Chapter 21

The sun had not yet risen when Fili, King of Erebor, stood on the great western terrace of the Mountain and watched the moon setting.

In one week it would be a full moon, the third full moon since that crazy night when he'd raided the healer's halls, invoked the Mountain's strength, and restored the mind of his old friend Gloin. He'd enjoyed seeing Gimli's round eyes light up with amazement and see his joy at this gift from the Mountain–his father restored. Now, father and son were ready for another journey across the Misty Mountains. Together they would witness a great day made possible by with the help of Gloin himself: Aragorn's return to Arnor as King.

Fili's own spirits has risen at the celebrations and he'd quietly accepted his illustrious cousin's thanks.

But this morning he walked the halls of his own kingdom and felt nothing but sorrow. He knew who was not here. The list started with Thorin, included his nadadith and his second son…and more importantly ended with his beloved An…gone ten years now. An…

He heard footsteps and cocked one eyebrow, but did not turn to look. He knew who it was.

"You're out early," Fjalar called to him.

Fili glanced at him. Fjalar, his eldest and heir, who was about to get his first taste of truly running Erebor. The lad stopped a few steps away, hands deep in the pockets and a pair of hand-axes on his belt. Fili gave a small nod, then put his eyes back to the setting moon.

"Thinking about mother?" Fjalar asked in a low voice, also looking at the setting moon.

Fili nodded. His son knew his habits, of course. "And Gandalf," he said. "Something he told me the first year he came back to Erebor," he began. "When Dain gave me the Raven Crown." Fili stopped and shrugged. "Well, more like he threw it at me…but he kept his word to step aside."

Fjalar waited a long moment, then prompted. "Is that what Gandalf talked about?"

Fili shook his head and turned to look at his son. "I told him I felt unworthy in Thorin's place." he paused. "But he didn't reassure me–he talked about grief. 'Grief is an unforgiving and demanding companion, It can make you question yourself…it can leave you numb.'"

"It can keep you up at night," Fjalar added.

Fili closed his eyes a moment, recalling the way the wizard could be both scathing and compassionate in the space of two breaths. In his mind he could hear Gandalf's voice go gentle. You must always acknowledge grief when it shows up, Fili. It is a commanding emotion and does not tread lightly. It can give us perspective, but it can also overpower us if we don't include it in our lives.

"But it goes away," Fjalar said. "Eventually."

"I though so too, back in those days." Fili stood still. "But idoes not. It just stands in the back of the room and when everyone else is gone–there it is, as strong as it ever was."

"You miss Mother."

Of course he did. Everywhere he looked were places that held her memory.

"Do you know I brought her here at just this hour before dawn after we knew that you were on the way? We stood here…and looked west and looked at the…" he stopped, feeling the usual hollow ache in his heart and the blurriness in his eyes that came with the memory of his One. He waited until his voice would be steady. "Moon," he said. "We looked at this moon together."

After a long moment, his son replied. "Then I am glad to stand here with you again, Da." Fjalar's voice was deep.

Fili nodded and silently drew a deep breath, recalling the rest of Gandalf's words. And somehow, my good Son of Durin, you must tell your grief that you can rise above it, as the moon and stars rise above the Mountain.

To Fjalar, he said, "We are Sons of Durin. We know the sun and moon and stars will set, but we also know they find a way to rise above once more."

They stood in silence, side by side, father and son, as the moon seemed to grow larger and then dipped behind the mountains in the far distance, leaving seven bright stars behind—like the very image of stars over Durin's Helm and hammer that was etched in stone in the King's Hall.

"Of course," Fjalar finally spoke with a lilt to his voice. "Can't have you giving me the slip and leaving ahead of schedule."

Fili understood it was time to change the conversation from the past to the future, and he understood Fjalar's use of soldierly humor. So he smiled and turned to look at his son and used humor in return. "You've never forgiven me for sneaking out for that trip to the Iron Hills all those years ago."

"I heard about it two days later," Fjalar held up two fingers.

"You were in training."

Fjalar huffed, but he was smiling. "That I was. And I'm still in training, aren't I?"

Fili grinned. "You'll be in charge. You'll have Dwalin here." He slapped his son on the arm. "Try not to lose the keys."


It was little Elanor who first saw Merry Brandybuck riding up the Hill to Bag End. She picked up her tomato basket, only half-full of the little sweet spring tomatoes that her mother loved, and ran for the back door.

"Da! Da!" She dashed through the side gate near the bee flowers and nearly ran into her father. "Mr. Merry! He's riding up the road!"

"Is he? Careful with your basket, there," Sam said, cupping her head and planting a quick kiss on the top of her wild curls. Then he looked up, cocked his head, and sure enough heard the unmistakable loud and ever cheerful voice of Merry Brandybuck exchanging a greeting with one of the Bagshot hobbits. "We'd best get ready then," he said. "Tell your mother we'll want a spot of brandy in the front room."

Elanor nodded, and holding her basket tight in one hand, ran to the side door and disappeared into the Bag End itself. Her excited voice echoed back to Sam's ears and he smiled.

Then he set his spade against the fence and took the pathway toward the letterbox. Sure enough, there was his old friend and conspirator Merry riding up on a large pony (or maybe a small horse, Sam was never sure which) and here was young Tip rushing up from Bag End's little stable to bow to Mr. Merry and hold the reins.

"Sam! Just the fellow I'm looking for," Merry said, slipping off the pony and holding his arms wide. Sam made a quick hand-on-heart nod and found himself embraced by his old friend.

"Come—come inside," Sam turned to lead him up the short steps to the door. "Looks like an afternoon shower is nearly upon us. Tip will take your pony…"

Inside the foyer, both hobbits hung their jackets on pegs and Merry silently pulled out a messenger case. Sam's eyes widened. That's from Gondor, and I'd bet a whole cask on it. "Have you read it?" he asked in a near whisper.

Merry nodded. "Had to," he said, also keeping his voice low. "Courier needed a reply. Met him in Bree…the man's probably halfway back to Rivendell by now."

Rosie (pregnant once again and beaming with joy) appeared with a brown bottle in her hand and younger lass bringing along a tray of cold ham and fruit—Rosie exchanged a quick hug with Merry.

"Is this number nine on the way?" Merry asked with a grin.

"Number ten, I'll have you know," Rosie laughed. "Our little Primrose arrived early last year."

Merry stepped back as the younger lass used her hips to swing past him and take the tray into the front room. "And who's this?"

"Essie," Sam said. "Or I should say, Miss Estella Bolger." He looked at Merry and saw his old friend staring as the lass efficiently set a neat table. "Here to help Rosie a bit." He looked back at Merry and wondered if the cat had his tongue. "Essie," he continued, hand on heart as he continued the introductions. "My good friend Merry Brandybuck."

Essie bobbed a polite curtsy and met Merry's stare with frank assessment. Then, sensing that business was afoot, she and Rosie departed quickly, leaving Sam to pour two shots of Whitwell Grape.

Merry stared at the closing door longer than he should have, then, as if recalling his real reason for the visit, turned and opened the case and handed a precisely folded Royal Letter to Sam, who took it to stand beside the leaded glass window to read. Merry, he noticed, glanced back at the door where the lassies had gone as he picked up the shot glass and downed his drink in one go.

Sam gasped. "He proposes a ceremony…near Buckland?"

Merry nodded and refilled his own glass.. "He refuses to break his own law prohibiting Big Folk from crossing the River."

"So he wants all of us," Sam blinked at Merry. "To go to him…"

Merry was grinning. "As Master of Buckland, I've granted permission for him to camp in that glade north of the road. It floods in the spring but makes a fine fairground in summer."

Sam nodded. "And it's on the Bree side of the bridge."

"The courier says they will plan a ceremony of some kind before following the Brandywine up to Lake Evendim. And you're expected to be there."

Sam looked concerned. "You know I agree with the Blue Mountains folk…that we're still not sure Annuminas is entirely rid of all its vermin."

Merry understood Sam's concerns for Aragorn's safety. "He's still Strider, Sam. And he's got that sword. When did he ever fear a few goblins?"


Ever the early morning riser, Kili kept his schedule of being present in the muster station at the changing of the guard between the night and first watch. It was a habit he'd learned from Dwalin–to judge the tenor of warriors at a shift change.

He made his way through the crowd of incoming night watch, feeling like he was swimming upstream like some kind of dwarfy King Salmon, he reflected. He nodded and smiled at the lads, knowing their goals were simply to clean up and find the mess hall. In turn, they also knew to treat him as just another fellow warrior rather than their King when he was there.

At the back of the group, lads were stripping off their wolf-fur cloaks and checking weapons. He stopped next to one lad holding his axe blade up to the brazier light and testing its edge with a thumb.

Kili frowned a moment and then traded an assessing look with the wielder.

"If you're thinking it's time to visit the sharpening stone, I think you're right," he said.

"Aye," the fellow said. "Exactly my thought." With a nod, Kili put his hand on the fellow's shoulder and moved on.

He was not surprised to find his ushmar lad Skirfir (or Commander Skirfir, as he was now known) striding towards him with one of the Lieutenants at his heels. What did surprise him was Skirf's dark glower.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Brigands," Skirf said in a low voice. "Small group—maybe a dozen. Camped in the rocks downhill from Norkeep."

Kili's eyes narrowed. "Archers?" he asked. Norkeep was the terminus for the little-used back gate into Khelethur…and hidden archers would be able target anyone on that narrow road.

"Not that we've seen," Skirf said. "But I'll take Ingól here and take a look."

"I'll go with you," Kili said, grabbing a wolf cloak from a lad who was about to hand one to the armorers for cleaning. He slung it over his shoulders and nodded to the door as he urged Skirf and Ingól ahead. He quickly tightened his sword belt as he walked and silently accepted that a dozen incoming guard instantly turned around to follow.

Because if their King was headed into danger, they were heading there, too.

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A/N: hand on heart to all of you and I hope you are well and safe. Huge thanks to Jessie152 for her ongoing support and significant nudges to get more chapters out. There *is* a definite goal for this story, and as a reminder, it's in the RoTK appendices, the timeline concerning the events after LoTR...titled "Later events concerning the member of the Fellowship of the Ring," specifically the entry for S.R. 1436: King Elessar rides north, and dwells for a while by Lake Evendim. He comes to the Brandywine Bridge, and there greets his friends..." Of course, if a pair of certain dwarf brothers had survived the events of the book The Hobbit, there's no question that they would be involved. ;P

As always, feel free to leave a review, even if you're just saying hello. And a shout out to you, Celebrisilweth, for being a reader since the beginning of my AU on FanFiction!

The lads are bowing in unison to all of you. ((Hugs)), Summer