Chapter 14

Kili was all too happy to halt his small band of troops for the night. The Lower Outpost near the entrance to the deep valley he called home had plenty of guest rooms and it even had baths, thanks to natural warm springs. After a hearty bowl of venison stew and a soak in a wooden tub, his lady wife insisted on a thorough examination of his battle wounds (few) and the application of salves (enjoyable) along with the soothing sound of her voice as she told him all about the mischief of his two rambunctious lads (who were busy evading their tutors) and his quickly growing new daughter (who had learned to roll over) and all the other comfortable news of home and family.

Which had led to blankets in front of the fire where he could do those things he knew she liked, and she could give him every assurance that he was well and truly loved. Now she slept snug against him, her hand on his.

A good while later Kili woke in the wee hours (a habit of standing early watch) and lay staring at the glowing embers. It might have been this exact room, he mused, where Fili and I stayed that last night in Ered Luin. They'd left the next morning to meet Balin near the White Towers...and then join their uncle in the Shire. It was an odd circle of things that he had spent yesterday in the company of Merry Brandybuck, who seemed a little bit like (but unlike) the Bilbo Kili had known all those years ago.

And the questions…like his young lads, hobbits never stopped asking questions.

He smiled sleepily at the thought of seeing Sorin and Kirin again and holding his new daughter in his arms…how much has she grown? Will she recognize me? All these things floated in his mind as he drowsed in front of the embers with his beloved in his arms.

But his worries crept back as well. Would the Dunedain find Shadowback's magic? Had it been the right thing to do—to leave Gunnar with them?

And Merry's lilting hobbit voice came back to him: On midsummer's night there is to be a grand procession…pledging our support, all that…Oh, and a presenting of histories…just the War of the Ring, mind you.

And then a new voice entered his memory…an echo of Pippin from years ago when they'd first met in Rivendell: Bilbo never told us what happened to Thorin. Just that he died.

Dwarf funeral rites were private. It's true that Bilbo had been there…but to speak of it? Kili had said something bland to Pippin, as if he'd been too battle-wounded to remember much of those days.

But he'd been hedging. All these years later, the memory was crystal clear, and as he lay next to Nÿr, his thoughts wandered.

And then in his drowsy memory it was Fili's warmth next to him, and instead of a fireplace in Khelethur's Lower Outpost, they rested near a brazier in the cold rubble of Erebor's great hall…and he was a beardless green lad again, barely old enough to be away from home.


Kili ached. His shoulder, his knee, his gut…and his heart. But he rested his head on his brother's shoulder, so very grateful that Fili was alive, covered in blood and bruises or not.

Someone had brought them here…carried them hogback from Ravenhill to the makeshift post inside the great gate.

The battle was over, they said.

Won, apparently.

Kili couldn't truly think on it. He just sat close against his brother, shaking with shock at the days' events. In hindsight, he'd had no idea what a real battle was like before today. But he knew it now. All the training, all the war games, the skirmishes over the course of their journey…nothing came close.

The raw, fresh memory of the horrible events kept replaying in his head.


He ran, sword in hand, climbing the twisting stairs of Ravenhill just behind his brother. Snarling goblins and scrappy wolves came at them from everywhere—it was slash and hack…sword-spinning moulinets only when he had space for them. He was using a new sword, Erebor-forged, and he wasn't used to the difference in balance.

But oh, the sharpness of the double edges. The sword sliced through goblin armor like it was Bree-land butter.

"Yaaah!" He heard his brother slash at goblins, severing arms and pushing them back.

Kili swung left, then turned to slice through a goblin aiming at Fili's back.

"There!" Fili yelled, looking at the parapet above them and taking off at a run. "Thoriiin!"

Kili spun to follow. The tone of Fili's call told him he'd found their uncle but that Thorin was in trouble. He ran, slipping free of goblins and pushing himself to climb faster than they did.

He and Fili had one advantage: they'd been on Ravenhill before, they knew the twists of the path, knew where an outcropping could be used for cover.

Fili pulled him into one such protected alcove and together they turned and ambushed the goblins in pursuit. One quick and deadly exchange and the five goblins lay in a pile, blocking the narrow path.

Somewhere above, they heard Thorin's roar of anger and pain.

No! Kili didn't need his brother to tell him that they had to hurry. They charged up the last stairs, reaching the lower parapet and then...they saw them.

Thorin and Bolg, facing off alone. Thorin had too much blood streaming from his wounds: thigh, arm, head, gut… As they raced forward, Thorin went down on one knee, sword still up, but his balance wavered and he listed sideways.

Kili scooped up a stray shield and ran to intercept the heavy goblin, Fili right behind.

Bolg turned, roared an angry threat and took a wild swipe at them, but Kili and his brother gained the ground between their uncle and the monstrous goblin, swords and shields at the ready.

Together, they faced him. Bolg: ugly, half-disfigured by old battle scars and bleeding heavily himself, the warrior goblin had one weapon: a massive barbed warsword with a wicked curve.

The fight had been fast and furious, two on one, each of them drawing blood and landing blows until a trio of goblin archers shot down at them from the height, and three thick-shafted arrows found their mark in Kili's chest near his left shoulder—slamming against his chain mail with the force of sledgehammers.

Kili felt himself falling backward, losing the grip on his shield, landing hard. He struggled to rise but couldn't make his muscles obey…and he had no feeling in his left arm, no sense of balance. Everything spun...

He could just see Fili, alone between Bolg and Thorin, as his brother ducked the powerful sweep of Bolg's sword. Kili heard him cry out as he doubled over, blood flying…Mahal, no! Kili strained to move, to reach for his brother. He'd been hit!

But Fili rose, face determined, slicing across the wicked goblin's right side.

Behind him, Thorin was up on one knee.

Kili tried to call out as he saw Thorin make it to his feet, only to take a thudding hit from one of the same archers that had struck Kili. This time, the arrow lodged in his thigh and Thorin went down again. But it was the gut wound that he clutched, the gut wound that bled down his leg.

A low snarl made Kili look right—there, a sharp-toothed grey wolf came toward him, stalking forward step by step, eyes blazing as if daring Kili to even breathe.

And then a deafening roar as a beast the size of a massive bear took one swipe at the wolf and flung it aside, its neck breaking with an audible crack when it slammed into stone and fell in a heap. The bear-beast turned, took hold of Bolg in its jaws and raised up, shaking the goblin violently and then dropping him, limp.

Kili rolled to his side, relief mixing with alarm—this was Beorn, as they'd seen him in bear form…but he was enraged as Kili had never imagined. He saw Fili duck to stay clear, eyes wide.

"Fili!" he managed a hoarse call.

And as he watched, Beorn turned for Thorin.

Kili got onto one knee, desperate to protect his uncle.

Beorn reached one curved paw for Thorin and scooped him up.

And the next moment, they were gone. Kili felt his mouth hanging open in disbelief…Mahal.

And then he heard Fili's gasp of pain. Kili whipped his head around to see Bolg, who had managed to crawl forward, grab Fili from behind, and pull his head back. The goblin had lost his war sword, but he had a thick knife, and while his arm was hampered by injury and his face bloody, he was bringing the blade to bear with Fili pinned under his weight.

Kili reacted without thinking, stumbling to his feet and roaring a challenge as he raised his sword. "Du bekar!"

But the answer didn't come from Bolg…it came in the form of a dark and fearsome swirling mass of very large, very furious, feral black birds.

He swore he could hear them screaming battle cries: Kill! Kill! Kill! But instead of harming him or his brother, they went after Bolg…indeed, after any and all goblins. The archers above were surrounded, their bows knocked away, and they ducked, covering their heads, then collapsed under the incessant attack, bloody and quivering.

Bolg managed to turn and raised his blade to the sky as if to defend himself, but the furious flock was too fast and the big goblin lost his footing and fell to his knees.

Fili wrestled free, got to his feet, and while the ravens fervently ripped and tore at Bolg's grisly hide, managed to raise his sword and wield it like an axe—swinging the blade down with a thunk on the back of Bolg's meaty, unprotected neck.

Kili heard the solid sound of steel on bone as Fili pulled the blade free, and he saw the goblin's limbs go completely limp as if he were a puppet with cut strings.

Fili had severed the spinal cord at the base of the skull. Bolg was done.

The ravens seemed to shriek their approval, shooting upward and widening their whirlwind circle to include goblins all over Ravenhill, and Fili stepped back, blinking in shock at them.

Kili was nearly faint with relief, even as he looked left and right, alert for more threats.

But the flock was breaking up and the top of Ravenhill became suddenly eerie and silent.

"Fee…?" Kili breathed, barely able to stay on his feet.

Fili turned and stumbled toward him, eyes wide. Obviously, he thought Kili mortally wounded. Moments later, he was there, helping Kili to sit against him, looking at the arrows.

"Just stuck in my mail," Kili panted, reaching for one and breaking it free. When blood didn't gush from the wound, Fili took heart and pulled the other two himself.

"Mahal, Kee. I thought they'd got you…"

Kili struggled up, seeing the blood streaming down his brother's side and the deathly paleness of his wide-eyed expression. "You're bleeding…!" he said, unable to say more. The horror of it was still in his head. "Let me see," Kili was the one with arms around his brother now.

It was a deep cut across his back, across the shoulder blade…the goblin sword had sliced through the steel pauldron that covered the shoulder blade and bitten deep into the muscle.

Kili had nothing but a piece of his own undershirt, the hem of which he ripped free, packing it against the cut and lodging it inside his brother's gear. He got his arms around him, holding him close.

"Stay with me, Fili. I'm right here," Kili talked as he worked.

Just to make things worse, rain descended on the battlefield. Fili was shivering from delayed shock and blood-loss now, and one by one, large threatening ravens landed around them, forming a sort of protective circle, ruffling wet feathers and screaming their victory.

Oddly, Kili understood them. Their war-cry had changed. King! King! King!

But hearing it was like feeling ice dumped down his back. Who was King? Did they mean Thorin?

Or…Fili?


At the sound of someone stirring coals in the brazier, Kili came back to himself—sitting close against his brother inside the rubble strewn Hall in Erebor.

He knew now. Kili looked around at the wreck and ruin of stone and could barely accept the idea.

Thorin's dead.

The brazier fire flickered in the night, the only thing not wet, dark, and cold. He had vague memories of collapsing on Ravenhill and Iron Hills dwarves finding them in the rain.

"Kee?" he felt Fili shift next to him, felt his hand searching for his.

"I'm right here," he mumbled to Fili. "I'm all right."

Fili just nodded.

Fili's not all right, Kili grasped Fili's hand and held tight.

And then someone else was there. He looked up to see Oín looking down at them, his face stern and glaring.

"Up, you two," he said, gesturing for them to rise. "It's long past the time that someone should have tended those wounds."

Obedient to the elder healer, Kili sat up, trying to ignore pain and his numb, barely functioning left arm. He turned to Fili. His brother's eyes were glassy, his gaze far away.

"Up, Fee," he murmured, getting his good arm behind Fili's back. He braced his knee, then helped Fili stand. Oín reached out, clearly recognizing that Fili was in the worst shape.

"He's still bleeding," Kili said as they sat Fili on a stool. He tried to help Oín remove Fili's battle gear. In the background, medics from the Iron Hills were quietly bringing hot water and trays of bandages. Kili took his brother's sword and sheath, setting them carefully aside. Two medics worked to disentangle Fili from the battle-damaged armor and mail, and then they cut his leathers and shirt away.

Underneath, he was soaked in blood and one deep cut scored him across the upper back.

"Trapezius," Oín said, peering at the wound. "Cut goes with the grain of the muscle, though. It'll heal nicely, lad."

Kili sank to his knees in front of Fili and took his brother's hands as Fili clenched his eyes shut and sat, stiffly tolerating Oín's work.

The old healer cleaned the wound and assessed the damage…his white apron bright with fresh blood as he threaded a needle and started to stitch.

"Bring me the sulfur," Oín called. Medics stepped up.

Kili had watched, wide-eyed at his brother's tight-jawed agony as the stinging powder was applied. It prevented infection…and Mahal knew Kili understood the need for that. But he didn't like it…didn't like seeing his nadad in such pain.

And then Kili was next. Chivvied to a stool, a trio of Iron Hills medics stripped him of his gear, washed his wounds, and then took time to examine the livid, swelling bruises on the left side of his upper chest—the points of impact for those wicked goblin arrows against his chain mail.

"Like getting caught between a hammer and anvil," Kili murmured, unable to make fist when prompted. "It's just numb," he said, looking at the claw of his left hand as if it wasn't his. Then Oín firmly tucked the hand against Kili's chest.

"Let it rest that way," he growled. "Time will heal it." The medics added a snug sling to keep his shoulder still and the arm tight to his chest.

Fili was having his ribs bound when Balin appeared.

"Fili, are you able to stand?" he asked with urgency.

Kili swallowed, barely preventing himself from objecting. Leave him alone, he wanted to say.

But Balin was as serious as Kili had ever seen him.

"They're discussing succession. You need to be there, lad." Balin reached for Fili, and Kili rose too, unwilling to let his brother out of his sight.

They got Fili on his feet and got his arms into a clean shirt (though everyone could see the bandages beneath) and together made their way to the outer Hall where Dain stood snarling at Gandalf. Battle worn and testy, he had Thrain's Raven Crown in one hand, shaking it in defiance. "And someone get these carrion crows out of here!" Dain shouted. Indeed, five ravens took wing in alarm as he said this.

Kili looked at them, still wondering at the way the birds had swarmed Bolg in that fight, freeing Fili from the goblin's clutches.

"Not crows, Cousin," Fili said. His husky voice was clearer and louder than Kili expected.

One raven alighted on top of a fallen column, very near Fili's head, and bobbed.

"Ravens," Fili said firmly, letting go of Kili and walking slowly to Gandalf and Dain. "They are Erebor Ravens."

"Gah," Dain snorted, looking Fili up and down. "So your uncle's dead, lad." Dain's look said he doubted Fili's health as well. "The question is which one of us has claim to this mess."

"I do." Fili's voice was quiet and firm. Kili recognized his brother's don't mess with me tone, suddenly proud to see that Fili actually stood a good few inches taller than their cousin. He stood up straighter himself, despite the shoulder sling.

Dain laughed. "Your claim is nothing. It's indirect."

Beside him, Balin and Dwalin looked grave, glancing from Dain to Fili and back.

"I disagree," Fili said. "I am Thrain's grandson," Fili's voice was steady. "You are his cousin."

Dain huffed. "You are descended through a daughter. Not through the male line." He shook his head once for emphasis.

Kili narrowed his eyes. His mother had always been tougher than Thorin in many ways. What did her gender really have to do with it?

"Her Durin blood runs as true as Thorin's," he said, his voice stronger and louder than he would have thought. He stood next to Fili as if offering himself as proof as well.

Gandalf stepped between them and Dain, who was clearly preparing to say something rude, but a particularly large raven swooped past at that moment, quorking loudly and landing on the broken stone nearest to Fili.

"I am Roäc, chief of the ravens!" The raven's voice was loud and echoed. "We name this one King! The King under the Mountain is here!" He stood tall and looked around as if daring anyone to counter his proclamation.

Dain stared, clearly shocked to have understood the bird.

Fili looked completely taken aback.

But Gandalf smiled. "There," he said. "Spoken truly, I believe. Erebor's Ravens have the right of it." He glanced at Dain with a satisfied expression.

Dain swore something in Khuzdul and glared at the bird, then at Fili, then at the rubble-strewn main hall. He stood like that for several long minutes, jaw clenched, eyes going from Gandalf to Fili…then back to the raven.

Then Dain snorted. "Mahal, the place is a farking mess," he declared. "It'll be decades of work just to clean up the first level." He lifted his battle axe to his shoulder. "All right. Give me my share of the gold and I'll let the whelp have his chance. I make this condition," he glared at Fili, fixing him with a steely eye. "You have one year to prove yourself. Get this place operating on its own and in some kind of order. If you can hold the Mountain that long, I'll crown you myself." He held up Thror's Raven Crown, the one that should have been Thrain's and Thorin's.

Then, with a challenging glare, he tucked it under one arm and turned away, striding for the rubble at the gate. "Welcome to it, lad," he called back with more than a little sarcasm. Then he shouted to his captains. "We ride!" he ordered.

Kili stood beside Fili as they watched him go.

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said. "I think we can assume he's not going to stand in your way, can't we?"

"You'd best get to healing, lad," Balin had said, hands on his hips. "We've got a lot of work to do. Gather the company," he said to Dwalin. "We need to confirm Fili as our King in Waiting. Then," he looked at Oín and Gloín, "We need to get our plans in motion."

"One thing first," Fili demanded, sounding suddenly more like Thorin than any of them expected. "Bring me Bard and those bloody diamonds Thranduil wants."

Kili stared, just as they all did. The little circle of wizard and dwarves was silent.

But Kili understood. Fili meant to use Bard as the go-between to give the Elf King what he wanted—the thing Thorin couldn't bring himself to do. Fili meant to turn things around…get them on better footing with their neighbors.

Balin seemed to understand as well. "My Lord," Balin said, hand on heart. "I will bring them myself."

Fili had nodded once, but he looked suddenly pale and Kili stepped to his side, his arm going to his brother's aid.

"If you will come," Gandalf said to them in a low voice. "Thorin lies in state."

Kili looked up to see Gandalf holding out an arm, showing them the way.

And then they were there, together, at a tent that housed Thorin's body. Their uncle's face was at rest, his sickness past. His life's fire quenched.


Kili woke with tears on his face, disoriented…uncertain of place and time. He sat up in alarm, heaving for breath. He looked around, taking in the blankets on the floor, the glowing embers in the fireplace. Outside there were birds chattering in the woods and the windows in the little room glowed with pre-dawn light.

Kili placed himself back in the here-and-now. Lower Outpost...almost back to Khelethur...

And with him—his sleeping Lady Wife who shifted, then opened her eyes to look at him. Nÿr… He let his breath out in relief, raising a shaky hand to wipe his brow.

Warmth and light, she'd said to him in the past. Is what gentles grief, love.

He didn't need to hear her say it. Her actions told him as she sat up to put an arm around him and kiss his cheek. His hand found hers and he looked at her: her beautiful raven-black braid was coming apart, her dark eyes both loving and unyielding.

There would have to be more remembering of things he'd long ago shoved into a deep mine and forced himself to bury, but as he looked at his love, the healer who had changed the course of his life, he decided that dredging up those long past days could wait.

He had many far better things to do today.

.

.

.


A/N: Thank you for reading and hand on heart to all of you. I hope you are safe and well-and those of you working in medicine: I hope you are OK...you're true heroes.

Some of you will recall that much of this chapter was originally in Chapters 14 and 15 of Kingfathers, but before I start adding to the AU of Fili's Kingdom in THIS story, I felt it best to bring Kili's memory of my AU BotFA ending into the text of this story. And then there will be more to come in future chapters.

In other news: Comic Con San Diego is an online event this year and going on right now (free to view the programs!)

PLEASE check out Jessie152's KILI entry in the online Costume Contest! You can find it a couple of ways: on tumblr, her blog is Durincrafts (google it.)

Or google:

"Comic-Con Home 2020 Virtual Masquerade" and look for Kili - ! Super congrats to Jessie for being one of only 50 worldwide cosplayers to make the cut for the Comic Con at Home event.

FABulous!

As always, all feedback welcome, even if you just say Hi.

Du bekar, mellons. And ((hugs)) - Summer