Yo! This one was almost up on time tomorrow, but I fell asleep in bed before I could update, and thought that it would be better to wait until I could read without snoozing to polish it off, haha! As such, I'll also upload Chapter Twenty-Two today! Please forgive any typos that escaped the net, and enjoy the chapters!

Chapter Twenty-One: The Best Laid Plans

Kíli was not surprised that the youngest members of his family reacted to the news with fury. He was angry too, of course, but not at Bilbo. It was not fair that their homes were under threat, nor that he and his father were soon to trek to the most dangerous place in the world on a fool's errand.

It was not fair that he would be separated from his brother.

This was what Kíli struggled with the most, and as such he was staunchly ignoring it. He understood. He had understood even before Fíli tearfully explained it to him. Sacrifice. And, a part of Kíli was glad of it. If he fell, if Bilbo fell – if they failed – his heart would survive in Fíli, sheltered in the mountain. And if they failed, Fíli would hold Erebor strong until hope had long withered and died, and the stubborn lives of the dwarves were finally quenched.

Of course, the rest of Kíli wanted to scream and cry, and pound his fists into the floor like a child. The thought of leaving Rivendell and never seeing his brother again was more painful than any battle-wound or torture strike he had ever felt.

The thought of leaving the rest of his family behind was almost as hard.

Which was why he understood when he and Fíli ran into the younger dwobbits accosting Bilbo and Dís before breakfast, the day after the council. Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Nelly, Vinca, Bróin and Bofin. They stood like a wall, arm to arm with faces of stone, and Nelly was taking the lead with her usual ferocity.

"It does not make sense for you to go, Bilbo! It would be better for someone more agile and less important to go, like us! We've trained in the mountain for years! We can fight better than you, sneak better than you, and we're much less valuable to the city and the Shire. If you and Kíli return to the mountain, the people will be heartened. If there's to be war, they need their royal family, intact. It's important. You need to be there. You're so much more important than we are, you must see it?"

"I certainly do not," said Bilbo sternly, though his face was gentle. "I understand your logic, Nelly, but it is flawed. I'm not weak or helpless yet, and your lives are infinitely more important than that of an ageing hobbit, believe me. The people would agree with me. And it isn't about that, in any case. You are too young. You must stay here. When it is safer, you can return to the mountain or the Shire, whichever you prefer."

"You cannot just tell us what to do as if we're little children!" she protested, but Bilbo raised his eyebrows and put his hand on his hips. That was never a good sign for his opponent.

"Oh, can't I? Because last I checked, none of you were deemed old enough to travel without adult supervision. Moreover, you said it yourself. I am part of the royal family, so if you will not listen to me as your uncle, I will stand as your lord and order you not to push the matter further. None of you will be going to Mordor."

Fíli let out a low whistle, and Kíli nodded slightly. He had never seen Bilbo pull rank like that before, and from the bright purple of her face, neither had Nelly. Frodo's eyes fell on Kíli, and bored into him beseechingly.

"Kíli, you must understand where we're coming from!" he said. "Talk some sense into him, please."

"I understand, but you're not coming."

For the second time in a matter of weeks, Frodo sent him a betrayed glare and Kíli's stomach churned. This time, however, he did not doubt his actions.

"I mean it. You're little more than children, even you, and there's no way that you could be allowed to go to Mordor. Bilbo is right – that is the end of it." Kíli sighed, and felt his shoulders slump. "But to tell you the truth, I don't like it either."

"Come," Fíli said, stepping forward. "Come now, let's go and eat. This was never going to be easy, and it has already been decided that this is Bilbo's burden. There's no changing that now. I'm sure we'll all feel a little better with some hot food in our stomachs."

Kíli was not surprised that his brother's calm voice diffused the situation. Fíli had ever been the peacekeeper, and lost his temper far less quickly than Kíli did.

After breakfast, they slowly made their way to the Hall of Fire. It was empty, and the fire burnt low in the grate.

There were no elves present. Only the folk of Erebor. Their group numbered less than half of the seats in the hall, but Frodo and his cousins forsook chairs, choosing instead to sit on the floor and tighten the circle.

"So," Bilbo cleared his throat and glanced around. Kíli saw his eyes flicker over Bragi, Soren and Ehren to Gimli and Ori, then over to Bofur and Bifur, to their nephews. To Fíli and Dís, and Frodo and the dwobbits. And to the door. "So, I believe the question is, who is coming to Mordor?"

"I will go," said Gimli at once, and Kíli glanced quickly at Bilbo. Gimli was not a child, no, but Kíli was not sure he felt comfortable with his younger cousin partaking in such a quest. He was more than capable, of course, and far more mature than Frodo and the others. Fíli had been younger on the quest for Erebor! But secretly, Kíli still thought that he and his brother had been too young for the quest, and the sufferings it dealt them. He did not want Gimli to feel the same.

To his relief, the hobbit seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was. "That is very kind of you, Gimli, but I would truly rather you did not. You are a great warrior, and your skills will be of more use at Erebor, I am sure. You are needed there, my lad."

Gimli narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but then he paused, and closed it again. Then, he gave a nod. "Very well. If that is what you deem best. How many are you taking?"

"Lord Elrond suggested a party of nine," Bilbo explained. "Nine walkers to counter the nine riders, with representatives of all the free people. Aragorn and Boromir will go for the men, and Glorfindel and Legolas have both volunteered. For my part, it heartens me that they will. Gandalf, too, is to join us. That leaves myself, and Kíli, and two spaces unfilled."

"I am going," said Bragi, as casually as if he was announcing a trip to the market. Kíli noticed Soren glance at Bragi in alarm, his grey eyes widening.

"Are you sure?" Kíli asked, his eye on the younger dwarf. Feeling the prince's gaze, Soren met his eyes and winked, though he shifted so that his shoulder was brushing Bragi's.

"Aye," Bragi said, prodding Soren in the ribs. The gesture was so small Kíli was sure that he was the only one to have seen it. "I swore an oath to protect you, and if you're going to Mordor, I will follow."

"We would never ask you to do that, Bragi," Bilbo said immediately, before even Kíli could respond. "Your oath does not cover such circumstances, and we could never, ever order you into such a mission."

Bragi smiled softly. "Aye, I know. That's why I'm coming."

Kíli glanced down at the ground, but it was only a moment before he raised his eyes to meet Bragi's. He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head, and Bragi mirrored his movements.

"By the same logic, I'll be returning to Erebor, it seems." Soren nodded at Fíli, then at Kíli. "A temporary brother swap, then."

"Be careful with mine, Bragi," warned Fíli. "I want him back."

"Meh." Bragi shrugged his shoulders. "I'll do my best, but you can keep that one, if you like."

Soren stuck out his tongue.

"And you say we're children," muttered Nelly. But when Kíli caught her eye, she could not hide her slight smile.

Bilbo sighed. "Well, I'm glad you're all taking this seriously."

As Bilbo spoke, a slight movement caught Kíli's eye, and he looked back at Paladin's second daughter. Nelly was looking at Nori, her eyebrows raised in sorrow, and her lips pursed and white. Nori met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. Her eyes closed, tightly, for just a moment. Nori grinned for the span of a heartbeat.

"Ai'ght," he said, looking from Nelly to Bilbo. "I'll be number nine, then Bilbo."

"What?" Bofur frowned, startled upright from where he leant back in his seat. "That leaves no room for me."

"Aye, well…" Nori shrugged. "Who's going to be more handy, the tinkerer or the spymaster?" Nori's face softened as Bofur glared. "'sides, you've got Bombur's bairns to think about.

"Or, if you are serious about going, it could become a group of ten," Dis said softly. "The numbering was only symbolic, and while a large group is not advisable, I doubt adding another one person will tip the scale out of favour."

Bofur glanced at his nephews, and Kíli followed his gaze. Bofin was rather green around the gills, and avoided his uncle's eyes, but Bróin folded his arms and nodded. There was not the same sense of speechless conversation as there was between Nelly and Nori, but the bond was just as strong, and Kíli's heart did not know whether to sink or soar.

Bofur cleared his throat. "Well, it's settled then. Ten companions. We shall be the Company of Bilbo Baggins."

Despite his grief, the distaste on Bilbo's face made Kíli smile.

"Actually," his father said, "Lord Elrond declared that we would be the Fellowship of the Ring."

Bofur hummed, and stroked his chin. "Aye… That does have a better ring to it."

Bofin and Bróin groaned, for once in unison. "Uncle…"

Grinning slightly, Nori leant back in his seat. "So it is settled. Nine walkers for the nine riders, and a spare," said Nori, nodding at Bofur.

"Wait, walkers?" Bofur paused. "Who said anything about walking? Surely we'll take the wolves?"

Kíli had not thought of that. He looked down, but his little wolven shadow was not there. He had to admit, the idea of walking all the way to Mordor was not a pleasant one – and you could not draw comfort from cuddling your feet when nights grew cold and dark.

"There's plenty of time to discuss the details," Ori said sombrely. "We can't go anywhere until the scouts get back, and that will take at least two weeks. We have time to plan, and decide which options shall be best. And that is something that we all can help with."

Indeed, it was nigh on two weeks before the scouts returned. In that time, they discussed much amongst themselves, exploring options and hypotheticals and paths until their mouths were dry, but Kíli knew that the greater details would be hammered out in the week-long series of meetings at November's end. They would be leaving in December, it seemed. Not his favourite time for travelling, but it could be far worse.

Thus far, Kíli was holding onto his hope. It was faint, and struggling to escape him, but the scouts returned on time, with as favourable reports as could be hoped for, and he had weeks, days, left with his brother. And they had not just been talking about the 'getting there.' They had discussed the 'back again' too, something he thought was very important.

When he woke on the Monday of the last week of November, Kíli had to cling to hope with both hands. He did not particularly want to get out of bed, to know all the details of what was to come. He would rather just move his feet where Gandalf told him to. But he had learnt a long time ago that it was not a particularly useful way to deal with things, and that it could become dangerous. He could not always ignore the things he did not like.

As such, he dragged himself out of bed, and woke his brother, before slumping down the hall for breakfast. To his surprise, he saw a familiar sight – several young dwobbits in a line, pleading with Bilbo and Dís. Rubbing his eyes and praying that they were not trying to get in on the quest again, Kíli wandered over.

It was not all of the younger ones, this time. Only Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Nelly and Bróin. And they did not look angry – on the contrary, they looked sorrowful, pleading, and there were piles of packs behind them. Bofin was glowering at them from across the hall, and Vinca was quite calmly sipping at a cup of tea.

Shaking her weary head, Dís spoke. "You shall have a chance to explore Rivendell when the fellowship departs – why do you want to go now?"

"Go where?" Kíli asked, frowning slightly. Why would they want to go anywhere if they had only a week left to spend with one another?

"We want to go camping," said Nelly, in an oddly soft voice. When she met Kíli's eyes the look broke his heart. "We don't want to be around for this. You're all to hole up for days and days talking about how you're leaving us for an awful quest, and there's nothing we can do. We've given all the advice we have, but you know more than us. There's nothing else we can do to help, nothing at all. If we can't go with you, let us go to the Ice Glade. We'll return in time to see you off, I promise."

"I'm not sure," sighed Bilbo, rubbing his chin.

Kíli stared at Frodo. The young hobbit looked like the sky was crashing down onto his shoulders – he looked the way Kíli had when he found out that Battle of the Five armies was going to happen, that he would be caught up in it, that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Kíli's heart tugged in two directions – he wanted to spend as much time as he could with the little ones, if this was to be the last – in case anything happened to him. But if it were him in their shoes, he would not want to be around, either.

After a while, he asked, "What's the Ice Glade?"

"It's a little pool at Aragorn told us about," said Merry, his smile lacking its usual spark when he shot it at Kíli. "Right at the eastern end of the valley. Still within Rivendell, it's still safe."

"I can't be here," murmured Frodo, and Kíli swallowed. "I cannot stay, watching you prepare to go where I can't follow. Let us do something. Busy ourselves. Please, Bilbo."

Dís sighed, taking Frodo's hands and squeezing them. "I think it's a good idea. Keep your minds busy – but not if you have any notion of leaving this valley, do you understand?"

Looking up with hopeful eyes, they all nodded eagerly, despite the lingering sorrow on their faces.

"I suppose I agree…" Bilbo sighed. "But be sure to be back before we leave, alright? We wouldn't want to delay such a quest, after all."

The goodbyes felt almost like a practise round. As they all hugged, and bade each other farewell, Kíli was sure he was not the only one to wonder how awful it would feel to do it again in a week. Do have so little an idea of when they would meet again. Frodo and Merry, in particular, hugged Kíli very tightly. But he smiled, and ruffled their hair.

"It's not like this is a proper goodbye, after all," he said. "It's a 'see you in a week!'"

When they left, Kíli remained on the little bridge with his brother, watching five hobbits and a dwarf hike off into the beautiful valley of Imladris. They lingered long after the others had left for lunch.

"They'll be alright," Fíli said, wrapping his arm around Kíli's shoulders as they watched Pippin disappear, with one last look back. "Though I wish we were with them. By Mahal, I wish we were."

"Me too," said Kíli, a lump building in his throat.

All of a sudden, Fíli twisted, seizing Kíli by the shoulders and staring at him with a wild fire in his eyes. "Listen to me now, Kíli, you come back. You go to that damned mountain and you throw that cursed thing into it, and then you come back home. Don't you dare die on me, alright? Don't you dare."

Kíli gave a half-strangled laugh and he crashed against his brother's chest. "I'll do my best."

Fíli's arms wrapped around him and he clung back like a child being carried over a storming river. "Don't you leave me," Fíli whispered. "Not forever."

Kíli wanted to comfort his brother, to scoff and say he was being silly, but he could not. Not when things were becoming so very, terrifyingly, real.

"As long as you do the same," he choked, closing his eyes and resting his chin on his brother's shoulder. "Never, ever do a Weathertop again."

Fíli gave a watery laugh. "I'll do my best."

The solitary hooves of his little mountain pony clattered against the rock at the base of the Misty Mountains. The High Pass was Glóin's path of choice – at least he was aiming for it. It was the fastest way to Rivendell – a path he had loathed and feared for decades, but a path that he would take nonetheless. He had a message to deliver. And his son was on the other side of these mountains.

Slowly, they began to climb, the pony's breath misting faster and faster against the cool air. Glóin rather wished that an eagle would come and pluck him and his pony into the sky to save him time. That was how they had got from the goblin tunnels to the Carrock so quickly on the quest. But no. The uphill journey would be too much to ask.

As sinking mist began to censor his view of the path behind him, Glóin let out a low whistle. Almost immediately, a large, grey wolf loped out from behind a nearby boulder, her proud eyes meeting his.

"Any trouble?" he grunted.

Lani gave a slow movement like the shake of a head, and he huffed in agreement.

"Aye, I've seen no sign of anything either. Not even a bird. It's eerie."

Lani blinked at him, and then overtook, trotting up the path. He sighed. It was rather lonely to travel with only animals as companions. He could not understand why Beorn liked it so much.

But it was a necessary sacrifice. It was custom of Erebor to send two or three at any time to take a message, and Thorin feared that enemies may know this.

"Alone, you may pass as less official. Look more like a wandering traveller. The wolf will watch your back with all the skill and love that another of us would, I deem." Those had been his words. And Glóin agreed. He was not afraid to walk the world alone.

But it was not his favourite way to travel, nor did he much fancy the garb he had decided to clad himself in. He much preferred to dress colourfully, with a ring or six, and a beard of sparkling jewels, but unfortunately that did not lend itself to subtle travel. He dressed more regally for the quest, and he was convinced that the brown clothing and greying of his beard made him look significantly older than he was.

Hours crawled by as they made their slow way up the hill, but as dusk began to paint the skies, Lani's ears pricked up. She paused, her foot held aloft, and sniffed at the air.

"Easy, Basil," Glóin warned, pulling the pony to a halt when he started to overtake her.

In that moment, she dove into a nearby bush. Glóin grabbed his axe, but there was no sound of a struggle. Instead, she returned with a bundle of black rags carried gingerly in her mouth. An odd buzzing sound met his ears, and Glóin frowned. Then, Lani dropped her bundle, and a swarm of carrion flies flocked into the air. Old bones and sinew and feathers fell apart on the floor, but Glóin had an awful feeling that he knew what lay before him.

A raven of Erebor. The dead creature was the right size, and what remained of the beak seemed the correct shape. But more telling was the fact that the wolf had dragged it from the bushes in the first place. The wolves of Erebor were well fed, and did not seek out carrion. They were also focused, and had an eerily humane intelligence. Glóin was sure that Lani knew exactly what they were doing.

As he glanced at her, she licked a nearby tree, as if trying to remove the taste from her mouth. Then, she turned her eyes to Glóin.

"I expect you suppose I should rummage in the bushes too?" he muttered, but he dismounted anyway, and strode to the place where she had disappeared, and stuck his head into the bush. He could hardly see anything. The branches were thick, and dense at the top, though it looked as though there was more space below. He doubted any creature that had fallen onto the bush would end up at the bottom, so the bird must have either hopped underneath the brush to die, or had been disposed of.

Grimacing, he removed his glove and began to pat around the ground, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. Almost immediately, his fingers fell on a crumpled ring of metal. He frowned, and grabbed at it, drawing out his hand. When he saw what it was, he nodded at Lani.

"Thank you. Thorin was right."

She whined.

In his hand was a leather cannister, bound with rings of beaten gold. It was unmistakeable, though the leather was ripped, and hung from the dented rings. It had come from Erebor, or been returning there, with a message from or for the king. There was nothing inside.

Somewhere nearby, a crow squawked, and Glóin's hand shot to his axe. He looked Lani dead in the eyes. "You find anything else like that and you tell me, lass."

She nodded, and began to trot up the hill again.

"You're right," he sighed. "Time to move on."

He remounted, tucked the leather casing into his saddlebag, and flicked once at the reins. The steady sound of Basil's footprints returned, and now Glóin thought that they were very loud. He dug his heels in slightly, urging the pony to go faster. The sooner they got to Rivendell, the better, he was sure.

He was sure that they were being watched.

I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I have a feeling Glóin may be a tiny, wee bit late if he makes it to Rivendell, what do you think? ;)