Kili followed along after his godmother, keeping tentatively close while they continued down the long, dim hallway. The armory was cold, as was every room of the castle, but this room was full of weaponry and more armor than Kili had ever seen in his life. Awestruck by the sight of it all, he hurried towards a collection of swords and envied each one. They were finely crafted, each blade heavier than the next.	
The excitement was short lived, however. As Saeril spoke, Kili sobered. War was upon them, and it was coming fast.

"Yes, of course," Kili answered her question without hesitation. Deep down, the possibility of death frightened him, but his loyalty to his kin remained strong. He would defend them with his last breath.
"I would follow you until the end...all of you...but..." He trailed off, brows furrowed. This troubled him greatly, even more than seeing his uncle's steady decline into madness. Losing the ones he cared about was perhaps his greatest fear of all.

"Delva...you don't have to do this." Kili reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "This isn't your fault, and this isn't your fight...if, or [i]when[/i] the war happens...you shouldn't have to be a part of it. I don't want to lose you."