Epilogue: Say goodbye to your brothers

Summer TA 3018

Dwalin could hear the swift clash of blades before he entered the practice hall, the metallic shrieks of the blades coming so fast that their noises blended into each other. He knew of course who was sparring in there, there were only two people who ever practiced in that hall, excepting himself. Shortly after Anvari's formal adoption Kíli had asked Dwalin to never send someone else to that hall and Dwalin was maybe the only dwarf in all Erebor who knew why. Thus he was careful when he opened the door of the hall, he knew all too well that he was walking in on an unfettered spar with two warriors of sharp reflexes. He was just through the door when both fighters broke off their duel and came about, two blades flying in his direction, hitting the door left and right of his head without harming him. Dwalin grinned, it was a game one could play among few warriors only. He inspected both blades beside his head and yanked them free of the door. "Sloppy, Anvari, your aim was off by a full finger," he said as he handed the sword back to the young warrior, who had the grace to look chastised, while Kíli took back the sword with a grin.

"Want to join us? I could do with a spar against two." Kíli asked, sheathing the blades for now.

"Much as I'd love to remind you that all the fancy elven tricks you learned are nothing against a solid dwarven axe – there is no time for that. A Drakhár has been sighted approaching the Mountain, in broad daylight. That means it is a messenger – an open parley sent from either the Easterling Empire or Mordor itself. Which might be one and the same these days. Thorin wants you two up in the throne hall when they arrive – he said he wants you to look unfriendly."

"What could an Easterling messenger want here?" Kíli asked. "We can hardly have an ambassador of them at court – the ambassador of Gondor would drop from shock."

"If I knew what Jadhur is up to, I'd offer any insights." Dwalin told him. "He may want to strike a temporary armistice to not having two fronts to fight on, which means he is ready for war."

"I keep forgetting you fought for him in the Sucession," Kíli said, thoughtfully. "is this Emperor really still the same whom you fought for? It was more than a century ago."

"He was 'elevatated by the darkness' or that's what they call it in the East. Many of their great Emperors have ruled for centuries, and Jadhur took his worship at the Dark Temple very seriously." Dwalin grumbled, he rarely spoke of his time in the war of the twins, it invoked memories of a life that had little in common with his life now, though he was grateful for those years – they had taught him a lot about the East and their armies.

"Let's find out what they want – I hope it's not another whispy. Anvari – armory." Kíli strode from the practice hall to quickly wash and then go to the armory. Dwalin followed them, be it only to assist in case it was necessary. Strictly speaking it was rude to receive any diplomat, no matter how well disliked, in full armor. Yet the Mountain hardly knew Kíli other than in full armor and armed to the teeth, if Fíli was the wisdom and guidance of the Princes, Kíli was the warrior, the defender of the people. And in this case the reception in armor and weapons would make clear the East was not welcome here – it would sent a message of strength, and that was the only tongue the East clearly understood.

The Drakhár's wings flapped before the lizard flew up again, Trakhaine not looking after it as it gained height. Instead his eyes went to the man by his side. "Full circle – I haven't seen this place in seven decades; they truly built the mightiest fortress of the north here. Do not get flustered, they'll probably have their war master greet us."

"Dwalin Bloodbane?" Idramar asked as they strode towards the Mountain gate, "if so I do not envy the captain who'll have to lay siege to this fortress."

Trakhaine laughed, actual mirth echoing in his voice. "I do not envy anyone who gets under his axes. This Mountain is the major obstacle for any conquest of the North. Silent now – they might know our tongue."

To his surprise Trakhaine found that they were greeted by a full guard detail, and not half as rude as he had expected, though it was clear they were not truly welcome. Nevertheless they were allowed through the main gate and escorted to an audience with the King under the Mountain, which was more than he had expected. In many a case of such negotiations things ended with a debate at closed gates. They were led into a vast audience hall underground. Swiftly Trakhaine's eyes surveyed the people present. Thorin II Oakenshield stood armored in front of his throne, at the age of 250 years his long hair and beard had turned silver, though his imposing figure was unbowed. To his right stood his son, Prince Kíli, he too was in full armor and stood with an equally dark-haired young warrior, probably his son. Trakhaine's knowledge of the youngest generation of this house was fleeting at best, there were too many of them to tell apart, their spies had said. To King Thorin's left stood his other son, Prince Fíli, only lightly armored and like the bright mirror image of his darker brother, he too stood with a youth that was fair as he was – another son most likely. The symbolism was not lost on Trakhaine, the King, strength at his right hand, wisdom at his left – a powerful impression indeed. Amongst the assembled court, which was fairly small, he noticed Dwalin Bloodbane and – Wrath of the Shadows! – this dwarf refused to show any signs of aging in spite of being older than his King.

"What brings the messengers of the East before the Heart of the Mountain?"

The question was the formal opening of protocol amongst dwarves. Trakhaine bowed, if only lightly, as courtesy dictated. "I am Trakhaine, sent as a messenger by the Lord of Darkness whose rule shadows the East."

"And whom do you bring with you?" King Thorin asked, his eyes coolly on Trakhaine. "you mentioned more when you last fled from before the gates of this Mountain."

So he had not forgotten their little dance involving the Woodland Elves. Trakhaine did not answer, Idramar was his escort, a guard in case things got tense.

"His name is Idramar, and he is another black legionnaire," Prince Kíli spoke up, "though he is far from his usual station of petting Durin's Bane."

Only long experience allowed Trakhaine to keep his mien impassive. So somehow the dwarves had learned of their time in Moria… albeit, there had been a small raid, freeing captive dwarves from the deeps. His eyes strayed to another armored dwarf, standing with the royal family… now, there was a surprise. Should Thirán have been more than just another captive soldier? In any other situation he might have allowed himself a barb into that direction, but not on this errand. "I indeed come from Mordor," he began again. "for the Great Lord of Barad-Dur extends his hand in friendship to your kind. In his magnanimity he will grant you Rings of Power like he did of old, if you prove worthy of his friendship and share your knowledge on the Halflings and their homeland, for the Great Lord knows that one of them was known to you once."

The silence on the hall was deafening, it did not need an oracle to know by their stony miens that he had taken them by surprise. "As a small token only of your friendship Sauron asks this," Trakhaine went on with exactly the message he had been given, "that you should find this thief and get from him, willing or no, a little ring, the least of rings, that once he stole. It is but a trifle that Sauron fancies, and an earnest of your good will. Find it, and three rings that the Dwarf sires possessed of old shall be returned to you, and the realm of Moria shall be yours for ever. Find only news of the thief, whether he still lives and where, and you shall have great reward and lasting friendship from the Lord. Refuse, and things will not seem so well. Do you refuse?"

King Thorin slowly descended the stairs of the throne, only two steps, so he came to stand on nearly eye height with them. Trakhaine could not help it – he had seen many a ruler, many a leader, but this dwarven King commanded a respect by sheer presence like none other he had met. "You shall have my answer," King Thorin's voice was deep, rumbling and grim. Before Trakhaine could react, the dwarven King had drawn his sword and with one fluid strike beheaded Idramar raising the bloodied blade before Trakhaine's eyes. "and this is the only answer I have for your Master and his carrion crows, whenever he and his foul minions raised their heads my people have fought, and we will fight him and his vermin to the end of days. Carry your comrade's head back to your Lord and tell him that this is the answer of Durin's folk to his offers."

Stepping back Trakhaine's eyes hardened. This dwarf king was dangerous and needed to have his rule ended swiftly. "You truly wish to see that army at your gates, King Thorin," he replied, his voice still steady. "let us see who will bleed in the end." Without further ado he turned around and marched out of the hall. The answer had been given and it was not the one they might have hoped for.

TRB

Bilbo's eyes squinted as he tried to decipher the runes on the manuscript before him. Good gracious, this dwarf scribe had a hand worse than chicken scratches! Not that this was an uncommon issue among dwarves, if someone entered scribe training unable to read and write he was taught and taught a clean hand as well, those who came to training already able to basically write often needed years to reach legibility, if they ever achieved it. Putting aside the pen, Bilbo sat up straight, his back hurting. He was really getting old, his joints were not spry anymore and he would feel the places where his bones had been broken through injury whenever the weather changed. His eyes too would tire more easily and his hair, along with the braid tucked behind his ear was white. He was increasingly glad that many of his former scholarly students would do the digging through the forgotten archives, or would help him to get the heavier tomes to his desk. For all that he was old Bilbo still enjoyed the scholarly work, it kept his mind agile. He smiled, he could work on these lost writings for the rest of his life and would not call it wasted years.

"When we adopted you so long ago, I would hardly have believed you would also take to our way of aging, old friend." A deep voice interrupted his musings.

Bilbo's smile deepened. "Thorin, maybe it is your presence that reminds me how old I am." He had seen age settle in with his friend rapidly in these few years, sometimes it was disheartening, as he knew that such rapid aging amongst dwarves was the herald of the sleep coming soon.

Thorin sat down heavily in his chair opposite of Bilbo's desk. "The world is truly getting old – an Easterling envoy was here this morning. He asked about Halflings and about you."

"About me?" Bilbo asked startled. "The last time I saw any Easterling it was in Moria, and we tried to evade them best that we could. What would they want from me?"

"Their Master wants you," Thorin's voice was grim. "and a ring you supposedly stole from him." His blue eyes held Bilbo's gaze. "I have known for many years you had an artifact that allowed you to become invisible, but I never deemed it dangerous so far. Do you still have it?"

"No," For the first time Bilbo was truly relieved that he had sent the ring away. "I sent it away with Frodo seven years ago and asked him to bring it to Gandalf. I… I had reason to believe it was much more dangerous than I had guessed at first."

"Did you hear from Frodo since?" Thorin asked, not commenting on the involvement of the Grey Wizard. He had his differences with Tharkûn, but he would agree that his knowledge of many secret things in the world was unsurpassed.

"His last letter is from nearly one year ago, he wrote Gandalf had a theory about the artifact and that he would hear from soon but I should not worry." Bilbo sighed. "If the East is searching for me, I better get moving. Aife should be able to bring me to the Mountains and across…"

"Whatever are you talking about?" Thorin asked, getting to his feet.

Bilbo straightened up. "I had hoped that sending the ring away would end all danger to the Mountain, Thorin. But it seems… that my presence in itself will bring danger here and I would not want to bring harm to my home. So I will leave."

"Your home," Thorin's stern face shone with a smile as he clasped Bilbo's shoulders. "and you will not leave. I already sent the messenger home carrying the head of his companion. Durin's folk have never been in pact with the Lord of Mordor, and we never will be."

"But what if they come back to reinforce their demands?" Bilbo well remembered the Easterling at the gates all those years ago. He had said he'd return at the head of an army one day.

"They will come with their army either way," Thorin said. "Dwalin has said it for years and we are prepared for them. And no matter what – I have never given up one of my people to the enemy, and I will not begin with that now."

TRB

"Dwalin, how long do you think until we see the first Easterling Banners?" Thorin asked, they stood in the private council hall, together with Fíli, Kíli, Asutri, Anvari and Fjalaris. A map of the East and Wilderland was spread on the main table.

"Depends," Dwalin said. "the messenger needs to get back to the Black Lands and from there the decision goes back to Cymarkhan, the Imperial Capital. If they had their legions already amassed close to borders, like in Dorvinión, we'd have heard of it. So I say, they have been waiting for the outcome of the parley." Dwalin's eyes scanned the map. "Order will go from the capital, assuming their Eastern border and the Firelands are quiet, they'll gather the legions within three weeks, the march across the Empire will be swift, with good roads and no obstacles, they'll have to cross the Inland Sea, then the road to Dorvinión and from there North along the Redwater and through the wilds – by autumn they'll be here. Provided the East is ready for war."

"They are more than that, if the latest news from Gondor are correct," Kíli added, pointing on the map of the south. "Gondor all but lost the Eastern shores and had to retake Osgiliath twice already. I wonder how much more battering their small citadel there can take."

Thorin's eyes met Kíli's and they exchanged a glance few could read. When both, Kíli and Fíli had been much younger they had been in Gondor with Thorin, hauling stone ships to the building site in Osgiliath and later forging tools for the workers. They knew the river defenses from a unique perspective. Ever since learning of his brother's rebirth Kíli had paid attention to the war in the south.

"I agree," Dwalin grumbled. "Mordor had seventy years to rebuild their armies, whip the land into shape and prepare for a great war – there is a point when an army is ready and all additional waiting will not sharpen the edge but dull it. With all the troops skulking around in Dol Guldur again, I'd say they are confident enough for a war on several fronts. Cut off the Northern bastions and crush the South first."

"You are very sure that the South cannot hold, Dwalin," Kíli observed. "they must know what they are up against."

"Aye, they know it, and they know that doom is coming," Dwalin pointed on the map. "they have a few good fortresses, namely Minas Tirith, Cair Andros and Dol Amroth, but they stand against an enemy with overwhelming numbers on his side, and their list of allies is very short – they have none except for Rohan. And while brave Rohirrim are entirely useless in Siege Warfare."

"What about others?" Kíli asked. "We could…"

"Lad," Dwalin said gently, reaching for Kíli's shoulder, "I know Boromir was your friend, your brother… and I agree with you that leaving them all to die is a cruel choice…"

"Dwalin – we prepared for this," Kíli's eyes shone with a fierce light as he spoke. "we prepared for exactly that for how many decades now? Not just the fortifications, the new battlements but also the troops. We have enough fighters to defend this Mountain for a long time and still have warriors whom we could send South to aid against the Shadow. How often have we discussed this? How long have we planned it? Do you not believe in our plan anymore?"

"No, Kíli, I still believe in it, I know the numbers and I know that removing a few thousand from the Mountain can even be an advantage against a Siege," Dwalin said earnestly. "but we always expected a limited war – this… Kíli, this is it, the great war of our time, the dark storm rising again. Those who march South will march to their doom, to a war the world hasn't seen since the last alliance. Who… who is to lead them to such a battle?"

"I will," Kíli said firmly. "and don't try to talk me out of it. Boromir was my friend, my brother, he came back to protect me from the Bane, he gave his life so Fíli and I might live… I would not be standing here, if not for him. I fear no darkness and no doom."

A small but very proud smile shone in Dwalin's eyes. "And I'd go with you if…"

"You will go with him," Thorin had been silent, watching the exchange between the two. He had made his own mind up a long time ago, supporting their preparations every step along the way. And now that the moment was there he was proud that Kíli did not shy away from the course honor dictated.

"Thorin?" Dwalin turned around, looking at his King in surprise. "You'll need me here once the Siege begins."

Thorin shook his head. "No, Dwalin, we have a dozen good dwarves who can take your place in a Siege. Down there, with all that the East can unleash Kíli will need your cunning and your experience." And I will not have you here when my time comes, not when your soul shows no sign of tiredness, when you show no sign of aging, old friend. Thorin did not say it out loud, but he would not allow Dwalin to follow him into death, even if it meant sending his friend away into a war. Maybe it was the storm of war that had kept Dwalin so unchanged, so vigorous still.

"Kíli, you cannot go – it has to be me." Fíli had stepped up to his brother. "With a Siege coming, and with Thorin… with Thorin's age, the Mountain will need its Prince right here."

"Which is why you are staying." Kíli said with a smile, clasping his brother's shoulders. "because you will follow Thorin when… should the time come and the Mountain will be in the best possible hands with you."

Fíli paled a little but stubbornly met his brother's eyes. "We have been over that before, Kithál, and I can only tell you again I will not steal your legacy."

"You won't steal anything," Kíli's voice had softened as he spoke to his brother. "because it is I who is leaving – I will formally step down from my place as Crown Prince and sever my ties of succession with Thorin. We are marching to war, Filán, none of us should expect to come back and neither the Mountain nor you must wait for word of us. Promise me, promise me, if it comes to that you will not try to be stupid, but accept the role you should always have had."

"Brother," Fíli's voice had become husky, he could feel that Kíli already had decided and he wanted with all his heart to protect his little brother from the fate he was marching towards. "you can't do this, Kithal, how am I supposed to let you go? To a war from whence you might not return?"

Letting go Kíli raised his sword arm, he had removed the bracers earlier on and the dragonmark shone on his arm in the eerie light of the arkenstone, framed by red flame. "From the day I received this, it has charted my path, Fíli, and I always knew in my heart that my time here was limited… that I'd never follow Thorin."

Deep down in his heart Fíli knew it was true, they both had felt it though they had tried to ignore it the closer the day came. Fiercely grabbing Kíli's wrists Fíli looked at his brother. "I will accept… and you promise me that you will fight as hard as you can. I want my brother to come home – I want to stand on these battlements and see you ride home, and I want to hear the tales of all the ridiculous risks you took, and I want you to bring Boromir along, if you can."

Kíli simply hugged his brother. "You have my word, Fíli."

Thorin watched them, smothering a smile, recalling two much younger dwarves who had chosen to follow him against a dragon. And even as their dragons these days had become bigger and more dangerous, he had to believe that they'd be strong enough to face the storm. They had come this far in spite of all odds and he was very proud of both of them. "So it is decided then," he said, reminding them that they were not alone. "let it be announced to the Mountain that Kíli will go South to aid those still opposing the Shadow and that Dwalin is gathering the troops who are willing to follow him." It would be volunteers only, but if Thorin had learned one thing in his long life it was to never underestimate the strength and skill of his people. Kíli's followers would most likely be a colorful bunch, but they would be what he needed.

"Then let me be the first to volunteer," Thorin was not sure if he should have known or should be surprised when he heard Anvari speak up. At the age of 72, the young warrior was still the quieter one of the twins and rarely spoke up so directly, he had much of his blood-father's even temper, if not his looks.

"Anvari…" Kíli had turned to his adopted son, suddenly a worry on his face that Thorin had never seen there before. The old King knew all too well what Kíli felt, he had felt the same when his young nephews had followed him against the dragon, had felt the same when he had woken from his own injuries to hear that they lay dying. Brave fighters might be able to face death evenly, but leading the youngsters into the same deathly dance was another thing entirely.

"You did not really think I went along with the adoption because I wanted to become Prince of the Mountain?" Anvari asked, his blue eyes alight with a fierce will. "I did because I'd follow you to the end of the world, and if you go to Gondor to fight the Shadow, then I will come with you."

"This is no adventure, Anvari," Kíli said, his voice slightly raised. "this is a full-fledged war, and the Shadow…"

"The Shadow will hold nothing back, like the dragon did too." Anvari raised his chin, not giving ground. "You always said you trusted me to have your back… do you still stand by that?"

"He's got you there, little bro," Fíli said, he might not show it but he was very proud of Anvari in this moment. "and he's not an ounce different from us. No – don't you protest that. We were no better when we went on the Quest, and we came out on the other side, if barely. Would you have stayed at home, even if Thorin had ordered it?"

They both knew the answer. "No," Kíli admitted. "I'd have followed him either way." He looked back at Anvari and extended a hand. "Very well, young Raven, we go together."

TRB

The horse was ready and Faramir saw his brother stash a few last supplies into the saddlebags. In the light of the warm sun the council they had held last night, and the decision they had come to did not seem much wiser than it had in the hours of the dark. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, approaching Boromir.

"If you are having prophetic dreams I reserve all worries for a time when you tell me that it is bad," Boromir replied, turning towards Faramir. "but if I start having them too, I get nervous because it means some strange fate choses to knock really loudly." His attempt at humor fell flat, he could not hide his concern behind a joke, even a half-serious one. "What choice do we have?" he asked, resignation in his voice. "if the war continues as it has gone the last years we will lose the Riverline within the next ten years, not to mention what happens if Mordor unleashes all the forces they are amassing."

"It is not why you are riding North," Faramir reminded him. "the dream said nothing of hope, it might well mean another doom coming for us."

"Doom can get in line right behind Minas Morgul and Mordor," Boromir's hand that rested on the saddle curled into a fist. "Faramir, you know the situation as well as I do. If my journey North brings a new doom, we are no more doomed than before, and if it brings us hope… it is more than we had before."

Faramir could see his brother was tired. Seven years since the victory at the bridges of Paros and there had hardly been a break or relief for them. Mordor had yet to truly unleash their armies but the constant war at the Eastern border was slowly but surely wearing them down. Sometimes it deemed Faramir a miracle that they were still holding the borderlands. Only he knew it was not a miracle but it was by the strength and dedication of their warriors that they had held out so long and he could see the price in the tiredness lurking in Boromir's eyes. "Maybe it would be better I went," he said one last time.

"Fari, father needs you here," Boromir's eyes went over the empty yard. "without you his rule would slip, you know that. And without your foresight we'd have lost this war years ago. They need you more than they need me."

"That's not true, and you know it, brother." Faramir shook his head. They both were needed to somehow keep Gondor together, and his heart was wary of sending Boromir off to follow this dream. Not all portents were signs that ought to be followed. However, in the end Boromir was right: what choice did they have? They were already with their backs to the wall. There were days and long dark nights when Faramir wondered if this was all there would ever be for them – to struggle against the Shadow to the day that their strength ran out and they'd fall, to be another name in the great body count? Would someone come after and even remember them, or would it just be the wind whispering on long broken graves?

A strong hand clasped his shoulder. "No such gloomy looks, Faramir, and don't you even think of dying before I am back." Boromir's voice was rough, and Faramir knew his brother did feel not so much different, only that he had the stubborn will to not give in. Not to fate, not to doom, and certainly not to some Easterling captain.

"Come back," Faramir said softly, in the short moments he looked at his brother he felt dread, a notion of death, of loss gnawing at his soul. "hope or no hope, doom or no doom, return to us. We'll hold this city for the day that you return."

The brothers embraced, their hearts were too full for further words. After they let go, Boromir mounted his horse and rode through the gates of the citadel, just as the horns called for third watch. Watching him ride down the long street that led through the rings of the fortress and then out of the city Faramir's heart became heavy and just for one moment he believed he saw a dark shadow hover over his brother as the horse sped along on the road North.

TRB

Early Autumn 3018 TA

The gauntlet behind the Icewind gate had seen much commotion the past weeks, Kíli thought as he watched the next column of riders file through the narrow passage that was built to trap those who broke through the heavy gates. Having the army march the longer route – along the grey mountains and then down the Anduin valley was taking additional time for the march, but he agreed with Dwalin that it would ensure they kept away from prying eyes until they could reach one of the ancient dwarf roads. Bifur, was more than sure that any blockage that might cause problems passing the old underground roads could be dealt with swiftly. The old builder had been one of the first to come to Kíli once the announcement had been made. More than glad to have Bifur, Kíli still was touched that he'd leave behind the safety and comforts of Erebor for such an undertaking. When he had voiced that thought Bifur had grinned at him. I still owe the Orcs a blood debt, laddie. He had said in old Khuzdul and then turned to the task of organizing all support troops that flocked in by the day.

And there had been many who had chosen to follow the call, Kíli had never expected there to be so many. A lot he knew only fleeting, a good number of them people he had helped during one of the many attacks over the years, others were friends. Like Brea who had handed her office to her successor and chosen to join the marching warriors again, her brother Bladvila remaining in Erebor to protect the royal family. There were also a number of menfolk, archers and swordsmen alike, who had joined with the troops.

"Thorin needs you," Dwalin approached Kíli, during the last days, organizing the army Dwalin had gone from the ever attentive war master to downright vigorous and lively again. And when Kíli saw the black steel knuckledusters at the broad paws, he knew Dwalin was welcoming the change to a rough war camp. "some message came, important by the looks of it."

"Then you best come with me," Kíli said falling into stride beside him. "maybe Dáin actually thought about the offer to combine forces to protect our people."

"And next we'll hear is that we are allied with Thranduil," Dwalin grumbled. "I believe it when I see it. Though, Mirkwood is going to have their hands full, if half of what I hear about that Lieutenant in Dol Guldur is true."

"And they knew as long as we that the storm was coming, they must have prepared." They mounted the stairs that led up to the palace, and past the guardposts before entering the palace gates.

Thorin and Fíli awaited them; in the back of the same room Asutri was soothing a Raven who still seemed somewhat vexed to be underground. "Word from Dáin?" Kíli asked upon seeing the bird, though he noticed it was a Grey Raven from the Misty Mountains, not one of the smaller ravens from the Iron Hills.

"I wish it was," Thorin said grimly. "but no, the message is from Elrohir in Rivendell."

Kíli tilted his head, he knew that Elves of course were able to converse with many animals and Elrohir had proven to be able to understand Ravens in the past. But he rarely convinced them to carry messages for him, because like most elves he felt that asking such services of their winged friends should be reserved for the direst of emergencies. "Don't tell me the Orcs are laying Siege to Rivendell," Dwalin did not hold with long dancing around the issue.

"No," Thorin said, though the suggestion amused him clearly. "Elrohir writes in the name of his father Lord Elrond and requests that Erebor sent and envoy to Rivendell, as recent events may require a council of the free peoples."

"Such a council was held prior to the last alliance," Kíli said excitedly. "maybe the Elves are reading the signs as well and are willing to contribute to the defense of Middle Earth as well. If so we need someone competent on the council, to coordinate with us and whomever else might be sending troops."

"You are right," Thorin tapped on the map on the table. "the Elves of Rivendell are still strong, and Elrohir is certainly not a warrior to sit idle when there is a war to be fought. But if it is about something else entirely, I need someone whom I can trust absolutely to hear whatever worries the elves have to share with the world. And I cannot sent Fíli, not with an Easterling army reported to be crossing the sea of Rhûn."

Kíli knew that while Thorin trusted Elrohir, and by proxy his family, his trust did not extend to the rest of the elven nations. "One of the old companions then?" Kíli suggested. "Bofur or Glóin."

"I need Bofur here, should the Mountain be breached we'll trap them in more collapsing mines than they can dream off." Thorin said. "and Glóin would never trust anything an elf has to say. No – I am sending you and Anvari."

"Thorin, what of the troops?" Kíli asked. "we will be marching in two days."

"They will be marching as scheduled, Dwalin will lead them South. If the council of the Elves is truly a council of war, then you will be right where you are needed and send Dwalin all he needs to know by Raven, if not you have a swift horse and will reach Dwalin and the troops swiftly enough. You may not be my heir any longer, but you are still my son and the Elves will listen to what you have to say."

Kíli had to admit what Thorin said made sense and Dwalin would need no help at all to bring the army south. The bald warrior cast him a humorous glance. "Don't ever think of dragging me back there – they will still only serve greens." He joked. "If you ride swiftly you might reach us before we are too far south and into Steeldeep roads."

"Alright, have our horses readied, we will ride before the day is out," Kíli decided, there was little use in tarrying. "Fíli – do you have a moment?"

"Of course," Fíli followed his brother out of the room and through the long halls. "is there something you wanted to talk about?" They both had been busy since the decisions had been made and Fíli still had to get used to suddenly being Thorin's heir again. With the Mountain gearing for war, all the quiet routine of the Kingdom had been blown away and Erebor had become a whirlwind of activity, giving Fíli more than his hands full.

"Not here," Kíli walked down the long dark stairs leading to the cold spellforge. The fires had not been lit in a while and the ashes had gone cold. If there was any place in Erebor that spelled Kíli, to Fíli's eyes it was this forge. He saw Kíli go to the stone table that served as a workbench at the far side of the room and take something.

When he returned he placed two identical sets of sword and dagger on the cold anvil. Both swords were similar in shape, two edged long blades softly curved in a shape reminiscent of the feathered reed. The hilts of the swords were long and shone brightly white in the dark forge, while the daggers had the same blade shape but black hilts. Only when Fíli stepped closer he recognized the material. "The dragon's teeth? You made them into sword hilts?" He knew that the teeth must have held the raw power of a fully grown firedrake, shaping them must have taken years.

"Aye," Kíli replied, handing one of the swords to Fíli. "I put all I know into these, brother, every trick I learned, every piece of power someone taught me and all the strength I could give. If… if we have to part ways for who knows how long, I want you to have one of them."

Gently Fíli traced his fingers along the polished hilt, feeling the strange warmth inside the material. He may not be a spellsmith to read the powers in a blade, but it did not need one to see that this was a masterful work. "Do… do they have names?" most of Kíli's works had, because of the powers wrought into them. When he looked closer he saw that the black hilt of the dagger was a dragon's claw.

"Winterflame," Kíli's eyes indicated the blade Fíli held. "and Stormfire," he indicated his own sword. "I did not name the daggers – daggers and letter openers only get named after being wielded by a Halfling."

Suddenly both brothers laughed and Fíli hugged Kíli. "Thank you, brother. And now you stop fretting, I won't be in half the danger you will be in."

TRB

The light of a windy afternoon found Thorin standing on the battlements of Erebor watching out over the land. The old King leaned on the rough stones, his eyes finding two riders who had just passed through the southern gate and were now riding along the winding road that led towards the Men-i-Naugrim. Mounted on a black and a white horse they were easy to spot and Thorin's eyes followed their path as they climbed Raven hill. His goodbyes to Kíli had been short and to the point, no sentimentalities and he had not allowed worries or sadness to intrude on that either. But as Thorin saw them ride away, he was glad that he was allowed to at least keep Fíli, if his own son had to spread his wings into the approaching storm.

The riders had reached the top of Raven Hill and the rider on the white horse turned around. A gust of wind made his long hair fly in the wind and for a moment Thorin could see a black bow and the white glistening of a sword hilt at his back. Kíli had seen him and raised his hand in goodbye before he turned the horse around and made it speed down the road. Thorin watched both riders until they vanished behind the hills. In his heart he knew they would not meet again in this world.

I'm living my life in spiraling gyres

that move over things sighing by.

I never may reach the last of the spires,

but still my resolve is to try.

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

Finis

Author's note

And now, here we are – the Twilight Years have come to an end and the War is beginning. Our heroes have come full circle and are again faced with the forces of Mordor, their roads set into the war of the Ring. When I started to write this story I never expected the story would grow so long and complex. While I am already planning on part IV, I will also admit I dread having to tell all the Ring War again – especially now that so many details have changed, which will demand more changes from canon than I had to deal with in "A distant light". I am also faced with three very busy weeks ahead of me, so I cannot promise to start part IV before the second half of May. Until then I have to ask your patience, and of course, questions, input, critique and so on are very welcome!

THANKS to you all who encouraged me and read, shared insights or pointed out flaws in the story. YOU ALL ROCK!

A special thanks to harrylee94 who has been putting up with my crazy writing speed and winded ideas so selflessly. *big hugs*.

Valandhir