**Welcome to story number five in my post-LOTR AU! These tales follow the course of a single year from one Durin's Day to the next. In a nutshell, King Fili rules in Erebor, his young son Fjalar is prince-in-training, and Prince Kili has just wed his intended, the Lady Nÿr, a healer's apprentice, mid-way through their courtship year.

While this work can stand alone, reading the prequels will probably help at this point! All feedback welcome, even if you're coming late to the story. A quick review or a PM will do! Mahal's blessing...and enjoy! -Summer**

Chapter One

Kili, Son of Durin and Prince of Erebor, was spending his first night away from the Mountain in eighty-one years.

And he couldn't sleep.

It had been uneventful so far, but he seemed to wake every hour, his ears alert to every night creature and rustle of dry leaves in the wind. They were camped in safe territory, he told himself. South of the Long Lake on the edge of the Greenwood on a road well-secured by riders of Dale.

But knowing that didn't help.

He finally rose, tucked the blanket around his Lady Wife's shoulders, and left their tent.

"I'll take the watch," he murmured to Vit, one of the seven guards who'd come along. Vit tipped him an informal salute and nodded.

"Nothing to report," Vit said in a low voice. "Pair of skunks went that way," he pointed. "A few owls out."

"Thanks." Kili settled down with his pipe as Vit stepped away quietly and retired to his bedroll on the other side of the fire pit.

The autumn stars were bright overhead, the moon low in the west and sunrise was maybe an hour off.

Kili listened, sat, and tried to calm his nerves. In all his 150-odd years, he'd never actually travelled south of Esgaroth. A morgul curse from an orc arrow and the lingering spirit of a slain dragon had changed his life...making him safe only when protected by the ancient magic of the mountain.

Everywhere he looked, things were different and the land was unfamiliar.

Of course it was. He'd spent half his life unable to leave the lands of Erebor. But the dragon curse that had kept him there was broken and the threat of being taken by wraiths was gone.

Proven again tonight, in fact. He was miles from any land with Erebor stone beneath, yet there were no dwimmerwraiths in the night. No dragon voice in his head.

No more reasons for Kili, Son of Durin and Prince of Erebor, to fear the outside world and the things dark forces could do to the people of Erebor through him.

Yet eighty-one years of torment left a well of fear deep in his gut that wasn't going to dry up anytime soon. It made him uneasy, even for a short trip.

Which this was. A ten-day jaunt to escort sixty sacks of much-needed gold to a rendezvous point. They would meet up with envoys from Rohan at the headwaters of the Anduin, on the other side of the Greenwood forest, hand over the cargo, and then ride for home.

Nothing to it.

And everything. He was miserable and even the pipeweed tasted off. He finished his smoke and tapped out the bowl.

Just before dawn he stood and busied himself with ravenspeaking. A small group of Erebor's birds had followed them, roosting in the trees overhead, and Kili put them to work as soon as the light graced the eastern sky and woke them.

They came and went, reporting nothing of concern for miles around. They were all back by the time he felt the comforting arms of his new wife wrap around him from behind.

"Did you even sleep?" Nÿr asked, kissing his ear.

"Not much," he admitted. He rested his hand on her arm.

He took is as a sign of how well she knew him by now that she didn't offer bedtime tea or some other strong powder from her healer supplies. Those things might help him sleep, but they would make him slow to fight.

Instead, she busied herself brewing strong bark tea, the kind known for spurring everyone awake.

Once the ravens were back, they quorked loudly for treats.

It cost him half a bag of mixed nuts, and still Corax fussed at him from an overhead branch.

"Go find your own food," Kili told him. "Have you forgotten how to hunt?"

What Corax hadn't forgotten was how to stake-out a campfire and scavenge breakfast.

Fili, King of Erebor, spent his early morning with a padded practice sword in his hands, sparring in the cadet hall. His eldest son Fjalar was among the first-year cadets and Fili had brought along his second son, Gunz, just to watch.

While Gunz was technically older than Kili had been when he'd started sword training, everyone agreed today that this was too young for the cadet dorms. But there was no reason Gunz couldn't get an introduction to arms by watching sparring practices, and he was already learning the basics of handling a practice blade. And all four of Fili's kids, his little daughter included, were pretty well versed at falling, rolling, kicking, and basic self-defense.

For Fili, early morning workouts in the sparring arena were one part necessary practice (one did not retain a swordmaster's skill without constant work) and one part necessary demonstration. One's cadets did not aspire to excellence without example.

Besides, Fili had learned swordwork at the hands of Thorin Oakenshield, a warrior who believed that no soldiers followed a king who couldn't fight alongside them and fight well.

So Fili stood in the practice arena, facing a fifth level cadet squarely, testing the lad as requested by Dwalin, the current Armsmaster.

The lad had confidence.

They bowed, took opening stances, and the sparring began.

Fili let the lad strike first, sidestepping the blow. He let the lad circle and strike again, deflecting it.

They circled. The lad lashed with a feint and Fili took one step back, ready for the blade as it came around, again deflecting it.

The lad's expression showed frustration. Fili could see that the lad was slow.

Fili attacked like lightning—his battle experience quickly evident to everyone else in the room.

Faster than they could track, he lunged, tapped his opponents thigh, then his forearm, then spun away efficiently as if to face an invisible new opponent, leaving the lad on his backside.

"Heyah!" Dwalin called, at which Fili lowered his sword and stood down. "That speed," Dwalin said to the cadets, "is what makes or breaks you in battle. You're not trying to make an impressive kill…you simply want to disable your opponent as quick as you can and get on to the next one."

Dwalin motioned four more fifth-level cadets onto the floor.

Fili raised his practice sword and let them come. After more than two dozen lightning fast rounds with the cadets left "wounded," a squad of guard regulars arrived.

"Stand down, lads," Dwalin called to the cadets, and they bowed to their masters. Fili touched hands with each of them, thanking them before they walked to the sidelines.

He left his practice sword with Gunz and strapped on his battle sheath with the real twin blades stowed inside.

Gunz could barely lift his father's practice sword, but he did, adopting ready pose. A few cadets laughed indulgently at the sight of the small lad so eager to try his hand. A raised eyebrow from his father had Gunz lowering the blade and standing at ease.

That, Fili reflected, would last about a minute.

"Get your short sword," Fili instructed him, "and work on the pell."

Gunz left his father's padded blade on the rack and took his own, facing a nearby vertical post with practice padding attached.

"Good lad," Fili said. "You can do what I do, as long as you only hit the pell. Got it?"

Gunz gripped his practice sword and nodded.

Fili left him there under the eye of a seventh-level cadet and re-entered the arena to face the squad of regulars.

"You may watch," Dwalin told the younger cadets, "but none of you are ready to try this exercise. Am I understood?"

The cadets bowed heads in acknowledgement, and as one turned eager eyes to the real treat—master level swordplay with live blades. Master warriors knew how to do this, though it was still dangerous…and that's what made it exciting to watch. There would most certainly be some real blood, even if accidental.

The squad of nine were fast—unsheathing and surrounding the King in moments.

Fili's twin blades rang as they whipped into his hands, and he made quick work through the guards, though just like real combatants they didn't stay down when they were hit. As the heat turned up, Fili evaded, spun, slashed, and struck until he visibly sweated.

But he was smiling.

At ten minutes, Dwalin called, "Heyah!" and the skirmish in the arena halted.

On the sidelines, Gunz's battle with the pell continued.

Fili wiped his forehead with his arm and grinned. He'd taken one swipe on his shoulder, but had otherwise come out unscathed.

"Leave off, lad," Fili told Gunz, laughing. "When the Armsmaster calls heyah, you're supposed to stop, step back, and bow. Remember?"

Gunz made an I forgot face and stepped back. He looked at his Da, his eyes alight with the thrill, and then bowed.

"Thank you, my young lord," Fili bowed in return.

An hour later, Kili's caravan had their camp gear stowed, ponies laden and saddled, and the seven guards and two royal charges were ready to go.

Corax bobbed his head from a fence post and Kili tossed him one last walnut. "That's it. My pocket's empty." He patted the flat spot on his coat and held up an empty hand as proof.

Skirfir, young archer and close friend, laughed. "I never realized what beggars they are," he said.

Kili made a don't get me started face.

"Vir says we'll be at the Old Forest Road by nightfall," he said, handing Kili a freshly filled waterskin before moving on to his own pony.

"Thanks," Kili said, nodding and hooking the skin to his saddlehorn. Then he walked around his pony to Nÿr's, ready to help her mount up.

She met him with a kiss. "I'm not going to break, sweetheart," she said, swinging herself into the saddle without help, flipping her single long black braid over her shoulder to keep it out of her way.

Kili shrugged, grinning. "I still got a kiss for my trouble," he teased.

She smiled at him, settling the reins.

Kili checked the line of ponies, reassuring himself that his crew knew their jobs, that everything was packed and in order, and then he got himself into his own saddle.

"Let's go!" he called. And the little company turned their noses south again for another full day's ride.

Skirfir rode up beside him as they passed through a wide meadow.

"So, tell me why we're escorting this," Skirfir said quietly, tilting his head toward the pack animals, laden with sacks of gold disguised as mixed trade goods. "In plain clothes like we're common merchants?"

"This is more a family matter than one of state," Kili told him. "At least on the surface. Officially, the Sons of Durin are purchasing settlement rights from Rohan so our cousin Gimli can establish himself in a place called the Glittering Caves down at Helm's Deep. It's only fair to offer compensation since its Rohan's land, not Erebor's."

"But I thought the point," Skirfir had said. "Was to give them aid to get them back on their feet."

"Yes," Kili answered. "Rohan's in a bad way. They lost many people and most of their cropland in the war. They'll need to buy much of their food for the winter. Hard to admit that kind of need without losing face, sometimes." He glanced at Skirfir. The lad had fought outside Erebor's gate in the last battle. He'd known how desperate Erebor had been not so long ago. "So making this a private agreement instead of calling it charity is more diplomatic. That's Fili's thinking on the matter, anyway."

"Ah," Skirfir said. "And that's why you're the envoy. Family business."

"I'm the envoy because my brother's kicking my backside out into the fresh air," he smiled.

Skirfir laughed. "He specifically told me to look after both of you," he said, embarrassed. "If anything happens, I'm clearly spending the next fifty years laboring in the lowest mine."

Kili laughed. "I don't know about looking after me, but an extra pair of eyes on Nÿr wouldn't be bad. She's an amadâl lass now."

Skirfir looked shocked. "And she's out? Riding ponies?"

"Calm down, lad," Kili grinned. "You've probably ridden out with amadâl lasses a hundred times. You just can't tell. There's no reason for them to be shut up at home."

Skirfir still looked concerned. The word amadâl meant nourisher, and it referred to the very early stage of pregnancy when there were no outward signs, yet the new mother already nourished the new lad or lass within. Dwarf lasses had long pregnancies, and the amadâl phase would last eight or nine months. Only then would her pregnancy start to show.

"Every midwife and healer says the same thing," Kili told him. "Amadâl lasses can do whatever they feel like they can do. A wise lad does not mess with his Lady Wife's instincts on the matter." He raised an eyebrow at his younger friend, suggesting that any lad foolish enough to try it would pay a price.

The road widened and Nÿr rode up next to Skirfir, having sensed the conversation.

"Besides," she teased Skirfir, smiling. "If we travel to the Blue Mountains next year, I'll be much further along. This little lad needs to get used to riding."

Skirfir's eyes bugged. "Lad? How do…I mean, congratulations," he gave Nÿr a head bow from the saddle, hand over heart. "But how do you know it's a lad?"

Nÿr explained that everyone called an unborn dwarfling a lad…with dwarves, seven of ten births were boys, so it was generally assumed that unborn babies were male.

"Of course, if Mahal surprises us with a lass instead," Kili added. "We'll be incredibly honored." But Kili knew the odds.

"There's a nice spring about halfway to the gate at the Old Forest Road," Nÿr said, changing the subject. She lifted her arm to call a raven. "We should reach it about mid-day, and I seem to remember sunberry bushes." One of the younger hens flapped over to the offered perch and Nÿr murmured to her, making a suggestion. The young raven's eyes lit up and she took off, flying ahead of them. Two of the others took off after her, including Corax.

"Good thinking," Kili said. "They'll scout the trail again just to get first chance at berries."

"How do you know about the spring? You've been here before?" Skirfir asked.

"Twice," Nÿr nodded. "Once before the war," she shuddered a bit at that, "when I rode to the Blue Mountains on exchange." She'd spent five years of her healer training there. "And then just about this time last year when I came back." She smiled at him.

Kili grinned. "Just before you broke your leg and gave me," he winked, "a chance to get stranded in a snowstorm with the intriguing young healer lass from Ered Luin."

The rest was history, Kili figured.

But an hour later the ravens were back, crying in alarm.

The ponies halted and Kili held up his arm as Corax practically pounced on him.

"Strangers! Strangers in the woods!"

Age references: Dwarves have a much longer life span than humans. I'm not entirely sure how quickly young dwarves mature, but if you'd like a reference for Fili's children: Fjalar is the equivalent of about a 15 year old human. Gunz (or Gunnar) is equal to a 9-10 year old. Fili has two younger children: Hannar, equal to a 6 year old and Iri, the only lass, equal to a 4-5 year old. They would have been born in the past 20-60 years, before the War of the Ring. (There is an age gap between Fjalar and Gunz, which Fili will lament in Chapter 11.

Note on names: I source most dwarf names from the Old Norse poetic Edda, the same source JRRT used. Fanfiction blocks URLs in the text, but if you google "The Poetic Edda: Pronouncing Index Of Proper Names" you'll find a handy list.

Please don't forget to drop me a note and let me know what you think! All feedback appreciated. Happy reading!