Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

9. Stairway to Disaster

Kíli watched, eyes warily scanning the landings above that were still shrouded in darkness as a small team of dwarrow and one elf worked to secure another of the temporary rope bridges across the gap in the great staircase. Truthfully, they were lucky this area was passable at all given the damage done by the Balrog as it chased the Fellowship through these halls and to the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, where Gandalf had stopped it.

The prince shivered, trying to put the image of the old wanderer facing the towering form of darkness and fire alone from his mind, knowing he would probably have yet another night of broken sleep tonight. Since seeing the horrific creature and feeling the overwhelming rejection, the wrongness, imbedded into the very stone where the thing walked, he had been suffering nightmares. That was not something he was about to tell Fíli or Thorin, however. For the last two nights, he had feigned sleep until certain his brothers and uncle had all dozed off, then scooted over to sit against the wall, watching the dim forms of the others in camp until the dawn watch went out, pondering anything that came to mind with a weight it might not otherwise have.

If Gandalf had known such a creature was here, why had he ever ventured through the gates? Would they not have had a better chance going through the High Pass if Redhorn was blocked? If Gandalf could stand up to the Balrog, why was he unable to protect the Fellowship from a bit of snow? The ways of wizards would never cease to baffle him!

He had heard talk among some of the dwarrow who wished to name the new span being constructed the Bridge of Tharkûn, even given the often meddlesome nature of the old wizard, though Thorin had yet to respond to such a notion. Truthfully, Kili would just be happy to never need to go through there again! A shout from one of the dwarrow on the landing above reminded the prince that he had best keep his mind from such thoughts, given what they were doing. If Thorin were to catch him wit-wandering yet again…

This was tedious work, and nervous, as just because they had yet to encounter resistance did not mean their enemy was not lurking nearby, but necessary if they were to do anything more. Khazad-dûm had been built in sections over several hundred or more years, each able to be isolated for defense or to contain illness. The eastern section housed the main city, and was the area where they believed they were least likely to encounter resistance, as the finished levels and architecture favored the dwarrow, who easily navigated such places.

This end of the ancient city had further been built for defense, with not only the narrow bridge, but this stair to confound intruders. Each landing led to another level of Khazad-dûm, seven up and seven down from the gate, each one easily defended from above, or cut off if necessary, the only way into the city other than hidden passages whose secrets were long since lost, even, apparently, to Thorin, whose access to the memories of the various Durins was not automatic. Kíli himself could pinpoint where they were by reading the stone, but without the key or proper words, it was simply another wall.

Several nights before, Thorin had drawn the leaders of the army about him, laying out a map of Khazad-dûm upon the stone floor of the main gate-room as he explained his strategy. They would make their way up the stairs, sealing off each level so that none could come at them from behind, with the exception of the main market area upon the second upper floor, to which they had moved this morning. That, they would use as a main camp from which to work until they reached the uppermost, or Twenty-first, hall, when the army would be split into pieces, each one taking an upper floor to clear as they moved east. After that, groups would fan out, scouring the deeps slowly downward of all enemies until they were left with full control of the city and northern mines before venturing into the other two sections of the kingdom.

It was logical, as the orcs, trolls, and other squatters would have been more likely to alter the lowest levels close to the mines to suit their dark nature, and the southern and western mines were full of natural caverns. It was there that the army would most likely encounter the fiercest battles and most uncertain ground, so they would need strong, safe areas to their backs. From what little he had been able to read from the stone as he poured over the same map back at Erebor, Kíli knew that there were vast sections not built by any dwarrow that would have to be dealt with very carefully; mazes of tunnels worse even then Goblintown had been.

Something about the entire conference, however, had bothered the brunette prince; or, more precisely, about how his uncle had acted. Thorin was keeping secrets again, he was almost certain of it, and worse, Fili had some idea of what it was. Even more irritating was the way both of them hovered around him incessantly, ensuring that he had food, drink, or anything else he needed before he could think to ask Kifir for it. Thorin and Fíli were both careful to never directly badger him about any of it, of course, so he could do little beyond gritting his teeth and smiling.

When it was decided that Kíli would go to Khazad-dûm, Dis, foreseeing trouble with the unerring instinct of a mother, had sat her family down and brokered an agreement. Thorin and Fíli would not directly pester him to rest, eat, or anything else once inside the ancient kingdom. Asking, however, would be allowed, provided it was done sparingly. In return, Kíli agreed not to fight the ministrations of the healers, eating and resting when told and swallowing whatever vile concoctions they gave him. Fíli was also allowed to keep a check upon the ever-present fever.

Of all those close to him, only Tauriel and Therin were not constantly watching over his shoulder, though the elf maiden was a bit more concerned with finding some goblins and orcs to fight. That definitely had not changed, she was as hot tempered and impetuous as ever! Though she seemed determined to stay nearby, the she-elf had yet to speak with him, hurrying away both times he had attempted to initiate conversation, a situation the dwarf found as impossible to let alone as a sore tooth.

The sharp clang of metal on stone drew Kili's attention back to what he was supposed to be doing in time to see the dwarf tossing the hook, Nast, curse before pulling it back to attempt another throw. This was the first crossing of the morning, and Nori's eldest son was already in a foul mood. The gap in front of them was perhaps twelve feet across, the largest one they had yet to find, though the stone seemed solid enough. Frowning, the prince had to push against some undefinable block as he sought to feel the stair with his mind, literally becoming the rock, every weakness a corresponding ache in his body.

Watching Nast miss yet again, he almost swore he saw the shadowy forms of the Fellowship, jumping and scrambling as part of the stair crumpled beneath them. The prince's gape of shock turned into a shaky chuckle as one of the distant figures was saved from falling by a taller figure grabbing his long, red beard! The stone here had a strong memory, one that had begun to show itself the deeper he pushed into connecting with it, leaving shades of dwarrow and others teasing at the edges of his vision day and night. It was getting nerve wracking just for Kíli to tell what was real and what might be yet another wisp of the past that would disappear within moments. Last night he could have sworn he saw one of the dwarrow of Balin's company lurking in the shadows near the supplies. When he had gotten up to check it out, however, the dwarf was gone.

It was the soft whine, very familiar to him, that drew his eyes up to see torchlight glint off of multiple objects in the air just as Nast let the grappling fly once more. The prince gasped, grabbing frantically at Kifir to pull him down even as he shuddered from the feel of the grappling hook landing, scraping over his skin as if it were the rock.

"Kíli? What's wrong, do we need to pull the team back?"

The words buzzed around his head like so many bees, making no sense as his eyes searched for the arrows he could have sworn were flying at them only to see empty air. Someone was shaking him, a face in his, but before he could pull out of the stone enough to respond, the grappling found an anchor point, the hook digging into the rock doubling him over with the feeling of being stabbed. It had never been this bad, this strong, before!

"Kíli! Sit down before you fall!"

Somehow he obeyed the words, though they did not seem to make any sense, feeling his body- flesh and blood, not stone, he must remember he was not the mountain! – fold down onto the unyielding surface beneath him. It was water dribbling from the corner of his mouth and onto his hand, however that finally tore him completely away to find Fíli trying to coax him to drink. Irritably, he pushed the water skin away.

"I'm fine!"

"Brother, I'm going to ban those words pretty soon."

Fíli's grim visage left his younger sibling with no doubt that he would, too, and the punishment for breaking that decree would not be to his liking.

"Alright, I'm a bit tired and cold, but nothing to worry about. Tell the team that the hook is secure."

A hand lifted from his shoulder as Kifir scrambled to obey, darting up the stairs with an energy that made Kíli feel old just watching. Sadly, it had not even been twenty years since he could have not only matched the younger dwarf's feat, but beat him up the stairs! It still hurt, twisting his stomach in knots as he saw what he would never again have; what he had taken for granted would always be his as he leaped easily from branch to branch in Mirkwood during the quest, twitting the others for their inability to do the same until Dwalin chucked a rock at him. Even when he had lain wounded in-

Firmly pushing such dark thoughts from him, he watched as Kifir came up to the others. He could see Thorin nod and wave the elf out over the rope to the other side, the activity giving him something to focus on besides the blonde still holding him tightly by his other shoulder. He did not want to look his brother in the eye, knowing Fíli would too easily see through his lies.

Not that it was all that much of one, really. He was alright, but the effort needed to read the stone left his head pounding and various body parts feeling bruised and aching. Above them, he could see the dwarrow already working on the far side of the gap to secure more ropes in preparation for placing the pre-built wooden span. The elf with them, Tanil, he thought Tauriel had said his name was, was balanced upon the rope already in place, speaking casually with Nast, as if not conscious of the two hundred foot drop below him.

"That still makes my blood run cold. Bloody elf! Can't they ever stand upon things that were meant for it instead of perching like overgrown birds?"

Dwalin's low, rumbling complaint brought a smile to Kili's lips as he glanced up to see the Warmaster and Thorin descending the last steps to the landing they rested upon. The king's expression was grim, though he could see his uncle trying hard not to allow a smirk at the warrior's words, catching the low teasing reply.

"You haven't forgiven Legolas for the river yet, have you?"

A snort, and the large dwarf's eyes narrowed at his shieldbrother.

"I didn't see him using you for a stepping stone!"

Thorin snorted, but did not reply, worried gaze locked on his dark-haired nephew and not deceived in the least by Kili's attempt at a sunny reassuring smile of greeting.

"Do you need a halt called so that you might rest, Kíli?"

"No."

"Yes."

Fíli overrode, tone sharp with worry and a hint of anger that had Kíli turning to him with a frown.

"No! Fíli, I'm-"

"Don't say it!"

"-not in need of a break yet." He could not help the flare of resentment that was stoked to life by the blonde's scoff. "I am not some sickly child in need of coddling! We will never retake the city if everyone is constantly standing around waiting upon me! We have already been two days upon the stair and are only at the third level."

Before he could say anything further, however, a sharp pain, as if he were being skewered with a hot poker, erupted from his middle, tears springing unbidden to his eyes as he doubled over, gasping. One hand clenched at the others blindly, trying frantically to convey the warning he did not have the breath to shout. Voices yelled, mixing with one another into an intelligible jumble of Westron and Khuzdul, but his bleary vision was locked on the horror unfolding above.

Several of the advance party had begun moving before the last echoes of the warning had even died away, which is probably what saved their lives. Tanil was a blur as he physically grabbed the dwarf he had been talking to, tossing him across the gap to the other span, then turned to pick up another as the first ominous crack sounded. Swift elven feet began running back across the rope toward safety, lightly jumping over the hands of another dwarf who had managed to leap out and grab on. As the piece of stair shook, it sent the last two members of the team rolling down the steps, one managing to grab hold of rock even as the other tumbled into the air, disappearing with a shout of despair.

As the elf and his dwarf passenger swiftly crossed the last feet of rope, the pillar of broken stairwell gave one final shudder and began to drop, the last terrified member of the party clinging to it. There was another stab of fiery pain, and Kíli felt the grappling hook wrench loose, the weight of the dwarf only halfway across causing it to fall fast. The others grabbed hold of their end as the dwarf swung, a long arch out of their line of sight, but the prince felt the impact of body hitting unyielding stone nonetheless, three deaths one after another, and mercifully blacked out.

It could not have been more than a few minutes before he regained consciousness to the sound of a heated argument taking place almost on top of him. Though there was no longer any pain, Kíli felt a weird detachment, a coldness and distance from what was happening, that was unsettling even as another part whispered not to fight it, for stone did not feel pain, guilt, or loss. An abrupt wrench of fire in his head and he saw them all from far above, a silent watcher.

He was lying flat out on the stone of the landing, head and shoulders cradled in Fíli's lap, Kifir anxiously crouched nearby. Above him to one side was Thorin, on the other one of those who had just been saved, a sturdy, square-framed dwarf with a shockingly bright orange beard. Both were red-faced, hands gesturing wildly as they spoke. Then the elf tried to join in, and both dwarrow rounded on him. Kíli knew he needed to stop this before it escalated any further. At that thought, everything whirled around him, and he closed whatever non-corporeal eyes he used, only to have his physical ones spring open with a gasp.

"Stop! Stop it."

Hands were aiding him in sitting, a voice in his ear urging him to take it slowly, but he ignored that, totally focused upon the combatants above him. Thorin was the first to react, swiftly kneeling to place a hand on Kili's shoulder.

"It's alright, Kíli, nothing to-"

"No!" The prince knocked his uncle's hand aside, something he would not have dared to do even ten years ago, but he felt now that it was a right he had finally earned. Brown eyes met those of the other dwarf and the elf. "I am sorry that there was not warning enough to save everyone. I grieve with you."

"Save your pretty words, princeling! I did not come here to find death from unsteady rock and children too weak to warn us in time, fainting at the first inkling of trouble!"

Kíli flinched hard at the harsh words, reminding himself that the other was a northwestern Firebeard, one who knew nothing of the burden he now bore. He was quick to catch his uncle's sleeve, knowing that Thorin's temper would not stand for such insults, a defense that would only cause the other dwarf to sneer further at the prince. Beside him, Kifir was already on his feet, and the only thing restraining Fíli was the fact that he was still holding up his brother. Not all present were so restrained, however. A heavy, leather garbed fist caught the Firebeard hard across the mouth, blood droplets spraying out from a split lip.

"You will show proper respect to our prince!" Nast snarled, Gimli only a step behind him and bristling as red as his beard. "Even the few seconds we had probably saved your life, and we would not have had those without Prince Kíli!"

Thorin wrenched his arm from his nephew's grasp, standing to loom into the shocked dwarf's face, so close that the other leaned instinctively backward.

"You know nothing of what the prince sacrifices by being here! Give me one reason I should not order you thrown out of my door!"

Another dwarf shouldered his way to the front, this one with a deep burgundy beard gathered in two forked braids. He grabbed his angry kin by the arm and pressed a bit of cloth into his hand to stop the bleeding of his lip.

"Please, Lord Thorin, do not take his anger to heart. One of those who just fell was a childhood friend of ours."

Kíli grit his teeth at that, forcing weak legs to push up as Fíli's aiding hands under his armpits got him to his feet. Thorin looked as if he wanted to object, but settled for shaking his head at his nephew's stubbornness, then gave a small nod to acknowledge the silent plea in Kili's eyes. As he turned back to the offending dwarf, it was with the stern visage of Thorin Oakenshield in his most royal bearing.

"Go, take him back to camp, but if I hear one more word of such stupidity, I will not hesitate to carry through upon my threat. I will not abide with disrespect for my sister-sons or any other who comes to aid us here."

The prince could not help the shaky exhale of relief at that, knowing it was not often that Thorin would so easily relent. To his further astonishment, the king then gave a slight bow of respect to the elf.

"I thank you, Tanil. Without your swift actions, there would have been even more lives to mourn this night."

"Would that I could have done more, Durin King."

The elf murmured in response as the crowd around them slowly dispersed, an air of sadness permeating the surroundings. Thorin gave a silent shake of the head before turning back to the small group with them.

"Come, we will do no more this day. Kíli-"

The prince was quick to wave his uncle off, Fíli supporting him on one side while Kifir was on the other.

"I'm alright, uncle, I just need some rest."

"Hmm…" Came the noncommittal, and skeptical, answer, before the king turned away to eye their young cousin. "And what is wrong with you, Gimli? You're limping."

The red-bearded dwarf rolled his eyes before tilting his head in Nast's direction.

"This one landed on me!"