Chapter Nine

Fili, King under the Mountain, was thirty leagues east of Erebor and enjoying himself. The line of humble travelers' wagons rolled along at a sedate pace, and the ever watchful guard (including the secret ones traveling in the woods on either side) were consistently reporting all clear.

"How come we don't go faster?" His second son, Gunz, was perched on a piebald pony next to him, getting his first chance at riding in the open woods, a bright red hood covering his gold-brown curls.

"We won't be stopping 'til nightfall, Gunz. Can you run all day?"

"Yeah."

Fili nodded to the trail. "Hop down and give it a go." He looked at the sunlight through the leafy canopy. "I'd say you have seven, eight hours before we make camp." He watched Gunz work out the problem in his head and noticed that the lad didn't leave his saddle.

"Ponies don't get tired," Gunz declared.

"Sure they do. When you get tired, I can pick you up and carry you. When they get tired, they just stop. So we have to take care of them. That means a nice steady pace that doesn't tire them out before you get to the place you're going."

But by nightfall, Fili realized that while the ponies were ready to stop and rest for the night, he had three energetic young dwarrows who were full of pent-up energy and excitement. So he put them to work. Just because they were princes and a princess didn't mean they couldn't learn to unsaddle ponies, brush them down, pick their hooves, and give them feed and water. Not to mention petting and praise.

Now, in the last light of evening, all three raced in circles inside the perimeter of their camp, spinning, laughing, and climbing all over a large downed tree trunk. He stood like a sentinel, watchful, and they came to him every once in awhile to share a thrill or declare something amazing before running off again.

"They're all riding with you tomorrow," An declared, coming up beside him.

Fili grinned. He was certain they had been a handful, cooped up inside the wagon.

"Heck with riding," he said. "I'm fitting them with halters and lead lines. Let 'em walk."

An laughed. "Is it safe enough for a campfire?"

Fili looked at the glowing lights of the many other camps in the little grove. "I think so," he said to her.

"Hey, kiddos!" he called. All three leapt up from a bug hunting game and came running. "Who thinks they can start a fire with a flint?" He pulled three flints from his pocket, watching their eyes light up as all three held out their hands.

This was the best reward, Fili smiled, for all the hard years of fighting. His children out in the open, happy and carefree, learning to live life.

He only wished his brother could be here, too.


It was late when Kili returned to the family quarters and found Nÿr curled up in one of the leather chairs in the great room. She had a sheaf of papers in her arms and looked as though she'd dozed off reading. He recognized his brother's scrawl on the pages.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, brushing hair from her forehead. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes opened and she uncurled a bit. After a moment she nodded. "I'm sorry for leaving like that," she said.

He shrugged. "Dwalin needs to be looked after." He frowned at the papers.

"From your brother," she explained, sitting up to gather them together and set them aside. "The news about Lord Elrond reminded me that he'd given me these to read."

"His notes from Elrond's visit?"

She nodded. "Some of it, anyway. For example...Fili said Elrond taught him the athelas spell, but those notes aren't here."

Kili was silent a moment, then pulled up a footstool and sat facing her. He took her hands. "Nÿr, there's a lot that Elrond told us that Fili never wrote down. Things Gandalf said as well."

She looked up, her eyes revealing her intense interest.

"Mostly about Thrain, but I think the same applies to this news about Frodo."

Her brows came together in a frown.

"In their cases, the curse was affected, probably amplified, by rings of power. Thrain had one of the Seven. Frodo had the One."

He watched Nyr's expression changing as she thought through the difference.

"I don't have any rings of power," he said, looking her in the eye and spelling it out. "And I never want to see one. I won't even go near that Circle down in the King's Hall. Believe me, I stay away from magicked metal like it's an overheated forge."

"You think that's the difference?" she asked, her voice sounding small.

"I know it's the difference," he said, firmly. "Those rings meant that Thrain and Frodo were plagued by worse than just their morgul wounds—every waking hour. I only have to deal with one curse, four or five days a year."

She looked ready to object that four or five days was still too many.

He leaned forward now, holding her hands tightly. "It hasn't always been easy, and sometimes…it just gets to me. But here's what I know..." He looked into her eyes to be sure he had her attention.

"I will gladly give those five days to the curse if it means I have the other 360 with you, with my brother and the free people of Erebor."

She blinked, then slid forward with a little cry of protest, settling on her knees with her arms coming tight around his waist.

"If I could change it, Kili," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I would."

He smiled sadly and put his arms around her shoulders, rubbing her back and resting his head against hers.

"I know you would, sweetheart. I know."

Even so, Nÿr and Dwalin spent the next three days going through the old dwarf's personal effects, then through all of the books in her hidden study. Kili might be willing to live with his curse the way it was, but she was certain he hadn't been told about the rumor—the one about the hidden ones cooking up something to add, something that had the potential to finish him off.

So she was determined to double check every book on the shelves.

It had once been Balin's study, after all.

On the third day, she found what she was looking for.

A plain bound book about as thick as a piece of kindling. She had overlooked it in her first searches since there was no title on the spine. But this time she was methodically pulling every book off the shelves and checking the title pages.

When she opened the cover on this one, she discovered it wasn't really a book. It was a cleverly disguised box, and inside, a scroll.

"Dwalin!" she gasped.

He was at her side in an instant. There was also a loose bit of paper inside with bold handwriting.

"My brother's hand," Dwalin said, lifting the note. "Sanzigil-zigrel." He was quiet a moment. "Mithril-magic. Balin always marveled that the two words were so similar."

"Mithril and magic…" Nÿr said.

"Yes. One is the key to the other in the crafts. Sauron may have used gold, but Durin, oldest and wisest metal master, used mithril." Dwalin looked at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Always."


It was the same day that Kili, Prince of Erebor, had his trainees back in the lower levels.

"Today we climb the mountain for the fifth time, lads. But to keep things interesting, the game is changing. Today, we go up first and the lassies will follow. It's their last time today—so they are about to graduate on to arms training."

Thirty faces frowned at him. The lads didn't much like being behind the lassies in the training schedule.

"We will go in one group this time—so you'll need to stay with me and travel at my pace. Today's reward for making it to the top is a day off tomorrow."

The trainees murmured their interest in this. Kili knew they were ready for such a break.

"But here's the catch. The lassies are playing the role of orc-horde and they will be trying to overtake us. If you fall behind and they take you, you are out of the game. It also means you will be back here tomorrow for a second chance at completing your fifth climb."

Silence. Clearly, none of them wanted to be that lad.

"Those of you who keep ahead of the orc-horde and make it to the top with me are excused from tomorrow's climb. You'll get to spend the day getting an introduction to weapons training instead."

Gasps went through the group now. That was the prize worth fighting for. He saw instant resolve on all their faces. Fjalar looked especially keen. "Swords," he breathed. Several lads nodded.

Kili quirked an eyebrow. So the lad wanted the warrior's blade over an axe.

He went on. "Be forewarned that the lassies take their role as orcs very seriously. You've gone against them three times now with snowballs."

They looked grim. They'd yet to prevail.

"This time, we get there first and we will be the ones who get a chance to ambush them for a change." He grinned. "But the lassies will start only half a bell behind us. That doesn't give us much breathing room," he told them. "So, are you ready?" he asked.

Heads nodded. Some looked dubious. Others, Fjalar included, looked determined.

"What's that?" he made a face as if he hadn't heard them and wondered what had happened to their voices.

"Yes, sir!" one of them answered with gusto.

"Only one?"

They all roared now.

"That's my lads!" he smiled. In the distance, they heard the first bell after noon ringing.

"Du bekar!" he shouted and raised his fist, and they echoed the cry as he charged up the first flight, thirty trainees and their lieutenant at his heels.


On the last night before their arrival at The King's Hall in the Iron Hills, Fili revealed himself to his fellow travelers. He had to, since it wouldn't be fair to surprise them with it on Stonehelm's doorstep tomorrow. He tapped three of the ale barrels from his cartload and with the help of several hardy guards, made the rounds of the campfires, offering up tributes.

"Anyone want an Ale?" he called, interrupting dinner at one of the larger fire circles.

He was greeted with immediate takers and smiles, and royal children were instantly off in games of chase with other youngsters—something they rarely had a chance to do at home.

"Welcome, my lord," one of the grizzled wagonmasters greeted him with a wink, quick to help himself to a full flagon. "We thought there was something mighty familiar about the leader of that one caravan."

"Ah, foiled again," Fili joked along with him. "My thanks for your discretion, sir." He toasted the master and drank up.

The presence of ale barrels drew people from the other camps, and before long, the hurmelgang folks had merged into one large party around a central bonfire.

Fili had to break out three more barrels, and the other travelers brought out fiddles, harps, and drums.

An was quick to join the lassie's line, ladies-only dances that showed off footwork and boot stomping aand skirt swishing of the sort that brought roaring approval from the lads.

Iri and Gunz were sound asleep on a blanket at his feet by the time that the last logs were tossed onto the bonfire.

Hannar, however, the night-owl of the family, was wide awake and was a challenge to keep away from the fire pit. He was mesmerized by the blaze and kept finding sticks and other interesting bits of bark and leaves to toss into the flames.

When he picked up a long roasting stick made of iron and poked it right at the blue-white hottest part of the fire, he earned a roar of approval from a hearty group of smiths and tankards were raised in his honor.

Fili intervened before the youngster burned himself or worse, impaled someone.

"Get that one to the forge, sire!" the older fellows cheered. "He's natural, he is!"

"Is that going to be the way of it, laddie?" Fili asked his youngest son, who struggled when Fili lifted him up, only to relax when he realized he was in his father's arms. "Mahal's lad, are you? Future forgemaster, hmmm?" Fili kissed the top of Hannar's unruly head. "Your Uncle Thorin would be proud."

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THANK YOU for reading, I hope you enjoyed the Durin family fluff. :D As always, I invite you to like/follow/review, even if you just say Hi! Hand on heart to all of you... -Summer