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Chapter Text

The grand halls of Erebor were alive with light. Golden banners hung from the stone walls, and the echoes of dwarven songs filled the air as the sound of hammers and anvils reverberated throughout the mountain. It had been years since the Battle of Five Armies, even longer since the dust of war had settled, but today was a day of peace. Today, Fili Durin was to be crowned King under the Mountain.

The coronation ceremony was a grand affair, as grand as Erebor’s newly restored halls could accommodate. There were dignitaries from all across Middle-Earth — the Elvenking Thranduil had begrudgingly attended, bringing with him a troupe of elves to witness the occasion, though his presence was a stark reminder of the strained relationships that had yet to heal. Dáin Ironfoot, the cousin and steadfast ally of the Durin line, stood near the throne, his armored frame an ever-present symbol of the mountain’s strength. And, of course, the company of Thorin Oakenshield was there standing proudly in support of their friend, now king.

Fili’s heart thundered in his chest as he stood just before the dais. He wore the royal robes of Erebor, rich in Durin blue and gold, but the weight of the crown — the weight of the throne itself — seemed to press down on him with a force greater than any armor could withstand. He had always known this day would come, but that didn’t make it any easier. The throne was not only a symbol of his bloodline, but of his uncle, Thorin, who had led them all to reclaim Erebor. And now, Fili’s eyes — though bright with hope and determination — struggled with the anxiety of living up to the legacy that was left behind.

"Can I truly do this?"

Fili clenched his fists, then slowly relaxed them, trying to settle his thoughts. The golden crown sat upon the cushion in front of him, the weight of it seeming both a promise and a burden. Thorin had worn this crown... Thorin... He could hear his uncle’s voice, feel the fire of his ambition, and the strength of his will imbued into this golden symbol. Thorin had led them through the darkness of their history and had sacrificed so much for this mountain.

But was he ready?

Fili’s breath hitched. He glanced toward the throne where Dáin, as the rightful heir, stood. The older dwarf was calm and collected, as if the burden of leadership were nothing more than a simple cloak. Dáin had lived with the weight of the crown for decades, and in many ways, Fili admired the stoic determination with which he wore it. But now, Dáin’s eyes flickered toward him in silent support. The older dwarf had stepped aside for Fili, knowing that the time for a younger, more impetuous king had come.

Fili looked to his right, where Kili stood. His brother’s face was filled with excitement, his eyes wide with pride for his older sibling, but Kili’s presence was also a reminder of everything Fili stood to protect. They had been through so much together. And now, as Fili stepped forward, his brother’s reassuring gaze was a steady reminder of why he had to do this.

"If I fall, I will fall for my people, for my family. For Kili, and for Thorin," Fili thought, a sharp resolve beginning to stir within him. "I will not let Erebor fall again. Not under my watch."

He drew in a long breath, steadying himself. The noise of the crowd, the cheers and clapping of the dwarves and elves who had gathered to witness this historic moment, felt distant now. All that remained in Fili’s mind was the crown, his heritage, and the legacy of those who had come before him.

"Fili, son of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror," the deep voice of the previous king rang out, drawing him back to the present moment. "It is time."

Fili nodded, feeling a sudden surge of warmth. His uncle’s voice, steady and full of conviction, carried across the room. Fili stepped forward toward the throne, his feet heavy on the stone, his heart thudding as if it had a rhythm of its own. The crown was brought forward, and for a moment, Fili’s hand hovered above it, as if waiting for some sign, some voice to tell him that he was worthy. That he could be the king Erebor needed.

But no sign came. Only the quiet, unspoken weight of responsibility.

Finally, with a soft exhale, Fili knelt before Thorin and everyone else in the room as his uncle lifted the crown from its cushion. The room fell into a deep silence as he approached the throne, the eyes of his family, his friends, and his people all trained on him.

“I’ll never be Thorin. I can’t be. He was a great king. But I will be the king Erebor needs me to be. I will build on his legacy, not try to surpass it. I will be myself, and that will be enough.”

Fili placed the crown upon his brow, the weight of it a physical and spiritual manifestation of the responsibility that now lay on his shoulders.

"I, Fili son of Thorin, do swear to protect Erebor and her people, to rule with honor, wisdom, and strength. I swear to uphold the legacy of my ancestors, and never forget the sacrifices made to reclaim our home."

His voice rang out, strong and steady, and as the words left his lips, a great cheer erupted from the assembled crowd. Fili felt the warmth of it wash over him. Fili would do everything in his power to honor that legacy, even as he forged his own path as king.

The ceremony passed in a blur. There were cheers, there was laughter, there were gifts and well-wishes from all those gathered — the nobles, the warriors, and even Bilbo, who had remained in Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies, standing beside his friends as the moment unfolded.

Afterward, in the privacy of his chambers, Fili stood alone, his hand resting on the windowsill as he gazed out over the golden halls of Erebor, now bathed in the light of a late afternoon sun. He had been crowned. It was done.

"I did it," Fili thought, his heart still pounding with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. The door behind him creaked open, and Fili turned to see Kili, his brother, standing in the doorway, a smile on his face.

“You did it, Fili,” Kili said cheerily, stepping into the room. “You’re King now. You’re gonna be a great one.”

Fili smiled, but there was an ache behind his eyes. “I hope so, Kili. I really do.”

Kili stepped forward and clapped Fili on the shoulder, his grin growing wider. “You will be. Just remember, you don’t have to be Thorin. You just have to be you.”

Fili looked at his brother, the weight of the crown still heavy upon him, but a flicker of hope sparking in his chest.

“Thanks, Kili. I’ll try.”

And as the shadows of evening began to fall across Erebor’s shining halls, Fili felt — for the first time — that perhaps, with time, he would find his place. Not as the heir to Thorin Oakenshield, but as King Fili Durin, a ruler in his own right, ready to lead Erebor into a new age.

Chapter Text

The heavy wooden doors to the meeting room loomed before King Fili, their dark, polished surfaces reflecting his anxious expression. He stood just outside, hands clasped behind his back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. A wave of nervousness washed over him, his breath coming out in short, shallow bursts. Inside, the nobles waited, each one with their own opinion, their own agenda. They wanted answers. They wanted direction. They wanted him to lead—but Fili wasn’t sure he was ready for any of it.

“You may not be Thorin, but you sure do brood like him” A voice came from the shadows. A voice Fili knew well. Fili turned his head to the area where the shadows lay the thickest. Out walked a dwarf he had spent two years befriending in Thorin’s company. A dwarf whose presence had put to rest any tension from his shoulders.

“Calin!” Fili greeted, knocking heads with the short dwarf. “It’s good to see you, my friend. How’s married life? How’s little Alin?” Fili was referring to Calin and Nori’s son. A son they had adopted before they established a home in the mountain. The boy had been orphaned thanks to the battle of the five armies. Three months after the battle had ended, Nori caught the young dwarf trying to steal food from his pocket.

 “Life has been good, albeit we still get skeptical looks from all over.” Calin rubbed his neck, his hand dragging along the nape and into his short beard. “As far as home life goes, I’m pretty much just raising two kids by myself.”

“Oi!” A third voice shouted from another spot in the halls. “ I’m not the one who spent an hour playing dragon and dwarves with Alin when they were supposed to go to bed.” Calin just rolled his eyes, as Nori walked out of the shadows to join his King and his husband.   

“You’ve been staring at that door for an hour, Fili,” Nori said, leaning casually against the wall beside him. “You planning on going in, or are you just gonna stand here until the door opens on its own?”

Fili chuckled, though it sounded a little forced. “You make it sound so easy.”

Calin raised an eyebrow. “It is easy. You’re a king, aren’t you? And you’ve got a room full of nobles to tell what to do. How hard can that be?”

“Right,” Fili muttered, wiping his palm across his face. “It’s not like they’re all looking at me like I’m a glorified dwarf prince who never asked for this job.”

“Well, you’ve got the ‘glorified’ part down,” Calin teased, his grin widening. “But I think you’ll find you’re more than up to the job. You just need to remember—you’re not doing this alone.”

Fili glanced over at Calin, and for the first time since they’d arrived, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m always here,” Calin said softly, his smile turning more tender. “And I’ll keep reminding you of that every time you get cold feet.”

Fili took a deep breath, straightening his posture as best as he could, though his hands still felt clammy. “I don’t know if I can do this, Cal. It’s a room full of lords and ladies and everyone expects me to be the king they want, not the one I am.”

Calin shook his head, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “Nonsense. You’ve got everything you need already. You just need to trust yourself. Besides—what are they gonna do, mutiny?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Fili muttered with a rueful smile.

“Oh, don’t let him mutiny!” Nori poked fili in the side with his elbow. Fili just swatted the thief away and smoothed his tunic back down. “Where would we be without our charming King Fili?”

“Don’t you start!” Fili shot at Nori, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Nori continued, his tone full of mischievous mirth, “you’ve got this. You were born for this. I mean, it’s not like the nobles are gonna bite your head off—unless you really mess up. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“You’re a huge help, Nori,” Fili replied dryly.

“Hey, you know I’m not wrong,” Nori shrugged, as if his words were simply undeniable truths. “All you have to do is walk in there, stand tall, and remind them that they’re not the ones who travelled across Middle Earth to reclaim this very mountain.”

“But when it came down to it, Azog defeated me.” Fili replied somberly. Neither theif missed it when Fili’s hand crept down to rub his injured leg. “Every time they look at me, all I can see is that I’m the one who should have died. That’s a lot of pressure.”

Calin stepped forward, his tone more serious now. “Fili, look at me. You didn’t die because you weren’t meant to. You’re here because you earned this. You earned this throne and every ounce of respect that comes with it. Just stand in there and be yourself. The rest will follow.”

Fili looked at the two of them—Nori with his endless optimism, Calin with his unshakable faith in him—and for a moment, the fear eased, replaced by a quiet strength. He straightened up, squared his shoulders, and let out a long breath.

“Alright,” he said, his voice much steadier now. “Let’s do this.”

Nori grinned. “That’s the spirit! And if it all goes horribly wrong, well… we’ll just blame it on the dragon.”

“Shut up, Nori,” Fili said, but there was a smile on his lips, and his heart wasn’t pounding quite so hard anymore. He reached for the door, turned the handle, and stepped forward.

“Go show them who’s in charge,” Calin said, with an approving nod.

“Right behind you,” Nori added, a final wink before he turned to follow.

Fili took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping into the meeting room with the kind of calm confidence that only his two closest companions could’ve helped him find.

As soon as the doors opened, the room fell silent. All eyes were on him now, watching, assessing, judging. Fili walked to his place at the head of the table, and Nori and Calin staying near the doors and in the shadows. The two thieves weren’t missed, their presence earning a few sneers and grumbles. Nori wore a smirk, his wiry frame relaxed, while Calin held a quieter, more contemplative air. Dwalin had found himself beside them, arms crossed and face as stony as ever, his loyalty to Thorin’s memory evident in every line of his posture.

Fili adjusted his armor, feeling the weight of Thorin’s crown on his brow. It was still new, unfamiliar, but he wore it with as much pride as he could muster. He glanced around the room at the figures waiting in attendance, his people and his friends, all dressed in their finest attire.

To his right stood Kili, his younger brother, looking more like a warrior than ever before. Fili could see both anticipation and nervousness flickering in his brother’s eyes, though Kili’s usual grin never faltered. Beside him, Balin was calm and collected, his years of experience on his face and the wisdom of countless campaigns etched into his gaze. Bilbo, their honored friend and a key part of Erebor’s restoration, stood just behind Balin, hands folded neatly in front of him.

Thorin sat near Fili, a silent presence but an unmistakable one. Though no longer king, his influence was palpable, his sharp gaze observing every detail. Fili knew his uncle was watching, judging, and likely ready to intervene if necessary.

With a nod from Thorin, Fili began. “Today, we forge the path for a new Erebor. We need not only warriors but also wise advisors, diplomats, and those skilled in… subtler arts. We have reclaimed our home, but the task before us now is to protect it, to make it prosper again, and to heal the wounds of the past.” His gaze softened as he looked over each of them. “This kingdom is not mine alone; it belongs to all of us, and to the people who look to us for guidance. I am honored to have each of you beside me as we set Erebor’s course together.”

The room murmured with agreement, and Fili took a steadying breath, glancing at the scrolls and notes before him. “Today, we will determine who among us will hold the most crucial roles in this new era — roles that will demand courage, loyalty, and above all, the willingness to set aside personal interest for the good of Erebor.”

His gaze fell on Kili, who straightened under his brother’s regard. Fili’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “Kili, you are one of the bravest dwarves I know, but also one of the most curious. You have the heart of an adventurer, and you’re as skilled in diplomacy as you are in battle.” Fili’s voice softened, pride evident. “You will be Erebor’s ambassador to the other kingdoms — to Dale, Mirkwood, The Ironhills, and any realms beyond that we may reach. I trust you to represent Erebor with honor and wisdom.”

Kili grinned, his eyes shining. “I’ll do my best, Fili,” he said, inclining his head with respect. “Though I can’t promise not to stir things up a bit.”

The room chuckled, and Fili allowed himself a small smile. “Just remember, diplomacy means talking before drawing steel, Kili.” Kili placed his right fist to his heart and bowed to his king. Fili tipping his head in response.

Next, Fili turned to Balin. “Balin, you have been a guide and advisor to Thorin, and I can’t imagine taking on this mantle without you by my side. Your wisdom, experience, and steady hand are invaluable to me.” Fili inclined his head, a gesture of genuine respect. “I would ask you to be my chief advisor.”

Balin bowed low, his voice steady but warm. “It would be my honor, my king. Erebor is in fine hands with you, and I’ll be here to serve you as I did Thorin.”

“Thank you, Balin.” Fili nodded, feeling the solid comfort of Balin’s loyalty, a constant presence like the mountain itself.

Fili then looked at Bilbo, who was observing everything with an almost scholarly interest. “Bilbo,” he began, “you were the heart of our journey, and you’ve seen us at our best and our worst. Your insight and kindness are gifts I want to keep close.” He gave a gentle smile. “Will you serve as an advisor as well? Though you are not a dwarf by birth, you are family by choice, and your voice in council will remind us of perspectives beyond our mountain walls.”

Bilbo blinked, clearly taken aback, but then he nodded with a warm, humble smile. “I’ll do what I can, though I may have to remind you that I’m no expert on dwarven politics.”

Fili chuckled. “I think that’s exactly what makes you the right choice.” Bilbo puffed out his chest, filled with pride at his king's confidence in him. Balin and Bilbo, the new royal advisors, placed their fists atop their hearts and bowed to their king.

With a nod, Fili moved his gaze to Dwalin. “Dwalin, you are one of our kingdom’s most skilled warriors. You have trained us, led us in battle, and defended our people. Will you continue to be our captain of the guard? The task ahead will be challenging, but I trust no one more than you to uphold the safety and honor of Erebor.”

Dwalin nodded, his eyes fierce and unwavering. “I am honored to serve, lad. As long as there’s breath in my body, I’ll protect this mountain and its people.” Dwalin pounded his fist twice on his chest, not bowing, but every dwarf in the room knew that the warrior held nothing but respect toward the golden-haired king.

“And for the role of royal spies,” Fili began, a hint of firmness entering his tone, “I am appointing Calin and his husband, Nori.” The room erupted into a chorus of disapproval. Voices rose with surprise, outrage, and disbelief. 

“Thieves! Criminals! How can they be trusted with Erebor's secrets?” one council member shouted.

Another added, “Fili, this is madness! We need loyal dwarves, not those who live in shadows.”

Fili raised his hand for silence, but it was clear the council was not ready to yield. His jaw tightened. As king, he had to defend his decisions and earn their trust, yet he found himself glancing to his side, to Thorin. His uncle’s presence, silent and watchful, had bolstered his courage all morning, but now it was essential.

Then, as if sensing Fili’s need, Thorin rose to his feet. The council’s discontent simmered down as their former king stepped forward, his gaze as steely as it had been on any battlefield. His voice, when he spoke, was unyielding and calm.

“I’ve seen many of you praise warriors who once stood on the edge of dishonor,” Thorin began, his tone cutting through the noise like a blade. “Dwarves who had made mistakes, perhaps as many as Calin and Nori. But they proved themselves worthy of redemption. These two,” he nodded to Calin and Nori, “have risked their lives for Erebor, not out of obligation, but out of choice.”

The council members fell silent, each one caught by the weight of Thorin’s words.

Fili seized the opportunity, building upon his uncle’s defense. “Calin and Nori know the ways of our enemies better than any of us,” Fili said firmly, his voice growing stronger with each word. “They understand how spies think, how they move, how they hide. Their knowledge is an asset we would be foolish to ignore.”

A councilman interrupted, his face red with disbelief. “But they were thieves! How do we know they’ll act for the good of Erebor and not themselves?”

Thorin’s voice was like iron, grounding the room. “Because they’ve had countless chances to abandon us and didn’t. When Smaug attacked and Erebor fell into chaos, they could have disappeared, as so many did. Instead, they stayed, helping our people in any way they could—even when no one thanked them.”

Fili nodded, gratitude flickering briefly in his eyes before he addressed the council again. “Do you think I make this decision lightly? I am aware of their pasts. But they are not the same dwarves they were back then. They have proved, again and again, their loyalty and their dedication to this kingdom. Look around you. Every one of us has made mistakes. Yet we trust one another because of the choices we’ve made since then.”

The room fell into an uneasy quiet, but a few council members nodded slowly, the conviction in Thorin and Fili’s words settling over them.

“Erebor doesn’t need just soldiers,” Thorin continued, his gaze sweeping the room, his voice full of hard-earned wisdom. “We need people who see beyond the surface, who can find the dangers hidden in shadows. Calin and Nori are just as dedicated to our future as any of us. Their skills are the very reason they’re suited to protect Erebor. Trust, as I have learned, isn’t given blindly. It’s earned. And they have earned it.”

Another council member hesitated, but finally spoke up, his tone more measured. “If you trust them, King Fili, and if Thorin stands by them… perhaps it is time we see them as more than their pasts.”

Fili held his gaze, nodding gratefully. “Exactly. I’ve chosen them not just for their talents but for the dedication they have shown. Calin and Nori are no longer the dwarves who live on the fringes of society. They are a part of this kingdom, and they belong here—as much as any of us.”

The council quieted, the protests fading into grudging acceptance. Fili exchanged a glance with Thorin, who nodded, a subtle pride in his eyes. In this moment, Fili knew he had won not just the council’s acceptance, but something more essential—respect for his vision for Erebor’s future.“A thief!” someone barked from the back. Another voice added, “A liability! They can’t be trusted with Erebor’s secrets!”

Fili held his ground, but Thorin stepped in, raising a hand. Silence fell, and the council members turned their eyes to him. His voice was a calm, commanding force that cut through the tension. “I am aware of their pasts,” Thorin said. “But a dwarf’s worth is in what he makes of himself, not where he has been. Calin and Nori have proven their loyalty time and again, and no one knows the darker paths of this world better than they do.”

Thorin looked at Fili with a nod, signaling for him to continue. Bolstered by his uncle’s support, Fili spoke again, “Calin and Nori’s skills have been invaluable. They understand how to operate unseen, and more importantly, they have chosen this kingdom over the life they once led. I trust them, as should all of you.”

The silence that followed was tense but begrudgingly accepting. Thorin’s intervention had made it clear: this was Fili’s decision, and Erebor would stand behind it.

Calin placed a hand on his chest and bowed low. “Thank you, my king. We won’t let you down.”

Nori gave a curt nod, his smirk softening to a rare expression of respect. “We’re at your service, lad. And who knows? Maybe we’ll even keep out of trouble this time.”

Fili chuckled, relief mingling with satisfaction as he looked over his new council. Each one represented a part of his family, his history, and the kingdom’s future. The crown felt a little less heavy, knowing he had these trusted friends and allies at his side.

“Thank you, all of you,” he said, his voice resonating with quiet strength. “Erebor is not built on gold alone but on loyalty, courage, and honor. Together, we will restore its greatness — not only for ourselves but for those who come after us.”

As the council broke, Fili watched his friends leave, each heading to their new responsibilities.  Before the last noble filed out, he spotted Thorin still sitting. He gave a nod of approval recognizing how Fili stood his ground when he alone fought against a united front. He knew challenges lay ahead, but for the first time, he felt ready. With a council bound not by blood alone but by the bonds of shared struggle and trust, Fili took his first steps into the future he would shape with his own hands.

Chapter Text

The evening sun cast a soft, golden glow across the worn cobblestone streets of Erebor as Calin, Nori, and little Alin made their way home. The sky above was streaked with hues of purple and pink, the cool mountain air carrying the scent of pine and fresh earth. Calin’s heart felt lighter just from seeing his son, holding his hand tightly as he skipped between them, laughter bubbling from his small chest. Alin was only five, but his energy filled the air with joy, oblivious to the weight of the world around him.

Nori walked on the other side of Alin, his hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, his expression calm but thoughtful. He was always the one to remain steady in a storm, but even he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. The looming shadows of what they had discussed earlier—the future, their roles as royal spies, and the unspoken risks of the life they were about to choose—lingered in the air, even as the world around them felt peaceful.

It was Calin who broke the silence first, his voice quieter than usual as he looked down at Alin, who was happily twirling around.

“I keep thinking about it, Nori,” Calin said, his words catching in the cool air. “What kind of people are we going to be dealing with? The king trusts us, but… we don’t know what this really means. What if we cross the wrong person?” He hesitated, shaking his head as if to clear away the dark thoughts. “What if they come after Alin?”

Nori’s gaze softened as he glanced at his husband, feeling the anxiety in Calin’s voice. He knew Calin was always the more cautious one, especially when it came to their son. He slowed his steps, falling into step with Calin, his hand briefly brushing against his husband’s, a silent reassurance.

“We’re not fools, Calin,” Nori replied, his voice steady but with a hint of concern. “We’ve been in dangerous situations before. We know how to handle ourselves. And besides, Fili trusts us. The king wouldn’t put us in a position like this if he didn’t believe in us. We’ll keep Alin safe.”

Calin’s eyes flickered with doubt. He opened his mouth to argue, but Nori continued, his tone softer now, as if trying to ease the tension.

“I know it’s scary,” Nori added. “But we’re doing this for him. For his future.” He cast a quick look at Alin, who was still skipping ahead of them, his innocent joy a sharp contrast to the weight of their conversation. “We’ll make sure he has a good life, away from all this mess. A better one than we had.”

But Calin wasn’t convinced. He slowed his pace, his brows furrowing as he glanced over at Nori.

“I don’t want him to get caught in the middle of something he can’t control,” Calin said, his voice tight with emotion. “I don’t want him to grow up with the same shadows over his head that we did. I don’t want him to learn that the world isn’t safe… like we did.”

Nori’s expression faltered for a moment. He knew what Calin meant. The world they had grown up in, the life of thievery and survival, had been unforgiving. The darkness of their past, the choices they made, the lives they had stolen—it wasn’t something he wanted his son to inherit. But there were no easy answers.

“I know, love,” Nori said quietly, his voice low, almost tender. “I didn’t want this for him either. I didn’t want him to grow up in the shadow of the things we’ve done. But we’re doing our best. And we’ll make sure he’s safe. I promise.”

Calin let out a breath, trying to steady himself. His heart ached at the thought of Alin—of his innocence. Alin hadn’t asked for this life, hadn’t chosen to be born into the tension and danger that was already surrounding them. He was just a child, with so much ahead of him, and Calin was desperate to protect him from it all.

“But what if we can’t, Nori?” Calin asked, the raw fear evident in his voice. “What if we can’t protect him from everything? What if he ends up a pawn in someone else’s game? A target because of what we do, what we’re involved in?”

Nori paused, his footsteps quieting as he looked down at Alin, who was now walking more slowly, his little face lifted to the sky as he tried to catch falling leaves. The sight of his son’s small, innocent wonder made Nori’s heart tighten. He looked at Calin, his gaze softening.

“I don’t know, love,” Nori admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “But we have to try. We have to give him a chance at something better. We’re not perfect. We’ve made mistakes… but we’re doing the best we can.”

Calin’s hand tightened on Nori’s as they continued walking, the weight of his fears still pressing on his chest. But Nori’s reassurance—though it didn’t erase all his doubts—offered some comfort. They couldn’t predict what the future held, but they could make sure Alin knew he was loved and protected, no matter what.

“We’ll make sure he has a life far from all this,” Nori said softly, more to himself than to Calin, as if reaffirming their commitment. “A life of his own. No matter what it takes.”

Calin glanced at him, his voice quieter now. “And if we can’t? If the danger is too great?”

Nori paused, considering it for a moment before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Then we’ll face it together, Calin - all of us. But we won’t let it take him from us. We won’t let it ruin the life we’re trying to build.”

For a brief moment, the two men stood still, their eyes meeting over Alin’s head as the boy raced ahead, oblivious to the weight of their conversation. There was a stillness between them, a shared understanding that even in the face of uncertainty, they would move forward together.

As they continued their walk, the sound of Alin’s laughter filling the air once more, the tension between the two of them began to ebb, replaced by the quiet resolve of a family that would face whatever came their way—together.

Chapter Text

The evening inside Dori and Ori’s house was filled with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of utensils as the family gathered around the long wooden table, its surface cluttered with platters of steaming stew, freshly baked bread, and roasted meats. The fire crackled in the hearth, adding a cozy warmth to the atmosphere as the family of dwarves enjoyed their supper together. The flickering light caught the gleam of silver and stone in the room, casting playful shadows across the faces of the gathered dwarves.

At the head of the table sat Balin, his silver beard twinkling as he chuckled at a tale Dwalin was recounting. The two older dwarves—Balin with his wise, measured tone and Dwalin with his booming laughter—were locked in a back-and-forth about a misadventure involving a wild boar and a very angry tree stump. Everyone was laughing, but it was little Alin who truly had everyone’s attention. The five-year-old, his cheeks rosy from laughter, was sitting on his father Calin’s lap, making faces and goofy gestures at his uncles.

“Look, Uncle Dori! I can make my eyes go all funny like this!” Alin squinted with one eye while crossing the other dramatically.

Dori, sitting beside Ori, couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think your father used to do that when he was your age.” He winked at Nori.

Nori rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a grin. “I did not,” he protested half-heartedly. “I’ve always been the picture of dignity.”

“That’s a laugh!” Dwalin’s booming voice echoed from across the table. He slapped Balin on the back in a friendly gesture. “Dignity’s never been one of your strong suits.”

“Dignity?” Alin repeated in his high-pitched voice, looking at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “What’s that?”

“Exactly,” Calin added with a chuckle, reaching over to ruffle Alin’s hair. “It’s something your father had to look up in a book.”

The group laughed, and even Nori, though he tried to keep his composure, couldn’t help but smile at the teasing. His son was such a perfect little mirror of his childhood, full of mischief and curiosity. Alin, pleased with the attention, launched into another series of goofy faces that had the entire table in stitches.

“Alright, little one,” Balin said, chuckling heartily, “you’ve earned your supper, but I’m afraid I can’t look at that face for much longer.”

As the meal wound down, the group moved into the cozy living room, where a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. The warm light bathed the room in a peaceful glow, contrasting with the flickering shadows on the walls. The family settled in, Dori and Ori sitting together on a large couch while Balin and Dwalin found their usual spots by the fire. Calin and Nori sank into the chairs beside it, Alin happily tumbling onto the floor to play.

Little Alin, curious as ever, was crouched beside Ori, who was pulling out various sketches from his portfolio. “Are these all yours?”

 Ori smiled warmly at his nephew, flipping through the pages to show him some of his recent sketches. “Of course, Alin. These are from when I traveled to the Iron Hills. I saw a mountain that was taller than all of us combined. And look, here’s the lake where I camped for a while. It was peaceful—until the fish started to nibble on my boots.”

Alin’s eyes grew wide with wonder as he looked at the drawings of the towering mountains and sprawling fields. He leaned in closer, his fingers tapping on the page. “Wow, look at that! It’s all so big! Can I draw something too?”

Ori chuckled. “Sure, here’s a blank page. But I warn you, I’m an artist. I’m very picky about my art!”

Alin took the sketchbook eagerly, holding it in his tiny hands with a serious expression on his face as he concentrated on the page. The adults around the table paused their conversation, watching as the little boy set to work, his tongue poking out in concentration.

“What are you drawing, Alin?” Calin asked softly, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he watched his son.

Alin looked up briefly, his face filled with determination. “I’m drawing a dragon!” he announced proudly, and his parents exchanged an almost imperceptible glance, both of them caught off guard by the reminder of the past.

When he showed the drawing to his parents, the room seemed to hold its breath. The faces of Nori and Calin froze for a moment as their eyes traced the familiar shape of the terrible beast they had all fought so hard against. The memories of the Battle of the Five Armies, the fear, the pain, the loss, all came rushing back in that instant. Even Dori, Ori, Balin, and Dwalin seemed momentarily subdued, their gazes lingering on the drawing with a shared, silent understanding.

“Ah, a dragon,” Nori said, trying to keep his tone light. He smiled at his son’s enthusiasm, though the drawing had already sparked a memory they were trying to avoid—the memory of Smaug’s looming figure, the crackling flames, and the distant thrum of battle.

Alin showed his drawing to his parents, and for a brief, still moment, the room seemed to freeze. The figure on the page was unmistakable: a dragon with massive wings, sharp claws, and an unmistakably wicked eye, painted in crude but earnest strokes of red, yellow, and black. It was Smaug.

The silence hung in the air as if the room itself were remembering the fierce battle that had taken so much from them. Calin’s heart tightened, and he instinctively pulled Alin closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Nori, ever the source of calm, let out a light chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension. “Well, Alin,” he said, putting on a dramatic voice, “it looks like we’ve got a fierce dragon in our midst! We’d better watch out!” He jumped to his feet and growled playfully, his voice deepening as he mimicked the sound of a dragon. “ROAR! I’m the great dragon Nori, and I’m coming for you, little one!”

Alin’s eyes lit up at his father’s antics, and before anyone knew it, he was darting across the room, his little legs pumping furiously as he giggled. “I’m faster than a dragon!” he squealed, darting behind chairs and weaving between the adults.

“Not for long!” Nori roared, giving chase in exaggerated steps, his arms outstretched as if to snatch the boy up. The room filled with the sound of Alin’s delighted shrieks and Nori’s playful growls, as the rest of the family laughed along with them.

The chase ended with Nori catching Alin and lifting him into the air. “Gotcha!” he declared, spinning Alin around before cradling him in his arms. Nori started to walk towards the stairs, but Alin knowingly started wiggling in his father's grasp. 

“No, I’m not tired! I’m not tired!” Alin protested, though his voice was already starting to soften as his eyelids grew heavy. He yawned widely, trying to push away the exhaustion. “I’m not sleepy.”

“You sure about that, little dragon?” Nori asked, his voice softening. “Because I think it’s time for bed.”

“I’m not tired,” Alin insisted, but another yawn escaped him, this one much bigger than the last.

Calin smiled softly, standing from his seat to join Nori. “Come on, Alin,” he said gently, brushing a lock of hair from his son’s face. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Nori carried Alin upstairs, whispering soothing words to him. “You fought off the dragon, now you can rest. Tomorrow’s another day for adventures.”

Alin’s protests weakened, and by the time Nori had tucked him into bed, the little boy was already drifting off to sleep. “Goodnight, my brave dragon,” Nori whispered, brushing his son’s hair back one last time. “We’ll face whatever comes next, together.”

When Nori returned downstairs, he and Calin said their goodbyes to their family, who were already gathering their coats to head home.

“Thank you, all of you,” Calin said, his voice full of gratitude as he looked at Dori, Ori, Dwalin, and Balin. “For tonight. It’s nice to just be together.”

“Anytime, brother,” Dwalin grinned, slapping Calin on the back. “We’ll do this again soon.”

With final hugs and well wishes exchanged, Calin and Nori stepped out into the cool night air. The quiet of the evening surrounded them as they walked hand in hand, their hearts light after the evening spent in the warmth of family. They made their way home, knowing that no matter what the future held, they had one another to lean on.

Chapter Text

The grand chamber in Erebor felt colder than usual, despite the roaring hearth in the corner. It wasn’t the chill of the mountain, but the quiet unease hanging in the air that made it so. The dwarven council had gathered again—Fili, Balin, Dwalin, Bilbo, and several high-ranking nobles from Erebor, including the new addition to their ranks, Lord Fenric, a dwarf who came to power because a previous lord died and didn’t have any heirs. Bard had been invited as well, his presence just another reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to maintain between the kingdoms of Erebor and Dale.

Fili stood at the head of the long oak table, his brows furrowed as he surveyed the room. The weight of leadership was heavy on him today, and the tension in his eyes was not lost on anyone. The Dwarven king was about to address issues that could change the future of Erebor forever.

“Thank you all for gathering today,” Fili began, his voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency to it. He swept his gaze across the table, pausing momentarily on Bard, who had his arms crossed, sitting tall and composed as always. “We have reports that Dale’s rebuilding efforts have progressed well—better than expected, in fact. However, the time has come for us to send eyes on the ground. Nori and Calin will be assigned to go to Dale to observe the progress firsthand. Their job is not only to check the progress of the city but also to assess Bard’s intentions regarding our relationship with Erebor.”

Bard uncrossed his arms, leaning forward slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. “I’m no stranger to diplomacy, Fili. You’ve no reason to suspect me.”

Nori’s gaze sharpened, his jaw tightening at the subtle edge in Bard’s words. Calin remained quiet, his thoughts already drifting to their mission, wondering what exactly Bard was up to. He had no doubt Bard was an honorable man, but things between their two kingdoms weren’t as simple as they used to be.

“The truth is, Bard,” Fili continued, his voice firm but diplomatic, “we need to know where you stand. We’ve seen some signs of instability in Dale, and we can’t afford to be caught off guard. So, Nori and Calin will head to your city, to observe both your rebuilding efforts and any developments you may not have shared with us.”

Bard gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. “Understood. You’ll have my full cooperation.”

Before the room could settle back into its usual hum, Fili’s gaze darkened slightly as he shifted to a new, far more pressing topic. “There is, however, another matter—one that we cannot ignore. The political relationship between Erebor and Mirkwood.”

At the mention of Mirkwood, the room seemed to still, and the temperature dropped as if an unspoken dread had settled over them all. Calin’s breath caught in his chest, his mind instantly flashing back to the cold cells of Thranduil’s dungeons. His fists clenched under the table, his body stiffening with the memory of the abuse, the isolation, the hopelessness he’d felt under the Elvenking’s reign. A deep, bitter ache settled in his heart, but he refused to let it show on his face.

Nori, sitting beside him, stiffened as well, his jaw hardening. His eyes briefly flicked to Calin, understanding what was unsaid between them. His hands flexed, as if ready to strike at any moment.

Dwalin, ever the realist, broke the silence first. “Mirkwood, eh? After all the bloodshed and the mess with Thranduil, we’re just supposed to forget all that?”

Biblo, seated at the far end of the table, cleared his throat. “The truth is, we cannot afford to ignore Mirkwood. Whether we like it or not, they are a power we must acknowledge. Their strength—both in number and in influence—is something Erebor cannot ignore. If they decide to make a move, it could be disastrous for us.”

The room murmured in agreement, and even Bard’s usually composed expression faltered, as if the mention of Mirkwood brought with it an unease he had no desire to confront.

“There are concerns,” Fili continued, his gaze unwavering. “Mirkwood has grown in strength. If they choose to assert themselves—whether through diplomacy or force—it could tip the balance. We must consider that they could very easily overpower us.”

Nori, his voice barely controlled, shot up from his seat, his fists banging against the table. “Overpower us? They’ve already tried. That damn elf king…” He swallowed, his anger rising. “How many times does Erebor have to be at the mercy of his whims? We can’t trust them.”

Fili, surprisingly, remained calm, his voice steady. “I understand your anger, Nori. Believe me, I do. But this is not about personal grudges—it’s about Erebor’s survival. We cannot pretend that Mirkwood is a small threat. If we do, we risk falling into a trap.”

Calin’s heart raced, the raw anger in Nori’s voice stirring a mixture of resentment and fear inside him. He wanted to lash out, but instead, he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. His memories were so vivid, so painful, and he was caught in the crossfire of history and politics.

Bilbo, truly filling his role thgat Fili had entrusted to him, spoke up again. “This isn’t easy, and I’m not saying we should forget the past. But we can’t ignore the fact that Mirkwood is far more powerful than we are now. A proper alliance might be our only option. An alliance with terms, of course.”

Bard, who had remained quiet up until now, slowly nodded, his tone more thoughtful than it had been moments before. “An alliance could bring strength to both of our kingdoms. But it will have to be built carefully—one step at a time.”

At that, Lord Fenric spoke up from the side, his voice clear and direct. “Erebor cannot afford to stand alone any longer. We’ve already seen how quickly alliances can shift, and how fragile our position is. It may be time to consider peace with Mirkwood, no matter the personal cost.”

Nori’s anger flared again, but Calin shot him a glance, urging him to hold back. This wasn’t the time for impulsive reactions. Nori huffed as if he were the great dragon Smaug disarming his fiery wrath he was so eagar release.

Fili nodded slowly, his decision final. “It’s settled then. While Calin and Nori go to Dale to observe the situation there, Kili will be sent to Mirkwood as our ambassador. He will carry the weight of Erebor’s future on his shoulders, and he will attempt to negotiate peace, despite the past.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the room, though it was clear that many still had reservations. Dwalin’s voice was rough as he spoke again. “You want Kili to be the one to go? He’s not exactly thrilled with the elves. You know that.”

Fili gave a small nod. “I know. But Kili has the wisdom to handle this. He will be diplomatic. This is no place for personal grudges to interfere. He will represent Erebor.”

At the mention of Kili, Calin’s thoughts turned inward again. Kili was brave, but this task was no small one. Sending Kili into Mirkwood, to face Thranduil and the elves, was a dangerous proposition. And Kili would not forget his personal hatred for what the elves had done.

“My king,” Dwalin spoke up. All eyes snapped to the burly guard looming in the dim corner like an ominous guardian who promised death to those who threatened his family. Fili tensed, and with him, the room, as everyone expected opposition from the guard on his little brother's behalf. That was not the case, not this time. Fili raised his head expectantly, allowing Dwalin to speak his mind. “The forest of Mirkwood is dangerous and disorienting. I would recommend sending word to Thranduil ahead of time and arranging for a guide. Maybe the elf prince. And if the elves deem it to be dangerous, we will need strength, not diplomacy. Allow me to travel with Kili and let me choose the men that the delegation will be comprised of.”

“Very well,” Fili said, “it would be favorable to have you and your guard with the delegation if the elves decided to show malintent.” With no other objection left to be said about the matters at hand, the meeting was adjourned.

After the meeting, as the others dispersed, Fili caught up with Kili in the corridor, his expression grave. “Kili, remember that you go there not as a brother, but as Erebor’s ambassador. Your mission is peace, no matter how difficult it may be.”

Kili clenched his jaw, his eyes burning with unsaid words. “I’ll do my duty, Fili. But don’t think for a moment that I’ll ever forget what Thranduil did.”

Fili nodded, his face hard. “I understand. Just… keep it professional.”

Chapter Text

The king's study was quiet and cool, save for the soft clinking of goblets and the murmur of a fire crackling in the hearth. Fili sat behind a large oak desk, the weight of the kingdom’s future pressing down on him. The map of Mirkwood and Erebor lay between him and his brother, Kili, and their uncle, Thorin, with inked lines marking territories, borders, and the key points for trade and alliances. They had gathered here not just to discuss a diplomatic mission, but to chart the future of Erebor itself.

Fili leaned forward, tapping the map. “Mirkwood isn’t just an ally we need to secure—it’s a fortress. An obstacle we must navigate carefully.” His voice was steady, yet there was a hint of frustration buried deep within. “We can’t afford to ignore the consequences. If we don’t form an alliance, we risk everything we’ve worked for.”

Kili sat across from him, silent for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing as he took in his brother’s words. “It’s not just the alliance with Thranduil that worries me, Fili. It’s the terms we’ll have to agree to. If we’re not careful, we might find ourselves owing more than we can afford.”

Thorin, sitting with his arms crossed, watched them both closely. He had been through enough wars and battles to know when his nephews were trying to avoid the real conversation. His voice was low but firm. “That’s the reality of diplomacy, Kili. You’re not going to make deals where both sides come out unscathed. But you can make sure that Erebor stands strong.”

Fili nodded in agreement, but his gaze was fixed on Kili. “That’s why you’re the one who has to go, Kili. I trust you. You have the right balance of wisdom and… well, the fire necessary to handle the elves.” He paused, looking at their uncle, then back at Kili. “But it’s not just your temper that I trust. It’s your understanding of what it means to protect Erebor. You know what this kingdom means. You’ve seen how much it has suffered. I need you to go and make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

Kili straightened, hearing the weight behind Fili’s words. He had always known that the younger brother would carry the mantle of king someday. But hearing that Fili thought him worthy of this responsibility—this monumental task—settled heavily on Kili’s shoulders. “I won’t let you down,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with the same uncertainty Fili carried. “But I’m no diplomat. I may be able to talk circles around a dwarf, but Thranduil isn’t someone you charm. He’s too… controlled.”

Thorin smiled faintly, a glint of approval in his eyes. “Which is why you’ll need to be the opposite. Thranduil has been a king for a long time, Kili. You’ll need to show him that Erebor isn’t a kingdom to be underestimated. That’s what your grandfather would have done. That’s what your father would have done.” His voice dropped, his tone turning reflective. “And that’s why I’ve always been proud of you.”

Kili’s throat tightened at the mention of their father, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink. Thorin had always been a second father to them, a solid presence in their lives. But his words now were a reminder of how much was at stake.

“Don’t worry,” Kili said quietly, trying to quell the knot in his chest. “I know the stakes. I won’t fail Erebor. I’ll do what’s needed, even if it means swallowing my pride and shaking Thranduil’s hand.”

Fili nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at his brother. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

But then, a darker thought crossed Fili’s mind. He glanced down at the map, his fingers running along the inked lines, tracing a path that led through the forests of Mirkwood. The path that they had traveled, and what it felt like ages ago. “There’s something else, though. The elves… we know they have the strength and numbers. It’s not just the alliance that’s at stake here. Thranduil might see this as an opportunity to—” He paused, looking up. “I’m not blind to his intentions. If we show weakness, it could very well be the end of Erebor’s autonomy.”

Kili’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward. “You’re right. The elves aren’t interested in forming an alliance as equals. Thranduil doesn’t see us as such. He’ll come to the table with his terms, and those terms will likely be shaped around what he wants from us.”

Thorin cleared his throat, silencing the rising tension. “Don’t let that cloud your judgment. You’re not going there to fight him, Kili. You’re going to negotiate. You’ll have to be patient.”

Kili stood up, pacing the length of the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor. “Patience is something I’m not sure I have when it comes to Mirkwood,” he muttered, his voice rough with restrained frustration. “There’s too much history there -- too many wrongs. I’ll hold my temper—of course I will. But I don’t think I’ll be able to sit quietly while Thranduil speaks to me like I’m a child.”

Fili watched his brother, his gaze thoughtful. “I didn’t choose you to be a diplomat. I chose you because you understand what’s at stake for Erebor. You’ve seen what it means to fight for this kingdom. And when you face Thranduil, you’ll fight with your words, not your blade.”

Kili stopped pacing, meeting his brother’s eyes. “I know, Fili. But sometimes I wonder… Can diplomacy really protect Erebor? Or are we just hoping that an elf will understand us?” His voice cracked slightly as he said it.

Thorin’s voice softened, more than it had been during their conversation. “Erebor’s strength is not in its stone or its gold. It’s in the people who stand beside each other. Diplomacy is hard—especially when the past is so full of wounds. But it’s necessary.”

Kili took a long, slow breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle in his chest. “I’ll go, and I’ll do my best. For Erebor. For the people. But I won’t be made a fool of.”

Fili stood as well, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I know you won’t, Kili. That’s why I chose you.”

The room was heavy with silence as the three of them sat in the aftermath of their conversation, each of them contemplating the journey ahead. Kili’s hand rested on the map, his finger tracing the lines that would soon guide him to Mirkwood. But deep down, he knew that the road ahead was not one of peace. It was a path fraught with complexities, unspoken grudges, and the weight of expectations.

Finally, Fili broke the silence, his tone gentle but resolute. “Kili, I need you to promise me one thing.”

Kili looked up from the map, meeting his brother’s gaze. “What?”

“That you’ll come back.”

Kili’s lips twitched into a small, understanding smile. “I always do.”

Chapter Text

The early morning light streamed through the stone archways of Erebor as Kili and Fili stood at the gates, watching the small procession prepare to leave. 

Calin and Nori, ever stoic, made their final preparations—tightening their cloaks and ensuring their weapons were secure. Alin, ever the curious boy, clung to his father’s leg, eyes wide with wonder and a hint of sadness as he watched his fathers prepare to leave. Kili found his thoughts drifting, watching the tender exchange between the family. Calin’s quiet voice reassured Alin, telling him he would return soon. The bond between them was unmistakable, and it tugged at Kili’s heart. The love between father and son, a family united by blood and trust, reminded him of his own brotherly bond with Fili.

As the horses were readied, Kili stepped forward, clapping a hand on Calin’s shoulder. “You’ll be missed, old friend. Watch your back out there.”

Nori, ever the gruff one, gave a rare, approving nod in return. “We’ve made our peace with the world. No one will dare cross us.”

“But take care,” Fili added, his voice firm. “And don’t be afraid to retreat if things get too tense. The politics between us and Lake-town are delicate. We don’t need you caught in the crossfire.”

“I’ll be fine,” Calin said with a wry smile. “The world doesn’t know what to make of me yet. Let’s keep it that way for a little longer.”

The farewell was brief but heartfelt. Kili held Alin on his shoulders as they watched the two spies leave, their figures soon disappearing into the distant morning fog. 

As the gates closed behind them, Kili let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He turned to his brother, who gave him a knowing glance.

“You’re thinking about your own journey now, aren’t you?” Fili asked quietly.

Kili’s eyes lingered on the road before them, the path that led to Mirkwood. The weight of what he was about to face gnawed at him.

“Are you going on a trip too?” Alin asked, holing  Kili’s braids like reigns on a horse. Kili tried to smile and make a horse's sound, but the raven-haired prince didn’t feel it in his heart. 

“That’s right!” Dwalkn said, taking the boy from Kili’s shoulders to his own. “And he has a lot to prepare before he leaves, so we best leave him to it. Time to go to Uncle Balin's 'til your fathers get back. Say goodbye to Uncle Kiki and Uncle Feefee.” Alin waved his goodbye, to which the Durin brothers happily returned. However, the sweet moment couldn’t last. 

“Yeah,” Kili muttered, finally answering his brother’s question. “Mirkwood.” His words were laced with a tension he couldn’t quite mask. The elven kingdom loomed in his mind like a dark, untouchable forest, full of ancient secrets and lingering hostilities. The idea of forging an alliance with them, of stepping into Thranduil’s court as an official ambassador, felt like walking into a lion’s den.

“It’s going to be alright,” Fili said, his hand resting firmly on Kili’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. You’ve been trained for this. You know your duties.”

Kili glanced up at him, his older brother’s steady gaze reassuring but also adding weight to his words. Fili had always been the one to take the lead, to bear the brunt of the decisions. Kili, though capable, had often felt like the one in his shadow. This time, it was his responsibility. And the enormity of that role settled into him like a stone.

“Is it just the politics that worries you?” Fili asked, his voice lowering. “Or something else?”

Kili hesitated. It wasn’t just the diplomacy that weighed on him. It was everything that came with it—the possibility of facing the elves, especially Thranduil, the very king who had nearly cost them everything during the battle. Kili’s teeth clenched at the thought. The memories of those moments in Mirkwood—of being treated like less than a person—were fresh, sharp, and bitter.

He swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away. “I just… don’t know if I can trust them. Not after everything. And what if they see this as a chance to strike again? What if I can’t hold my ground?”

Fili’s eyes softened. “You’re not alone in this, Kili. You know that. You’re not going in unprepared. You have the full support of the kingdom behind you. Plus, you’ll have Dwalin and five of his strongest men with you.”

“I know,” Kili muttered, nodding slowly. He appreciated the reassurance, but the doubt still crept in. He couldn’t ignore the ancient tension between the dwarves and elves, no matter how much his brother wanted him to. The weight of history pressed heavily on him.

Fili gave him a small smile, a rare expression of genuine warmth. “You’ve got this. Just remember that, even in Mirkwood, you’re still Kili, son of Dís, and brother to Fili. Stand firm. They can try to tear you down, but don’t let them.”

Kili managed a tight smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

As the two brothers stood in silence for a moment, Kili’s mind wandered again. This wasn’t just about the political ties between Erebor and Mirkwood. It was about proving himself. To Fili. To Thorin. To everyone who still saw him as the young, brash dwarf who had once run headlong into danger without a thought. He had to show them that he could be more than that. He had to prove that he could lead, even if he wasn’t always certain of the path.

“Fili,” Kili said suddenly, his voice low. “What if this trip changes everything? What if we end up making enemies instead of allies?”

Fili didn’t answer immediately. He simply placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder once more, squeezing it gently. Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

“We make the best of what we have, Kili. That’s all anyone can do. Just remember: diplomacy doesn’t just mean making friends. It means knowing when to hold your ground.”

Kili nodded, feeling a sense of resolve solidifying in his chest. He had to face this, no matter what it cost him. No matter the cost to Erebor.

Later that night, as the moon cast a cold light over Erebor, Kili stood in his chamber, preparing for the journey ahead. His pack was ready, and the weapons he would carry were laid out carefully—each one a tool of both diplomacy and defense. He moved to the mirror, staring at his reflection. The weight of the crown, even in its absence, pressed on him. He wasn’t yet the king, but he was now the representative of Erebor. His every word, his every action, would reflect upon their kingdom.

A knock at the door broke his reverie, and Fili stepped in, his expression unreadable. He stood there for a moment, taking in his brother’s stoic expression.

“You ready?” Fili asked.

Kili met his gaze, nodding slowly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Fili smiled, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Then let’s go make history.”

Together, they walked to the gates of Erebor, where Kili’s journey would truly begin. Ahead of them stood a small group of soldiers, Dwalin amongst them leaning on the supply wagon --Kili’s caravan.  As the Durins stood side by side, looking out at the path leading to Mirkwood, Kili could almost hear the echoes of the past calling to him—the lessons of his ancestors, the promises made on the eve of battle, and the heavy responsibility that came with every step he took.

He wasn’t just representing Erebor. He was representing everything that had come before him, everything that had built up to this moment. And no matter the cost, he would see this through.

Chapter Text

The company had been traveling for nearly two weeks, and the dark line of Mirkwood loomed before them like an endless night sky pressing against the horizon. Silence fell over the group as they neared the forest, each dwarf feeling an instinctive unease at the prospect of entering its depths.

Dwalin muttered under his breath, his gaze stern as he looked towards Kili, who rode a little ahead of him. “Can’t say I’m thrilled about marchin’ into that again,” he grumbled, his fingers tapping the hilt of his axe.

Kili shared a knowing look, his mouth a thin line. “Nor am I. But if this is what’s needed to keep peace between our realms, then into the woods we go.”

Ahead of them, a figure in a pale green cloak stepped out from the shadows beneath the trees, his stance graceful but firm. It was Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, waiting for them with an expression that was neither welcoming nor hostile. His piercing gaze assessed each of the dwarves in turn, resting a fraction of a second longer on Kili before moving to Dwalin.

Kili nodded respectfully. “Legolas. We’re here, as promised.”

Legolas inclined his head. “Then let us waste no time.” His voice was smooth and calm, carrying a quiet authority that sent a ripple of caution through the dwarves.

As they crossed into the forest, a thick silence pressed down on them, broken only by the occasional rustle in the underbrush. Kili tried to focus, but his gaze kept drifting to the surrounding trees, half-expecting danger to leap out at any moment.

The light was fading quickly as they moved deeper into Mirkwood, the last traces of daylight barely filtering through the thick canopy above. Shadows lengthened, distorting the gnarled roots and twisted trunks, creating shapes that seemed to shift with every step.

Dwalin grunted as he maneuvered through a particularly tangled patch, his voice low and irritated. “Blasted forest. It’s like it’s got a mind to trip us up.”

Kili, leading a few paces ahead, nodded. “Aye, and it seems intent on doing it before we’ve even had a chance to eat.”

Legolas moved almost silently at the front, glancing back at them with a slight smirk. “Mirkwood is not kind to those unfamiliar with its paths. Yet it is safer to travel quietly, lest we draw attention to ourselves.”

Dwalin scoffed, though he kept his voice hushed. “Some of us are not so light-footed as you, elf.”

The hint of a smile curved on Legolas’s lips, but he said nothing, his eyes sweeping ahead into the dense forest.

The group finally reached a small clearing as twilight settled into full night, casting the forest into near-complete darkness. Legolas took the lead in choosing a spot for their camp, selecting an area where a thick tree stump would allow them to huddle close and keep their backs guarded.

They quickly set up camp, lighting a small fire that flickered against the dark trees. The flames offered a little comfort, though Kili noted that Legolas sat just outside the fire’s glow, his sharp gaze fixed on the shadows beyond.

As they settled to eat, the dwarves spoke among themselves in low voices, leaving Legolas on the periphery. The elf remained silent, his posture relaxed yet watchful, as if any moment could turn dangerous. At last, Kili took a breath and cleared his throat, turning to address him.

“Legolas,” he started, hesitant at first but gathering resolve, “you know, you’re braver than I expected, leading us through your woods like this.”

Legolas looked at him, a faint trace of amusement in his eyes. “Bravery has little to do with it. It is necessity—and duty—that leads me.”

Dwalin watched them both with cautious interest, his eyes narrowing as he continued to chew his food in silence.

Kili leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “So, what drives you, then? Duty to your people, to your father… or something else?”

The elf tilted his head, considering his words. “Duty to my people, yes. And perhaps also… to something greater than mere borders.” He looked into the fire, the flames casting an unusual softness on his face. “Our realms were once… not so divided. There was a time when elves and dwarves walked side by side.”

Dwalin’s face hardened at the mention of past alliances, but Kili pressed on. “So you think it’s possible for our realms to work together again?”

Legolas’s gaze was unreadable as he replied, “Possible, yes. But not without difficulty.” He glanced at Dwalin, as if acknowledging the dwarf’s watchful presence. “Old wounds heal slowly, and some… not at all.”

Kili nodded, understanding the weight of the elf’s words. “Aye, you may be right. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To try and mend things, to set a new path.”

Legolas nodded slowly, respect flickering in his eyes. “You speak with conviction, Kili. Perhaps there is hope yet.”

The dwarves around the fire exchanged glances, surprise mingling with their usual mistrust. Dwalin’s expression softened slightly, though he said nothing, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe as he continued to listen.

The silence that followed was almost comfortable, a strange truce settling over the camp. But just as Kili began to relax, a rustling in the underbrush shattered the stillness. He froze, his hand going instinctively to his bow as his eyes searched the shadows.

Dwalin stood immediately, his expression deadly serious. “Did you hear that?”

Legolas was already on his feet, his eyes narrowing as he listened. “Yes. And it is not a welcome sound.”

A moment later, the chittering grew louder, accompanied by the sickening scrabble of many legs. The dwarves stood, weapons at the ready, and Legolas unsheathed his knives, moving in front of the firelight to get a better view of the encroaching darkness.

Then, without warning, the first spider lunged from the trees, its massive body gleaming in the firelight, eyes glinting with hunger. Dwalin charged at it with a battle cry, his axes swinging in brutal arcs that caught the spider’s front legs, snapping them with sickening crunches.

“Kili!” Dwalin shouted over his shoulder. “Keep them off the others!”

Kili didn’t need further instruction. He nocked an arrow, drawing his bowstring back as he tracked another spider skittering toward them from the right. He loosed the arrow, hitting it in one of its many glinting eyes, and it shrieked, rearing back in pain.

Legolas moved with practiced ease, his knives flashing as he weaved between the attackers, slicing through chitin and legs with surgical precision. But there were more spiders than they had anticipated; for every one they felled, two more seemed to emerge from the darkness.

“Dwalin!” Kili called, his voice taut. “We need to form a circle. Too many of them coming from all sides.”

The older dwarf grunted in agreement, retreating back to the others as he continued to fend off the advancing creatures. “Everyone, close ranks! Keep yer backs to each other!”

They huddled together, dwarves and elf, forming a tight circle with weapons outstretched, a united front against the arachnid onslaught. The spiders encircled them, hissing and clicking, their massive bodies reflecting the firelight like sinister armor.

Legolas took a step forward, his knives gleaming. “We need to break through, or we’ll be overwhelmed.”

Kili gritted his teeth, glancing around. “Then let’s make it count.” He nocked another arrow and fired, while Dwalin swung his axes in wide arcs, felling anything that came within reach.

Suddenly, Legolas sprang forward, cutting through the nearest spider’s legs and opening a path through their encirclement. He glanced back at the dwarves. “This way—quickly!”

Dwalin gave a sharp nod. “You heard him! Move!”

They surged forward, breaking through the ring of spiders. The creatures chittered angrily, skittering after them as they fled into the darkness of the forest, leaving the dying embers of their campfire behind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of running, they reached another clearing. Legolas signaled for them to stop, listening intently. The chittering had faded, and the forest fell silent once more.

Dwalin doubled over, catching his breath, then gave a wary look at Legolas. “Seems we owe you thanks… for now,” he said grudgingly.

Legolas gave a slight bow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Do not thank me yet. We still have far to go, and Mirkwood is not yet done with us.”

Kili chuckled, though his face was tense. “At least we’re alive to see what it throws at us next.”

And with a shared nod, the dwarves and their elven guide continued on, the silent truce between them growing just a little stronger. They’d barely caught their breath when the small, rustling sound reached their ears.

Dwalin straightened instantly, his hand going to his axe, but he froze when he saw a familiar, small face peeking out from behind a nearby bush.

“Alin?” His voice was no more than a whisper, thick with disbelief.

The boy stepped out cautiously, clutching a small satchel to his chest and wearing a hesitant, apologetic grin. “Hi, Uncle Dwalin… Uncle Kili,” he said, his voice tremulous yet trying to sound brave. “I… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

For a long moment, Dwalin and Kili could only stare. The shock on their faces slowly gave way to horror as realization hit—Alin, Calin’s precious son and Dwalin’s own nephew, had somehow snuck along with them into Mirkwood, the one place Dwalin had hoped the boy would never go.

Dwalin’s expression twisted, and he took a slow, trembling step toward the boy. His voice was rough and strained, a mix of fear and fury. “Alin… Do you know what you’ve done?”

The boy looked down, scuffing his foot in the dirt, clearly uncomfortable under Dwalin’s intense gaze. “I thought… I thought you were going to Dale,” he stammered. “I wanted to come with you. Show you how good I am at sneakin’ around, just like Papa and Adad.. I didn’t know you’d come here…”

Kili’s face softened for a brief moment as he looked at the boy, but he quickly hardened his expression, remembering the peril they’d just faced. “You thought you could surprise us?” he asked, disbelief thick in his voice. “Surprise us? Alin, this isn’t some kind of… of game!”

Alin’s eyes filled with regret, though he struggled to meet their gazes. “I know it’s not a game, Uncle Kili. But my fathers are always talking about missions and things they have to do, and I thought… I thought I’d be good at it too. That maybe… maybe you’d be proud of me.”

Dwalin shook his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he fought for control. “Alin, you are precious to me,” he said, his voice shaking with barely contained emotion. “You’re precious to all of us. And you… you think we’d ever be proud of you putting yourself in danger like this?”

The boy’s lower lip trembled, and he shifted his weight, looking down. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry?” Dwalin’s voice cracked. He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he tried to restrain the mix of anger and fear coursing through him. “Lad, you don’t understand the danger you’ve put yourself in—or the danger you’ve put all of us in.”

Kili knelt down, grabbing Alin’s shoulders firmly but gently. “Alin, this isn’t just about you sneakin’ along. Do you understand where you are?” His voice softened, the severity of his words sinking deep. “You’re in Mirkwood, the one place your Adad would never want you to be. He’s terrified of these woods for good reason.”

At the mention of his father, Alin’s face went pale. He looked between Kili and Dwalin, confusion slowly giving way to the beginnings of real fear.

“Your Adad…” Dwalin began, his voice thick, “he’s suffered more than you can understand, Alin. He’s carried nightmares from this place—he’s endured things you don’t even know. If he found out you were here, that you’d willingly stepped into the heart of his pain…” Dwalin’s voice faltered, and he looked away, his shoulders tense, hands clenching in frustration. “He’d be beside himself with fear.”

Alin’s bravado finally faded entirely, replaced by guilt. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, looking down at his feet. “I just wanted to… to be like him.”

Kili exhaled, his face softening just a touch. “Alin, you are like him,” he said, his voice gentle. “You’ve got his courage, and his heart. But that doesn’t mean you should run headlong into danger like this. Do you think your da would want you to put yourself at risk just to prove something?” Both Dwalin and Kili knew that this type of stunt was something Calin and Nori would readily pull off, but Alin needs to understand the severity of his actions. 

The boy shook his head, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “No… No, he wouldn’t.”

Dwalin’s stern face softened only a little as he reached out, placing a rough, comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Alin, you’re braver than most, and I’d expect nothing less from my nephew. But bravery doesn’t mean throwin’ yourself into harm’s way. Bravery means protectin’ those who matter—and sometimes, that means stayin’ safe when it’s wise to do so.”

The boy sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “I… I understand, Uncle Dwalin. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through.”

Dwalin took a deep breath, his heart torn between relief and lingering fear. He glanced at Kili, who nodded in silent agreement, then turned back to the boy. “Listen carefully, lad,” he said, his voice still firm but less harsh. “From this moment on, you’re not leavin’ our sight. You’ll have two guards at all times—if it’s not Kili, then it’ll be me.”

Alin nodded quickly, his voice barely a whisper. “I won’t leave again. I promise.”

Dwalin’s face softened further, and he pulled Alin into a rough, fierce hug, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you, Alin. I’ve lost too much in my time—I’ll not lose you, too. Your Adad and Papa would never forgive me… and I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Kili’s gaze softened at the sight of his uncle and nephew, and he rested a hand on Alin’s back. “You’ll stay close, alright? We’ll see you through this, lad.”

Alin nodded again, his small body wrapped in Dwalin’s protective embrace. The boy now understood the weight of his choice—the pain he’d nearly brought to the people who loved him most. As the two dwarves released him, they exchanged a long, silent look, each bearing the silent vow to protect this child with their lives if it came to that.

When they finally settled down again, Alin was positioned carefully between Kili and Dwalin, the dwarves watching the forest with renewed vigilance, every sound in the darkness taking on new meaning. The shadows loomed tall, the trees a constant reminder of where they were. But with Alin between them, they were resolute, their bond of family and protection stronger than any fear Mirkwood could throw their way.

Chapter Text

The chill of Erebor’s morning lingered in Fili’s study, the air holding a certain weight that felt unshakable. Fili hadn’t slept well; something in his bones made him uneasy, though he couldn’t place why. As he poured over the latest missives, a swift knock at the door brought his head up. One of the raven keepers entered, a look of mild alarm on his face.

“From Kili’s party in Mirkwood, my lord,” the raven keeper said, his voice carrying an edge of caution. “They thought it urgent.”

“Thank you.” Fili took the scroll, nodding for the keeper to leave. Once alone, he carefully broke the wax seal. He could feel his pulse quicken as he unrolled the parchment, wondering what warranted this sudden communication. His eyes scanned the letter, and the further he read, the tighter his jaw clenched.

Brother,

I write with news I don’t know how to put gently, so I’ll say it plainly: Alin stowed away with us. He’s here with us in Mirkwood.

Fili blinked, his heart pounding as the words sank in. Alin—Calin and Nori’s son, that mischievous, headstrong child—was in Mirkwood? How could he have hidden away so well? What were Kili and Dwalin thinking, allowing him to stay?

We found him on the second night after reaching the woods. He slipped in during the spider attack, unnoticed until it was almost too late. We’re doing everything we can to keep him safe, but Mirkwood is no place for a child, especially one like Alin.

For the sake of everyone, please don’t tell Calin and Nori. They’d charge into the forest without hesitation, and you know how volatile things are between Erebor and Mirkwood. I’ll keep Alin guarded every moment. He’s safe—he’s a sturdy lad, and his father’s son, but…

Brother, please. Find a way to keep his parents in Dale. We can handle this. I promise.

—Kili

Fili stared at the parchment, a sinking feeling in his chest. He couldn’t deny the desperation in Kili’s words, the hint of guilt hidden between the lines. This wasn’t just a casual warning—Kili was afraid, and that alone was enough to make Fili’s heart race.

A child lost in Mirkwood, a child like Alin—spirited, curious, with a mind too quick for his own good. And he’d stowed away in the heart of a hostile forest, the very place where Calin himself had endured unspeakable suffering years before. If Calin found out… No. It would tear him apart.

Fili set the letter down, his hands trembling slightly. He hadn’t yet recovered from the strain of maintaining Erebor’s fragile alliances, and now this. Calin and Nori’s son, in Mirkwood. The dread settling over him felt as if the mountain itself were pressing down on his chest. Yet he knew Kili was right. Telling Calin and Nori would be disastrous—they would abandon all reason, all duty, and march into Mirkwood like thunder itself, willing to destroy anything in their path. Erebor’s standing, his own authority as king, would mean nothing against the force of two enraged parents seeking their son.

But could he keep it from them? He glanced at a fresh sheet of parchment, his thoughts whirling. He had to write something, anything, that would keep them in Dale just a while longer, to prevent a catastrophe.

To Calin and Nori,

I trust you’ve settled into Dale and have found your presence there beneficial. Erebor’s current situation has become unexpectedly complex. Negotiations here are strained, and I am, unfortunately, in need of your assistance for longer than anticipated. I must ask that you continue with your work in Dale, particularly in facilitating talks with Bard, as tensions grow. Our shared history with Dale and its people means your diplomatic role is crucial in maintaining our alliance. I would not ask this if I had any other recourse, but I cannot stress enough the importance of your presence there.

I know this may delay your return, and I can only thank you for your loyalty and patience. Upon your return, we can discuss this further in person.

Yours faithfully, in honor of Erebor and her people,
Fili, King Under the Mountain

He sealed the letter, feeling a pang of guilt twist in his chest. But what other choice did he have? As king, he had to think of the realm, the peace that so many had fought and died to achieve. This was the only way to hold things together… or so he tried to convince himself.

Before he could call for the raven keeper to deliver the letter, the doors to his study flew open with a force that made him jump. Calin and Nori strode in, their expressions severe and unyielding, the fire of determination blazing in their eyes.

“Where is he?” Calin demanded, his voice a barely controlled snarl. He took several strides toward Fili, his fists clenched, jaw tight with fury and worry.

Fili instinctively stood, folding his hands in front of him. “Calin, what are you—”

“Don’t play dumb, Fili,” Nori interjected, his voice tense but controlled, laced with a restrained fury that Fili had only seen a handful of times before. “We know Alin’s missing. Balin sent word. Three weeks, Fili! Our son’s been missing for three weeks!”

Calin’s voice cracked, though his glare remained fierce. “And not a word from you, not a single indication that you even cared to tell us. Where is my son, Fili?”

Fili felt the sting of their words, the weight of the trust they’d placed in him now hanging like a boulder between them. He tried to steady himself, though he knew there was no placating Calin in this state. “Alin is with Kili and Dwalin. He’s… safe.”

“Safe?” Calin’s voice rose in disbelief. “In Mirkwood? He’s not safe! You know the horrors of that place, Fili! I survived it once—I barely escaped with my life! And now you’re telling me my son is there, wandering those woods with a target on his back?”

Nori’s expression was equally grim, his voice low but fierce. “You don’t understand, Fili. If anything happens to Alin, there is nothing that will stop us from bringing down the very walls of Mirkwood if we have to. Our son’s life is more important than any alliance, any treaty, any risk. He is our child. And you chose to keep this from us?”

Fili held up his hands, trying to reason with them. “Listen to me. I had no choice. Kili warned me that if you knew, you’d abandon everything and charge into the forest. This mission, the stability of our realm—it’s too precarious, too—”

“Don’t you dare talk to us about ‘precarious’ situations, Fili!” Calin thundered, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and rage. “You didn’t even give us the chance to decide for ourselves. Do you have any idea what these three weeks have been like for us? Sleepless nights, hoping for a letter, praying that every shadow in Dale wasn’t hiding Alin’s fate.”

Nori placed a hand on Calin’s shoulder, though his own expression was as resolute as his husband’s. “Our son is out there, Fili, in a place that could kill him. And you expect us to stay here, pretending nothing is wrong? You’re the king, Fili, but you’re also family. Family protects each other. Right now, we need to be where our son is.”

Fili’s resolve wavered, the weight of their words pressing down on him. He saw the raw, unfiltered fear in their eyes—the desperate love of two parents who would defy every rule, break every bond, to ensure their child’s safety.

Taking a steadying breath, Fili spoke carefully. “You’re right,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But… if anything were to happen to Alin, I couldn’t bear that on my conscience either. Go. Do what you must. Kili will keep him safe until you arrive.”

Calin’s eyes softened just slightly, a glimmer of gratitude replacing some of the anger, though his face remained set in determination. He nodded, then turned to Nori, and without another word, they left the room, their departure as swift as their entrance had been.

As Fili watched them go, he sat heavily back into his chair, the weight of his crown feeling more burdensome than ever. He could only hope that Kili and Dwalin would be able to protect Alin—and that Calin and Nori would not tear Erebor and Mirkwood asunder in their desperation to bring their son home.

Chapter Text

The dense trees of Mirkwood rose above them like dark towers, casting the forest floor into a greenish gloom. Alin kept close to the others, feeling small in the vast, shadowy silence that surrounded them. He glanced at Kili and Dwalin as they moved with purpose, never letting him stray too far from their sides. Legolas walked ahead, his steps graceful and silent as if the forest itself bent to his presence. Alin’s initial excitement at sneaking along on this “adventure” had waned, replaced by a knot of unease he couldn’t quite shake.

Every now and then, Kili would glance back at him, his face softened with worry. The look in his uncle's eyes was unfamiliar—protective, almost fearful. It was a look Alin didn’t understand, but it only added to the growing apprehension in his chest.

That evening, as they made camp under a thick canopy of ancient trees, Alin sat between Dwalin and Kili, watching the firelight dance across their faces. Dwalin had remained uncharacteristically quiet for most of the journey, and Alin sensed that something was bothering him. Kili too seemed more tense than usual, and both seemed reluctant to speak when Legolas was nearby.

The elf had barely spoken to them since they entered the forest, his expression cold and distant, though his eyes held a subtle awareness, as though he were tracking everything around him—even them.

Alin tugged on Kili’s sleeve as they sat by the fire, speaking in a low whisper. “Uncle Kili, why don’t you like the elf prince?”

Kili looked taken aback for a moment, then glanced at Dwalin, who gave him a subtle nod. Sighing, Kili whispered, “It’s… complicated, Alin. Elves aren’t exactly our allies. Especially… their king.”

At the mention of Thranduil, Alin noticed both Dwalin and Kili’s expressions darken, though neither elaborated further. Alin’s curiosity grew—he knew there was history here, something unspoken that everyone else seemed to understand.

Later, after supper, Alin pretended to drift off by the fire while Kili and Dwalin spoke in hushed voices a few feet away. He strained to listen, catching fragments of their conversation.

“If Calin finds out, he’ll be furious,” Kili muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’ll come storming into Mirkwood himself.”

Dwalin shook his head, his voice equally low. “Aye, but we’ve no choice now. He’d have Alin home in a heartbeat if he knew where we were headed.”

Kili sighed, rubbing his temples. “Calin never did heal from what Thranduil did… and Alin doesn’t know. That’s the last thing Calin would want—to bring him here.”

Alin's heart raced. Thranduil? He remembered the name, the elven king his Ada’s never spoke of. There was something haunting in the way Dwalin and Kili talked about him, as if Thranduil were more than just a distant ruler.

What could he have done to my father? Alin wondered, his mind buzzing with questions.

The next few days passed in much the same way, with Alin hanging back, watching, and listening as the forest grew darker and denser around them. The air felt heavy, thick with ancient secrets, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stepping into something far bigger than he’d imagined.

One evening, he overheard Dwalin and Legolas exchanging words as they broke camp. Dwalin’s voice was gruff and clipped. “We’re trusting you, elf, but mark my words—if Calin finds out Alin’s here…”

Legolas’s expression didn’t shift, but his gaze grew colder. “I understand your hesitation, but I am not my father. Whatever history lies between your kin and mine does not alter my duty. I am here to guide you safely, nothing more.”

Dwalin huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s what you say. But if Calin shows up, if he finds out his son’s here, I wouldn’t want to be in your place.”

Alin’s heart pounded. He knew his Adad as a quiet man, cautious and careful, even when he told stories of his and Nori’s adventures. But the way they were speaking—What kind of past did his father have with Thranduil? Why did everyone keep saying it was so dangerous?

A few nights later, they stopped beside a small stream, the air heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. Alin barely touched his food, watching the others as they murmured softly, aware that they were drawing closer to the heart of the forest—and to something far more intimidating.

Kili sat beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, lad,” he said, his voice kind. “Something on your mind?”

Alin hesitated, then asked, “What happened between Adad and the elves? You keep talking like something bad is going to happen.”

Kili glanced at Dwalin, who gave a faint nod of encouragement, and sighed. “Your Adad… didn’t have an easy time when he came to Mirkwood. The elves… they didn’t treat him as they should have.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Thranduil, the king here, was… not kind to your Adad. There’s more to it than that, but that’s all you need to know for now.”

“But why?” Alin pressed, eyes wide with confusion and worry. “Why would anyone want to hurt Adad?”

Dwalin spoke this time, his voice like gravel. “It’s just how things were back then. Your Adad’s past is… complicated, lad. When he left Mirkwood, he never wanted to come back.” He glanced away, his voice thickening. “And he wouldn’t want you here either, if he had a choice.”

Alin felt a pang of guilt at that. He’d only wanted an adventure, a chance to be like his fathers, to prove he could handle himself. But the look in Dwalin and Kili’s eyes told him that he’d stumbled into something far darker than he’d anticipated.

The next morning, they set out in silence, each of them weighed down by the conversations of the night before. Alin’s mind swirled with questions he didn’t dare ask, his young heart heavy with guilt. He hadn’t known. He’d only thought to prove himself, to make his fathers proud—but he hadn’t realized how much it would worry them, or that he’d be dragging them back to a place that haunted them.

As the shadows deepened around them, Alin grew more subdued, his gaze flicking to Legolas, who seemed to drift through the trees as naturally as a breeze. The elf prince occasionally glanced back, his expression unreadable, as though he sensed the boy’s unease.

When night fell, they found a small clearing, and Legolas motioned for them to stop. “We are near the heart of Mirkwood now. The paths grow treacherous; we must keep to the light.” He cast a glance at Alin, and for a moment, something softened in his gaze. “Your father’s wishes are clear, dwarf-child. I do this for him.”

Alin nodded, though he wasn’t sure what Legolas meant. But he felt a strange warmth at the elf’s words, as though his father’s presence lingered even here, in this shadowed land.

As the night deepened, the group sat in silence around the fire, each lost in their thoughts. Alin watched the flames flicker, thinking of his father and the mysteries of his past. He wanted to ask more questions, but the forest itself seemed to shush him, as if telling him to wait, to listen. And as he lay down beside the fire, he promised himself that he would find out the truth—no matter how long it took.

In the morning, they would reach the gates of the elven kingdom.

Chapter Text

The walls of Erebor were as imposing as ever, but today, even their steadfast strength did little to ease Fili's troubled heart. He had been pacing the council chamber for what felt like hours, unable to focus on any of the royal matters that were now scattered before him—letters from other kingdoms, reports from his advisors, and even the ongoing trade discussions with Lake-town. All of them seemed irrelevant compared to the storm swirling around him.

Alin was in Mirkwood, the forest a place of dark memories for his parents. Kili and Dwalin had sent word that the boy was alive and well, but that didn’t alleviate the worry Fili carried like a weight on his chest. His mind kept returning to the same thoughts: What if something happened to Alin? What if Calin and Nori’s reckless pursuit of their son would only make things worse?

But the worries didn’t stop there. He had to navigate the growing tension between Erebor and Mirkwood, the potential dangers of alliances strained by political games, and now his cousin’s fury—barely contained—as they rushed headlong into Mirkwood, determined to retrieve their son no matter the cost.

Fili clenched his fists at the thought, his mind already full of questions. How could he protect Alin? How could he stop Calin and Nori from destroying the fragile peace between Erebor and Mirkwood? And what about his own kingdom? How could he ensure that Erebor stood strong amidst all of this?

A sudden knock at the door broke him from his thoughts, and before he could answer, Thorin entered, his steady presence a stark contrast to Fili's restless energy.

“You seem troubled.” the one-eyed king remarked as he made his way into the room. He took Fili’s seat seeing as how his nephew obviously wan’t going to use it with all of his pacing.

Fili sighed, stopping to rub his temples before beginning to pace again. The weight of the situation seemed to press down on him from all sides. He felt like a ship caught in a storm, unable to find safe harbor.

“I don’t know what to do, Uncle. Calin and Nori… They’re running off to Mirkwood after Alin. I can’t let them jeopardize everything we’ve worked for. But if I stop them, they’ll hate me for it.” Fili’s voice grew bitter, his frustration clear. “And Mirkwood—Thranduil won’t trust us. He’ll see it as an insult. We’re not ready to face him, not like this. Not with everything on the line.”

Thorin, as always, was calm in the face of Fili’s anxiety, his weathered face betraying little emotion. He moved to the chair opposite Fili and sat down, his posture relaxed but purposeful.

“You’ve been shouldering this kingdom’s burdens alone for too long, Fili. You need to understand that balance is everything. You cannot rule with only your emotions or your fears driving you.” His voice softened, but his eyes never wavered from Fili. “You must see the long-term consequences of your choices. Peace is fragile—between kingdoms and in your own heart.”

Fili nodded, but the weight of his thoughts pressed on him once more. He wanted to believe his uncle’s words, but it was hard to see the bigger picture when everything seemed so urgent.

“I’m trying, Uncle. But it’s hard. The kingdom is rebuilding, and every decision I make seems to push us closer to something catastrophic. Alin is in danger. I have no control to ensure his safety. I know i can trust Kili and Dwalin to protect him, but If something does happen… And then there’s Mirkwood—what if I do something to make things worse? What if Calin and Nori end up making it impossible for us to ever have peace with them?”

Thorin leaned forward, his eyes sharp and steady as he addressed Fili’s concerns.

“You can’t stop Calin and Nori from their choices. What you can control is your response. The path forward is not just about ensuring Alin’s safety—though that is paramount—it’s also about finding a way to turn this into something that will help your people. You know, better than anyone, how important that peace with Mirkwood is. You cannot let emotion alone guide your hand, or it will break what has been so carefully built.”

Fili swallowed, the knot in his stomach tightening. He wanted to do the right thing, to find a way to bring his cousin’s son home, but how could he possibly keep peace with Mirkwood when emotions were running so high?

His eyes met Thorin’s, desperate for guidance. “I’m not like you, Uncle. I can’t balance everything like you did. I feel like I’m already failing.”

Thorin placed a hand on Fili’s shoulder, his voice firm but gentle.

You’ve been raised to lead, Fili. And just like any of us, you’ll make mistakes. But you will also learn from them. This is your test, your moment to show the kingdom that you are worthy of the throne. You’ve already done what many would’ve thought impossible, bringing Erebor back from ruin. This is just another challenge. A hard one, yes, but you are not alone in it.”

For a moment, Fili’s breath caught in his chest, the pressure in his chest easing slightly. His uncle had a way of steadying him with just a few words, a reminder of everything he had already accomplished and the trust that had been placed in him.

“What do I do, Uncle? How do I stop Calin and Nori without losing them? How do I show Mirkwood we’re trying to help, not harm?”

Thorin leaned back, his hands resting on his knees as he considered Fili’s question. He was always careful with his advice, never rushing to give answers that were too quick or too easy.

“First, you make it clear that you are not acting out of distrust or anger. You write to Calin and Nori, explain that you’re doing everything in your power to keep Alin safe, but that you need their patience. You need them to trust that their son’s safety is just as important to you as it is to them.” He paused, his gaze far away for a moment, as if he were thinking of something distant. “And then, you should to work with Thranduil. Show him that you are not the same as the dwarves of old, that your heart is one of peace. This is a chance for you to prove that Erebor is not a threat, but a partner.”

Fili listened, his mind running through the plan as Thorin spoke. He had feared the day would come when he’d have to make decisions like this, but he had never imagined it would be so overwhelming. And yet, hearing his uncle’s words gave him the strength to take the next steps.

“And if Thranduil doesn’t trust us? What if he thinks we’re making a power grab?”

“Then you show him you’re not. You prove it, not with words, but with actions. You bring Alin home safely, and you continue to extend the hand of peace, no matter how difficult it may be. It’s time, Fili, to let others see the kind of king you are.”

Fili let out a long breath, the weight of his responsibilities still heavy, but somehow more manageable now. The storm hadn’t passed, but at least now he had a compass to guide him.

“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll do it. I’ll write to Thranduil and try to calm things down with Calin and Nori. It’s not going to be easy… but I’ll do it.”

Thorin nodded, his eyes softening with a mix of pride and understanding.

“I know you will, lad. You’re ready for this. Trust yourself. The kingdom trusts you.”

As Fili looked at his uncle, he felt the weight of the crown a little less today. There was no easy way forward, no guarantees. But with Thorin's guidance, and the knowledge that his family stood beside him, Fili knew that he would find his way through. And for Alin, and for Erebor, he would do whatever it took.

Chapter Text

Once again, Fili found himself alone in the dimly lit chamber of his study, his elbows resting on a pile of scrolls and letters. His brow furrowed as he sifted through reports from the eastern border, trade agreements from Erebor's neighbors, and diplomatic letters from Mirkwood, all pressing demands on his attention. Each piece of correspondence seemed to weigh heavier than the last, and no matter how much he accomplished, there was always more to be done. His fingers moved mechanically as he unsealed yet another letter, this time from Lake-town, detailing further complications in their ongoing trade negotiations.

The weight of the crown pressed heavily on his head. In the short time since Erebor's resurgence, he'd been forced to assume the mantle of leadership, striving to maintain peace while ensuring the prosperity of the dwarves. It was no easy task, especially with tensions simmering both within Erebor and beyond.

His mind drifted back to Alin, his nephew, lost in Mirkwood—his thoughts filled with dread for the boy’s safety, as well as the fragile peace between Erebor and Mirkwood that hung by a thread. The very thought of it made his stomach churn. Kili and Dwalin had assured him that Alin was in good hands, but even so, Fili couldn’t shake the sense of helplessness that gnawed at him.

In the quiet of his chamber, Fili fought the urge to run his hands through his hair. Was he cut out for this? he wondered, watching the flickering candlelight in front of him. He had never been trained for this. He had never expected to rule alone, not without Thorin's guidance. What if I make the wrong choice?

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door. Thorin stepped inside a steady presence as always. Despite Fili's doubts, Thorin had been a constant source of support, but Fili had always found himself questioning whether he could truly live up to his uncle’s legacy.

“Still at it?” Thorin’s voice was low but filled with concern. “You need rest, Fili. You’ve been at this for hours.”

Fili offered a weak smile. “I can’t afford to rest. Mirkwood... Alin... Erebor. I can’t stop thinking about all of it. We have so many enemies, so many dangers at the gates... and if I don’t get this right, it’ll all fall apart.”

Thorin walked to his side, placing a firm hand on Fili’s shoulder. “You’re doing your best, lad. That’s all anyone can ask. But you won’t be able to help Erebor if you run yourself ragged.”

Before Fili could respond, a messenger appeared at the door, bearing another scroll. He handed it to Fili, who quickly broke the seal. His eyes scanned the letter. It was from a scout stationed along Erebor’s northern borders. The message was brief, but its implications were grave: a rebel faction in Lake-town had begun organizing, stirring unrest among the common folk, their anger fueled by a mix of economic hardship and resentment toward Erebor’s newfound power. It wasn’t just talk anymore—it was rebellion in the making.

Fili’s heart sank. He placed the letter down, his thoughts racing.

“Rebels,” he murmured. “A threat from within Lake-town.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed in thought. “That’s troubling. And in the middle of all this, with Mirkwood as delicate as it is.”

Fili nodded, taking a deep breath. “This just complicates everything. We need to act fast. If these rebels rise up, Erebor will be vulnerable. And Mirkwood... I can’t risk making things worse by sending a message there now, not with Calin and Nori in the middle of it. But I don’t want to ignore this either.”

The next morning, Fili convened a meeting with his closest advisors in the war room. Bilbo, Balin, and several nobles took their seats around the table, all eyes on him. The weight of the decision hung in the air, thick and heavy. The kingdom was at a crossroads.

“We’ve received word of a rebellion brewing in Lake-town,” Fili began, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “They’re angry, disillusioned. They feel that Erebor’s rise has come at their expense, and now they’re organizing against us.”

Balin shifted in his seat, his face etched with concern. “If it’s growing into a rebellion, we must act. We can’t have an uprising so close to Erebor.”

Dori, standing off to the side, nodded grimly. “The people in Lake-town won’t stand for this. They’ll fight for their independence.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps it’s not as simple as a rebellion. There could be other forces at play here, people trying to incite this chaos.”

Fili leaned forward. “We don’t know the full scope yet. But we must take action. Lake-town’s proximity to Erebor is a threat, and we can’t afford to let it fester.”

Balin’s voice trembled slightly. “I don’t understand, Fili. What about Mirkwood? Shouldn’t we be focusing on that? Alin is still out there, and—”

Fili raised a hand, his expression tense. “I won’t risk upsetting Mirkwood any further by making demands of them now. I can’t send anyone to them—not with Calin and Nori already heading there. If I make the wrong move, it could destroy any hope of peace.”

Thorin’s voice cut through the tension. “You’re right to be cautious, Fili. But you can’t ignore Lake-town’s rebellion. You’ve got to act fast before it grows into something we can’t control.”

Fili’s fingers tapped against the stone table. “I know. I know. But what do I do, Thorin? If I send troops to quell the rebellion, I risk destabilizing Erebor. And if I ignore them, it could spread.”

“We need to stop it before it gets any worse,” Thorin said firmly. “Send a delegation to Lake-town. We need to make sure that they know we’re not their enemy, and if there are those trying to stir rebellion, we put an end to it. You’ll need a voice of reason there, someone they’ll listen to.”

Fili hesitated, then nodded. “I agree. I’ll get in touch with Bard and have him investigate the matters in Lake-town.”

Later that evening, Fili rode out to Dale to meet Bard in a quiet part of the city. Bard had been a key ally during Erebor’s resurgence, and Fili trusted him. He wasn’t sure if Bard would agree to such a delicate task, but in a time of crisis, Fili had little choice.

Bard met him at the outskirts of the royal grounds, his face serious but calm. “You sent for me, lad?” Fili let the informality slide, seeing Bard more as a friend than another political leader. After all, it was Bard who helped them during their quest to reclaim Erebor; and it was Bard who shot down Smaug.

Fili dismounted, running a hand through his hair. “I need your help, Bard. There’s unrest in Lake-town. A rebellion is brewing, and I need to send a message that Erebor doesn’t want a war.”

Bard’s eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath. “I knew that there was a few families who had stayed behind on the account that they didn’t want to leave the home they had always known, but I never thought that they’d be a problem.”

“That town has been reduced to ash and ruin, and yet they are resourceful enough to put together a rebellion.” Fili looked off at the desolation of Smaug, the ashen town nothing but a black spot on the lake.

Bard’s eyes followed Fili’s, wondering how this situation will play out. “Know that you’re asking for diplomacy in a time when swords are drawn.”

“I need someone they’ll listen to,” Fili said, voice firm. “I need someone who can speak with authority, who knows how to handle a situation like this. You’re the only one I trust to get this right.”

Bard paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then he nodded. “Very well. I’ll go. But this won’t be easy, Fili. The people there are angry, and it’ll take more than words to calm them.”

Fili’s face tightened, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. “I know. But I can’t risk everything on this. Please, Bard. For Erebor, for everyone.” Bard nodded to to the king, not as a friend this time but as two political leaders understanding what must be done for the betterment of their people.

Fili watched Bard ride off into the distance, a sense of dread settling over him. The rebels in Lake-town were only the beginning. The larger forces at play were yet to be revealed. And with everything happening with Alin, Mirkwood, and the kingdom’s fragile alliances, Fili knew that nothing would ever be simple again.

He stood there for a moment, staring out at the horizon, feeling the weight of the crown heavier than ever. The peace of Erebor—and the survival of its people—rested on his shoulders.

Chapter Text

The forest loomed before them, a dark, twisting labyrinth of gnarled branches and shadows that seemed to breathe. Calin’s steps faltered as the trees swallowed the sunlight, their twisted trunks forming grotesque shapes in the dim light. His fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his jaw betraying the storm brewing inside him.

Nori walked beside him, his hand brushing Calin’s arm in a silent offer of comfort. “You alright?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the creak of the forest floor beneath their boots.

“I’m fine,” Calin snapped, the edge in his voice sharper than intended. He exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. It’s just... this place. I didn’t think I’d ever have to set foot in this cursed forest again.”

Nori’s eyes flicked up to the towering canopy, his usual swagger dampened by the oppressive weight of Mirkwood’s atmosphere. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t getting to me too,” he admitted. “But we’ve come this far. We’ll find Alin and be out of here before we know it.”

Calin shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “It’s not just the forest, Nori. It’s them.” He gestured vaguely ahead. “The elves. Thranduil. Do you think they’ll just let us waltz in and take Alin back?”

“Not if we don’t give them a choice,” Nori replied, his voice laced with a defiance that Calin envied. “We’re not here to make friends. We’re here to get our boy and leave.”

Calin stopped, grabbing Nori by the arm. “And what if they don’t let us leave?” he hissed, his voice low but frantic. “What if they take him from us, Nori? What if they take us?” His dark eyes burned with a mix of fear and fury. “I won’t let him grow up without us.”

Nori’s face softened, his free hand coming up to rest on Calin’s shoulder. “He won’t have to. We’re not the same dwarves we were when we last dealt with Thranduil. We’ve fought dragons and armies, survived the worst of what this world can throw at us. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Calin’s gaze dropped to the ground, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I hate this,” he muttered. “Every step I take in this forest feels like walking back into a nightmare.” Calins mind flashed back to those wretched nights spent in the freezing depths of Thranduils dungeons and in the colder walls of his chambers. Tears threatened his eyes, and his throat started to clog. He did not want to be here, and he greatly feared for his beloved son.

“You’re stronger now,” Nori said firmly, wiping away the single tears that started to trickle down his husbands face. “You’re not the same dwarf who walked out of here last time. And you’re not alone this time either.”

Calin met Nori’s eyes, the words settling something in him. He gave a short nod, his expression hardening into one of determination. Calin pulled the auburn-haired dwarf down for a kiss. “You’re right. For Alin’s sake, I can do this.”

Nori’s grin returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s the spirit. Let’s keep moving before this forest decides to swallow us whole.”

Hours passed as they made their way deeper into Mirkwood. The forest seemed alive, the air thick with an unnatural tension. Every snap of a twig and rustle of leaves put Calin on edge, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his whips. Nori’s sharp eyes scanned the shadows, his own unease betrayed by the occasional nervous twitch of his fingers.

“How do they live here?” Nori muttered, his voice breaking the silence. “It’s like the trees are watching us.” His heavy boot landed on a stick, the sound of the wood snapping seemed to echo around them, the trees groaning out as if mourning.

“They probably are,” Calin replied grimly, looking at the trees and then back to the path underfoot. “The elves claim to have tamed this forest, but I’d wager it’s more like they’ve struck a fragile truce with it.” They had lost this path once before and the company had paid dearly for it. Calin would not let that happen again.

“Some truce,” Nori scoffed. He glanced at Calin, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been quiet. Thinking about Alin?”

Calin nodded, his expression dark. “I keep wondering how he ended up here. He’s a clever lad, but he’s still just a child. This forest... it’s no place for him.”

“He’s got some of your stubbornness,” Nori said with a small smile. “And mine, for that matter. Probably thought he could keep up with Kili and Dwalin.”

“Aye, and now he’s in the middle of Mirkwood, with Aule knows what dangers around every corner,” Calin growled. “When we find him, I swear...”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Nori interrupted. “He’ll already be scared out of his wits. He’ll need reassurance, not a scolding.”

Calin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right. Again. How do you keep doing that?”

“Natural talent,” Nori said with a playfully arrogant grin. He reached over to squeeze Calin’s hand briefly before letting it fall. “We’ll find him, love. And we’ll get him out of here. Together.”

The forest grew darker as night fell, the faint glow of moonlight through the forest’s canopy their only light. Calin’s nerves were fraying, every shadow and sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through his system. Beside him, Nori’s usual air of confidence was visibly strained.

“We should stop and rest for a bit,” Nori suggested, glancing around for a relatively clear patch of ground.

Calin shook his head. “No. The sooner we find Alin, the better. If he’s alone out here...”

“We’ll be no good to him if we’re dead on our feet,” Nori countered. “Just a short break, Calin. Enough to catch our breath.”

Reluctantly, Calin nodded. They settled against the base of a massive tree, their backs to the rough bark. Calin leaned against his husband, laying his head on Nori’s shoulder. The latter of the two, resting his head on Calin’s. The silence of the forest pressed in around them, broken only by the occasional distant cry of some unseen creature.

“Do you think he’ll hate us for this?” Calin asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “For bringing him into our mess?”

Nori’s gaze softened as he looked at Calin. “Alin doesn’t see it that way. To him, we’re his parents. His home. No matter what else happens, that’s what matters to him.”

Calin didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. He wanted to believe Nori’s words, but doubt gnawed at him like a hungry wolf.

“But does he really see us as his parents?” Calin closed his eyes, remembering the scene as if it was yesterday. The battle of the five armies was finished, everyone who could, comed the battlefield looking for familiar faces both dead and alive. Calin, looking for Balin, stumbled upon a boy barley over four. The little dwarf was sitting next to a fallen soldier, stained red from an orc inflicted wound, by the looks of it, he died from blood loss. He would have survived if he made it to a healer. 

The boy poked at his fathers shoulder, begging him to wake up, telling him that the battle was over. Calin remembered explaining to the boy that his father was gone, yet death was a foreign concept to the little dwarf. Calin dropped the boy off at the healing tent to be reunited with his mother, only to find out that she was also gone. A few weeks after the dust settled from war, Nori and Calin agreed to adopt little Alin.

“Have you see the way he looks at you?” Nori said, squeezing Calin’s hand. The sight of Alin’s heartwarming smile flashing across his mind. “You are his Adad, and he loved you. You saved him from growing up like us. When the day come that he understands that, it’ll only bring you closer.” 

Calin nodded, wishing he could go back to that night just weeks ago when all of his family was safe at his home. Nori and Alin playing dragon, while he and his brothers talked about various things. 

He prayed to the stars,wherever they may be, and hoped that their little dragon was safe.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, I am discontinuing A Throne of Shadows. So sorry for any Calin and Nori fans.

BUT

I am not working on another piece called A Familiar Soul. Updates to come, but I am very excited for this piece.