Kili was hovering outside his brother's chambers before sunup, but the elder prince was awake even before the fist came pounding at his door. An aching head had kept him up most of the night, and what little sleep he'd taken was whisked back away just as quickly an hour earlier; the dull throb had not subsided and was not the least eased by the banging and shouting at the stone door. He croaked out an answer, one hopefully deterrent enough to keep Kili at bay.
Not so; "I thought I might bring you breakfast!" He stood with a tray of ham and eggs, potatoes and tea –just enough to share— but the sweet-smelling meal was the last thing on his mind that morning. "Aren't you going to let me in? My hands are full!"
Fili groaned and turned over on his bed, and then back the other way. "Let yourself in, you earlybird nit." He was grateful then that the Princes' chambers did not have the same heavy locks as the King's, as in his state he might have locked it straight up and been made to answer the door or let his brother continue shouting at it. His weariness would suffer regardless; it would much better be less agitated by a calmer voice.
Kili did let himself into the room, pushing at the stone with his shoulder (the one that had not been injured in the battle that had graciously spared his life.) He entered and leaned back against the door to close it, a wide grin spread into prickly cheeks. Fili watched him through half-lidded eyes. "Good morning!" he greeted too cheerily, setting the food down beside the bed and plopping down by the Crown Prince's knees. "Did you sleep well?"
"Not a bit." He rubbed at his eyes and stared blankly, mind fighting to catch up with the sudden energy in the room. "Is something wrong?" He doubted it, from the younger's airy countenance, but why should he come knocking at such an hour?
"Eat, please." Kili pulled two forks from the low pocket of his trousers and handed one to his regal brother. "We're going today."
Fili twitched in confusion –"Going where?"
"To Dale." He scooped a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and chewed slowly, and shifting smile on his lips. "Word is they are throwing a celebratory feast, to acknowledge the hard work the people had put into the rebuild in the city going on three years now. I say we ought to pay our own tribute to the brave and unyielding men, and women: our neighbors."
The rationale, in Fili's sleepless mind, was of much sounder reason than the suggestion itself. "Kili— we cannot just arrive there, to their celebration, unannounced and without urgent cause." Their uncle had left what he feared might be a lingering wound on relations between Dale and Erebor. The Prince on the throne had, in the proper King's absence, done his best to keep peace between the Man and Dwarf kingdoms, maintaining a careful respect of any boundaries that may prevent what could be a lucrative treaty. He would not cross that line; he may not ever approach it.
But Kili seemed confident in his scheme, the ends to which even his lifelong confidant could not yet decipher. "We have no ill will against them in the slightest; no mind for war. There is no reason that Bard should not open his city to a fellow King so eager to keep peace."
Fili's shoulders knotted at the title –"I am not a King—"
"Not yet, but in a few months' time, there will no longer be any doubt. You must accept and pursue the standard you wish to set. Big brother, why would you not take such an opportunity to meet with Lord Bard at ease, so you may talk peace?"
Fili was too limp in retort to not give Kili the satisfaction that he'd bested his brother's hesitation, and that they'd be riding for the short journey to Dale before the sun was at its crest.
The stable kept by the dwarves of Erebor was nestled low on the north face of the Mountain. A hobbling stableboy manned it today, and helped each of the small royal party to a pony that would suit them. His face burned on realization that he hadn't a horse to offer Tauriel, but she seemed unfazed. "I will walk, then," she concluded easily, helping a reluctantly accepting Kili onto the pony of choice, a midnight mare named Pepper.
"You will ride with me," he insisted from the thin saddle, with a smile that almost made his love not want to argue, but there was no fitting the both of them on the poor beast.
"I will walk," she said again. "Alongside you." And he didn't protest further, watching a spark settle in her deep eyes for a moment, his own leaking with adoration. She flushed and held Pepper by one side of the reins.
There was a creature in the far corner stall, fair and sturdy as the Golden Prince himself; Fili immediately took a liking to this handsome pony, and he'd barely learned her name was Daisy before he was astraddle her back. He pulled a pouch of silver from his breast pocket and dropped it into the boy's hand: "It covers the fee for all eight," he said, and with a little smile, "and a little bit for yourself." The stablehand thanked him profusely and watched them all ride toward the city.
Ponies trotted and conversation lulled to the occasional remark met with little more than agreeing hums. They moved more slowly than they might so that Tauriel could keep up on brisk footpace. None dare suggested they leave her behind; of any in their presence, mostly guards or friendly companions of the regal siblings, Tauriel was second in regard only to the two princes. She'd proven worthy of their respect while she lived among them under stone where any elf would feel ill at ease; she had taken it in stride to be a delegate between Erebor and the Woodland Realm, and to prove herself worthy of her mate. And Kili, she knew, would eagerly do the same were their roles reversed –she would not ask it any more than he did of her. (She wanted to feel like, in the eyes of her lover's people, she'd earned him: no one could take that devotion from her.)
Fili rode near them. He'd often tease them for the way each would stare so longingly at the other –like the initial spark had never smoldered, still burned in their chests and shone in their eyes. But the present situation left little room for such jest. He was indeed, or so it seemed, to meet with Bard and speak King to future King, start some arrangement between their kingdoms so the quietude may linger. Surely each had seen enough lost in recent years –but as the people of Dale, formerly of Laketown, celebrated their fruitful will to go on, there was much to be said on the matter of forward motion.