, heed Dwalin's words," Thorin said, and Kíli translated: you're not to fight but to cover behind Dwalin and his guards. "Bard dispatched a squadron of riders of his own, they are several hours in front of you. He agreed to leave one ranger behind to help you track them. In exchange, we lent him a raven to send to Bain, to alarm the Southern Post—they won't let anyone sneak past them. Which means the snatchers might try to cross the Mountains instead, or the river."
Fastening his gauntlets and his cloak over his armor at last, Kíli went to check the supplies someone secured to his pony. A bedroll, oil lamp, waterskin and a measly pack of food rations—they'd be travelling light. He swung into his saddle, gathered the reins and scanned the dwarrows who were mounting their steeds around him—Dwalin brought three of Erebor guards, the other twelve were Kíli's men, from the company that usually guarded the Southern Post with him. Someone familiar with his troops, probably Gimli, must have hand picked them whilst Kíli had been busy wallowing away at the ramparts. They made a good choice, selecting the best of his trackers and fighters.
Thorin handed Kíli his bow and a tightly packed quiver. "We cannot allow them to ransom the girl; nor can she be used as bait for a foolhardy rescue attempt," the King said. "She cannot get anywhere near the Wraiths."
Kíli nodded, the gravity of the situation not lost on him—he had been there when Gandalf described the dim prospects should the Easterling thief ever fall into the hands of the Wraiths presiding over Dol Guldur. He had been there when the wizard reminded them of the terrible past of the Enemy the Nazgûl served, and his disturbingly growing influence in the present.
He went to secure his bow over his back, but found Thorin holding fast onto it, imploring him with a look.
Kíli inclined his head at the King in confusion, tugging once again on the bow.
Thorin didn't let go of the shaft. Instead, he leant closer in urgency and repeated in a harsh whisper, "She cannot, Kíli."
Understanding finally dawned on him. "You can't mean-" Kíli stuttered, horrified at the thought.
Curtly, Thorin nodded. "Only should there be no other option left to you."
"But she's an innocent. A woman!"
"That she is," Thorin said back, his voice soft and blue eyes grave. "And yet, it might come to it that her sacrifice will be necessary to save many more innocent women."
"Bard would never forgive us such a crime. I would never forgive myself!"
"You know what fate would await her should she indeed fall into the hands of the Ringwraiths. A swift death would be a mercy compared to that. I rely on your aim, Kíli—if you indeed come to face the necessity, I pray your arrow flies true to her heart."
A short while later, Kíli's company of sixteen reached the crossroad in front of Dale, with one path leading onwards to the city gates, the other turning south, to the Long Lake. Bard waited at the junction, a few of his guards beside him. All of them were mounted, though only one rider sported supplies behind his saddle.
Bard's face was locked in a fierce scowl as he watched the dwarrows arrive. "I would be foolish to turn down an offer of help," he said when Kíli halted his pony. "But I do wonder at your motivation to meddle in this matter."
With Thorin's grim orders still chiming through his mind, Kíli struggled to keep his face impassive so as not to betray his own doubts. He thought he managed, the anger that resurfaced at Bard's continued dismissal helping him along. The man had never accepted the grave situation and repeatedly refused to aid Gandalf with finding the Easterling thief; and now they were all in danger for it.
Sidling his pony closer, he spoke softly, so only the Lord of the City would hear. "You might choose to ignore Gandalf's warnings, but we've learned to trust the wizard, no matter how inconvenient his tidings are. Should his fears come to fruition, not only Dale but all of us would bear the consequences. Thus, Erebor offers assistance."
Bard only grunted in reply. He beckoned one of his men forward, the one clad in light leather armor and sporting a bow. "This is Lif. He'll lead you to the rest of his unit."
Kíli nodded in gratitude as the ranger joined him on the road towards the Lake, and turned his pony to depart.
"Kíli," Bard's voice halted him. "I've learned the value of a Dwarf's honour and I will not question yours. However, know that should she only change captors and not return to Dale free of will, it would indeed be Erebor who would bear the grave consequences."
A/N:
Goodness, Kíli is not a fun character to follow right now. I don't enjoy this much angst, but alas, it's the way I've planned to move forward, to the good bits again. Maybe that's why I've been so slow in editing and publishing this? Hopefully, there'll be more coming soon. It'll be much more to the point, that's for sure.
Thorin's reasoning for never siring any heirs was shamelessly taken from my favourite piece of Hobbit fanfiction. I have long wanted to recommend it here and now the time has finally come:
Of Other Paths and Waysides by Epiphanaea
Their Hobbit AU is a treasure, easily worth more than the hour I spent trying to portray my appreciation in a comment after I finished reading, completely charmed, just to give the author some of the joy back. "Yours was the most endearing description of a character's path to bravery I remember reading," I wrote back then. I was completely charmed, indeed.
(Google is not listing the story. Search for the author's name on ao3 and you should be able to find the story)
