A/N: Hope you are doing well and hanging in there during there very odd times. I hope you and yours are safe, warm, and well. Hand on heart to translation buddy Jessie152 who translates these chapters and simul-posts in German on the fan fik de site—and who also authored one of the scenes in this chapter! As you know, the first two stories of the Erebor 3022 stories had to be removed from this site when I re-worked them as original stories and put them on Amazon...but a hint: if you access the German fan fiction site (google fan fik de) you'll find them in German...and if you use Chrome and enable the translation function, you'll get the stories in English. Only slightly altered by Google translate, lol. If you've read/reviewed the originals, my heartfelt thanks for your support. It means a lot, mellons.
Hope you enjoy the new chapter-as always, any review is welcome.
Translations of Khuzdul words are in the footnotes. (Kudos to the Dwarrow Scholar for the Khuzdul vocabulary.)
Chapter 15
Kili woke slowly, aware of both the strong scent of alfalfa tickling his nose and the lovely warmth of his Lady Wife snuggled against him.
His sleepy mind spent a minute trying to reconcile the two, since he didn't normally associate his beloved Nÿr with the smell of alfalfa...and then he smiled, eyes still closed, and recalled his arrival at the Outpost last night and his first sight of his lovely wife in far too many days.
After all the greetings, reports, and orders to the Outpost commanders, he had taken her hand and on the pretense of checking on his mount, led her to a certain tack room where she had winked at him and opened the secret door herself. It led, of course, to steep stairs that ended in their own private room-underground and stone-lined, just as any dwarf naturally preferred.
He'd built the fire himself while she had spread the furs near the hearth.
Then she'd been entirely UN-romantic by swinging the kettle into the fire for healer's tea and insisting he wash up and tolerate a thorough exam of his battle wounds.
Nothing but a few bruises. And, well, that gash just above his knee.
He'd humored her need to reassure herself of his health, and then changed the course of their evening by kissing her soundly and doing some examinations of his own.
Time alone with her was the most healing thing he knew, after all. And if he was lucky, he could stay happily half-asleep in this cozy and private place for another hour.
Skirfir, Commander of Ered Luin's Royal Guard, sat on a rough wooden bench in front of a side wing of Khelethur's lower outpost, enjoying the early morning and the sunrise.
A bundle of raw arrow shafts sat on his knees which he had brought for straightening.
The outpost was slowly waking. Dwarves of the Royal Guard were emerging from the other buildings, brushing down their ponies, rummaging through equipment and having breakfast together at the fountain in the central yard.
Just in time, Skirfir thought by himself as he watched the morning go by. He had woken some time ago. In his first doze he couldn't quite place what did wake him. But the moment he had been fully alert he'd known. He'd jumped out of his bunk, having immediately decided to take the early watch in front of the side wing.
Skirfir was used to being on guard with his senses sharpened. He pricked up his ears, focused on the chamber in the building behind him. But now it was completely quiet there.
Skirf couldn't help smiling as he carefully worked on one of the arrow shafts with his knife.
The scrunching of heavy boots told him that one of the guards stroller near, a bridle over his arm. The lad hinted a curt salute to his Commander and was about to pass Skirfir, reaching for the door.
Skirfir kept a straight face and stopped the other dwarf with a distinct "Not now," while working on the arrow shaft.
"Pardon?" the guard replied, stopping abruptly.
''No admittance, '' Skirfir said firmly in his best commanding tone.
The other dwarf looked puzzled. The tack room was located in the side wing. "Just need a new buckle," he said, holding up the bridle. "This one is broken."
Skirfir shook his head. ''Get it later.'' Casually he lifted the arrow shaft to eye level and checked the straightness.
"But…why?" The guard blurted out. Normally, none of the Royal Guard would question an order from a Commander, but the lad was a seasoned veteran and had been in the King's duty for a long time.
"Royal decree," Skirfir said, putting on his best Durin-glower, adapted from his foster-father.
The guard gaped for a moment, clearly wondering what kind of royal decree would be about the tack room. He looked at Skirfir who remained focused on the arrow shaft.
Skirfir considered the questioning expression on the fellow's face.
Slowly and emphatically Skirfir shook his head.
The fellow took a step back, looking as though he didn't want to give any further thought to why entering the tack room was forbidden by royal decree. Clearly he decided to postpone the repair of the bridle until later. "As you wish," he said, putting his free hand on his chest, performing a brief bow before going back the way he came.
Skirfir watched him join his comrades at the well and then head for the mess hall to get some breakfast. He let his breath out, hoping no long and detailed explanation would be asked for the decree he had just imposed. He wondered if he had exceeded his authority as Commander of the King's guard. He immediately rejected the idea. He had done what had been necessary.
Another scrunching of heavy boots. He didn't have to turn around to know whose steps approached from behind. He had been with his ushmar [foster-father] and King long enough to recognize Kili by his footfalls.
"Morning, lad," said a deep voice and Skirf felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Milord,'' Skirfir replied and looked up at Kili. His Lord's hair was loose, without the usual ponytail and the two braids he'd got into the habit of wearing since he'd been crowned King. He wore no fighting gear this morning-only his tunic hung loosely over soft trousers and his sturdy boots.
Kili stepped over the bench to take a seat next to him. "Didn't I ask you to leave off with the "milords" a long time ago?'' he asked with a smile.
Skirfir bent the arrow shaft, testing the weight and spine, and smiled. ''Yes." He shrugged. "Did you sleep well, ushmar?"
Kili smiled, folded his hands behind his head and stretched his legs. ''Thanks, I did.''
Skirfir couldn't suppress a grin. "Good," he replied. ''And the Queen? Is she well?'' He tried to put on a neutral expression. He was quite aware that it warmed his foster-father's heart to have his rock-solid loyalty.
Ever since Kili and Nÿr had met and fallen in love, Skirfir had been their personal go-between. Since they'd married, there were few opportunities to secretly go between them with a little carved raven hidden in his pocket. These days Skirf had better ways to ensure the Royal couple's privacy.
Kili laughed. ''Yes, Skirf. The queen is very well.''
''Good to know it was worth it.''
''Worth what? '' Kili asked. Skirf could tell by the slightly puzzled expression on his foster father's face that he attributed several possible meanings to this remark.
Skirfir kept his eyes on his arrow making. ''I may have imposed a Royal Decree...'' Skirfir trailed off. ''I figured a King should be allowed to rest undisturbed after battle.''
Kili laughed out loud. "Skirf, laddie," he said. ''Priceless! I can always rely on you…always!''
Skirf acted the innocent and raised hands and shoulders in a 'I was just thinking' gesture.
Kili stood and patted Skirfir's shoulder. "Thank you," he said softly and looked toward the tack room. "I'll see if the Queen is ready for some breakfast. I think," he said with a smile. "That it's time for us to head for home."
Skirfir watched him go, stowing his arrows in their sheath with the intention of issuing all the orders needed to get ponies ready and their escort mustered. His ushmar deserved such happy days, and Skirfir was happy to help.
Iri, Princess of Erebor, crossed the long bridge to the Mountain's forges at a quick pace. She worked out packing lists in her head: if I only pack one book—the solution of eclipses, I think. Yes.—And I can carry it in my personal saddle bag. No. The that book was a tome the size of her father's crown chest. Maybe something smaller. I only need the charts, not the entire book… Maybe she could ask someone to copy these onto a scroll… But who knew which of the solutions (so many charts with altitudes and times...) were the ones she would need?
So she wasn't really paying close attention to the other people on the bridge who were suddenly making way for her in a formal manner. At the end of the bridge she stopped. One of the senior forge masters stood there in his official vestments.
"My lady," he said, hand on heart.
Iri stopped. Why the official greeting?
"He is this way," the master held out his hand, suggesting she go through the archway to the right.
She stared for a moment. Who? Certainly the Master would not be directing her to her brother Han in this manner. Was her father here?
Then she heard a familiar voice.
"Just don't change the weight of it, laddie. Though I'd not object to it coming back to me a bit sharper." The laugh that followed was unmistakable.
She made a quick hand-on-heart gesture to the Master and went as fast as she could—ran, actually—to the forge's ante-room. She entered in a very un-princess-like rush…though it was a perfectly fine greeting for the renowned dwarf within.
"Cousin!" She stopped on the threshold, waiting for him to turn, see her, and open his arms.
"Uzzzzzbadnâtha!"
Iri ran to him, heedless of the forge-workers all around, and melted into the embrace of her most illustrious cousin Gimli.
"My dear iraknadad…" She hugged him tightly, then stepped back. "What brings you here?"
"Ah, lassie. First, the chance to lay my eyes on my favorite princess. You get," he said to her, eyes shining, "More beautiful every day."
"Cousin…" she said, prodding him to answer her question.
He sobered. "And to see my father."
Iri nodded. Of course. Old Gloin was 247 this year—a venerable age for a dwarf and less active than he once was. In fact, much less active than he'd been even a year ago.
"Shall I take you?"
"Lassie, I well know my way…"
She looked at him with what she hoped was sober respect. "To the veteran's wing," she said quietly. "He's been there since spring."
Gimli looked at her, his expression still. Clearly he'd expected to visit his father in the family mansion.
Iri reached for his hands to convey her sympathy. The veteran's wing in the healer's hall had been established by her mother, Lady An, and it allowed an honorable place for the old warriors whose advanced age and fading minds meant they needed extra care. After a long moment, he nodded. "Aye, lassie," he said quietly. "You'd better lead the way."
Iri watched her cousin give a few last instructions concerning the repair of his favorite battle axe and then thank the forge masters. Hannar joined them as they made their way to the bridge back to the main halls.
"At your service, cousin," he bowed.
Gimli reached out a hand to pull Hannar into a one-armed embrace as they walked. "Ah, that's the fellow," he laughed, though his laugh held a little less mirth than it had earlier. "You've grown! Getting some weight on you, like a good, strong Son of Durin, my Hannar-lad." He laughed again. And so it was that two of Fili's royal children guided their famous cousin to the Healer Halls. Once there, the three of them were bowed into the revered Hall, to the clean and quiet ward with wide stone doors that led outside to a stone garden.
Iri stayed long enough to see her cousin's surprise and dismay to find his father deeply asleep and difficult to wake at this time of day. One of the elder matrons bent to Gloin's ear, one hand on his shoulder, and said, very loudly, "Your son, my lord!"
The old dwarf's eyes opened slowly, his grey brows betraying confusion until Gimli went to one knee and grasped his old father's gnarled hand.
Iri took her brother's arm and withdrew to the hallway, providing their cousins with privacy.
"I was bringing this to you," Hannar said, handing over a leather-wrapped parcel. "Both items, as requested."
Iri tucked the delivery inside her vest and smiled at her brother. "Thank you—and if you have time, go find father-? He's likely on the western terrace…"
Hannar nodded, and not being one to handle visitors well (he was always much happier immersed in his work) practically fled the healer's hall to run the errand.
The master physician arrived then, having been made aware of Lord Gimli's visit, and greeted her silently with a hand on her elbow. He looked stoically into the room beyond where they could hear Gimli's voice telling a story.
Iri excused herself to visit the veterans' day room, knowing what kind of conversation the Master was about to have with her cousin. It was never easy to hear that a parent was fading…she knew this, as she had heard it herself concerning her own mother. She would stay until her cousin was ready to leave or her father arrived.
She had just spoken to the last veteran in the day room (a one-legged old swordswoman) when a bustle in the hallways told her that her father had indeed arrived…accompanied by old Dwalin—still quite hale even as his slightly younger cousin had become frail and spent much of his time napping.
"I'm sorry, father," she said when she met him in the hall. "I didn't mean to shock dear Gimli, but I couldn't let him head for the family mansion and find his father gone…"
"Of course not," her father said, his voice husky. "Go finish packing, halawi. Zêl is looking for you…"
Iri nodded, but her father and old Dwalin were already looking toward the inner rooms where the Master Physician had gone.
Like her brother Hannar, Iri took the chance to flee.
Later that day, neither Fjalar nor Hannar joined Iri, her father, and Dwalin for a hearty lunch with cousin Gimli. It was a subdued and quiet meal, almost awkward with long moments of silence.
"You know we're packing up to make for Annuminas," her father said. "Elves assure us that the old Northern Road is passable."
Gimli nodded, making his way through a large helping of ham. He'd just quaffed his fifth flagon of ale, and Iri took the job of refilling it.
"Aye. I'm headed...or I should say we're headed that way as well."
Fili nodded. Everyone knew that we included Gimli's battle-brother Legolas. "Aragorn's requested that I deliver a timeline based on Erebor's archival documents," he said. "Starting with Thorin's journey from Ered Luin up to the siege here during your war."
Everyone knew this meant the War of the Ring. Of course, with the lone dwarf member of the Fellowship present, it was his war.
"That lad's requested a few things from me as well." Gimli said. He was the only dwarf who could get away with calling Gondor's King "that lad." Gimli shook his head. "I'd come to get my father's help with...well." Everyone was quiet for a moment, only the soft sounds of cutlery and flagons could be heard. "Aragorn's asked for a genealogy, if you will."
"Yours?" Fili asked.
Gimli paused, hand on his flagon. In a deeper, more reverent voice he said, "Durin's."
"Ah," Dwalin said, nodding. Fili was the current King of Durin's line, and by rights, even the famed Lord Gimli needed Fili's permission to share this with Gondor's King.
After a long moment, Fili nodded. "I think we can cover the key names up to you and I…" Fili said. Iri understood-the names of younger members of the family were purposely kept off the official lineages-for safety and to prevent a jinxed succession. She and her brothers would not be added until the day that Fjalar truly became King.
As everyone else at the table talked and while Dwalin called for a slate, Iri played with her pile of potatoes and considered the task. Of course, she had inherited her mother's collection of Genealogies of Erebor, which included the scrolls and charts privately passed through the mother lines. There might be something there to help with the project, but it was not her place to volunteer this closely-held information.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Dwalin addressed her. "Do not worry, lass. The official lineage includes a few ladies…" He winked. "Your grandmother will have to be listed."
Iri looked up, surprised. Then she grinned, sensing there was more. "She is only one lady, cousin. Why do you say a few?"
Her father poured more ale in her flagon. "There are two others. Nain...one and two," he winked.
Iri stared. "Nain I…? But...he's...she's...listed as King…!"
"Aye," Dwalin said. "By design."
Iri bristled.
Gimli was chuckling. "Men and elves can't tell the difference, lassie. No need to confuse them. If she wears Durin's crown, she is called King."
"And you'll have to include my grandmother as well," Dwalin said, raising his flagon to Iri.
Iri gasped. "Farin?"
Dwalin smiled.
Oh my, Iri thought. Out loud she asked, "Does Beka know?" Dwalin's warrior daughter always wanted information about the history of dwarven shieldmaidens.
Dwalin thumped his flagon down on the table. "Of course, lass." He lowered his voice. "But it's a detail only for the family."
Iri quickly nodded her understanding, still trying to mentally adjust her mother's genealogies in her head. Had her mother known…?
"And of course Dain descended from Nain of the Iron Hills…" Fili added.
Iri couldn't help raising her brows. A third Lady Nain?
Across the table, Gimli's face was frozen in shock.
Fili poured more ale for Dwalin. "Which is exactly why he didn't really challenge my right through Thorin's sister."
Iri blinked as Gimli laughed. Of course. "Ah," she said, smiling. "Now I understand why Dain Ironfoot made that bargain with you."
"Yes," her father said with a cheeky grin.
Dwalin nodded. "One year to clean the place up."
Fili raised his flagon in a toast to cousin Dain Ironfoot, now among the war dead. "And to make peace with our neighbors."
The cloudless sky over the Blue Mountains made the perfect backdrop for Kili's ride from the Outpost to the deep valley of Khelethur, his Lady Wife at his side.
He knew the way, having traveled the forested road during the many adventures of his long childhood, many years ago.
And childhood in Khelethur was firmly in his mind. In particular, the childhood adventures of his two older children (the youngest wasn't walking yet and would be snug in her nursery.) Everywhere he looked, he saw the old landmarks of home: the gap in the tall trees that opened into the hidden valley, the stone bridge over the rushing stream…the wooden pony trough in the sunny meadow.
He looked up when a raven quorked and hovered, but it was his Lady Wife who raised her hand for the message.
"Ah," she said.
Kili looked at her, his heart warmed to see the sun spark off the sapphires twined into her long, coal-black braid.
Her bright green eyes met his and, as it had all those years ago when they'd first met, his brain stalled.
"If you want to greet them," she smiled, "They are looking for you from their watchtower on the old craggy rock."
Kili returned the smile and would have acted on his urge to kiss her just behind the ear...had they not been two arms-lengths away and riding on separate mounts.
Nÿr slowed her pony Honeybee, and she lifted an eyebrow at him.
Kili couldn't answer. He knew what she waited for. He stopped his pony and dismounted like a Commander reacting to a cry of alert. He strode forward, his steps longer than most dwarves, and looked to his right, scanning the tall green meadow-grass for a certain narrow footpath.
There.
He brushed through the tall grass and into the closer-cropped meadow, spotting the old craggy rock that stood only a little taller than himself and held a dwarrow-sized watch tower—and then he heard the distant shouts of his own young lads.
He opened his arms wide as he walked, seeing them jump to the ground (maybe Sorin fell…) and start running, their dark hair flying.
When he was ten steps away, he dropped to one knee,
And then his sons plowed into him, making him laugh as he struggled to stay upright while they jumped and wriggled like puppies, their cries of Da! And You're back! filling his ears.
"Yes, lads," he said in a deep and soothing voice, grateful to feel them tight in his arms. "I'm home."
.
.
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A/N Hope you enjoyed some fluffy dwarf family moments. :D
About the genealogy Gimli talks about: in Appendix A of RoTK, there is a chart of the Line of Dwarves of Erebor...with this note: "The Line of the Dwarves of Erebor as it was set out by Gimli Gloin's son for King Elessar." In addition, Gloin's life dates (in the lower right hand) show he passed in Fourth Age year 15...which (in the Appendix B timeline "later events concerning the members of the Fellowship of the Ring" is the same year as S.R. 1436 (if I did the math correctly) when "King Elessar rides north and dwells for awhile by Lake Evendim." (Annuminas.) So, while part of this chapter is fixed in Canon, please forgive me adding my AU and enhancing the legends that led to Fili's accession to throne of Erebor. ;p
Khuzdul words:
ushmar = guardianship. (Refers to the Dwarf tradition in which older male dwarves adopt a fallen warrior's underage child and take on the role of paternal mentor, as Thorin did for Fili and Kili, and here Kili for Skirfir. Ushmar is generally practiced by a warrior who witnessed or discovered the death of the parent in battle. Kili, Prince of Erebor at the time of Skirfir's father's death, could have passed that responsibility on to someone else, but of course he didn't have to think twice about doing it himself.) See Erebor 3022 Story 4, Chapter 3.
Uzbadnâtha = princess
iraknadad = literally: family brother (= cousin)
halawi = honey, or "my sweet"
Hand on heart to all of you and my best hopes that you and yours are well.
Summer
