Chapter Six

A/N: Khuzdul translations are in the footnotes.

Fjalar, firstborn son and heir to King Fili of Erebor, stood with twenty-nine other lads in what had to be the deepest part of the lower levels that he'd ever seen. Dark, silent. Utterly deserted. Lit only by the light of their little hand lanterns. They were gathered in front of a wide, steep stairway that only led up.

"Why are we down here?" Mieth asked him in a low voice.

"No idea," Fjalar answered.

Several of the other lads exchanged worried looks with them. By now, the trainees knew the sunny-haired member of the class was their Prince, but they also knew enough to keep his status incognito.

Then their lieutenant was at attention, exchanging words with someone who had just joined them, someone who answered in a deeper, confident voice.

Lads stretched to see who it was.

But Fjalar recognized the voice. "That's my…" he stopped himself. "The Commander." He said quietly.

"Prince Kili," someone else murmured, awe in his voice.

"All right lads," his Uncle stepped up in front of the stairway, taller than everyone in the group. "This is the first challenge to becoming a soldier of Erebor. It's called Climbing the Mountain, and it's your ticket to weapons training as well as to the ale barrels. When you can Climb the Mountain in less than three hours, you can have all the ale you want with your dinner," he grinned.

There were raised eyebrows and a few nervous laughs. Generally, they were not old enough to have been allowed ale at their family tables.

"When you've climbed it ten times, you're ready to train for combat."

This time they were silent and serious. That was the real prize. They all wanted their chance to try swords and axes.

"The first thing a dwarf warrior needs," The commander went on. "Is stamina. We can fight longer and harder than men or goblins…which means we can outlast an enemy on the battlefield. We aren't as swift as elves, maybe, but we can run steady for days and cover a lot of ground. You will need that stamina in the next weeks, and here's where we start honing it." He held out a hand to the stairway that led up.

"This stairway," Lieutenant Skirfir said, stepping up beside the Commander, "Leads from this level to the northern lookout. It's about two leagues, straight up. You have three hours this afternoon to get to the top." He pointed to the stairway. "If you care to count as you go, it's about 10,000 steps. If you want to pace yourself, that's about 3,300 steps an hour."

The Commander looked up the stairway. "I will lead, Skirf will follow at the back." He looked at them, and Fjalar met his uncle's assessing eyes for just a moment as he scanned the lads. "I expect all thirty of you to get yourselves to the top without our help."

Lieutenant Skirfir was nodding. "This means you have to help each other. If five of you get to the top and the rest are left behind, that's a failure. Think of yourselves as a fighting unit and there's a battle to be won at the top. You need all of your fighters there before you can defend your ground.

"There are a few places along the way where you will need to take a corridor to a new staircase. There will be guards posted to show you the way."

Skirfir looked back at Kili.

"Everyone has a water skin?" The commander asked. "Hands up…" He was looking over their light gear now.

Fjalar checked his and raised his hand.

"Good lads. You—where's yours?" One of the smaller lads, Fjalar thought his name was Truin, looked scared stiff, then patted his water skin and rather timidly raised his hand. Fjalar thought the lad gulped. He suppressed a laugh. If only he'd ever seen Uncle Kili in a tickle fight with Iri…

But Lieutenant Skirfir was talking now. "And just so you know, there's a class of lassies who started training last week. They've climbed this route six times now. They went up an hour ago…doubt we'll see them on the stairs, but they'll certainly be at the top," he smiled, "Just waiting for us."

Fjalar and Mieth looked at each other.Lassies? Fjalar couldn't see his mother doing this.

But he could see Nÿr beating him to the top and then wrestling a goblin. He made adon't underestimate themface at Mieth.

"Any questions?" The Commander asked. No one spoke. Fjalar saw his uncle nod at Skirfir. "Just a few moments and we should hear the first bell after mid-day. That's our starting time. And I'll see you at the top by the fourth bell."

Skirfir raised his arm for them to line up. "It's wide enough for two at a time. Let the lads ahead of you get to the top of the first flight before you go, and remember: don't leave anyone behind…"

Fjalar saw his uncle turn, his face pensive, waiting for the bell.

A few moments later they heard it, ringing from the main cavern.

Kili raised a fist and shouted "Du bekar!"

Every lad in the place looked up, hearts leaping at the call. Skirfir answered it, looked at them to join in, and they did. Fjalar felt it energizing them.

And then their commander charged up the stairs. Two of the larger lads were next, eager to follow. Fjalar saw them waiting to see Kili reach the top of the flight, then they leapt forward, right behind.

Fjalar and Mieth were the sixth pair to start up. Fjalar found himself silently counting off steps. By 200, he wondered how they were going to manage it. By 1200, Mieth stumbled. Fjalar reached out and caught the heavier lad's arm, pulling him along until he got back in step.

"They're joking, right? I hate climbing."

"Piece of cake, Mieth," Fjalar said, though he knew he was speaking more from hope than truth.

"I can't do 10,000 stairs…" Mieth was shaking his head and slowing. "There's no way."

"Stop thinking about 10,000. Think about doing the 1200 we just did, about nine more times."

The two lads behind them were gaining.

"Ubzûnat!" one yelled at them. "We're goblins and we'll have your hides!"

Fjalar's memory flashed on the battlefield on the western slope. "Mahal's hell you will!" he called back. "Come on, Mieth! Nine more times."

But Mieth was stumbling regularly by the end of the hour when they'd done the first 3500 steps.

By mutual agreement, they stopped a moment on a landing for swallows of water and a chance to catch their breath. Their thigh muscles were screaming.

And even Fjalar was wondering how he was going to make it all the way to the top.

Fili entered the Annex's great room to find Dwalin dozing in a large chair in front of the windows, his feet up and a blanket tucked around him.

He slowed, wondering if he should wake the old dwarf. He didn't like seeing Dwalin looking so frail. In his mind, Dwalin had always been bigger, stronger, and tougher than anyone else, an even match for Thorin.

And that was saying something.

Dwalin's eyes opened. "That's a quite sober look for a young King," he said.

Fili smiled. "Lots on my mind."

Dwalin grunted and nodded. "I bet." He shifted in his chair, and Fili thought he looked uncomfortable, as if the mass in his gut was more painful than he let on.

But Dwalin settled and pinned Fili with a sharp eye. "Are you really sure you should be leaving the Mountain, lad?"

Fili sighed. "If I believe in the peace of Gondor, I have to show it. Besides, a little family trip…should be fun." He smiled.

Dwalin snorted.

"If she's anywhere in the Iron Hills, I'll find her, Dwalin."

Their eyes met. Dwalin blinked, and Fili thought he might be a bit teary. The old warrior reached out and grasped Fili's hand, his grip not as strong as in the past, but still firm.

"Aye. I trained you to track myself. Always proud of how good you are." Fili saw a rare hint of approval on his face.

"If you can't find her, laddie, no one can. On the table there," he nodded to show Fili. "All the letters I have from the Hill people. In case you need them."

Fili picked up the packet, weighing it in his hand. "Thank you. These will help," he said. He slid them into his inside pocket.

Dwalin looked away. "I just hope Dain's whelp will let her go."

"She belongs with you, Dwalin. With us. I've a few concessions to hand him. I hope he understands."

Dwalin looked up again. There was an amount of faith in his expression that Fili found humbling. He hoped he could live up to it.

They talked of other things, then. Of using the trip to teach Fili's middle son Gunnar, or Gunz as he was nicknamed, to ride. Start him on knife skills, then some hunting.

"Nÿr told me," Fili said, "That in the heat of that skirmish, Fjalar had no idea how to kill a goblin. She had to wrestle a goblin and motion for him to slice the inner thigh…" he shook his head. "That's my fault. If things had been safer, we'd have had Fjalar out hunting for a couple years now. He would know how to make a killing cut."

Dwalin nodded. "Hunting is the best training for young warriors. But learning from the lassie—from a healer—not a bad choice, either. Healers know exactly where an untrained lad could strike and make it count."

Fili nodded. "They went for the femoral artery."

"Good choice."

"I'm just surprised Fjalar knew the word femoral."

Dwalin laughed at that. "Thank Mahal for the lad's book learning…"

"There's some teaching you might be able to do while I'm gone," Fili said, changing the subject.

Dwalin's tired eyes seemed to brighten a little.

"Show the lassie what you know about mithril spells. We went down to the circle this morning and she held the staff. She's got the knack for it."

"Ah. That she would…" his expression turned thoughtful. "She's a right smart lass, Nÿr is." Then his eye got a glint. "Quite a looker, too. I swear if I was a hundred years younger I'd give that brother of yours a run for his money, there."

"Ah, cousin," Fili said. "That's why the lassies get the Choosing. We lads would muck it up."

Dwalin smiled. "Aye. We would at that."

Fili grinned. Dwarf lads were famously jealous when it came to the lasses…and the lasses famously rolled their eyes at it. "Provided you can keep your hands to yourself," he teased, "Do some work with her while I'm gone. When I get back with young Beka, I have a feeling your time will be completely taken," Fili said, winking at his old teacher.

Then he leaned down to touch foreheads, one hand firmly on his old friend's shoulder. "Stay strong, Dwalin. Two or three weeks and we'll be back."

Dwalin nodded, unable to speak.

"I swear I'll find her for you."

"Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil,my King," Dwalin murmured, a hand on Fili's arm.

"Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu,cousin."

Kili made it to the last set of stairs just after the third bell. He was slipping. Once he could do the climb and reach the top at half past two.

In any case, he had at least most of a bell to rest before the trainees caught up to him.

He bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Up above, the lassies' trainers had them ready for battle and they were getting a chance to rest and arm themselves.

It was just snowballs, but it was going to surprise the heck out of his lads. Would be fun, he grinned. He wondered who would rally them, how fast they'd team up, and whether they'd have the strength to win.

It was awhile before the first lads trudged up the last stairs to his holding position. He made a point of slapping palms with each of them, giving them a word of encouragement. He was glad to see Fjalar and his burly partner make it up together, still sixth in order. He smacked Fjalar's hand and spared the lad a quick grin. The burly lad next to him looked done in.

"Chin up, lad," he said. "Don't underestimate yourself. You big guys have a little more challenge on the way up, but you're hell on two legs going downhill."

The burly lad looked surprised to hear a word of encouragement.

Kili was expecting the fourth bell any moment when he finally saw Skirfir bringing up the rear.

"Everybody here?"

They looked around. Someone actually did a head count and came up with thirty.

Skirfir gave him a thumbs up.

"Since we're all a little ahead of the bell, let's go surprise the heck out of the lassies. Get a good roar going," he coached. "And out you go!"

He stepped back and let the lads lead the way.

They did indeed surprise the crew of trainee lasses, who'd been caught relaxing in the sunshine.

But the first lesson was that coming out of the dark of the mountain into sunlight meant they were all temporarily blind.

The first volleys of snowballs hit them before they knew it was a fight.

Kili grinned, waiting for the lads to organize themselves.

"Line up! Arm yourselves!" It was the Prince who urged them into action, being the only one who'd ever seen how fast a battle could erupt into chaos.

And the others stepped up, bending to scoop snow and fire back.

They actually routed a group of lassies from a ledge, gaining their stockpile of snowballs.

But four lads ended up mired when a small trap was triggered and a few feet of snow dropped on their heads, burying them up to their hips.

One of the taller lads organized a rescue crew, digging the extra snow away while the mired ones protected them with fire.

And that's when Fria, the Lassie trainer, plowed into him from the side and knocked Kili to the ground. He came up sputtering, eyes wide open from the icy cold snow down his back.

Du Bekar!He yelled again, neatly flipping her over. He could hear his lads answering back, a bit of fury in their cries.

But Fria had a few tricks up her sleeve. Before he knew it, she had him on his knees, one arm twisted behind his back and a piece of wood at his throat (the best she could do, given that this was an unarmed exercise.)

"Cease fire! Hands up, lads, or the commander gets it."

Kili raised his eyebrows, watching several of the lads comply immediately.

He caught Fjalar's eye, however, and winked.

"Let him go," Fjalar demanded, snowball at the ready. Mahal, the lad sounded like Thorin. "Or pay the price."

Fria laughed, starting a move that might have cut her captive's throat.

Except her captive kicked her legs out from under her. Kili had her face down on the ground with his knee in her back seconds later, his greater weight and size holding her there.

The lads went at it with renewed energy, gaining ground and demanding a surrender from the lassies.

The lassies weren't having it.

The lads kept firing snowballs, refusing to give up.

Kili relented and handed Fria to her feet, and together they stood aside and laughed at the course of the battle as it devolved into sloppy sprays of flung snow. One older lad had a ginger-haired lass in a position that might get out of hand if they didn't break it up.

Kili grabbed the trainee by his collar. "Leave off, lad," he pulled him up. To his credit the lad looked sheepish and surprised, as if quite shocked to discover he'd been grappling in quitethat waywith a lass.

Fria had the lass ten feet away, but Kili saw the trainee looking curiously over her shoulder, and maybe she was more than a little interested in giving his lad another shot sometime.

His lad looked flummoxed.

"I think that's a draw, Commander!" he called to her. "Lads! Time to stand down!"

The fighting ceased. Skirfir had his trainees lining up, all pink cheeks and heavy limbs. Kili patted the back of his errant lad. "You'll see her another time, I'm sure." He nudged him off to join his classmates.

"Lieutenant Skirfir?" he called.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get these lads down for dinner and some ale!"

A general cheer went up, and Skirfir had them on the move. Kili smiled, proud of them, though he had no worries about the ale. By the time they reached the dining hall, the lads would be so knackered that they wouldn't get past half a pint.

Kili watched them go, then walked over to Fria and her trainees. He bowed, one hand over his heart. "Good work, lassies! They sure weren't expecting that. You gave them a good fight. Mahal's blessing on you."

Fria returned the bow. "Thank you, my Prince. Glad to be of service. Our blessing in return."

He smiled at the trainee lasses and waved, following his lads to their dinner.

It was much later in the evening when Fili returned to the Annex. Dwalin was in his room for the night, but Nÿr was still up, several rolls of bandages and packets of herbs lined up on a table. She was packing a small medic's kit.

She looked up at his footsteps and smiled. "Your timing's perfect," she said to him. "This is about ready for Lady An. Just a few things for all the scraped knees and knocked heads I'm sure she'll be seeing while you're travelling."

He smiled. "Good thinking. She'll need it." He looked around the otherwise empty great room. "Kili's still out?"

Nÿr nodded. "I'm sorry that he's avoiding you."

"Not your fault. He gets like this. He'll work it out with himself." He sighed. "Or not. I still love him. He knows it." Fili changed the subject. "Dwalin looks a little better."

"We're dosing him with milkvetch, and we're making sure he's getting the right food and enough water. The seniors get careless about what they eat. They're as bad as the little ones, only going for sweets."

Fili nodded, but didn't reply.

"My lord?"

"There's one more thing I need to tell you before I go tomorrow," he said.

Nÿr packed the last roll of bandages into the little pouch and closed the flap, handing him the kit.

"It's something Fjalar overheard when he was caught by that slaghead and those smuggler men a few months back," Fili tucked the pouch into the crook of this arm.

Nÿr looked at him, concerned now. Fili's eyes were still, his voice low.

"Fjalar didn't understand it, but I did. Tell me what you think. He says they were talking about killing Sons of Durin, including Kili. They said:Orcs swear the poison already burns in that one's blood…add a little something the hidden ones are cooking up and he'll be finished."

Nÿr felt the blood leave her face. "Orcs know about the morgul curse?"

"Of course. They're the ones who used it—Azog's orcs. Out of Moria by way of Dol Guldur."

"Add something the hidden ones are cooking up and he'll be finished…" Nÿr bit her lip. Part of her wanted to deny the idea or collapse in fear. But the other, stronger healer part of her held her emotions at bay and her spine straight. "There's so little in the healer tomes about morgul wounds," she said, shaking her head. "This makes it sound like they have a second poison…there are such things that are deadly when mixed. Dwalin's milkvetch, for one. By itself it's good. But if a patient is also given bellflower for swelling joints, the combination is deadly."

"That was my thinking. And hidden ones is, as far as I can tell, a reference to Dol Guldur goblins hiding back in Khazad-Dum. We know they're there. We'll need to do something about them one of these days."

"Any idea what they used to make that poison in the first place?" Nÿr felt like her mind was racing now. "I know it's a spell, but if there's an herb or a mineral involved, counter-acting that might at least keep a second poison from having an effect."

Fili nodded. "I penned a letter to Rivendell after Durin's Day asking for advice. I sent it with the courier to Minas Tirith, hoping they'd send it on. That was before this new information, though." He shook his head.

"When I heard what Fjalar said," he continued, "I went back through my journal notes from the time when Elrond taught me the kingsfoil spell." He pulled a sheaf of parchment from inside his jacket. "I'll leave them with you. There's a note someplace about spider poison, I think."

Nÿr took the notes. "Thank you," she said. "I'll go through this carefully." She forced a deep breath, forced her thoughts to stop whirling. Research, she could do.

"Ask Kili if there are scribbles you can't read." Fili looked apologetic. "My handwriting's a bit sloppy."

She smiled at his boyish admission.

"If a letter comes from Rivendell, the master clerk knows to call you." With that, he gave her a quick one-armed hug. "And thank you for this," he said, patting the healer's kit she'd made. He meant it. "See you at sunrise?"

"Yes, of course."

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*A/N: Source for the Khuzdul phrases is (always) the Dwarrow Scholar's Neo-Khuzdul Dicitonary (available online; google it!)

Ubzûnat!= Run!

Du Bekar!= To arms! or, to battle!

Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil =I wish you a safe journey.

Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu= may Mahal's hammer shield you.