**Author's Notes: this follows the story Erebor 3022, Cursebearers. While this work can stand alone, I invite you to read the prequel, if you haven't already. All feedback welcome, even if you're just finding the stories! This story is about two months after the events in the first story, so it's roughly February. (Durin's Day is roughly Nov/Dec.). Enjoy! **
Chapter One
Kili, Prince of Erebor, Commander of the Guard, and newly betrothed of the healer trainee Nÿr, stood on the open parapet of Ravenhill wrapped in a fur-lined leather cloak, his wealth of black hair streaming behind him in the icy wind.
Beside him stood his oldest nephew Fjalar, eager for his first chance at Ravenspeaking. The lad was in the early stages of dwarf adolescence, with a scruff of beard and sun-gold hair much like his father's, (minus the streaks of sheer white) and his snow cloak sported the King's royal crest. He stood taller than most lads his age—the top of his head nearly up to his uncle's shoulder, and he was just losing his child's frame and starting to fill out with some muscle. He was young, to be sure…but Kili could see the promise of the lad. A few more years, some training and some weight…and Fili's son would make Durin himself proud.
"You remember everything your father said?" Kili asked, watching his nephew stride forward to look over the edge.
"Of course." And then the lad stopped himself and backed up to take position again at his uncle's side. "I mean…yes, sir."
Kili suppressed a grin. He recalled being Fjalar's age…so eager to learn and do new things…and so impulsive and easily distracted. He was certain he and his brother had driven their own uncle mad with it—which was one reason he had only one prince in his charge today and not all three.
But fact was, Erebor had only seven capable Ravenspeakers. They needed more.
And Fili's oldest lad was overdue for this kind of training, Kili knew it. Even Fili understood this...but the years before the last war had been so grim that Erebor's young heir had been held back and taught in private; safeguarded in case his father and uncle didn't survive, which had been all too probable. Now only two years later, Fili was not easily letting go of his protective instincts. He loved his children with a fierceness that Kili knew well.
Because he'd known it himself ever since he could remember.
So Kili was taking his training duty very seriously. He scanned the cold landscape around them—winter had come to Erebor in a series of northern storms that blanketed the Mountain and its surrounding region with a thick layer of snow. Foot patrols were curtailed by deep drifts and dangerous ice, and lookouts were stymied by gloomy cloud cover.
So in the rare daylight hours when skies cleared, those who could speak with Ravens were essential: for Ravens could fly reconnaissance across the lands around the Mountain and bring back critical news.
And the skill to be Ravenspeaker was found in a rare few: only those with the blood of Durin.
"Well, you've had plenty of advice about this." Kili winked at his nephew. "It's time to give it a shot. You ready?"
The lad nodded, his expression sober.
"Hold your position here," Kili murmured. He walked a few paces away and looked up, scanning the cloudless blue sky. After a moment he raised his gauntleted arm and stood still.
"How do you call them?" Fjalar asked.
"You don't," Kili answered. "They just come along on their own when they see a Ravenspeaker. They know who we are."
"How will they know me?" Fjalar's expression was worried. It was his first day in training, and while he'd seen his father and uncle speak with ravens countless times, the ravens had never yet graced him with a single word.
"That," Kili said. "Will be lesson one. Introductions." Kili lifted his chin toward the northwest. "Here's one—see him?" A sleek black body with outstretched wings soared overhead, wheeled about, then fanned its wingtips and began descending.
"He sees us," Fjalar breathed.
"Let me talk to him a moment," Kili said quietly, "And when he's ready, I'll bring him over for a chat." Kili took a few more steps away so the big raven would have room to land.
Kili could see Fjalar, despite the lad's efforts to look grown up, standing with his mouth half open in amazement as he watched the nimble bird maneuver in the wind.
And then the raven landed on Kili's forearm, claws gripping the gauntlet as he flapped and ruffled himself into position.
"Good morning, my friend," Kili murmured, recognizing the bird. "At your service, young Corax."
Fjalar was absently adjusting his own gauntlet, newly given to him by his father, as if he couldn't wait to feel a bird like Corax sitting on it and talking to him.
Corax bobbed and shook his head. "Much snow. Much snow," he said.
Kili angled a glance at his student, wondering if Fjalar had understood.
The lad's eyes were so big and round that Kili almost laughed. If only he'd thought to bring a sketch artist along to capture the moment.
"Yes," Kili said to the bird. "Snow everywhere. Did you find the nuts we left you on the western terrace?"
The raven nodded. "Many eat. We fly. We watch."
Good, Kili thought. We rely on that watchfulness. "What news, then? Have you seen travelers on the roads?"
"No dwarves, no humans, no goblins, no orcs, no elves."
"Not even on the road to Ered Mithrin?" Kili was especially concerned about that group of exiles recently banished from Erebor.
"No dwarves, no humans, no goblins, no orcs, no elves," Corax repeated.
"Good to know." Kili nodded, raising an eyebrow at the order Corax used, with elves after orcs. "What about thin clouds…thin clouds that rise from the ground?" Kili asked. "Campfires? Chimneys?"
The raven looked from Kili to the mountain and back again. "Just the mountain. Just the mine."
"Good, good. Thank you. Anything else?" Kili had learned not to forget an open-ended question. Ravens could be very literal birds.
Corax flicked his tail, eyeing young Fjalar. "King but not King," he said.
Kili looked at his nephew and smiled. "Very good. Not King yet, anyway." He nodded at his nephew to introduce himself.
The lad stood bit straighter, then bowed. "Fjalar," he said. "At your service."
Corax bobbed and shifted his head to look at the youngster with his other eye.
Kili motioned for Fjalar to hold his arm up. The lad did, moving his feet apart to brace himself.
Kili gently carried the bird closer, talking as he went. "I would like you to talk with him, Corax. Would you do that?" He watched to be sure the raven didn't object. But Corax remained interested, shifting his head. Then he made a soft rattling noise in his throat that Kili recognized as a call ravens used with their young. He nearly laughed out loud.
But he schooled his voice to serious matters. "Yes, he's a fledgling with much to learn. He will start coming out to Ravenspeak for us. If you see him, you can tell him things. Anything you know."
Kili stopped a few steps away from Fjalar.
Corax quorked loudly, startling the lad, and Fjalar's eyebrows shot up in alarm, but he didn't budge—he stayed firm. A moment later, the bird hopped from Kili's arm to Fjalar's.
The lad's arm dipped a little with the surprising weight.
Kili held up a hush finger to remind him to stay silent until Corax chose to address him. Ravens expected total attention.
"King-but-not-King," Corax said to the lad.
Fjalar was nearly cross-eyed, looking at the bird. "The King is my father," he said. "I'm Fjalar...I'm the Heir."
The raven cocked his head, as if considering the youngster's worth. "No one to speak in Dale today," the bird said suddenly. "I say this to King-but-not-King."
Kili frowned. He gestured for Fjalar to draw out the meaning.
"There's…no one in Dale to talk to?" the lad asked.
The raven shifted on the lad's arm, his feet clutching and mincing. Kili saw Fjalar's jaw tighten, but he didn't exclaim or even wince, even though ravens could certainly pinch when agitated.
"No one to speak. Look, look. No."
And with that, Corax launched himself into the air and flew south.
Toward Dale.
Kili frowned, watching him go.
"Why'd he leave?" Fjalar asked.
Kili smiled. "Because he was done!" He smacked his nephew's arm. "Good job, lad! You did it!"
"I did?"
Kili tousled Fjalar's sunny hair. "Ravenspeaker's apprentice, O King-but-not-King."
Fjalar allowed himself to laugh, though he still looked half stunned.
"Come on, let's go report to your Da." Kili took off for the main gate, Fjalar falling in beside him.
But as happy as Kili was for his young nephew, he was unsettled by the Raven's message.
No one to speak in Dale today meant that the ravens had looked for but not found the Ravenspeaker posted in Dale.
Which, as Kili well knew, was exactly the kind of news that was often the harbinger of a bigger problem.
.
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**Fili's Children: as you might imagine, in this AU! young King Fili was quickly under pressure to produce an heir in order to safeguard the succession. Balin helped arrange a marriage to a lass of good family (An) from the Iron Hills, and after quite a rocky start, Fjalar was born. His three siblings(Gunnar, Hannar, and Iri) came fifteen years later (there was a stillborn child in that time.) Dwarves mature at a slower rate than humans and come of age officially at age 82. There are several conflicting sources about how fast dwarves mature/age, so I will provide instead a reference to the kids' human age equivalents...and you can insert your own preference for what that means in Dwarf years. ;P Fjalar is the equivalent of a 14-15 year old human. (Younger than movie-Kili in The Hobbit; maybe more equivalent to movie-Bain.) Gunnar (or Gunz) is equal to a 10 year old human, Hannar, a 7 year old, and Iri, the only lass, is the equivalent of about a 4-5 year old.
Pronunciation note: "Fjalar" is a dwarf name listed in the poetic Edda, the source JRRT used when writing TH and LOTR. The "j" is silent. So say it like Falar or even F'lar. (And yes, that's a tip of the hat to Anne McCaffrey!)
Note about the year: several readers have pointed out that 3022 is a third age date, and it's really year one, Fourth Age. This is correct! I'm speculating that the Erebor dwarves didn't immediately adopt the new year numbers (being rather set in their ways and slow to change.) Also, appendix A in RoTK shows the genealogy that Gimli sketched for King Elessar—and he clearly continued to use third age numbers for several years after FA year 1. Hobbits actually never switched (they retained Shire Reckoning.) So 3022 it is!**