Chapter 23

Fili, King of Erebor, did not know that his brother was busy protecting his Kingdom. But on that same morning, Fili stood in his ready room inside Erebor adjusting his coat in front of his antechamber's mirror. Satisfied, he strode for the main hall. His armed guard joined him at the massive doors to the Great Hall and formed a phalanx.

Well, here's some formality I'll be happy to leave behind for a while, he thought. How many years had it been since he'd been able to leave his quarters with no one other than his nadadith at his side? Of course, he acknowledged, in those days Erebor had a population less than a thousand dwarves and most of it was still a ruined wreck. He did admire it now, all polished green stone and glowing braziers…yet he had not been raised to halls this grand.

As he approached the Gate, a line of warriors stood at attention, and in a show of precision drill, turned and split the line, creating a corridor of axes and swords for him to pass. Reflexively, his hand went to his heart as a gesture of thanks. He spotted the commander, his own cousin Dwalin, and nodded for him to follow. Two younger dwarves fell in behind and together the four of them passed the gate into a cool and sunny Mountain morning. Some distance downhill the escort stopped and Fili led the way to a single staircase. Dwalin and the youngsters followed. At the top, he strode onto the broad parapet of Ravenhill–off limits to anyone who was not a Ravenspeaker.

He paused at a stone carved raven that faced south. Here, he scanned the sky, holding out a hand full of nuts and whistling a quick two-note call.

It was meant for one bird only and Fili did not have to wait.

Kruut, current Chief of the Erebor flock, swooped low and passed overhead without a sound. Fili lifted his arm and moments later, Kruut alighted.

He was a raven of exceptional size, but Fili's arm remained still and straight as he turned to show the great bird to Dwalin and the two youngsters: their own first borns—Fjalar, Prince of Erebor, and Beka, daughter of Dwalin, and Second Captain of the Guard.

Fili let the raven ruffle his feathers at the group. He was, after all, used to getting Fili's private attention. Except that was why Fili had come to this place with his kin.

"Welcome Kruut, Chief of the flock." Fili honored the Chief with a formal greeting.

Appropriately, Dwalin, Fjalar, and Beka bowed deeply, hands on hearts, murmuring "at your service" to the chief.

Fili smiled at them, then looked back to the raven. "Thank you for answering my call, Kruut."

"King," the raven said. "King calls."

"Yes. Great bird." Fili answered. "And here are Nut Head and King-but-not-King…and you know Mountain Lassie." Dwalin, Fjalar, and Beka placed hands on heart in turn.

"Yesssss…" Kruut bobbed and then bent to rub his beak back and forth on Fili's gauntlet as if sharpening it.

"I will leave tomorrow for a long walk. I will go to the land of hobbits and beyond. It will be summer and then autumn before I am back. We've talked about this."

Kruut stopped his beak sharpening and looked up at Fili. "Ravens will help. Will fly with you."

"Thank you. I am honored," Fili said. "But you, Chief of the War Flock, must stay at the Mountain. You will talk to King-but-not-King as you talk to me." At this, Fili stepped toward Fjalar. "Listen to me. King-but-not-King will be King Prince now."

Kruut stood up straight as if surprised. He looked at Fili, then shifted position to look at Fjalar, cocking his head in a gesture that made Fili wonder if the bird was skeptical. "Almost King?"

"Yes. But like King while I am away. King Prince."

For a moment Fili wondered if Kruut would accept the change. Fjalar of course knew the Raven Chief well and offered his arm at just the level Kruut liked.

"Like King…?" Kruut's tone seemed surprised. "King Prince?"

"Yes," Fili said firmly, and they all waited a long moment, still and silent.

Then the raven spread his wings as if to fly, hopped from foot to foot, and then went still, looking from Fjalar's sturdy arm to his short Durin beard and long braids…and then quite suddenly made a hop to Fjalar's arm.

He made a show of folding his wings with much fluffing and feather-settling and then fixated on one of the coat buttons in the shape of Fjalar's sigil. He touched it with his long black beak, feeling the shape of it.

Everyone remained still.

"Ruk, ruk. Ruk…" Kruut muttered. Then he stood tall again and let out a very loud proclamation: "King Prince!"

Even Fili's eyebrows went up at the loudness of it.

And then Kruut launched into the sky and called his subjects. "King Prince! King Prince here!"

As the flock gathered and began to swirl in their curiosity, Fili quietly stepped away and headed for the steps that would take him from Ravenhill back inside the mountain, leaving Dwalin and Beka, their heads tilted back in awe, to witness the flock's acceptance of Fjalar's new status.

As (Why 'As'?) Fili jogged down the narrow stairs back to the line of warriors standing at attention, and he approached the Great Gate with the purposeful stride of a King. But he did stop and turn back one more time to see the flock over Ravenhill. The gathering of ravens looked excited: the kind of aerial turns and swoops that signaled happiness.

Dwalin would report later, he knew. Yet he didn't need to hear from his cousin that his son was happy. Fjalar was born to Erebor as he, Fili, was not. And with a feeling that some of the weight on his shoulders has lifted, Fili smiled. I guess I can go now, he said to himself. With that, he turned and walked briskly through the gate and directly back to his quarters. At sunrise tomorrow, he would be departing Erebor from the Western Terrace.

He suddenly recalled the happy face of a certain hobbit who had lived an astonishing long life for one of his kind and snorted. Yes, I'm ready to go now, he thought, as if talking to Bilbo. After all, there is one more thing to do as the final close to our long adventure.


Iri tried to sit still while Zel made sense of the riot of long curly hair that fell to her waist. It was the color of pale Citrine, like her father's, and as soon as the sun rose, she and Zel would be joining him.

"This must be simple but hold fast," Zel said, dividing the hair into sections. "No sense being elaborate when traveling."

"And maybe fighting," Iri said added, hearing an excitement in her voice that she immediately regretted. "Not that I would want anyone to be injured…" she added, schooling her expression to one of solemnity.

Zel had five sections of hair firmly in hand and pulled tight as she began a main braid high on the back of Iri's royal skull. "If it comes to fighting, we must stay near your father," Zel murmured as she pulled hair tight, twisted it, and pulled again. "He will be best defended, and he is the most skilled warrior. Hold this," Zel placed a heavy rope of braided hair in place, guided Iri's hand to the best position, and readied a large clasp to secure the upper braid, centering it. "There," she said, nudging Iri's hand to release her hold.

Zel then went to work on the remaining cascade of hair, forming three tight braids that fell down Iri's back.

"I wonder that my father intends to leave Erebor forever someday," Iri murmured.

"He misses his brother…" Zel answered in a quiet voice. "But Fjalar must be 82 first. That's a few years away still. I have no doubt we will all be back by this time next year."

"Yes, of course," Iri answered. But as Zel began to weave the three long braids into one long tail, her thoughts went elsewhere, to the last time many years ago when she had seen her Uncle Kili. King Kili, she reminded herself. Of Ered Luin…


When the chamberlain bowed and handed a message to her, Iri did not think to relay it to her father. She did not think he would hear anything, even the voice of his only daughter. He was stricken. Silent. Head in hand. He'd touched no food or drink for several days, sitting still as the stone around him.

It was grief, she knew. She felt it herself. Her mother…gone. Nearly two weeks now. Some whispered that the funeral must be allowed to take place, that the King must return to his duty. But Iri agreed with her older cousin Dwalin. Her father would not budge until…

Hand on heart, she made a quick nod to dismiss the chamberlain and unfolded the note. Written in her brother Fjalar's strong script: Ravens report two elves and one dwarf approaching fast on the road from the Greenwood.

Iri knew who it must be. Silently she tucked the note into her belt pouch and slipped out the side door, knowing her father likely didn't notice. Then, one hand lifting her long mourning robes, she ran through the King's passages that led to Erebor's Western Terrace, to the Ravenspeaker platform where her eldest brother stood watch.

She was not surprised to emerge into a gloomy and rainy evening. The stones dripped and water pooled…as if the very Mountain wept at the loss of its Queen.

Her brother turned at the sound of her running footsteps and descended the platform, tightening his sword belt. "They come," he said, motioning her to join him as they jogged toward the lower Bailey where visitors entered.

They took the steps down just as the guard formed an out-ward facing barrier ahead of them.

"Let me pass!" Fjalar commanded, and he plowed a way through. Iri stayed with him.

"Lassie!" one of the Captains gasped. "Stay back!"

Iri ignored him and shouldered her way through to see two tall elven horses with three cloaked riders…one of whom was a Dwarf sliding expertly to the ground, his hooded dark cloak slick with rain.

The dwarf strode forward with a confidence Iri instantly recognized, even though she was two-hands taller since she'd last seen him.

She could not help herself and ran forward. "My Kee!"

The dark-cloaked dwarf caught her in his strong arms. "Lass…!" he murmured. "I'm soaked. Have a care!"

She felt her heart ache and tears swell…here was the one who could help her father. Here was her beloved Uncle.

"Who seeks entry to The Mountain?" Iri heard her brother calling the formal words, sounding not quite as stern as usual.

Her Uncle's arms remained tight around her. "I, Kili of Ered Luin, brother to your King…and my escort…the elves Tuilind and Yanu, well known to your Kingdom."

"Permission to enter…my Lord and friends."

And then her Uncle's arm left her and as Fjalar approached, encircled her brother as well.

"Where is he?" Kili's voice sounded rough.

"Inside," Fjalar answered. "He sits in mourning." Iri saw her brother swallow, then lower his voice. "He has not allowed the ceremony."

"Mahal," Kili murmured, pulling back. "I must go to him."

Fjalar nodded, blinking.

Iri met her uncle's gaze, his expression bleak. "I will take you," she said.

Her brother made the command gesture for " Allow them to enter" and a few of the guard stood back to make an opening.

Iri lifted her (now damp) skirts to lead the way, and behind her, she heard her uncle speak quickly to her brother. "See to my escort and the horses, if you will." And then she heard his steps behind her.

She knew the way through the King's passage in the dark, and it took only a few minutes to navigate the twists and turns, the three locked doors, and the one with the secret deadfall trap. Then she was at the door to the chamber where her father sat still as stone, guarded by seven warriors and lit by two glowing braziers. No one questioned her or the dwarf with her.

But she turned before opening the door, offering to take his dripping cloak.

"He hasn't spoken a word since…" she said while he swung the cloak off his shoulders and handed it not to her, but to the Chamberlain's assistant. Their eyes met for a moment, and he was silent for a long moment.

"I understand," he said softly, his voice deep. She saw then, the changes in the beloved uncle she knew as a child. His beard, still trim, was longer by a hand-width. His side-braids held blue gems within his sigil, and his expression was careworn…but also more certain and made of a steel she didn't recall.

Of course, she realized. He is a King now…with his own Kingdom. She made a quick hand-on-heart and opened the door and let him enter. He touched her shoulder briefly as he passed and strode across the room and went on one knee before the King's chair, his hands reaching for her father's hands, one limp on the arm of his chair, the other held against his head.

"Nadad," she heard her uncle say in a deep, gentle voice. "I am here."

Iri held her breath. Would her father notice?

Then she saw her father lift his head just a little and draw a deep breath. One hand slowly moved to grasp his brother's hand.

"Nadadith…" he said hoarsely, leaning forward until forehead touched forehead.

When Iri saw her uncle pull him closer and embrace him, she stepped back and let the door silently close.

When her eyes met the eyes of the Chamberlain, the fellow's concern and relief mirrored her own.

With tears welling in her eyes, she reached out to grasp the fellow's arm. "Let them be," she said, and then turned for her own chamber, hoping to reach it before exhaustion and tears overcame her.

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A/N: Thanks for reading-spoiler alert: next chapter Fili, Iri and Zel will actually depart from Erebor and get going on their trip to Annuminas and rendezvous with Kili!

I haven't yet watched Amazon's Rings of Power, but very excited to start-and was hugely lucky to see the Rings of Power in Hall H at San Diego Comic Con! Bear McCreary and an orchestra starting the program was epic...and of course Stephen Colbert (so wild!).

If you're a new reader and are reading this note, welcome-please leave a note a say hi. And welcome back to all my friends here on FFIC-hope you're doing well. Feel free to leave a note and say Hi!

Cheers,

Summer