Chapter Ten

Fili, Son of Durin, King Under the Mountain, wore his mithril mail under his leathers and his twin blades in full view, sheathed and ready for battle. Five hundred armed dwarves stood in formation just inside the gate, ready to follow their King.

But the proceedings had been stopped by the one old dwarf who dared contradict his King.

"Fili. This is a risk you can not take. Some would call it unwise." Old Dwalin stood nose to nose with the King, drawing his aged body to full height.

"What of it?"

"You cannot go, laddie. Not even for your own kin."

Fili could easily overpower the old dwarf. No doubt. But he had learned to fight under Dwalin's efforts…knocking his old teacher aside would be tantamount to striking Thorin Oakenshield himself.

"Ye canna go, laddie!"

Fili glared. "I can not go alone. But I will go, and I will take a battalion with me."

Dwalin stood firm, shaking his head one time.

"Stand aside, Dwalin," Fili commanded. "I cannot let them kill my son."

"No, lad." Dwalin folded his arms and glowered. "You cannot let them kill you."

Those close enough saw Fili's eyes narrow and his fingers flex.

But at that moment, shouts from the gate rang out.

"Riders! Incoming! Horses from Dale!" Two tall messenger horses, running full out, streaked past the main gate in a clatter of hoofbeats, speeding all the way into the great hall, slowing only as they approached the King.

Old Dwalin moved to his King's side, taking a defensive stance.

To Fili's surprise, the rider on the first horse slowed to a trot, then a walk, and came right to him, handing down the leather clad form of his own brother.

"Fili!" And there was the dark haired form of Kili, heading for them and throwing his arms around his brother in a tight embrace. "Thank Mahal, you're still here."

"No, you'll thank me for that," Dwalin grumbled. "Tell him he canna go!" Dwalin demanded.

"You cannot go," Kili said, standing back.

Fill drew breath as if to argue.

"Until you hear my news." Kili was panting from what Fili realized had been a full-out ride up the road from Dale.

"And then we will go together," his brother said, motioning for stewards to help the Dale riders and tend to the horses.


"Ah, Mahal," Nÿr said aloud, looking at the mountain peak reflected in the moonlight and realizing how far she'd walked. The little road had dwindled to nothing but someone's tracks through the woods.

"What am I doing?" There was no answer in the freezing cold, silent pre-dawn morning.

You're walking away from the only one you've ever really loved since old Bari took you in.

She closed her eyes. Her heart felt hollow. Her old teacher Bari was many years dead, and yes, she admitted to herself, it was Kili's warmth she wanted, and here she was standing out in the cold like a silly child. And what was she thinking, heading for the Blue Mountains in the thick of winter?

She tried to pinpoint where she was. She'd been blindly following the tracks of some other travelers with no idea of their destination. Hunters, maybe, just heading into the woods. The likelihood of this trail leading into a copse and running up a tree somewhere was pretty good, she reflected, kicking herself.

Somewhere to her right she could hear water. She turned slowly and trudged for it. The Running Stream came through here, a wide, shallow thing full of round stones. It was a favorite destination of trainees in the summer, good for wading and open-air bathing—at least for those forward-thinking enough to try that. Some of the older dwarves objected, calling it elvish behavior.

Nÿr thought it wonderfully pleasant.

She reached the snowy bank, boots crunching on ice. She unhooked the metal traveler's cup from her pack and knelt to reach past the icy edge and scoop a drink of water.

It was sharply cold and refreshingly pure.

And the sound of the gently running stream soothed her just as the icy air stilled the fire-storm that had been raging through her thoughts. It was a little bit like waking up after a fever, she realized.

And that reminder was the final kick in the pants. Her connection to Kili went beyond the mutually enjoyable romance. She knew his secret—the one that had prompted his royal brother to demand her silence on the matter, which she had sworn to honor.

Kili bore the curse of a Morgul wound, his blood tainted with it, dooming him to re-live the pain and fever of his injury every year on Durin's Day for the rest of his life.

That was not the kind of thing most people could understand.

It was why he was so alone.

She hooked her cup back in place, then stripped off one glove, patting her pockets.

There. She slid out a small, black piece of dragonstone carved into the shape of a raven. A gift from Kili. She looked at it, weighed it in her hand, then slowly raised it to her lips and gently kissed it. "Mahal, hold that kiss for me," she said to it, closing her hand around it. That kiss was for her beloved, and she meant now to give it to him herself.

She looked back up at the mountain, just starting to glow with the light of first dawn behind it.

She rested her forehead against her hand. Figures she would be so hard-headed as to get this far down the mountain before she realized that what she really wanted was to climb right back up.

She rose and returned to the tracks she'd been following, then headed back the way she'd come. Let people slam doors in her face. She was not going to let that drive her away from what she truly wanted.

And what I want, she told herself. Is a thousand times stronger than what they want.

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Just going to let that resonate...leave a note, say hi...Mahal's Blessings, mellyn! - Summer