Chapter Six

A/N: This is a Hobbit AU! so I invite you to enjoy the mashup of book Kili and movie Kili and my preference that Fili and his brother would have survived. In fact, they were alive in Tolkien's original manuscript until just before publication when he added a single line telling us (not showing us!) that...(nope! Can't say it!) Of course, the wound from an orc arrow is pure movie Kili. As always, drop me a note! All feedback welcome or just say hi! Hand on heart to you, mellon...

Kili finally returned to his own quarters well into the evening. He didn't notice that he was limping, but he did feel the sharp pain in his right thigh, just above the knee. In fact, he wasn't feeling well at all.

He poured a glass of plain water from the bedside table, drinking it dry. Mahal, what did he expect? No one would feel well after even ten minutes with that ass Yngvli. But for the sake of his brother's negotiations, he was expected to bear up, and he would.

He had met with Fili and An only briefly—getting a quick summary of the day's Court events as Fili prepared for an afternoon audience with trade representatives of the Iron Hills. Despite the day's disruption, Fili reported that the negotiations were complete except the Grey Mountains contingent was refusing to vote. Without all kingdoms ready to do so, King Elessar's treaty would remain unratified. They'd adjourned with agreement to try the vote again tomorrow.

But it was clear that the Grey Mountains dwarves were holding out for approval of Yngvli's daughter's petition—a document that Erebor's King hadn't even seen yet—and wouldn't touch if he did.

Fili's frustration was palpable, and even Lady An's nerves were on edge as she saw to her Lord Husband's afternoon dress.

"The lass can petition all she wants," Fili fumed at Kili while An checked the fall of the King's newest cloak. "We will accept nothing."

"I agree," An looked grim as she stepped back. She glanced at Kili as if thinking to say more.

"Can you get this button, love?" Fili asked her, holding out his arm and heading off what they all knew she was about to say. For Mahal's sake...find a lass you can live with and put an end to the fussing. An fixed the loose cuff and made a quick, final adjustment of Fili's left sleeve.

"Have the ravens been acting funny to you?" Fili asked, changing the subject.

"Funnier than usual?" Kili made a face. The birds were essential allies but they were also known for being greedy pests.

"Hen-hen. Had three or four of them muttering that to me today."

"Hen-hen?" Kili stared. "That might make sense if it was mating season," he arched an eyebrow.

Fili just pinned him with a steady eye and huffed. "Do me a favor and keep an ear for it—see if you can draw them out."

Kili nodded. "Sure. I'll let you know." He and Fili looked at each other soberly for a moment, and then Fili was done with wardrobe nonsense and with a quick kiss on his Lady Wife's cheek, was out the door.

Kili rubbed his forehead. The whole situation was making his head ache.

Then again, maybe it was just the weather, he told himself. A storm was brewing outside the mountain this evening. Ice storm, most likely.

And yet he was expected again at the revelries in the King's Hall tonight. He knew it—strained though they might be. Tonight was Durin's Day Eve, after all. There would be songs, and there would be stories. Old Dwalin, Gloin, and Dori would be guests of honor, regaling all with re-tellings of that evening 80-odd years ago when a Hobbit helped his Uncle unlock a hidden door and rout a dragon.

He and Fili, of course, hadn't been there. Hell, he didn't even clearly recall the day.

Except the Dragon. He remembered that.

And the aftermath. He stared at his little fire, so benign…so unlike the conflagration that had destroyed old Laketown.

Yes, he would join the party, raise his glass with his friends, mourn their uncle...and privately, Kili would also mourn his friend the Elf Maiden.

But maybe after a rest. His limbs felt like lead and the bed was inviting. Layers of soft blankets. Pillows stuffed with fine goose down. And here was his little fire, burning gently.

He had nearly decided on a nap when a soft noise near the passage to the family quarters caught his ear. A very small face surrounded by soft, golden curls peered around the door, eyes wide.

"My Kee?"

He smiled at his niece's version of "Uncle Kili" as she tiptoed into the room, trailing the ties on her dressing gown.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured. "Mama and Da off to the party?"

She nodded.

He limped to his fireplace and eased himself into his favorite chair, opening a hand to her in invitation to climb into his lap. It was a familiar uncle-niece tradition.

But Iri stood still as she considered the way he'd favored his right leg. "Are you hurt?" she asked, eyes wide in concern.

"Nah," he said, shrugging off his discomfort. "Just an old injury. Acts up every now and then."

Iri frowned at him, then turned and ran back to her family's rooms. Kili watched her go, smiling in puzzlement, absently rubbing his leg and hoping the warmth of the small fire would ease the muscles.

She was back moments later, carrying something carefully in one hand. This time she did scramble into her uncle's lap and he caught her up, pulling her past the aching leg and settling her on the cushioned arm of the chair.

In her hand lay a folded, damp cloth, and suppressing a smile, he watched her very seriously pat it several times before reaching up to press it against his forehead.

"Do you think I hit my head?" he asked, amused by her focus on the task.

She nodded. "And you have a fever."

"Do I?"

She nodded again, switching hands. "You have shiny eyes. Mama says that's a gibba-way."

"A giveaway?"

"I will call my nurse. She will make it better." Iri started to slide off of the chair, but Kili grabbed her hand, holding her in place.

"No," he said, too quickly.

Iri stared.

"No, sweetheart," he softened his voice. "I thought you were the nurse. I don't really need another one." He smiled as if this were nothing more than one of their pretending games, like having cakes and ale.

"Tomorrow," she announced, "you can teach me more arrows." She pressed the cloth to his head again.

Kili smiled. She was fascinated with archery and quite good at it for a child. Better than her brothers, actually.

"I would love to," he said. "But it's a holiday. You and I will both have other things we have to do."

She removed the damp cloth again, looked at it in her hand as if contemplating something serious, then looked at him with a smile as if she'd decided he should now be completely cured.

"Thank you," he said. "I feel better."

From deep within the family chambers Kili could hear the Nannies calling for their young charge.

He looked at his little niece and made a grimace as if he were scared of the nannies. "You better go," he whispered. "Before we're both in trouble."

She giggled, then scrambled from the chair and dashed back to the nursery, shouting "Here I am!" to announce her presence.

Kili laughed to himself and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He loved the little rascal and wondered what it would be like, years and years from now, when he supported his brother in a petition for some lad's hand. Forget that, he dashed the thought. There's not a dwarf out there who will be good enough.

And then he snorted. As if what the lads wanted really meant anything. It was all bluster, really. The actual power in a marriage petition lay with the Lady. Tradition held that a marriage was only sanctioned by the Lady's Choice. His job, he knew, would be to support Iri's Choice, when she made it, whether he liked the lad or no.

And refusing a lass was a serious matter—serious enough to lead to swords, axes, and duels.

That reminder made him open his eyes. Yngvli's daughter, stalled negotiations, and the prospect of a blood feud.

Yet he could not force his brain to think any further on it, try as he might...he sat glowering at the fire, absently rubbing one finger across an old scar on his forehead—until a clamor in the outer hallway told him he was needed. He pushed himself up to find a small squadron of the Guard at his door.

"Rockfall," the Captain said. "Western terrace. Your lad Skirfir…a few others…injured and cut off from the gate."

Skirf…?

Kili swore luridly in Khuzdul. The archer lad was his lieutenant, sure. But he was also Kili's fosterling of a sort—an undertaking of honor to guide the son of a fallen warrior until he came of age, and that made Skirfir more like a young cousin than just another young soldier.

So Kili didn't think twice—just grabbed his snow jacket and forced his aching leg into action.