Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The temperature was dropping as night fell.

Stirring up the dying embers of the small cookfire, Uzresh followed the path of the drifting, glowing sparks upward. High above his head, through the tight webbing of thick tree branches that had protected them all day, the last rays of the setting sun were fading away into darkness. 

It was past time. They should already have been awake and moving.

Listening to the soft snores emanating from the mounds of blankets around the small clearing, Uzresh scratched at his chin and debated the risk of allowing them to sleep an hour longer.

From the youngest to the oldest they had done well—much better than Uzresh had ever expected them to. When he and his hunters had first stumbled upon the ragtag band of survivors huddled together high on the ridge above the burning settlement, his first instinct had been to leave them. He'd thought to ignore the hopeful, sad eyes turned to him for leadership. There was no chieftain, and he did not want it.

All he had wanted was to put enough distance between him and the smoking remains of his once-home as he could before the sun rose. That he knew them and that he had shared meat with them did not matter. They had survived and his family had not. Any old ties no longer held. 

But then Urzig, his eldest, had stepped out, ash-streaked and shaking but unharmed, from amongst them, and Uzresh’s usually sound judgement was tossed aside in a heartbeat. 

“I will lead you,” he said, ignoring Ozru’s heavy sigh at his back. “But if you fall behind we will not wait.”

He had meant it too.

And they had not yet forced him to test his resolve.

Despite the hard pace, not one of them had fallen behind or dared raise so much as a whisper of a complaint. Quietly, they’d rub at their feet and ease aching muscles when he finally allowed them to stop. Some would collapse where they stood, too tired to even lay out a bedroll on the cold ground. But they’d all rise again when he barked out the order. 

In an eerie silence, they had hurried along in the dark, hour after hour and league after league, with no songs to lift their spirits. Only their panting breaths and the occasional clumsy snap of a twig or scuff of a heavy boot against rock marked their passing, and they’d kept to the deeper shadows under the eaves of the forest, fearful of attracting unwanted attention. 

They all understood that these were perilous lands.

Long marches, little sleep, and no fires had slowly drained their strength as the nights passed and their already meagre supplies dwindled away to nothing.

And then, as even Uzresh’s hunters began to stumble and Uzresh began to reconsider his oath, they’d finally had a stroke of luck. 

The shard of bone that he was using to poke at the fire had been picked as clean as if it had been boiled. Uzresh nodded, tossing it into the flames.

They’d needed this. It had been worth the risk and it might be a while before they slept again peacefully with full bellies. His eyes fell on the packs propped up near Ozru at the edge of the clearing. Now they would have mouthfuls of fresh meat for a few days. There would be no more fires, but cold meat was infinitely better than none.

A small rustle in the undergrowth opposite startled him. His heart pounding, Uzresh stared into the tangle of thorny bushes. It would be some small night creature emerging to hunt. His hunters guarded the perimeter, and they’d reported nothing unusual when the shift had changed. When long moments passed and there were no more sounds he chuckled to himself. Shaking his head, he took his hand away from the scimitar by his knee, relieved no-one was awake to witness his shattered nerves. 

Beside him, Urzig whimpered in his sleep. His lanky, half-grown limbs were tangled up in his blanket and he tossed and turned fitfully, the bad dreams plaguing him even in his exhaustion. Reaching out, Uzresh laid his palm gently upon his son’s forehead, untangling the blankets with the other and whispering what he hoped were soothing words until the boy settled again. Time would heal. He was certain of it. He had to be.

With his claws still scratching lightly over Urzig’s delicate skull, the flickering comforting firelight drew Uzresh’s gaze again. It had been dangerous to light one, that was true, and beyond dangerous to tarry this long. They were moving too fast to make more than the most rudimental efforts to cover their trail. Any real attempt at stealth had been sacrificed for speed.

It had been a gamble to stop.

Arguing in hushed voices back and forth, he and Ozru ran at the head of the pack, their prizes heavy and tempting across their shoulders. The metallic scent of fresh blood and victory and hope filling their heads, pushing all reason out. 

“—then we leave them,” hissed Ozru. “This will barely feed the strongest. You know I’m right, Uzresh.”

With a final snarl that commanded Ozru to be silent or face the consequences, Uzresh stopped. They waited for the others to catch up before Uzresh led them as far into the elf-cursed forest as he dared until he found a small clearing hemmed in by wide trees. They needed fire and for that they had to be hidden. 

As he set a perimeter and watches, ordered a fire built, and the meat portioned out and prepared, he pointedly ignored Ozru. His second-in-command pointedly ignored him too. Circling the clearing, Ozru muttered curses under his breath as he glared at the trees, the growing fire, and the sky as if they offended him.

Uzresh understood that nerves were strained. He felt that he could forgive a little insubordination under the circumstances. And he was too tired and footsore for discipline—especially when he partially agreed that Ozru may have had a point. 

And then the hastily prepared meat was thrown on the fire and all was forgotten as mouths watered and bellies rumbled. Even Ozru had cheered up. Abandoning his sulking to join them, he nudged Uzresh and grumbled something that might have been an apology.

They had fallen upon the food as if truly starving, tearing meat from bones before it was ready, burning lips and tongues and laughing at each other's eagerness and their good fortune. And the world had seemed that little bit more forgiving for a few moments. That little bit more hopeful.

Forcing his eyes away from the dancing flames, Uzresh stared into the deep shadows between the tall trees, trying to reassure himself that he had been right to pull rank. They’d had to rest. The healing power of a warm fire and a bellyful of something hot and wholesome had to have been worth the risk. Surely they'd had enough of a headstart? And, perhaps, if they were very lucky, they might even now be out of the territory of any pursuers? 

He wasn’t feeling particularly confident. The itch between his shoulder blades, the feeling that they were being watched, that something dogged their steps and had done since they’d turned their back on the ashes of their home, had become relentless.

But he’d done everything he could. The double watch was a precaution, and he should be resting himself. But he couldn’t close his eyes. All he could manage was to sit and hope that he hadn’t made a decision that would get them killed, not when they’d managed without a single loss this far.

And worrying was a waste of time. If he couldn’t rest, and it was too late to try now, then working out their next step was what he should be doing. Pulling the map from his pocket, Uzresh spread it carefully on the damp forest floor. He’d never travelled this far south and he wasn’t entirely sure where exactly they were. And that was a problem. Rummaging about in his pockets for a spare scrap of parchment, he pulled a piece of charcoal from the fire. Ideally, he would like to be well clear of the elf-forest before they were forced again to stop and hunt. Noting down some figures, he considered their possible route and tried to calculate rations.

The map that they had found in the Chieftain’s fire-scorched cave had already let them down several times, but it was all they had. Tracing along the edge of the forest, Uzresh frowned. They would, perhaps, if the map held true for once, be funnelled into a steep gully not far ahead. That would be perfect ambush territory. 

Uzresh tapped his claws against his knee and looked around the clearing. Not all of his pack would be able to make a steep climb, they’d be risking injury, but the alternative, moving deeper into the forest, didn’t appeal to him either. There were more than bright-eyed elves in these dark woods. 

Maybe the map would be wrong once more? Uzresh nodded, feeling his heart lift. They couldn’t go back. Not now. So they would have to go through, or around. He and Ozru could scout and then they’d decide.

Not for the first time he wondered if he had made a fundamental mistake, if he should have chosen to take them north, on the familiar paths that he knew, instead of south. But it had seemed so obvious to him at the time. Death had come from the north. Who knew what had survived that way? 

An owl hooted and Uzresh looked around, frowning. Beyond the fog of weariness, something stirred in the back of his mind.

By the trees, Ozru sat bolt upright. He stared at Uzresh, his eyes impossibly wide.

A second owl hooted, closer and strangely near the ground, and Uzresh remembered.

“Run!” he roared. Sweeping up his scimitar, he leapt to his feet, knowing even as he did it was useless. His perimeter guards, his hunters, the only other trained fighters beside him and Ozru, likely already lay dead amidst the trees.

He had killed them all.

“Run!” He kicked Urzig when the boy stirred too slowly, blinking up at him in confusion. “Dwarves!”

Firelight flared off the edge of a fast moving blade as it spun, the impact knocking Uzresh back a step.

Moments ticked past. The unfortunate guard stood in the doorway of Thorin’s study, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking as if he would rather be facing down a dragon or an army of orcs than delivering the Crown Prince’s news. 

“What?” Dis’s fingers were white-knuckled against the edge of Thorin’s desk. She stood, her face a mixture of fury and fear, and her voice shrill. “What do you mean ‘he’s gone’?”

The guard stepped back hastily and Thorin motioned for him to leave. Rounding the desk, he took his sister’s arm. 

“Thorin,” she whispered as the study door slammed closed. “Where is my son?”

Staring at the scimitar, Uzresh tried to will his leaden fingers to move, his thoughts strangely dull.

He couldn’t remember falling to his knees but he must have done.

Only a few steps from the fire, Urzig lay silent on his back. His eyes already glazed and a mannish arrow in his throat. 

It had taken longer than Uzresh would have wanted—had he a choice in the matter. His boy. His eldest and only boy. While Uzresh had knelt in the dirt, powerless to do anything other than watch, Urzig had fought, gasping for air, clawing at his neck and choking on his own blood, his scrawny, almost-grown legs kicking hard. The screams and curses of their people had risen and fallen around them, punctuated by the clash of metal, and silence had eventually crept over the clearing but Uzresh hadn’t lifted his eyes from Urzig’s. 

Not until now. 

He focused on the scimitar, its blade clean and shining, as soft, purposeful footsteps drew closer.

It had been a massacre.

He should have taken Urzig and gone. They should have ran and not stopped running until they were pounding on the Black Gate. He had been a fool to think there was any safety in numbers. He had been a fool to think he could save them all.

The footsteps stopped.

With an effort, Uzresh tore his gaze from the scimitar and looked into the cold, green eyes of the Durin.

The curses wouldn’t form as he wished but Uzresh tried anyway. His voice was a broken gurgle, his tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth and refusing to obey him. But he managed. He cursed the Durin bitterly. He cursed it for the death of his sons, his little daughter and his wife, the death of all his kin. He cursed it for the cruelty of blocked cave mouths, for those trapped inside to burn, and for those who escaped the flames only to be cut down savagely.

He cursed himself for ever stopping, for not listening to his better instincts. He cursed himself for creeping toward the stone-walled pens where the oblivious Men slept, his and Ozru’s soft footsteps masked by quiet, worried bleating.

He cursed the Men for their complacency. He cursed them for their arrogance, for thinking that they could sleep peacefully when danger stalked them.

He cursed himself for the same.

The Durin kicked the scimitar away.

Uzresh watched it go. His fingers twitched with the loss and something within him broke. Finding a strength he’d thought gone, Uzresh tore the knife from his throat and threw himself across the fire.

The huge orc lay sprawled at their feet. Placing a boot under its shoulder, Fili rolled it over, away from the flames that licked at its legs. He looked down into grey eyes that stared toward the sky, fixed and unseeing.

Dwalin snorted. “Took that one a while to realise it was dead.”

Fili nodded. It had been talkative too. He’d struggled to make out any of the words, but he’d felt the hatred radiating off the creature before it attempted to lunge at him with his own throwing knife. Spinning the knife through his fingers, he tucked it away and crouched by the ruins of the fire. 

“What is it?” Dwalin knelt beside him.

Pulling out the singed pieces of parchment, Fili patted out the stray embers and rearranged the pieces. “A poor attempt at a map. And…” He tilted his head, studying the marks on the other parchment. “Some sort of list perhaps? But underneath I think there may be some older writing.” 

When he folded them carefully and made to tuck both in a pocket, Dwalin was looking at him curiously. “It’s not often you see them carrying messages, Dwalin. I’ll let Ori and Balin take a look. This isn’t mutton, is it?”

They both considered the scattered, half-burnt bones. Pulling one gently from the ashes, Fili looked at the orc’s packs.

“The boys didn’t get away after all, then,” Dwalin said.

“It was but a fool’s hope.” Suddenly feeling tired, Fili pushed himself to his feet. The orcs had led them a hard and long chase. And now it was over. He huffed out a breath, feeling deflated as he looked around the clearing. What to do now? He counted heads. “Where’s Bain?”

“Last time I saw him he was headed for the bushes.” Dwalin stood. “You find him and I’ll go have a look in those packs.”

Bain hadn’t gone far.

Half-turned away, Fili studied the trees and undergrowth, waiting for the boy to finish retching. Ideally, he’d give Bain more privacy. But, although they weren’t far enough under the eaves for the spiders to be a serious threat, it would be foolish to underestimate the creatures of Mirkwood. Especially with the winter darkness rapidly falling.

Dale’s prince should never have been allowed to wander off into the woods alone. Fili reminded himself to have a serious word with Garett and the poor excuses for trained guards that he’d insisted on bringing along. They were clumsy, useless fools—the pair of them. 

And Garett wasn’t much better for all his repeated claims about his hunting abilities. Fili was not impressed by either the man’s tracking or knife skills. The noisy fumbling with the orc guard had almost alerted the entire pack. Fili had been forced to step in and finish the orc himself, motioning sharply for silence when the big one by the fire had raised its head and peered around the trees, sniffing the air cautiously.

He was proud of Bain though.

Once it seemed as if the boy was finished, Fili handed him a waterskin. “Just little sips at first,” he said. “See if it stays down.”

“I’m sorry.” Wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, Bain’s eyes were red and watery. Bright spots of embarrassed colour bloomed high on his pale cheeks.

“There’s nothing to apologise for.” Fili smiled and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “I did exactly the same after my first kill.”

Bain’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head.

“I did.” After a last listen and look about the trees, Fili began to steer Bain back toward the clearing, the boy slinging his bow about his shoulders and falling into step. “Thorin took us—”

Growling under his breath, he cursed himself for the slip of the tongue. A year. A whole year and still he forgot.

He tried again. “I mean, I was with Thorin in the Blue Mountains. Orcs had been attacking traders on the road to our settlement and we tracked them, setting up an ambush. I’d never taken the life of anything bigger or more dangerous than a rabbit before.”

A smile crept over his face as he recalled holding Kili’s hair back. His brother had already done the same for him, for Kili had always had the stronger stomach out of the two of them. But they’d both been green and swaying by the time they’d finished throwing up everything they'd eaten that day. They’d sworn each other to secrecy, embarrassed that a few orcs had made them ill, and hoped no one had noticed them slipping away. 

Thorin had noticed, of course, but he hadn’t said a word. Not then and never since. Handing Fili a waterskin as they rejoined the others, he’d whispered in Fili’s ear that they had made him proud. 

Fili still didn’t know if that was true. 

They pushed through the last of the thorny bushes that lined the clearing. “It was a good, clean shot, Bain,” said Fili. “And on a moving target too. You did well. You're a fine archer.”

Bain nodded, staring at the small orc crumpled by the fire. 

He should send Bain to fetch his arrow. That’s what Thorin would have done, and it was important for the boy’s learning. But, as Fili watched the colour drain from Bain’s face once more, he decided they’d had enough lessons for one day. 

“Let’s sit for a while.” Taking Bain by the elbow, he steered Bain for a fallen branch at the far side of the clearing. Well away from the small orc, and well away from where Nori and Dwalin were emptying the orcs’ packs.

Chapter Text

Thorin glanced up toward the vent in the corner of the cramped kitchen. Fili’s laughter echoed through it from the passageway outside as Gimli called excitedly to him, before they heard the crash of two heavy bodies meeting at speed.

He exchanged a glance with Dis.

She raised her chin. “My guards are permitted to take breaks occasionally.” As Molir’s voice boomed in through the vent, she rolled her eyes. "My captain too is on a break, it would seem."

“Let’s take our seats.” Thorin lifted his mug, leading the way through his study and out to the large carved table in the antechamber. “Since we know now he’s on his way.”

They were just settled when the door opened and Fili entered, still laughing from his conversation in the passageway. Thorin tried not to sigh as the happy smile faded, Fili's face becoming carefully blank as his eyes took in the group around the table, closing the door with perhaps a little more force than necessary. Beside him Thorin heard Dis take in a breath.

“Take a seat, Fili.” Thorin indicated the empty chair opposite him as Dis scraped hers back. Unable to restrain herself as promised she crossed the room almost at a run and wrapped her arms tightly around his nephew.

Thorin exchanged a glance with Balin across the table as Dain snickered. They watched the much threatened ear-boxing definitely not take place as Dis touched her forehead to Fili’s and whispered to him. Fili smiling back at her genuinely as he stroked her face.

His nephew had been back in Erebor for some hours.

But it didn’t matter, Thorin tamped down the little flare of anger. What mattered was that Fili had come almost straight away when he was ordered, albeit with his hair still damp and curling tightly over the shoulders of his tunic. A bath and Durin only knows what else obviously having taken precedent to his king’s summons.

So he was mostly obedient. Or paying lip service to being mostly obedient at least.

The road to forgiveness is long and winding, he reminded himself as Dis linked an arm through Fili’s and towed him to the table. A year was not such a very long time after all and little punishments were to be expected, although Thorin found that his tolerance for them was beginning to wear thin.

“We were expecting you some days ago, my sister-son,” Thorin began as Fili settled himself at the table, nodding to Balin and Dain. Dis lifted her mug and moved around the table to take the seat beside Fili.

His tone had deliberately not been confrontational but Fili sat up straighter as if it were, immediately defensive. “I sent a message.”

“And we received it.” Dis shot Thorin a glare before smiling up at Fili. “I hope the people of Dale were suitably grateful for your help.”

Thorin clenched his teeth a little as he watched Fili take a mouthful of tea from Dis’s mug, smiling winningly at her before turning his attention back to Thorin. The smile disappearing from his face so completely and quickly it was as if Thorin had imagined it.

Days he had listened to Dis tell him in great detail how she intended to tear strips off Fili for dismissing his guards and heading off to chase down an orc pack.

He watched her as she stroked Fili's hand, smiling warmly up at him. Her eyes shining with happiness at having her son home safe and whole. Thorin was also pleased to see Fili well and unharmed. He’d done his own fair share of pacing his chambers whilst they waited anxiously for news, but an immediate explanation and a very sincere apology was required.

“Do you want a full report, Uncle?”

“Have you somewhere else you need to be?” Thorin ignored the sharp look from Dis.

A flicker of emotion passed over Fili's face before he smoothed it again. He tilted his chin.

“Yes,” said Thorin when it became apparent that Fili intended to say nothing further. “Yes. I want the full report. I would like you to explain exactly how it was that you left here with a full patrol for a routine scouting expedition and they returned late, and without you. I would like you to explain why you commanded they tarry half a day in Dale before returning to the mountain so that you were long gone before your ‘message', such as it was, was relayed to us.”

“We discovered a nest-”

“So I have heard, a nest that lay outside your agreed search boundary by some two days march.” Thorin motioned for Fili to continue.

“Granted the nest may have lay a little outside the boundary but we picked up the trail near the lakeshore. Which, as I am sure you are aware, is deep inside our boundaries, Uncle. We followed the tracks back to the nest and cleared it.”

“You should have reported back.”

“Thorin.” Fili looked annoyed. “I would have returned had the numbers been too great. They were dug into the mountainside. We watched for a full day and a night to be sure of their numbers, trapped them and disposed of them. I am aware of protocol.”

Thorin considered that. He nodded for Fili to continue.

“As we returned to Erebor a rider came from Dale at speed and hailed us. An urgent message from King Bard. I agreed to meet with him of course, for it was obviously very important, and when I entered the city it was in an uproar. An orc raid south of the Forest River mouth. Two boys missing and their companion lying half dead from exhaustion, completely spent from running back to the city to raise the alarm. I spoke with the lad and he told me that he had been tracking a wandering sheep and witnessed the attack from a distance. He didn’t know if his friends were alive or dead. Someone needed to go and investigate.”

“And you decided that this someone should be you?”

Fili nodded. “The lad said they came from the north. I suspected that they could be survivors from the nest. I had thought that we had accounted for all of them but some of the beasts must have been ranging.” Thorin read the guilt in Fili’s eyes. “It was too much of a coincidence to be otherwise.”

“It could have been a coincidence,” said Dain, almost gently. “Erebor cannot be held responsible for the movements of every orc in the vicinity.”

“Even so. Bard intended to send his men after them and I volunteered to accompany them.” Fili looked at Dis. “I am truly sorry for worrying you, Amad. It was my fight.”

He turned back to Thorin. “We needed to ride to have a chance of getting ahead of them, that is why I sent the guards without me. I told them to wait until full light because I did not want to risk them being shot at by their own kin on a dark winter morn. Only Nori, Dwalin and myself have any experience on horseback so that is why I only took them with me. We caught up with the pack close to the southern edge of Mirkwood, but sadly too late to save the boys. We buried their remains in the mannish fashion and I returned and apologised to their families.”

“You did what?”

“They were grateful, nonetheless. As was Bard. Bain made his first kill and the others equipped themselves...reasonably well. It was a valuable training exercise for them. Bard knows that they can no longer rely on a lake to keep them safe from orcs and foul creatures.”

Thorin massaged his temples, feeling the beginnings of one of his headaches. “Bain? Bard’s heir? You took a child with you?”

“I took the Prince of Dale with me. He’s sixteen, and a man grown. He wished to go and Bard gave his blessing. Sigrid’s intended, Garett, and two guards went with him.”

“He’s a child. He would follow you anywhere and Bard’s not much better.” Thorin tried to remember which one Garett was. A lot of the Lake-men, Dale men now he reminded himself, looked alike to him. He shook his head, it didn’t matter.

“Bain did well, Uncle. I think I will take him with me next time on patrol. He's keen to learn and listens well and an archer is always useful. Bard is quite taken with the idea-"

Thorin snorted.

“-It'll give Bain a bit more confidence. Bard wants me to give Garett another chance but I'm not convinced. He seems to think the lad was trying to impress me but I'm not so sure.” Fili drummed his fingers lightly on the table and looked thoughtful. “He made a lot of mistakes and he can be quite argumentative, but I suppose he does need to learn and the men should really be running their own patrols by now. I'm sure we would all rather they didn't learn by losing a lot of folk, it’s not as if they have a surplus and what’s left of their menfolk are either a little too old or too young for my liking. But needs must and we will just have to work with what we have. They really aren't fighters and they will need to be. Perhaps we should-"

Thorin held up a hand. He'd heard enough. “You talk as if we are overrun with orcs, Fili. We are not. This was a few sheep and yes, some shepherds. A tragedy of course but also only a minor nuisance that the men should have dealt with themselves. You are not their prince, they had no business asking you to lead them.”

“Bard is our ally.” Fili squared his shoulders. “If I had not gone the men likely would not have caught them. They would have been free to prey-”

“You said they were almost south of Mirkwood by the time you caught them. They were obviously intending to leave our lands far behind. Your diligence is starting to look a little like a personal crusade.”

Fili opened his mouth to reply. He shut it again.

“There are plenty of orc nests in the Iron Hills,” said Dain. “We let them be unless they cause a bother. You will never be rid of them completely, lad. I understand that-”

“So you would have let them go?” Fili sounded incredulous, he looked around the table. “We should let them go?”

When they didn’t respond he stood and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, spread it on the table before them with a look of triumph. “They carried this.”

They all looked at the torn scrap of grubby parchment. Balin pulled it a little closer and peered at it.

“I’ve already taken it to Ori.” Fili raised his chin. “It’s badly damaged but he could definitely make out ‘Durin’. It’s some sort of order.”

Thorin reached across the table and took the parchment from Balin. He studied the marks. If Ori had been able to pick out a word then it was likely there. But it looked old. He placed it flat on the table.

“Leave me.” He motioned for Fili to sit. “Not you.”

Once the door had clicked quietly closed Thorin leaned back in his chair and studied his nephew.

This has gone on long enough, he thought. We do him no favours by indulging him further, it only allows him to grow ever wilder. More wilful and arrogant. Where did my boy go? The one who would never have dreamed of disobeying me.

Thorin sighed heavily, for he knew the answer of course. None better than he knew that the boy had gone down into a cell, far below their feet. Down into the very depths of Erebor, with chains on his wrists and terrible words in his ears. And he had never come back out.

“This must stop.” He held up a hand and Fili’s mouth clicked closed. “Dain is correct, we will never scour the lands of Middle-earth free of orcs and it a waste of time and resource to try. They will just spring up again as if from the ground. This vendetta of yours must stop.”

“But the message-”

“Is old. I suspect it could even predate our quest. It is likely an order from Azog, forgotten in the pocket of one of his foot soldiers. Even if it were not, what does it matter? We have our mountain fortress, we are mightier than any other race in this world, completely without equal. And we will always have our enemies, those who want to take from us what is ours. You will never be completely rid of them, not if you were to live a thousand lifetimes. But you know all this, you have always known of the target on your back, Fili.”

“It is not my back I am concerned about.”

And there is the crux of it, Thorin thought as he looked into Fili’s eyes. He waited. At last Fili took a deep breath and dropped his eyes to the table.

“The stars were still in the sky,” he said quietly, “when we set out from Dale. We rode carefully for it was full dark but the horses were sure-footed and by the time the first glimmers of light began to appear on the horizon I stood by the sheepfold on the banks of the Forest River. Nori and I had found the orc’s trail and we were watering the horses and giving the men a few moments to gather themselves before we set off in pursuit. The world was quiet and still and I looked into the dawning sky and it had been a year. An entire year since I watched the same sun rise as I lay wrapped in my brother’s arms. Where is he, Uncle?”

“You know where he is. He is in the Shire, with Bilbo.” Thorin felt very certain of it. It could not be otherwise.

“If that is so then why have I heard nothing?” Fili’s eyes were on his again, pleading. “The world is not so very big that all can be well yet we have heard nothing. You must let me go.”

“I sent three messages to your Amad after the battle, she only received one. You shouldn’t let it worry you so. Letters and messages go astray from time to time. It doesn’t mean-”

“You are not listening to me.” Fili's hand banged against the table. “You must let me go. I must know if he is-" He swallowed hard. “I cannot go on, not knowing.”

Thorin watched as Fili dropped his eyes to the table again, pulling the scrap of parchment back to him and staring hard at it.

“You would know,” Thorin said gently. “You would know if-”

“Would I?” Fili made a noise that could have been an attempt at a laugh. Thorin felt his heart twist a little.

“I am not so sure, Uncle. I am not sure that I would know if he had left me. I have heard the talk, although everyone tries their best to hide it from me. They say that he will no longer be permitted to enter the Halls. I fear that I will wait forever on him, until the world is remade and beyond, and I will never see him again. Not in this life, nor in the next.”

Thorin watched Fili's busy hands smooth the parchment out. Over and over. One of the edges starting to come apart.

“It is tearing me to pieces, Uncle. Please.”

“I promise you, you would know if-”

“Then why? If that is true as you say then why hasn’t he written? I need to see him.” Fili’s eyes were red-rimmed when he lifted them again. He scrubbed a hand quickly over his face before returning it to the parchment, fiddling with the torn edge. His voice cracking and desperate. “Let me go. I’ll be quick. I won’t even go near him, I won’t speak to him. He won’t even know I’m there, I’ll just take a quick look and then I’ll come straight back. Please.”

“Fili-”

“Please, Uncle Thorin, please. I just need to see that he is well and I will never ask again. I will do anything you ask of me.”

Thorin could see him searching for what would best please his uncle.

A determined look came over Fili’s face. “I’ll marry. Anyone you want, I don’t care. I won’t put up any objections.”

Thorin felt his lips quirk but managed to still his face in time. He had expected an offer of gold. But this was a clever trade, a generous offer. Fili had made his feelings very clear on the matter of marriage. He reached out a hand and touched Fili’s fingers, trying to ignore the flinch. He shook his head and smiled kindly.

“I’m not going to force you to-”

“You don’t understand, Uncle. I feel it every day. Every morning I wake and for a moment I forget and I wonder where he is. Something makes me smile or I hear something that will make him smile and I turn to tell him and he isn’t there beside me. I can’t bear this. I have tried. I hear his voice and I look for him and…it’s an ache.” Fili pulled his hand away and touched his own chest. “Here. It hurts here and it doesn’t ever fade.”

“Time will-”

“No. Don’t tell me time will heal me, I don’t want to hear it.”

The fury that seemed to be forever simmering just below the surface was back. Thorin could see the water gathering in Fili’s eyes as he swiped angrily at his face again.

“It is a wound,” said Thorin in what he hoped was a soothing tone, “a grievous wound and it will, I promise you, heal in time. But it will not heal if you don’t leave it alone. You need to stop-”

“Let me go.”

It was a demand this time.

Thorin looked deep into Fili’s eyes and saw what Dis was so frightened of. The reason why his little sister, who was scared of nothing, was heart scared, pacing the ramparts and driving herself mad with worry every time Fili left the mountain. Certain that this would be the time her son, his nephew, would not return.

She had grown paler as the days had passed with no word of the patrol returning. Alternating between fits of weeping and rage. Begging and demanding that another patrol be sent right away. Thorin had been organising a search when the patrol guard had arrived from Dale, stammering out an apology that Fili had dismissed them. It had hurt his heart to watch Dis crumple, catching her in his arms as she fell to the floor with tears running down her face when she heard that Fili had taken a fast horse and left Dale in the dark hours before dawn.

Dis had been inconsolable, even as Thorin rubbed her back and tried to reassure her that Fili wouldn’t disobey him, that Dwalin and Nori wouldn’t dream of disobeying him. He’d stubbornly ignored the little thread of doubt telling him that all three had ignored or disobeyed a direct order in the past. That had been then. Circumstances had been different. He was no longer ill.

It was plain to see now. Thorin realised with a jolt. He chided himself for his arrogance in not seeing it before. For it was written in the determined green eyes looking back at him steadily.

You are going to go. He suddenly felt very certain about it. The next opportunity you get you will take it and you will be gone from us. I need to let the gate guards know.

“You are confined to the mountain.”

“What?” Fili looked shocked. “No. Why? I didn’t-”

“I cannot trust you, it is a simple as that.” Thorin forced himself to sound stern when all his heart wanted was to rush around the table and gather his nephew to him. Press their foreheads tightly together and explain softly that not a single day passed but he too worried about and missed his wayward youngest nephew. Stroke Fili’s hair and look deep into his eyes and tell him that he too wished, more than anything, that things could have been different. Whisper that he understood the pain was almost too much to bear, because he felt it too.

But Fili wouldn’t want to hear it. Not from him. Thorin knew that he would be pushed away, that was an absolute certainty. He couldn’t remember the last time Fili had accepted his embrace. At best his nephew would tolerate his touch, standing stiff and reluctant, avoiding all eye contact. Thorin forced himself to continue.

“The last three times you have been out of the Mountain you have been later and later back. However this time is the worst by far. We did not know where you were or if you were safe. Your Amad was worried. I was worried. It was yet another blatant disregard of my orders and it is completely unacceptable, not to mention dangerous.”

Thorin watched Fili’s face carefully. “I know you are hurting, I understand. But you are my heir and I need to be able to trust you. You will need to get out of the mountain from time to time, of course, but there will be no more patrols. You can go out for a walk to Dale and back with Dwalin.”

“I am to be under guard? A prisoner again?”

“No, not a prisoner. Of course not. You are my heir. The most precious-”

“Then perhaps you will let me go to Dale on market day, like a good little dwarfling?”

“Perhaps.” Thorin gave up, it wasn’t worth the argument. They would speak more when Fili’s blood had cooled. He sat back in his chair and ignored the snarl. “If you behave yourself I will consider it. So there can be no misunderstanding you are also relieved of your trade duties, effective immediately. I will meet with Thranduil and Bard in Mirkwood next month in your stead.”

Fury flashed again across Fili’s face, quickly masked. He stood, the chair scraping back against the stone. The parchment folded and put away. “As my king commands.”

“He does. You may leave me.”

Chapter Text

“His name's Odr.” Hafdis stood on tiptoe beside Fili and leaned over the solid wooden fence. “I've had him since he was only a little piglet. He's quite friendly.”

Fili pulled his fingers back behind the fence as the huge warpig took a swipe at him with its tusks. He laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed. “He's faster than he looks.”

“He's old and spoilt,” said Hafur from his other side. “He'll make some great bacon though.” The fence bowed and creaked as he leant forward over the top board to slap the pig hard on the rump. It squealed angrily and ran to the opposite side of the small pen. “Won't you, Odr? And lots of nice, fat sausages.”

Fili hid a smile behind his hand as Hafdis glared first at her brother and then him.

She turned away from them and reached out a hand to the pig, making soothing noises as it snorted and stamped its way toward her. “I'll make you into sausages first, brother. And he's not old. He's in his prime. His sire lived until he was well over twenty years old and Odr is only eighteen.” She scratched the pig between its ears and cooed at it. “You're only a baby, isn't that right? Isn't that right, Odr? My good boy.”

Hafur raised his eyebrows at Fili.

“I saw that,” said Hafdis. “Do you want me to saddle him for you, Fili? We can just go around the stable yard for today. I’ve had him out this morning so he’s had a good run already.” She cooed at the beast again as it grunted. “Yes, that's right. We've got all your fidgets out already, haven't we? You're much more fun to ride than boring ponies.”

Fili crouched and looked through the fence into the pig's eyes. It glared back at him.

“You can almost see it thinking, can’t you?” Hafur nudged Fili as he knelt to join him. “There’s definitely some sort of intelligence lurking about in there.”

Fili thought he agreed.

“I expect he’s wondering what a Durin prince tastes like. Especially one that’s been cooped up in a mountain, getting all soft and fat.” Hafur's eyes glinted with mischief as he poked Fili in the side. “Odr’s teeth aren’t quite what they used to be so you’ll be just perfect. He’ll barely need to chew.”

Fili slapped Hafur’s finger away when he moved to poke him again. “Stop that.”

“Make me.”

“Don't pay Hafur any mind.” Hafdis tutted from above their heads.

Fili slapped Hafur's finger away again and grabbed at the fence for balance as Hafur pushed him hard in retaliation. Fili pushed him back and they grinned at each other for a moment before Hafur launched himself at Fili with a roar, almost managing to knock him backward. They grappled at each other’s shoulders.

“Stop it, the pair of you.”

His boot skidded on the flagstones and struck against the fence post. Hoping the post held and that they weren’t about to have an angry pig join their wrestle Fili used the post to push himself up and forward, bearing his weight down on Hafur. They fell back together into the non too sweet smelling straw.

Hafur yelled in outrage and grabbed Fili’s throat with his left hand as he swung with his right.

“Stop it.” Hadfis sounded annoyed.

Blocking the swing with his elbow Fili felt the light tap of a boot against his thigh as Hafdis tried to get his attention. He muttered an apology through clenched teeth and shifted his knee to pin Hafur’s right arm, which freed up both his hands to deal with the fingers wrapped around his throat. He wrestled that arm to the ground and pinned it too, mostly avoiding the headbutt. Hafur’s knee caught him hard in the ribs and he swore, repositioning himself.

“Anyway, Odr only bites if he doesn't like someone-"

Hafur bucked under him, almost managing to free an arm, and tried another headbutt. Fili shifted a forearm across his throat to hold him down and Hafur snapped his teeth in response.

“-but he likes you, I can tell.” Hafdis patted Fili on the head gently. “Come on, get off my brother and I'll show you.”

Fili leant harder on Hafur. “Do you yield?”

Hafur stopped struggling and nodded, smiling innocently up at him. Fili searched his eyes, not entirely sure he believed him. The Iron Hills dwarves seemed to have different rules when it came to submitting a bout. He'd been caught out by Hafur before. More than once.

“He yields,” Hafdis said. “Behave yourself, brother.”

Fili slowly released Hafur and cautiously raised himself to standing, pointing a warning finger as he did.

“You don't need all those fingers do you, Fili?” Hafur rolled to his feet and made an exasperated noise. “Look at what you’ve done to me, I’ll have to go and change before dinner now. Uncle Dain will box my ears if I walk in with straw in my hair and whatever this is on my trousers. And what’s that smell?” He twisted to try and look at his back. “Is that pig muck? Did you push me in pig muck? You-”

“Quiet.” Hafdis wrapped her fingers around Fili’s wrist and pulled him close, stretching their arms out toward the pig. “Odr likes a little scratch behind the ears. Go on.”

The pig snorted loudly and side stepped at his touch. Fili whipped his hand back as Hafur laughed behind them.

“A little harder.” Hafdis took his hand again and nodded encouragingly. “You were tickling him and he doesn’t like that.”

Odr grunted quietly this time, leaning heavily into Fili's palm as he scratched at the surprisingly soft skin behind the ear. He smiled at Hafdis, making sure to keep an eye on the pig. “I think he's enjoying it.”

“He definitely is. Look at him, he’s smiling.”

Fili crouched down to look, moving carefully so as not to spook the beast. Smiling was a bit of a stretch of the imagination but Odr did appear to be contented enough, perhaps a little less murderous looking.

“Did you not have pets growing up?”

Fili glanced up at her as he shook his head. “There were ponies but they belonged to everyone.” He increased the pressure and Odr made a happy sounding noise, shuffling closer to the fence. “They weren't really pets. And there were a few cats, Bombur had a big stripy one that seemed to live in his kitchen I think. We would have seen it out and about.”

He smiled as he remembered. “Ask Gimli about it, it hated him for some reason. But they weren't exactly pets either. More pest control.”

Hafdis looked at him and appeared to be considering something. She nodded. “Well, I think everyone should have something to look after. It would be good for you. So if you like I'd be willing to share Odr. I'll show you how to look after him properly.”

“I'd like that.” Fili grinned up at her as she beamed back at him happily.

“But you have to treat him kindly.”

Fili nodded. “I will, I promise.”

“Good. And you'll also have to promise to commit, I wouldn't want Odr to get used to you and then you get bored and stop coming. He's very sensitive.”

Fili looked back at the pig and nodded again. It would be nice to do something different, with someone different. Break the monotony of working with Thorin, training for nothing and then spending every single evening with the same faces talking about the same things. And not talking about the same things. Everyone tip toeing around him like he was some sort of brittle, fragile creature. Like he was unstable. Whispering behind his back and exchanging worried glances that they thought he didn't see.

It felt like he lived for his once a month, heavily supervised, outing to Bard’s. The walls of Erebor slowly closing in on him, suffocating him whilst he counted down the days between trips. It made him feel guilty, not to be satisfied with his lot. He was a prince. With a fine home and family and friends to love him. He had much to be grateful for.

Fili leaned his free arm on the fence rail and rested his chin on his forearm as he watched himself scratch at the contented pig, feeling a strange affinity for the smelly creature.

We’re kindred spirits you and I, he thought as he stretched his fingers a little further over the bristly hide. I’m as much able to leave the mountain of my own free will as you are.

“You say all that now.” Hafur disturbed his gloomy thoughts, the fence creaking as he leaned his back against it. He nudged Fili in the ribs with a sharp elbow and grinned. “But you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Wait until you see what happens when you stop petting the beast. My advice is to move fast because this fence will barely slow him down.”

Hafur scratched at his beard and made a show of thinking. “Actually, it might be a better idea all round if we bring your dinner out to you.” He nudged Fili again and winked at him conspiratorially. “What is it tonight anyway? Sausages? I’m pretty sure that was it.”

“I think you could begin to allow him a little freedom, Thorin. It’s the summer fair soon.”

“He’s been to Dale with you to see Bard, not so very long ago. And he’ll be going again at the end of the month.”

Dis shook her head. Sometimes her brother could be blind. “That was with me. I mean let him go with dwarves his own age, without his amad. I’ll give Gimli the day off. I’m sure the girl and her brother would join them.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. Thorin stared back.

Oblivious, Dis thought. Completely oblivious. Mahal give me strength.

“I don’t think he’s interested in the girl, Dis. Not in that way.”

“Friends will do fine for now. That’s how these things generally start anyway, and Durin knows he needs friends.”

Thorin smiled. “I think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Of course I approve.” Thorin leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “She’s Dain’s niece, it would be a fine match. More than fine. I just think you are getting very ahead of yourself.”

Dis snorted. She didn’t think so. Gloin was running a book and he was seldom wrong about these things. She had been very concerned when she had first saw the odds on for Bard’s eldest girl, but all that had changed when Hafdis started joining her brother at the training yard, a short bow in hand and a quiver on her hip. The three of them had been inseparable ever since and, despite prowling about at times like a caged animal, Fili seemed to her a little if not happier then at least accepting of his situation.

It had done her heart good when Dwalin had first told her how Fili had begun a tentative friendship with the lad. Gimli had been busy with other duties leaving Dwalin to train with Fili. He had been briefly called away to sort out a disagreement and when he returned the two had been sparring.

They were evenly matched, Dwalin had told Dis with a smile. It was a good challenge for Fili, and kept him from badgering Dwalin for bouts. The lad, Hafur, was a boisterous loudmouth. Cocky and sure of himself, full of mischief and seemingly completely incapable of treating Fili with any respect, sympathy or caution.

It was exactly what Fili needed, Dis felt. She had worried that Fili was lonely, he needed more company of his own age. And the girl had been a lovely surprise.

She may have asked Molir to place a small, discrete wager.

“Thorin, we’ve talked and talked about tying him to us and to the mountain. This is how we do it. You can’t keep him trapped forever. That's not sustainable. Let him go to the fair. He hasn’t even thought to ask and I think it would be a very nice gesture if you suggested it to him.”

Thorin sighed heavily, Dis could see his good humour ebbing away.

“It’s a horrible feeling," he said, "knowing my nephew hates me.”

“Nonsense. Of course, he doesn’t hate you.”

“I have trapped him, like you say. He-”

“You had good cause and I’m sorry I haven’t been more supportive.”

“Better that he doesn’t hate both of us, I suppose.”

Dis refilled her glass and considered him properly. His mouth downturned and looking the picture of misery. She kicked his shin. Hard. “Stop that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I can’t have both of you trailing around each other like the weight of Middle-earth itself is on your shoulders. I’m heartbroken too but there are worse places we could be and worse situations we could be in.”

She thought for a moment. “We’ve been in some of them. No, we must learn to make the best of it. And that means that you must build bridges. Take Fili aside and talk to him. Actually, don't talk. Listen. And then once you're done listening and he's done talking be completely honest and tell him how you're feeling.”

He looked at her as if she'd asked him to run naked through Dale on market day.

“I know, brother. I'm not very good at it either but we'll just both have to try harder.”

“He won't talk to me, not now. He says the bare minimum that he can get away with to be polite when we are in company and he won't speak a single word more to me directly than necessary. He barely looks at me. I've tried to talk to him in private but I may as well talk to the wall.”

Dis tried to decide how best to explain the difference between talking to Fili and talking at him.

It might be easier to give him a script to follow, she thought. He could spread it across his knees. Or learn it. Although I'd have to stand behind him and flick his ear when he inevitably deviated from it.

“I've just had a much better idea. Take him for a spar-”

Thorin snorted.

“-let him try to put you on your back. Although be aware that he might actually do it. He got the better of Dwalin a few days back. Twice.”

“Really?”

“Dwalin was having a bad day apparently. I wouldn’t mention it to him if I were you, he's still very sore about it. You can’t keep skulking about each other, you have to try. Even if he means he knocks you on your backside-”

“I’d like to see him try.”

“-or you knock him on his. I don’t care. I just need you both to start working things out.”

He huffed out a breath and drained his glass. “I have tried, I have tried so many times. He won’t-”

“You are his uncle and he loves you. He would do anything for you so you have to try harder. Talk to him.”

Thorin grumbled something.

Dis chose to take it as agreement. “Good, and you can also speak to him about the summer fair. Offer him a little freedom. I’ll make arrangements with Nori, I expect he and some of the others will want to visit Dale that day too.”

It felt familiar. Fili lightly drummed his heels against the stone bench. It felt so familiar, watching his kin as they sparred, his own muscles still burning from his bouts, the sweat cooling him as it dried on his skin. And a dark haired archer sitting by his side, their head bowed quietly over fletching.

He'd been sparring in the centre of the floor when Hafdis had walked confidently into the training hall all those weeks ago, a bow in hand and a full quiver on her hip. Her head held high.

Distracted, Fili had barely dodged a lunge from Hafur as he watched her position herself in front of a target. The look of concentration on her face and her fluid movements as she drew and fired pulling buried memories to mind and twisting painfully at his heart.

Hafur had struck him on the shoulder. Hard enough to make him yelp.

“You're dead.” The practice sword pressed against Fili's throat, lifting his chin. Hafur stepped closer and followed his gaze. “And that's my little sister.”

Fili had nodded, he'd known that much.

He realised her fingers had stopped and she was looking at him curiously.

“Do you want me to show you?”

Fili shook his head. Kili had shown him how to shape and fix fletching a thousand times, he'd never been able to get it quite right.

“My hands are too big and clumsy, I'd make a mess of-"

“Nonsense.” Hafdis shuffled closer on the bench. “You're more than capable. I'll slow down and you just watch carefully.”

He watched her delicate, nimble fingers and it was all suddenly too much to bear. He felt tired and terribly lonely.

“I miss him.” The words were out and once he'd started he couldn't seem to stop them. “I'm not supposed to talk about him but I think about him all the time. Every moment of every day. And I dream of him. I dream that we're sitting together just like this and we're talking. About our days, or what we might do tomorrow. Nothing of consequence. Nothing important. Then I wake up with the words still on my lips and he's not here and I can't talk to him and I miss him so much.”

Her hands had stopped again and he knew she was looking at him. Fili kept his eyes firmly fixed on her fingers and tried to take a breath, not quite able to believe he'd said it all out loud.

"Your brother?" she asked quietly. 

Fili nodded.

“I can't begin to imagine how hard it is for you.”

Her voice was low and kind. Fili swallowed around the sudden painful lump in his throat. His eyes burned.

“You must feel so lost.”

He nodded. He did.

“I mean, most days there's at least one moment when I feel certain that I could cheerfully strangle Hafur. But I really can't imagine my life without him in it, and I wouldn't want to. It doesn't bear thinking about.”

Fili nodded again, not quite trusting himself to speak as he felt the old ache in his chest. He blinked and her fingers blurred.

“Uncle Dain told me about you two, years ago now,” Hafdis said as her fingers started moving again on the fletching, “and I knew then that I wanted to study archery. I badgered at Adad and at Dain until they agreed. It took years. Undwarvish they said. Stick to your axe and your knives. I’ve never told anyone that I wanted to learn because I needed to protect my big brother.”

Fili could hear the smile in her voice as she continued, “You know Hafur well enough by now. He's a reckless, arrogant fool. If he is ever in battle he'll be the first to charge and the last to retreat and he'll need me to watch his back.”

Fili lifted his head. “But then, who will watch yours?”

“Well, that's why he'll be the first to charge in and the last to fall back. Because he is watching mine. He wouldn't think twice about throwing his life away if it meant I might live.”

That made sense. Fili's eyes found Hafur in the centre of the hall, watched him as he roared in challenge at his opponent, spinning his sword and beckoning.

Beside him Hafdis shook her head.

“He'll never change.” She smiled affectionately at her brother and Fili pushed down a nasty little sting of jealousy. “Hopefully anyway. The idiot. Don't tell him I told you?”

Fili shook his head, feeling he owed her a secret even if it wasn't completely his to tell. He looked at her neatly braided beard.

“I didn't shave my beard off to show solidarity with Thorin. It was to show solidarity with Kili. We couldn't get his to stop catching every single time he took a shot, it was like it had a life of its own. Unruly and untameable.” He shared a smile with her. “We tried everything before we realised that either bow or beard had to go. He didn't want to do it and one day, when he was arguing with Thorin and Amad about it, I took a blade and cut mine off. I'd no idea what I was doing. I was lucky I didn’t cut my own throat my hands were shaking so hard.”

They'd been horrified. Thorin had recovered first, leading him back into the bathhouse and helping him tidy himself up. Kili had joined them later, a resigned look on his face as he wordlessly handed his own blade to Thorin and tugged off his shirt.

Fili smiled as he remembered. Hafdis smiled back at him and gave him a little nudge with her shoulder.

“You can talk about him with me. Anytime you like and for as long as you like. I'd be happy to hear all your stories, and I'm very good at keeping secrets.”

Chapter Text

Hafdis could feel Fili at her shoulder as she rifled through the stallholders fabrics. She had a suspicion he was protecting her from the crush of the mannish crowd, which was quite sweet. Completely unnecessary of course, but she appreciated it all the same. She nudged him. “What do you think of this one?”

“For who?”

She was surprised by that, she’d half expected a groan or a complaint. “For my amad. She asked me to bring her back a present.”

“What is it for?” He moved the man beside her out of the way and ran a thumb over the fabric.

“I thought for sleeves.”

He genuinely looked like he was giving it some consideration. Hafdis watched him as he nodded and began to sift through the fabrics, pulling out a rich green. He laid it beside the blue that she had chosen and drummed his fingers against the wooden boards of the stall.

“Hafdis!”

She turned as Hafur pushed his way through the crowd toward them.

“Why are you still shopping? How many stalls has she dragged you around, Fili?” Hafur rolled his eyes at Fili with a grin and wagged a finger at her. “He’s only tolerating this because he’s so happy to be outside, you do know that? Pick whatever it is you’re-”

“It’s a present for Amad.”

“Oh. Well, you can say it’s from me too. Pick whatever it is and be quick about it, Gimli is holding a table for us outside the tavern and we were intending to wait on you two before we eat but honestly, sister. It’s not fair. It’s his one day of freedom and you are torturing him.”

“Am I torturing you?”

Fili shook his head, looked a bit embarrassed.

“Let me show you, Fili. You’re not used to sisters. You can’t be polite or they’ll just walk all over you. Come to think of it, you’re probably not used to girls at all. Watch this closely and learn from me. Is it between these two colours? Is that the decision she’s wrestling with?” Hafur tapped at his lip and huffed out a dramatic breath as he made a show of thinking. He winked at Fili, making sure she could see. “This one.” He pointed to the green.

“You don’t even know what it’s for,” said Hafdis.

“Does it matter? Oh, sorry. I mean, it’ll go with her eyes.” He nudged Fili hard. “If in doubt say ‘it goes with her eyes’ because that is the answer to almost everything in this world. Doesn’t matter whose eyes. Unless it’s your wife that’s asking I suppose, and then you’ll have to make sure to say ‘yours, my love' and definitely not ‘hers’, or you’ll be walking around like that friend of yours. The one with the axe in his head. Is that what happened to him by the way? I bet it was. Now, sister, pay the nice man and let’s go.”

They watched him push his way through the crowd in the direction of the tavern.

Fili shrugged and turned to her. “The reason I was suggesting the green is because your amad will likely use whatever you buy her for updating her dresses for the autumn, and the blue, although very nice is less rich and...autumn like.” He flushed, shuffling his feet as she stared at him. “Amad has always been very careful with her fine clothes, I think because she didn’t have very many, so she would spend a lot of time picking colours and fabric. She always wanted our opinions.”

His smile faded as he stroked a thumb over the green fabric, his thoughts obviously miles away.

“I agree,” she said and watched as he pulled himself back from memories, likely of his brother. She was coming to recognise the look.

“You and your amad have very similar colouring to mine, and I know she would look lovely in this colour.”

“Then the green it is.” Hafdis smiled at him and clicked her fingers at the harassed looking stallholder. “Thank you, I think I owe you a drink for your help, or perhaps even two if we have enough time.”

“I think we’ve enough time.”

“Here we are, sorry it took so long. I had to go to the inn on the far side, didn’t want Gimli spotting me and giving the game away. It's very busy, took ages to get served.”

Nori accepted the tankard and smiled at Bofur. He wasn’t sure Dis and Thorin would appreciate them drinking whilst on watch, but the mannish ale was weak stuff. Barely more than water really. And it was a warm day, it wouldn’t do to become dehydrated and sluggish.

“Still shopping are they?” asked Bofur.

“Second stall on the left.”

“Fili must be going out of his mind.”

Nori shrugged. Their prince seemed content enough, which made a pleasant change. If he had to put coin on it Nori would even have wagered that the lad was even truly relaxed for once, by the set of his shoulders and the easy smile on his face.

He looked both ways along the alley. “We’re probably drawing more attention to ourselves by skulking about in the shadows. I've been having a look and I think there’s an easy way to the roof of that building. Follow me and I'll show you.” He grinned at Bofur. “May as well sit in the sunshine and sup our ales whilst we keep an eye on things.”

As their punishment for being late and keeping Hafur waiting they were pointed toward the crowded tavern to fetch drinks and order food. There was a little argument about payment which Hafdis thought she had won, right up until the moment she reached for her coin-purse and realised with a start and a bit of a panic that it was gone. She had searched frantically through her layers, cursing, as she heard Fili place their order. The smile in his voice had given him away.

With the purse safely back on her belt and tankards in her hands she followed in his wake. She’d almost forgiven him by the time they pushed their way back through the crowd and out into the bright afternoon sunshine. Hafur budged up on the crowded bench to make room as she settled herself beside him, Fili clambering in beside Gimli opposite.

“Very sensible.” Gimli nodded in approval as Fili moved some of the tankards to the little patch of shade at the end of their table. “Two each, and you managed to spill not too much of it. I’m assuming that the fuller ones were the ones you were carrying, Hafdis?”

“I think we might have to shift the tankards actually,” said Fili, “and put you in the shade instead. You’re looking a bit pink-cheeked, cousin.”

“That’ll be the four ales we’ve had whilst we’ve been waiting on you two.” Hafur waved the stem of his pipe between them as he settled back against the wall of the inn. “Now, I’m assuming all the shopping and wandering about wasting valuable drinking time is done with, because I am telling you all now that I am settled here for the afternoon. The barkeep told me that there’s to be some sort of strength contest and then later there's to be dancing in the square and this is the perfect watching spot and I am not moving. Not for anything. I haven’t seen mannish dancing before and I am ready to be very impressed. Or throw things, I’m not sure and I’ll decide later. Did you think to order food, like I asked?”

“Fili!”

Hafdis had never met the man king’s daughter and she was quite surprised that the slight girl was wandering about to all intents and purposes unaccompanied, and seemingly completely unarmed. The thin belt wrapped around the princess's waist held not so much as one knife and she only wore some sort of flimsy slippers on her feet. No boots. It was very odd. Hafdis looked her up and down, wondering where she kept her weaponry, as Fili leapt to his feet, all smiles, and offered his space on the bench. He quickly introduced them and Sigrid returned Hafdis's appraising look before turning back to Fili.

“I didn’t expect to see you here and then we got a message to say that you’d been spotted. I just had to come and find you. Hello, Gimli.” Sigrid smiled around the table warmly as she sat down. “Sit back down, Fili. Please. We’ll squeeze up and breathe in a bit won’t we, Gimli? See, plenty of space.”

Hafdis watched as Fili climbed back in, apologising to the man on the other side of him. He pulled a tankard down the table and offered it to Sigrid who accepted very prettily, chatting happily about her adad who was currently judging some sort of gardening competition in the city hall and apparently going slowly mad.

Hafur nudged Hafdis hard in the ribs and distracted her, spilling some of her drink into her lap as he excitedly and loudly pointed out the competitors gathering on the opposite side of the square. They clapped and cheered with the rest of the table and when Hafdis looked back Sigrid had her lips by Fili’s ear, the two of them turned to each other and deep in some obviously private conversation. Fili noticed her watching and coloured as their eyes met.

“I think I might go and see Bard,” he announced to the table. Hafdis didn’t miss the glance he gave the girl. “Try not to let anyone steal my seat and I’ll not be long. Would you like me to escort you back, Sigrid?”

“Yes please, that would be lovely.” Sigrid took a drink and his offered hand. “Thank you, Fili.”

“Really?” Gimli grumbled, struggling out of the bench and draining his tankard as Fili helped Sigrid to her feet. “I’m going to miss the wrestling.”

“You can stay here. I’m safe enough in Dale.”

“No.” Gimli eyed Fili. “Of course I can’t, behave yourself. Let’s go and look at these vegetables or whatever it is Bard is doing.” He pointed at Hafdis and Hafur. “My drink had better still be here when I get back.”

The wrestling was long over, their food had arrived and the men were doing something unnecessarily complicated with ropes by the time Fili and Gimli returned. They disappeared into the bar and reappeared with more drinks. Hafdis had moved to Gimli’s seat in his absence to stop Hafur complaining that her hair was in his way and Fili climbed in beside her, setting a fresh tankard in front of her and helping himself to some bread and cheese.

He looked happy, she thought as she watched him laugh at something Hafur said.

She waited until Gimli was mid argument with Hafur about which of the remaining combatants was likely to win before she leant in to Fili. “You look like you’re having a good day.”

He turned away from watching the contest and smiled at her, his eyes lighting up. “I am. A really good day.” He looked like he was going to say something more but stopped himself.

“Go on.” She nudged him.

He swallowed the last of his bread and cheese and licked his fingers before smiling at her. “Will you walk with me?”

It was quieter out of the square. Hafdis dropped his hand once they were through the main press of the crowd and moved to walk by his side.

“Where are we going?”

Fili glanced over his shoulder, he couldn’t see Nori but he was definitely behind them somewhere. He had barely recognised Bofur earlier when he’d walked out of the hall and said his farewell to Bard. He smiled, wondering how many others Thorin had arranged to tail him. Everyone, probably. He was looking forward to seeing how Dwalin intended to attempt to disguise himself, it was far too warm for cloaks and hoods. “This way.”

He grabbed her hand again as they passed a crowd of men heading toward the square and pulled her into an alley. Hafdis followed quietly, probably wondering what he was up to. They crossed another street, this one quieter, and entered another shadowy alley.

“Fili?”

“We’re being followed. Don’t look.” He nodded to her in approval as she managed to not turn, her free hand straying to the hilt of a knife in her belt. “It’s fine, you’re not in any danger. It’s just Thorin keeping a watch on me. Nothing to worry about. I just want to make them work a little. Let’s head for the stables, there’s a stair behind that leads up onto the inner walls. If we’re quick about it we can get up and watch for them from there.”

The area around the stables was silent, everyone still at the fair. Fili nodded to the stablehand as they passed him, the boy looking the picture of misery. Likely upset to be missing out on all the fun. He flipped the lad a coin.

“You didn’t see us.”

The boy brightened, nodding and touching his forelock. Taking a final glance around, Fili pulled Hafdis into the narrow entry between the stables and the fodder store. They ran quickly between the buildings until they reached the high stone wall and raced up the set of uneven steps, ducking in behind the parapet at the top.

Hafdis grinned at him. She looked like she was enjoying herself.

“Did Amad recruit you too by any chance? Have I made an error of judgement and taken a spy with me?”

She shook her head. “She didn’t.”

He raised an eyebrow at her

“I’m not. I promise!”

“We’ll see.” He hushed her as she protested and together they watched as Bofur and Nori walked out from between two buildings.

They strolled along to the stables and spoke at length with the boy. Fili smiled as they watched the lad shrug and shake his head. He owed the youngster another coin, he reckoned.

Nori disappeared out of sight into the stables, re-emerging after a few moments. The stablehand wandered off and after a fierce debate the dwarves hurried away, turning into an alleyway.

Hafdis made to stand.

“Wait a moment.” Fili placed a hand on her sleeve and watched the alley, half expecting Nori to reappear.

“Do you know who they are?”

“Of course, the shorter one was Nori and the one with the limp is Bofur. You likely wouldn’t recognise him without his hat but he can’t hide the way he favours his left leg, an injury from the battle.”

“Nori?”

“Looks completely different, doesn’t he? Took me a moment to recognise him with his hair braided like that, I walked straight past him earlier and didn’t realise. A clever disguise, simple but effective.”

“What do we do now?”

Fili shrugged, he turned and sat down against the wall, stretching his feet out in front of him. The sun-heated stone was warm and soothing against his back. Hafdis did likewise, smoothing and tidying her skirts. She leaned her head back against the wall and smiled at him.

“You mightn’t get your freedom again if you hide away for too long.”

He nodded in agreement and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “Can we stay here just a few moments? It’s nice to not be watched for a little while.”

He felt her shift beside him and opened his eyes. She grinned. “Just getting myself comfortable. Close your eyes again and relax, I’m in no hurry. It’s nice here, quiet.”

Fili settled himself back again. The sun was warm against his closed eyelids and the light breeze drifting over the inner city wall played over his skin. He placed a hand flat over the letter, tucked safely inside his tunic.

Bard had taken him aside when they arrived in the hall, relief written across his face as he took Fili’s hand in both of his and thanked him in a whisper for coming to his rescue. Leaving Gimli with the children, and a table of cakes to sample, Bard had steered Fili into an empty side chamber. He'd closed the door, a wide grin on his face.

“What?” Fili had asked as Bard pushed him back and into a chair. He’d laughed, wondering what his friend could possibly be up to. “Bard?

Bard pulled the letter from his pocket and Fili had drawn in a breath, recognising his brother’s hurried script immediately. He thought that he might have made some small noise. Bard had knelt, pressed the letter into his hand, clasped his shoulder and told him in a low voice to take as long as he needed. Telling him that he would personally guard the door and make sure Fili wasn’t disturbed. He’d touched his forehead to Fili’s, smiled at him again and left. The door pulled quietly closed after him. Fili had sat unmoving for some time, the chamber silent apart from his own ragged breathing, holding the precious letter in shaking hands.

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

Fili jumped at the touch of her hand on his, feeling the blood rush to his face.

“You were, weren’t you?” Hafdis smiled. “Ale and sunshine, a lethal combination.”

He nodded in agreement and stretched, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was just watching the clouds and I spoke to you and you didn’t respond. You looked very peaceful. I wasn’t going to wake you but we should probably be getting back before you are actually reported missing.”

Fili nodded and rolled to his feet, offering her his hand and drawing her up to hers. He scrubbed a hand through his hair to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

Hafdis smiled back at him as they made their way toward the steps. “I’m glad you got a little rest though, you’ve been looking very tired recently. I was getting a bit worried.”

She turned away and he followed her slowly down, his fingers trailing over the notches and the damage to the thick stone wall as they descended. The work of a troll using some sort of mace, he reckoned. Orcs wouldn't have had the strength, or the reach. Or the stupidity to waste their strength hammering on stone for that matter. He stopped to inspect a missing section of handrail and decided to speak to Thorin again about offering Bard some of their stonemasons. Dale should be beautiful. The city should be repaired as a priority. It was the gateway to Erebor, after all.

“Fili, come on.”

Hafdis waggled her fingers at him from the base of the steps and he ran down to her, taking her hand and letting her lead him back toward the square.

He felt a little touched by her concern and that she’d cared enough about him to notice, although he had thought he'd hidden his exhaustion well. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept properly. Certainly not for weeks, plagued by increasingly terrible nightmares and restlessness.

Gimli had threatened to let him sleep alone and Fili had told him to take his things and go. Growling that he hadn’t asked his cousin to take over his bed with his icy cold feet, his blanket stealing and his snoring. They’d fallen out for a few days, moving silently around each other, Gimli pointedly wearing his socks to bed until Fili had apologised.

Perhaps now, he thought. His heart feeling lighter. Perhaps now that there is news I will finally get a night’s rest.

Chapter Text

The chamber fell silent. Even from several steps away Fili could see the tremble in his amad’s hand as she turned the first page of the letter. Reluctantly Fili tore his eyes away from her and looked at his uncle.

“Well?” Thorin sounded exasperated. “Go on. Explain yourself.”

Fili already had, several times. He wasn’t sure how it was possible to make it any plainer. But it had been a good day and he was of a mind to keep Thorin happy, and so he tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“Uncle. I don’t see how you can be angry. How could I possibly have known you sent half the mountain to follow me? I was hardly in any danger in Dale, and, even if I was, I’m not exactly defenceless.” He kept his gaze level and looked Thorin steadily in the eye.

Thorin sighed heavily. “When did you become so adept at lying to me?”

That did not require an answer.

Fili watched his amad sink into a seat slowly, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. He wanted to join her and hear her thoughts. If an apology was what it would take to finish this circular and pointless conversation, no matter that he had nothing to apologise for, then he would do it. “I’m sorry—”

“For lying to me?”

Fili blinked. “No. I’m sorry for worrying Dwalin and the others. That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to go for a walk and have a few moments to myself to think, away from the noise and the crush of the crowd. I didn’t see the need to take Gimli with me. But if I had known that I was being guarded and it would cause so much fuss then I would, of course, have behaved differently.”

When Fili and Hafdis had returned to their table outside the inn the sun was beginning to sink behind the tall buildings, taking some of the fierce heat of the day with it and bathing the square in a pleasant orange glow. The dancing and the merry music were well underway, and Fili was just passing a fresh tankard to Gimli and lifting one for himself, when a big hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Dwalin’s familiar growl had been low and full of barely controlled anger in Fili’s ear, letting him know in no uncertain terms that his day out in Dale was at an end.

Fili shrugged and smiled at his uncle. “I will know for next time.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes, and Fili made an effort to keep his own wide and innocent, not sure if he managed to strike quite the right level of contriteness.

Unable to stop himself his eyes drifted across to Amad. She seemed to have reached the end of the letter and sat with a hand raised to her mouth, looking stunned. He watched as she gathered herself and turned back to the first page. Fili smiled. He had done exactly the same thing himself whilst sat in the hall in Dale, hardly able to believe that it was real.

With a grunt that seemed to signal the end of the conversation Thorin turned and made his way across the antechamber and into his study. Fili took the chance to rush across to the table and drop into the seat next to Amad. She swiped quickly at her eyes and folded up the letter carefully, handing it to him with an unsteady smile.

Fili got the impression that she didn’t trust herself to speak. He pulled her into a tight hug. “He’s safe and well,” he whispered into her ear.

Thorin was talking again. Fili lifted his head and watched his uncle stride across the room toward them, a stack of papers in his hand. He stroked his amad’s hair and forced himself to listen.

“—from preliminary reports it all looks excellent. Balin, Dain and I went through the figures earlier whilst you were out enjoying yourself. Here, take a look.” Thorin spread the sheaf of parchment across the table in front of Fili.

“Now?” Fili glanced down at the neat lines of figures and back to his uncle. The new mineshaft. Hardly what he had intended to talk about, when he had managed to finally extract the two of them from the dinner hall. “I’ve had a few ales today so perhaps tomorrow might be better. Don’t you want to read Kili’s news?”

Thorin dismissively waved the letter away. Fili swallowed hard as he watched his uncle gather up the papers. He should have expected nothing less, but it was still a bitter disappointment. He released his amad, who whispered something he didn’t catch, and stood as he tucked the letter away safely next to his heart.

“Tomorrow will do fine,” Thorin said, smiling as he handed the papers to Fili. “Take it with you this evening and read it. We’ll talk properly in the morning. But be sure not to share it, not even with Gimli. The less of our people who know the better, until we are certain that it can be made operational. I have a long list of dwarves awaiting mining roles and I wouldn’t want to raise hopes prematurely.”

Fili unclenched his jaw. He handed the papers back to Thorin, a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. “Perhaps it would be best to leave them here. I am meeting friends in my rooms and I expect that they are making themselves comfortable there already. I wouldn’t want to accidentally let something slip.”

Thorin nodded and Fili breathed deeply. He was getting a little tired of being treated like a dwarfling, but losing his temper over something as trivial as his uncle thinking he was incapable of keeping confidential issues to himself would not help. Not if he wanted Thorin to ever allow him more responsibility.

“I’m glad you are here anyway, nephew. I wanted to ask for your assistance.”

Beside him, Fili saw Amad lift her head, and he wasn’t sure, but he felt she had glared briefly at Thorin. He felt a little like glaring himself. It had been he who had rushed Thorin out of the dinner hall as soon as it was polite. So certain, wrongly as it turned out, that the letter would prompt an actual conversation about Kili.

“—too much fine food and wine.” Thorin placed a hand on his stomach, patting at it. “I'm starting to run to fat. I’m sure you’ve noticed. In fact I'd imagine you could easily best me now, since you do so much training.”

Fili forced himself to remain silent as Thorin smiled at him. It was true that he spent a lot of time in the training hall. But, stripped of all his roles and imprisoned as he was in the mountain, Fili's only real purpose was to sit quietly at Thorin's right hand in meetings and keep his opinions to himself. Even asking him to read a report was just a silly, pretend exercise. Any decision regarding the mineshaft had already been made. He would have no influence. Fili knew it and Thorin knew it.

Sometimes, Thorin would give him simple, mindless tasks, as if he were still a youngster and to help his uncle was some sort of wonderful prize. But, outside meetings and occasional easy royal duties such as visiting the miners and making banal, encouraging noises, Fili's options were narrowed down to study, drink, or train.

He'd always found solace in learning. Languages, history, anything he could get his hands on. The huge, dusty library in the depths of Erebor had been mercifully left mostly unscathed by Smaug, and once he was back on his feet after the battle Fili trawled through it with Balin. The pair of them exclaiming in wonder over its treasures.

The library was Ori’s domain and responsibility now, and he and his little army of scribes were still busily cataloguing its contents a year on, and likely would be doing so for many years to come.

Sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, Fili would call down and the torches would still be burning. Ori smiling from his huge carved desk and beckoning Fili in to have a pot of tea, or perhaps to work on a tricky section that Ori couldn’t get to and claimed not to trust his scribes with. It was nice to feel needed. Fili enjoyed it and wished he could spend more of his time there, but all of his visits during working hours caused too much fuss.

There was always a selection of books that Ori set aside for him. Texts that he’d happened across and thought might be of interest, and Fili would take them away and try his best. But he couldn't settle. Nothing held his interest for long. He’d find himself reading the same sentence over and over before setting the book down in disgust. Ori understood, but he kept trying anyway.

It just wasn't the same without Kili curled up opposite. His nose buried in his maps or his fingers busy with his fletching. Or complaining that he was bored and didn't Fili want to go outside, or go for a spar, or do literally anything else? A socked foot poking at his thigh insistently until Fili would sigh and mark his page.

And it wasn’t the same without Ness. He’d spent many happy hours reading aloud to her, a finger following the runes in the hope she'd, at last, take something in. In bed with her curled tightly against him, or sat cosily together in his chair by the fire. Her fingers weaving lazily through his hair as she promised him that she really was paying very close attention.

As for drinking. He was already doing far too much of that. Sometimes it was fun, but more and more often it made him unhappy. Its effects were becoming unpredictable. He would watch himself turn into a horribly argumentative and belligerent creature, and be completely unable to stop it. During those times Fili didn't recognise himself and the loss of control worried him.

So training it had to be. Fili had never felt stronger. Or more miserable.

“Perhaps we should train together? You're much more disciplined than I am—"

That was a lie.

Fili clenched his teeth together to stop the words escaping. He knew it was a lie because he knew that, without fail, Thorin trained every morning, before breakfast for two hours, with Dwalin. He knew this because the training hall was closed to everyone else during those times. Fili watched Thorin's hand as it rested against his flat stomach and wondered what his uncle was up to.

“—we should maybe have a spar first. So you can work out what you are dealing with. It's been a long time since we—"

Fili raised a hand to stop Thorin before his temper slipped any further. He had no intention of being made a fool of and agreeing to a fight he couldn't possibly win. He told Thorin so. A small and unlikeable part of him enjoying the hurt look on his uncle's face as he reminded Thorin that it would be ridiculous. Not to mention politically unwise. “Imagine for a moment, if by some twist of fate, I actually won. How would that look?”

“Ah.” Thorin wagged a finger at him playfully. Fili ground his teeth. “But you'd have to win first. If you're worried about losing face, we—"

Fili raised a hand again as the heat rose within him. “I am too old for play-acting, so if you are looking for some sport, you may look elsewhere. Perhaps Gimli would be willing, or Molir.”

He was aware how spiteful he sounded, but it would be a sham, a performance and not a real test. He couldn’t put the king to the ground, even if he were capable of it, and so Fili wasn’t interested. He couldn’t understand why Thorin would even think to suggest it. The last time they had sparred, before they left for Erebor, Kili had been by his side, and Thorin had still defeated them.

“How—” he asked, hearing his voice crack with anger. Anger, that was preferable to the tears that he knew were not far enough away, when he recalled how the three of them had laughed together after their bout. Kili’s laughter, loudest and longest as always, rang in his ears. Yet another soured memory.

Fili blinked hard to clear his misty eyes, furious with himself for yet again showing weakness. “How could I possibly hope to best you when I'm only half what I once was, and even when I was whole, it wasn't good enough?”

Thorin's face darkened as they locked eyes.

A chair scraped against stone and Amad placed a hand flat on Fili’s chest. “I think,” she said, in a voice that brooked no argument, “you are a little overtired, my son. Stop glaring at your uncle and look at me. Good boy. You’ve had a long and exciting day, and it’s past time you were in bed.”

Molir stood on guard outside Thorin’s chambers but Fili only nodded in greeting, not trusting himself to speak as he turned toward his own rooms. He counted his steps along the passageway and concentrated on his breathing. In and out. One deep breath in for every four steps. Emptying his chest fully over the next four. A trick to force anger to dissipate that Ness had taught him. By the time he reached the two helmed guards at the junction he was able to smile and exchange a few words about good weather and the skill of the musicians at dinner.

Taking the turn that led to his chambers, and once out of sight of the guards, he slowed his steps and trailed his fingertips along the stone. Counting the joins and cracks under his breath. Another trick to push bad thoughts away. He reached thirty by the time he arrived at the double doors of his chambers, a little different to the last time. It was always different but he found it soothing nevertheless.

The sound of merry laughter from inside as he placed his hand flat against the door dispelled the remnants of his temper, and he pushed open the door to find Gimli, Hafur and Hafdis sprawled in front of a cosy fire, playing a game of cards. They looked up and smiled at him as he closed the door and shucked off his boots.

Several bottles of wine were opened and emptied before they agreed that it was best all round to abandon the cards and avoid bloodshed.

Fili leaned back against the warmth of the hearth and rolled his shoulders slowly, trying to rid himself of the lingering tension from his clash with Thorin. He closed his eyes and imagined the touch of delicate, familiar fingers on his skin.

Concentrating hard he blocked out the voices of the others and heard Ness. The comforting music of her soft grumbles and complaints as she worked on stretching and caring for his tight muscles. Caring for him. His skin burned at the memory of lips pressed lightly against his neck, her signal to him that her hands were hurting and she was done.

It couldn’t go on, this fighting. It happened every single time he spoke with his uncle and it was unbearable.

No matter how benign the subject, and no matter how much effort Fili made, it degenerated into an argument. He wasn’t sure whose fault it was or how to stop it, but it was tiresome and he needed it to end. The only blessing being that they’d managed to keep from each other's throats, so far, in public. Which showed a level of restraint from both of them, even if sometimes Fili was in danger of biting off his own tongue.

He listened with half an ear as the others discussed the mannish dancing they’d managed to see, before Dwalin had arrived at their table and ordered them all back to the mountain.

“Fili, where’s that fiddle of yours?” Hafur demanded as he dragged Hafdis to her feet. “Come on, sister, I want to give this a try. Follow my lead and don’t step on my toes.”

Fili wasn’t in the mood to perform, but he didn’t want to ruin their fun either, so instead he and Gimli stamped their feet against the flagstones to give Hafur a beat. As he watched Hafur spin Hafdis around the chamber, somehow managing not to knock either of them off the furniture, Fili suddenly found himself laughing. He felt better, he supposed, as he watched them dance and Gimli topped up their glasses. It was good to be with friends. Dwarves he trusted and who trusted him. Despite the row with Thorin something that had been tightly screwed up inside him loosened, just a little.

Hafdis collapsed breathlessly to the floor in front of them and slapped her brother’s hands away as Hafur reached for her. “Stop it, no. Get off me. I’m done.” She snatched up her wine glass, spilling a little onto the rug.

As she grinned happily at him, her eyes sparkling, Fili made a decision. He took a deep breath and spoke quickly, before he could change his mind or think very much about it. “Hafdis, can I show you something?”

She nodded. Fili pushed himself upright and held out a hand to help her up, suddenly realising he was a little unsteady on his feet. He tried to quickly count the ales and the wines that he’d drank over the day and gave up. Perhaps it was a little bit more than he'd intended, but it didn't matter. He felt fine.

“What are you showing her?” Hafur turned away from trying to drag Gimli up to dance and looked at Fili suspiciously.

“Never you mind,” said Hafdis. “Lead the way, Fili.”

Hafur’s eyes hardened. “Now, I know you are not taking my little sister into your bedroom. Especially not after you took her away, unchaperoned, for hours this afternoon.”

Hafdis rolled her eyes at Fili before turning to Hafur. “You didn't mind then.”

“That’s because I didn't know then. Because I was watching the sports, when you both sneaked off without a word. I thought you had gone to the bar. Gimli thought you had gone to the bar. We had to throw a load of men off our table when we came back from looking for you.”

“There’s no need for concern, Hafur. Your sister is more than capable of looking after herself,” said Gimli.

Fili met his eyes, remembering the pious lecture about reputations Gimli had attempted to give him on the way back from Dale to the mountain.

“Let’s see,” said Gimli with a smile at Fili. “How many knives have you on you right now, Hafdis?”

Hafdis smiled. “Enough.”

“See. More than capable. She'll just knife him if he tries anything. And she should. We’ll back you up if it comes to it, Hafdis.”

“I'm not going to try anything.” Fili scowled at Gimli, who raised his glass and grinned back. He looked to Hafur. “I promise you that your sister is perfectly safe with me.”

“Why?” said Hafur, glowering even more than he had been. “What is wrong with my sister? Is she not good enough for you?”

“What?” Fili felt wrong footed. “No, I didn’t—"

“Don't.” Hafdis touched his arm and shook her head. “Don't rise to the bait, Fili. He's making fun. Come on.”

Fili thought a few unkind things as he closed the heavy door and blocked out the laughter behind them. Hafdis was busy touring the room, looking at everything with interest and he wondered briefly what he was doing. Thorin would kill him if he found out. He looked around the room quickly. Thankfully it was tidy. Mostly anyway. Lifting one of Gimli’s tunics and a throwing axe, he tossed them into an open chest. His cousin seemed to leave a trail of belongings behind him everywhere he went. Completely incapable of putting anything away, and Gimli claimed not to even see the mess. It drove Fili mad.

Hafdis smiled as he closed the lid. “Oh, don’t worry about tidying up on my behalf. You should see Hafur’s chamber. It’s a disgrace. Apart from his weapons. They are nice and neatly arranged. But everything else looks as if a storm blew through it.” She laughed. “Twice. This is tidy, honestly. It’s a fine room, and you even have a window.”

The window was a good idea. Fili crossed the chamber and stretched into the recess to swing the small reinforced pane outward to its full extent. That would air the room out a little.

“Do you want to have a look out? I’ll get you something to stand on.” He dragged a chest across and Hafdis hopped up, standing on tiptoe as she wriggled her upper half into the recess.

“It must be nice to share,” she said, her voice muffled by the thick walls. “I’ve always had my own room. Oh, you can see the stars from here.”

“On a clear day you can see Mirkwood, and on to the mountains beyond.” Fili gathered up his books from the armchair nearest the fire and found Gimli’s spare pouch of pipeweed squashed in underneath them. He set it on the mantelpiece with a grimace. Gimli would be annoyed, he had been looking for it for days. He turned around, not sure where to put the books.

“I’ve always shared,” he said, stacking them neatly by the hearth. That would do.

Hafdis pulled herself out of the recess. “Always?”

“Well, apart from…” Fili wasn’t sure how much to say. The wine had muddied his thoughts. It would have been sensible to have eaten more at dinner but he'd only picked at the food. Too excited about showing Kili’s letter to Thorin and to Amad to eat properly. He knew he couldn’t tell Hafdis the full and honest answer. That, apart from those last few guilt-filled weeks when he had slept alone because he could barely find it in him to look Kili in the eye, he had always shared his bed with his brother.

“Always,” he corrected himself.

It was almost true. Completely true if you didn’t count the precious weeks when he had roamed his chambers and leaned out the same window as Hafdis. Staring up into the starry sky and counting down the hours until he could find an excuse to hold Ness in his arms again.

He pushed the thoughts away before he could lose himself in memory and sadness. That would lead to more questions. None of which he could answer, ever, to anyone.

Smiling brightly at Hafdis as she looked at him curiously, her head tilted, he continued, “I’ve always shared. We had two beds but ever since Kili could walk, crawl really, he would make his way into mine. And he never left. But I didn’t mind, he was always warm.”

They’d tried to sleep apart at various stages but it had never lasted for more than a night or two. Even during their worst quarrels, where they’d traded insults and blows, they always found their way back together. It was easier to whisper cosied up, even if the whispers were barbed rather than sweet, and they both slept deeper and easier within arms reach of the other.

“Somehow I had thought you would both be in rooms just like this.” Hafdis waved her hand around the chamber. “I’d imagined the pair of you sneaking back and forth. Dis chasing you to your own room at bedtime. Back at home Hafur and I had rooms right next to each other and we would tap where the stone was thinnest to talk. We had quite an elaborate secret code, I can still remember it now.”

Fili shook his head, again uncertain about how much to say. Thorin and Amad were a little prickly about their past financial situation and although Fili trusted Hafdis, she was still Dain’s niece. “Not like this, this is quite extravagant.”

In truth their entire house in the Blue Mountains would have fitted inside his rooms in Erebor, with space to spare. A main room with a small kitchen attached. Mismatched chairs by the fire. Amad’s room beside theirs and a tiny, always freezing cold, bathroom.

He missed it. It was ungrateful of him but it was true.

Even those mornings in the depths of winter when he would wake in the dark and stretch, the air of the bedchamber outside their blankets cold on his skin. Kili curled tightly against his chest, with his fingertips digging into Fili’s sides, as he grumbled that it was far too early to even think about getting up. His breath misting the air as he broke the thin layer of ice in their washbasin and woke himself properly. Lighting the fire and the kitchen stove to heat the house before Amad awoke, and crouching before one or the other to warm his fingers. The sound of their boots in step, loud in the early morning quiet of the settlement, as he walked with Kili at his shoulder toward their uncle’s chambers.

Erebor was a big adjustment. Perhaps with more time it would feel like home.

“And then Gimli moved in.” Hafdis shook him from memory as she jumped from the chest and made her way to one of the chairs. Settling herself into it she patted the arm of the other chair.

“Yes.” Fili hadn’t once been asked, or at least he didn’t think so.

Looking back to those terrible days, Fili supposed that he may have been in some sort of shocked state. The arrival of his amad had both lifted and broken his heart. Though overjoyed to see her it also meant that Kili and Ness were forever and truly lost to him. His last little flicker of hope that he’d held so tightly on to, that Amad would meet Kili and Ness on the road and turn them around, that she would bring them back to him, extinguished in a moment.

When she finally left him alone, with a strict instruction to rest, the wave of exhaustion and sorrow overwhelmed him.

Unable to stop himself he sank to his knees as the door closed softly behind her, grateful to her for telling him what to do. Fili thought that Gimli arrived shortly after but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it had been hours.

Either way it had been Gimli who encouraged him up onto his feet and into bed. Fingers gently stroking Fili’s hair as Gimli filled the crushing silence with talk of a journey across Middle-earth. A very first trip outside the safety of the Blue Mountains. Full of silly, nonsense tales of arguments on the road, and no more peril than running out of pipeweed. He'd fallen asleep to the sound of his cousin’s voice.

Sometimes Fili thought that if it hadn’t been for Gimli trailing him out of bed the next morning he would still be there.

He sat down in the armchair and stood up again immediately, realising he had nothing to offer Hafdis. “Do you want tea? Or more wine? I’ll go and get—”

“Sit, Fili. What’s wrong?” Hafdis leaned forward, her eyes full of concern. “Why did you want to talk to me in private? Has something been said again? You really must let me go to Hafur this time. He can talk to them, well I say talk to them but what I really mean is throw his weight around, and knock a few heads together. He’s good at that.”

“No, I—”

“Honestly, you don’t have to deal with this alone. It’s not fair. What have they said this time? Was it one of ours? I’ll talk to them, or I’ll speak to Uncle Dain and he can speak with them if you prefer. But really Hafur is probably the best dwarf for the job. They listen to him more than—”

Fili placed a hand on her arm and she stopped. “No, it’s not that, and even if it were, it’s only words.”

Jealousy. That’s what Amad and Thorin had called it when he first told them about it. Just youngsters being spiteful and probing for a weak spot. Ignore them and they will stop. Dismissed, and feeling like a weak, spineless creature for telling them, Fili hadn’t bothered speaking to either of them about it ever since. He certainly hadn’t bothered to tell them that it wasn’t only youngsters.

“Words can hurt too.”

“I know. Thank you.” Fili took a deep breath. “A letter arrived today.” He knew he’d made the right decision when her face lit up. His heart lifted.

“From Kili?” Hafdis grabbed his hand in both of hers and released it again quickly. Her face flamed red. “Really? But that's wonderful! Can I see it? Oh, ignore me. It’s private. Of course it’s private. I’m just so excited for you. You must be so relieved.”

Fili nodded, his hand hovering over the letter tucked away inside his tunic. Before he could think about it too much he pulled it from his pocket and handed it over.

She tore through it, lifting her head to exclaim at him and smile and Fili felt a little rush inside. “Oh, you are to be an uncle?”

He nodded, completely unable to stop himself from grinning at her like a fool, as she stared back at him. Her eyes wide and full of happiness. This was exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. Not hidden, silent tears, or hurtful indifference.

“This is wonderful news.” She turned the paper over. “When is this from? And where?”

There was no date on the letter. From the state of the script, the scrawled apologies and the multiple crossings out, Fili guessed that it had been written the very moment Kili arrived in the Shire. His brother hadn’t thought to include a date, and obviously it had been written and sent too quickly for Ness to add even so much as a word or two of her own. Or Bilbo for that matter.

Hafdis was waiting for a response. Thorin had explicitly forbade him from telling anyone about his brother’s whereabouts, so Fili could only shrug. Sharing the letter with her was probably disobedience enough for one day.

“I don’t know,” he lied, and tried not to feel guilty. “But he’s alive and well.” A horrible thought occurred to him. “Or at least he was when—”

“Don’t.” Hafdis tapped his knee smartly. “Don’t. He’s safe and you are to be an uncle. Perhaps if all has gone well you already are.”

That was true. Any letter would have taken months to reach him from the Shire and Kili’s writing was short on any detail, so perhaps he was already an uncle. He hoped so.

A much regretted conversation with Ness rushed back to him and his face flushed. It had been not long after they first arrived in Erebor. Preoccupied with worries about Azog, and his uncle’s state of mind, the thoughtless words had slipped out. Ness stopped beside him mid stride and gripped his forearm, her face stricken.

“I'd thought that too.” She touched her belly with her fingertips, unconsciously Fili felt, and he was horrified.

Desperately he wished the words back but it was too late and the damage was done. With tears in her eyes she looked up at him and whispered, “I'd thought too that it was the wrong time. Maybe it knew deep down I didn't want it.”

“No.” He grabbed at her hands and shook his head urgently. “No, Ness.”

“I was so scared. Everything was moving too fast and I wasn't ready. But I did want it, so much. I knew as soon as—"

He gathered her up in his arms and her body shook against him. It was as if a dam had burst. The occasional word made its way to him through the torrent of heartbroken sobs, and he could do absolutely nothing for her. Nothing but stroke her hair and whisper useless platitudes, that he wasn’t even sure she heard, as he watched the passageway and prayed like he’d never prayed before for Kili to appear.

Ness thanked him afterward, as she wiped her eyes and smiled bravely. Generously she’d called him a good friend and leant into him to kiss his cheek.

He'd felt like a fraud.

Fili’s heart raced. He needed to go, immediately. Take the fastest pony he could find and ride for the Shire, and make sure all was well.

Hafdis tapped his knee again, harder this time, as if she knew his thoughts.

“No. Look at me. This is what you have always wanted. Ever since the day he left. News, and wonderful news at that.” She handed him the letter. “Now you can begin to get on with your own life.”

“You’re a fool.” Gimli drained his wine glass and looked around for the bottle. “You barely know her.”

“She’s our friend.”

Gimli wasn’t so sure.

He refilled his glass and, after a moment’s thought, leant across and refilled Fili’s too. His cousin had obviously drank more than enough, since he was making even more foolish decisions than usual, but it might help him sleep. And therefore help Gimli sleep. A few hours without being kicked or jolted awake would be bliss.

Gimli stifled a yawn with his hand. Surely a full night’s sleep wasn’t too much to ask? How in Durin's name had Kili ever put up with it all those years?

“You’ve known her less than a year, Fili. She’s Dain’s niece. Have you not stopped to consider that she could be gathering information for her uncle?”

Fili snorted and smoothed the letter out on his knee. Gimli watched as Fili’s fingers brushed gently over the parchment, seemingly unable to stop himself from touching it.

“You’ll wear a hole in that before the night’s out at this rate. And you have to at least concede that it’s a possibility. Thorin told you—”

“Thorin sees threats where there are none. He’s paranoid and suspicious.”

“Fili!” Gimli nearly spat out his wine. That was a little too close to treason for his liking. No matter the thickness of the walls surrounding them. He glanced worriedly at the open window. “You cannot—”

“He told me not to speak of Kili. To not even think of him.” Fili’s eyes were sharp, angry, and suddenly very sober. “He tells me that it will help me forget, but I will not forget my brother. And you are exactly the same. You won’t talk to me about him. Amad won’t talk to me about him. No-one apart from Bard and Legolas will talk to me about him and they’re not dwarves, they don’t understand. But Hafdis, she listens and she doesn’t tell me to be quiet. She doesn't ask me any questions. She doesn't want anything more from me than I am willing to give. She was there when I needed someone to talk to.”

That hurt. Gimli longed to talk about Kili too.

As they had waited for news back home in the Blue Mountains not a day went by but Gimli anxiously thought of his cousins. With no siblings of his own they were his brothers in all but name, and Kili his closest friend in the world. Gimli didn’t even mind so much that the same wasn’t true in reverse. He was happy with his lot until the day he waved them off at the gates. Then the rest of the Company and his adad left and it all felt very real.

They were in the forefront of his mind from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he closed them at night. They even followed him into his dreams. Them and their dragon.

Desperate for peace Gimli even took up praying, just in case. Figuring that if it didn’t do any good it likely wouldn’t do any harm.

Sometimes he imagined that Dis assigned him to her guard for no other reason than she was tired of watching him trail about the settlement with a long face.

But they couldn’t live in the past. It wasn’t healthy. Oin said so, and it made sense. It was apparent to all that it did Fili no favours to wallow, and Gimli was more than a little annoyed that Hafdis and Hafur were so willing to indulge his cousin. Hafdis even laughed at him when Gimli asked her nicely to put a stop to it. As if she knew better than a dwarf who’d been a medic long before Gimli was even born.

Fili must have seen something in his face for he sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “We’ve been through this before, Gimli. Many times. They didn’t approach me. I asked Hafur for a spar. I approached him. He didn’t know anything about me.”

It was Gimli’s turn to snort. “I never thought you were so naive. Everyone knows about you and everyone has been trying to get close to you to satisfy their curiosity. Why do you think they would be the exception?”

“He didn’t care. He only wanted to fight me. Hafur isn’t interested in foolish gossip.”

Gimli didn’t believe that for a moment. The interest in Kili hadn’t waned. If anything it had grown as time went on. Rumour layered upon rumour swirled about the mountain with everyone hungry for any morsel of truth about the disgraced youngest Durin prince.

No matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Gimli hadn’t so much as put his hand in his pocket to buy a mug of ale since he first rode in through Erebor’s gates. Everyone wanted to be his friend, and every budding friendship ended abruptly when it became clear that the motivation behind it was to wheedle out information. It was tiring, to be constantly on his guard against a slip of the tongue.

Fili was spared the worst of it, in Gimli’s opinion. Protected by his status and his unwillingness to engage with anyone outside the Company for a single moment longer than he needed to. He had let no-one close.

Until the day he did.

Gimli had hurried to the training hall, late and almost at a run, and found Fili already engaged in a bout. Not with Dwalin as Gimli expected, but instead with the tall, dark-haired dwarf from the Iron Hills—the one who always seemed to train at the same time Fili and Gimli did.

Stood in the high archway, shocked to his very core and with his mouth hanging open, Gimli watched the practice blades flash in the torchlight. The movement of dark and golden hair as the pair lunged and clashed flung him back through time, and halfway across Middle-earth, to a dusty training yard, high above the snowline in the Blue Mountains. Back to memories of hours spent sat atop an upturned barrel with an axe held loosely in his hand. Hours of kicking his heels against the wood as he watched his cousins spar. Impatient for his turn to be knocked on his backside by one or the other of them.

He watched Fili continue to stroke calloused fingers gently over his precious letter.

It was, in a way, nice to not be relied upon so heavily by his cousin. Hafur and Hafdis did take some of the pressure off and that allowed Gimli to do other things. Like spend time with his actual family. So perhaps it was only that his nose was a little out of joint. Perhaps.

“He isn’t.” Fili insisted quietly. Gimli wasn’t sure whether Fili was trying to convince himself or Gimli. “He only wants to know about dragons and battles, and to hit me. Mainly to hit me.”

“I’m only telling you to be a little cautious, that’s all. I’m not saying you can’t make friends.” Fili looked mutinous and Gimli wondered briefly when he had become the wiser, sensible one. He pushed on. “You can make friends and you should. I want you to. But just because your uncle is—”

Gimli stopped himself in time. The king. That was the only way that sentence should ever end. The king is the king, and treason is treason. And family ties would be no protection should Thorin’s suspicion ever fall on them.

As Fili knew, better than anyone.

Not that anyone had ever bothered to tell Gimli about what had happened before the battle, nor had he asked, but he had ears. And a guard uniform that seemed to grant the power of invisibility at times.

Gimli gathered himself and continued. “I’m just saying that your uncle may have a point. You don’t know for sure what folks motives are. Maybe they have none. Maybe.”

Fili sighed heavily. “I didn’t tell her anything. The letter doesn’t say where they are. Kili knew not to write any detail. He’s not a fool. The only question she asked was if Bilbo was the halfling she had heard about. The one who talked to Smaug.”

Gimli held out his hand and Fili passed the letter over.

He skimmed through it again. Kili’s script was even worse than he remembered. Gimli squinted at the words. It was true that the letter didn’t say the Shire outright, but then it didn’t need to. Just mentioning the halfling was enough to lay a trail all the way from Erebor to the hobbit’s comfortable door. Everyone with any wits about them at all knew that halflings didn’t stray far from their soft, grassy lands. Even if this Bilbo seemed a little unusual for his kind.

“I’m worried.” Fili lifted his eyes from his wine. “What if—”

“No.”

“But what if she—”

“No. You need to let this go. You have your letter. He’s fine. More than fine. You have to let him go and get on with your own life.”

Fili’s eyes glittered as he looked into the fire. “I was with Ori a few days ago and I happened across a message from the Halls. The settlement is failing, it’s barely supporting itself. Madduc is asking Thorin for yet more gold.”

“You shouldn’t be looking through—”

“I should know this. I shouldn’t have to look. Thorin calls me his heir but it’s a pretty title only. He treats me like I’m barely more use to him than a dwarfling or...or a letter-opener. I have no real role here. You know that as well as I. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thorin needs someone in Ered Luin to act for him. Either to close the settlement, or make it profitable.” Fili turned his eyes back to Gimli. Hope shining brightly in them.

“He won’t send you, Fili.”

“I’m the only sensible choice. It’s my chance to prove myself. Madduc can’t turn it around, even with more handouts of gold. The Durin connection is the only thing that will do it. Younger blood. I’ve thought it through and I’m certain with a little work I can persuade him.”

Gimli sighed. He could see exactly how this would end. Fili would beg, Thorin would refuse, and Gimli would be left to pick up the broken pieces and start again.

He stared down at the letter in his hands and wished for a moment it had been lost somewhere. Left behind in a tavern by a merchant, and forgotten. Recently Gimli had dared to hope that his heartbroken cousin was, at long last, making some progress. Slowly but surely dragging himself out from under the shadow of his grief.

They’d come so far since those first weeks.

When he first arrived in Erebor Gimli first and foremost had longed to spend some time with his adad. But, before he even fully emptied his pack, Dis tracked him down to his family’s rooms and begged him to please keep a watch on Fili. She was worried and needed someone close. Someone Fili trusted.

Gimli couldn’t possibly refuse. He repacked his things at once and moved to Fili’s rooms, and he watched.

He was still watching.

At least they wouldn’t have the braids argument this time. That was something to be grateful for. It had taken days. Days where Gimli pleaded desperately with his cousin to let him undo the matted and fraying braids Kili put in Fili’s hair the morning he left Erebor. Initially the refusals were silent. Simply a turn of a shoulder. Then it escalated to rumbles and growls, before finally Fili stood, with the speed Gimli had foolishly forgotten about. The roar for Gimli to get out, and the punch hard enough to hurt, was a surprise.

Somewhere between shocked and relieved Gimli stood outside in the passageway and dabbed at his bloody nose with shaking fingers. He told himself that at least it showed his cousin had a little spirit left.

He returned to the chamber with Thorin, Dis and Dwalin, and after a short, fierce battle the braids had come out.

He’d been thrown out several times since. Twice bodily.

Only Gimli’s promise to Dis kept him going back. But, family or not, there were limits and sometimes Gimli thought he might be fast approaching his.

He smiled at Fili and shook his head, making sure to keep his voice gentle. “Be sensible. Thorin won’t send you. You are the heir, the dragon-slayer—”

“Don’t call me that. I’ve told you before.”

It was a growl. A warning that Gimli knew well enough by now. He quickly held up in his hands in a gesture of peace.

Fili drained his glass and set it on the flagstones. Heavily enough that Gimli was surprised it didn’t shatter. His cousin stood and looked down at him with distaste, his eyes hard and unfriendly. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

Chapter Text

Dis shifted the pile of material carefully and pulled the parchment back toward her. “Actually, perhaps something like this would be better?” She ran a finger over the neckline to blur the charcoal and sketched over it.

“Oh, that would be nice.” Sigrid craned over her shoulder. “I thought I had to keep it higher.”

“Nonsense, you’ve a fine figure, and if you can’t show it off on your wedding day then when can you?” Dis spun the parchment and pushed it across the table. “Molir, Tilda, what do you think?”

Molir glared at her and cast a quick glance toward the door at the far end of the kitchen. Obviously full of regret with his choice to stay inside and not step out for a smoke with Fili, Bard and Legolas. Dis raised her eyebrows at him.

“Very pretty,” he muttered. “But then she could get married in a blanket and look very pretty anyway.” He flushed to his ears as Sigrid thanked him.

“Will you draw one for me too, Dis?” Tilda bounced on the bench beside Molir. “I like this one. We could have the same, Sigrid.”

“You can’t have the same," said Dis. "You’re far too young. But you can have similar, if your sister is happy with it. Who will help you with it, Sigrid?”

Sigrid looked at Dis hopefully. “My da wants to help, but his sewing is...very sturdy.”

Dis nodded. She’d seen Bard’s sewing. It reminded her of Thorin’s. Good for making sure a waterskin didn’t come apart in the next fifty years, but definitely not suitable for the fine work of a wedding dress. Certainly not the visible parts.

Sigrid dropped her eyes to the table and plucked at the fabric. “So I thought I might give him an easy bit. And Tilda and Bain will help. I hoped maybe…”

The girl twisted her hands together. The unasked question written across her young face.

“I can help you. If you wish.”

Sigrid’s face lit up with gratitude and she flung her arms around Dis with a whisper of thanks. Returning the embrace, Dis patted the overwrought girl gently on the back as Tilda and Molir grinned at them from across the table. Dis couldn’t help but smile back. A glow warming her chest. Erebor was nothing if not full of surprises. If anyone had told her two years ago that she would have been asked to step into the role that rightly belonged to a human girl’s mother, she would have laughed long and loud in disbelief. Yet, here she was.

The back door swung open and Bard entered, followed by Fili and the elf. Bard grinned across. “She asked you then?”

“I offered.” Dis patted Sigrid gently on the back and the girl slowly released her, settling back onto the bench with damp eyes and taking a firm grip on Dis’s hand. “I’d be honoured to help.”

She smiled at Sigrid and reached across to swipe the tears from the girl’s cheeks. It was a terrible thing, to lose your amad so young. She and Bard had spoken about it before, in low voices over mugs of tea or glasses of fine elven wine. The man’s own grief almost a mirror image of her own. 

Although Dis considered herself lucky in comparison. Thorin and Balin amongst others had willingly stepped into the places of those lost to the mountain. Not that they could ever replace her Amad but they did their best. Even helping her with her own wedding dress. Thorin determined to be useful and assigned to the hidden pieces. She smiled at the memory of her brother hunched over his task in a chair by the fire. His muttered curses drifting across the small house as he poked more holes in himself than in the fabric, whilst she and Balin exchanged smiles and pieced together her elaborate gown.

And later, when her world caved in all over again, she had no shortage of help with her boys. There had been no question that she would have been left to raise them alone.

Even when she tried to push them all away they refused to listen. Determined to tempt her with food and getting on her nerves as they tidied and constantly fussed around her. Insistent that they take Fili here and there with them to give her a break, when all she wanted was to curl up in her bed, hold her heart-broken, confused little boy, and sleep and forget.

She had thought it suffocating at the time. But when Kili arrived, looking more Durin than anything else, and she had simply fell apart, she had been glad of them then. When she could barely summon the energy to feed her new son, never mind cook and clean. Thorin, the one who at last pulled her from her bed. The one who washed her hair, put in her braids and stood right by her shoulder as he pushed her back into the outside world.

It had been a dark time. She didn't like to remember it, and it worried her that she saw echoes of her bad blood in Fili. Thorin again the one left to pick up the pieces, whilst she stood uselessly by and watched.

Grief was a terrible path, but company made it infinitely more bearable. Now Dis knew that their dwarven way, with all its interfering, was preferable to the mannish one. To hear Bard tell it, once the bodies were in the ground he had been left very much to his own devices. He had explained it away whilst she stared at him in disbelief. The whole of Laketown grief stricken, they had all lost loved ones to the sickness, and he was not the only one who struggled. People had to look to their own. And by the time the sickness passed barely a single family had not suffered through loss, and the town was starving. There was no sympathy left to spare, and no time to grieve together. People needed fed and life had to go on.

Bard flopped onto the bench and ruffled Tilda’s hair. “I can’t tell you what a relief that is, Dis. Bain has been practising his sewing but he’s fairly useless. And he’s the best out of the three of us, isn’t that right, Tilda?”

The elf watched her. Dis stared back at him as he took his seat at the bench and pulled the parchment toward him. His expression inscrutable, like all his kind, as he dropped his eyes and appeared to study her drawing closely. The bench dipped as Fili climbed in beside her. He pressed a kiss into her hair and she leaned into his shoulder. He smelled of pipesmoke and the cool evening air.

“Where is Bain anyway?” Fili asked. “He does know we’re waiting on him?”

“Are you hungry again, Fili? Or just anxious to get back to the mountain?” Bard laughed and sniffed the air. “He’s with Garett, they won’t be long. Tilda, do you want to check your apple pie? I can smell it’s nearly ready.”

Fili laughed and Dis stole a glance at him. He looked genuinely happy, which was a relief. She hadn’t been sure whether it was wise to still attend their dinner with Bard, not after Fili’s clash with Thorin about Madduc. And then his fallout with Gimli. But the outing seemed to have done him good, although perhaps he was a bit tight around the eyes. But then that was to be expected. He was bound to be disappointed and annoyed.

She still found it odd how his spirits never failed to lift outside the mountain. And even more odd how her own heart always lightened once they were outside the long shadow of the gates. Like a weight had been taken from her. It was unsettling, but then she supposed it was not entirely unexpected either. The mountain still full of grief and memory, the stones soaked with it. It would take time to replace all the sadness with happy memories. Which reminded her, she needed to force Thorin outside the gates. She still wasn’t convinced about the gold sickness but best to take it seriously, just in case.

“I’ll put this away.” Sigrid began to gather up the fabric. She smiled at the elf and gently tugged the parchment from his hands. “I wouldn’t want pudding spilt all over it.”

“That was once.” Legolas shook a finger accusingly at Fili. “Once. Because someone threw an apple at me.” He shot a sideways glance at Molir. “I think we all know that I am far from the messiest dinner guest at this table.”

“Excuse me?” Molir looked up from filling his pipe.

“I’m just saying that some of us can use a knife and fork, rather than our fingers.”

“It saves time.” Molir turned to her. “And washing up. This is an insult, Dis.”

“Not to me.” Dis stood to help Sigrid. Perhaps if things went well this wedding dress wouldn’t be the last one she would be asked to help with. She smiled at her son. Perhaps he was anxious to get back to the mountain to see the girl. She hoped so.

Gimli pushed his chair out.

“Where are you off to?” asked Gloin.

“Bit tired, Adad.” Gimli smiled at them. It looked forced. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dis.”

Dis nodded to him and watched as he made his way toward the doors. Beside her Fili drained his tankard and scraped his own chair out. For a moment Dis hoped he intended to follow his cousin, but instead he excused himself and walked in the opposite direction. Down the steps from the high table and through the crowd toward the group of Iron Hills dwarves gathered by the musicians.

She frowned as Hafur pulled Fili into the group with a hearty back slapping embrace. It did her heart good to watch the growing friendship between her son and the younger Iron Hills dwarves. It was important that the dwarves within the mountain were as one, rather than split into different tribes and factions. Thorin couldn’t be expected to forge bonds alone. But the fall out with Gimli concerned her. Although, he and Fili had spent every moment together so it was understandable that they would clash from time to time.

Still, it was a disappointment that Fili did not seem the least bit inclined to mend any bridges. Not just because it meant that she had lost what little information Gimli chose to pass on about her son’s state of mind. And she was disappointed that neither Hafur or Hafdis seemed to be interested in extending Gimli a hand of friendship. She once thought the four of them inseparable.

It wasn’t good for Gimli to have only Ori for company of his own age. And even that wasn't working out too well. With her encouragement Ori had asked Gimli to help him in the library but, although Gimli was polite and tried his best, he was too like Kili. A warrior and not a scribe.

Shelves of dusty books held no interest for him, and for some reason he didn’t seem capable of forming any lasting friendship with any dwarf outside the Company

Down the table Gloin shook his head and murmured with his wife and Oin. Dis smiled sympathetically when their eyes met. So far she had managed to restrain herself and remain out of it, but if the rift went on any longer she would have no choice but to knock their heads together. They were blood, after all.

And Gimli’s long face as he trailed miserably about after her on her royal duties was beginning to wear on her.

She turned her eyes back to her son. Half hidden by the tightly packed crowd she couldn’t see his face, but the group around him were talking animatedly. She smiled as Hafdis joined them and watched the girl elbow her way in next to Fili. The green and gold gown a fetching colour on her. Dis leaned forward as Fili and the girl spoke, their heads close together.

“Dis.” Balin patted her arm. “What do you think?”

Dis tore her eyes away from Fili and smiled at Balin. “Sorry, what do I think about what?”

Thorin grasped her hand under the table. Her rings bit into her skin as he pressed her fingers together tightly and jerked his head in the direction of the crowd. She followed his gaze in time to see Hafur push Hafdis, followed by Fili, out into the dancers.

Dain raised an eyebrow at them questioningly and turned to look over his shoulder. “Oh. Well, would you look at that.” He shuffled his chair around to see better, and around them the table conversations faltered and lapsed into silence.

Even from this distance Dis could see the high colour in the girl’s cheeks, and although his back was to them she imagined her son’s wasn’t much different.

Barely daring to breathe, she watched as the pair stepped a little closer and Fili bowed stiffly and held out a hand. Dain, Thorin and her grinned at each other like fools as the youngsters awkwardly positioned themselves and Fili began to move Hafdis through the other dancers. She couldn’t make out what he signed to Hafur behind the girl’s back, but whatever it was made Hafur and his kin laugh uproariously. The boys all nudging and slapping each other's shoulders, obviously very pleased with themselves.

“He could do with holding her a little closer,” Thorin said quietly. “I’ve seen less space between him and you when the pair of you are dancing.”

Dain grunted. “Let the boy be. It’s a start, isn’t it? And Durin knows it’s taken him long enough to get this far.” He pointed a finger across the table and waved it between her and Thorin. “You should both be out there too. Neither of you are too old yet. I’ve plenty of—”

“Hush,” Dis breathed, not wanting to break the spell. Her son was dancing, and as he turned the girl in his arms she could see he was smiling. Her heart swelled with happiness.

Hafur was late.

Fili drummed his heels against the bench and looked out across the training hall. One of the targets was free but he really needed to hit something. Someone. Although, perhaps if he threw enough knives it would take the edge off. Until Hafur arrived.

He stood and made his way across the hall toward the range, being sure to give the dwarves already in sparring matches, and their spectators, plenty of space.

His eyes swept over the groups as he assessed them. There would be plenty awaiting their turn to spar, and he could ask anyone really. It wasn’t likely they would refuse the chance to try and best their Crown Prince, but that would mean conversation and looks and he wasn’t quite that desperate yet. It was likely Hafur would arrive any moment if he were patient. Or maybe even Hafdis. A spar with her wouldn’t be the bout he needed to draw the tension from his body, but it might distract his mind. Which would do fine.

He pulled a knife from his belt and spun it through his fingers as he walked. He missed Gimli. He never thought he would. He told himself enough times since their fight that he didn’t. That it was a relief to finally breathe freely, after being suffocated for so long. That it was a relief to finally have his own space. Free from Gimli constantly at his heels, as close to him as his own shadow. Following him everywhere.

But, aside from the quest for Erebor, he had never gone as long as a week without speaking to his cousin.

He felt guilty. He imagined Kili would have been disappointed. More than disappointed. Kili would have mediated a truce, or forced one, well before it reached this point.

Fili rubbed at his chest before he remembered the many eyes in the training hall and pulled his hand back to his side. The familiar ache when he thought of his brother, a physical pain. Perhaps, as Thorin and Amad said, someday it would get easier. Perhaps someday, years from now, it would hurt less. Like a half forgotten wound that only ached in bad weather. He couldn’t imagine it.

Gloin had collared him earlier. Bent over his work, and with the noise of the busy forges in his ears, Fili hadn’t realised he had company until Gloin slammed his hands onto his workbench. Red faced with temper Gloin shook a big finger in his face and told Fili, in no uncertain terms, that it was all his fault that Gimli was a shadow of his usual merry self.

Another dwarf was moving toward the free target, but they stepped back as Fili approached. He nodded his thanks.

He really wasn’t sure who needed to apologise, and he’d politely told Gloin so. As he attempted to explain, Gloin cut him off with a raised hand and warned him that he better hurry himself up and sort it out.

Whatever consequences Gloin felt he was threatening Fili with wasn’t clear. Likely it involved Thorin, or possibly even some sort of Company intervention. Satisfied that his message was delivered, Gloin turned and stormed away and Fili was left standing in the forges, with his face on fire like he was a little dwarfling.

It was true that he and Gimli had quarrelled badly. But there was fault on both sides and Fili was absolutely certain, as he looked back with a clear head, that Gimli started it.

He had finished it though. But at least he managed to direct his anger at the wall of his chamber instead of Gimli. The punch hard enough to break his own knuckles open. Not sure that he would be able to restrain himself a second time Fili had stormed out, with a roar that Gimli and all his belongings better be gone before he returned from the stables.

Fili flexed his fingers around the hilt of his throwing knife, and assessed the pull from the healing skin across his knuckles. It was fine. He shifted his stance.

Instead of packing his things, like he’d been clearly told to do, Gimli had followed him out of the chamber. Like the fool he was, he unwisely ran after Fili and caught at his arm before he reached the end of the passageway. There had been an exchange of blows and loud, angry words. Loud enough to draw the attention of Thorin’s guards. Not that the curious stares as the guards peeped around the corner stopped either of them.

That had been badly done.

The parting shot that Fili didn’t need a lapdog, and especially not one that dribbled and snored, had perhaps taken things too far. That too had been badly done, and reflected poorly on him.

So it was possible Gloin was right and some sort of apology was due. And Fili was the elder after all. He should at least give some more thought to making the first move.

The knife struck the target, embarrassingly off centre. Fili glared at it and pulled another from his belt.

Amad had been unimpressed when word reached her. Without so much as a knock she stormed into Fili’s chamber where she vehemently denied that Gimli was planted by her as either bodyguard, or spy. A friend and a beloved cousin was all Gimli had ever been, she claimed. Her hands spread wide and her blue eyes all innocence as Fili nodded and agreed with her. He apologised for ever thinking otherwise and watched as she realised that, since Gimli had not been a bodyguard, Fili now had no bodyguard.

He was glad. He needed none.

The second knife was off centre too.

Fili swore.

“My prince.”

Fili turned to the Iron Hills dwarf who bowed low to him. He recognised the face but couldn't think of the name. The dwarf straightened with a wide smile.

“Hafur sent me with a message. He’s held up with Lord Dain. Sends his apologies.” The youngster must have sensed his disappointment. “But I can spar with you if you like? I’m not as good as Hafur, but my brothers say I can hold my own.”

Fili looked him up and down. It would hardly be a fair fight and he would have to hold back. That wouldn’t be very satisfying, but perhaps better than nothing. “What age are you, lad?”

“Ninety.”

Fili blinked. He’d been certain that he was the older. That made things entirely different. His mood lifted. They could have a proper spar. He nodded and smiled at the dwarf, his decision made. “Come on then. Let’s see how you do.”

The lad — not lad, dwarf — was fast. A little clumsy, but quick enough on his feet. After their first clash they circled each other and Fili awaited his opening.

Soon enough the dwarf lunged and Fili spun away, his counterstrike blocked but that didn’t matter. He used his momentum to sweep the other’s legs from under him. His sword to the dwarf’s throat before he fully hit the flagstones.

“Yield.” The dwarf grinned up at him and Fili helped him to his feet. “Again?”

Fili nodded and shook out his shoulders. Bouncing on his toes, he waited for the dwarf to take a drink of water and ready himself.

Several more bouts left him much more relaxed. Fili was contemplating whether it might be appropriate as a thanks to allow the dwarf come closer to a win, when he smiled and spoke. “You seem to be taking things very well, Prince Fili.”

Fili frowned. He didn't want conversation. Especially not if, as he expected, his opponent intended to fish for information under the guise of friendship. It was a disappointment. The dwarf made a move and Fili knocked the clumsy strike away easily, and a lot harder than strictly necessary.

“Your brother, I mean, I know you are estranged but still…” He lunged and Fili slipped out of range. He was a fool to have accepted the offer of a bout. He should have known, and it was an annoyance to have his suspicions confirmed. Again.

Fili stepped in to deliver the blow that he knew would knock the dwarf to the floor. All thoughts of thanking the dwarf forgotten. He'd finish it quickly, hunt down Gimli, and sort things out.

“I know even if I had a bad falling out with one of my brothers I’d still mourn him.”

The word landed like a blow to the chest. Fili stopped mid-strike and stared at the dwarf. His heart pounding loud in his ears.

The dwarf levelled his sword at Fili’s throat. “I mean, you’re here, behaving perfectly normally. I’d be in pieces in your circumstances. I always heard you two were close. I heard you shared everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Fili swallowed hard and found his voice. He pushed the blade of the practice sword away with his finger and stepped closer. “Tell me.”

The dwarf tilted his head and looked at him curiously.

“Tell me.”

A look of dawning horror came over the dwarf’s face. He glanced side to side quickly and licked his lips as he lowered his voice. “You truly don’t know? I’m—”

They were face to face. The dwarf tried to take a step back and Fili dropped his own sword to grab at his arm. “Please, whatever it is. You must tell me.”

The dwarf glanced around again, as if looking for support. Over the thunder of his heart Fili was aware of the noise level in the hall dropping around them. He gave the dwarf a little shake and frightened eyes snapped back to his.

“There was an elvish caravan, on the North-South road. The river crossing at Tharbad. You really haven’t heard?”

Fili shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“The river was in flood. You know how we had all that rain last month? They were trapped against it. A pack of orcs. I’m so sorry.” The dwarf caught Fili’s arm. “You should maybe sit down, my prince. No? You’ve gone very pale. Well, if you’re sure. I only heard yesterday, but the whole mountain is talking about it. I thought you knew.”

It couldn’t be true. Kili was in the Shire. Safe. With Bilbo and Ness. With the child. “It’s not true.” His thoughts were a tangle. “My brother. He wouldn’t be—“

“They were coming this direction apparently. So the merchant said. The one who saw them in the inn a few days previous. He’d thought it strange that a dwarf was travelling in the company of elves. But then your brother got on well with the elves, didn’t he? Bit like yourself in that way, I suppose.”

Did Thorin know? His uncle had looked strained at their morning meeting, but he’d waved away Fili’s concern with a smile. Claimed another of his headaches and sent Fili with Balin to inspect the progress in one of the mines. Fili searched the dwarf’s eyes desperately for the lie and found nothing but sympathy.

“Always dangerous round those parts, or so they say. I suppose they thought there was enough of them. But I don’t think I should tell you any more, I’ve said enough. You should really hear this from family.”

Fili shook his head. Amad had been gone before breakfast. Thorin said she was in Dale. That must be a lie. He needed to go to her.

“I suppose in your situation I’d want to know too. Lean on me, Prince Fili. That’s it. I’ll tell you what I heard. It was an unusually large pack, that’s what they say. Come down from the mountains. Those really big brutes. We only get the smaller orcs up in the Iron Hills, but I think you’ve met some of the big ones, haven’t you? I suppose they were watching the river crossing and waiting for an opportunity. They say...well...I probably don't need to go into all the detail. I imagine you know as well as I do what those foul creatures do to soft folk. But I did hear that the girl lasted longer than you’d have expected she would. So that's maybe some comfort. A little fighter, that’s what I heard.”

Ness.

Fili thought he might be sick. He released the dwarf and caught a hold of him again, no longer sure his legs were able to support him. The flagstones rippled under his boots as he stared at them and fought down the nausea, blinking hard. He had to know.

He forced the words out, in a broken whisper that he barely recognised as his own voice, “My brother?”

“Well, I heard he also lasted longer than you would expect. You’re built tough, you Durins. I’ll give you that much.”

Fili looked up.

The dwarf grinned as their eyes met. “Heard he enjoyed it a bit more than you’d expect too. Barely had to hold him down, or so they tell me. Heard they all got a—”

Chapter Text

They dumped him into a chair. Which was good, as Fili wasn’t entirely sure he could stand. He leant his elbows on the table and carefully rested his aching head in his hands. That seemed to stop the world spinning and tilting quite so violently. Planting his feet firmly against the stone he willed himself not to be sick.

From across the chamber drifted raised voices. Fili ran his tongue around his teeth and tasted blood, but thankfully all of them seemed to still be there. There seemed to be something very wrong with his hearing too, although it was a little better now his eyes were shut. He could make out Thorin and Dwalin's voices, but they were talking far too quickly and their words blurred together. Although he kept hearing his name, so likely he should at least attempt to pay attention.

A hand touched his shoulder gently and he forced his eyes open. Hafur knelt beside him. 

“Thorin has told me to go,” Hafur whispered. His eyes wide with concern. “But if you need me to stay, I will. I’ll tell him I won’t leave you.”

Fili shook his head and sat back. There was no sense in Hafur getting himself into trouble too. The world spun and he waited to speak until it righted again. “Thank you.”

Hafur smiled sadly and pressed their foreheads together. “You are a fool, my brother. I will wait for you outside.”

The door flew open and Amad raced across to them in a whirl of silks and autumn air. Fili allowed himself a small sigh of relief at the sight of the rain on her cloak and her mud spattered boots, for she had obviously been in Dale after all.

Some of the tension left his shoulders as he studied her and found nothing there but concern for him. No more grief than usual in the lines of her face. Hafur pushed himself up to standing and, with a final gentle squeeze of Fili’s shoulder and a low murmur of support that Fili didn’t quite catch, he was gone. Fili heard Thorin thank Hafur as Amad touched his face and drew his eyes to hers.

“Oh, Fili,” she whispered, “what have you done?” She called across the room, “Thorin, where’s Oin?”

“With the boy your boy half killed.”

Fili wasn’t sure when Dain had arrived, but the dwarf lord’s voice was clipped and measured, and had none of his usual bluster. That meant he was absolutely furious.

“What?” said Amad. She stood. “Will someone explain to me what is going on? There was hardly anyone on the gate when I arrived.”

Dain ignored her. “Thorin, I need you down there and beside me. Now. Before we end up with more in the hands of the medics.”

It was too hard to sit upright, and he didn’t want to see his uncle’s face. Fili rested his head back on his hands.

“Fine,” Thorin growled. “Dwalin, with me. Dis, he stays right here until I get back. Neither of you are to leave this room. Do not disobey me”

“Tell me what—” Amad made a frustrated noise as Thorin slammed the door closed behind him. Her hand lightly touched Fili’s hair and she lowered her voice, “Where does it hurt, my son?”

Fili was trying to explain that he needed to close his eyes for just a few moments when Thorin slammed his way back into the room.

His uncle swept around the table and scraped the chair next to Fili out before dropping down into it. "How badly is he hurt?”

“I think Oin needs to take a look at him,” said Molir. “I don’t like the sound of his breathing and he’s barely able to speak. I’m not sure if he can stand, or even if he should. He’s had a bad beating, Thorin.”

Amad pinched Fill hard. “Stay awake, my son.”

Thorin took a hold of his chin and tilted his head back, and none too gently. Fili tried to focus on his uncle's face as a jolt of pain shot down his spine.

“Do you know what you’ve done? Fili. Look at me properly. Do you have the slightest idea the damage you have done? There is a boy in the healing chambers who may never see his amad again. What happened?”

“He said that—”

“Words? This is over words?”

“But he—”

“The place was in an uproar when Hafur and I arrived,” said Dwalin from somewhere behind them. His voice low and angry. “I think if it hadn’t been for that lad I mightn’t have got you out in one piece, Fili. He fought through his own kin to stand over you. You owe him your thanks, and maybe even your life.”

Fili stared at Thorin and willed him to understand. “But he said—”

“You fool. You stupid, dangerous, little fool.” Thorin released him. “How many times have I told you that words cannot hurt you?”

This was pointless. Thorin wouldn't listen. He never listened. Fili pushed quickly himself to his feet and the chair fell to the floor with a crash. A heavy hand, Molir's he thought, or perhaps Dwalin's, landed on his shoulder and he shook it off. He did the same with Amad's gentle touch on his arm, and ignored her plea for him to stop and sit down.

He needed to go. He couldn't listen to his uncle. Not now. The dwarf's words echoed in his head. His evil lies, and the mocking smile. It had to be lies because it couldn't be true, yet the lingering doubt remained.

He needed to know for certain before he would be able to rest. “Where's Kili?”

His amad looked shocked and Fili’s blood ran cold. The doubts rushed back as she looked at him sadly and reached to touch his head. She shot a quick worried glance at Molir. “He's not here.”

“I know he's not here.” Fili pushed her hand away. “I haven't gone mad. I asked you where he is.” He looked down at Thorin. “Tell me where my little brother is.”

“Fili, you should sit down.” Molir's voice was all concern and Fili growled as he reached for him. Molir backed off with his hands raised as he continued, “You've had a bad knock on the head, or a few of them, and I'm not surprised you're a bit confused. We'll get you some water and wait for Oin.”

“Tell me.” Fili fixed his eyes back on Thorin. 

His uncle sighed heavily and he passed a hand over his face. “You know where he is. He's in the Shire. With Bilbo.”

“So he’s not coming here?”

Thorin frowned. “He better not be.”

Fili sagged with relief and gripped the edge of the table. 

“Thorin, stop it.” Amad's voice was loud in his ears. “He’s confused and upset. You can’t just—”

“Sit down.” Thorin stood and lifted the fallen chair. “Right now. Or I will make you sit down. Molir, go and see if Oin can be spared to take a look at him.”

Kili was safe. Fili pushed away from the table. That was all that mattered. He need know nothing more. He cared about nothing more. 

“Where are you going?” Thorin held out a hand to stop him.

“Away.” He needed air and the chamber was hot and stuffy. He couldn't breathe. The door swum ahead of him as he pushed away Thorin’s hand and headed for it.

“You will not walk away from me.” Thorin caught Fili's forearm as he reached for the handle, turning him around roughly enough to knock him off balance. “You will stay here and you will listen to me, and then you will go and apologise. If anyone even wants to hear it.”

“I will not.”

“You will. You will apologise to Dain and to the boy’s brothers, that will do for a start. What is the lad’s name?” Thorin glanced over his shoulder at Dwalin.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see his face, and he wasn’t my priority.”

“Well?” Thorin looked at Fili. “What is his name?”

Fili shrugged. He tried to free his arm, but Thorin only tightened his grip in response. “Let me go.”

“You don’t even know his name?”

“I don’t need to know his name. Only that he deserved it.” His tongue felt too large in his mouth and his words sounded slurred in his own ears.

“What?”

Fili swallowed and tried again. Louder and slower, so there could be no misunderstandings. “He deserved worse. I’m only sorry I didn’t kill him.”

The blow knocked him sideways and half senseless. Fili managed to catch himself against the wall as he staggered.

“Thorin!” Amad cried out. “Don’t!”

His uncle had never struck him before. Not like that. The hurts rushed to the surface and lit a fire in his blood.

All the scores that were never settled. The darkness of the cell. His brother. Ness. All the dismissals and slights and mistreatments.

With his ears still ringing, Fili pushed away from the wall and flung himself forward. Determined to try even if it meant he might lose. 

Thorin blocked him easily and threw him back hard against the wall. He tried again and Thorin pinned him in place with a growl.

“You will listen to me.” Thorin shifted his weight to trap Fili’s legs as he tried uselessly to buck and kick his way free from his uncle’s grip. “Stop.”

He would not. He would not listen to a word of it. Why should he? When his uncle would not listen to a single word he said. Fili slowed his struggles and glanced toward the door. Let Thorin think that was his aim. It was only a few steps away but it may as well be a hundred for all the intention he had of going out of it without a fight.

He glared at his uncle. “Let me go.”

“Thorin,” said Amad pleadingly, “You’re hurting him.”

Distracted, his uncle glanced over his shoulder and relaxed his grip on Fili’s forearms.

It was the chance he needed. Without the space to move his head didn’t connect with Thorin’s as hard as he intended, but it was enough. His own vision whited out for a moment and he blinked to clear it as Thorin swore and released him. The room around them exploded in shouts as Thorin stumbled away but Fili ignored them all.

Nothing mattered more than the chance right in front of his fists. Thorin had hit him first, and he would return the favour.

He put all his anger and his entire body weight behind a punch. It went wide and glanced ineffectually off Thorin’s shoulder.

Fili cursed, drawing back quickly to try again before his uncle could recover his wits enough to throw him to the ground. And heard a sharp cry of pain behind him as his elbow collided with something soft.

His blood cooled instantly and Fili turned. The sudden movement blurred his vision and as he swayed and righted himself he looked at her in horror. “Amad, I’m—”

Thorin was between them before Fili could reach for her. His face twisted into a snarl as he blocked Fili’s view of his amad with her hand to her face and blood on her silks.

“Amad.” Fili tried to push Thorin aside. “It was an accident. I’m sorry. I—”

“Get out.” Thorin caught a hold of him and dragged him away.

As he flung the door open Dwalin caught it before it could hit the wall. “Thorin. Let me go with him.”

“No. I will need all of you to sort out this mess he’s created. He can go to his rooms until I am ready to deal with him.” Thorin shook him hard and Fili tore his eyes from his amad. “Did you hear me? Go to your room and stay there.”

“But he can barely stand," said Dwalin.

Thorin snorted. “He can stand well enough when he chooses to. Fili, get out.”

The hunting passageway that led to the upper slopes of the mountain was blocked again. They hadn’t done it very well, and he’d half expected it. But still, it was a bitter disappointment.

Fili studied the rock to try and work out the way through with the least effort. In his current state he didn’t feel capable of any great feat of strength.

It felt like it took forever to get the first section cleared but every stone he shifted took him closer to escape.

Breathing hard, Fili braced his legs against the side of the passage as he prepared to move one of the bigger boulders. There was no other way. He gritted his teeth and pushed as hard as he could. As he slowly straightened his legs the rock behind him moved jerkily backward.

Something hurt deep under his ribs but he ignored it.

When he could go no further he slid down the rock and sat on the stone flagstones to catch his breath. With his eyes closed and his hand pressed tightly to his side he panted for air and waited for the stabbing sensation to ease, and for his legs to stop shaking so hard.

Once the pain subsided to an acceptable level he forced himself up to his feet. His hands gripped tightly to the rock for support as he looked at his progress and nodded to himself. Nearly through. Then he could rest.

It was like a puzzle. One that was different every time.

Boosting himself onto a narrow ledge, he crouched and assessed the rock suspended close above his head. He just needed fresh air on his face. Then he would feel much better, and be able to think straight.

A guard, Fili wasn’t sure which one, had managed to catch him when Thorin hurled him into the passageway outside the King’s chambers. He thought he at least said thank you, but he wasn’t sure. Despite the thickness of the doors it was likely they heard everything. Which was an additional humiliation that Fili didn’t want to think about. As the guard steadied him Fili looked for Hafur but, apart from the two guards, the corridor was silent and empty. 

The guard had kindly offered to help him to his chambers but Fili waved him off. He thought he managed to stay mostly upright as he walked away. Certain their eyes were following him. Unusually, but perhaps not unsurprisingly, he passed no other guards on the route to his room. As he crossed the junction raised voices drifted along the passageway that led towards the main communal chambers and he stopped to listen. Likely Hafur was down there somewhere. By his uncle’s side as Dain called for peace. Fili pushed the guilty thoughts away as he trailed his fingers along the wall on the way to his rooms.

Thankfully his chambers were empty and, desperate for air, he dragged the chest under the window and made it up on top of it on the second try. With the window flung open as wide as it would go Fili rested his aching head against the cool stone of the recess and tried to breathe. It hadn’t been nearly enough. He had needed proper air. 

And so here he was. Trying to work out if the next piece of stone he shifted would bring the mountain down on top of him. Fili wasn’t sure his head was working properly. Worryingly he couldn’t even recall all of his journey from his rooms across Erebor to the hunting passageway. But he’d obviously managed it somehow. Down the unlit, abandoned passageways, and across the crumbling bridges. He laughed quietly to himself as he placed his shoulder against the final stone and sucked in as big a breath as he could manage. He obviously didn’t need to be as careful as he usually was if he could manage it injured.

Which was good to know.

He braced himself and pushed hard. Behind him his boots slid and slipped against the floor and walls of the tight tunnel as he searched for purchase and the rock shifted ever so slightly. The first tantalising caress of crisp, cool air whispered against his skin and he bit back a cry of exertion and redoubled his efforts. Any noise would carry on the still evening air to the guards on the gate ramparts far below. It wouldn’t do to be heard.

Kili awoke with a gasp and bit back the cry before it escaped. The room was dark and stifling, and he lay and stared at the ceiling whilst he panted and his heartbeat slowed. The dream already faded beyond his reach before he could catch a hold of it. A nameless dread all that remained. Beside him Ness turned in her sleep and his fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to curl in against her back for comfort. The room was too warm and he was sweating, and although it was a cold sweat the warmth of his body alone would be sure to wake her.

A small snuffle broke the quiet and he held his breath. Careful not to make any further noise he shifted as quietly as he could to the edge of the bed and looked into the crib. Tiny fists punched the air. His boy awake, and not happy about it. Kili whispered an apology and slid his feet to the floor as the snuffles took on a more urgent tone. He searched about frantically for his trousers, cursing quietly as he took too long to find them.

“Hush, little one.” He tied his laces and reached into the crib to pull back the blanket. Desperately shushing as the dwarfling screwed up his face and sucked in a big breath. The warning sign of an impending angry wail. “Come on now. Don’t wake your amad or your Uncle Bilbo.”

Chapter Text

The stubbly mountain grass muffled the thud of the rock.

Fili winced at the noise as he wriggled out of the tunnel and tried to comfort himself with the reminder that rocks, dislodged by the wind as it whistled over the peak, tumbled down the mountainside all the time. So it was unlikely the guards far below would read anything unusual into it. It was true. He’d told Ness the same thing many times. 

Dropping to the ground with a grunt, he leaned back against the cool rock of Erebor with his eyes closed whilst he caught his breath. The breeze was refreshing and he felt a thousand times better already. In his mind if not in his body.

Once recovered enough, he limped across to the large boulder on the ridgeline. It wasn’t a hard climb to the sheltered cradle of stone but he took his time with the handholds and made sure to place each boot carefully. A missed step or a slide would mean a very final tumble down the mountain.

He hauled himself up over the lip and crawled away from the edge to settle himself against the stone and stretch his legs out in front of him. He would stay a little while and enjoy the air and gather his thoughts and his strength for the walk back to his rooms.

The late summer sunlight was long gone and the stars shone brightly above the deep shadow of the trees of Mirkwood to the west. He couldn’t make out the mountains beyond but they were there, and beyond that, far away, lay the rolling hills and lush, green fields of the Shire.

He stretched out his fingers across the rock beside his knee. Even though she was no longer with him he still took his usual place. The habit of leaving the more sheltered inner space of the depression in the rock for her was well engrained. He had never felt the bite of the cold mountain winds in the same way as she.

He closed his eyes and smiled as he remembered her complaints. The low, continuous grumble behind him as they made their way across Erebor to their own secret place for the fresh air that she and, as it turned out, he so desperately needed from time to time.

Their secret place for those times when she held her head in her hands and whispered in a broken voice that she couldn’t breathe inside the mountain. That it felt as if the thick walls were closing in on her. 

The ramparts had not been enough. Too many eyes on her, and Dale the same.

Then Fili recalled the hunting passageway, and Kili’s description of a high, lonely place filled with grass and mountain flowers and silence. A forgotten haven. She’d cried when he first helped her out through the rocks and onto the grass and for a moment, until she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, he thought he’d made a mistake. 

She hated the trek across Erebor though. A secret place required caution to remain secret, and the route he mapped out for them was from necessity far from the lights of the well travelled passageways.

They would stuff a pack with furs, sometimes a bottle of wine, and he would lead the way as she clung to his hand with both of hers. As if she thought that at any moment he might run off and leave her alone in the dark.

The bridges in particular struck fear into her heart. No matter how many times they crossed them he could never convince her that they were safe. That he would never lead her into danger.

Every time they reached one she would spit curses. As if it were a surprise and that perhaps the route might have changed from the last time. Perhaps she thought that somehow the bridges would have magically sprouted the handrails that she always demanded?

It became almost a ritual. He would warn her about a bridge, and listen whilst she cursed with feeling and imagination. Then, when she finally quietened, pull her into his arms and kiss her deeply until she softened against him and her hands wound into his hair. Sometimes they’d sink to their knees, right there on the dusty flagstones, lost in each other.

Once, in the early days, Fili made the mistake of sweeping her into his arms and carrying her across one of the bridges. Naively certain that she would feel safer tucked in against him. Instead she had been furious. Punching him as hard as she could when he set her back safely on the other side, and railing at him whilst he apologised for frightening her.

The only way was to coax her across. Step by shuffling step. Torches didn’t help. They only lit the yawning blackness either side of her feet and made her feel sick.

Fili opened his eyes and looked up at the blanket of stars. He suspected that Thorin knew perfectly well that he was the one who kept clearing the hunting passage. Someday his uncle would decide to collapse it properly.

Possibly after today. Fili touched the fresh cuts across his knuckles. After today Thorin might see fit to close Fili's illusion of freedom permanently. As a punishment, and if the dwarf died perhaps it wouldn’t matter either way. Because, if he was lucky, there was a strong chance he would find himself back inside one of the deep cells. Far from the reach of the cool night air.

Perhaps he should have walked away at the first drip of poison in his ears. Turned and left when the dwarf smiled and it was clear his intentions were cruel.

Instead his first strike had knocked the dwarf onto his backside, and Fili hauled him back to his feet by the collar as the dwarf raised his hands and cried out that it was only a jest. The feeble attempt to justify himself cut off abruptly as Fili struck him again. If there had been more words Fili hadn’t heard them, nor had he cared. He managed to get a solid kick in, one that connected hard enough with the dwarf’s temple to launch him across the floor, before the others reached them.

He lost sight of the dwarf after that. Too concerned with trying to stay on his own feet and block the worst of the blows. Thrown to his knees he swept up the only weapon available that wouldn’t actually kill someone, the blunted practice sword, and tried to break free of the roaring mob that surrounded him. 

With hindsight he was lucky no-one thought to stab him with one of his own knives. There would have been no witnesses.

His stomach clenched and Fili spread a hand across it in the hope that the heat would help. Being tried for murder, or attempted murder, was a distinct possibility. No matter that the dwarf deserved the beating, and no matter that he was the Crown Prince. It would all hinge on Thorin and Dain now. But even if they decided to be merciful...

Fili pushed the thought away. It was done, and he couldn't go back and change it now. The consequences were the consequences.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wished with all his heart that she were with him. She always knew what to say and how to hold him to make him feel better. Even when things seemed dark and hopeless. When his insides knotted painfully with worry and guilt.

“Witchcraft,” he would whisper to her, half in jest and half in wonder, as her soft kisses and gentle words soothed away the pain.

“Distraction," she’d reply in a whisper as her lips curved into a smile. The smile that was just for him. The one that made him glow inside with happiness. “You are very easily distracted.”

No. He could not have walked away.

He was furious with the dwarf. Fili only wished he knew his name so he could curse him properly. It was as if he'd looked into Fili’s mind, and pulled out his darkest nightmares to torment him with.

He'd never told Ness what the orcs intended for her, had they dragged her into the tower on Ravenhill, but the thought of it plagued him nonetheless.

He dreamt of it often. Jolted awake, with her name on his lips and the sweat breaking on his skin. Certain that he could feel the flagstones of the tower under his knees and ragged claws twisted in his hair. Her scream of terror and pain an echo in his ears.

Once he'd thought that his dreams covered every possible orc ambush. But the dwarf had given him a new one.

Before she left him he had reminded her, as gently as he could so as not to frighten her, that the roads were far from safe. She'd tolerated his insistence, or his fussing as she called it, as she showed him she knew how to keep her knives sharp in the way he taught her. The smile fading from her face when he tested the edge against the meat of his thumb and told her in a low voice that, should the worst happen, a keen blade drawn quickly wouldn’t even hurt.

He showed her where. Taking her fingers in his and placing them against her skin so she would remember. His own heart clenching painfully as he did.

It would be just like falling asleep, he promised in a whisper, pressing his lips to hers whilst her face paled and her pulse pounded against his fingertips. There would be no pain.

Not like the alternative anyway, he told himself as she kissed him back and rallied. She nodded and promised she understood.

“At least the monsters here look like monsters,” Ness said, as she wound her arms about his neck. “Not like in my world. Where the monsters just look like everyone else. Here is better.”

Sometimes, when he was alone, he dreamt of her world. Or how he imagined her world might be. As he leant out his window, or attempted to read or work, he fantasised that the magic pulled her back and took him with her. Guilty, indulgent fantasies where they were trapped in her world with no choice but to make the best of it. Where they turned to each other for comfort as they mourned those left behind. 

The magical aspects of her world would take some getting used to but Fili was sure he’d adapt quickly enough. Probably a lot faster than it would take him to get used to being unarmed. To hear Ness tell it no-one carried so much as a knife. Unless they were up to no good. Fili couldn’t imagine it but it did explain a lot.

He wriggled back against the rock a little further and tried to ignore his hurts at the movement.

He didn’t want to think about Thorin’s anger, or the blood on his amad’s shocked face. It would make him feel better to think of something comforting for a while. So he tried to imagine that Ness was beside him, pressed close for warmth, and turned his thoughts to his dream. 

In her world he would quickly need to find work, after he hunted down the men who had dared to lay their hands on her, but he was sure that would be easy enough. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. Then make a home for them, and, when the guilt faded a little, they’d be happy.

She would be his, completely his alone, and he would be hers. They would curl up together and he’d learn to sleep deeply. A dreamless, peaceful rest from the moment he closed his eyes at night until he woke up with her, warm and safe in his arms, in the morning.

He’d wake her with a kiss or, if it were cold, slip out of bed without disturbing her. Light the fire and the stove and let her find him in the kitchen and they would kiss, as if it had been years and not hours since they last tasted each other, whilst the kettle rattled and the room around them filled with steam.

Perhaps, if they were lucky, there would be children. A boy and a girl.

And he would age like her. Because it was his dream and he could do exactly as he pleased.

Then someday, when they were tired of their adventures and their children were grown with children of their own, he and Ness would curl up together. As they always did. And he would hold her close and they would go together. For his heart was tied to hers, and he would not take a single breath without her by his side.

He had told Ness a little about his fancy. One afternoon when they’d had far too much to drink. He’d fallen out badly with Thorin before the day properly started and stormed his way to Ness and Kili’s room to seek comfort and a friendly ear. To his disappointment Kili was already gone to Dale but Ness took one look at his face and wordlessly lifted a bottle of wine.

They made their way out onto the mountainside, with a stop at the store rooms to lift bread and a hunk of cheese and more wine, and got drunk. Curled around each other on a fur, with the winter sun on his face, he wound a hank of her hair around his fingers and unthinkingly began to confess his dream. Shy and embarrassed, despite the wine, he stumbled over the words and frantically tried to backtrack but to his surprise and delight she nodded along.

“Can we have a garden? Just a small one.” Ness propped herself up on an elbow. “I’ve never had one, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it, but we can learn together. Grow stuff.”

“We can try.”

“I’ll probably murder everything, but I’d imagine you’ll be good at it. You’re organised and you think things through.”

Unlikely. Dwarves didn’t farm. That's what trade was for. Fili couldn’t think of a single dwarf that he knew who had even tried, and didn’t have the first idea how to start, but she was right. They could learn. How hard could it really be if men and hobbits could do it?

“What is digging into me?” She twisted and felt about his tunic. “Have you still got knives hidden away somewhere in here?”

Fili tried not to smile. Of course there wasn’t. He’d taken all his knives out before he slipped first his shirt and then the heavy tunic over her head in an attempt to keep her warm. “There’s nothing in the pockets. You’re just leaning on the rock. Come here.” He drew her toward him and onto his chest. “Better?”

“I’ll squash you.”

“No. You won’t.” He waited whilst she got herself settled. Her thigh slid between his as she moved, and Fili wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her still. “Careful, I’m trying to pay attention to what you want in your garden.”

Ness grinned wolfishly as she shifted her hips, and Fili tried to glare at her as his body responded. She gave a final wriggle and smiled. “Fine, just talking, we’ll do it your way. I don’t know what we’ll grow. Just whatever is easy. And I’ll have to get a job. Well, we’ll probably both have to get jobs really if we want somewhere with a garden. What would you do?”

“Smithing.” He’d already thought about that. “But you won’t have to work, Ness.”

“I will. That’s a very niche industry you’ve chosen and I don’t know how it pays. And anyway, I want to.” She ran a finger along the top of the bindings that covered the slowly healing wound on his chest and seemed to give it some thought. “I’ll work in a bar.”

He didn’t like the idea of her working in a tavern.

“Don’t frown at me like that. I’ve worked in bars before, Fili, and I can probably find someone willing to hire me, and I enjoy it.”

Maybe if it was a good sort of tavern it would be fine, he wanted her to be happy, but he’d inspect it properly first before they made any decision. “Only during the day. I don’t want you working late at night.”

“Is this a negotiation?” She watched his face closely as her fingers pushed under the tight bindings and slid over his skin. As his nipples stiffened at her light touch Ness smiled and turned the cloth down far enough to expose him to the suddenly cold air. “Because I can negotiate too. I like you like this by the way. I think I need to wear your clothes more often. But fine. I’ll take a day shift, and you can come and visit after you finish work.” She touched her lips to him and spoke into his chest. “I’ll bring you an ale and you can linger over that until I finish, and then you can walk me home. How does that sound?”

He drew in a breath as her tongue and fingertips moved over sensitive skin. Very aware of the movements of her thigh as she pressed against him.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And then perhaps sometimes I'll help out on a busy night and you can come along. That would be fine too, wouldn’t it?”

The gentle torment was a distraction and Fili agreed, with something between a moan of her name and a whimper, as her teeth grazed him and sent a jolt of warmth to his belly. His hand flexed on her waist and he pressed her tighter against him before his mind caught up with what his body intended.

“Good. That’s all settled then."

He could hear the smile in her voice as she shifted against him. He tried to concentrate on her words, and command himself to be still, whilst she trailed kisses along his chest and the blood burned in his veins.

“You can sit at the end of the bar, and my manager will keep asking you to do this and that. Taking advantage of you really. She'll treat you like an off the books security guard, or maybe ask you to help us move a few barrels, and you'll grumble about it all but really be secretly pleased because it means you get to show off how strong you are. And you'll never have to buy a drink because there'll always be one behind the bar for you. As a thank you for helping.” The trail of light kisses wound their way along his collarbone and throat. “Sometimes I’ll get all pissed off because I think she’s overstepping the mark. But we sort it out and I manage not to get fired.”

Something in her voice changed and Fili slid a hand to her jaw so he could tilt her head and look at her properly. She smiled at him and shrugged. “I get a little jealous. It’s not my best quality.”

“You don’t need to,” he whispered. He wanted to reassure her. “With you in my arms, I could never look at another.”

There was a strange light in her eyes and Fili suddenly knew he’d strayed too close to truth telling. He kissed her lightly and smiled in an attempt to bring her back to his dream. He didn’t want to think about their actual circumstances. Not now.

“What will we do after you finish work?" he asked quickly. "If I’m not drunk by then.”

“Then we’ll walk home. Back to our little house.” She smiled and the thoughtful expression lifted.

He weaved their fingers together. “I can hold your hand.”

“Always. And you can kiss me if you like. It won’t matter who sees us.”

The thought of being able to press his lips to hers whenever he wanted was intoxicating. He’d almost kissed her goodbye after dinner the previous evening, in front of Bofur, and caught himself just in time. A matching look of horror in her eyes. One momentary lapse in concentration that could have destroyed everything, and Fili still wasn’t sure that Bofur hadn’t realised something odd had happened. He was certain he’d seen Bofur shoot a thoughtful look between them as he walked away. But perhaps not.

Sometimes Fili half wished they would be caught and it could all come out. In the dark hours of the night, as he paced his room, the temptation to confess to Kili and Thorin was almost overwhelming. It would be akin to lancing a wound. A relief to finally admit his terrible behaviour and face the consequences. Because surely anything was preferable to the guilt that dogged his steps.

He’d smother the thought before the dawn. It was too terrible to properly contemplate.

Ness stroked his face. “What are you thinking about?”

He pulled her in for a deep kiss.

“Oh.” She smiled at him when he released her. “That might be a little much for out on the street, at least for the daytime anyway. I was thinking something more like this.”

When they finished kissing each other breathless she propped herself up on his chest and took another long pull of wine. She offered it to him and he murmured a refusal as he pillowed his arm under his head. His head was already a little hazy, and he wanted to remember every word so he could turn it over in his mind later.

“We should probably do a lot more practice,” Ness said as she pulled the pack closer to her and fished inside. “Of the kissing I mean. To make sure we’re both on the same page. Are you hungry?”

She talked on about their house and furniture as she lay across his chest and fed him pieces of bread and cheese, and he listened happily. His free hand on her waist rising and falling with her breaths. A lot of the words were unfamiliar but he was content not to ask any questions and to simply let the sound of her voice wash over him, and soothe him as he lost himself in the image she painted of another life. The explanations of strange words could wait until later. 

“—and we’ll have a cat. Well, as much as anyone can have a cat.” She licked her fingers and smiled as he watched her. “A big, grumpy black one that strolls in, as if he owns the place, yells to be fed then disappears without a trace for days and leaves us frantic. You’ve never had a pet have you?”

Fili shook his head. He wasn’t sure about a cat. They were strange creatures.

“Me neither. I’d like a dog I think, but it wouldn’t be fair if we’re both working all day. Unless you can take it to work with you? Or maybe I could. We’ll work it out.”

“Ponies are easy to look after.” And you put them in a place, and they stayed put. Most of the time anyway.

“I’m not sure we’ll have space for a pony. Not at the start, but maybe if we move to the country or something. I feel like they’re very expensive though. But now that I’m thinking of it the country might be better for you, or somewhere small, because a city might be far too noisy.” She traced a finger around the outline of his ear. “In fact I think my world might be a bit too noisy for you.”

“I’ve been in battle, Ness. I think I’ll be fine.”

“It’s more constant noise. Even I mightn’t be able to cope. It’s so quiet here. Really freaked me out at the start. Honestly, there were so many times I woke up and panicked because I thought I’d gone deaf in the night. But wherever we live I’d like it to be one of those places where you can leave your door unlocked. One of those places where you know your neighbours names. Somewhere nice. You look confused.”

He was. He couldn’t imagine in what possible situation you wouldn’t know your neighbour’s name. “We locked our door a few times at home. Twice, I think, if I remember right. Most folk would knock before they came in though. Everyone knew that our mother doesn’t like being surprised. Sometimes if no-one was home they’d just wait for us.” He smiled as he remembered. “I’ve come home to Dwalin asleep in the chair by the fire more than a few times.”

“That’s nice. Somewhere like that. Maybe not somewhere so friendly where people like Dwalin just wander in and make themselves at home. But definitely somewhere with nice neighbours, and I know our neighbours will love you because you’re so good at fixing things, and you’re really polite. So you’ll help the old lady next door if she needs a shelf put up, or if the man across the road needs a hand lifting something heavy. And in return they’ll keep an eye on the cat when we go away for a few days. Although he’ll be in and out of their houses anyway. Nicking stuff out of their fridges and eyeing up their goldfish. That sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure about this cat of yours. Go away?”

“On holiday. And he’ll be our cat, not mine. You’ll love him, and he’ll probably prefer you anyway even though I’m the one who feeds him. That’s usually the way those sorts of things go. I think we should go on lots of holidays.” Her eyes sparkled. “The sea, or the mountains. You’ll love the mountains. I’ve no idea how we’d get you a passport, but somehow we’ll manage it and then we can go anywhere in the world.” 

Her fingertips ran up his arm and she sighed longingly. “I can imagine us on a sunny beach somewhere really hot. Swimming in the sea, and then sitting at some beach bar and working our way through the cocktail list. I’d like to see you with sand on your skin and a tan, and your arm around me just like this, whilst we wait on the barman making us some ridiculously strong drink. The first of many. You’ll taste of salt and I’ll look at you as you lean across the bar to talk to him, with the sun on your hair and your bare shoulders, and I’ll think how lucky I am.”

She grinned at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you put a shirt on if you want, I know what you’re like by now, but everyone will be barely dressed on the beach. Including me.”

“Barely dressed?” That didn’t seem sensible if they were somewhere really hot, and he wasn’t sure about the everyone. 

“You’ll get used to it before you know it. Then, when we’re back home from our holiday, on days when we’re both off work, we’ll sleep in.” She shifted, and trailed her hand slowly down his chest, her fingernails scratching lightly through the fur low on his belly. He caught her hand as she loosened his laces, and raised it to his lips to kiss her fingertips.

Ness rolled her eyes, amused. “Fine. Fine. Still talking. So we’ll get up, eventually, and you’ll be wearing my robe, with your hair all mussed, as you make a late breakfast. Pancakes, maybe. I’ll sort out the coffee and have a check to see what’s on. But I’ll be finding it hard to concentrate because that robe’s a little small on you, and knowing you've nothing on underneath is very distracting.” She wriggled her hand free and brushed her fingers along his jaw. “Then we'll argue for a bit about what we’re going to do.”

He didn't think so. It wouldn't be worth an argument, because he’d be happy to do anything as long as he was with her. He told her so.

“That's very sweet.” Ness kissed him and raised an eyebrow. “But you do realise that you argue with me all the time. About everything.”

He opened his mouth to disagree and closed it again.

“Well, maybe not argue exactly. That's not quite right.” She had a look of mischief in her eyes and a smile in her voice. “You don't argue. You just say something, like it couldn't possibly be any other way, and then I'm the one who argues.”

She was getting distracted and he was keen to talk more about his dream, in case they never spoke of it again, not about arguments that didn’t exist. He wanted all her thoughts to hold on to. To keep him warm when she was gone far away from him.

“We could go to the cinema,” he said to encourage her, as he tapped his fingers against her spine and enjoyed the feel of the foreign word on his tongue. He thought he had a little understanding of what that meant. Somewhere where you went with other people to hear stories.

“We could.” She smiled warmly at him. In the way she always did when she knew his mind. She always knew what he wanted and how to make him happy. “I’d love to take you to the cinema. Or we might decide to go for a walk by the river if it’s a nice day. Perhaps we’ll find ourselves at the end of the night in some cheap bar. Listening to some band neither of us have heard of.”

Ness curled up against his chest and described it as her fingers played over him. Fili closed his eyes so he could imagine it better.

A crowded, darkened alehouse. They would find a table, tucked away in a corner, and sit close together. It would be noisy. Like everything in her world. But if he could cope with the noise then they would stay, with their lips brushing against each other’s ears as they talked, their fingers entwined.

“—and we’ll hold hands,” she said, “like we always do, and my thumb will play with the ring on your finger. It’ll be an old habit by then so you’ll barely even notice me doing it.”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “A ring?”

Ness twisted on his chest and reached to touch his left hand where it rested by his head. “Yes. On this finger. It’s traditional where I come from. Not braids or beads like you have here.”

She curled back up on his chest and shrugged with her face hidden from him. “But we can do those too if you like. I don’t mind. I’d just like to do the ring thing so people know you’re mine, and there’s no misunderstandings.”

His heart beat a little faster, he was sure she must have felt it under her cheek, and his head span at the thought.

“If the music’s good we’ll dance,” she continued, as if she hadn’t said anything particularly special. “I’ll show you how but I know you’ll be very good at it.”

He closed his eyes. No longer sure what he was feeling as his heart soared and shattered all at once.

It could never be. It was only a foolish dream that could never be real. A life that would never, and could never, be his. It was torture. But he didn’t want her to stop talking.

Her fingertips continued to trail over him, leaving heat in their wake, despite his inner turmoil. “Then, when we're finished with dancing,” she said, “we’ll make our way back through the crowd to our table and find our seats again, and I’ll touch you just like this—"

His eyes flared open as her hand slid over his thigh. He looked at her in surprise.

“—and I’ll lean in and whisper in your ear. I’ll tell you how good you look, and how you make me feel. I’ll tell you exactly what I want to do to you.” Ness made a little noise of pleasure as she traced him through the fabric of his trousers. “You’ll be so hard, like you are now, and I’ll want you so badly. But I’ll do my best to keep my hands outside your clothes. Probably. Mostly anyway. Not that anyone would care, or even notice, so long as I didn’t actually climb on top of you.”

He must have looked shocked for she laughed and slid her hand under his laces. A moan escaped his lips and he arched his back as she wrapped her fingers around him. 

“And maybe not even then.” She grinned and kissed him lightly. Her eyes on his as she stroked him. “But even if we get thrown out it doesn’t matter, because there’s a thousand other cheap bars. We would try to at least make it home though, even if we don’t make it much past the front door, then, after you’ve fucked me good and hard, you can make us tea and toast.”

He wanted more. There were so many conversations they hadn’t had time to finish properly. So many of her thoughts he hadn’t heard, and would now never hear. A thousand years wouldn’t have been enough. The memories he had weren’t nearly enough. He closed his eyes and imagined her smile and her voice. Sometimes he thought they were fading from his mind. It broke his heart.

He missed her terribly.

No. That was wrong. Fili shifted against the rock to try and get a little more comfortable. He missed them both terribly.

The little one's nightshirt was damp with sweat. Kili laid the dwarfling down on the kitchen table and stripped the shirt from him, blowing lightly on his chest to cool him down. He reminded himself to open the bedroom window wider when they went back in. Not that it would make a difference. There wasn't so much as a breath of air, and it was likely warmer outside Bag End than in, but it would make him feel better.

Summers in the Shire were nothing like the ones he'd grown up with high in the mountains. He'd been surprised when the full heat of midsummer arrived the year before. It was stifling, sapping, humid. Kili's dwarf blood too thick. He complained that it was like being trapped in a furnace - if a furnace were wet and airless, and full of biting flies. Bilbo simply smiled and tilted his face to the sun, claiming Kili would get used to it in time. Ness, with her heavy, swollen belly, had been unsympathetic.

He and Fili had made the mistake of going down to the sea once in the very height of summer, and been shocked by the heat of the rocky shore. The usually refreshing sea itself tepid, like a salty bath, forcing them to swim out further than either of them liked. They'd been unable to believe it. They'd both made errors of judgement and got burnt.

He remembered how painful it had been. They'd kept their trips to the other seasons after that.

With that memory still firmly in his mind he'd argued back and forth about keeping the little one out of the sun. Bilbo insistent that neither the child, or Kili, would ever get used to it otherwise.

Kili smiled at the happier looking dwarfling and lifted him into the crook of his arm. He settled the fragile little head carefully.

“Are you hungry, my little lad?” He headed to the cold store and lingered there for a good few moments longer than necessary, sighing with happiness as he enjoyed the cool, before he lifted the jug of milk and returned to the kitchen. The pot he needed was annoyingly tucked in behind another on the rack. He fished for it one handed and shushed the others as they rattled and clanged together. 

The kitchen door opened as he was throwing some fuel into the range.

“Ah, it’s only you. I thought I was being burgled.”

“I'm sorry, Bilbo.”

Bilbo finished tying his robe tightly about himself and closed the door quietly with a smile. “At least you have your trousers on this time. Did he wake up again? I thought he was starting to do a little better.”

Kili made a non committal noise. Not wanting to admit that it was his fault. That he’d had a bad dream and woke the little one. He glowered at Bilbo. “That was only the once."

“I’ll have to find you a robe.”

Dwarves didn’t wear robes. Kili could just imagine what Dwalin, or any of them, would make of it if they walked into Bag End and found him wearing one of Bilbo’s dressing gowns. He’d never hear the end of it. The dwarfling distracted him, the little mouth searching frantically, as he nuzzled into Kili’s chest.

“No, my love,” he whispered. “That’s not what you want.” He dipped a knuckle into the warm milk and offered that instead, smiling down at the dwarfling as he latched on enthusiastically. Sharp fingernails dug into his wrist and he reminded himself to deal with those in the morning.

The distraction would only last a few moments before his lad realised he'd been tricked, and then there'd be a lot of noise. And now he didn’t have a free hand. “Bilbo, could you—"

Bilbo was already at the stove. He poured the milk into the feeder and tied the cloth off with a practised hand. Kili smiled his thanks and settled himself down on the bench.

“You look very tired, Kili.”

He was, but that didn’t matter. Dwarves were hardy creatures. A bit of missed sleep wouldn’t hurt him. Kili watched Bilbo bustle about and sort out his teapot, whilst in his arms the little one suckled and made happy noises. "Bit warm for tea, surely?”

Bilbo looked at him like he'd gone mad.

“You should go back to bed for a bit. It's—" Kili looked out the kitchen window at the sky. He didn't know and he couldn't think. Maybe he was more tired than he thought after all. It was probably the heat. “—sometime before dawn.”

“I will. Why don't I take him back in with me?”

Kili smiled fondly as he watched Bilbo mutter and search through the first of the two crockery cupboards. The hobbit hole was full of cups. More cups than the entirety of the Shire could possibly need in a lifetime. Cups of all possible shapes and sizes, but only one would do. 

The hobbit was an odd creature.

“Aha.” Bilbo turned and waved a cup in the air triumphantly. All pleased with himself. “Found it, and my saucer too. Right at the back. Everything is all upside down and out of place with Hamfast and his lot calling around last night. This is what comes of letting someone else insist on doing the washing up.”

“Yes. No good ever comes of letting someone else do the washing up.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Bilbo set a second cup, full of tea, in front of him. The steam curled up toward Kili’s face and he recoiled. 

“Drink it,” said Bilbo. “Trust me. You'll feel better, and it'll cool you down.”

That didn't make any sense but, just in case Bilbo wasn't delusional with the heat or lying to him, Kili took a sip. At this point anything was worth a try.

Bilbo looked at him sympathetically. “There's a few hours yet before you need to go to work. I'll take him, and I can take him in with me tonight too. To give you a bit of a break. It's too much, Kili.”

Kili took the feeder away. The little one had fallen asleep. Lifting him slowly up against his shoulder, Kili gently patted the soft skin of the dwarfling's back. Bilbo handed him a clean cloth.

“Thanks, Bilbo, but I'm fine. He's no trouble really.” Kili stretched his fingers to span the child's tiny shoulders. Smiling, he pressed a kiss into the sweet smelling curls. “I don't think I'll ever get over this. He's perfect.”

“Of course he is.” Bilbo tapped the table lightly. “Finish your tea and go back to bed. Promise me.”

Kili nodded and Bilbo smiled and lifted his own cup.

“Good. I'll see you in the morning then, or in a few hours. Whichever comes first.”

“Goodnight, Bilbo.”

He waited until the door had closed before he rose to his feet and made his way to the window. Out toward the east, over the neat hedge, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

The dread was back, sitting heavy in his belly. Kili pressed his lips against the sleepy dwarfling’s head as the space between his shoulder blades itched.

“My Fili.”

He'd fallen asleep. Which wasn't very sensible when he'd been kicked in the head more than a few times. Fili rolled painfully to his feet and tried to stretch but gave up when his body protested. Every bone and chilled muscle hurting.

A bath would help. He clambered slowly down the rock and made his way back toward the dark of the hunting passage. Leaving the dawning sky behind he hauled himself up the rock and crawled along the tunnel. A hot bath, and then he could face whatever the new day brought.

He stood at the end of the passageway and considered whether he should attempt to move the rocks back and cover up a bit. It was likely pointless, he decided finally, and turned away to head for his rooms. A waste of strength.

Tired and hurting though he was Fili realised he was being followed as he crossed the keystone of the second bridge. The footsteps behind him quiet and purposeful. Palming one of his throwing knives, he moved quickly off the span and into the closest passageway. Once in the relative safety of its shadows he pressed his back tightly to the wall, as close as he could get to the thicker stones of the archway. It was poor cover but better than none. He glanced down the dark passageway and considered whether to run for it. 

“Who's there?” he shouted, as he slipped a second knife from his boot and cursed himself for not thinking to lift his swords. “Show yourselves!”

Chapter Text

Hafdis changed her mind again as the guard rapped the door smartly, but then it swung open and it was too late to run.

“Hello there, lass.”

It wasn’t who she expected. The big, grey haired one stood just inside the door, blocking her view completely. He smiled down at her and continued, “Not a good time for a visit I’m afraid. We’re a bit busy.”

Molir, her scattered wits prompted her as Hafdis took a step back, his name’s Molir. Dis's guard captain. Which meant that...

“Hafdis?” Dis herself peered around Molir and reached out to catch Hafdis’s sleeve before she could retreat further. The Princess was pale as death but her grip was iron as she pulled Hafdis into the room, wrapping her up in a brief, tight hug.

Still reeling from the unexpected embrace Hafdis jolted to find herself caught in Thorin's gaze. His bright blue eyes bored into her, like he was searching through her deepest thoughts and didn't like what he'd found, and his already grim face grew darker.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared back at him. This was a stupid idea. She should have refused and insisted Hafur do it, or at least come with her. 

“Thorin, stop glowering at the girl.” An old, silver haired dwarf took her arm and freed her from Dis. He smiled kindly at Hafdis and led her to a large, elaborately carved and elvish looking wooden table. Balin. She whispered her thanks as he pulled out a chair and firmly pushed her down into it. He was Balin. The King's advisor, the gatekeeper, the one who looked after the gold. 

“You look like a frightened rabbit, lass, but there’s no need to be worried. You’ve done nothing wrong, I’m sure.” Balin nodded and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve obviously come here for a reason. What's troubling you?”

Molir placed a mug of water on the table and patted her hand before he moved back. Gratefully, she took a quick sip as she glanced around the room. It didn’t help. Her mouth was still incredibly dry. They all stared expectantly at her, and she cursed Hafur as she tried to find the words to start. He had promised her it would just be Thorin, which would have been bad enough, but this was too much. As the silence stretched Thorin sighed and strode to the table. He pulled out the seat opposite and sat down. Dwalin, the warrior, moved to the king's left shoulder. She smiled at him. He, at least, she knew from the training hall. They’d never spoken, but he'd talked with Fili when she was there. He didn't smile back.

“I'm listening,” said Thorin.

“He didn't come this morning,” Hafdis began. It was as good a place to start as any. “He's been helping me with Odr and we meet every morning at the stables before breakfast. He's never missed a morning since we started, and he's usually there before me actually. Talking to Odr, you know? Saying good morning. It's quite sweet really, because Odr likes him and he doesn't like that many people. Actually, if I'm being honest, he hates everybody. Even my brother, but that's justified because...”

The expression on Thorin's face stopped her and she glanced around the others. They wore matching ones. Nobody wanted to hear about her pig. She cursed Hafur again and took a deep breath for another try.

“I heard what happened, the fight, but I thought he would still come. So then I thought he might be hurt and I was really worried, and I didn't want to go to his room by myself to check on him, because it wouldn’t be proper, and Hafur is with Dain and I didn't know where Gimli was so...I came here.” She faltered to a stop again; annoyed with herself. She didn't know how to finish. Hafur’s idea to not practise what she was supposed to say was a stupid one. She’d known it was, and yet gone along with it anyway. Which made them both stupid. “I’m sorry. I thought you should know that he didn’t come.”

She was annoyed with Odr too. The pig had kept looking past her as she mucked him out and prepared his breakfast. Not bothered enough by Fili's absence to put him off his food, but she'd spotted the sneaky glances he shot toward the door over the edge of the trough as he gorged himself. Likely wondering where his shiny, new friend had gotten to. Eighteen years of care and love obviously meant completely nothing to the ungrateful creature.

Balin exchanged a glance with Thorin and patted her hand. “You did the right thing.”

“Yes, you did,” said Dis. She approached the table. “Where is he, Thorin? Where is my son?”

Dis looked to have the beginnings of a bruise under her eye, and really didn’t seem her usual composed self. Which was understandable under the circumstances, but still a surprise. Hafdis opened her mouth to ask what happened but stopped as Balin shook his head ever so slightly, and signed under the table for her to stay quiet.

The door rapped smartly and Gimli raced in. Grim-faced too, and out of breath. He started when he saw her at the table and she offered him a small smile, which he rudely ignored as he bowed to Thorin.

“Can I speak with you privately, my King?”

“It’s fine, Gimli. You can speak freely,” said Dis. “Go on.”

With another quick glance at Hafdis, Gimli cleared his throat. “The hunting passage is open, and the stones have been moved very recently by the look of it.”

Hafdis watched as they all exchanged worried looks.

Thorin pushed his chair back and strode away without a word into the other room. He returned a moment later, throwing a fur about his shoulders. “Nori?”

“He went through to search for tracks,” said Gimli, “and sent me back to fetch you.”

“Dwalin, Molir, with me.” Thorin swept out the door followed by Dwalin, but Molir looked torn and stopped halfway between the table and the door.

Dis flicked her fingers at him and he nodded and ran after the others. As the door swung closed she turned to them with a sad and lost expression on her face. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted quietly.

Hafdis's heart swelled in sympathy for the princess. She wanted to offer some sort of support, but first she really should ask. “What's the hunting passage?” She looked at Balin and he smiled sadly back at her. “Where’s Fili?”

“I should have had him escorted to his room, and a guard placed outside it.”

“It’s not your fault, Thorin,” said Dwalin soothingly. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have locked him in it.” Thorin glared at Molir. “Will you hurry up?”

Molir grunted in response, waving an arm at Dwalin. “Help me. I’m not going to fit and the next bit looks even tighter. Pull me out and let Thorin go.”

Thorin threw off his fur and squeezed his way past the first rocks as Dwalin dragged Molir out. The cleared path was expertly done. It wound around and over the boulders to a dark tunnel mouth up toward the ceiling of the passage. Dwalin caught up with him as Thorin boosted himself up onto the ledge and stared out toward the circle of blue sky at the other end. Not far, but it looked tight. He unbuckled his sword and handed it down.

“Where’s Molir?”

“Being useless behind me somewhere.” They listened to the curses drift through the rocks. “He’ll catch up by the time you’re out the other end. Be careful, Thorin.”

The first few feet were just about manageable on hands and knees, with his shoulders brushing the sides, but then Thorin was forced to drop almost to his belly. He growled as he squirmed along it with his beard dragging in the dust and the rocks of the roof tugging at his hair.

If he felt inclined to praise his nephew, which — as the tunnel narrowed further and forced him to drop lower still with his arms stretched ahead of him — he did not, then he would think it an exemplary feat of engineering. But, as it was, he was just furious. Frustratingly, Fili had managed to move just enough rock to clear a path for himself. The tunnel was exactly as wide as his nephew needed it to be, and not a finger’s breadth more.

Thorin cursed as he inched his way forward. This was beyond undignified.

And he was stuck.

Wriggling desperately to try and free himself, Thorin's heart pounded loudly in his ears. He was caught firmly on something, and could neither go forward or, he suddenly realised, back.

Dust floated down into the tunnel, and with it the faintest sound of stone grinding on stone somewhere above his head. He froze, fighting down a beat of panic. He was a dwarf. To be underground was perfectly natural, and that was a perfectly natural noise to hear whilst underground. The tunnel had neither moved or shrank.

Despite what his mind insisted loudly on telling him.

“Thorin?” called Dwalin, “How are you getting on?”

“Fine. Fine.”

The weight of the mountain pressed down on his head unpleasantly as he took as deep a breath as he could manage. His belt, he realised, that was all it was. With difficulty he wriggled a hand down and unbuckled it and the pressure immediately released. Fool. Digging fingers and the toes of his boots into the dust he hauled himself forward again toward the light, and cursed himself for not thinking to take off his bulky tunic.

Nori must have heard him swearing, for he cast the tunnel into shadow as he appeared — looking suspiciously like he was trying not to smile — and offered a hand to drag Thorin out the last few yards.

“Just you?” he asked innocently as Thorin dusted himself off.

Thorin looked back at the tunnel. Tempting though it was to call Dwalin through, and watch him get hopelessly wedged, he did have other priorities.

“Dwalin!” he shouted. “You two won’t fit. Go and search his room. Meet me back in my chambers.”

He waited for the shout of acknowledgement before he turned to Nori. “Show me what you’ve found so far.”

Dis wasn’t good at waiting, or so Hafdis had discovered, for if the princess paced the room once she had paced it a thousand times. The day was wearing on and Hafdis wasn’t sure if she should go or stay. She had suggested that she leave, but Dis asked her to stay put so here she was. Sat beside Balin and feeling useless, and very hungry. She wished she had thought to have breakfast before she’d come.

As if he had been reading her mind Balin coughed. “Dis, I’m sure you are hungry and you are bound to be tired. Why don’t you go to your rooms and try and rest? I will arrange to have some food brought to you.” He nodded to Gimli.

“No.”

That was that then. 

Dis crossed the room, and peered at the map Gimli had spread across the table for what must be the hundredth time.

“How far do you think he's gone?” Hafdis whispered, when Dis stalked off for another lap of the chamber.

Gimli shook his head.

She'd really put her boot in her mouth with Dis earlier. Both boots. A silly, thoughtless observation which was out before she could stop it. Hafdis felt like she should apologise again.

“I didn't mean anything earlier,” she said in a low voice. “About...you know.”

“It's fine, lass.” Balin’s eyes followed Dis. ”You didn’t say anything we weren't already thinking ourselves, and you were right. We should have kept a watch on him. Dis is blaming herself, but we were all busy trying to sort out the trouble downstairs, and tempers were running high.”

“It's my fault.” Gimli traced a circle on the map. “I knocked on his door and he told me to go away and I did. I should have—"

“No.” Hafdis reached across the table and touched his hand. To her surprise he didn't pull away.

“I should have sat outside his door,” Gimli continued sadly.

“The lass is right. You came back and told us he was awake and sounded like himself and that was, we felt, the only thing that mattered. None of us ever once considered the possibility that he would run. Not our Fili, not like this. You mustn’t blame yourself.” Balin patted Gimli's hand too. “If it hadn't been for Oin arriving, and wanting a look at him, I don't think we would have known he was gone until you arrived, Hafdis.”

Gimli lifted his eyes and Hafdis smiled at him in sympathy. She tried her best not to convey with her expression that it really was entirely his fault, and that he should completely blame himself. That he shouldn’t have left his cousin, his supposed best friend, alone for even one moment when he was upset and injured. Hafur had told her all about the fight, and that Fili was outnumbered and friendless. He said that if it hadn’t been for his arrival he felt it likely the prince wouldn’t have walked out of the training hall.

Which would have been a shame. 

So it was lucky for everyone that her brother could be quite persuasive when he put his mind to it.

That was worth some sort of reward, in Hafdis’s opinion, although so far there had been no mention of any such thing. Hardly surprising, but disappointing nevertheless. If it had been her uncle and Hafur the one that needed rescuing Hafdis was sure Dain would have heaped gold on everyone who helped. But then, Dain wasn’t a Durin in the same way. 

Gimli's eyes were fixed on her. "I didn’t see you last night?”

She didn’t care for his tone, and any scrap of sympathy she felt for him disappeared completely in a flash of anger. How dare he?

There hadn’t even been a dinner. The furious fighting in the passageways, even amongst the guards who were supposed to be calming things down, had echoed all over the mountain.

And come to think of it she could ask him the same thing. Where had he been these last few weeks when his friend needed him? But that was petty, and unhelpful, and she would not sink to his level.

“Hafur locked me in my rooms.” She twisted her hands together. A quaver in her voice as she spoke quietly, “He didn’t think it was safe for me to be out there, but I could have helped. I told him that I wanted to...”

Balin patted her hand as she tailed off sadly. He shot a sharp glance at Gimli. “No, lass. Don’t upset yourself. Hafur was completely right. It wasn’t safe. Not for you.”

She was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but she appreciated the sentiment. She whispered her thanks to Balin, and he smiled back with genuine warmth.

“I didn't see Hafur either,” said Gimli doggedly. “I expected he would be in the middle of things, but he wasn’t there.”

Dis was watching her now, and Hafdis dropped her eyes to the table.

“That was my fault,” she admitted reluctantly. “We were arguing. I know I shouldn't argue with my brother but—"

“Of course you can argue with your brother.” Dis laughed, and broke the tension in the room. “I argue with mine all the time. Don't ever apologise for standing up for yourself, Hafdis.”

They shared a smile and Hafdis straightened. As Dis turned away Hafdis threw a triumphant look at Gimli and he glared back at her.

As Gimli opened his mouth — no doubt with another stupid, pointless question — the door swung open and Thorin swept in flanked by Dwalin and Molir. Dis rushed across to him and he took her hand and shook his head.

“Anything?” asked Balin hopefully, even though to Hafdis it was clear that there was no good news.

Thorin joined them at the table, sinking down into the chair next to Gimli. He looked disheveled with dust in his hair and dirt on his hands. 

“Hafdis,” Balin said with a smile. “Be a good lass and go make your King some tea? The kitchen is just through the study.”

Dismissed, she headed for the door Thorin used earlier and closed it carefully behind her to show she wasn't listening in.

It was a nice room. Richly furnished and cosy, with the remains of a fire smouldering in the grate. She drifted across to the ornate desk in the corner, since it was almost on the way to the open kitchen door. The desk was neat and tidy too, although the scattered papers showed he must have been hard at work when the reports came through about the fight. 

With an eye on the door, and listening hard for boots on flagstones, Hafdis flipped through the parchments. It looked like Thorin had been reviewing the latest mining reports.

Careful not to disturb their order she ran a finger down the tallies and let out a low whistle. Their mines at home were considered productive — depending who you spoke to — but, even with most of the shafts out of commission, Erebor was still doing exceptionally well. Which meant that the rumours of the vast wealth under the mountain, and not just in the huge vaults, were true after all. Not clever Durin propaganda as Hafur claimed. 

The desk drawers were locked. Every last one of them.

Hafdis let out a huff of disappointment, and flopped down into the chair as she spun a knife through her fingers and considered things. The locks weren’t an issue, more a nuisance, but the time was. They probably wouldn't leave her unattended for long.

With her decision made she stood, shook out her skirts and headed into the kitchen. By the time Dwalin joined her the kettle was already boiled and the mugs set out and she was busy searching through the cupboards for a tray.

Chapter Text

“Bain!” Bard leaned into the stairwell and listened hard for any sign of movement. They were going to be late, again, and if Bain wasn’t quick about it they’d be eating their toast on the way across to the hall. At a run. Breathless and apologising was no way for a king and his heir to arrive at important meetings, and they were making a habit of it. “Don't make me come up there. I want to hear you moving. Right now!”

A heavy hand hammered the front door, likely someone sent to fetch them, and Bard glanced up the stairs again.

“I mean it!” he yelled over his shoulder. The half-formed apology faded from his lips as he yanked the door open. It wasn’t the exasperated merchant that he expected. Instead he blinked in surprise at the party of angry looking dwarves on his doorstep. “Thorin? To what do I owe this—"

Dwalin pushed his way past Thorin, and made his way quickly through the kitchen and into the parlour beyond.

“What is—" Bard turned to follow Dwalin as the others stepped inside. Nori raced past and up the stairs. 

“Nori?” Bard spun to face Thorin as Bain shouted in outrage from the floor above. “I suppose I should thank you for your assistance, but I could probably have managed to get my boy out of bed by myself. Eventually. You didn't have to come all this way and trouble yourself.”

A light breeze drifted in through the wide open door and Bard moved past Balin and Dis to close it, since neither of them seemed inclined to bother themselves. Molir and Gimli were in position outside, with his own guard shunted out of the way. Bard shrugged and pulled the door closed as the man shot him a disgruntled look. 

“May I ask” — he turned back to Thorin — “why you are searching my house?”

“Da?” Bain's hair was mussed and, despite all the yelled promises that he was awake and getting ready, still looked half-asleep. He finished pulling his shirt on quickly as he looked around the kitchen and made his way to Bard's side. “Why is everybody in our house?"

Bard shrugged. He didn’t know for certain, and Thorin didn’t seem inclined to speak just yet, but Dis’s bloodless face made him feel uneasy and a horrible suspicion was forming in his mind. By his side, Bain’s stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet of the kitchen, and Bard wondered if he could go ahead and make breakfast whilst the dwarves finished ransacking his house, or whatever it was they were here to do. 

“Where is he?” Thorin's voice was calm, but his eyes were furious.

“Who?” Bard glanced at Dis and back at Thorin. Suddenly completely certain who they were searching for. His heart lurched with fear for his friend. “Fili? He's not here. Why would he be—"

“He's not here.” Dwalin stomped back into the kitchen as Nori clattered down the stairs and shook his head at Thorin.

“Where are your girls?” Thorin demanded.

“Out.” Bard crossed his arms. What was going on? “Look, you can't just barge in and—"

“Bard.” Thorin closed the distance between them and clutched Bard’s arm. He lowered his voice to something a bit more reasonable. “I need to find him. Please.”

“I haven't seen him, I swear to you.” The bones ground together in Bard’s arm and he tried to ignore it as he nodded to Dis. “Not since the last time you were here.”

“I know he's making for the Shire. He's—" Thorin took a deep breath and relaxed his grip. “This goes no further?”

Bard nodded and Thorin looked at Bain.

“You can speak freely in front of my son.”

“There was an incident—"

Bard placed a hand on Bain's shoulder to quiet him as Thorin paced the kitchen and told them what was obviously a heavily redacted version of the incident. Worry and something like panic flitted across Dis's unguarded face as Thorin spoke, and Bard's heart twisted for her. He was shocked to the core too. He couldn't begin to imagine what she must be feeling.

“—and I expect he will take the forest road but I must be sure. I know he spoke with you and the elf the last time he was here. And I know he would come to you. So what plans did you make with him?”

Dis lifted her eyes from the floor. “Don't pretend to be surprised, Bard. The three of you went outside to smoke, and the elf doesn't partake. I thought nothing of it at the time but now...” Her voice wavered, and she took a deep breath and clenched her fists. “You must tell me. I must know he's safe.”

Bard drummed his fingers against the stovetop as he thought back. They’d stood outside in the little scrap of garden behind the house. Huddled together under the eaves by the parlour door because there was a light mist of rain, and Fili hadn’t wanted to get the parchment damp. Legolas had read the letter aloud, stopping every other line to flap a hand in front of his face and complain about the smell from Bard and Fili’s pipes until they gave up and knocked them out against the flagstones. The elf really knew how to take all the enjoyment out of a quiet, relaxing smoke. Then the three of them went through the, too short and too vague, letter together line by line — looking for clues and speculating wildly — but that was it.

“Bard.” It was a definite growl from Thorin.

“I wish I could help but there were no plans. We—"

“I knew this was a waste of time.” Dwalin looked at him in disgust and Bard drew himself up to his full height to glare back.

“I thought us allies, and perhaps even something like equals.” Thorin stepped closer. “You do not wish to make an enemy of me, bargeman.”

A threat and an insult bundled into a neat package. It was like old times.

Bard tried not to smile as he took a moment to think about how Fili would advise him to take the high road and answer with tact and diplomacy. Although by the sounds of things Fili might no longer be listening to his own advice. That thought sobered him up and he opened his mouth to respond to Thorin. 

His son got in first. 

“It's King Bard.” Bain bristled as he stepped forward.

Bard sighed, and moved between his angry son and the equally angry dwarf king. “You’ve called me your enemy before, Thorin. I wasn't then, and I'm not now. But what I am is concerned about Fili. I can spare some men to—"

Thorin held up a hand. “I do not require your...assistance.”

He didn’t care for Thorin’s dismissive tone, but there was no point in an argument with someone who would never back down. He’d learnt that lesson already. Bard followed the dwarves to the doorway and watched as they stomped away down the busy street in the direction of the stables. 

Bain joined him. “Da—”

“I don’t know.” Bard fished through the rack by the door, and lifted an old cloak that had been left behind at some point and never claimed. He’d no idea who it belonged to but it would come in useful now. “Go to the hall and make some sort of excuse for me. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Thankfully it was drizzling. A warm autumn rain that didn’t really need a hood, but was just about heavy enough that tugging it far forward to hide his face didn’t look unusual. Bard strode along the streets behind the dwarves, and stopped to poke through a stall when they turned down the alley that led to the stables. The problem was that he didn’t know for certain which gate they intended to leave by. It was possible that they planned to return to the mountain, but Thorin was dressed for travel and the forest road was closest to the western gate. Bard made for it at a fast walk and took the stairs two at a time, waving the guards along the parapet into silence as they turned to him. At the sound of hooves on the cobblestones below he stared forward out toward the mountain’s spur and waited. The ponies continued through the gate far below his feet, and he watched Dwalin, Nori and Thorin kick the animals into a gallop toward Mirkwood.

Bard swore. She must have taken the north gate, but maybe if he was quick he could catch her.

“Making sure we were gone, Bard?”

He spun and smiled at Dis. “No, I was looking for you.” He peered down the steps behind her. Molir and Gimli waved back at him from the street below and he lifted his hand to them in return. “Where’s Balin?”

“On his way back to Erebor. Walk with me.”

As she stalked away along the wall he followed her. “Dis, you—“

She held up a hand and, with no other choice, Bard slowed his stride to match hers. They walked in silence along the parapet that led to the northern gate. As the mountain loomed in front of them she stopped and appeared to closely examine the stone of the city wall. He stood by her and waited.

“This should not be here.” Dis pulled a creeper from amongst the broken stones and shook it at him before tossing it to the ground below. “It’s past time these walls were fixed properly.”

“So your son always tells me.” Bard patted the wall in front of him. It looked sturdy enough. A wall was a wall, and a bit of greenery here and there didn’t do any harm. It brightened the place up. “But then he also tells me to wait for the dwarven masons Thorin promised so that we can learn how to do it properly, and not make a hash of it. What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Same as you, I expect.” Dis turned to him. “Are you being honest with me, Bard?”

“Completely. Are you being honest with me?” And there was the Durin glare, but Bard found it no longer bothered him as it once did. He’d been on the receiving end of it far too often. He glanced over the low wall into the city below. “The Dragon is open. Come on, let’s get out of this rain.”

The Dragon was quiet. But then it was always quiet, and for good reason. Bard ran his finger along the rims of the greasy tankards. Not the cleanest, but they had alcohol in them so they’d be fine. He thanked the barkeep, and nodded to the few other dour-faced patrons slumped quietly over their tankards as he made his way to Dis at the table in the furthest corner of the tavern.

“Here we are.” He smiled at her. “This will make you feel better.”

With affected casualness, the barkeep made his way out from behind the counter, stopping to take a cursory swipe at a table with a rag before hurrying through the cellar door. As the echo of his running footsteps faded away Bard turned his attention back to Dis. 

She quirked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to do something about that?”

“No.” He had enough problems running the city without going looking for more. Whatever the Dragon’s proprietor was up to was bound to land on his desk, eventually, and he could deal with it then.

Dis smiled faintly and peered into her tankard. “A little early, don’t you think? I had thought tea.”

“In here?” Bard took a large mouthful of the ale, and raised a hand to Molir and Gimli as they strode in and took up the table nearest the doors. Two of the other patrons hurriedly finished their drinks and sidled out. “No, definitely not. Anyway, you look like you need it.”

He watched as she wiped the rim of the tankard with her sleeve and took a dainty sip.

“You look tired, Dis.” If he was being honest she looked more than tired. She looked exhausted. The braids in her hair and beard were neat and tidy as always, but the shadows under her eyes were deeper, more bruise-like than usual, and — although she’d likely kill him if he mentioned it — her hand was shaking. Just the slightest hint of a tremor, but it was there.

Dis set her tankard down and stared at him. Bard waited for her to come to whatever decision she was wrestling with whilst he sipped at his own tepid beer.

“Two years ago,” she said at last, “I would have told you that I knew my son. There wouldn’t have been anything you could have told me about him that would have surprised me, because we kept no secrets from each other. No important ones anyway. He was my closest friend, and my world.”

She sighed. “I’m not sure you ever met him, Bard, not properly, but he was my good boy and he still is. He’s still my world, but he’s changed. Closed off and withdrawn from me in a way he never was before. This” — she waved vaguely around the inn — “mountain. This everything. It has changed him in ways I never dreamed of. I knew it would be hard on both of them, but I never once imagined this.”

“Dis, I—“

“My boy would never have hurt someone. Not like that. Not deliberately. No matter what the reason. He would have walked away. What was he thinking, Bard? And what is he thinking by running?”

He waited. Unsure if she actually wanted him to attempt to answer. This sounded a lot worse than Thorin had explained it, and it didn’t make a great deal of sense to him either.

“Bard?”

So she did want an answer then. 

“He didn’t run from a dragon, or from battle.” Bard wasn’t sure where his thoughts intended to take him. “Grief changes people, in all sorts of ways, but you know that, and he has been talking a lot about Kili. Although I’d say no more than usual. When last we spoke he said that he had put some sort of idea to Thorin, and that he intended to try again so I'm assuming whatever it was didn't go well. But he didn’t tell us any detail, and he didn’t mention any intention of any plans to leave. Not to me.” 

He took a large drink while he thought. The beer wouldn’t get any better the warmer it became. “What would have happened had he stayed?”

“It’s like someone's kicked a hornet’s nest in there.” Dis glanced around the Dragon and lowered her voice. “We realised Fili was gone yesterday morning, and Thorin wanted to leave straight away but he couldn’t. The situation was too volatile. They’re out for blood, my little boy’s blood, and it took all day and last night to settle them down. As far as the mountain is aware Thorin is at a trade meeting, and Fili is under guard. If Dain’s lad dies...”

Bard reached across the sticky table and touched her hand as she gathered herself. He knew a little about dwarven justice.

“He would have been given a chance to defend himself.” Dis’s eyes were red-rimmed. “I know what you are thinking, I know what men think of us, but there would have been a fair trial. Now...” She drew in a deep breath and moved her hand away. “No matter. Thorin will find him and bring him back, and no-one will be any the wiser. Everyone who knows has been swore to secrecy.”

“Who’s in charge of the mountain?”

Dis laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I am.”

“There’s no-one more capable.” Bard smiled at her as she snorted something into her tankard about Dain. “I can send riders north and south. Today. In fact I’ll go myself. If he’s on foot then we can catch up, I’m sure.”

Bard drummed his fingers on the table. Garett could take the south and he would go north himself. The orc packs were thicker to the north, and Garett was a bit of a glory-chasing idiot, if truth be told. But, since he was Sigrid’s idiot, Bard preferred to keep the boy in one piece.

Dis shook her head and smiled faintly. “Thank you, but Thorin will find him if it can be done. I’m trusting you to keep all this to yourself, Bard.”

“Of course.” Bard nodded. “I won’t breathe a word, and neither will Bain. I will worry though. Will you send a message to let me know he’s safe?”

Molir and Gimli seemed to sense from across the tavern that Dis was getting ready to leave. Bard watched, impressed, as they stood. It must be a dwarf thing. His guards didn’t even know where he was.

“You’ll let me know if I can help?” If there was a trial then he could speak for Fili. If they’d let him.

Molir’s jaw cracked as he yawned his way along the quiet passages that led to the library.

A hundred years ago, two nights of no rest wouldn’t have bothered him. Even fifty years. Well, maybe not fifty, but definitely a hundred.

He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to wake himself up. The mountain seemed more settled at least, which was a relief, although the extra ale and wine Dis ordered served over dinner might have a lot to do with that. With any luck it would knock them all out rather than riling them all up again. They’d certainly seemed merry enough when he’d swung by the cavernous dining hall to check on Dwalin’s guards. The sound of fiddle and song filling the air rather than brawling. 

The Company looked up from about the wide table as he pushed open the heavy library doors.

“My lad not with you?” asked Gloin.

Molir shook his head. “Dis is still with Dain. Gimli’s going to try and persuade her to rest once they finish, but he’ll come find us later. What have I missed?”

Ori shifted to make space and Molir grabbed the lad’s cane before it hit the floor. The lad took it from him with a grateful smile as Balin tapped the map spread across the table. “We’ve split the search area. There’s a lot of ground to cover so we’ll focus on the route he’s likely to have taken. Here.”

Molir watched Balin trace out a route from Fili’s chambers to the hunting passageway. It was a sensible route, but it wasn’t right.

“He’s gone,” said Dori. “Our time would be better spent upstairs with the others, smoothing ruffled feathers and gathering support. He’ll need that when Thorin brings him back from the elf woods.”

From the grumbling they’d obviously gone through this argument more than once, and were evenly split. His opinion wasn’t asked for so Molir drummed his fingers quietly on the table as he considered his options. 

Ori huffed out a breath. “Nori said he couldn’t find any proper tracks.” 

“He also said he couldn’t guarantee there weren’t any, little brother. Don’t forget that part.”

“No.” Ori stared around the table with worried eyes. “I really don’t believe Fili would run.”

“Me neither,” said Bofur. “Not for a moment. It’s not him.”

“I agree, but hiding somewhere in the mountain doesn’t fit either.” Balin sighed. “I don’t know which is worse. That his injuries are more severe than Thorin thought and he’s lying somewhere in the mountain hurt, or that he’s not in his right mind and out there alone. The reports from the patrols of increased orc activity to the north worries me. So hopefully Thorin is right, and he’s running to the elves.”

Molir hoped so too, and he hoped that Fili didn’t stop there and kept on running. The alternatives were too terrible to think about. They’d hunt him down — Thorin couldn’t be seen to do otherwise — and after a while find him in the Shire. But at least Fili would have some time with Kili before they caught up with him.

But, he’d hoped for things before and they hadn’t worked out. So just in case this was another of those times.

“I think he’s more likely to have taken this route.” Molir reached forward and ran his finger along the map as the Company fell quiet. “He avoids all the lit areas.”

The questions flew at him thick and fast but Molir kept his eyes fixed on Balin. The only one who remained silent, with his gaze full of reproach. It felt like a betrayal to Fili, but the time for keeping confidences was past. Some of them anyway. There was likely no sense in mentioning anything about supposedly missing magic rings. 

Molir raised his voice to be heard over the clamour, “It was after we arrived. He needed some air and showed me.”

Molir stepped into the passageway and closed the door quietly behind him. Not that they would have heard if he’d slammed it. 

He wanted to slam it. 

Fili’s cries were muffled by the thick door, and Molir closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against the wood.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to arrive home to their mountain, and find the boys and Thorin safe and well and waiting for them.

Maybe it had always been too much to hope for. A foolish dream that they could think to tackle Smaug, and emerge unscathed and none the worse for their adventures.

Although it could have been worse, that was true. The destruction, and the smoking pyres, and the rows upon rows of Dain's warriors waiting to be entombed in stone or returned to family in the Iron Hills were all testimony to that.

But that still didn’t mean this treatment was right or necessary.

His eyes flared open at a howl of anguish from within Fili's chambers, and Molir searched through his pockets for his pipe. He’d have a smoke. On duty or not. He’d have a smoke and settle himself to stop his hands doing anything stupid like opening the door. Because if he went back in he’d have no choice but to try and trail them off the lad, and that wouldn’t end well. 

Not that this would end well either.

He stood by what he’d whispered to Dis in the doorway of Fili’s chamber. Everyone mourned in different ways. If Fili wanted to hold on to Kili's braids for a while longer then where was the harm in allowing it?

Molir tamped the pipeweed down hard into his pipe with shaking hands as a second grief-stricken howl, longer and louder than the first, reached him. It wasn’t fair on the lad. It had been a week, barely, but what was a week in over eighty years? 

He’d packed the pipe far too tight. Annoyed, Molir knocked the contents back into his pouch and was about to start again when the noise stopped. He pressed his ear to the door. At the sound of footsteps from within he tucked the pipe away, and stepped back as Dwalin swung the door open. His face strained as he stepped out into the passageway.

“We could have done with your help in there,” Dwalin said accusingly.

“I think three of you pinning him down was enough.” More than enough. “We all owe him an apology.”

Dwalin grunted. “Maybe. But it’s done now, and it needed to be done, and that’s an end to it. Where’s that pipe of yours? Mine is in Thorin’s chambers.” 

Molir handed pipe and pouch over, and watched as Dwalin lit up and puffed a quick series of smoke rings down the passageway. 

“That’s better,” said Dwalin, with a sideways glance at him. “I think you don’t need to worry about apologising. You made your feelings perfectly clear.”

There was a big difference between making your feelings clear and taking action. Fili’s pleading eyes had held his as Molir stood uselessly half in and half out of the doorway, and he’d done nothing. Turned his back and walked away because he couldn’t bear to stand and listen, or even to watch. He owed the lad an apology more than the rest of them combined. 

“It was badly done.” 

Dwalin looked at him steadily. “So you said.”

“It could have waited a few more days.” Thorin’s argument that Fili needed to be presentable for official duties was an invalid one in Molir’s opinion. By the sounds of things the lad hadn’t stopped since he left the Blue Mountains. Dwalin quirked an eyebrow and Molir continued, “He might have taken them out himself given half a chance.”

“Yes, you said that too.”

“The choice should have been his to make. It wasn’t fair to take it away from him.”

“I understand, Molir. You don’t need to convince me.” Dwalin gestured with the stem of the pipe. “Take that stubborn look of your face before Dis and Thorin get out here.”

“I’ve earned the right to speak my mind.” Molir wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but two hundred years of service, give or take a decade or two here and there, should count for something. 

Dwalin handed him the pipe and Molir took a quick draw before knocking it out against the wall. He shoved it in his pocket, and hoped it was properly out, as Dis and Thorin made their way out of Fili’s bedchamber and across the outer chamber toward them. Setting his uniform on fire would not be helpful. 

“Perhaps,” murmured Dwalin. “Let’s see how that goes for you.”

Dis’s face was shockingly pale, and Thorin’s not much better. Both wore matching glares, and Molir straightened his shoulders as they swept past and down the passageway. He exchanged a glance with Dwalin and they followed at a respectful distance.

“Dis, I—"

She held up a hand. “Not now, Molir.”

“But—"

“I said, not now.” Dis glanced over her shoulder and spoke to Dwalin, “Gimli will stay with him. Will you speak to Nori and send him up in a few hours so that Gimli can get some dinner and a rest?”

“Fili will need something to eat too,” murmured Thorin. 

Dwalin nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll—"

They stopped and turned as one as a crash echoed off the walls around them. Thorin pushed roughly past Molir and ran back toward Fili’s chambers as Gimli raced out. 

“He asked me for water.” Gimli looked pleadingly at them. “I didn’t...I just stepped into...he’s locked the door.”

“What was that noise?” Thorin asked over his shoulder as he disappeared into the room. 

“I think he’s barricaded himself in,” whispered Gimli. “I’m sorry, Dis.”

Dis gave Gimli a quick, tight hug as they listened to Thorin command Fili to open the door. Signing heavily, Dis headed into the chamber and Gimli trailed miserably after her. 

Molir and Dwalin leaned against the stone of the passageway and waited. Listening as Dis and Thorin took it in turns to negotiate. At the point where Thorin threatened to break the door down, Dis dragged him behind her back into the corridor. She nodded at Molir and gestured into the room. 

“Get in there.”

Gimli patted him on the shoulder as he passed and then they left him alone. Molir listened to their footsteps fade away and closed the main door gently.

Apart from the crackle of the fire in the grate the chamber was silent, and he fingered the still warm pipe in his pocket whilst he thought. 

He'd not the first idea what to do, but returning to Dis without having fixed the situation in some way was not an option. Molir settled himself on the floor outside the bedroom door.

Turning the pipe over in his hands, he started talking. To fill the silence as much as anything else. First, a whispered apology, and then, since there was no response and he was looking about the opulent chamber, he talked about the mountain in its glory days. Its majesty and splendor. Busy, bright passageways full of busy, contented dwarves. And then somehow, perhaps it was the puff of smoke that drifted across the chamber from a log falling over in the grate, he found himself back on that last day. Lost in long-buried memories of fire and death, and a dragon’s wrath.

Thoughts he hadn’t turned over in his mind in many years spilled out and made their way under the small gap between the wood and the flagstones. A jumble of half-formed thoughts about grief and loss, and the ones you leave behind. The ones whose names are carved upon your heart, and, even though you might not see them, and might not hear their voice, are never truly far from you.

Perhaps Fili got bored listening, or felt sorry for him, but eventually Molir heard the quiet scrape of furniture being moved, and the door opened a crack. Green eyes rimmed with red looked through the gap, and he knew Fili was crouched on the other side. Likely ready to slam the door closed again.

“I didn’t know.” The boy’s voice was husky and broken. “You lost everybody?”

“I am the last of my line.” Molir crossed his legs and leaned back against the door to push it open a little further. To his surprise Fili let it happen.

“As am I,” Fili whispered.

That wasn't true, and it would hopefully never be true. Molir glanced at the boy and swallowed the words. He'd been insubordinate enough for one day. And who knew, maybe Thorin and Oin were right and it was better all round this way? Maybe it would be for the best if Fili had drew a line through the name carved upon his heart. 

“So it would seem," he said at last. It was the best he could do. "But we’re both lucky.”

Fili snorted, and Molir smiled and pushed on, “We are. We’re lucky because we have Dis, and Thorin, and because we have a lot of good friends who care about us. Even if sometimes they have a funny way of showing it.”

Fili snorted again. The door opened so suddenly Molir half-tumbled into the room and Fili caught him before he hit the flagstones.

“Do you want to go and get some air?" Fili grimaced, shaking his head. "This mountain is suffocating me.”

Balin rapped the table for silence. “Thorin knows about this?”

Molir nodded. Thorin knew about the passageway, because that wasn’t the kind of thing you kept from your King. Not if you liked your head where it was. But Molir pled the case for keeping some sort of access open, and Thorin had grudgingly agreed. It was a security risk, but the boy needed somewhere he could go and be alone when he wanted to. Somewhere to look at the stars and breathe the mountain air. It was as simple as that. Born and raised inside the mountain it had taken Molir a long time to get used to living outside its walls, therefore the same was bound to be true in reverse for those born under open skies.

Dwalin and Nori knew too but, as Balin glared at him, Molir felt it probably wasn’t the best time to mention it. He bitterly regretted arguing for Fili’s illusion of freedom now, and wished Dwalin hadn’t supported him with Thorin, although he’d appreciated it at the time. It had been the wrong decision. They should have closed the passageway permanently, or had it guarded at least. Thorin blamed him personally, and that was fair. Although at least Thorin had torn strips off him in private rather than in front of Dis.

Which reminded him. 

Molir looked around the table. “I’d appreciate it if you could all keep that particular bit of information to yourselves. I’m too old to be a merchant, and I hate mining.”

Chapter Text

Thorin drummed his fingers against the elaborately carved table, and wondered how it was possible that creatures could live for thousands of years and yet never develop any understanding of good taste.

Absolutely everything in the large antechamber, from the chairs, to the wide window sills, to the door frames, was fussy and overdone past the point of offensive. Trails of delicate wooden vines covered in intricate leaves and flowers climbed and crawled over every possible surface.

It was as if the woodcarvers had all been drunk, or gone mad.

The workmanship was excellent, he conceded that much as he traced the ridges of the swirling design etched into the table top with a fingertip, but there was simply no measure of restraint. There was no sign of appreciation or respect for the natural beauty of the materials. It was an odd contrast to Rivendell, which Thorin remembered as a place of flowing lines, polished wood and well-dressed stone.

But then Elrond was only half-elven, perhaps that made all the difference. 

The gaudiness of their surroundings was a welcome distraction from his darker thoughts. Thoughts like that they were being held in the Elvenking’s halls deliberately, although mercifully not in the cells this time, and that he was being forced to dance to Thranduil’s tune. Thoughts like this hospitality was nothing more than an elvish stalling tactic whilst with every passing moment Fili moved further away from him and into danger.

Unless his nephew too was held somewhere in this elvish fortress which, although Thorin thought it fairly unlikely Thranduil would dare to hold Fili against his will, was a possibility worth some consideration.

“This is an insult,” grumbled Dwalin from where he stood, pipe in hand and wreathed in smoke, at the furthest of the wide open windows. The smell of burning pipeweed drifted across the chamber, and mixed unpleasantly with the heavily perfumed scent from the huge arrangements of flowers in vases and pots scattered around the chamber.

“I agree. I can’t believe they drink this stuff.” Nori set his teacup down with a clatter onto the saucer. He leaned back in his chair, his feet swinging inches above the carpet like he was a little dwarfling. “Tastes like grass. But the pastries are good, I’ll give them that, much better fare than the last time I was here anyhow. I think I’ve eaten most of them though, are you two not hungry?”

“I didn’t mean the tea.”

“I know that, Dwalin. I’m just making conversation.” Nori stilled and looked at Thorin hopefully. “How much longer do we wait? It’ll be dark soon, but if we’re quick and careful I’m sure we can get through on our own.”

Thorin shifted on the too tall chair and shook his head. He remembered the spiders well, and wasn’t sure his pride could take an elvish rescue for a second time.

If Thranduil even bothered to lift so much as a finger to save them, for Thorin suspected it might suit the woodland sprite better for him to be devoured by foul Mirkwood creatures. Then Thranduil could fetch and produce Fili and it would be very convenient for the elf to have an amenable, and grateful, dwarf as King under the Mountain many years earlier than expected.

Although that depended on whether the Mountain accepted Fili back, which wasn’t a foregone conclusion, and there wasn’t a war.

Not that a war between dwarves might not suit Thranduil nicely too.

He sighed and slowly massaged his temples. A headache was building again, the telltale flashes of light behind his eyes, and in his rush to leave Erebor he hadn’t thought to lift enough of Oin’s powders. The elves' insistence on enough torches in every single chamber to light the whole of the mountain twice over wasn’t helping matters. It was an excessive, ostentatious show of wealth, and the smell of them alone was enough to make him nauseous. 

Dwalin and Nori looked at him with poorly disguised concern.

“I’m fine,” he told them. 

Nori hopped off his chair and stretched. “Think I might snuff out a few of these candles and things. Very wasteful really when it’s just us here.” He wandered off and began a circuit of the large room, pinching out the candles and dousing the torches as he went.

“Would you like me to speak with one of their healers?” Dwalin knocked out his pipe on the windowsill and made his way to Thorin’s side, his face grim and worried. He lowered his voice, “I can say it’s for me.”

“I said, I’m fine.”

At least they would have ponies to navigate the forest road this time. That was an advantage, and they could easily be through with a few days of hard riding. The forest creatures might not even notice them, and they knew now to be wary of the magic, but he would prefer to speak with Thranduil first. Even if it was likely pointless, for lying came as naturally to the elf as breathing. 

The absence of both Thranduil and his whelp was convenient, and nonsensical. The tale Thorin had been spun by the elves on his arrival must be a web of lies.

The more Thorin thought about it the more certain he became. For why would it take both Thranduil and Legolas to inspect Dol Guldur? Why would they risk being outside their halls at the same time for a task that could easily be left to scouts? If something were to happen the entire Mirkwood royal line, as far as Thorin understood it, would be wiped out. Although it wouldn’t surprise him if Thranduil had an entire army of princes hidden away somewhere in the halls.

Dol Guldur made no sense. Therefore the alternative, that the elves were an amused escort for a fleeing dwarven prince, was the more likely explanation. But the other possibility was also worth exploring, no matter how implausible it seemed, and it would give Nori something to entertain himself with.

“It would be folly to leave with night falling,” Thorin said, “however that doesn’t mean we should sit here idly. Nori, go and see what you can find out. I need to know if Fili is here somewhere, or if he is still ahead of us.”

He didn’t miss the glance Dwalin and Nori exchanged. 

“Thorin,” said Nori. “I’m not exactly a hobbit. They’ll see me, and even if they didn’t none of them ever speak Common and I don’t—”

“I’m telling you to talk to them, not steal their silver.”

“Go for a smoke, Nori,” said Dwalin. 

“A smoke? That’s not much good, is it? Won't be doing much talking to elves when I'm standing outside on my own,” Nori grumbled as he lifted his cloak from the back of his chair. “I’ll think of something.”

“We’ll give Thranduil one more day,” Thorin said as the door closed behind Nori. ”Then we’re leaving.”

That gave him time to decide, although it would be yet more time wasted whilst Fili got even further ahead of them. Perhaps it was the wrong decision to wait on the elf, but It was all such a confusing muddle.

Thorin rested his aching head against the chair back and closed his eyes. On one hand the swords left behind were a worry, and spoke of a rash decision. It wasn’t like Fili to leave the mountain seemingly so unprepared, with nothing but a few knives, although in truth who knew how many of those his nephew was carrying.

But on the other hand the swords would have drawn eyes, and if that was the case then it was a well thought out plan which at least showed Fili had been thinking straight, and was not as injured as Thorin first feared.

One thing was certain, and that was that his nephew wouldn’t have made it this far without Bard’s assistance. A pony at the very least had been provided, or they would surely have overtaken Fili on the road, although his once-ally had looked him steadily in the eye and lied to him. Just as the elven guards they met on the forest road had looked him in the eye and lied to him.

But Thorin expected nothing less from them. It was Bard who had betrayed his trust, and Thorin was surprised by the depth of his disappointment in the bargeman.

It was only to be expected, for Bard knew nothing of ruling a people or of the precarious position of a newly crowned King, but he would quickly learn the error of his ways when the mountain withdrew its support from Dale.

The city would be on its knees by full winter and Bard with it. On his knees at the gates of Erebor to beg forgiveness, and with neither the Arkenstone in his pocket nor an elvish army at his back to force a negotiation this time. 

Unless, and the thought chilled Thorin’s heart, his guess was wrong and Fili had chosen a different path.

Perhaps Bard had told the truth, and Fili had not visited Dale because he was headed north? Into the foothills of the Misty Mountains and within reach of Bolg who, if even half the rumours that reached Erebor were true, wasn’t as dead as Thorin wished. It was enough to make him feel ill. 

Or perhaps Fili had travelled south? The road that way wasn’t much better for a dwarf travelling alone, and it was considerably longer. 

No. Thorin tried to think straight and reassure himself. The most direct route to the Shire, and the only one his nephew was familiar with from their travels, was through the cursed elvish forest. Therefore that was the only path Fili would ever think to take. 

The lights within his mind were growing steadily stronger and more blinding, and a band of tight iron had settled about his forehead.

Thorin glanced toward the window. Darkness had fallen over the forest, and it was an acceptable time to retire. He would shut himself in a darkened room, and hope that when he awoke he would be in the presence of a smirking elf king who had miraculously grown a conscience.

“Dwalin, I think I will take myself to bed. Wake me the moment the elf returns.”

The popping of joints and creaking of leather cut through the silence of the mines as Molir stretched and yawned. Gimli tried not to yawn himself and scowled over his shoulder.

“If you’re tired, Molir, go on to bed. I can keep looking a while longer.” They would have to finish soon anyway. Dis had released them from their duties so they could continue the search but their absence would eventually be noticed by others. “I can take the first shift with Dis and let you get some rest.”

“First shift’s over by now,” said Molir, “but you can take the afternoon one if you like, lad.”

“What?”

“Well over. It’s coming up on lunch, but I expect you barely know what time it is down here. Bit more tricky than looking up at the sky.” Molir laughed. “You’ll learn.”

Gimli swung his torch into the next narrow recess along the chamber wall and checked right to the back. Nothing. Only dark stone and debris and shadows, exactly the same as the hundreds of others they’d checked.

He wasn’t so sure about the learning. “That’s what Adad says too, and it’s not very helpful. How can you tell?”

“Don’t know. You just can.” Molir waved vaguely at the air. “It’s in the blood or something, but it’ll come in time.”

Outside the rings of light from their torches it was pitch-dark in the mines, and he was facing away into the bargain, so Molir wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes at the useless answer. Gimli moved along the wall to the next recess and shone the torch into the back. He didn’t understand why Erebor had so many purposeless seeming nooks and crannies.

“Storage,” said Molir.

Gimli blinked. He hadn’t realised he’d said it out loud.

“Wasn’t much of a miner myself, I decided that wasn’t for me pretty early on, but I’ve been down here with Thror when he was on visits.” Molir gestured with his torch toward the far wall of the chamber. “The entrances to the mine shafts are all over there, and here they would have stored spare carts and equipment during the shifts. Picks, shovels, those sorts of things. Then there’s areas closer to the pits for the carts as they come up. Keeps the main floor clear and tidy, which you have to do when it’s busy. Hard to imagine now, I know, but mark where we’ve got to and I’ll show you.”

"I don't think we should be—"

"Won't be long, come on."

Gimli chalked the wall beside him and trudged after Molir across the chamber. He wasn't overly interested but sometimes it was easier to just go along with it. Then they could get back to what they were actually supposed to be doing. The echoes of their footsteps and the light from their torches was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

“How big is this chamber?” he whispered as he caught up. He’d visited the mines on the eastern side of Erebor with Fili but they seemed smaller, and they were brightly lit and full of noise and life. This place was eerie.

“Big. You should see it when it’s all lit up, it’s really impressive. Watch your step here, lad, I’m not sure how stable this section is. The level below this one, the really deep shafts, is bigger again. We’re only really scratching the surface with the mines that are operational at the moment, I suppose they were the easiest to repair, but Thorin will get it all up and running again once we get more miners from…” Molir stopped mid-step and made a surprised noise. “That’s odd.”

Gimli peered into the shadows at the evenly spaced mounds of the pitheads, each one covered by a steel plate, that stretched away in a row along the chamber and disappeared into the darkness beyond the reach of their torches. Frozen in time as they were on that fateful day when Erebor fell.

From the stories Gimli knew that Smaug had attacked in the late afternoon, and after the mines closed for the day. It had been a blessing, for it meant some of the miners were on the upper levels rather than trapped within the mountain’s depths.

Not that it had saved them.

Fili had found a record of Erebor’s survivors in Balin’s library before he and Kili left for Erebor with Thorin. It had been nothing more than a faded piece of parchment, buried amongst the books, with a heart-breakingly too short list of names and occupations, and it was Kili who asked in a whisper why there were barely any miners. Gimli hadn’t understood then, but now that he’d seen the size of Erebor, and the location of the miners' homes, he knew why.

Even a miner lucky enough to be close to an exit that day would likely have kin many levels below.

He shuddered, suddenly aware of the huge weight of the mountain above his head, and made a vow to visit the tombs more often to pay his respects. 

There was something odd about the pitheads. Gimli’s blood ran cold. “Why isn’t that one covered?”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

They rushed across and Molir knelt to place his torch on the ground whilst he examined the hinge. 

“It smells a lot damper over here.” He showed Gimli his fingers, stained dark with rust, and wiped them on his trousers as he stood. “I think its rotted away and fallen in. Likely Smaug banging around upstairs has shaken it loose at some point.”

“We should check it.”

Molir nodded, slipping the coils of rope from around his shoulders. “Tie yourself on, and properly this time.”

Gimli’s hands shook uncontrollably as he tied the knots the way Molir had shown him. Something about this place was unsettling, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he stared down into the yawning darkness of the mineshaft. He had no fear of heights, as far as he was aware, but all the other mines they’d checked had iron tracks that sloped down into the darkness for the mine carts to follow and Gimli had been able to walk along them. The ropes an extra safety precaution that Molir insisted on in case anything dropped away underfoot. This was entirely different. 

“Molir, why’s it straight down?”

“It’s the way these ones were designed. There’s a ladder down the side, but I wouldn’t trust it, and the winch for the carts is on the roof. There would have been a chain that...” Molir tutted as he checked the knots. “You’ve done this all wrong again, Gimli. Lift your arms and I’ll redo it. Gloin will never forgive me if we have to scrape you off the floor down there.”

After a brief argument where Molir tried to persuade him that the most sensible thing was to walk down the wall of the mineshaft, Gimli crawled backward over the lip and gingerly felt about with his boot for the first rung of the ladder. He pushed down as hard as he could and breathed a sigh of relief as it held.

“How are you intending to climb down holding a torch?”

“Carefully.” Gimli dragged the torch toward him and glanced above his head. “I'd feel better if you put the rope through the winch."

Molir snorted. “No. If that’s as rusted as I suspect it is and comes off you’ll drop, and it’ll likely hit you on the head on the way past for good measure. Don’t worry, I can hold your weight. Get going.”

The metal rungs of the ladder were slippery and the damp, musty smell grew ever stronger as Gimli slowly made his way downward. The torch wobbled about and its light cast dancing shadows on the wet walls, which made him feel dizzy if he looked at them too long. So he concentrated on looking no further than his feet, with the rope rubbing against his face and catching on his beard, and tried to push everything he knew of naked flames and the build up of gases in closed off mineshafts out of his mind. The silence, apart from his own too-fast breathing and the crackle of the torch, pressed in about him. 

“How are you getting on?” Molir’s voice floated down to him from far above, and Gimli looked up toward the faint glow of the entrance. “Are you near the bottom?”

He didn’t know the answer to either of those questions. Gimli cautiously swung the torch down past his boots. The ladder stretched away downward and vanished into the gloom.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left his axes at the entrance. Anything could be waiting below for him.

He felt about for another rung, and ignored all thoughts of the stories he’d heard about the monsters that lived in the dark places of Middle-earth. Orcs, wargs, dragons, were-worms, surely they would all make some sort of noise if they saw him making his way toward them? He counted his knives, and reminded himself that it would be better to arrive in Mahal’s Halls following death by a lost and hungry were-worm than be decapitated by his own axe in a fall. Better a valiant end than an embarrassing one. 

“Gimli?” Molir sounded concerned.

“I’m fine. I’m just—” Gimli screamed as the rung under his foot broke away. For a heart stopping moment as his other boot skidded from its rung he was certain something had grabbed his ankle, then he was falling.

The rope around his waist jerked tight and he clutched at the ladder with both hands, scrabbling for a grip with his boots and only then noticing the torch was gone. It spiralled away from him, coming to rest with a metallic clang on something that gleamed dully in the darkness. The mineshaft cover, he realised, as the torch guttered and went out.

Gimli stared down into the dark and ignored Molir's calls as the smoke from the doused torch curled about him and stung his eyes. His heart hammered in his ears.

There was something down there. He was certain of it.

“Molir!” he yelled. “Lower me. Quickly!”

Chapter Text

The knife quivered in the target, well off-centre but definitely an improvement, and Hafdis nodded in satisfaction. She drew another knife from her belt as Dis's hands on her waist gently adjusted her stance.

Dis smiled at her. “There, much better. You're still twisting too far as you release and it’s throwing your aim off. Try again.”

It was good to be out of the royal chambers.

Not that Hafdis hadn’t enjoyed spending so much time with Dis in her rooms. The royal quarters were very pleasant, and the princess, despite her obvious grief and worry, was surprisingly good company. Had it been Hafur who disappeared without a trace Hafdis was sure her own amad would have collapsed into useless, sobbing pieces, but Dis was so strong. She hadn't cried properly once. Not even when they drank a bit too much and talked late into the night.

Snuggled into a comfortable chair by the fire in the royal chambers, Hafdis had been happy to sit, open-mouthed and with her glass of wine growing warm in her hands, as Dis told stories of her adventures. Her life had been so thrilling.

In return, Dis listened with apparent interest to Hafdis’s tales of growing up in the Iron Hills, but Hafdis felt even her most exciting moments incredibly mundane by comparison.

Runaway pigs, fights with her brother, and a few orc hunts didn’t even begin to compare with a life spent roaming from place to place, and fighting in a real war. The princess had led a truly fascinating life, until marriage and dwarflings put an abrupt end to it, and Hafdis had been spellbound as she listened to Dis’s memories of long ago battles.

She wasn't so interested in the stories of Dis's life after marriage, but she nodded along dutifully and made all — she hoped — the right noises as Dis talked at length of the simple joys of being a wife and an amad.

Hafdis had fully expected the tears to come then, she'd been braced to pull the princess into a hug and offer words of comfort, but Dis remained resolutely dry eyed. Hafdis was patient though. The dam would burst eventually, and she’d be there when it did.

It warmed her heart that Dis seemed to need and want her around, and it had been simply wonderful to have Gimli at her beck and call.

Hafdis had enjoyed sending Fili’s increasingly red-faced cousin here and there on useless errands. It was a struggle to keep the smile from her face as she whispered to him that perhaps Dis might be tempted to eat by this or that delicacy, or that maybe some more of the particularly nice — despite being elvish — wine might help the princess relax enough to rest.

None of it worked, of course. Dis had barely closed her eyes or taken more than a few bites in days. Hadfis didn’t know how the princess was still standing. It was admirable, really. Even if it meant Hafdis too was completely exhausted, and really hungry. It was hard to mirror Dis’s fortitude, especially when Gimli arrived with a hopeful smile and a delicious smelling tray of the very best the kitchens could offer. When she'd fallen asleep, lulled by wine and the warmth of the fire, and Dis offered her the royal bed it had been very hard to refuse and say that she too couldn't bear to close her eyes for more than a few moments.

It was odd that Gimli hadn’t poked his head into the room all day, and he’d barely appeared yesterday either.

In fact, it was a surprise and very unusual that Dis was out of her rooms with no guards. That seemed a serious breach of protocol, and someone should really get into trouble for it. Molir, hopefully, since he was supposed to be the captain.

He was lurking around somewhere, although now that Hafdis thought of it she hadn’t seen him either in hours.

And he was useless anyway. He wouldn’t go on errands, and he’d insist on joining them for a round of cards, or a mug of tea, all the while talking incessantly about the most mind-numbing topics. Hafdis couldn’t understand how or why the princess put up with it. The over-familiarity was completely unacceptable.

She’d tried a few times to send him away for things to get rid of him, but he only patted her on the head and told her with a smile that it was a fine idea. Then she’d find herself pushed out the door with an order to go fetch whatever it was herself, and to get some air whilst she was at it.

Hafdis pulled her arm back and flung the knife at the target. It missed completely, and she growled as it bounced off the stone behind. Now that the thought had crossed her mind it worried at her. Where were they both?

By her side Hafur snorted with laughter and spun one of his throwing knives through his fingers as Hafdis pulled another knife from her belt and let Dis move her into position. He was one of the reasons Hafdis had led their talk to weapons, the other being that the chamber walls were starting to close in on her, as she lamented to Dis about her poor knife skills. It had taken a lot of work before Dis finally suggested the lesson.

But now that they were out the princess seemed to be enjoying herself and Hafdis was shocked and strangely happy to find that Fili had been right about Dis’s skills, and not just boasting. Her applause had been completely genuine as Dis struck the centre of the target over and over.

Maybe Dis would be willing to spar next?

That would be fun, and Hafdis wanted to show Dis how good she was with an axe. Or perhaps she could fetch her bow and give Dis a lesson, because if Dis was even half as useless as Fili it would be very entertaining. Although such a suggestion might upset Dis and turn her thoughts to Kili, so perhaps not.

She didn't want to make Dis unhappy when they were having a good time, and it would be nice to stay out of the rooms for a while longer. There were only so many games of cards Hafdis could play, especially when she kept losing, and she’d missed her big brother's company.

She was certain he missed her too, even though he was being particularly unbearable this afternoon for some reason. He was probably bored.

Hafdis glanced at Dis. If the princess stepped away for a moment then she could whisper to Hafur and tell him to find out what Gimli and Molir were up to. It was probably nothing to worry about, but it would give Hafur something to work on. He liked to be busy.

“Sister, surely it must be my turn by—"

“Dis!”

The shout cut across the noisy training hall and Dis strode away to greet the dwarf as he ran toward them. Another of the famous Company, the self-proclaimed valiant heroes of Erebor, and Hafdis tried to remember the name as she exchanged a worried glance with Hafur. The one from Dale. The clown with the silly hat and sharp eyes.

Bofur. The name came to her as Dis rushed back to them with a mixture of hope and fear on her face.

“They've found him,” Dis whispered as her fingers wrapped around Hafdis’s forearms. “Don't faint, it's good news. It is. Hafur, take a hold of your sister.”

“No, I'm fine.” Hafdis had never fainted in her life and didn't intend to start now. She was cold though and thought she might be sick. Good news. It was good news. She swallowed hard.

“Thorin found him?” Hafur’s voice behind her was low and full of concern.

“No.” Grim-faced, Dis glanced around the hall at the nearby dwarves pretending to be busy. “But hush now, both of you, no questions where others can hear. Are you feeling unwell or can you run?”

Bofur appeared at Dis's shoulder. All fake smiles and cold eyes as his gaze roamed over Hafdis. She smiled at Dis and nodded. “I can run.”

“Good girl.” Dis took her hand, appearing outwardly calm although the iron grip that crushed Hafdis's fingers together as they headed across the hall at a fast walk told a different story. Every eye was on them as they moved through the archway and into the passage beyond. The buzz of murmurs already beginning behind them.

It had become one of the worst kept secrets in Erebor. That the Crown Prince was not safely tucked away in a cell as Thorin and his advisors, including Uncle Dain, desperately wanted everyone to believe, but was in fact missing and presumed on the run toward his disgraced brother.

Hafur kept her up to date with all the various rumours during her short visits with Odr whilst Dis was in meetings. Her poor, neglected boy disgruntled and anxious by the lack of attention, and by the change to his usual routine. She knew that she had been distracted by Odr's increasing moodiness, and therefore only listened to Hafur's updates with half an ear, but she would have remembered had there been any mention of searches. 

A bead of sweat trickled down Hafdis’s back as they turned into a busy passageway.

The mountain had believed Fili on his way to the Shire. But this news explained Gimli’s absences. Why hadn't he told Hafur they were searching the mountain? Why hadn't be asked for Hafur's help?

She realised she was frowning and smoothed it away. They were supposed to be friends. She'd made an extra effort to be especially supportive. The least he could have done in return was tell her they were searching the mountain.

Beside her, Dis swept along with her head held high, elegant and regal despite her pale face.

Hafdis pushed away the bitter stab of disappointment in Dis that sneaked in amongst all the other feelings. She tilted her chin and tried to copy Dis's stance. There was no need to be disappointed in the princess. Dis couldn't possibly have known about the search either, because otherwise surely she would have said? They were good friends now, Dis had told her so, and good friends didn’t keep such secrets from each other. 

Bofur broke into a shambling run which would have been funny in other circumstances, his limp even more pronounced at speed, and they jogged along behind him past groups of dwarves who pressed themselves against the walls and stared at them curiously. Dis pulled ahead and Hafdis followed. Not that she had any choice in the matter with her hand still held tightly by the princess.

At length they turned off the main thoroughfare and Bofur led them through first one and then another of the quieter side passages.

Hafdis glanced back over her shoulder at Hafur who shrugged. It wasn’t the way to the healers chambers. The next passage they turned into was completely empty, and unlit, and their boots, the only sound other than Dis’s heavy breathing ahead of her, echoed off the stone. They were almost at the end when Bofur stopped abruptly at a door and Hafur, obviously preoccupied, slammed into Hafdis with a curse and trod hard on her heels.

With a furtive glance back the way they had come, Bofur pulled a large ring of keys from inside his tunic and flipped through them. He opened the chamber and rushed them through what, although now disused and smelling of old dust, must once have been an elaborate set of rooms. Unlocking a nondescript door beside a fireplace he led them up a tight spiral stair and out through another chamber and into a dark corridor.

They cut across two more junctions before coming to another sudden halt at the back of a silent crowd of dwarves. Hafdis stood on tiptoe to peer over Dis’s shoulder and recognised where she was.

Down the passageway, past the large double doors that led to the royal healers chambers and toward the stairs, Molir slowly came into view.

A ripple of whispers ran through those gathered and Hafdis strained her neck to see better, her heart beating fast. She thought she spotted Gimli’s red hair just ahead of Molir, but she couldn’t be sure.

The dwarves ahead shuffled backwards to make space and someone swung open the doors of the healers chambers. As Molir turned to enter Hafdis caught a glimpse of the bundle carefully cradled in his arms. A mass of once golden hair, tangled and stained the colour of rust, trailed from it.

She gasped, certain Dis had just broken all her fingers, and at her back Hafur swore quietly.

“I’ll send the ravens.” Bofur patted Dis on the shoulder. “Dis, will I dispatch guards to meet Thorin?”

Dis nodded, her breathing fast and ragged, and Bofur rushed away. The crowd parted reluctantly for Balin as he elbowed his way toward them, his face almost a perfect match for his beard, and Dis dropped Hafdis’s hand to clutch at her advisor.

“It's bad, Dis,” he whispered.

Dis reached back blindly. Hafdis took her hand and braced herself for more pain as Dis towed her along in Balin’s wake. The old dwarf shoved his way through the now chattering crowd and led them on into the comparative hush of the healers rooms. The heavy door closed firmly behind them.

“Stay with her, Balin.” Dis rushed away to join the huddle gathered around one of the beds. Molir, his face ashen and looking as if he had aged a hundred years since that morning, turned to wrap Dis in his arms.

Yet another breach of protocol, surely. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that this wasn’t her place. She shouldn’t be here. Hafdis spun on her heel to tell Hafur that they should go and realised he wasn't behind her. Her heart beat faster. Where was he?

“You look pale, lass,” said Balin as he placed a big hand on her shoulder and smiled kindly. “I know you're worried, but he’s alive and that’s the main thing. Our Fili's a fighter, and he's in the very best hands now. Come on. We'll find somewhere a bit out of the way to sit and wait, I'm sure Oin and the healers won't mind too much if we make ourselves a pot of tea.”

Hafdis looked unusually shaken as Balin led her across the healers chamber by the hand and through the kitchen door, and Gimli wondered briefly if he should go across and speak with her.

Perhaps offer some sort of comfort? Although he wasn't sure what, but maybe he could repeat some of what Gloin had murmured in his ears after Molir dragged him out of the mine shaft and into his adad's waiting arms.

Maybe he even owed her some sort of apology because, even though Hafdis had been a thorn in his side the past few days with her constant demands, he couldn't deny that she'd been good to Dis. And he was a big enough dwarf to admit to himself, now that he'd seen how the sight of Fili hurt had really upset her, that maybe, just maybe, he'd been too quick to judge.

His uncle’s voice pulled his attention back to the bed.

“Gloin, if you can’t untie it just cut it off. Molir, get out of my way. Go make yourself useful and fetch me some more light.”

Gimli grabbed his adad’s wrist as Gloin pulled a knife.

“No, no. Wait.” Gimli hung on as Gloin swapped the knife to the other hand and tried to shake him off. “Uncle Oin, please don’t, let me try first. Have you something…”

The words dried in Gimli’s mouth as Oin snatched a lit candle from Molir's hand and moved it over Fili.

Without really knowing why, Gimli held his breath. The others fell quiet too and they watched together in silence as Oin peeled back Fili’s eyelid and moved the candle close. As his uncle’s already grim face turned grimmer, Gimli's blood turned to ice. He met Molir's worried eyes. What did that mean? He was scared to ask.

His adad was trying to free himself.

It was a welcome distraction. Gimli wrapped his other hand around the knife hilt as Gloin attempted to peel his fingers away. He needed to focus on his task. The one he could actually help with.

“No. Stop it, Adad. I just need something pokey. Something thin.”

“Gimli, lad,” said Gloin. “Let go of me. It has to be done.”

“You know how superstitious he is. Let me try, please.”

Before anyone else could object, Gimli elbowed Gloin out of the way. He turned Fili's swollen arm, being careful not to jostle him or touch his cousin’s blackened fingers, and huffed out a breath.

It was even worse than he’d thought. The usually loose bracelet dug in deep. As Gimli probed at the knot in the woven leather with his fingertips Oin tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a thin piece of metal. Some medical instrument for Durin only knew what purpose. It would do.

On the other side of the bed Dis was bent over Fili’s hand and busy as she sawed through the gold ring. Gimli didn’t care about that though.

The ring was Fili's own, so it didn’t matter and could be repaired, but the tatty, poorly-made bracelet was a gift from Ness. It was never off Fili's wrist, not even when he bathed, and, although Fili had never told him so outright, Gimli knew it was one of his most precious possessions.

Mahal only knew what his cousin would make of that if – when, Gimli shook his head as he corrected himself – he woke and it was in pieces. Likely Fili would read see it as some dire portent, and be halfway to the Shire before anyone could stop him.

With his tongue held between his teeth Gimli worked the thin metal slowly through the knot. It was stiff and tight and really uncooperative.

He swore under his breath as he wriggled and tugged at it gently, taking care not to pierce Fili’s puffed skin.

“Where did you find him?” Dis’s voice cracked and she sniffed hard.

“One of the closed off mine shafts, on the lower levels.” Molir sounded exhausted. “Gimli found him.”

The leather knot gave a little and Gimli redoubled his efforts. He didn’t want to think about how close they had been to not finding his cousin at all.

If Balin hadn’t thought to change the search areas, and if Molir hadn’t decided Gimli needed a history lesson in mining that took them away from their allotted route, then it could have been another day or even many days before they’d discovered him. It could have been too late.

Gimli ignored the nasty little voice in his head that insisted it still was. Uncle Oin could fix anything.

As he shifted to try the knot from a different angle the scent of the mineshaft drifted to him from his clothes. He could smell it on Fili too, and it made his stomach lurch. Musty and dank. Stale water and whatever foulness leeched from the walls. Gimli wiped his sweating hands on his trousers and shook his head to try and clear the memories as he leant back over the knot. He needed to concentrate.

Molir lowered him so fast that Gimli’s stomach swooped, and he nearly turned completely upside down on the rope. Righting himself a heartbeat before the crash of his boots slamming into the steel cover reverberated in his ears. Overbalanced and disorientated, he toppled forward onto his hands and knees into a foul smelling, and disconcertingly slimy, puddle.

Blind in the complete darkness, and with the cover creaking loudly and rocking from side to side beneath him, Gimli groped about for long moments that felt like an eternity. Finally, his fingertips brushed against the torch. With clumsy hands, and his mind screaming at him to move faster, he fumbled about for his tinderbox and struck sparks on his trousers, the steel cover, and, briefly and most terrifyingly of all, his beard.

Everywhere and anywhere but on the torch.

After several attempts and a lot of muttered curses, he got it to flare into life. And almost wished for monsters.

The tightened knots of the rope about his waist that had saved him from a long fall defeated him. Gimli fumbled, swearing and tugging at them before dragging a knife from his boot and cutting his way free, all the while shouting for Molir to run and get help. But if Molir replied Gimli didn’t hear it.

As the rope fell away, he rushed toward the crumpled figure lying in the deep shadows, and jammed the torch into a gap in the stone. His own ragged breathing loud in the quiet darkness as he searched frantically for signs of life with shaking hands and found none.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the damp stone of the tunnel, whispering half forgotten prayers and with his tears soaking into his beard, before someone shouted a warning from high above his head. Then Balin arrived, so quickly that Gimli was sure the older dwarf must have dropped down the mineshaft like a stone, and threw him roughly out of the way. Gimli stood, mopping uselessly at his face with his sleeves as Balin knelt by Fili’s body.

“He’s alive.” Balin twisted with his fingers still jammed against the flesh of Fili’s throat and looked up at him. “Gimli. We need to get him out, right now, but carefully. Go find a cart.”

Certain his ears deceived him, Gimli stared back in open-mouthed disbelief until, with a mutter, Balin leapt to his feet, swept up the torch and disappeared into the gloom of the mine. As the torchlight bobbed against the walls and faded away Gimli sunk to his knees, groping about in the dark until he found his cousin’s ice-cold hand and wrapped it in both of his.

The knotted leather loosened enough for Gimli to get his nails into it and pull it apart. He smiled triumphantly and held the bracelet tightly in his hand as he breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll keep it safe for him. Who’s got the runestone?”

Kili closed the front door of Bag End quietly behind him and crept around the side of the smial to settle himself cross legged on the grass. The cool night breeze soothed his flushed skin as his heart rate returned to something like normal.

Plucking at the strands of grass by his bare toes, Kili stared over the starlit vegetable patch and out across the top of the hedge. Out across the miles of velvety darkness that separated him from Erebor.

The dream had followed him. A terrible, heart-pounding dream of searching through twisting, dark tunnels that filled with rushing water. Kili shook his head to try and clear it but it was no use. He could still hear his brother calling for him, and feel the drag of ice cold water as it rose first past his knees and then his waist. Struggling against the tow and fighting for breath as he tried to run, and Fili, always somewhere just out of reach, sounding more and more desperate as his voice echoed off the walls.

Suddenly horrified by the certainty that he was going to cry, Kili hugged his knees tight to his chest and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

It was beyond embarrassing. He was a fully grown dwarf. He couldn't sit on the wet grass of the Shire and weep like a little dwarfling.

Berating himself didn't work, and as his eyes grew hot Kili lowered his aching head to rest on his knees. He should go inside. It was unlikely that any of the hobbits would be up at this hour, but the thought of any of the neighbours looking out and seeing him... It wasn't proper behaviour for a dwarf. Uncle Thorin would be disappointed.

A stray thought of Thorin was all it took, and Kili squeezed his eyes tightly closed as the first tears escaped.

To hide his face from any curious hobbity eyes he wrapped his arms tightly around his head, digging his fingers into his hair and tugging hard enough to hurt in an attempt to regain control of himself.

It was a lack of sleep. It had to be. Driven to tears over nothing more important or terrible than another bad dream, and a feeling of being a long way from home. It couldn’t go on.

Bilbo was right, and he needed to rest. It was making him stupid and slow, and ill-tempered, and perhaps he should take Bilbo up on his offer after all and try some of the special hobbit teas he’d suggested.

It was foolish to be frightened of hobbit potions. Kili sniffed hard as another tear dripped onto the grass.

Likely the worst that would happen is they wouldn’t work, and he’d have drunk something that tasted like grass or flowers for nothing.

It wouldn’t be anything like the elvish medicine they’d forced down his throat in Erebor that trapped him in his own head.

His back twinged in memory and Kili shifted on the grass. What he really needed was Tauriel to visit, like she’d promised she would, so he could persuade her to leave him some of her concoctions. The ones that took away all the pain and worry and granted hours of unbroken, dreamless sleep. Even one dose would be bliss.

He could tell her he needed them for pain, and it wouldn’t be an outright lie for the weather was turning chill — not that it ever got truly cold in the Shire — and with winter would come the grinding aches deep in his bones. Kili snorted. Even elderly dwarves like Balin or Molir didn’t complain about such trifles, and yet here he was, not even a dwarf of a hundred years, fretting about his pains like some old hobbit gaffer hunched over an ale in the tavern.

It was undwarvish.

He heard her footsteps but still jumped as a hand touched his back gently.

“Here you are,” Ness whispered in a voice still husky with sleep. Her clothing rustled as she sat down on the grass beside him and swore quietly. “This grass is soaking.”

A blanket settled about his shoulders and as her hand rubbed circles on his back Kili leaned into her warmth. He risked a look over the top of his arms and Ness smiled kindly back at him.

“I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Doesn't matter. What are you doing out here, Kili?” Ness swiped her thumb under his eyes and he caught her wrist and pressed a kiss against her palm before she could pull away.

“Keeping a watch.” The words slipped out before he thought about them, but once he’d said them they felt right. Kili turned his face toward Erebor and rested his chin on his arms. “I’m keeping a watch.”

“Oh.” Ness stroked his hair and he closed heavy eyelids whilst her fingernails scratched soothingly along his scalp.

Her fingers ran along one of the braids buried in the tangles and it tugged against his head as she rolled the carved bead through her fingers. She dropped it and moved closer, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist as she rested her head against his shoulder. “Well then, I’ll keep a watch with you for a bit. If you like.”

Chapter Text

Someone was calling his name. Insistently and loudly. Thorin forced his eyes open a crack and shut them again. The glimpse of a room that was far too bright and Dwalin hovering over him, incredibly close, was enough to shock the senses.

“Where am I?” His voice was little more than a croak and sounded strange to his ears. Thorin swallowed to try and soothe his dry throat before he attempted to speak again. “Dwalin?”

“Ah good. You’re alive after all. I wasn’t completely sure.” Dwalin hauled Thorin upright and shoved a cold glass full of cloudy water into his hand. “Here. Drink this.”

Thorin’s head spun and pounded at the sudden movement. Mirkwood. Memory rushed back as lights flashed in front of his eyes, although mercifully not as bad as before his rest. The sleep must have helped. He was in Mirkwood. Fili. He needed to get up and find Fili.

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” Thorin managed as he swung his legs out of the bed and shaded his eyes with his hand. “Where’s my nephew? Did the elf bring him back?”

“Keep your eyes open. This is for your head.” Dwalin pressed the glass to Thorin’s lips. Thorin recoiled at the sharp scent and Dwalin wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to hold him still. “Don’t say anything, and for Durin’s sake don’t smell it, just drink it.”

It was terrible, like he imagined old flowers would taste if they were mixed with equally old, and rotten, fruit. Bitter, sour and unpalatable. And unpleasantly grainy besides. Obviously some form of elvish concoction. Thorin glared at Dwalin as he forced himself to drain the glass.

“There’s no need whatsoever for that look. You’ve slept like a dead dwarf for almost two full days. Get up and get washed and dressed, the Elvenking’s riders just arrived and his Lordship’ll be prancing in here in all his finery within the hour.” Dwalin’s eyes softened. “Do you need help?”

Perhaps. His head was pounding unmercifully and Thorin wasn’t sure he could stand without throwing up. “I don’t know.”

The elvish potion worked quickly. With Dwalin and Nori’s help Thorin was up and dressed and had even managed to stomach a few bites of bread by the time Thranduil swept into the room. The elf obviously freshly washed and dressed too. Although you could never be entirely sure with Thranduil. It was entirely possible that he swanned about the woods in his full regalia.

The loss of yet more time made Thorin’s blood boil. Furious with his own weakness and, completely unjustified he knew, furious with Dwalin and Nori that the elven healers and likely all of Mirkwood now knew that he, the King Under the Mountain, was damaged. Laid low by something as trivial as a headache.

Thranduil’s knowing smile set his teeth on edge.

“Where’s your son?” Thorin ground out.

“Welcome, Thorin. My heart is glad to see you are feeling better. Legolas, since you ask so nicely, will be joining us shortly.” Thranduil settled himself into a chair and flicked his fingers at his guards. They left on silent feet and closed the door behind them. “Now, to what do I owe this unexpected visit? Not that it’s not a pleasure of course but I had not anticipated seeing you for a few weeks yet.”

“I think you know.” Even sitting Thorin was forced to look up at the elf. That, with the too big elvish furniture, was unsettling and not good for his temper. Thorin stood and walked to the window. The dark woods outside and the setting sun above the treetops infinitely preferable to looking at Thranduil’s face.

“I assure you I don’t.”

There was no sense to studying the elf but Thorin turned and tried anyway. Thranduil looked back with his head tilted in a mockery of concern and curiosity.

Thorin sighed. “I know you helped him. This is a breach of trust and I swear to you that I won’t forget it. But I will grant you one chance to repair the damage you have caused if you tell me what you know. Immediately.”

They had both profited from their arrangement but the mountain could thrive perfectly well without the elf and his kind.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair and pretended to look thoughtful, although he made no attempt to hide the amused smirk on his face. “I have absolutely no idea what you are—”

A loud knock on the door preceded Legolas’s entrance. Thorin stood straighter as the elf rushed into the room.

Legolas bowed quickly to them all. To Thorin’s mind he seemed unusually ruffled. “Apologies. A raven has arrived.” He strode to Thorin’s side and handed him a small, tightly rolled parchment.

“I see another in your hand, elf,” growled Dwalin as Thorin broke the seal and unrolled the message. “Hand them both over.”

“This message is for—”

“I can see that it's from Erebor. Give it to me.”

Despite Legolas and Dwalin standing toe to toe by his side it was Thranduil who reached him first as Thorin’s knees buckled. The Elvenking’s deceptively strong hands about Thorin's waist and holding him upright before Dwalin pushed the elf away.

“Thorin?” Dwalin wrapped an arm around him. “I’ve got you.”

He’d dropped the parchment. Whilst Dwalin bullied him into a chair Thorin watched Thranduil stoop to pick it up. The Elvenking's eyebrows rose, obviously reading Bofur’s hurried scrawl.

So the elf could read as well as understand Khuzdul. Thinking about how that could be possible was a welcome distraction as Thorin’s mind whirled with thoughts of Fili and his heart hammered in his ears. He needed to get back to Erebor.

Legolas joined his father and handed over the other message. Thranduil broke it open and read over it quickly before he and Legolas spoke in a quick flurry of elvish.

“The second message was for Legolas. A request for him to find you if you had already left,” Thranduil explained as he sat himself in the chair opposite and made to hand the two messages across the table. Dwalin snatched them from the elf’s fingers.

“Read them,” managed Thorin. “Nori too.”

Nori joined Dwalin, and Thorin watched their faces pale as they read.

“They’ve found him,” Nori whispered. He looked at Thorin, wide-eyed. “Thorin?”

“You should rest and leave at first light.” Thranduil stood. “I will provide an escort—”

Thorin pushed himself to his feet. “That won’t be necessary. We are leaving now.” He didn’t miss the worried glance Dwalin shot at the darkening sky outside.

Thranduil and Legolas began another rapid conversation in their own language and Thorin gritted his teeth at the rudeness. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever for them to not speak in Common. He opened his mouth to command that they did, since they were obviously discussing Fili, but Thranduil spoke first.

“Legolas will arrange for your ponies to be brought to the gate. Nori, you may go with him.”

Nori’s eyebrows raised at the command and Thorin nodded. “Go.”

As the door closed Thranduil turned back to Thorin. “I have a few healers who are particularly skilled in treating injuries from falls. From the message I assume that is what has happened so they will come with us, and some guards. The forest creatures are not to be underestimated at night, but they will be less likely to attempt to waylay us if we are a small force.”

Thorin shook his head. He wasn’t sure he followed. “Us?”

“Yes.” Thranduil looked down at him. “I believe you should rest here, but I know you will not listen to such advice. Then again I expect I would be the same in your position. My healers will prepare something to give you strength for the ride and—”

Thorin bristled. “I don’t need—”

“Your hands are shaking, Thorin.” Thranduil glided toward the door. “And you can barely stand. For once, accept an offer of help without arguing and being stubborn about it.”

It was full dark by the time they clattered through the gates of the Elvenking’s halls and out over the causeway to the forest road. Thorin rode in silence. He could still taste the second elvish potion and his stomach was churning, although his head was mercifully clear. At least he thought it was, but it appeared that the elves were coming to Erebor, and that he had permitted it, so perhaps his head wasn’t yet working as it should.

He would think on it as they rode. It would be a simple thing to refuse entry at the gate should it come to it, or to turn the elves back at Dale. 

“You couldn’t have known, Thorin,” Dwalin whispered over the jingle of elvish bridles and the sound of hooves ringing on stone. “You did the right thing.”

Thorin shook his head. He should have torn the mountain apart, or left orders for a search. He was a fool. A stupid, blind fool.

The elves that surrounded them seemed unhurried as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Leaving Dwalin and Nori behind, Thorin kicked his pony forward until he was riding beside Legolas. The prince looked down at him and smiled grimly.

“We must move faster.”

Legolas shook his head. “The road narrows soon. A few hours will take us clear of the forest and we will make better time then along the river. It would be folly to run the horses when they cannot see as well as you or I. Let your stout-hearted pony save his strength. He has a long journey ahead of him.”

Thorin glared down at his hands fisted on the reins. It pained him to admit it but perhaps the elf was right. His beast would be hard pressed to keep up with the long-legged horses, and the huge, ostentatious elk that Thranduil insisted on riding, all the way to Erebor. But his mount was well rested by its stay in the elvish halls. It could hold the pace. It had to. He needed to be back and a full day’s ride was too long.

The elf stared into the trees and Thorin followed his gaze. Shadows moved and red eyes caught in the light from the elvish torches. Thorin couldn’t make out what manner of beasts watched them, but they were many. Something rustled overhead and Thorin peered up into the tree branches that criss-crossed thickly above the path and blocked out the stars. A few leaves drifted down past his face and under him his pony shook its head. As he touched the sword on his hip for reassurance Thorin thought hard about spiders. He would be ready for them this time. They would not take him unawares, but how the mounts would react to an attack was a concern. Losing the ponies was not an option.

“What follows us, elf?”

“Many things.” Legolas glanced at him. “They are curious. Don’t worry, they—”

“I’m not worried.” Killing something would likely make him feel much better but they couldn’t afford the delay.

“Of course. But if you were worried then I think it is unlikely they will cause us any trouble. They tend to look for...easier prey.”

Thorin shot the elf a sharp glance but Legolas was looking innocently into the trees above and appeared oblivious to the insult.

“It is unusual to see such numbers so close to my father’s halls,” the elf continued, “but I will deal with them on my return. You were fortunate not to encounter any on your way to us. Usually we ensure the forest is clear before any of your arranged visits.”

Although delivered in a mild tone the elf’s words sounded like a rebuke, and couched with yet another insult. Thorin bristled. 

“Thorin, what happened?” Legolas turned his eyes back to him. He looked concerned. “Why are you here? I could not read the message but Father told me you thought Fili was with us?”

So at least one of them couldn’t read Khuzdul. That was something to be grateful for. “I believed Fili had come this way. He had not.”

Legolas stared at him, obviously awaiting something further.

“It is none of your concern,” Thorin added. “Nor your father’s.”

As he reined in his pony to wait for Dwalin and Nori, Legolas slowed his own mount and grabbed Thorin’s arm.

“It is my concern,” the elf hissed. His eyes narrowed and the grip on Thorin’s sleeve tightened. “It is my concern because I consider Fili to be my good friend, and I would like to know why you felt you had driven him from his mountain home to my woods. I’m assuming that was why you were chasing him? What did you do?”

Prince or not, that was impertinence, and somewhat too close for comfort to Thorin’s own thoughts. He shook his arm free and met the elf’s glower with one of his own. “As I said, it is none of your concern. And that is an end to it.”

He was too still.

Dis stroked Fili’s hand and swallowed around the painful lump in her throat. She didn’t know what else to say. Oin had told them that talking might help. That, perhaps, Fili could hear them. Wherever he was. And so she had talked and talked, about everything and nothing, and hoped that he would open his eyes. Or show them some sort of sign.

She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder.

“Dis.” Molir crouched beside her. “Why don’t you go and try to rest? Just for a few hours.”

Rest was impossible. It had been impossible before, and it was even more so now. Not when her son lay in the shadow of death, and not when it might be only the warmth of a hand or the sound of a loving voice that tethered him to Middle-earth.

Molir rubbed her arm. “Come on. Gimli will sit with him until you get back. He won’t be alone for a single moment, I swear.”

Dis glanced over her shoulder and Gimli gave her a weak smile. “I’ll be right here, Dis. I won’t leave him.”

“And you’ll talk to him? You need to keep talking.”

“I know. I will. I promise.”

She nodded. She did have things to do. Thorin had left her in charge of the mountain and she had abandoned all thought of her responsibilities the moment Bofur called to her across the training hall. Actually, if she was being honest, she had barely paid her responsibilities any attention since the night of the incident. The mountain could have burned down around her and she wouldn’t have cared, so long as Fili turned up unharmed.

But he hadn’t turned up unharmed. Dis swiped at her wet eyes. It was all a nightmarish blur. A parade of dwarves coming and going whilst she stared at his face and held his hand and prayed fervently for any flicker of movement. She no longer knew if it was night or day. She didn’t know who had visited and who hadn’t, or who she had spoken to.

“What time is it?” she whispered.

Molir smiled at her sympathetically. “Past lunchtime.” He stood and held out a hand. “Come on.”

So it was daytime and working hours. That was good. Dain would be sure to be in Thorin’s rooms, likely with Balin, and the two of them in complete control of the mountain. Thorin would be unimpressed with her when he returned. Not that she was worried about that, not really, but she should make a pretence of being interested. She leant across and kissed Fili, whispering a promise that she would be back soon, before taking Molir’s hand. She’d drop it before they left the healing chambers and joined the main thoroughfares, but for now the warmth and comfort was appreciated.

Gimli took the seat she’d left and lifted Fili’s hand carefully in both of his.

“Keep talking to him,” she reminded him sternly. “Don’t stop, and don’t leave him.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

Her legs were heavy as Dis let Molir lead her to the outer door. As they neared it she turned at a sudden noise, her heart hammering in her ears, but to her disappointment it was only Oin. He bustled through from the interconnecting chamber and Dis dropped Molir’s hand and hurried back.

“Is there any news?” she asked in a low voice.

With a glance toward Fili’s bed, Oin drew her further away and into the kitchen. Molir stood in the doorway as Oin pushed her down, unnecessarily, onto a bench. Gimli joined Molir and she waved him away.

“Get back to Fili,” she commanded. “Now.”

He disappeared and she turned to Oin. “Well? Tell me.”

The boy, Buvro, had woken some hours ago, disorientated and seemingly badly injured in his mind. Dis hoped there had been some sign of improvement but Oin’s sombre face was a worry.

Oin grimaced. “The same. No better and no worse. His brothers and cousins are with him. I’ve warned them that they are not to so much as set foot in this chamber or I will throw them out myself and there will be no more visits. Dis, I must tell you, the boy is...not right.”

“Still?”

“He’s not dead which is the main thing, for us and for Fili, but it’s not good.”

Dis exchanged a worried glance with Molir. At least it wouldn’t be murder. If the boy lived then that could only be a good thing. She stood and touched Oin’s arm in thanks.

“Dis!”

She was moving the moment she heard Gimli’s cry. Throwing Molir out of the way as her heart clenched painfully with fear and hope. As she raced back into the chamber Dis stopped dead and stared in confusion at the tall figures gathered around her son’s bed.

Nori left Gimli and ran toward her, his face ashen and his hair wild. They had obviously ridden hard. She looked for Thorin and couldn’t see him.

“Thranduil,” Nori whispered as he reached her side. Dis could smell the outside air that clung to him, and his cloak was damp under her hand as she clasped his shoulder. “The blond one.”

Of course it was. For a moment she had thought from the sweep of white-gold hair that it was Legolas, but now Dis could see this one was taller.

The elf turned away from the bed and moved noiselessly toward her. His expression haughty, exactly as Thorin had said. Dis straightened her shoulders. Even windswept and travel-stained as the elf was, Dis could see that this one was nothing like Legolas. His eyes were cold and ancient as he looked down his nose at her. 

“And you must be Dis. I can see the family resemblance.” Thranduil glanced back at the bed. “Fili favours his father then?”

“His uncle,” said Dis, not entirely sure why she was answering. She must be overtired. One of the elves moved, blocking her view of Fili and she gestured quickly to Oin. As he rushed over to the bedside she looked up at Thranduil. “Fili takes his looks from my brother Frerin. Why are you here?”

“Thorin isn’t far behind,” said Thranduil. “He’ll be with you by nightfall. What happened?”

Chapter Text

Elves?” Dain crossed his arms. “What in Durin’s name were you thinking? This place is a keg of flash-flame just waiting for the slightest spark before it explodes, and you bring elves, and that elf, of all the elves in this world that you could possibly bring, into this mountain? What madness possessed you?”

He didn’t like that word, as Dain well knew.

Thorin opened his mouth to respond as one of the elves in question stepped into the kitchen and busied himself at the long table with a pouch and a small bowl. The scent of elvish herbs, strangely familiar and oddly soothing, rose from the bowl and filled the room, tickling Thorin’s nose as he waited beside Dain in a stony silence. Finished, the elf backed out of the room and closed the door behind him with a sympathetic smile.

“There was no ‘madness’, as you put it,” Thorin said. “I was in the elf woods when the message found me. He has healers. It would only be madness not to use every tool available to us.”

“We have healers enough here. Good, dwarven ones. Ones that can be trusted with our business, and that man king—”

“Bard.”

“He’s out there right now. With your elves. All of them listening to all of our affairs.”

Thorin wasn’t sure who had told Bard, but he suspected Legolas. The elf prince had stayed behind with Thorin and Dwalin and a small number of elves when Thranduil took Nori and made for Erebor. Too busy looking ahead to the gates of Erebor as he raced up the valley it was completely possible Thorin had missed Legolas or some other elf as they slipped off through the Western gate of Dale.

But, whoever it was that had told Bard, the bargeman arrived at the mountain less than an hour behind Thorin with a tiny, wizened woman, who Bard claimed was an expert mannish healer, by his side. Whoever the woman was, Thorin hadn’t caught the name, she had no respect for royalty as she pushed him, Dis and the Elvenking aside to peer at Fili. 

He stared at the closed door. He wanted to know what she thought. Dain and his concerns would wait.

“I’ve decided to take my folk back to the Iron Hills.” Dain raised his hands as Thorin tore his eyes away from the door. “Not all of them.”

“No.”

“Yes. The lad needs to be with his family and Oin says he is well enough to travel.”

“No-one leaves this mountain, not until Fili wakes up.” 

“You are accusing my people of foul play?” Dain moved closer until they stood toe to toe.

Thorin met his cousin’s stare. Perhaps. He needed to think it all through properly first, but his mind was whirling and couldn’t settle. He, Nori and Dwalin had discussed it in low voices, and in rapid Khuzdul in a bid to thwart elvish ears, before Nori left with Thranduil.

Lock down the mountain, investigate the matter fully, and find and punish those responsible.

Thorin had tried not to let the doubt creep in then and he tried again now as he looked into Dain’s eyes. Someone was responsible, and he would find out who it was, and they would pay dearly for daring to touch Fili. 

“I need to go now, before the weather turns. I will take Buvro’s kin and any who want to come with me.” Dain’s voice softened. “But I expect a good number will stay.”

Buvro hadn’t appeared to recognise Thorin when he paid a quick visit to the bedside in the side chamber of the healing rooms. The boy’s eyes blank as he stared at his hands folded in his lap. Dain’s nephew, Hafur, had been amongst the angry-faced dwarves gathered in a tight circle around the bed, and was the only one who met Thorin’s eyes with anything like respect and bowed to his king. But Thorin was prepared to let the insubordinance pass. Once. Under the circumstances.

Perhaps it would be best for Dain to take the lad back to his amad. “You will return.”

“I will think on it.”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice. In case it has slipped your mind, I am your king.”

“Yes, and I am your cousin, and angry with you. This has been badly handled. All of it. From the day you set foot back in this mountain. I warned you, and you should have seen this coming. I told you and Dis until I was blue in the face that Fili was a problem, and you both refused to hear it. Neither of you listened to me. And now, look where we are, and although it’s no surprise to me it still grieves me. You, Thorin, you let the lad down, and Dis, and all of you, because the signs were all there, but none of you were willing to see them. I told you he was unstable—”

Thorin didn’t like that word either. “Fili is not unstable—”

“Recent events would suggest otherwise.” Dain pointed to the closed door. “He’s done that to himself, Thorin. You know that as well as I do. No matter what lies you are desperately trying to tell yourself. And I know you don’t want to hear it, and believe me I don’t want to say it, but that’s not the actions of a sane dwarf, and neither is attacking another in cold blood. I’m as fond of Fili as you are but—”

“Fili came to me. About your folk tormenting him.” Thorin bitterly regretted dismissing Fili’s concerns. His nephew had said no more about it and, right up until the moment that Dwalin and Hafur trailed Fili, bloodied and beaten, between them into his chambers and reported that the mountain was in an uproar, Thorin assumed the situation settled. “The boy must have said—

“Words.” Dain threw his arms wide. “Only words. Fili’s no dwarfling, no matter how much you all treat him as one. He's old enough to step away. There’s nothing that could be said that would ever justify—“

“And if one of yours retaliated? If they touched so much as a hair on his head, or even if they gave him the idea to…”

Thorin couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t even want the thought in his head and he was furious with Dain for giving voice to it. Now it was circling and he was being forced to confront it. He rallied. No. Fili was a Durin, and his brave, strong nephew. It was not possible. “You will not hide them from me. When Fili wakes, when he gives me a name and if you have stolen them away from my justice then I swear to you that I will tear that mountain of yours down around your—“

The door swung open. “Will you two keep your voices down?” Dis whispered angrily, “We can hear every single word out here.”

“We are done here, cousin,” Thorin snarled. “Take your people and go. Get out of my sight.”

Dain stormed out of the chambers and Thorin followed Dis to join the crowd around Fili’s bed. The elves, all but the eternally nosy Thranduil, dispersed at his approach, sliding away silently to the adjacent chamber Oin had appointed them. Thorin glared pointedly  at Thranduil but the Elvenking ignored him. 

Bard stepped forward and reached out a hand as Thorin approached. He brushed past. Perhaps the man was due an apology, but he would think more of that later. When he had more time.

“Well?” he asked as Dis shot him a warning look. 

The healer looked up from Fili and Thorin considered her properly. A crone, sunken and ravaged by time, who looked barely strong enough to stand unaided. And yet, she had survived the dragon attack on Lake-town and the harsh trek to Dale, and the battle that followed, so she must have some magic about her. Hope stirred in his chest.

“Thorin,” said Dis in a gentle voice. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

He fixed his eyes on Dis.

Dis frowned at him more in concern than anger. “Ingride says the same as Thrandhuil’s healers.”

Ingride. So that was the healer’s name. Not that it mattered, for she was as useless as the elves. He had drawn the ire of Dain and his people and it was all for nothing. Thorin pushed past Dis and Ingrid to take the seat at Fili’s side.

“Leave me,” he commanded. 

Someone touched his shoulder and he stiffened. The hand retreated and Thorin stared at Fili and listened whilst the others whispered urgently amongst themselves. Obviously assuming that he had temporarily gone deaf until Balin, ever the diplomat, at last took charge, offering refreshments as he ushered them all out.

Only once he was alone and all the doors to the chamber finally closed did he allow himself to blink misty eyes. Oin, the woman, and the elves. They could all be wrong.

He swiped at his face and placed a hand lightly on Fili’s chest. The slight movement as it rose and fell was both a reassurance and a worry. There had to be something that could be done, because it was impossible that all that remained was to hope Fili opened his eyes before lack of food and water took him from them forever. To wither and waste away was no way for a warrior to die.  

But neither was throwing himself down a mineshaft.

“What possessed you?” he whispered. 

Thorin shuffled the stool closer so that Fili could hear him better and reached out to smooth away some of the stray strands of hair that fell about his nephew’s face. 

“Can you hear me? I asked what possessed you.” Surely if he could hear he would have given some sign by now? Fili’s hair was damp under his fingers and he was glad Dis had had the foresight to tidy his nephew up before either elves or Bard and his healer had arrived. At least no-one had seen Fili dirty and bloody, and in a selfish way it had spared him too. This way, if Thorin ignored the cuts and bruises, he could almost imagine his nephew simply deeply asleep.

The torchlight cast shadows across Fili’s face and to Thorin’s mind it seemed his nephew’s cheeks were already more hollow than they had been.

He dipped his fingers into the pitcher of water on the table next to the bed and touched them to Fili’s cracked lips hopefully. Perhaps Ori could find something. Balin had told him that the lad was pulling the library apart with his army of scribes and all other work had been suspended whilst they searched frantically for medical texts. Perhaps there would be some long forgotten record in the depths of the vast library? Some dusty work that told them how to keep Fili nourished until he fought his way back to them, or some other way to revive him. It was possible. 

Thorin brushed away the water droplets that hung on Fili’s lips with his thumb. “You need to drink, my sister-son. Wake up for me long enough to take a drink and then you can rest again.” 

Thirst would take him to Mahal’s Halls long before hunger. Thorin had known without Oin telling him, and at some point — not yet — a decision would need to be made.

He and Oin had made such decisions before, on many battlefields, for the ruined and the broken. The ones that were beyond the skill of any healer as they clung to life. It was the kindness of the knife and a whispered prayer when all hope was lost, and none left behind for the crows and the wild beasts. 

He would do it himself, if it came to it, but not yet. Thorin rolled back Fili’s sleeve to pinch the thin skin at the crook of his elbow and watched his nephew’s face closely for any flicker. Nothing. It had already been tried. He was certain quite a few of the marks on Fili’s skin were not due to his fall. 

“Why?” He tried another pinch in the same spot, hard enough to bruise, and waited. Once again there was nothing and he sighed and lifted Fili’s hand. Pressing his aching forehead to it he closed his eyes and whispered, “Why did you think there was no other way?”

Even the thought of his nephew with his boots on the edge of a crumbling mine shaft was enough to bring the sting of tears.

Because Dain was right. It all made a terrible sense. The false trail and the deliberate choice of somewhere dark enough and far enough away from the brightly lit passageways of the heart of the mountain? Somewhere that wasn’t even yet on Thorin’s long list of repairs. That long list of repairs that Fili knew about and had been involved in drawing up. All of it spoke of a plan, and yet there had been no note. Fili’s rooms had been searched from floor to ceiling and there had been nothing. They would have searched Middle-earth for him forever. And that wasn’t Fili, to cause such heartache. 

Thorin stroked the broken skin on Fili’s fingertips. Oin had been speaking half to himself when he voiced his certainty that either Fili must have been awake when he hit the base of the mine shaft, long enough to make an attempt to climb out, or he had caught at the stone before he fell. Neither of which had been something Thorin wanted to hear, and he had hissed at Oin to never breathe a word of it to Dis for he knew such thoughts would haunt her dreams as they would now haunt his.

Thoughts of his nephew alone and in pain in the dark, perhaps only a few steps from a ladder he didn’t know was there, as he cried out for help. Or clinging to a thin crack in the stone, unable to haul himself up, until his strength gave out and he fell into the darkness.

Thorin screwed his eyes closed. He couldn’t bear the thought of any of it, and the worst thing of all was that if it hadn’t been for Dis, and the Company, perhaps Fili would have lain undiscovered for years. His bones might never have been found.

But he had been found, thanks to Gimli’s sharp eyes and the Company’s stubborn refusal to accept that their King was right and Fili had left the mountain, and that meant there was time, and that there was hope. Thorin opened his eyes. It was too early to despair. He needed to think it through properly and perhaps a plan would present itself.

Elrond would come, if Thorin asked, but by the time a message was sent and the elflord left Rivendell it would be too late so that was not a path worth pursuing. There were only weeks, at most, and even if Elrond flogged horses to death, which Thorin knew wasn’t the elvish way, he wouldn’t be in time. The elf queen was closer, only past Mirkwood, but still not close enough, and although Thorin had only met her briefly she seemed a strange creature, even by elf standards. 

Thranduil was useless, and why was there never a wizard around when he needed one?

It was a pity no-one seemed to know where Tauriel had gone for if she could be found, and was close enough, Thorin was certain that she would help. But he didn’t have the first idea where to start looking. He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he thought. 

It only left the witch. She would be more than willing, although Durin only knew the cost, but she too was far out of reach.

Dis had already pleaded with him to send for Kili but Thorin had refused. He was sure it wouldn’t be the last time she asked, but it was out of the question for the road was too dangerous and too long. If it came to it he would travel to the Shire himself, to Bag End, and hold Kili in his arms when he told him. Such news was too terrible to send in a letter, or to entrust to anyone else but family.

Thorin pressed his lips to Fili’s palm as an idea came to him. It was a low move but worth a try, and forgivable a thousand times over should it work. 

“Fili,” he whispered as he leaned close. “Wake up. Kili’s here to see you.” The name felt strange on his lips and twisted at his heart. He hadn’t said it aloud in so long. “Fili. Open your eyes. Do you not want to speak to your brother? He's come all this way...”

Nothing. 

The witch and her magic had pulled his nephew back twice before. Thorin knew he had no such power or witchcraft, no dwarf did, because that wasn’t the way they were made, but there was a magic of sorts in the mountain. Bilbo had said so, and Thorin felt it himself. The magic lay in the gold that called so incessantly to him. Even now, in the depths of his despair, the lure of it gave him no peace. But perhaps it could be useful?

He took a deep breath, wrapped Fili’s hand tightly in both of his, and closed his eyes. Oin said that the witch had told Fili to come back and that he simply did as she commanded and so Thorin concentrated hard.

Perhaps there was power in the words of a king? Bilbo had said that too. The hobbit hadn’t strictly speaking meant magic, but still.

“Come back.” Thorin listened hard but there was no change to the quiet, shallow breaths. He tried again, with less pleading and more command. “Fili. Come back!”

After a few moments of desperate prayer, added for good measure, he cracked an eye, but there was no change. So that was useless too. Thorin wished heartily that his sensible hobbit were sat beside him and not half a world away.

When had it all changed? When had he changed so much that he needed elves and hobbits by his side? His adad would be furious when they met in Mahal’s halls.

Thorin pushed the thought away. There had to be something they weren’t thinking of, something they were missing, and clever, quick-witted Bilbo would have seen it immediately. Of that Thorin was completely certain. But Bilbo wasn’t here, and he couldn’t be here, and the elves he had were not the ones he needed either.

“I would have saved you.” He rubbed Fili’s forearm, talking would have to be enough until he thought of something else. “There was never any need to be frightened, my Fili, because I would never have let anything happen to you. Yes, there would have been a trial, but I am the King.”

Thorin lowered his voice conspiratorially, “And therefore to my mind my decision is final. But it doesn’t matter now, because you have punished yourself enough and I will not hear of anything further. I will fight them one by one if I must and they will not have you. I promise you it is safe to come back.”

Perhaps a bargain would work better than reassurances? “And when you do come back we will talk, properly, about your plans. I was dismissive.” 

That wasn’t even close to true. He had been angry. Angry that Fili felt the need to ferret through private correspondence. Angry with Ori for the oversight. Angry that, again, they were talking about the Shire, when they had gone over and gone the situation and Fili knew as well as he did that it was impossible and foolish. 

“He looks so different.”

Thorin jumped in the chair. He hadn’t heard her come in. In a rustle of silks, Dis joined him and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. He covered it with his own.

“It’s all upsetting,” Dis continued in a whisper. Her eyes were red rimmed as she looked down at Thorin. “But he doesn’t look like himself. He doesn’t look like my boy.”

“It’s the braids.” Thorin stood. He was annoyed he hadn’t thought about it already, because he had noticed it too and that was something he could actually fix.

He cast about but couldn’t see any of Fili’s things and he didn’t have the first idea where Oin would have put them for safe-keeping. No matter. Tugging the ornaments from his own hair, he pushed Dis into the chair. “Sit down, sister. It’ll not be quite the same but I’ll put the ones in at the front at least. He’ll look more like himself then.”

“You need to go and get out of your travel things and get changed for dinner. It’s important, Thorin.”

So was this. “It’ll only take me a moment.”

“Don’t make them too tight.” Dis watched him closely as he gently sectioned off a hank of damp hair. He didn’t have a comb but fingers would do well enough for now, although he wished they weren’t shaking. It made a fiddly job more difficult, and it had been many years since he had braided anyone’s hair but his own. Everything felt backwards. 

“We’ll need someone to keep him company whilst we’re at dinner.” Thorin didn’t think the boy’s kin – Buvro, he reminded himself, not boy – would be foolish or cowardly enough to take revenge whilst Fili lay unable to defend himself. But it did no harm to be cautious, and he didn’t want Fili to open his eyes and be alone.

“Bard and Legolas will sit with him,” Dis said. “Then they will go to Dale and Thranduil says he will go with them. I think he knows that his presence here will cause you problems—”

Thorin snorted.

“—and Bard is in a panic that his house is in a mess. I gave Ingride gold as a thanks and sent her back to Dale with Molir as an escort, so he will call into Bard’s house and give Sigrid the news that she will have guests.” Dis smiled. “I suspect Molir will have an evening of changing beds and cleaning floors if he doesn’t keep his wits about him. Thorin, his hands are cold.”

Thorin leant over the bed and inspected his work. It wasn’t perfect but it would do for now. He smoothed some of the fine, golden hairs behind the braid to hide them and moved around the bed to start on the other side. “Molir’s?”

“No. Fili’s. Feel them. Quickly. They’re really cold, you have to fetch Oin.”

“It’s from lying still.”

It had been the same after the battle. Thorin had been shocked by the coolness of their hands and their skin and the elf healer he grabbed as it walked by, Oin had been somewhere else and Thorin needed an answer immediately, had explained it to him in a kind voice.

He’d felt foolish afterward, because of course that was why, but he hadn’t been thinking straight and had panicked. Dis was likely feeling foolish too. “It’s nothing sinister. I’d asked the healers.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “If you’re sure. I suppose anytime I’ve been here I’ve been holding his hand, or someone else was holding his hand before me. Were you not holding him?”

“I was.”

Dis narrowed her eyes. “And you were talking to him?”

“I was.” 

“Good. I thanked everyone, but you’ll need to say your thanks as well, and I offered Thranduil payment as thanks but he won’t hear of it, which is annoying but there we are. So we are in his debt. Which is doubly annoying. So you may bite your tongue and be especially gracious. He says he will leave some of his healers until...until Fili wakes up, and I think you should take him up on his offer, Thorin. Please.”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind not to, and I will thank him.”

Dis breathed out shakily — as if she had thought he would let the elves leave the mountain before Fili opened his eyes.

He’d barricade them in before he let them leave. They could escort the elves to Mirkwood after, or Thranduil could send an escort, whatever the Elvenking preferred. And now that he was back in Erebor Thorin realised that he did perhaps owe Thranduil his thanks. The elf hadn’t needed to offer healers or any assistance and yet he had, immediately and without thought or prompting, even though it was likely out of curiosity or boredom rather than concern. 

He wondered what Nori had come up with at the gate. With the ponies unable to keep up the pace, Thorin had thrown Nori, by far the lightest of the three of them, up onto the back of the elk with an instruction to think of something plausible before he and Dwalin waved the elves on. “What did Nori tell the gate guards?”

Dis shrugged as she pulled beads from her hair. “I didn’t ask.”

Not that it mattered. The secret that Fili was not locked up tightly and Thorin at a trade meeting was well and truly out.

“As for Bard,” she continued. “he wouldn’t take payment either but we can come to some sort of arrangement with him later.”

Thorin nodded. He would, and he perhaps owed the bargeman an apology as well. Especially since he was taking Thranduil off Thorin’s hands.  He truly pitied Bard his surprise houseguest. Thorin’s lips quirked into a smile at the thought of Thranduil poking around the bargeman’s house. It was a fine dwelling by Dale’s standards, but in the years since the battle Bard had barely repaired any of the damage to it, and the furniture was crude and mismatched, although comfortable according to Dis.

Homely, she called it, because who needs fine things when you have the love of your family around you? 

“Why did he do it, Dis?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Don’t ask me that.”

His fault. A fear of his uncle’s justice. Thorin’s fingers stilled on the braid. It was wrong. He unravelled it and started again. “Please don’t blame me. Not yet. I can't bear it.”

She was silent as she rolled a bead through her fingers.

Thorin’s stomach clenched. The last words he and Fili had spoken were spat at each other in anger, so they couldn’t be the last words, because their last words would be ones of love. It couldn’t be otherwise, and those words would be spoken at a bedside or, if they were unlucky, on a battlefield far in the future.

But a bedside would be better, and not this one. And they would be spoken to a beloved nephew who didn’t need to hear them because he knew them all already and they didn’t need to be said. A nephew who was healed and whole, with a growing family of his own, and ready to step forward to be king.

Thorin fixed the bead and stroked Fili’s forehead gently.

“Here,” said Dis. She extended her open palm to him. “Braid these ones into his beard.”

Chapter Text

“Please stop crying.” Ness felt like joining in as she tried to console the red-faced dwarfling.

Where the hell was Bilbo? He’d promised her that he would be back before lunchtime. She carried the squirming child back out to the hallway clock and stared at it. Had it stopped? She pressed her ear to the casing to try and hear over the wails. It was definitely ticking but maybe it was slow, or fast, or whatever it was that meant Bilbo hadn’t fucked off and left her on her own. Again.

“What do you want? I’ve fed you, changed you, we’ve had a nice play, haven’t we? What else?” She looked the dwarfling in his sad, watery eyes as the wails dropped to a whimper. Probably just gathering his strength for another crying session. “Are you tired? Do you need a nap? Sleep?”

He shook his head.

“No sleep? Just me that’s tired then. I expect you just want your adad, don’t you?” The dwarfling perked up at the word and looked hopefully toward the door. Ness sighed. “That’s all it is, isn’t it? Well, you’re stuck with me today, I’m afraid.”

She jigged him in her arms as she wandered back into the bedroom and spun as she heard the front door open.

“Ness?”

Bilbo. She’d kill him, or hug him. Hug him then kill him maybe.

“Ness, you’ll never guess who’s here!”

She stopped in mid stride.

It couldn’t be. Could it? Her pulse leapt as she placed the snuffling dwarfling carefully in the middle of their bed and kicked the door closed.

“Stay right there,” she warned as she wedged the pillows in around him. He immediately tried to roll onto his stomach and balled up his fists when he found himself trapped. “Don’t move.”

The mirror was on top of the dresser by the window on the far side of the room and she raced to it.

She was a mess. An absolute mess.

The comb was nowhere to be seen so she hurriedly tried to smooth her hair behind her ears with her fingers and cursed as it sprang back, and the shadows under her eyes she couldn’t do anything about. Behind her, she could hear the dwarfling huffing to himself, but he was doing it quietly so he was probably fine.

“Ness?” called Bilbo. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Don’t come in.” Ness pinched her cheeks. She was sure she’d heard about that somewhere.

Where was the necklace?

Tugging out the top drawer she rifled through the clothes until her fingers fell on it and with shaking hands managed to secure it on the second attempt. She took a deep breath as she stared at herself. Don’t panic. He’s seen you looking a lot worse than this, even if that was in dusty Erebor rather than the Shire where everything is all clean and pretty, and he won’t care anyway. You know he won’t care.

She should have had a bath. It was all Bilbo’s fault for leaving her.

But it didn't matter. He’d understand. He’d smile in that way of his that made the whole world brighter and tell her he understood. He'd tell her that he knew it was difficult to get anything done with a dwarfling who cried every ten minutes, and who disappeared every single time she took her eyes from him. He'd give her one of those warm hugs she'd missed so much and tell her that she wasn't failing and useless at everything. And he'd say it in that way he did where you'd no choice but to believe him. 

And she could have a quick bath while Bilbo was getting lunch ready. But what she needed to do right now was breathe because she hadn’t done that in a while.

Ness sucked in as much air as she could and placed a hand on her chest as she fought back tears. Calm.

In the mirror she could see that the dwarfling had dragged himself up to a wobbly sit and was staring at her. She spun around and smiled at him. “Look at you, my clever boy. You’re getting very good at that. Now, let’s see who’s come to visit.”

To her surprise, he smiled back at her and she quickly wiped away the tracks of his tears and her own and picked him up. “You’ll love him, I know you will.”

One more final deep breath and, with her stomach fluttering uncontrollably, she tugged open the door. “Oh.”

“Hello, Vanessa,” said Gandalf. He smiled at her from his half-stand, half-crouch in the hallway. “And who is this?”

“Gandalf,” she managed. “What a lovely surprise!”

It mustn’t have been as convincing as she thought. She’d said it brightly but from the quick look that Bilbo and Gandalf exchanged, and the matching sympathetic smiles, Ness suspected she hadn’t got away with it.

Bilbo couldn’t read her mind, she knew that much, but Gandalf she wasn’t so sure about. He probably could. He’d never admitted it but he’d been evasive when she accused him of it and that was nearly the same thing. The thought of someone rummaging around her head was, as usual, one that made her heart beat far too fast.

“What took you so long?” Bilbo reached out and the dwarfling wriggled and squirmed in an attempt to get free.

Ness handed him over and watched him bounce happily in Bilbo’s arms, all upsets forgotten. She sighed.

“Go and get dressed,” said Bilbo. “I’ll make Gandalf some tea and then we’ll all go down to the Dragon and get some lunch.”

Ness opened her mouth and Bilbo glared her into silence. She glared back as he ushered Gandalf down the hallway. She was dressed. The cheeky little...

But she changed anyway, it was easier than arguing and turned out there was a small stain on the skirts, and she even found the comb fallen down the back of the dresser. The bath she didn’t bother about since it was only Gandalf.

By the time she walked down the hallway toward the kitchen pipesmoke was already seeping out through the gap under the door, and the pair of them sounded deep in conversation. Ness frowned. She would’ve kept the dwarfling with her if she’d known he was going to be gassed. As she opened the door to give Gandalf, and Bilbo for not insisting he go outside, a piece of her mind, she heard the wizard say Erebor.

“What’s that about Erebor?” she asked them, the smoking lecture forgotten as her heart pounded in her ears. “What did I miss?”

Bilbo stood and brushed himself off. “Erebor? No, we were talking about Hamfast’s arbour. At least I think that’s what it’s called, and I was just telling Gandalf that I quite fancy one myself. Then we can sit outside anytime we want, even if it’s raining.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Gandalf as Ness looked between them. They were both doing a good impression of looking innocent. Maybe she’d misheard.

They stopped next door so Bilbo could point over the hedge and show Gandalf the pile of sticks and flowers Bilbo claimed was an arbour. Hamfast wandered out of his house and joined them and Ness watched the three of them discuss the merits of this design over that one. She hugged the dwarfling tighter to her chest and glanced back at Bag End.

It was hard to resist the temptation to just sidle off, with a promise to meet them later, and claim it was too cold for the dwarfling or that he needed a nap, because both were probably true enough. Autumn stayed late in the Shire but, despite the bright sunshine, there was the chill of winter in the air.

Not that it seemed to bother anyone else because as she looked down the row it seemed as if all the neighbours were out in their gardens. All of them busy, raking up leaves or clipping hedges or knelt in flower beds, but, as Bilbo and Gandalf said goodbye to Hamfast and moved on and she followed in their wake, every single one of the hobbits stopped what they were doing to wave to Bilbo and to stare.

She told herself the curiosity was all for Gandalf as he walked along beside her, and at least they were moving quickly to keep up with his long strides. She was sure had it been just her and Bilbo they would have stopped to talk to everyone.

As they arrived at Bywater she realised it was market day. The square was packed with stalls and swarming with overexcited hobbits, and The Green Dragon wasn’t much better.

“There’s no tables,” she whispered into Bilbo’s ear as they stood at the doors of the inn. “It’s too busy. Maybe we should just go home and have lunch there?”

Bilbo ignored her.

“There’s one,” said Gandalf. He prodded her into the crowd. “Follow me.”

Ness trailed behind Gandalf as he wove through the tables. An excited buzz rose through the crowd and Ness could hear the whispers of his name as he passed. She smiled despite the gnawing in her stomach. It was like being out with a celebrity. Behind her she could hear Bilbo chat with hobbits, with his hand in the small of her back as he pushed her forward.

The table was small and Ness swapped the dwarfling onto her other hip as Gandalf persuaded, or bullied, the hobbits at a neighbouring larger table to move. Once all the crockery, tankards and hobbits had been shifted he smiled down at her and gestured to the bench. Ness sat down gratefully and rested her back against the stony wall of the inn. After pushing the hobbit-sized table away to make space for his long legs, Gandalf sat down beside her and propped his staff in the fireplace nook.

“And right beside the fire as well. Excellent work, Gandalf.” Bilbo rubbed his hands together. “Right, I’ll be off to fetch Kili. Back in a tick.”

They watched him disappear into the crowd.

“He won't be back in a tick,” said Ness. “However long that is. He’ll get talking to someone and we’ll not see him for ages now. So I hope you’re not too hungry.”

Gandalf smiled and dropped his hat onto the table. “We’ll survive somehow. Let’s have a look at him.”

The dwarfling went willingly enough and Ness tried to hide a smile as Gandalf awkwardly held him at arm's length. At least someone else wasn’t a natural with children.

“He won’t bite," she said. "You’re perfectly safe.”

Shooting her a look, Gandalf settled the dwarfling on his knee. “And what’s his name?”

“Fili.”

“Ah, of course.” Gandalf leaned close to study the dwarfling. Fili stared back wide-eyed at him. “Of course it is. A good name, very suitable, and he’s a bright looking little fellow.”

Very suitable? What did he mean by that? Ness fought down a beat of panic. Nothing, she tried to reassure herself, he meant nothing. It was just something people said about babies. Because what else could you say? 

She forced herself to smile brightly. “That’s because he’s eyeing up your beard, or your eyebrows, and deciding which one to go for first.”

Gandalf chuckled. “You wouldn’t pull an old man’s beard, would you?” he said as he tilted the dwarfling’s chin. “I’d wondered how he would turn out, but he looks like a dwarfling. Mostly. That’s good.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and what do you mean by that’s good? And mostly?

“Just what I said.”

Gandalf seemed to have nothing further to add and they sat amidst the noise of the bar in an awkward silence. Or at least Ness thought it was awkward, but Gandalf seemed happy enough. She watched him waggle his eyebrows at the dwarfling whilst Fili stared silently back at him with a fist stuffed in his mouth and his eyes like saucers, and resisted the urge to ask about Erebor. Kili would do it when he arrived, and Gandalf wouldn’t like repeating himself. If he told her anything useful at all, which was unlikely.

At last Gandalf sat back. He produced a coin from his sleeve, or somewhere, and handed it to the child.

“No, Gandalf. He’s going to try and eat that.”

“He’ll be fine.” Gandalf patted Fili on the head. “Now, what about you?”

“What about me?” Ness watched as the coin fell to the flagstones and Fili stared at it, his lip quivering.

“Are you fine?” Gandalf picked up the coin. “What about those shadows of yours?”

“Gone.” Ness snatched the coin from him and rubbed it on her skirts before handing it back to the dwarfling.

She hadn’t realised at first that the shadows had left. Hadn’t realised for weeks, but then she’d been in a bit of a haze and had plenty of other things to worry about, and they hadn’t been very noticeable toward the end anyway. Like a really lazy pet that occasionally surprised you by licking your feet when you weren’t paying attention. She’d only figured out they’d disappeared when she’d stumbled into the bedside table and one of Kili’s braid beads had fallen off and rolled under the bed. “Kili says they disappeared the day the baby arrived. What does that mean?”

There was a plink as the coin hit the floor again and Gandalf grunted as the dwarfling grasped his beard with both hands instead.

“I warned you,” Ness said as Gandalf attempted to untangle the determined fingers. “So what does it mean? Does that mean I’m trapped here?”

“Trapped?” Gandalf shot her a sideways look.

“That’s not the right word. I’m tired and I meant to say staying. Not trapped, because the Shire is very nice, everyone’s very nice, and I’m very happy, and Bag End is really comfortable, and Bilbo’s good to us, and I’m used to everything now. Or most things. But then sometimes I...where do you live, Gandalf?”

She waited but Gandalf just made some sort of noise like he hadn’t heard her properly. She tried again. “Where do you live?” 

He never talked about himself. It had never occurred to her but now that it did Ness really wanted to know something. Anything. 

“I used to live in a flat. You probably don’t know what that is but it’s like…” Ness waved her hands about as she thought how best to describe it. “...lots of houses. All stacked on top of each other. With stairs, or a lift if you’re lucky. My place didn’t have a lift, that was a real pain in the backside, but when I stayed with James, the bastard, their block did. Which was great, because they were on the twentieth floor, although it broke a few times and it was always fairly wobbly, especially when it was windy outside, and I used to close my eyes and hope for the best anytime I used it. But I always walked down, even in heels, because you never know when your luck's going to run out, do you? And you could see for miles out of some of their windows, right out over the city. It was lovely at night, with all the lights, and on the other side you could see right into the block next door, which could be interesting. What can you see out of your windows?”

He was definitely ignoring her. Ness watched as Gandalf tried to interest the dwarfling in the coin. She could have told him what wouldn’t work. The child was obsessed with hair for some reason.

“I bet you can see nice things out of your windows,” she continued. “It’s probably somewhere elvish, or somewhere like Radagast’s although I can’t really see you out in the middle of a forest on your own. I’m not sure why. I sort of imagine you around people. Because you’re so nosy.”

Ah, so he was listening. That got a definite look.

Ness leaned back against the wall and swung her feet as she thought. “I think I’d quite like to be like you. Just wandering about and doing whatever you like, whenever you want—”

Gandalf snorted, but Ness wasn’t sure if it was a response to her or to the dwarfling taking another firm grip of his beard.

“—I bet you’ve seen loads of stuff, and I’d like to see more of Middle-earth. I’d always planned to go loads of places in my world, and I never got the chance, which to be fair was partly my fault, and I think there’s probably loads of nice places here. I’ve seen bits, obviously, but it was sort of wet, and rushed, and scary quite a lot of the time, and I didn’t pay much attention to the scenery when I was running through it. Rivendell was nice, until everything happened. I’d like to see more, and Kili isn’t that well travelled either.”

Little Fili burbled happy nonsense as Gandalf gave up trying to untangle himself and met her eyes.

“I suppose we’ll not get to go anywhere now,” she said.

“There’s worse ways to live than quietly in the Shire.”

“I know.”

“And there’s a lot of Middle-earth that isn’t hospitable to ‘wandering about’, as you put it.”

“Well, I know that too.” Ness glanced out over the crowd. She was sure she’d heard someone say Kili’s name, but she couldn’t see him. “Gandalf, does it mean I won’t ever go back? The shadows. It means I’m here forever, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

Could he not, just for once, give a straight answer? “Gandalf! Please.”

“What would you like me to tell you, Vanessa? I can tell you that I expect that to be the case, but I do not know for certain and I may never know. Some things are hidden, and stay hidden, even from the very wise.”

“Like you?”

“Some may consider me wise.” Gandalf lowered his voice. “And some less so, but my advice to you would be to try and make peace with not knowing.”

“But—”

"I think perhaps you may need to make peace with a great many things.” Gandalf looked away and smiled. “Ah, Kili. There you are. You're looking very well.”

“Hello, Gandalf!” Kili leaned over the table with his sleeves rolled up and smelling of sweat and heat. He ruffled the dwarfling’s hair and Fili shrieked and dropped Gandalf’s beard to grab at him. “Hello, my little lad. And Ness. This is a wonderful surprise."

Ness smiled back as he grinned at her happily.

He held out a hand. “We’ll go and order. Bilbo should be here in a moment, he’s just speaking to someone. Do you want me to take him, Gandalf?”

Gandalf shook his head. “No, me and Fili will be just fine here. We’re getting on rather well. Off you go, and ale for me, please.”

“Of course.” Kili tugged Ness out from behind the bench and led her toward the bar. The hobbits behind it were all busy and as they leaned against the bartop and waited he nudged her with his hip. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

“That’s because I combed my hair.”

“Did you?” He grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her to him. “No, that’s not it. You always look beautiful, Ness.”

Ness laughed. “And so do you.”

“Liar.” Kili snorted and looked down at himself. He wrinkled his nose. “I could have done with a bath before being in company.”

“You’re fine.” She smiled up at him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his warm cheek. “You’ve just been—”

The return kiss took her by surprise. As did his hand on the back of her neck to hold her in place as he deepened it and pressed her against the bar. Ness wriggled, trying to break away.

“People are looking,” she hissed. She didn’t need to look around to know that they were. The drop in the buzz of conversation told her enough, and they were right in full view of all the bar staff.

“Let them. I don’t care.” Kili released her. “You didn’t use to care either, Ness.”

“That was…” She didn’t know how to explain. “Different. And I did care sometimes.” Usually when Thorin was anywhere nearby and looking at her in that murdery way of his. She always cared then.

Kili wasn’t listening. He smiled and nodded to Rosie behind the bar as the hobbit held up a finger and leaned forward to speak with another customer.

“Rosie will get us next,” he said. “Thank you for coming out to meet me, Ness.”

For some reason that made her feel guilty. She opened her mouth to reply but Kili stood up straighter as he looked across the bar. “There’s Master Bracegirdle, back in a moment.”

As he left her Rosie touched Ness’s arm. “Hello, Ness. It’s nice to see you. What can I get you?”

She’d no idea, and more importantly she had nothing to pay for any of it with. Ness stood on tiptoe but she couldn’t see to their table.

“You’re with Gandalf and Bilbo?” prompted Rosie. “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to the cook and we’ll get them fed. I’ll bring down ale first, and milk for the little one, won’t be a moment.”

“Bilbo’s paying,” Ness said. That would serve him right for dragging her out when he knew how busy it would be. She watched Rosie bustle about with tankards, stepping around the other bar staff and smiling at the customers.

“It’s fine. Go on and sit down,” Rosie said as she passed. 

“Do you need any help?” Ness was as surprised as Rosie. She hadn’t even been thinking about getting a job, but now that the thought had occurred to her it made sense. It would get her out of the house, and then she’d have money of her own and wouldn’t need to ask Kili or Bilbo when she needed anything, and maybe she wouldn’t feel so completely useless all the time.

“Paid help, I mean,” she added hopefully. She leant forward and met Rosie’s eyes with what she hoped was a look that said very responsible worker. “I’ve done barwork before and I’m good at it, I promise.”

“I’m sure Kili wouldn’t want you working here. It’s hard work, and you’ve—”

“No, no.” Suddenly Ness felt desperate. “I know it’s hard work and I don’t mind. I enjoy it. And Kili will be fine. He’ll be happy.”

“Well…” Rosie sounded uncertain. “I can ask my uncle if you like.”

Ness thanked Rosie, probably a bit too enthusiastically, and was making her way back to the table when Kili’s fingers entwined with hers. He tugged her to a stop.

“I’m going to close up and take the rest of the day off,” he spoke in her ear. “Will you come and help me? It won’t take long.”

When she nodded he towed her across the bar and out into the cooler air. Ness squinted in the sunlight and breathed deep, she hadn’t realised how stifling it was inside, and she skipped forward to walk beside him as they made their way hand in hand through the market stalls and to the forge at the far side of the square.

“So what do you need me to help with?” she asked as he dropped her hand and swung open the heavy wooden doors of the forge.

Kili grinned as he closed and locked the doors behind them. After the bright sunlight of the square the forge was in a warm darkness apart from the glow of the fire. “Nothing, really. Just keeping me company whilst I finish up. I’ll be as quick as I can. Master Bracegirdle said I can take the rest of the day to myself if I can just finish the order that we’re taking to Bree tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow?”

“It is.” Kili pushed her down onto a stool and dropped his belt onto the table beside her. He tugged his tunic over his head as he continued, his voice muffled. “I’ll only be away a few days, and you’ll have Gandalf now as well. I’m sure Bilbo will talk him into staying a while.”

The tunic landed on the table with the belt. He leant down and kissed her on the forehead. “You’ll hardly even notice I’m gone.”

“I will.” Ness watched him walk across the forge toward the fire. There was something bulky on the workbench close to the anvil that she couldn’t make out in the gloom and she guessed that was whatever he had to finish as he stared at it whilst he pulled his hair out of its tie and retied it, scraping the loose ends back and away from his face.

“What was that, Ness?” he said, sounding preoccupied.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ness smiled. Obviously keeping him company didn’t extend to talking. Her fingers played along the table as she watched him turn his attention to the fire and lift a hammer. She recognised the look of a concentrating dwarf by now.

The cavernous forges of Erebor were quiet and dark. All apart from one area right by the western wall where Ness could see his shadow outlined in the flames from the fire behind him. As she drew closer, with her boots echoing on the stone, he didn’t so much as look up and she smiled. Obviously he was absorbed in whatever he was up to. Ness made it almost to his side before he spun.

“Hello, Ness,” Fili said with a grin as his hand moved away from the knife on his belt. He flipped the parchments on the workbench face down before she could see them. “What have I told you about sneaking up on people?”

“I’m not sneaking. I walked in here normally. You just weren’t paying attention.” Ness tried to look around him but he blocked her. “That’s not like you. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re such a bad liar. Let me see, maybe I can help? I did all right with that sword yesterday, didn’t I?”

“No.” There was a large book open on the bench and Fili turned, still blocking her as she tried to duck around him. He closed the book with a snap, set it on top of the parchment and spun back to face her.

She must have looked offended as he added quickly, “You did really well with the sword, we’ll make a smith out of you yet, but you can’t help me with this. It’s just something new I’m trying.” He frowned at the book. “It’s not going well. I think I might need Balin’s help, but I’ll show you when it’s finished, I promise.”

A stray, tempting urge to show him something new, something that he wouldn’t find in any of his books, flitted across her mind. Ness swallowed hard as he smiled at her, and cursed the gold messing with her head. “There’s no need to hide the book, it’s not like I can read it.”

“Someday you’ll be able to read it, you’re doing really well, and anyway it’s got drawings.” Fili’s smile vanished as he grabbed her hand. “What have you done to yourself?”

“Never mind that.” Ness tried to tug her hand back as he examined the line of neat stitches along the base of her thumb. She’d already had a lecture from Oin and didn’t need one from him too. “Turns out cutting leather isn’t as easy as I thought, that’s all, and I was going about it all wrong apparently. It’s fine. Let go of me. I have a present for you.”

His eyes lit up when she dug the bracelet out of her pocket. “Ness, you—”

“I made one for Kili too,” she added quickly. Just in case he got the wrong idea. “I’ll give him his later, and Oin helped with the cutting.”

She’d felt like a child when she’d tracked down Oin to his fancy new healing chambers on the upper levels and explained how she’d managed to stab herself. And then even more like a child, although a grateful one, when he insisted on cutting the leather into strips for her whilst she nursed her fresh stitches and listened to an extensive lecture on the dangers of knives and general stupidity.

“Thank you.” Fili leaned back against the bench as he ran his fingers over the plaited strands.

“It’s not very well done, but it’s—”

“It’s perfect. I love it.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and handed the bracelet back to her as she tried her best to ignore the thrill the brush of his lips sent through her. “Will you tie it on for me?”

“Which arm?” He held out his right. There was a fresh burn on the underside of his forearm and Ness ran a thumb over it lightly as she considered the flames behind them and the hammer lying on the anvil. “Have you been doing anything stupid?”

“No.”

“Anything heavy?” She glanced at his chest as if she could see through to the bandages underneath, only to notice that he was stripped down to just his shirt. She hadn’t realised in the gloom of the vast chamber. The breath caught in her throat and for a moment she lost her train of thought as her fingers itched to slide under the thin layer of fabric to the warm skin underneath.

She shook her head to clear it. Obviously he’d been doing something daft with fire and hammers. “Like anything Oin specifically told you not to do so you didn’t rip that wound right open? Again. Because he’s already warmed up from lecturing me so he won’t go easy on you.”

“Of course I haven’t.” Fili made a good attempt at seeming offended. He shook his wrist at her. “Tie it on.”

“Fine, but first you have to make a wish.”

“What?”

“Make a wish. This is a friendship bracelet, haven’t made one in years, but I remember that you have to make a wish when I tie it on, and then when it falls off your wish comes true.” Wrapping it around his wrist, Ness glanced up at his face. His eyes met hers and, although she might have been imagining it, the steady pulse that beat against her fingertips increased. Quickly, she looked away and busied herself with the bracelet.

Fili placed his hand over hers and she froze in place as he shifted closer. His breath tickled her ear and the fine hairs on her arms lifted as one as he murmured, “I’m not sure I deserve any of my wishes to come true, Ness, and certainly not by magic.”

“Of course you do. You deserve all your wishes to come true.” She smiled at him as her traitorous heart pounded. “And it’s only some plaited leather, it’s not magic, you know that. Are you going to let me finish this?”

He lifted his hand away and Ness carefully knotted the ties, tucking her little finger underneath to make sure it wasn’t too tight.

“You said...if it falls off?” he asked. “So I keep it on until then? No matter what I'm doing?”

“Don’t worry. I made it so I expect it’ll fall off when you’re at dinner tonight, or in the bath or something.”

The heat rose in her cheeks and Ness hoped her hair hid her face as she pretended to check the knot. She definitely hadn’t meant to even think bath, never mind say it out loud. She sneaked a glance at his face and he looked flustered too.

Ness searched her mind for something to distract him, and herself, from thoughts of his fingers tangled in her hair and wet skin on skin.

They’d promised never to speak of it again, and that it was the last time.

It was definitely the last time.

“Oh, and if you cut it off then we’re not friends anymore. That was the other thing about friendship bracelets, I’d almost forgotten. So don’t cut it off, well, unless you want to or if it’s annoying you, or if I’m annoying you, in which case go ahead. I won’t mind.” She patted his hand quickly and stepped back.

“I promise you I won’t cut it off.” Fili touched the bracelet as he studied it. “And you’ll never annoy me. Do I tell you my wish now, or do you guess?”

“No and no, you can’t tell anyone about these sorts of wishes, otherwise they don’t come true. It’s like birthday cake wishes, or dandelion wishes.”

It seemed like he was trying not to laugh as he stopped toying with the bracelet to look at her. “I feel like this is turning into a conversation that needs wine.”

Definitely not. Wine was a really bad idea. Wine led directly to all sorts of lapses in judgement, like baths, that were becoming all too frequent. Although, to be fair, the lapses in judgement happened when they were both sober too.

“You have that big dinner tonight,” she reminded him.

“I do," he said quietly. "It'll be very strange without you both beside me."

Her heart twisted for him. "I know."

"I suppose I'll just have to get used to it." Fili smiled and caught her fingers to tug her closer. "And I can slip away as soon as it's polite. Give me your hand and let me have a proper look at the damage you've done yourself making presents.”

"I don't think slipping out will go down very well, Dragon-slayer. You'll have to behave yourself, make some speeches, maybe act out how you took down Smaug singlehandedly."

He laughed and nudged her with his shoulder. "Lie, you mean. I'll need to get used to that too. Where's Kili?"

“Gone to Dale with Tauriel.” He’d asked her to go too and said that he didn’t want to be anywhere near Erebor whilst there was a celebration that he wasn’t welcome at, but she’d wanted to make her presents. And maybe, if she was being completely honest with herself, steal some time with Fili. She squashed the thought. “They’re going to stay with Bard.”

His eyes met hers. “Stay?”

The absence of noise jolted her back to the Shire and away from Erebor. Away from memories of a quiet knock on the door late at night and a walk through the unlit passageways of the mountain to a chamber far away from the main thoroughfares, because his bed would mean passing guards and Kili’s bed was the one line they swore they would never cross. A locked door, and his touch and his kiss, and her fingers tracing his ears and his jaw as he knelt to light a fire in an attempt to take the chill of the room. His murmur of surprise as he stood, and she pushed him against the wall and sank to her knees to show him something new.

The sound of a heavy hammer as it landed on a bench pulled her from the memories of his moans mixed with soft swearing, and the tickle of the bracelet’s leather ties against her neck as he pulled her to her feet and held her close. The scent of wine and pipesmoke on his breath as he kissed her, and the taste of him on her lips.

Ness blinked hard and shifted on her stool as Kili turned to her with a smile.

“All done,” he said as he swung the door closed in front of the fire. The forge was plunged into an almost complete darkness, with only a few glimmers of light coming through cracks in the door panel and the high, narrow windows, and Ness leapt to her feet.

“We should head back,” she said as Kili knelt to wash his hands and splash water on his face and neck from the bucket by the closed fire. Ness watched the droplets sparkle in a shaft of light as they fell from the bracelet tied around his wrist. “They’ll be wondering where we’ve gone.”

“They know where we are. I spoke to them before I came back to you and there’s no rush, is there? Unless you’re too warm? You do look flushed.” Kili stood and drew closer. He raised an eyebrow and trailed a thumb along her collarbone. “Here, especially. You’re very flushed...right here.”

The forge suddenly seemed a lot warmer. “I was watching you.”

“Oh,” he said. Ness yelped as he lifted her easily onto the table. “And what were you thinking about when you were watching me?”

“Kili, you're all wet, and this table won’t take my weight.”

“No, I'm not, and yes, it will. You’re thinking of that rickety, hobbit-sized one, but that went in the fire months ago. This one would take the weight of every hobbit in the Shire.” Kili lowered his voice as he nudged her legs apart with his knee and pulled her hips closer to the table edge. His lips brushed hers. “But I don’t think we’ll invite them in to test it. What were you thinking of when you were watching me?”

Laughter rippled through the door followed by the sound of hobbit voices raised in some sort of good-natured argument. Ness glanced up at the windows. “There’s people outside. They’ll hear us.”

“No, they won’t.” Kili slid her dress from her shoulders and trailed light kisses along her throat, his thumb tilting her head back and his damp hair and beard cold against her skin. “We’ll be very quiet, I promise. I’ve missed you.”

Ness closed her eyes and breathed him in as he shifted closer. “I’ve missed you too,” she whispered.

He hummed happily, and Ness smiled at the vibrations against her skin. Lost in his touch she almost missed the murmur, “And I think we should ask Bilbo to take the little lad tonight.”

She tried to wriggle back but his hand on her thigh held her in place. “No. He won’t sleep.”

“He needs to get used to his own bed again. He has a crib. I know he does, because I made it.”

Ness managed to wrench her head free and looked him in the eyes. “No. He sleeps better between us.”

“He can’t always sleep between us. Bilbo says we can take the parlour for his room and I agree. He’s old enough to sleep on his own, and in his own bed. I’ll miss him, but I also miss holding you, Ness. I miss this.” Kili pulled her tight to him. “Don’t you?”

“Of course, but it won’t be forever.” Ness slipped her hands under his shirt. As her fingers played over muscle he closed his eyes and moaned softly. 

“Are we arguing about this now?” she asked. He lifted his arms as she slid the shirt up and over his head. Tossing it aside, she ran her hands slowly down his chest until her fingers traced over his laces. “Kili, are we arguing about this now?”

His breathing was shallow as she began to unlace him. “No,” he whispered. “We’re not arguing.”

“Good, and you’ll remember to be careful?”

He made a non committal noise as he pressed his lips against her neck and his fingers tangled in her hair.

“Kili? We have to be careful.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Teeth nipped at her earlobe and Ness drew in a breath. She closed her eyes as he whispered, “We don’t need to be careful. Please don’t stop.”

Groaning, he stood up straight when she placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed.

“It does.” Ness looked him in the eyes. “It does because we can’t afford another. We can barely afford the one we’ve—”

The hurt look that flitted across his face dried the words in her mouth but it was too late. Kili stepped back and quickly laced himself up.

“Kili, no. I didn’t mean—” Ness jumped off the table as he swept up his shirt and tugged it on.

“You’re right.” He smiled too brightly at her. “We should get back. They’ll have left us nothing but crumbs by now.”

She fixed her dress over her shoulders and shook out the skirts whilst he pulled on his tunic and fastened his belt. In silence, he moved to the door and waited whilst she smoothed her hands through her hair.

Outside, the square was bathed in bright sunlight and the market was in full swing. After the quiet of the forge it was a shock to the senses and Ness blinked hard as he closed and locked the smithy doors. Tears threatened and she needed to try again to apologise. “Kili, I didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter.” There was the same brittle smile as he stepped toward her and took her hand. “I know what you meant, you don’t need to pretend, and anyway it’s all in hand. Master Bracegirdle had mentioned to me a few weeks back that the smith in Bree, he’s a man, is getting too old for the heavier pieces of work so I can—”

“No.”

“It’ll only be for a few days every now and again when I’m not working here, but it’ll help. Because you’re right, we should be further along by now.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

Kili leant in and kissed her forehead. “I promised that I would look after you, and I will.”

“You do.” Ness looked into his eyes and wished she hadn’t said anything. “You do look after us, nobody could do it as well as you do, and you don’t need to do any more. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He smiled, a genuine smile this time, and brushed her hair away from her face. “You look tired. I can take Fili with me to work after I get back from Bree.”

“No, you don’t need to. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I want to, and I’ll tell Bilbo to let you rest tomorrow. Anyway, Fili’s very good in the forge. It’s just a bit more difficult now that he’s moving around and interested in everything.” Kili grinned. “It was so much easier when you could put him down somewhere and he stayed put. Come on.”

Ness fell into step beside him as they walked through the stalls back toward the Dragon. “I know,” she said. “I lost him today, just for a little while. I was cleaning the stove and looked up and he was gone. And he’s so quiet about it. I found him in Bilbo’s wardrobe.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as Kili snorted with laughter and squeezed her hand.

“We should tie a bell on him,” he said with a smile.

“He’d only eat it.” As they reached the inn she pulled him to a stop and lowered her voice. “We’ll have more, in a little while, but we can still do things that don’t involve me getting knocked up. You like those things.”

Kili flushed. He tugged her forward through the doors, nodding to the hobbits as they stepped out of his way and greeted him. They wove their way back through the bar and as their table came into sight he stopped and she collided with him. He looked down at her.

“You do know that I would never force you, Ness? And that you mustn’t ever agree to things just because you think it’s what I want?”

“I know, I promise.” The worry didn’t lift from his eyes and Ness stood on tiptoe to touch her forehead to his. “You know me better than that by now.”

He opened his mouth to say something and she pressed her lips to his instead, sliding her hands up to tangle in his hair as he responded. His hand tightened on the small of her back to hold her to him.

“That was a bit public, my Ness,” he whispered in her ear as she released him.

“I love you, and I don’t care.” Ness smiled. Over his shoulder she could see Bilbo shaking his head as Gandalf laughed. “But I have a feeling that we might have to listen to another hobbity lecture on proper behaviour in a moment or two.”

Kili grinned at her, his eyes sparkling, and kissed the tip of her nose lightly. “I’d best go and fetch more ales then, and if I’m lucky the lecture will be over by the time I’m back.” He pushed her toward the table. “Don’t wait for me.”

Chapter Text

Hafdis drummed her fingers against her hip as she waited for the quiet call to enter. When it came she pushed the door open and entered the darkness of the chamber, making her way between the rows of empty beds to the occupied one closest to the fireside at the farthest corner. As she approached, Dis looked up from the chair by the bedside and smiled brightly. 

“You’re back...oh.” Dis’s gaze moved over Hafdis’s travelling clothes and her face dropped before she rallied. “You’ve decided then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. There’s no need to apologise. Come here.” Dis pulled a chair closer to her and patted it. “How long do you have before they leave?”

Hafdis sat. “A little while. Odr is all ready and I’m packed so I can stay until Hafur comes to fetch me.” She’d slipped out during breakfast whilst her brother was busy but she was sure he would work it out.

“And how is Odr?” Dis reached out and took Hafdis’s hand. “He’ll enjoy getting out for a proper long walk, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to get home to his own stable.”

Hafdis smiled. No-one else ever asked about her pig, or if they did they weren’t actually interested in the answers. It was one of the many reasons she was fond of Dis, and why she was going to miss her more than anything or anyone else in this gloomy mountain. She squeezed Dis’s fingers gently. “I think he’s very confused by everything, but he’ll be fine once we get going. He misses Fili.” 

Which was irritating. The fickle creature still peered about hopefully whenever Hafdis entered the stable. His eyes fixed on the door as she cleaned and tidied his bedding around him, changed his water and groomed him. The huff once he worked out that she was alone had nearly gotten him a clip about the ear more than once. He wasn’t ill, and he wasn’t sad enough to be off his food. It was more like he was disappointed. Like she wasn’t the dwarf he was waiting for but would have to do. Hafdis had been forced to tell him that if he didn’t start behaving she would leave him in Erebor and he could fend for himself. She wasn’t sure he cared. 

Distracted by thoughts of Odr she’d taken her attention from her friend. Hafdis studied Dis’s face properly. “You need to sleep, Dis.”

“I will. When he wakes up.” Dis’s eyes looked misty and she quickly swiped at them. 

“I think you might need to sleep before that.” Hafdis glanced at Fili. For someone who had done nothing but sleep for well over a week he looked exhausted too. The dark shadows under his eyes deepening with each passing day. She suddenly realised how that had sounded. “I’m sorry. What I mean is...I’m sure he’ll—”

“It’s fine.” Dis squeezed her fingers in return. “I know what you meant.”

They sat quietly and Hafdis tried desperately to think of something to say. She had a thousand questions she’d like to ask the princess before she left, but none of them were really appropriate under the circumstances.

It was Dis who broke the silence at last. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

Was that a dismissal? It certainly sounded a lot like one. Hafdis made to stand.

Dis frowned before her lips curved into a smile. A genuine smile of amusement that lit up her whole face and made her look young and vibrant. Hafdis couldn’t help but smile back. 

“No,” said Dis. “I didn’t mean for you to go, silly girl, I meant thank you for keeping me company. You’ve been a bright light and a comfort to me in these dark days, and I won’t forget it. I’m only sorry that we didn’t spend more time together before…” Her voice wavered and she swallowed hard before she tilted her chin and continued, “In different circumstances.”

“Me too. Will you let me know—”

“Of course. The very moment he wakes up. I’ll send the raven to you personally.” Dis smiled as she stood. “I’ll go and have some tea with Oin and let you say a goodbye in private. I know it’s not proper but...” She bent down to kiss Fili’s forehead and stroked his face. “We’ll not tell Thorin. Take as long as you like and then come fetch me so I can wish you farewell. Don’t go without telling me.”

“I won’t.”

“Good girl. I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

Hafdis watched her go and turned back to Fili as the door swung closed. 

“So. It’s just me and you for a while.” She lifted up his heavy hand and let it drop back to the blankets. It always felt a bit daft talking to him when he obviously couldn’t hear them. But, since you never knew whose sharp ears might be listening despite the thickness of the walls, she started prattling about what they’d had for breakfast and how long it had taken to pack up her room.

As she talked about nothing her fingers played with the ties of the leather bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Working her little finger under it she watched the white line appear on his wrist as the leather tightened and bit into his skin. It was the strangest thing. Completely out of keeping on a prince who had more than enough gold to cover himself in pretty things should he choose to do so, and she wished she had thought to ask him about it when he was awake. She’d politely asked Gimli to explain its significance but he’d been his usual grumpy, secretive self and told her nothing. Then she asked Molir. But he’d been evasive too, and she hadn’t liked to ask Dis.

“What’s the story behind this thing?” she asked Fili. “Because obviously there is one. And I don’t think it’s a present from Kili, unless he made it when he was five or something. Was it the Dale girl?”

She twisted her finger and the bracelet bit in tighter. “Or perhaps it’s from someone else? The one you don’t talk about, because I’ve been thinking a lot about that and I’ve been thinking that it’s very odd how you’re so willing to tell me all about Kili, lots of stories about Kili, and yet you have never once said her name. Why is—”

The creak of the door cut her off and she released the bracelet and took his slack fingers in hers before she glanced over her shoulder. It was only Hafur. She dropped Fili’s hand and waved her brother closer.

“Thought I might find you here,” Hafur said as he strode down the chamber. “Wasn’t expecting to find you on your own though. Bit scandalous, isn’t it? Where is everyone?”

“Dis is in the kitchen with Oin.” She bit her lip before she continued, “She asked me again to stay.”

“No.” Hafur sat on the bed. The mattress rocked and Hafdis was certain Fili had moved. They both stared at him.

“I think he’s still asleep,” she whispered after some long moments.

“Of course he is.” Hafur turned to her. “And no. You’re absolutely not staying, so you can take that sweet, insipid look off your face right now because it won’t work on me like it does them. And, in case you have forgotten, you have your own amad. You don’t need his too.” He tapped her on the nose as she scowled. “Your own amad who’s a bit put out by all the time you’re spending with your new best friend by the way.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. She’s been clinging on to me like...some sort of clinging thing and I can’t stand it. I think she’s only hours away from insisting on braiding my hair. So you've got some making up to do. To both of us. But especially me.”

Hafdis laughed. “I feel sorry for her.”

“Amad?”

“Dis. She’s so brave. She’s been through so much.” Hafdis frowned as Hafur unlaced Fili’s shirt and flicked it back to expose his chest. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I think he's getting thinner already.” Hafur ran a finger along Fili’s collarbone. “This is no way to die. No matter what else he’s done or might have done in the future he killed a dragon, and fought the orc prince. It would be kinder to—”

“Hafur, no,” Hafdis gasped as the flickering firelight caught on the edge of the knife at Fili’s throat. She grabbed Hafur’s sleeve as she whispered urgently. “Dis could walk through that door any moment. Don’t, please.”

He rolled his eyes at her and the knife disappeared as quick as he’d pulled it. “I just said it would be kinder, sister. I didn’t say I was going to do it.”

Hafdis glanced at the door as Hafur re-tied Fili’s shirt and almost missed her brother’s murmur. 

“What did you say?” she asked as she turned back to him. 

“I said, I would hope you would do it for me, should it come to it.” The laugh died on her lips as Hafur steadily held her gaze. “I mean it, Hafdis. If I don’t leave this world in battle. If I end up like this.” He gestured behind him. “Then I want you to do it.”

“No.”

“Yes. You must. I don’t trust anyone else.” Hafur stood and pulled her to her feet. “Now go hug Dis goodbye and do whatever weeping and wailing you need to do and let’s go.”

“You’re sure you’ve got the rope?”

“Yes, I’ve got it. I’m not going to drop you down a mineshaft, Gimli.” Nori wrapped the rope around his waist. “Not deliberately anyway. Gloin would murder me for a start. Then Dis would send to the Shire for our witch and have me revived so she could murder me all over again.”

“Ness?”

“That’s the one. You’d like her I think. Completely crazy of course. I’ve never recovered, or properly forgiven her, for throwing herself down a mountainside right in front of my eyes. I thought it was my fault. That she’d slipped and I’d just been too slow to reach her. But saying that she’s good in a crisis. Or maybe not good exactly, what with all the flapping and the tears and the not thinking anything through, but she can be fairly useful in the heat of the moment.”

Gimli snorted. He checked the knots were definitely secure around his waist and eyed Nori cautiously. No matter how many times he went into the mine it was still a very long way down, and he outweighed Nori by a fair amount. As he lifted the torch he checked the spare one was still safely secured against his back and touched the tinderboxes in his pockets.

The last time he’d ventured in properly his torch had suddenly gone out and refused to light again.

But he hadn’t panicked. Because he was a full grown dwarf, and full grown dwarves didn’t panic and fumble about, like a little dwarfling spooked by stories of monsters, in a pitch black tunnel convinced that they heard the click of claws on stone growing closer.

Instead, he’d been completely calm as he calmly groped his way back up the tunnel and all the way to the base of the mineshaft — which felt an awful lot longer on the way back than it had been on the way down.

Yes, his hands might have been shaking, and his heart could have been pounding in his ears, and he may have whispered a little prayer of thanks as his fingers touched the rungs of the ladder, but if so that was all completely understandable. He had been frustrated. It most certainly hadn’t been fear. Because there was nothing to be frightened of. It wasn’t as if there was anything lurking about in the shadows of Erebor’s depths. The tunnels were perfectly safe. It was just sensible to take spare things, so he didn’t waste time blind in the darkness.

Gimli rested the torch against the wall and opened the tinderbox he’d borrowed from Ori to check all the pieces were definitely there.

“Pity she’s not a bit closer,” said Nori.

“Who?” Gimli tucked Ori’s tinderbox deep into a pocket and pulled out his own. He’d check it too. Just in case.

“Ness. I’d say if anyone can bring him back it’s her.” Nori shrugged when Gimli turned to look at him. “I saw it in the tower.”

“What tower?”

Nori nodded. “Up on Ravenhill. Kili and Bilbo saw it too. Well, I say I saw it but I don’t know properly what she did because I was guarding the stairs in case we got Azog’s army for company. But there was definitely some sort of magic, and Fili just woke up.”

The tower on Ravenhill. Fili hadn’t ever said, or maybe he’d tried and Gimli had changed the subject like Dis and Thorin told him to do. Gimli scuffed his boots on the edge of the mine shaft. There was a loose pebble near his toe and he kicked it, listening to it bounce away down into the darkness and come to rest with a clang against the mine shaft cover.

He should have listened. If he’d listened more then maybe Fili would have talked to him.

“But he’ll do it himself,” Nori continued in an overly bright voice. “It might take a little longer, but he’ll do it.”

They should send for her.

Gimli frowned as he tried to work out how long it would take a raven to get to the Shire. It was a bit far for the birds, and dangerous, but this was an emergency and surely worth the risk? He knew they could do the distance because it was a raven who had flown all the way to the Blue Mountains with the message for Dis that Erebor had been recovered. Although it was half dead from exhaustion, and only one of three that Thorin sent out. Gimli and the other guards had searched the mountainside for days for its companions but they were never found. 

“Should we not send for her?” he asked Nori. 

“Thorin’s already thought of that, I reckon. Whilst you’ve been trawling about down here Balin and Dwalin are out looking for the eagles. Although I’ve a feeling that we’d need the wizard to persuade them because he seems to have some sort of hold over them. But saying that, if they’ll listen to any dwarf it’ll be Balin and his silver tongue. Truth be told, I’ve been up on the ramparts with my fingers crossed hoping Gandalf might turn up. And he might appear yet.”

Gimli wasn’t sure about that. From what he’d heard of the wizard he was never around when you really needed him.

“Why did he do it, Nori?” Gimli wasn’t sure why he’d asked the question, because he didn’t want to know the answer. Perhaps he was stalling.

“Fili? I don’t know, lad.”

Gimli turned at the sound of a strike. He frowned as Nori leaned against the pithead, puffed out a smoke ring, and stared back at him.

“I’d much rather you had two hands on the rope at all times when you’re lowering me down, Nori.”

“I thought we were talking? You don’t seem to be in any hurry, and you’ve already been down there twice. Perhaps the third is the charm, but if its down there it’s not going anywhere. So talk, and I’ll listen. And I listen a lot better when I’m smoking.”

Gimli stared back at his boots and to the darkness beyond. He had been having more than a few sleepless nights as he turned everything over and over in his mind. So maybe talking about his suspicions would help, and from what he’d heard Nori had experience of these things. 

“I don’t know either,” he began, “and so I’m starting to think that maybe he didn’t. Everyone has just assumed that he...but what if he didn’t come here on his own?”

The silence stretched.

“Nori?”

“I’m listening, lad.”

“I think we should have checked for footprints in the dust, I didn’t notice any at the time, because it was dark and I wasn’t looking, but there could have been and we didn’t think to check properly before everyone arrived to help us get Fili out and trampled all over everywhere. But the more I think about it I just know Fili wouldn’t have done it himself. So why aren’t we looking for someone else?”

“That’s a big accusation, Gimli. Who are you thinking of?”

“I don’t know.” Gimli tugged at the knots about his waist. Maybe he should redo them. “One of Buvro’s lot makes sense.”

“Perhaps, very risky though with everyone running about that night. But go on then, say they did, how would they have done it?”

Gimli got the impression that Nori was humouring him. He clamped his lips shut.

“Go on. You’ve obviously been giving this some thought, so you may as well tell me.”

“I think they followed him.” Gimli took a deep breath. “And then they lay in wait for him to come back in from outside. They wouldn’t have done anything outside because you could only get through the tunnel in the hunting passage one at a time and he would have heard them coming. So that’s why they waited for him to come back in.”

“Fine.” Nori nodded. “So Fili comes back inside and they are waiting for him? What happens next?”

“They bring him here. He was injured from the fight so he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Not if there were a few of them.”

Nori hummed under his breath before he spoke, “You’ve a few problems with that. Your cousin not being daft, for one. He’d know straight away that he was in trouble, and he’d cut and run. And he knows these tunnels like the back of his hand. It would take more than a few dwarves to stop him from fighting his way out.”

“But he was hurt! He—”

“Hurt or not. You’d be surprised what you can do when you need to.” Nori shook his head and smiled grimly. “Although I hope you never find out, lad. But I’ve seen your Fili in battle, remember? I've fought by his side when he was fighting for his life, for all our lives. It’s nothing like a spar. When you know your life’s in danger you get reserves of strength you didn’t even know you had. He wouldn’t go down easily.”

“There were lots of bruises and black eyes after the fighting that night though, he could have—”

“I think we’d be looking at a bit more than that. He had his knives, remember? Someone, or several someones, attacking him in a dark corridor isn’t a scrap that got out of hand in the training hall. You don’t punch your way out of an ambush.”

“If it were someone he trusted he wouldn’t have ran,” said Gimli quietly, “and he wouldn’t have fought. They could have just brought him here and...pushed him in.”

Nori looked doubtfully down into the mineshaft.

“Hafdis could’ve done it. Tricked him somehow.”

“Fili’s girl?” Nori met Gimli’s eyes. “Your friend?”

“She’s not Fili’s girl, and I don’t know why everyone thinks she is.” And Gimli was more and more convinced she wasn’t his friend either, despite all her brave smiles and sad eyes. And the hugs. That had been a shock that he very much wasn’t prepared for. And it had happened more than once. Something wasn’t right. “She wasn’t down in the halls that night. She claims she was in her room, and that brother of hers was missing too.”

“It was madness that night, where’s your evidence?”

“Maybe you could find it?” Gimli glanced hopefully at Nori. “I know you find out things.”

Nori snorted. “Do you? And what makes you think that? Although it explains why you begged me to come help you today.”

“It wasn’t, it really wasn’t. I’ve only just thought of it.”

“Hmm, sounds like a likely story to me, and I’d be quite keen to know who’s been feeding you tall tales.” Nori frowned and Gimli avoided his eyes. “Gloin, was it? Molir?”

“Nobody. I can’t remember why I thought it. Please, Nori.”

“You’ll never make your fortune at cards, Gimli.” Nori tugged lightly at the rope. “Let’s wait until Fili wakes, and then he can tell us what happened himself. It’s day tomorrow in Dale. Why don’t you go along and get some air? You could take Bombur’s boys, or how about you drag Ori out of the library and the two of you go have a few ales? It’s been too long since my little brother left his books, whatever he’s up to, and he’s more likely to listen to an invitation from you than from me.”

“There's nothing wrong with my mind.”

“Never said there was, but you haven’t been outside the mountain properly in weeks.” Nori held up a hand as Gimli opened his mouth to protest. “I don’t mean scrambling about the mountainside for an hour searching for a stone. I mean a proper break. It’s not good for anyone to stay inside this mountain too long. Believe me. I’ve seen it, and felt it.”

Gimli huffed out a breath and stared down into the darkness of the mine shaft as he mulled it over. He didn’t think he was affected by the gold, but then maybe he wouldn’t know? Balin said that you wouldn’t realise if you were. 

“I know you want someone to blame, lad,” said Nori. “We all do. I understand completely why you’re trying to force all the pieces together and make it all make sense, but sometimes it’s simply nobody’s fault. You need to try and make your peace with that. And believe me, if Thorin so much as suspected anyone else was involved he would tear this mountain apart until he found them. So my advice to you is — unless you have some sort of solid evidence, and I mean solid — best to keep your thoughts to yourself. Understand?”

Gimli nodded. “But it had to be someone."

“Not necessarily.”

It had to be. 

“But Fili didn’t come to me.” Gimli rubbed at his nose and swallowed hard. “If he’d come to me and said…anything. If he’d only said, then I would have listened, and I could have helped.”

“I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Pipeweed crackled and a wreath of sweet-smelling smoke drifted over Gimli as Nori shifted against the stone. “There was a dwarf I used to know, many years ago now. Did exactly the same thing, or almost anyway, a knife rather than a mineshaft, but my point is that he told nobody. Me and Dwalin used to meet him sometimes when we were out trading in Dunland. Always looked forward to seeing him. A nice lad. Well, not a lad I suppose, he was a lot older than me, and probably a good bit older than Thorin. We found out after that he lost a lot of folk in the war, but he never talked about it. Because you wouldn’t, would you? Everyone lost kin, and you just get on with things. There’s nothing else for it. Doesn’t change anything, going over old ground, won’t bring anyone back.”

Gimli nodded and wished he’d thought to bring his own pipe.

“I guess maybe there were folks on the other side he couldn’t wait any longer to see.” Nori’s voice was gentle. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Gimli. Turn around and look at me.”

He couldn’t. 

Nori sighed before he continued, “It’s not your fault. This lad I’m telling you about. We said afterward, me and Dwalin, we asked ourselves should we not have seen it? Noticed something in his eyes, or picked up on something he said. We’d drank with him only a few nights before, sat up with him until the barkeep closed up the tavern around us, and he was perfectly merry. Talking about some trip he had coming up. Full of plans. Full of life. We’d already left with our caravan when it happened  and didn’t find out until we returned the next spring, but after we found out we went over and over that night, searching for signs that weren’t there or were too well-hidden for us to see. So I’m speaking from experience, Gimli, when I say that you’ll only torture yourself. You cannot carry this on your shoulders.”

There was another long crackle and smoke drifted past, swirling about in the mineshaft’s entrance. 

“Fili wouldn’t want you to,” Nori added softly.

Gimli blinked, scolding himself for being soft as he swiped away a tear with the heel of his hand before it reached his beard. Nori was wrong. If there was no-one else to blame then it fell on him. Because if he and Fili hadn’t fought then Fili would have come to him instead of coming here. He was certain of it, because everyone Fili needed was right here on Middle-earth. There was no-one waiting for him on the other side that he couldn’t wait a little longer to see again.

“When he wakes up we’ll ask him.” Nori patted Gimli’s back gently. “And we’ll keep a better eye on him from now on. All of us. I promise. Come here.”

Another tear escaped. Gimli scrubbed at his face angrily as Nori spun him around, pulling him into an embrace. It was all his fault. He sucked in a breath against Nori’s shoulder and tried to control himself. Crying like a little dwarfling was a useless waste of time, and wouldn’t help Fili one bit. What he needed to do was hurry up and get down the mine shaft and find Kili’s runestone. That would make some kind of amends, and a secret part of him hoped that when he placed it in Fili’s hand and wrapped his cousin’s fingers around it Fili would open his eyes.

But, as Nori rubbed soothing circles on his back and whispered nonsense comforting words into his hair, Gimli couldn’t seem to let go. In fact, for some reason his arms wouldn’t obey him and held Nori tighter. He closed his eyes. He’d let go as soon as Nori was finished. 

It had been a disappointment when the bracelet hadn’t worked. As soon as the swelling went down enough in Fili’s forearms, Gimli had tied the tatty scrap of leather back on and stood by hopefully, not daring to take his eyes from his cousin’s face. He’d stood there for long enough that the fire in the hearth died down to embers and the chamber became chill, and yet there had been nothing. Only the slow rise and fall of Fili’s chest and the worrying sound of his rattling breaths as he slumbered on. 

But Gimli was certain the runestone was the key. So he’d turned Fili’s chambers upside down yet again, and searched every dark space and crack. No inch had been overlooked.

He’d found all sorts of things, including a hidden compartment in the base of a trunk that Fili probably really wouldn’t have wanted him finding, never mind searching through. But he searched it anyway, trawling through obviously private keepsakes in the hope that the stone might have slipped underneath them. It wasn’t, and Gimli told himself he wasn’t prying as he pulled out and studied the odds and ends. Drawings that had definitely not been made by his cousin, writings in some strange hand, and a piece of greyish stone that glittered when he held it to the light lay amongst the curiosities. Replacing them all exactly as he found them, Gimli had pushed the false bottom back into place and told himself again that he was just trying to understand.

But the runestone wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. Then, with Bofur and Bifur’s help since Gimli was no miner and knew his limitations, he unblocked the hunting passageway and completed a fingertip search of the mountainside. Twice. Scoured the passageways. And this was the third time down the mineshaft. Because it had to be somewhere.

Little carved rocks didn’t vanish into thin air.

Dain counted the wagons and riders assembled in the great chamber behind the gatehouse. Not as many as he had thought, but enough to ensure safety on the journey. It would do fine. He nodded to his captain. “Are we nearly ready?”

“Just waiting on that nephew and niece of yours,” said Fraeg.

The bulk of his miners had stayed behind, as Dain had expected, and he didn’t blame them. There was wealth and plenty of work to be had in Erebor, and it would be many years before Thorin faced the same problems as the Iron Hills. Although Dain was sure there were still seams to be exploited under his own mountain, he just needed someone to hurry up and find them before all his miners petitioned to follow the golden road to Erebor. If that wasn’t already happening. The messages from his boy were typically cagey and reading between the lines Dain knew it was past time that he needed to be home.

It was a shame that his return was in such circumstances.

His eyes fell on the foremost wagon. Buvro, swaddled in so many blankets to protect him against the cool autumn winds that you wouldn’t know there was a dwarf buried in there unless you went searching. His grim-faced brothers surrounded the wagon as if they expected to be attacked whilst still inside Erebor’s gates. Dain heeled his warpig across to them and nodded to the eldest who sat on the wagon bed with his brother’s head cradled in his lap.

“How is he?”

“Asleep. Oin gave me something to keep him calm.” The boy’s face twisted into a grimace and he leaned out of the wagon to spit on the flagstones. He met Dain’s eyes as if issuing some manner of foolish and ill-thought out challenge. “Some elvish potion.”

Elvish or not. It seemed to have worked. Dain ignored the boy’s posturing and looked at Buvro’s sleeping face. Such injuries were not unheard of, but in all his years he had never seen one. Dwarf skulls were tough, just like their owners, and there wasn’t another race on Middle-earth strong enough to walk away from a collapsed mine shaft, or from the battlefield, with horrific head injuries. Bifur, a case in point. But, by the same token, the head was a tricky and temperamental thing. An unlucky strike, Oin and his medics called it. But then, they would. Dain had been tempted to ask the elves for a second opinion himself but decided against it. His people were riled up enough already, and the elves loyal to Thorin.

Part of him wished Fili had finished the job, because this was no life for a boy. Reduced from a promising warrior to a frightened dwarfling by a few punches. Worse than a dwarfling. For at least a dwarfling could retain information and be trained to be useful in the future. Not a burden on his kin to be carried until the end of his natural life. 

Perhaps his own healers would have more success, but ultimately it would be a family decision and Dain knew he would not intercede unless his advice was asked for. It would be a difficult choice for the family to make, although Dain knew his own thoughts on the matter should such a thing happen to himself, or to his Thorin. It would be a kindness.

“Dain!” Thorin’s voice rang out across the chamber and the noise level dropped immediately.

It wouldn’t do to talk down to his King from the back of a pig. Dain dismounted and handed the reins to one of Buvro’s brothers. With a clip around the ear to the pig, as a gentle reminder to behave and not eat the wooden panels of the wagon, he strode across the chamber. The talk quietened further as he drew closer and his people strained to hear.

“Cousin.” Dain embraced Thorin warmly. Gestures were important. Enough rumour already swirled about the mountain that he and Thorin were at loggerheads. He would not be the one to add fuel to them. “You look tired.”

It was a daft observation. They all looked tired. Dain didn’t think he’d had a full night’s sleep since the incident, for trouble had broken out everywhere. Dwarves who shouldn’t have been picking sides, picking sides. As if the red mists of battle had fallen over the mountain and they were not all one people, and, just when you thought you had one section settled down, another started.

A leftover magic. That was how Balin and Thorin had explained it. Some side effect of the dragon that had seeped into the walls. But then that didn’t explain why the miners were so unaffected. Surely, since they were so close to the vast untapped wealth of Erebor, it would stand to reason that they would be the worst afflicted with any sort of gold madness? But instead it was the guards, and the warriors. The miners didn’t seem to care. All the tribes mingled quite happily in their settlements down near the active mineshafts.

So this talk of magic sounded like a load of nonsense to Dain. He’d visited the vaults, many times, and marvelled at his cousin’s great treasure hoard. It called to him, of course it did. How could it not? He was a dwarf, after all. But it didn’t command him. It was easy to walk away and go home.

And if he perhaps felt a little envious that his cousin ruled over a seemingly unending supply of riches, with barely a quarter of it excavated, then that was understandable. The reserves within the mountain were almost unimaginable, not to mention the untapped potential hidden deep within the mountain's spurs. The were-worms had done his cousin a favour there.

Although Azog had done them all a much bigger favour by not thinking to spend some time doing his calculations properly and burrowing straight into the heart of the mountain itself. A small mercy that orcs were no engineers. Dain had visited the were-worm tunnels before they were filled in and ran his fingers over the threads of precious metals that wove through the rough walls. It was only natural to feel the squeeze of jealousy when his own mines were, whichever way you looked at it, overstretched and failing. 

Not everyone was as lucky as Thorin, to walk into a mountain and find it filled to the brim with wealth.

Thorin clapped his shoulder and smiled. “I did not want you to leave with bad blood between us.”

“There’s no bad blood. We both spoke our minds and that’s how it should always be.” Dain grinned. “You should try it more often.”

Thorin ignored him. “You will let me know when you arrive safely?” He glanced toward the wagon and lowered his voice, “And if there is any improvement?”

“Of course. And you.” It would be justice if Fili awoke in the same state as Buvro, but Dain didn’t wish to see that. He was fond of his young cousin. And so he prayed for a quick death, although that prayer seemed to be going unanswered for now. The lad was obviously clinging on for something, and it was a true pity for Thorin because no matter what the outcome his heir was broken beyond repair. A decision for the succession would need to be made. And Thorin was getting a little old for dwarflings. Not too old, not quite yet, but close.

Over Thorin’s shoulder Dain watched Hafur and Hafdis race down the stairs and through the chamber to their animals. As his nephew tossed his niece up onto her pig and leapt astride his goat, Dain signed to Fraeg.

“Right, best be off. It’ll be slow going and I’d like to have this lot over and down off the spur before full dark.” He nodded at Thorin as he turned to make his way back to his warpig. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter Text

The runes blurred on the page as Ori rubbed at his eyes and shifted on his chair. With hindsight, this had been the wrong book to bring with him on this visit. Cramped, spidery — and in some parts almost illegible — writing was not best suited for reading by the dim torchlight of the healers’ chambers. 

Weeks ago, when he first found the slim volume crushed at the back of one of the shelves in the eastern wing of the library Ori had set it aside as something that might interest Fili on his next visit.

Then Fili’s next visit hadn’t happened and now seemed as good a time as any to make a start. And it was interesting, although Ori didn’t think much of the scribe's skills. But then he suspected by the spelling mistakes that littered each page that the book was self-written.

He smiled and touched a finger to the runes. It reminded him strongly of Kili’s script. Rushed. As if the writer had something else very important to do, and writing was a necessary evil that must be gotten out of the way as quickly as possible. His fingers twitched to copy it out and fix it. 

A yawn surprised him and he covered his mouth to hide the noise. The bunches of herbs hung about the chambers by the elvish healers gave off a soothing scent, and between them, the crackle of the fire, and the soft darkness they were doing a good job of sending him to sleep. Ori yawned again as he flipped slowly through the fragile pages. Bofur was due to arrive at daybreak, and by the amount he’d read that was not too far off. 

Probably. 

Even after nearly two years, Ori found that he still had no real concept of day and night inside the depths of the mountain. His clock in the library — a rare artefact that Ori claimed as part of his share of the treasure hoard when nobody else had shown an interest in it — the only reason he ever knew what time it actually was. Dori kept threatening to take it away, claiming that Ori would never learn the skill of telling the time underground with a device to tick away the hours and that was likely true. Nevertheless, Ori refused to give it up. It kept him company, and he found he missed the soft sound when he was away from it. 

Perhaps he could risk lighting another torch? He closed the book and stole a glance at Thorin. The king appeared fast asleep on top of the covers on the next bed. 

As if he’d spoken his thoughts aloud or rang a bell, Thorin stirred and opened his eyes. “That was interesting,” he murmured. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was keeping you awake, my King.”

Thorin stretched and sat up. “Enough of that. You followed me across Middle-earth and fought at my side. You, more than most in this mountain, have earned the right to call me Thorin. And no, I was only resting my eyes.” He glanced over at Fili before returning his gaze to Ori. “You have an excellent reading voice, but I knew that anyway.” 

Ori forced himself to still his hands on the book cover. It was fragile enough already without tearing it accidentally by fiddling with it. He racked his mind for something clever or interesting to say and found it unhelpfully blank. 

“I have never seen Khazad-dûm. Only the lands around it and its Eastern gate.” Thorin smiled sadly. “It is good to hear about it in its glory days, before the fall, although I expect it looks very different now. Much less beautiful than how it is described so wonderfully in your book. He has a true way with words. I could picture it in my mind.”

“She.”

“Who? The writer?” Thorin looked lost for words. “But I thought they were a merchant?” 

Ori ran his fingers over the book. The binding needed repair and now that he looked closely he thought there might be a few pages missing. Perhaps they had slipped down behind the shelving? He would check when he returned to the library. 

“Do not let Dis see that book, Ori. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Ori looked up but Thorin was turned away and busy adjusting the pillows on the bed. Once he lay down again Thorin continued, “I’m joking of course. Don’t look so worried.”

“I suppose they were different times back then,” said Ori. It was something he and Fili had talked about at length, and why he’d been so excited when he found the book. Only now he wished he had taken it to Fili immediately rather than assuming that they had all the time in the world to talk about things. He pushed the thought away and continued, “When we were more numerous, I mean. I expect it was more usual for dams to travel and do...more dangerous things. Or maybe they were just more adventurous than they are now?”

Thorin snorted. “My sister has always been adventurous. More so than was good for her.” He shifted about on the pillows and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. “We have clashed many times about it. Did you know she was in battle?”

Ori shook his head. 

“I thought not, it’s not common knowledge, but she was. Against my wishes, I might add. We had an...unconventional upbringing. How much do you know of the wars?”

As Thorin met his eyes Ori tried not to squirm in his chair. He knew quite a lot about the wars, and not just what he had been taught side by side with Fili by Balin in the Blue Mountains. Thrain’s six-year campaign against the orcs in the dark places of Middle-earth was an essential study in warfare.

What Ori wasn’t sure about was how much he was expected to know because the original parchments and records had been carried all the way from the Blue Mountains in a chest and hidden by someone — Ori suspected Balin — within a side room in the depths of the library.

The new lock on a previously unlocked room had piqued Ori’s interest and given both Nori and Fili a lot of trouble, although they had all searched high and low for a key first before breaking in. 

Thorin nodded as if he had come to a decision. “After Thror’s death, Thrain determined that we would wipe the orcs from Middle-earth. It was an obsession.” He shot a worried look at Fili. “He was fixated on it. And so he raised the tribes and we marched first on Gundabad.”

He should say something. “After Thror’s death? But I thought that Thror led—”

His King smiled but there was no humour in it. “I think you know as well as I that Thror’s death was not the one from the stories or the official records. You have no future in cards, Ori. The lie is written plain across your face.”

Ori dropped his head. 

“So it is good that you are my scribe and my very clever, and curious, librarian.” Thorin whistled softly and Ori looked up. “Whatever you have found, and however you managed to find it, it is not for all to see. Do we have an understanding?”

Fili had repaired the locks on both the chest and the chamber, and the newly minted keys were safe with Ori’s other keys in his pocket, so Ori could nod at that enthusiastically. All had definitely not seen it. Just some.

Ori worried at his lip at the memory of Fili’s face paling as they sat together on the floor of the dusty chamber, sifting through the documents whilst Nori kept watch. If he’d known what was contained within the chest he would never have asked Fili for help. 

“Good,” said Thorin. “I loved my Sigin'adad. I admired and respected him, but Thror never could shake off the spectre of Erebor — and I am more than aware of the irony in that statement so there is no need to point it out to me. Pride makes fools of us all.”

Ori had no intention of pointing out anything. And although he wished he had his quill and a sheaf of parchment to record Thorin’s words, he suspected this candid confession was not for official records. 

“It was too long a fall. From King of a great dwarven kingdom to the leader of a pack of vagabonds, and it preyed on Thror’s mind until he could stand it no longer. And so he left his people.” Thorin frowned as he stared past Fili’s bed toward the flames in the hearth. “He left his people, and the family who loved him, and he walked into Khazad-dûm alone, and Azog killed him and returned his head to us. With a bag of coin as a final insult. Perhaps we were foolhardy to seek revenge. I initially thought so.

“This may seem shocking to you but I had no desire for war, not at first. And of course, hindsight is a wonderful thing, and a privilege, because by the time we marched on the gates of Gundabad I was as determined as anyone that the orcs be made to suffer. I knew for a certainty that our race—the great, dwarven race—was capable of scouring the foul creatures from Middle-earth. We were not, as it turned out, and we suffered badly for it. But at the time we truly believed that nothing could stop us.”

The silence stretched as Thorin stared into the flames. Curious despite himself, Ori prompted, “But you did win?”

“Sometimes the cost of victory is too high.” Thorin seemed lost in memory. He rolled his shoulders and smiled as he turned his attention back to Ori. “But I was speaking of Dis. She was with us on the march north, for I had nowhere safe to leave her. Not that she would have stayed anyway because she was determined to fight, even though she was barely more than a dwarfling. I found her after the battle in Gundabad. She was supposed to be well behind the lines but she found a helm and an axe and persuaded, or more likely browbeat, her fool guard into following us into battle.”

Ori stayed silent. He sympathised with the guard. He wouldn't like to tell Dis no either.

“It took me some time to forgive Molir after that,” said Thorin. “It was many more years before I trusted him enough to permit him a return to guard duties. I could have lost her. She will bear the scar until the end of her days. It was only thanks to Oin and his medics, who could barely be spared, that she didn’t lose either her life or the use of her arm.

"And who can know the number of lives lost whilst they were busy with a stubborn dwarfling princess who should not have been within a hundred miles of war? We had little armour to go around and she had next to none. I should have known she would try it, but I thought leaving her under guard was sufficient. I was wrong.” Thorin took a deep breath and smiled sadly. “As with so many things that have passed since, it was entirely my fault.”

“Perhaps it was always meant to be that way?” Ori quailed under the sharp glance. He’d meant it as a comfort, but he had a horrible feeling he’d misjudged offering the platitude.

As his eyes rested on his ruined leg, he stumbled for the words to explain himself. “We may think things to be terrible at the time, but maybe they happen in the way they do for a reason. For some purpose that may not always be made clear to us. That’s what I believe anyhow. I didn’t use to, but I do now...”

It had been a bitter draught to swallow. True, Ori had been happy to stay around the settlement in Ered Luin. He wasn’t one for wandering about the Blue Mountains searching for adventure and getting into trouble — not like Fili, Kili, and Gimli. But now he found he longed for it.

The ability to explore the depths of Erebor for hours as Fili had done. The freedom to stroll into Dale whenever he desired without needing the strength of his brother’s arm to help him limp home. All his options taken from him in one careless swipe of a troll’s arm.

But then he had been one of the lucky ones. It seemed churlish to mourn the loss of full use of a leg when he still had both. Not to mention his life. 

Thorin snorted quietly. “Perhaps.”

They sat in silence and Ori fretted that he’d said completely the wrong thing until Thorin spoke again, “Perhaps you are right. I have never before considered it but had it not been for her injury likely Dis would have been in the thick of things in Khazad-dûm. Perhaps I would have lost them both.” He stared unblinkingly at Fili. “I am not so sure I could have gone on, had that been the case, perhaps I too would have…”

Ori jumped as Thorin turned his eyes back to him. 

“And what of this?” Thorin gestured to Fili’s bed. “What is the reason for this? The purpose of it?”

He didn’t know, not for sure. Ori had already mulled it over many times in the quiet of the library or whilst sat silently with his brothers as Nori and Dori argued across the dinner table. He had wrenched his thoughts this way and that as his mouth spoke words at Fili’s bedside, and there was one theory he kept circling back to. But he didn’t want to say it out loud. It wasn’t nearly close to a comforting one. Quite the opposite. 

“You have one.” Thorin sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “A reason. Let’s hear it.”

His fiddling hands had pulled some of the binding apart. Ori placed the book on top of the blankets before he could do any further damage, and reached down to gather up the loose pages that had fluttered to the floor. He tutted to himself whilst he sorted them back into order. 

“It cannot possibly be any worse than what I have thought myself these last few weeks,” said Thorin. 

Oh, it could. Thorin definitely wouldn’t want to hear about Ori’s thoughts on elvish visions.

Voicing any theory on the Line of Durin doing its utmost to destroy itself, and the possibility that the heirs of Durin were on borrowed — or even stolen — time would lie far too close to treason. No matter that Ori had travelled across Middle-earth at Thorin’s side. Ori fiddled with his sleeve and prayed hard for some inspired way to distract his king. 

He considered and dismissed the idea of mentioning the record of the reclamation of Erebor. Work on that was stalled. It was difficult, and went against all Ori’s instincts, to remove all traces of Kili and Ness from the official record. He’d lost count of the number of abandoned drafts thrown in the fire. Balin was becoming frustrated and Ori, in a fit of pique that surprised them both, had told his mentor to write it himself. He was still apologising for the loss of control, and he was no further forward. 

“Perhaps it is worse then,” murmured Thorin. 

Ori had a horrible feeling that Thorin was staring into his thoughts — which couldn’t possibly be true. He stared back helplessly and wondered how much Thorin knew about the Elf Queen and what she had shown Ness.

He and Fili had searched the library for any scrap of information on Galadriel, and the dwarven texts were next to useless. It was incomprehensible to Ori the records could be so scant because as far as he could tell she was ancient. But there was nothing. Barely more than a few mentions, and none of her by name. Ori desperately wished that she would visit. He wanted to talk with her and work out the possible repercussions of thwarting the mirror’s predictions. 

Although, how he expected to discuss such things with a powerful Elf Queen when he could barely speak in Thranduil’s presence he wasn’t sure.

It had given him a terrible fright when he awoke in the healing chambers after the battle with the Elvenking’s cool fingers wrapped around his hand. For a terrifying moment, he thought himself dead, and Mahal’s halls a very strange place. Then later, when Thranduil had visited the library, under Balin’s very close watch, Ori had hobbled about after them. Barely able to string a sentence together when the elf directed a question at him.  

He wished he’d known about the mirror before Ness and Kili left with Gandalf. Questions about it weren't exactly the sort of thing he could safely put in a letter. And he wished the wizard would return.

A horrible suspicion crept into Ori’s mind and he looked at Fili. It hadn’t occurred to him before but had Fili been trying to right a wrong? They had spoken about Fili’s surprise at surviving the battle, but Ori hadn’t thought much further on it. Only agreed that he too was surprised they both managed it. They’d laughed together at their good fortune. 

His blood ran cold. 

“This goes no further, Ori.” Thorin interrupted his thoughts. “I can trust you?”

Ori wanted to say no. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. But his mouth couldn’t form the word. To refuse Thorin was unthinkable.

Nodding, Thorin seemed content to take Ori’s silence as confirmation. “Good. Fili told me once, we were having a disagreement about something that isn’t important now, that the witch saw visions. Kili said something similar before the...battle but he was unclear. I don’t think he knew, or he had more sense than to listen. Visions of death in battle and Erebor in the hands of another.”

Thorin smiled sadly. “Fili was horrified that it slipped out, but, thinking back now, it sat high in his thoughts. I’m still not sure he told me everything, but he said enough. A greater good.”

He sighed before he continued, “It is lucky indeed for the witch that I sent her away for I think I might have strangled her for placing such tortured thoughts in my nephew’s head had she been within my reach. A fear of doom and future madness for him to worry over.

"I told him it was superstitious nonsense and to pay it no mind. As for the witch, it is doubly lucky for her that Dis was not there to hear it. My sister would have ridden to the Shire and I could not, and perhaps would not, have stopped her. I might have handed her the axe, and wished her well. 

“But I thought afterward that perhaps there was something in it after all. When they stood at the gates — I don’t like to remember this and my thoughts of that time are strangely cloudy — Gandalf spoke of the witch’s vision of armies of orcs. And then, exactly as she had predicted, there appeared armies of orcs. I don’t know what to make of it all. Was she in league with them? Surely she must have been, no matter her protestations to the contrary?

"Then, at some point, perhaps because due to her regard for my nephews, she defected to our cause, fabricating these 'visions' to explain away her knowledge of Azog's plans. That is the only possible explanation to my mind, but it still troubles me. And it troubles me more that she has...disturbed Fili’s mind. And filled it with ideas that should not be there. I expect he has spoken to you of it?”

There was no possibility of lying. Not when Thorin would see it on his face. Ori nodded as his heart beat in his throat. “A little.”

“You are a greater scholar than I will ever be. What do you make of it all? Am I right, or do you think there is truth in it? These visions?”

“I don’t know.” That was the honest answer. They had only Ness’s word for it that she had seen anything, and although Ori couldn’t imagine her in league with anyone — let alone Azog — it was a possibility that should be considered. No matter how unlikely it seemed.

Not that he’d ever voiced such thoughts to Fili for he could imagine how badly that conversation would go.

And that was why he needed to speak to Galadriel. Her kingdom wasn’t far, only the other side of Mirkwood and now that they had Thranduil’s support for moving through the enchanted forest it would be relatively easy to reach the elvish kingdom of Lothlorien.

Maybe Nori could go? Nori was good at ferreting out information, and Ori could give him a list of questions.

He rubbed at his leg. Or maybe he could go with Nori if they went really slowly? He’d quite like to see it, if half the pieces of scant information he’d managed to find out were true it sounded like a wondrous place, and then Nori could ask the questions if he became tongue-tied. His big brother wasn’t intimidated by anything or anyone. 

“Then that makes two of us,” said Thorin. “I can only continue to believe that Erebor was our path and, as you say, things happen in the way they do for a reason. Even the inconsequential things, like your book, maybe they are all linked in ways we cannot hope to understand?

"Maybe my over-hearing you read it to my nephew could be a sign that I should be turning my thoughts to the next great dwarf kingdom. Perhaps we should be turning our eyes toward restoring the great Khazad-dûm? For if we can best a dragon with only a few of us then how could a legion of scattered and leaderless orcs hope to stand against us?”

Despite the stuffy heat of the chamber, a chill shot down Ori’s spine. He wasn’t convinced the orcs were leaderless, or as scattered as they hoped. But he had no more proof than Fili’s — hopefully wild — theories, and scattered reports. 

“Or perhaps that would be overstretching ourselves.” Thorin smiled at Ori. “I’m sure you or Balin know some clever sayings about repeating past mistakes and folly.”

There were a few. Ori stayed silent.  

“If you can make any sense of it all you will tell me?”

Ori nodded furiously. 

“Thank you. I think I might make some tea. You will have some?” 

The King could not make him tea. Ori reached for his cane and knocked it to the floor with a clatter. He snatched it up as he said, “I’ll make it.”

Thorin was already standing. “Stay there,” he commanded. 

The noise of Thorin moving about in the kitchen drifted through the open door and along the silent chamber, and Ori willed his hands to stop trembling as the guilt gnawed once more at his insides. He regretted not talking more with Fili about his fears, and not telling Fili that he hadn’t stopped the search for answers. His friend’s worries about the gold, about madness, and about a fundamental flaw woven into the Durin line. His worry that they should not have interfered with and deviated from the path the visions had so clearly laid before their feet, and his worry that the world would be forever changed for the worse by doing so. All of those concerns should have been properly and rationally addressed. Not just swept to one side with useless platitudes. 

Looking back, it all seemed so simple and obvious now. He should have listened more carefully and taken the time to reassure his friend properly because Ori couldn’t believe it and he wouldn’t believe it. He might have no hard evidence but it could not be possible that they had taken back the mountain, and sacrificed so much, for a poisoned chalice. He lifted Fili’s slack fingers and wrapped them in his own. 

“I’m still looking,” he whispered as he glanced over his shoulder toward the open door. There had to be answers somewhere that would put his friend’s mind to rest. Everything had an answer if you searched and thought hard enough, or almost everything.  “And I’ll—”

The breath stopped in his chest and Ori frowned down at their entwined fingers. Suddenly certain that he imagined the slightest pressure, but he’d imagined it many times before. They all had, as tiredness and hope played havoc with their imaginations. 

He gasped. There it was again. Fili’s fingers twitched in his. A definite one this time. Ori lifted his head to shout for Thorin and the words dried in his mouth as he looked into Fili’s open eyes. 

“Fili.” He grabbed onto Fili’s forearm with both hands. “Fili, can you hear me?” 

A crash echoed from the kitchen closely followed by the sound of running footsteps. Thorin gripped Ori’s shoulder hard enough to hurt as he reached out a trembling hand to touch the blankets by Fili’s knee. “I’ll fetch Oin and the elves,” Thorin managed in a choked whisper. “Keep talking. Don’t stop talking.”

Chapter Text

Gimli nodded, with one eye on the door of Oin's private chamber and his thoughts busy elsewhere, as his uncle droned on and on through the interminably long list of instructions. He stopped mid-nod, realising too late that the room had fallen silent. 

“Lad, have you heard a single thing I've said?”

“Yes, Uncle. Every word. I'll look after him, I swear.”

Oin raised an eyebrow but lifted his cloak from the peg by the door. “Fine. I'll be back from Dale in a few hours, dinnertime at the latest. If anyone needs help whilst I'm gone send them down to the medics on the mining levels.”

As if he would do anything else. Gimli snorted. Anyone with an ailment he could fix would be unlikely to bother themselves paying Oin to look at it, although there had been a lot more visitors with minor injuries over the last few weeks. Poorly disguised attempts by curious dwarves hopeful for a glance of their prince.

So maybe if anyone arrived he should have a go at patching them up? He could probably manage to deal with non life-threatening wounds, maybe dole out some powders and a bit of advice, perhaps even make a bit of coin into the bargain. Gimli nodded to himself as he smiled at Oin. A few stomach upsets and wonky stitches might go some way to stem the tide of nosy timewasters. It was a good plan. 

“Yes, Uncle.” Best not to mention any such thoughts or Oin might change his mind about going anywhere. “I’ll remember.” 

“And don't take him too far.”

It was fairly unlikely he could take Fili anywhere but Gimli nodded anyway. 

Seemingly satisfied, Oin gave him a final hard look and swung open the door. Gimli followed his uncle through the brightly lit main chamber of the healing quarters toward the outer doors. 

With his hand on the door, Oin turned. “He had a busy day yesterday, so if anyone comes calling tell them to go away and come back after dinner. I might let one or two of them in then.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Even if it’s Thorin.” Oin chuckled at Gimli’s grimace. “Especially if it’s Thorin. He’s suffocating the lad. Right, I’m off. Behave yourself.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Gimli waved Oin off down the passageway, closed the doors, and drummed his fingers on the wood as he gave some serious thought to locking them. He really didn’t want to have to try and turn Thorin away. 

Still in two minds about it, he made his way slowly to the smaller side chamber.

A fire crackled low in the grate at the end of the chamber but apart from that the room was quiet and gloomy.  Gimli padded down to the bed closest to the fire and leant over it to check on his cousin. From Fili’s even breathing beneath the nest of blankets he seemed to be fast asleep, so Gimli built up the fire and settled himself in one of the armchairs by the fireside to wait. It was already well past lunchtime but if his cousin was still tired he may as well rest. 

Books were stacked in a neat pile on the low table beside his armchair. Gimli lifted the first one. He flipped through it, shifting closer to the fire to better squint at the cramped runes.

How could anyone read this? It was illegible, and he had the best eyesight of any dwarf he knew — apart from maybe Fili. Although they hadn’t tested it in a while. Gimli picked up the second book, which was in some sort of elvish, and discarded it immediately.  

It didn’t take long to work his way through the pile. Sighing heavily, Gimli tossed the final book back on top of the others. 

Ori had excelled himself. 

He must have trawled the library to find the dullest books in the whole of Erebor — maybe even the whole of Middle-earth — in an attempt to bore Fili out of his sickbed. Dry histories, some sort of useless record of what seemed to be household accounts, and another two elvish books. One of the histories had briefly looked promising, but somehow the scribe had managed to make an account of what must have been an exciting battle less interesting than a trip to the market. It was criminal. A waste of parchment.

Gimli’s fingers beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair. He should have thought to bring his whetstones with him but he couldn’t very well go fetch them now. What he did have with him was his pipe but, although the idea was tempting, Oin would murder him if he came back and caught so much as a whiff of pipe-smoke in the healing chambers. He huffed out a breath. There was nothing for it but to sit quietly and wait for Fili to wake up. 

His eyes fell on the fiddle propped up against the wall by the hearth. Fili must have been having another try. Gimli leant out of the chair to pick it up by the neck and shook his head in disbelief. It really shouldn’t have been left so close to the fire. Everyone who knew anything about stringed instruments should know that the heat wouldn’t be good for it. He plucked at the strings idly as he hunted about under the chair for the bow. 

Mindful not to wake Fili, he drew the bow gently over the strings and winced as the fiddle squeaked. Obviously, it was utterly out of tune from being abandoned near the heat. He twiddled the pegs about before he tried again, nodding to himself. Much better. 

After a few false starts the simple tune came back to him. Gimli concentrated hard as his fingers moved over the strings. His cousins would be very impressed that he had remembered how to play after so many years. The tune even sounded exactly like it did when he and Kili played together as dwarflings back at home, and he’d always borrowed Fili’s fiddle then as well. Before the memory could settle properly into his head Gimli pushed it away. One more run through the easy tune and then he could tackle something a bit more complicated. 

He should really make time to play more often. 

“That’s still not your instrument, Gimli.”

Gimli jumped and the bow skidded off the strings with a screech. He leapt to his feet and raced to Fili, tossing the fiddle and bow onto the next bed, as his cousin struggled to sit up.

“I know.” He slid an arm behind Fili’s back to support him and grabbed an extra pillow off the floor. “I was just having a try to see what I could remember.” 

“No. That’s not what I meant.” 

It was still a shock how light his cousin seemed. Fili leant against his shoulder, breathing worryingly hard even at this smallest of exertions, and Gimli pasted a smile on his face as he rearranged the pillows and helped ease Fili back onto them. “How does that feel? Do you need another pillow?” 

“Stop fussing.” Fili’s voice was rough with sleep. “No, what I meant was, you need a war-horn or something. An instrument with less moving parts.”

“That’s just cruel.”

“Maybe you could manage a drum.” Fili grinned and his eyes glittered in the firelight. “If you worked especially hard at it.”

Gimli grinned back. It was nice to see Fili happy, even if it was at his expense. “You’re just jealous of my natural talent. Shall I fetch water and help you have a wash? Or do you want something to eat first?” 

“I'm only awake. Give me a few moments.” 

“Fine. But you need to eat.” His cousin looked far too thin to his eyes — thin and frail. It wasn’t natural. Gimli watched the bones move under the skin of Fili’s hands as his cousin rearranged the blankets about himself, and tried to think of something encouraging. “The wedding’s been put back but she'll not hold it off indefinitely.”

“The wedding?” A flash of panic crossed Fili’s face. “Whose wedding?”

“Sigrid's. She wants you there — Durin only knows why — and Bard wants you there too. So you need to get your strength up.”

“Oh.” Fili relaxed and smiled. “Of course. Sigrid’s wedding. Were you visiting Bard? How is he?”

“He’s...fine.”

Fili nodded, shifting about against the pillows while Gimli wrestled with his conscience. Tell the truth or leave the lie as it was until he spoke with Oin later? It would only be a few hours. 

No, he decided at last. Best to tell the truth. 

Being careful not to jostle the mattress, Gimli sat down on the edge of the bed. “He was here yesterday. Bard. Do you not remember speaking with him?”

Fili stilled. “Yesterday?”

“Yes, him and Bain.” Fili dropped his eyes to the blankets, and Gimli wished he’d left it to Oin as he hurriedly tried to backtrack. “But I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were really tired, and I expect every day feels much the same when you’re cooped up in here. And remember what Uncle Oin’s said before about the sleeping draughts and that elvish stuff he gives you for the pain? All of that is bound to make your memory foggy.”

Gimli patted Fili’s hand, searching for more words to help his cousin feel better and not look so lost and afraid. “Don’t worry. Everyone forgets things now and again, especially boring things like weddings. I expect if he’d been talking about something interesting like orcs you would have remembered, and once you’re up and about you’ll be fine.”

Fili nodded dully. 

“But I know just the thing to make you feel better,” Gimli rallied as he continued, “Sigrid sent cake. I’m sure there’s some left. Although Dwalin took a serious fancy to it last night, even though Thorin told him to stop shovelling it in and be sure to leave you some. It had strawberries all through it, and she’d soaked them in something sweet enough that it'll make your eyeballs ache, Bard didn’t know what she'd used on it. And Oin hid it away but I’ll find it for you and you can have a slice. You didn’t want any when they were here.”

His cousin was no longer making even the slightest pretence of listening. Instead, Fili's eyes were fixed on the door whilst his fingers played with the bracelet on his wrist. 

“Although you should probably eat something proper first,” Gimli said. He patted Fili’s hand again to try and get his attention. “Otherwise Uncle will tell me off for not looking after you properly. There’s some sort of stew out there. I’ll go heat some up and—”

“Did Ness…” Fili tore his eyes away from the door to look at Gimli hopefully. “Did she say when she would be back?”

Gimli blinked. “No,” he said slowly, fervently wishing for Oin to pop his head around the door and tell them he’d returned from Dale early. Or Thorin, or anyone. “No. Ness isn’t here. It’s just me.”

“Oh.” Fili turned his gaze back to the door and smiled. “Then she must have left before you arrived. I think she’s worried about running into Thorin again.”

The temptation to agree and leave this particular problem for someone else was almost overwhelming. But it wasn’t fair on his cousin. Gimli took Fili’s fingers in his and spoke as gently as he could, “She didn’t. Ness isn’t in the mountain. She’s in the Shire, remember?”

Fili’s smile faltered and his brow furrowed. He yanked his fingers away, hissing in pain at the sudden movement. “But she—”

“I swear to you she’s not here.” Gimli’s heart twisted. “You must have dreamt it, cousin.”

He braced himself for an argument — like the one only a few days previous when Fili had been convinced Kili was in Erebor — but instead his cousin nodded and simply looked heartbroken. Gimli felt heartbroken too. Perhaps an argument would have been better? Although he hadn’t seen how Thorin dealt with the Kili incident. Since he’d yelled at them all to get out and slammed the door in their faces.  

“I’m feeling tired, Gimli,” said Fili quietly. “I think I might try to sleep. Can you bank the fire down, please? It’s hurting my eyes.”

Retreating to his dreams wouldn’t make Fili any better. Gimli was struck by a flash of inspiration. “Maybe she was here.”

Fili scowled. “Don’t lie to me.”

The spark of annoyance was a vast improvement on sadness. Gimli pressed on, “No, what I mean is. She’s a witch, isn’t she? So maybe she did something…” Fili’s eyes followed Gimli’s hands as he waved them about. “Witchy.”

“She’s not a witch.”

“I know you don’t believe that, not truly, and anyway I’ve heard the stories.” Gimli nodded encouragingly. “So maybe she can, I don’t know, just appear when she wants to? With her magic.”

The faintest hint of a smile played on Fili’s lips as he touched the bracelet again. “I think if Ness could do that we’d have known about it well before now. But it’s a comforting lie. Thank you.”

It warmed Gimli’s heart to hear Fili thank him. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. 

“I’ve never heard any stories about her from you, but I know that’s because I haven’t been listening.” Gimli shuffled closer, plucking at the blankets and avoiding Fili’s eyes. “I’m really sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, and I’m sorry I left you alone.” There was a loose thread on one of the blankets. Gimli tugged at it as the words poured out in an unstoppable torrent. “And I’m sorry we fought, I’m really sorry about that more than anything. I don’t ever want to fight with you again, and we can talk anytime you want. There’s nothing else to do anyway until you’re well enough to get a sword back in your hand. You’ll feel a lot better after that, but even after you’re better you can still talk to me anytime. About anything, and I’ll listen. I promise.” 

“Not you too, Gimli.” Fili laughed but there was no humour in it. “Everyone tells me the same thing. There might be something wrong with my head, but I do remember that much. Thorin says it. Amad says it. Nori and Dwalin say it. Everybody.”

“I mean it though,” Gimli mumbled to the blanket. 

“I know.” Fili sighed. “And thank you for that too.”

They sat in silence. 

“I thought you were going to fetch me something to eat?” Fili sounded amused. “Or are you intending to rip that blanket to shreds first?”

He was almost to the door when Fili called his name. Gimli spun on his heel and hurried back to the bed. 

“I wanted to ask you to do something for me, in case I forget again.” Fili flushed. “I know I’m forgetting a lot so I’ve maybe asked you already?”

Gimli shook his head. 

“Will you write a letter? To Kili. I tried, or I think I tried, but I can’t...I know I won’t be able to hold a quill properly. My writing won’t be like mine, and Kili will know something’s wrong and he’ll worry.” Fili paused before he continued, “It doesn’t matter. I can ask Ori.”

“No. I’ll write it. I will. Stay awake, and when I come back you can eat and tell me what to write and I’ll do it. Then I can arrange to have it sent right away.” Gimli grinned and Fili smiled sadly back at him. “Uncle will have some parchment out there somewhere. I’ll find it and I’ll do it.”

Annoyingly, the range had gone out in the small kitchen and Gimli muttered curses as he hurled fuel into it. He needed to get back to Fili quickly before his cousin changed his mind about staying awake or eating or doing anything.

A covered cauldron of stew sat on the worktop and he dumped a generous ladleful into a smaller pot, squashing down the chunks of vegetables with the back of a spoon to make it easier for Fili to eat, before hunting about for the cake on the shelves. There wasn’t much left, but it still tasted good.

Licking his fingers, Gimli broke off another small chunk to make sure whilst he hunted through the drawers for parchment and a quill. Fili likely wouldn’t want much cake anyway if he ate a whole bowl of stew. Which he needed to — because he was sure his cousin was thinner than any dwarf Gimli had ever seen. No matter what anyone else said. Then he’d write whatever it was Fili wanted written and get him up on his feet and see if they could make it all the way across the chamber this time. 

He hummed a tune as he dumped one of the powders Oin had left out to help with Fili’s pains into a mug and added water, swirling it about to mix it in. It was a relief to have finally said his apologies properly, although whether Fili would remember any of it was another matter.  But he could tell him again, and keep telling him. 

And they could talk. About things. About Ness — if Fili wanted to. Although Gimli wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know. Because you couldn’t share a bed with someone for any time at all and not work out that not all of their dreams were nightmares. But, thankfully Fili was a light sleeper as well as a restless one, so a loud pretend snore usually woke him up without the need for any embarrassment on either of their parts. His cousin would be mortified should he find out that he moaned Ness’s name from time to time in his sleep. 

Gimli dipped a finger into the stew and threw another handful of fuel in the range. Still cold. Why was it so slow?

Dreams were funny things. He’d had all sorts of strange ones himself, although usually they involved battles rather than whatever it was Fili dreamt of. Not that he didn’t have a fair idea what Fili dreamt of. The walls of his bedroom back at home, although built from good, dwarven stone, hadn’t been nearly thick enough to block out the noises his parents made far, far too regularly. Even a pillow clamped over his head and shifting his bed to the furthest wall hadn't been enough. Gimli shuddered as he pushed those thoughts away. He’d blanked them out quite nicely over the last few years and didn’t need them back. 

It was hardly surprising that all the talk of marriage since they'd arrived in Erebor, and even before, would push Fili’s sleeping mind in such odd directions. And since Ness was the girl he knew best, and probably thought about most, it made sense. In a way. It was probably a bit like when Gimli dreamt of cutting a triumphant swathe through a horde of orcs, and then suddenly the orcs all had Balin’s face. 

The mind was a very strange place, and not worth thinking about too deeply. 

And at least Fili wasn’t dreaming of Hafdis or had even so much as asked about her. Gimli frowned as the first tendrils of steam wound their way out of the pot. He had tried not to be annoyed that Fili hadn’t asked for him either, but despite his best efforts it still smarted a bit. Enough that he’d even mentioned it to Bofur one afternoon as they stood on the ramparts, enjoying a smoke and watching a large party of dwarves make their way along the road from Dale toward Erebor.  

“What do you think?” Bofur gestured toward the covered wagons. “Miners?”

Gimli wasn’t sure and didn’t much care. Miners or stonemasons. Or maybe just dwarves come to seek their fortune and content to turn their hand to anything. But Bofur was expecting an answer so he leant over the rampart to show willingness and gasped as he spotted movement in one of the wagons. “They’ve got dwarflings with them.”

“And why shouldn’t they?” Bofur puffed out a smoke ring. “Why not bring their families?”

Gimli shrugged. That was a good point. There was no reason why they shouldn’t. He watched the little ones jump down from the wagons and race into the river as the caravan halted and the gates swung open. The happy shrieks as the dwarflings kicked water at each other, and their amads angry shouts, lifted his low spirits like the sweetest music to his ears. He stared down at them. It would be nice to have more dwarflings running around Erebor and creating havoc. Maybe not to the extent that — with hindsight — he and his cousins had caused in the Blue Mountains from time to time, but mischievous dwarflings would breathe a bit of life into the grim and gloomy mountain. 

“Fili hasn’t asked for me.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud and hoped Bofur wasn’t paying attention. 

No such luck. 

Bofur tore his eyes away from the dwarflings and frowned. “Why would he need to ask for you?

“He asks for everyone else. He wakes up and asks for Dis, or Thorin. He asked for Ori yesterday.” Gimli scuffed at the flagstones with the toe of his boot. Well aware of how sulky he sounded as he continued, “But he hasn’t once asked for me.”

Bofur leaned back against the ramparts and considered him contemplatively. 

“I think he hates me,” added Gimli when he could bear the silence no longer.

“Of course not, lad.” Bofur pointed at him with the stem of his pipe and smiled. “He doesn’t need to ask for you, because he knows you’re always there for him.”

Gimli snorted. “Like a chair, or a cupboard.”

“Not at all. Like his cousin. Like his best friend. The one he relies on.”

Gimli swore as the spoon caught on the bottom of the pot. How was it even possible to burn something that was mostly water? He grabbed a bowl and filled it to the brim, taking care not to scrape in any of the blackened bits. The pot he tossed into the sink to deal with later. Uncle Oin would scold if he left a mess but maybe he and Fili could manage to walk as far as the kitchen, and then he could clean up and Fili could have a rest at the table before they attempted the walk back. Not that he couldn’t carry Fili if necessary. 

Bofur was right. Fili relied on him, and there were others he hadn’t asked for — like Hafdis, or her sharp-eyed brother. Gimli smiled as he tucked the quill between his teeth and the parchment into his belt, lifted the mug and bowl, and kicked open the kitchen door. Some small part of him was looking forward to telling Hafdis, when she inevitably turned up sniffing around, that Fili hadn’t mentioned her name. Not even once.

Chapter Text

No matter how she shifted on the rocky hillside the head of her axe still dug into her hip, and if it wasn’t her axe then it was the hilt of a knife. Hafdis adjusted her belt for what had to be the hundredth time. 

“Would you ever stop wriggling about?” Hafur hissed. 

She glowered at him in response and peeped back around the outcrop that hid them both from view. At last, the sun had sunk below the high cliffs opposite their hiding place and, below them, the boulder-strewn valley floor was in shadow. 

And, in the dying sunlight, the three caves dug into the soft rock at the base of the cliff were slowly coming to life. Hafdis smiled as the chill breeze that had carried the distinctive reek of the creatures now brought to her ears their guttural attempts at language. It sounded promising, and as if there might be a good number inside. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned down at Hafur. 

Finally. 

Days of finding nothing but frustration and abandoned nests had come to an end, and with it came the end of days spent listening to the same dwarves tell the same self-congratulatory stories over and over in a bid to outdo each other. And then, when they eventually stopped talking, being forced to listen as they attempted to outdo each other with their snoring. Hunting trips were all well and good, but she missed the quiet of her own bedchamber. 

They were all very lucky she hadn’t murdered them in their sleep. 

She might have spared her big brother. “You were right,” she mouthed to him. 

Hafur rolled his eyes but looked pleased with himself all the same and Hafdis turned back to the caves. At last, they would have new stories to tell. Even if it had taken them right to the limits of the Iron Hills, where the mountains fell away to rolling plains and the distant peak of Erebor could be seen piercing the sky out to the West, to do it. Her clever brother had been right to push for one more day and one more search. 

An orc with a crude, wooden bucket in each hand ducked out through the entrance of the middle, and largest, cave. Hafdis lifted her bow and slid from behind the rock into the lesser cover of a spindly bush with her eyes fixed on the orc as it set down the buckets, stretched, and shook itself like an animal.  As it began to pick its slow way over the rocky valley floor toward the stream that ran through the valley, she nocked an arrow and sighted before huffing out a breath of disappointment. Bent double beside the stream, the orc’s movements were stiff and pained as it struggled to lift the full buckets of water. It was old and frail. Hardly worth wasting a shot on. 

She trained the arrow point back on the cave mouth. Another two fully grown orcs shuffled out, blinking in the last rays of sunlight, followed by a few, scrawny little ones. 

“Where are the fighters?” she whispered to Hafur as he crept out from behind the rock, likely hearing movement and wondering what was taking her so long. 

Her brother’s eyes followed the first orc as it made its way back to the cave, staggering under the weight of the buckets. One of the little ones ran to meet it. 

“They’ll do,” said Hafur. “Pick one and let’s get started.”

Another orc, bigger than the rest, carried a seemingly heavy pot from the furthest cave and the hairs on Hafdis’s arms stood on end as a long mournful howl followed by excited yammering split the evening air. 

Below their hiding place, a flock of birds abandoned their roosts in the squat trees that lined the steep hillside and rushed into the air as one, squawking alarm cries. She and Hafur threw themselves flat as wings and dust swirled about their heads and the orcs turned to look. 

When the orcs relaxed Hafdis moved back into position with her heart beating fast. 

Wargs. 

Now that she knew they were there she saw immediately what she and Hafur had missed. A pile of boulders to the left of the caves was a pen, not a rockfall, and, in the gaps between the boulders, shapes moved as the orc with the pot approached. Hafdis gasped and gripped the bow tighter at a flash of white amidst the darkness.  

Aware that she would be clearly outlined against the hilltop should any of the creatures think to look up, Hafdis raised herself to standing and ignored her brother’s warning hiss. This was better than she could ever have hoped for. As she waited for her moment the orc reached between the boulders and tugged, and a heavy wooden gate came into view. 

Hafdis breathed out slowly and fired.

The orc howled in shock and pain, dropping the pot, as the arrow found its mark. With the creature’s hand pinned to the boards, the gate swung fully open and the wargs burst free, snarling and snapping as they chased the rolling pot and fought over its contents. 

“The white warg is mine!” she yelled at Hafur as they slid down the hill and ran toward their waiting mounts. Snatching up her axe that pinned Odr’s reins to the ground, she flung herself on his back, kicking him forward and not waiting for her brother’s reply as the valley beyond the hill erupted in orcish howls of alarm and the echoes of a dwarven battle charge. 

Odr pounded over the turf and Hafdis yanked at the reins to direct him around the foot of the hill and toward the narrow ravine that funnelled the stream into the valley. The goat was gaining ground on the flat and, with the thunder of its hooves close behind, Hafdis turned Odr sharply and made it into the ravine only a few strides ahead. 

Hafur yelled wordlessly behind her and Hafdis grinned as she and Odr fought their way upstream between the narrow, overhanging walls that surrounded them. Icy, turbulent water rushed past her, soaking her boots and cascading over Odr’s flanks, and she kicked him harder to encourage him as he squealed and struggled to keep his footing on the slippery rocks. It was deeper and stronger than she’d thought. 

“Get that pig moving!”

“He is moving!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Come on, Odr!”

The goat was snorting at her back, Hafdis imagined that she could feel its warm breath in her hair, by the time the ground under Odr’s hooves levelled out and the rocky walls widened around them. Hafur pushed alongside as soon as there was space for two abreast and together they galloped along the shallowing stream bed, around the final turn, and burst out onto a blood-soaked battlefield. 

Orcs and dwarves engaged in close combat covered the valley floor. The clash of weapons and screams of the dying filled the air and Hafdis grinned across at Hafur beside her as they pulled their mounts to a halt. 

“The caves must’ve been bigger than we thought,” said Hafur as he turned in his saddle to grin at her. “This was worth waiting for.”

Hafdis nodded. There were orcs everywhere. A small pack raced toward them, making for the ravine and an escape into the rolling hills beyond. Hafur kicked his goat on as he roared a challenge and the orcs turned and scattered. The smaller orcs ran back screaming toward the caves and Hafur ignored them as he peeled away after the biggest one. 

As Hafdis turned Odr to follow her brother, she spotted it.

The white warg. 

It was even more magnificent up close. She watched with her mouth hanging open and her axe loose in her hand as the warg darted here and there about the valley in a blur of white fur. Despite being heavily muscled and half the size again of its kin, the warg was amazingly agile and fast. A thing of beauty. Hafdis stood in her stirrups for a clearer view as the creature tore the throat from a charging goat, flinging the goat’s rider to the ground in a shower of dust and stones. 

As the dwarf rolled to his feet and swung his axe at the warg with a roar Hafdis tightened her grip on axe and reins. Someone else was going to get it first. She booted Odr hard enough that he grunted in pain but he obeyed her, throwing himself into a full charge. 

Gripping the reins in one hand, she leant over his neck and urged him on as they wound at speed through the combatants in the valley. The rush of battle was exhilarating. An orc with a scimitar raced across her path and, as Odr lowered his tusks and sped up, Hafdis lifted her axe and roared. Ahead the orc realised its mistake and tried to change direction, making it a few bow-legged strides before Odr rammed into it.  Off-balance, the orc stumbled and Hafdis swung her axe. It struck bone and she ripped it back as Odr turned fast enough that she managed to land another strike to the orc’s chest before it hit the ground. Odr launched himself at the creature with a squeal and Hafdis loosened the reins to let him have his fun. 

Hafdis rocked side to side in the saddle whilst Odr joyfully dispatched the screaming orc with hooves and tusks. Waiting for him to finish, she muttered a curse as she looked over the battlefield. In her excitement, she’d lost the warg. 

“Enough, Odr.” Turning her pig in a tight circle, Hafdis stood in her stirrups. Around the valley, the orc pack and their wargs were scattered, panicking in the rapidly falling dark, and there was hardly any left for her. Not that it mattered for she only needed one. She growled in frustration and Odr snorted in response. His blood as high as hers. 

A flash of white across the stream caught her attention. 

“Go!” She slammed her boots into Odr’s ribs. Not that the warpig needed any encouragement. His trotters beat a rhythm against the stony valley floor as they raced to cut the warg off. One of her kin spotted the beast, reining in his goat when Hafdis roared a warning. This one was hers. 

The warg sensed her intent. As they drew closer it turned tail and ran, scattering pebbles as it raced back over the stream and up a steep slope into the darkness of a cave. Hafdis followed and dismounted at the entrance. With a stern command for Odr to stand guard, she hung her axe on her belt, unslung her bow, and crept inside. A dying cookfire, with an upturned pot lying half in and half out of the flames, crackled in the corner and she stepped around it to skirt along the near wall, nocking an arrow to her bow as she stepped over rags and bedrolls and her eyes adjusted to the deepening gloom. 

Blocking out the noises of the battle outside she listened hard for the warg’s breathing over her own. The cave was, as expected by the numbers of orcs outside in the valley, much bigger than it looked from the outside with plenty of dark corners for the beast to hide. 

As the deeper shadow of the rough back wall came into view she spied the mass of white fur, glowing brightly in the almost complete darkness. The warg, hidden as best it could behind a crude table, raised itself into a crouch and growled long and low at her. Hafdis smiled and took aim as it shifted its weight on massive paws the size of dinner plates. 

“Hafdis!”

Both she and the warg started. Snarling, it sprung across the cave toward her and Hafdis released her arrow at the very moment a throwing axe whirred across the cave. The beast crashed to the ground with a yelp, clawing at her arrow in its chest as it kicked out its last, and Hafdis rushed toward it. She dropped to her knees by its side as the massive eyes glazed and the beast took a final breath and grew still. 

“That pig of yours wouldn’t let me in.” Her cousin, Thorin, strode across the cave and lifted his axe. “Stupid creature. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Hafdis shook her head and touched the warg’s long muzzle. The axe had gouged it and the cut was ragged and deep. It was ruined. Destroyed before repair. As she brushed the soft fur and blinked back bitter tears of disappointment, fingers wrapped around her upper arm and Thorin yanked her to her feet. 

“Little fool, why did you come in here alone?” He marched her toward the cave mouth as she tried to wrench her arm free. 

“Let me past, Odr.” The sound of a hard slap followed by an angry squeal from Odr bounced off the walls around them and Hafur blocked out the dim starlight seeping in through the cave entrance. His face relaxed and he let out a huff of breath. “Hafdis, what happened?”

“She was trapped in here with a warg.” 

Hafur glanced past them toward the body of the warg before meeting her eyes with his expression somewhere between sympathetic and furious. 

“I wasn’t trapped—”

“You were lucky I arrived when I did. I don’t know what you were thinking.” Thorin sighed and dropped her arm. “Hafur, she was attempting to shoot it. A bow, in here. I know I agreed with you that she could come with us this time, but I am now thinking that was not wise. That’s twice she’s almost been hurt. You promised me that you would stay right by her side and look after her.”

Hafdis gritted her teeth as she looked between them. It wasn’t twice. It hadn’t even been once. 

“Go and fetch your arrow, Hafdis.” Hafur clasped Thorin’s forearm. “You have my thanks, Stonehelm.”

Hafdis stomped back across the cave and knelt by the warg as her brother and cousin congratulated each other on their hunt. The arrowhead was lodged deep in the warg’s wide chest and she yanked too hard, breaking the shaft and leaving the point inside the body. She hurled the shaft away and the cave fell silent as it clattered along the stone. 

Hafur raised an eyebrow at her and reached out a hand. “Come on, sister. Let’s get out into the fresh air. It stinks of orc in here.”

Strictly speaking they didn’t need to knock, Bard had told him so on every visit, but Fili did it anyway and waited whilst the sound of hurried footsteps came from within. 

The door was yanked open and Bard’s face split into a relieved grin as he ushered them into the kitchen. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you all. Especially you, Dis. There’s some sort of crisis upstairs. About hair, I think, although it might have moved onto another crisis by now. I tried to help but they threw me out. Would you—”

“Of course.” Amad shrugged off her cloak and, as Fili took it from her, she touched his face and said in a low voice, “Sit down and rest for as long as you can. Promise me.”

He nodded and she smiled, satisfied, before heading for the stairs. Fili watched her go. It wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter with his cousin and Molir hovering so close behind him. Neither would let him stand for a moment longer than the bare minimum necessary, and Fili could almost feel the touch of his cousin’s steady hand in the small of his back, ready to catch a hold of him should he collapse like a swooning maiden. 

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so close to the truth. 

Bard clasped his forearm. “It’s good to see you up and about properly, my friend. Come on. Close the door, Molir, would you? I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Without letting go of Fili’s arm, Bard pulled him gently through the kitchen and into the sitting room beyond. Legolas was already relaxed in one of the comfortable chairs beside the fire and lifted a hand in greeting as Bard steered Fili toward the other. 

“I’m not an invalid,” Fili protested. He didn’t pull his arm away though and hoped Bard couldn’t see that his legs were shaking badly. The walk through Erebor and over the short distance between the mountain and Dale had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, even to himself. With hindsight, it had perhaps been foolish to insist that they walk rather than ride. A decision made based on an urgent need to feel the actual ground under his feet rather than the too-familiar flagstones of the healing chambers, or his own bedchamber which he’d at long last been allowed back to. Fili was surprised they’d not only listened to him but agreed to it. Maybe he’d taken them unawares, for it had been a while since he’d properly insisted on anything. 

Bard nodded. “I know that. Don’t scold me for looking after my guests because Tilda always scolds me for not doing it. I escorted Legolas to his chair too.”

“He did.” Legolas smiled and stood, pulling Fili into a quick embrace before holding him at arm's length. “It was very disconcerting.” 

Fili looked up into the elf’s eyes and willed the tremors in his legs to stop. It had been some weeks since Legolas had last managed to visit Erebor and he was certain, or hopeful anyway, that he was much changed. 

At last, the scrutiny was over — or perhaps Legolas realised that he needed to sit down — and Fili was released. 

“You look well, Fili,” said Legolas before he returned to his own seat. “Pale, and still too thin. But well.”

“Right,” Bard clapped his hands together. “Everyone’s here. So what’s next? Tea, maybe. Yes, tea. It’s too early for anything else, isn’t it?” Not waiting for any response, he headed off back to the kitchen where, by the sounds of things, Gimli was already busy making something, probably tea. 

Fili watched him go and settled back into the oversized ‘dwarf’ chair — a mannish armchair with the legs hacked off. The chair was Bard’s creation after listening to one too many of Amad’s complaints about feeling like a dwarfling with her legs swinging in mid-air, and it was usually comfortable. But not today. As he shifted to try and find a comfortable position for his aching hip the chair rocked against the flagstones, and Fili reminded himself to bring tools on his next visit and fix it properly. Bard was many fine things but he was no craftsman. He frowned and studied his hands on the chair arms. Another visit wasn’t a certainty. Sigrid’s wedding was an occasion where their presence would be missed and commented upon, but a usual dinner and a pleasant evening spent at Bard’s would likely not be counted as such an occasion. 

“You’re in pain,” said Legolas. 

“No, I’m fine.” Fili shook his head to clear it of darker thoughts. Today was not a day to worry about his uncertain future. He could worry about that later. No, today was a day for celebration with friends, and for making memories to hold onto if he could. As Legolas raised an eyebrow and suddenly, with his serious face and in his grand robes, looked exactly like Thranduil, Fili laughed and continued, “I’m fine. I swear to you I am. It’s Bard you should be worried about. He’s the one who’s pale.”

Legolas nodded and seemed content to let the conversation move on, for now at least. “His nerves are in pieces. I arrived last night, as he’d asked me to, for dinner and this right now is the quietest it’s been. Hair, dress, food, on a continual loop, and no time for dinner at all with half the city coming and going.” Legolas grinned. “It’s been fascinating to watch, and he keeps asking me for help but I’ve never been to a mannish wedding before and I don’t know how these things are done. Although for the amount of people in Dale no-one seems to know the way these things are done. Apart from maybe Sigrid. Garett made the mistake of calling round earlier with some sort of question and I thought there would be murder.”

“Bard?”

“Sigrid. It’s bad luck apparently. And she’s normally so level-headed that to see her upset was a surprise to everyone. I had to bundle Garett out.” Legolas shook his head. “It’s very strange. I don’t know about your dwarven ceremonies, Fili, but in the Greenwood a wedding is a calm and organised event. Not that I’ve been to many. Two only, and they were nothing like this. There’s none of this...uncertainty and rushing around.”

Two? Fili raised his eyebrows as he looked at Legolas. He’d thought dwarven weddings were a rarity, for he’d only been to one, and that was when he was a little dwarfling and Kili only a babe in arms, but Legolas was centuries older than him. 

“Our ceremonies are...” They were good friends, but Legolas was still an elf, and Fili reconsidered his words. “Very organised too.” He remembered little about the one he had attended in the Blue Mountains. Mainly that it had lasted a long time and his feet had been smarting in his new boots by the time the ceremony itself — which had been all in formal Khuzdul that he hadn’t understood at the time — was over. Of course, he knew the words now to conduct a marriage, and all the various speeches for other ceremonies, for it had all been part of his training as Crown Prince. So many words in his head that he would never now use. 

He reached forward and poked at the fire in the grate to hide his face from Legolas. Men were so short-lived and gathered together in such scattered communities. Perhaps it was unsurprising that their rituals weren’t set in stone or passed down in the same way as dwarves and elves. They didn’t have the memory that a long life afforded. 

As he was opening his mouth to tell Legolas his thoughts he remembered Garett. “Did he mention me last night? Garett, I mean.”

“He didn’t get the chance to properly mention anything.”

“Then I should probably go and see him.” Fili pushed himself up to standing. “I think I’m still to stand beside him today, whatever that means, and I’m not sure what I’m meant to do or if there’s anything I’m supposed to say.”

Men surely had some form of words or ritual to follow, no matter how short or pieced together they were, and he couldn’t bear the thought of making a fool of himself in front of the whole of Dale, not to mention the representatives from Erebor and Mirkwood, by not knowing the right times to move or speak. 

When Garett had visited him weeks ago and asked him to stand by his side he was bound to have explained what that involved but, truth be told, Fili couldn’t remember most, or really any, of the conversation. It was a great honour to be asked. He knew that much. And, although Thorin hadn’t been overly impressed that Fili had accepted the honour without first consulting him, his uncle seemed more annoyed with Bard than anyone else. Fili wasn’t sure if that was why he hadn’t seen Bard or Garett, or anyone else from outside Erebor’s walls, since.

Or at least he thought he hadn’t, and didn’t like to ask in case he was mistaken. Not when he was finally being allowed some small freedoms. Instead, the days had passed like the weeks before, mingling together into one jumbled and confusing memory, and the conversation and his promise to Garett had been forgotten until Thorin reminded him on his nightly visit only the evening before.

Fili blamed the strong elvish draughts for leaving him thick-headed and slow, and hoped fervently that it was those that were responsible for his muddy head, and not something more permanent. Oin cheerily told him so when Fili questioned him, but he wasn’t convinced that the medic was telling the entire truth. 

Legolas eyed him doubtfully. “I think it would be better that you take some rest until someone comes to fetch you. Bain will keep you right, or we can ask Bard if he can stand still and think straight for more than a few moments. Sit down.”

It was a command rather than an invitation and Fili eased himself back down. Maybe it was best that he found out what was required from him just before the ceremony. There was a better chance that he could retain any important information if it were only for a short while. Perhaps.  

“And this arrived for you yesterday,” said Legolas. “I was going to deliver it to Erebor if you weren’t able to make it today.” He reached inside his robes and pulled out a letter. 

It couldn’t possibly be a response to the one that Gimli had promised to send for him, for it was surely still making its slow way across Middle-earth. Fili’s fingers trembled as they touched the parchment. 

“Bilbo sent it along with a barrel of pipeweed for Bard,” Legolas continued. “So it wasn’t sent urgently. It’s just a normal, good news letter, I expect, and nothing to worry about. But I thought you’d want to read it as soon as possible regardless. There’s one for Thorin too. A barrel of pipeweed, I mean, not a letter.” Legolas stood, shook out his robes and adjusted the circlet on his head. “Very strange wearing these in Bard’s house. I’ll go and find out how they’re getting on with that tea.”

Chapter Text

“You’re making them too tight.” Hafdis tried to yank her head away. “Leave me alone and I’ll do it myself.”

Amad’s hands stilled on Hafdis’s hair and her voice wobbled, “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Hafdis, and I was worried about you both. Let me do this.”

“Ignore her, Amad.” Hafur shifted in the armchair by the fireside but didn’t open his eyes. “She’s not angry at you. Keep on with your braiding.”

“Who are you angry at, my little love?”

Hafdis gritted her teeth, gripping the sides of the stool and curling bare toes into the thick pile of her bearskin rug to prevent herself from standing as Amad started on another too-tight braid. 

Hafur opened one eye and grinned at her. “She’s angry at Stonehelm—”

“Such a ridiculous name,” snorted Hafdis. 

“He likes it, so you’ll like it.” Hafur met her eyes before looking over her head to Amad. “Stonehelm killed a warg Hafdis wanted for herself.”

“Oh, Hafdis. You shouldn’t be angry with your cousin over a warg.”

“I’m not,” Hafdis growled. “But it was a big, white one and I haven’t seen one of those in years. It was mine.”

“You could still have taken the head.” Hafur closed his eyes again and settled himself back in the chair, stretching out his legs. 

“No. I couldn’t. It was ruined.” 

“You do not need another head for your wall.” Amad stroked fingers through Hafdis’s hair and separated out another section.

“You should have asked me to help,” said Hafur. “I thought you were behind me.”

“I didn’t need any help.”

Hafur laughed. “What if I did? Don’t look so worried, Amad. I’m joking. There were only a few orcs. She was in no danger, and neither was I.”

Even though he wasn’t looking, Hafdis smiled at Hafur to show him she’d forgiven him for the berating she'd received on the long ride back to the Iron Hills. It had been almost too much, being forced to listen to him and Thorin drone on and on about her stupidity for thinking to shoot a warg at close quarters, and about their cleverness and prowess in comparison. Then having to listen to how their mounts were faster than Odr, stronger, better behaved and better trained. None of which were true.  Odr had done all that she had asked of them, guarding the cave doggedly despite the temptations all around him. Hafdis was certain her brother and cousin’s goats would have been halfway to the Misty Mountains chasing wargs given such an opportunity. 

She’d been so annoyed with their crowing and yammering, and Thorin’s repeated offers to replace Odr with a warpig of his choosing, that she’d left them at the first polite opportunity and ridden at the front of the column beside Fraeg for most of the long journey home. Even though he made her skin crawl. Never had she been so thankful for the gates of the mountain to loom into sight through the swirling winter mists.

“There,” said Amad. “All done. Now go and get dressed or we’ll be late for dinner.”

Hafdis moved to the mirror and inspected the braids. They weren’t even close to the way she liked them. “I don’t see why Uncle is insisting on a celebration.”

“Because he’s pleased to have you all back, of course.”

Hafur snorted. “More likely he’s going to tell us what the Erebor messenger said.”

“The what?” Hafdis stopped fiddling with one of the braids in an attempt to loosen it. Her heart pounded in her ears and she stared at Hafur’s reflection in the mirror but his face gave nothing away. 

Dead or awake? Dead or like Buvro? Those were the options, weren’t they? 

“You would know about this if you hadn’t stormed off in a snit. The guards on the gate told us that Nori arrived from Erebor yesterday.”

“I didn’t storm off.” She’d strangle him. They’d been lounging about in her room for hours, getting on her nerves and under her feet when she just wanted some time with her own thoughts. He’d had plenty of opportunity to mention it well before this. “And I wasn’t in a snit. I just wanted to take Odr to the stables and give him a rub down, and I wanted a hot bath.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what it looked like.” Hafur smiled. “Anyway. Nori’s gone again. Met with Dain and then left, didn’t even stay overnight apparently. Bit rude, really. I suppose Thorin’s message, whatever it is, was far too secret and important to be carried by ravens or anyone other than one of his trusted few.”

“What was the message?” Hafur shook his head and Hafdis glared at Amad. “Well, go on, what was it?”

“Nothing that concerns you, I’m sure, and why would your Uncle Dain tell me anything? He’s much more likely to tell Hafur. Now go and get dressed, and put on your gold gown that I laid out for you, your cousin likes you in that. I remember he was very complimentary the last time you wore it.”

“Amad!”

“Hafdis. Go and get dressed. I won’t tell you again. Hafur, come over and I’ll fix your braids. They’re very untidy.”

Hafdis stomped into her bedchamber as Hafur protested behind her. The gold gown and a selection of silks lay neatly on her bed and matching jewellery was arranged on her pillow. She walked past it all to search through her wardrobe. 

Amad pursed her lips but said nothing as Hafdis re-emerged wearing a simple green gown. 

“I’m ready,” said Hafdis, sliding in her earrings. “Let’s go.”

The tea must surely be cold by now. 

Murmurs of voices and the occasional peal of laughter drifted from below the closed door that led to the kitchen. His friends allowing him privacy for as long as he needed it. And that meant that he either needed to get up and go to them, or call them in. Fili touched his fingers to his brother’s writing one more time before carefully folding up the letter to tuck it away. 

His whole body had stiffened, either from the walk or from sitting still, and it felt like it took forever just to get levered up out of the low chair and begin to cross the room to the door. Every footstep needed to be placed deliberately and with care, like he was some doddering greybeard three times his age, lest a leg buckle under him. It was ridiculous, and frustrating. Fili placed a hand flat on the door and readied himself to move much quicker. It was only a fear of falling that slowed his steps, that was all. He was well. And if Amad saw him shuffling about she’d have him packed back off to the mountain. Wedding or no wedding. 

Conversation stopped and they all looked up as one as he pushed the door open. Gimli dropped his pipe and scrambled over Molir in his rush to get out from the table and take his arm. 

“I’m fine.” Fili pushed Gimli away gently and lowered his voice, “Stop fussing, cousin. Please. I promise I’m well.”

“Good news?” asked Molir. 

Fili nodded. It was the best news. “I need to show Amad first, and then I’ll tell you all.”

“Of course.” Bard swung his long legs over the bench. “I’ll take my life in my hands and go fetch her.”

“No, it’s fine.” Fili made his way around the table to the staircase as Bard sat back down and looked at him worriedly. “I’ve climbed mountains all my life. I can manage a few steps.”

“Well...if you’re sure. I suppose Sigrid might be less likely to take your head off than mine. It’s the second room on the right, and rap Bain’s door for me whilst you’re at it. The two of you will need to leave soon.”

The stairs were narrower and steeper than the wide stone steps of Erebor. There were only fifteen of them, he knew because he counted and cursed every single one, but by the time Fili reached the top he had to lean his forehead against the wall and catch his breath for a moment. 

The door opposite swung open and Bain peeped out, his face splitting into a wide grin as he rushed forward. 

“Fili!” he exclaimed before his face dropped and a look of concern spread over it instead. He reached out a hand. “Are you—”

Fili raised a shaking finger to his lips and the boy hushed. “I’m fine. Are you ready?”

Bain nodded. 

“Good. We need to go soon.” The thought of making their way across the crowded city filled him with a sudden dread and Fili sighed. It would be hard-going to keep up with the longer legged men. “I just need to speak with my mother and I’ll be right down. Will you wait for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And I’ll need you today, Bain.” Fili clapped Bain’s arm. “To make sure I do everything right, for Sigrid.”

“You can rely on me.” The boy stood up straight as he spoke, and Fili looked up into the young, earnest face and wondered when he’d shot upward. He was certain the last time they’d stood face to face Bain had been barely the taller. 

“Good lad, off you go.”

Bain clattered down the stairs and Fili listened to him go with a pang of jealousy as he made his way slowly along the wooden panelled corridor. His fingers trailed over the grooves and boards of the wall — not for support —  until they reached Sigrid’s door. 

When he knocked the soft voices within stopped, to be replaced by rapid footsteps, and Fili had just enough time to let go of the door frame and stand up straight before Tilda flung the door open. The look of outrage on her face softened immediately into concern — which gave him an idea, without needing a mirror, about how he looked. 

“Fili.” Amad rushed across the room. “What are you—“ She gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth as he pulled out the letter. 

“Come in and sit down before you fall down, Fili.” Tilda tugged him into the room and before he knew what was happening he was sat on a neatly made bed, watching Amad blink rapidly as she worked her way through the letter. 

When she was done she crossed the room and knelt before him. Pulling his head down to hers, she kissed his cheek and touched their foreheads together. 

“Keep it safe.” She handed him the letter and stroked his face once before she stood. “I’ll want to read it again properly later. Now, off you go and let Sigrid get dressed.”

From a stool beside a table that was covered in silks and sparkling jewels, Sigrid smiled at him and heat flooded his face as, too-late, he realised she was clad only in a thin robe. He pushed himself to his feet, with his eyes fixed firmly on his boots as he murmured apologies, and hurried as best he could to the door. As it closed behind him girlish laughter broke out, his Amad’s the loudest amongst it, and he flushed harder. 

“There he is.” Legolas was the first to his side as Fili set foot back in the kitchen. 

Still slightly out of breath and feeling dizzy from descending the stairs, Fili didn’t bother waving off the fuss this time and gratefully accepted his friend’s arm. 

Molir slid a mug of ale along the table to him. “You’ve a bit more colour in your cheeks now, Fili. Get that down you. We’ve already had one so you’re behind, and Bard’s had two.”

“I need help.” Bard tugged Fili down beside him and passed over a parchment and a quill. “You’re good with these sorts of things. Here. Write down what I have to say.”

“He’s writing a speech,” explained Gimli. “Which he should have done already. Why haven’t you done it already?”

Bard glared across the table. “Because I had a thousand other things to arrange. You, young Master Dwarf, have no idea how much is involved in organising a—“

“Because he forgot,” said Legolas. “You admitted it last night. Do you not remember? It was just before you fell up the stairs.”

At least someone else was suffering from memory loss. Fili laughed with the others as he looked over the scratches and scorings out that Bard had managed so far. 

“No. That doesn’t sound right at all.” Bard held up a hand as Legolas opened his mouth. “Don’t quote whatever nonsense I spouted back at me, please. It’s no fun drinking with someone who remembers every single word of every single conversation, you know, and someday, Legolas, I’ll do it to you. I’ll get you blind drunk and then tell you exactly what you said, and I’ll spare you nothing.”

“I did not get him drunk,” Legolas told them. “He managed that all by himself.”

“Why do you have ‘be funny’ in the middle of this?” Fili turned the parchment over but there was nothing further. He lifted the quill. “This isn’t a great speech, Bard.”

Molir held up a hand. “That was my idea, and it’s a good one so don’t take it out. Don’t you dare score it out. Fili, this isn’t rallying troops for battle, or making some grand proclamation. It’s a wedding. He needs to make people laugh.”

“He doesn’t need to be funny. Bard, you just need to thank everyone, and welcome Garett to your family.” Fili pulled the mug of ale away as Bard lifted it to his mouth. “And not fall over. Gimli, make him some tea.”

Amad leaned in close. “You need to put that Durin boy out of your head.”

Hafdis speared another piece of chicken onto her plate and for good measure lifted a third bread roll too. The cooks had outdone themselves — or maybe she was just starving after over a week of substandard fare? One thing was for certain and that was that they needed a better cook on their hunts. One that at a bare minimum knew how to use seasoning, or even what it was. She glanced at Hafur and reminded herself to speak to him after dinner. Then he could talk to Thorin and arrange it. She pushed away the thought that Thorin mightn’t allow her on the next trip. Her cousin would relent. He always did if she made an effort and simpered at him enough. 

Pulling the chicken off the bone with her fingers, she realised Amad was still staring at her. “He’s not in my head,” she hissed. “Let me eat in peace.”

He was though. Now more so than he'd ever been in weeks. She desperately needed to know what was in the message. But Dain would tell her. She was sure of it. She’d speak with him later and beg him to put her mind at rest. Wide eyes and a wobbly lip always worked with their soft-hearted uncle, and if she squeezed out a tear or two he’d tell her anything just to make her stop. And Hafur was bound to be desperate to know too, even though he was doing a good job at hiding it. 

“Both of you need to put him out of your heads.” Amad pointed her fork across the table at Hafur. “I saw how the two of you trailed around after him in Erebor and—”

“You didn’t mind then, and this isn’t dinner table talk.” Hafur frowned and glanced up as Dain called his name. “Uncle wants me, so both of you behave yourselves. Talk about dresses or something until I come back.”

Hafdis watched him make his way through the long tables and jog up the steps onto the raised dais to sit down in the empty chair by Dain’s left hand. Thorin, on Dain’s right, smiled down at her and she smiled back. 

“That’s better,” whispered Amad. “That’s exactly the way you should be thinking.”

“I am not thinking in any way.” Hafdis snuck a look up and down the table. Everyone seemed busy with their dinner and the noisy talk all around them along with the music likely meant no-one could overhear but still... She bit down the words that threatened to come out. She couldn’t listen to this again. It was maddening. 

“Well, you should be. Before it’s too late.”

Hafdis snorted. “Before it’s too late? Stop it, Amad. I’m only ninety.”

“That’s the perfect time.” 

“And he’s not even eighty.”

Amad leaned even closer. “And he won’t wait around for you forever. You know as well as I do that he’s been besotted with you since you were both dwarflings, but if you don’t hurry up someone else will swoop in and take him from you, and then you’ll have to watch her take your rightful place on his arm.”

Let them. Hafdis wished her good luck, whoever she was. She’d need it. 

“His amad told me how upset he was when he heard the rumours from Erebor about you and that boy, and how worried he was for you when we heard about...what happened.” 

Hafdis scowled down at her dinner plate. The conversation was completely ruining her appetite. 

“I understand, Hafdis. Your adad and Dain were just the same after they returned after Azanulbizar. King Thorin was all they could talk about, not that he was a king then of course, but they were completely bewitched.” Amad sighed. “And then when I saw him in Erebor I could see the attraction for myself. There’s just something so mesmerising about him. Powerful. Not that there will ever be another dwarf for me after your father, but still...”

That was it. Her appetite was completely gone. Hafdis dropped her fork onto her plate and shoved it away with a sigh of her own.

Amad pulled herself out of whatever disgusting romantic notion she’d fallen into and continued, “but that boy—”

“Fili. His name’s Fili.”

“Was.” Amad looked shocked that she’d said it out loud and glanced around in a panic. She raised her voice. “Or maybe still is. Whatever Mahal has willed, of course.”

No-one lifted their heads from their dinner or their conversations and Amad lowered her voice again, “But I knew he wasn’t right, and I tried to warn you both but neither of you would listen to me. I could see there was a melancholy about him, and when he wasn’t brooding he was angry. I know you think I’m very old, Hafdis, and not worth listening to, but I understand.”

Shifting in her chair to try and put some space between them, Hafdis shook her head at her amad’s raised eyebrow. “Go on then, spit it out, whatever it is before you choke on it. What do you think you understand?”

“There’s no need to be rude to me when I’m only trying to help you.” Amad managed to look both offended and pleased with herself at the same time. “I was your age once, although I know you can’t bring yourself to think it, and so I understand why you would have found him attractive."

"Amad, you're—”

"Because I would likely have felt the same way." Amad smiled warmly. "I can see how you thought that just by loving him you might be able to wish away the darkness, and I’ll be the first to admit that he was a fine figure of a dwarf, if you ignored the silly beard of course, but you could have easily changed that, and those green eyes were very piercing. I remember when we spoke after we had first arrived, and he looked at me and I felt this shiver—”

These were not thoughts Hafdis wanted in her head. As her amad continued with her really inappropriate confession, Hafdis looked desperately for Hafur but he was still deep in conversation with Dain. Her brother’s face was serious and Hafdis leant forward even though she hadn’t a hope of hearing from this distance, and certainly not with Amad droning on in her ear. What was going on? It must be about the message. 

“—but that’s just not the sort of dwarf your adad would have wanted for you.”

That was a low blow. Hafdis shot a glare at her amad.

“Don’t look at me like that. I only want you to be happy, and yes, the boy was next in line to inherit the mountain…” Amad glanced around. “But don’t you see? Now it will be Dain and after Dain then it will be your Thorin. And you, if you behave yourself. You would be queen, and your dwarflings would be—”

“There won’t be any dwarflings.”

Amad laughed and patted Hafdis’s hand. “Nonsense.”

“I’ve told you before, I’ve told you again and again and I don’t know why you won’t just listen. I’m not getting married, to anyone, ever, and there won’t be any dwarflings, ever. Not from me.” Hafdis pulled her hand out of reach and crossed her arms. “So you may pin your hopes on Hafur.”

“Don’t be so silly. I’m expecting dwarflings from both of you, and lots of them.” Amad smiled. “You have a responsibility, Hafdis.”

Hafdis snorted. “It’s not my responsibility. There’s plenty of dams who want nothing more than to be locked up in a mountain having as many dwarflings as they can. The dwarven race isn’t going to fail just because I choose not to join them. I want to see the world.”

“I’ve seen the world, and there’s no greater—”

“Don’t give me the ‘there’s no greater joy that having dwarflings’ speech. I’m heard it before and I’m bored of it, and you’ve seen nothing of the world. Nothing.” She’d accidentally raised her voice and Hafdis made an effort to lower it. This was not the place for this conversation but it was Amad’s fault for forcing her into a corner, again, and it needed to be said. Again. And again. Until her amad understood. “There’s more to Middle-earth than here and Erebor. Two mountains and the path between them. That’s not exciting. That’s not an adventure. The thought of living your life bores me to death, and I won’t have it and you won’t ever make me.” 

Amad’s eyes had filled with tears and she blinked them away rapidly, gripping Hafdis’s sleeve. “Now you listen to me. I—”

“Silence! All of you!” All conversations stopped abruptly and the music faltered to a halt as Dain’s voice boomed out across the banqueting hall. 

He stood and every head turned toward him. Smiling broadly at them all, he continued, “As I am sure some of you are aware I received a message from King Thorin in Erebor...”

He raised his hands for quiet as excited whispers and mutters filled the room. 

“And I’m sure you will all be as pleased as I am to hear that the Crown Prince is awake and on the mend. It’s nothing short of a miracle and—”

The hall erupted in a mix of cheers and fury. Distracted as she was by the pounding of her heart in her ears and a wave of nausea, Hafdis didn’t see who threw the first punch but it spread like a ripple around the chamber and in a matter of moments scuffles had broken out everywhere. With Amad clutching at her arm, Hafdis stood and looked for a clear path to the doors as the guards raced in. As she watched, Fraeg threw himself into the middle of a fight feet-first and the other guards quickly followed suit, cracking heads and pulling quarreling dwarves apart. There would be no help there, and a fist-fight was no place for her amad. 

Hafur leapt from the dais and raced to her side. His face as pale as she was sure hers was. 

“Here,” he said, tipping the long table onto its side. Dishes and tankards crashed to the floor and Hafur kicked the shattered pieces clear, pushing Amad behind it and waving to a group of eldery dams nearby who seemed confused about where to go. “All of you over here. I’ll protect you.” 

As the dams crouched down behind the table, twittering anxiously, he turned to her. “You too, Hafdis.”

“No, I can help—”

“Do as I say.” He vaulted the table and, as Amad tugged at her skirts, Hafdis watched her brother take up position in front of them with his fists clenched. There was no point in arguing. Ducking down behind the table with a sigh, she settled herself in beside Amad and took her hand, murmuring reassurances. 

Her uncle could be an utter fool at times. It really wasn’t the wisest decision to announce something like that at the end of a celebratory dinner when everyone had been drinking heavily. 

Turning, Hafdis peeped out over the edge of the table as Amad hissed at her to stay down. It really was close to a riot and already the main floor was awash with ale, and splattered with spilled food, and blood. Such a mess. 

It was interesting though. 

Hafdis watched Fraeg hurl a grey-bearded dwarf across the hall and throw himself roaring at another pack of fighters. He looked to be enjoying himself. In fact, all the guards looked like they were enjoying themselves. 

Maybe Dain was a lot more cunning than she’d given her credit for? Because this made it very easy to spot the staunchest Durin supporters, and to spot those who weren't. Some of which were a surprise even to her. Hafdis snorted. Wily old goat. Plenty of ale brought out everyone’s true colours. 

Another table overturned nearby with a crash as a yelling dwarf was hurled across it and Hafdis ducked back down before Hafur caught sight of her. 

Amad’s face was pale and Hafdis felt a pang of sadness for her mixed with annoyance. She patted her amad’s hand. “It’ll be over soon, and then I’ll take you up to your chambers. We can get into our bed things and heat up some spiced wine and sit together for a bit. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Nodding, her amad managed a watery smile and Hafdis smiled brightly back. 

If it had been Dis by her side they wouldn’t be cowering behind a table. Over the sound of smashing crockery and war cries, Hafdis heard Hafur yell at someone and the table rocked with an impact of something heavy. By her side, Amad shrieked and Hafdis patted her hand again and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, shushing her. Hafur would deal with it. They weren’t in any danger. 

Looking up from comforting her amad, Hafdis smiled at Dain who was strolling toward them as if he were out for a summer walk and not surrounded by flying dwarves and debris. 

“Ah, very sensible.” Dain grinned as he reached them. He crouched and nodded to the others sheltering behind the table before he held out a parchment. “This is for you.” 

Hafdis stared at the letter in her hand, covering her mouth to hide the smile from Amad. As Dain patted her on the head, she looked up and met his eyes.

“Good girl,” he said. “It’s nice to see a little smile on your face. I know where your loyalties lie anyway, don’t I? Right. I’d better go sort this rabble out. They’ve had enough fun for one night.”

He stomped away, roaring above the din for calm, but if anyone listened Hafdis didn’t hear it.  Everything faded into the background as she broke the seal on the parchment and carefully unfolded it, angling so that Amad couldn’t read over her shoulder. 

A letter from Dis. Just like she’d promised. 

Chapter Text

It seemed to Thorin as if the whole city were in attendance. From Bard’s council members, to the stall-holders, and down to those that swept the streets of Dale or sat on its corners with hands outstretched in need of employment.

All of them were packed shoulder to shoulder in a chattering mass inside the grandest of Dale’s halls, even spilling out through its doors into the street outside, and not all of them had thought to wash for the occasion.

A fug of smells hung like a cloak above his head. Pipesmoke, drying leather and fabrics, and more unsavoury odours. Thorin wrinkled his nose and adjusted the still rain-damp fur about his shoulders, wondering whether this idea of inviting all and sundry as witnesses was a mannish tradition for weddings or just Bard’s own particular fancy.

But yet, somehow, despite the crowd, and out of all the multitude of places for the Elvenking to choose to stand, Thranduil had managed to end up by his side. Inserted between him and Balin and forcing Thorin into conversation. 

“Shall I ask one of my guards to find you a box?” the elf asked mildly. 

Thorin gritted his teeth and contemplated murder. “I can see perfectly well from here.” 

Bard had thoughtfully arranged a raised dais for the ceremony, even if he hadn’t had the wit to assign designated seating, or standing, areas. Not that Thorin particularly minded that the man standing directly in front of him was, from the smell, a butcher. But still, proper protocol should be observed, and it was a serious, if not unsurprising, oversight on the bargeman’s part. It was a mystery why Dis hadn’t thought to mention it to Bard, since she seemed to have inserted herself into the middle of things.

Thorin glanced behind him in the direction of the doors and resisted the urge to raise himself onto an undignified tiptoe in an attempt to see over the crowd. It was useless anyway. All that surrounded him were mannish chests of all shapes and sizes, and identical elvish ones. 

“Who are you searching for?” 

He supposed the elf might have a use. “Dis,” Thorin sighed. 

Thranduil hummed to himself, some irritatingly floaty elvish tune, as he turned and studied the hall.  “Ah, there she is. By the doors. I’ll send one of my guards to escort her to you.”

A guard was dispatched in a fast flurry of elvish before Thorin could speak. Not that he would necessarily have stopped him, although Durin only knew what Thranduil had actually said, but to be consulted would have been preferred. And he would have preferred any command to be given in Common.

He should find more time for the language. It put them all at a disadvantage that the creature seemed to have a perfect grasp of Khuzdul, yet Thorin could barely pick out more than a word or two of elf gibberish. And only then if they spoke slowly and clearly.

Which they never did.

The Company should probably all learn, since the mountain was forced to trade and deal with Mirkwood on a regular basis these days. Thorin drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword.

Perhaps Ori could arrange some lessons? Since he and Fili were likely the only ones out of all of Erebor who could string together a sentence in any of the elvish languages.

Or at least Thorin assumed that they could string together a sentence. The elves generally just looked amused and indulgent when Fili addressed them in their own language, and then responded to him in Common. There was an insult there, even if it didn’t appear to bother his nephew. 

Realising he was still tapping his sword, Thorin pulled his fingers away and settled them by his side.

Insults could not be borne, no matter that they were all pretending to be good friends these strange days. And so he’d learn elvish but never speak it. Just enough to know for certain when Thranduil was being deceitful, derogatory, or both. Then, at the right moment, he’d throw it back in the elf king's face, politely since they were allies now. He smiled as Thranduil gave him an odd look. 

“You sent for me, Thorin,” Dis said accusingly, nodding to Thranduil as she pushed her way to Thorin’s side. “Must I remind you that I have responsibilities here today?”

“Surely you can be spared long enough to stand by me for the ceremony?” Thorin grasped her shoulders and manoeuved her between him and Thranduil, ignoring the elf king’s raised eyebrow. “You don’t want to miss Fili playing his part, whatever that is. Since he doesn’t seem to have the first idea about it.”

“He just needs to stand there.” Dis turned her eyes to the dais. “And not fall over. But fine, since you want me here so badly I’ll stay.”

Out of sight of Thranduil and shielded by the folds of her gown, her fingers flickered an insult. Thorin elbowed her hard as she snorted with laughter. Amused at herself. And completely wrong. He was most certainly not a dwarfling frightened of tall elves. Thranduil was staring at them curiously so he refrained from responding and looked to Fili up on the dais instead. 

Fili was shockingly pale. Thorin frowned as he watched his nephew smile and talk with Garett and Bain. He had worried that today would be too much exertion for Fili, and he had been right. It clearly was. It was thoughtless of Bard to allow Garett to ask this of him, so soon out of his sickbed. So-called great honour or not. And it was another annoyance that Dis hadn’t been sensible enough to actually take the ponies he’d readied for them, no matter Fili’s thoughts on the matter.

His nephew’s stubborn and mistaken belief that he was almost fully recovered would see him stumble or fall in front of all these men if he wasn’t careful. Not to mention Thranduil and his contingent of elves. Dwalin had been sent back to the mountain to fetch ponies as soon as Thorin realised Fili had walked all the way.

Anyone with a lick of sense — which obviously now forever excluded Dis, Molir, and Gimli — should have known the boy wasn’t capable of it and it was no surprise his nephew looked exhausted and unsteady on his feet.

Fili glanced toward them and Thorin smiled back. When would this ceremony start? Already he longed for it to be over. Then he could take his nephew home, put him into his bed, and insist he rest. 

“There was a letter today,” whispered Dis. 

Thorin glanced toward Thranduil. The elf appeared deep in conversation with Balin but you could never be certain of how much elves could eavesdrop. He lowered his voice and kept an eye on Thranduil as he whispered back, “Fili told me.”

Before joining Garett on the dais, Fili had limped hurriedly to his side — the men between them standing aside and respectfully creating a path for his nephew — and attempted to show him Kili’s letter. Thorin had promised to look at it later, when they were back in their mountain, and he would. No matter how much it hurt his heart to do so, for the very last thing he wanted to think of on a day dedicated to the celebration of family was his lost nephew.

But he would do anything to keep a smile on Fili’s face and maintain the fragile and hard-won peace between them. He'd get Fili tucked safely into bed first, then they could go through it together, in peace and quiet.

He smiled sadly. It was a shame that it had taken a life-threatening injury to begin the bridges between them. But there'd been moments when he'd been almost grateful for it.

They'd spent more time together than they had in years. He'd helped Fili with the simplest tasks. Everything from gripping a spoon or tying the laces of his shirt, to holding his nephew's waist as Fili struggled to take a faltering step. He'd brought his papers to Fili's bedside whenever he could to talk through this or that, ensuring that he kept his nephew informed and involved in all, or almost all, of Erebor's affairs. No matter that Fili's failing mind would always be wiped clear by the morning.

All of it had brought with it a selfish, guilty joy and a tentative hope of a return to the closeness he had missed.

Even in the worst moments, like when Fili had railed against them in the mistaken belief that Kili was in Erebor. Even then, as Thorin commanded everyone else out of the chamber and climbed into bed beside his nephew, holding on tightly as the frustrated rage gave way to clinging hands and heart-broken, gasping sobs, he had felt the rush of being needed once again. Of being the beloved uncle his nephew turned to. 

Dis nudged him. “And did he tell you I’m a Sigin'amad?”

Fili had. Although technically that wasn’t true, and would never be true. But Dis knew that well enough, so there was no sense in reminding her when her eyes shone with happiness. If she wished to forget for an afternoon that there were some limits to what a king could do then so be it. This was neither the time nor the place to discuss such things. 

Thorin sighed heavily. It would likely cause trouble enough to ensure that Fili came out of this whole sorry tale unscathed. He could do nothing further for Kili. Reinstating a disgraced heir, and especially one who came with a witch and some sort of half-dwarfling in tow, would be a step too far for an already unsettled people. No. Kili was better off where he was, tucked away in the peaceful Shire, and with Bilbo by his side he would never want for anything, and certainly not firm friends. He would be happy forever far away from dwarven political maneuverings. 

Dis’s fingers entwined with his and Thorin looked down into her proud face as she stared toward Fili. His strong sister had been through enough. He couldn’t bring her youngest back to her arms, but he would not be the cause of any more distress. No matter the cost. Balin had strongly advised against the decision to set aside the trial, citing all sorts of dire consequences, but Thorin would not be swayed. He turned his gaze to Fili. His nephew had had one taste of dwarven judgement by his hand, and he would spare him another. He would stand by his words at Fili’s bedside. 

Let them try. 

The fire crackled in the grate by his boots but apart from that Dain’s chamber was in a deep silence. Hafur leant against the mantlepiece and slowly read through the letter a second time. He couldn’t quite believe it, and, from the waves of fury he could feel rolling off Stonehelm at his shoulder, neither could his cousin. 

“No trial?” Hafur glanced at Stonehelm, waiting for the nod that he too had finished reading before he reached across the low table and handed the letter back to Dain. 

Stonehelm frowned. “Does that mean he’s not in a cell?”

“No, and I expect not.” Dain leaned back in his armchair. His heavy boots thumped onto the table. “Sit down, boys. Thorin claims there will be no trial but he’s completely wrong there. Our King he may be, but we are dwarves, and no king can wield that sort of power over us. Justice must be seen to be done, and sweeping this mess under the rug is not an option.”

Hafur waited for Stonehelm to sit before he took the remaining armchair. Settling into the cushions, he lifted his tankard of ale and glanced at Dain. His uncle stared into the flames over steepled fingers with his brow furrowed, deep in thought. 

It was Stonehelm who broke the silence. “What do you intend, Adad?”

“Thorin’s not thinking straight.” Dain lifted his tankard and they waited whilst he took a long drink. “And I understand. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Fili is on his feet at all, and if it were one of you two in the same position...well. I like to think that I would follow our laws first and foremost, but who is to say? My cousin is used to ruling only his own small tribe in the west. There, his word was the law, but Erebor, ruling over all of us, well, that is an entirely different matter. I intend to return and tell him as much. Sort this nonsense out before he tears our people apart at the seams. We have the Arkenstone, we have our mountain and our rightful King, and we have peace. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Hafur shifted in his chair. It was a miracle Fili was standing. He hadn’t thought it possible the last time he’d laid eyes on the prince. In fact, he was certain that death would have been only a matter of days or weeks at most. Everyone in the mountain had seemed certain of it — and certain that the Durin’s were fools to even think otherwise. But from the letter, if it were true, Fili was not only able to stand, but also well on the way to making a full recovery. 

Dain saying his name jerked Hafur from his thoughts. “How does your sister feel about all this?”

Rubbing a hand through his beard, Hafur shot a glance with Stonehelm as he thought about his answer. 

“I think it would be for the best to leave her here with your amad,” continued Dain. 

That wouldn’t do at all. They’d murder each other within days without him to intervene, and Hafdis would never agree to him going without her. Not to mention that she’d never forgive him if he ruined her chance to see Dis again. Dain was staring at him intently so Hafur couldn’t look to Stonehelm for guidance. 

He sipped at his ale whilst he gathered his thoughts. “Hafdis is pleased that Prince Fili is well. They were good friends and I know that she will be eager to see him again. No matter the circumstances. She’s in a difficult position, because of Buvro of course, but she has a soft heart and will want to go regardless. And I believe that she should. Soft heart or not, she’s a lot stronger than she looks, Uncle. Much stronger than any of us give her credit for. And we’ll look after her, won’t we, Stonehelm?”

Dain smiled fondly at the name. 

“We’ll keep a very close eye on her.” Stonehelm nodded. “But I’m not overly keen on her continuing any sort of friendship with a dwarf who is unpredictable and prone to violence without cause, as my cousin Fili would appear to be. I’m surprised you didn’t put a stop to it, Hafur.”

Hafur stared at the tankard in his hands. 

“Thorin, you should not blame your cousin.” Hafur glanced up gratefully as his uncle smiled at Stonehelm and continued, “None of us could have foreseen what happened. Not even you.”

Stonehelm sighed. “Perhaps if I had been there instead of—”

“None of that. I needed you here, and you enjoyed ruling in my stead. You will get your opportunity to meet your cousin this time.” Dain laughed as Stonehelm snorted. “He may surprise you. And you should try not to think of him too harshly. Us dwarves are a stout-hearted folk, but we are not all easily able to put behind us what we have seen in battle. Sometimes the memories linger, and that may have been what lay behind his loss of control. That, and worries of the brother. They were always closer than they should have been. I told Thorin years ago that—”

“The traitor brother.” 

“None of that either.” Dain’s face darkened. “There’s enough whispers about Kili without you putting your voice to it as well. Fili’s your cousin, and you will treat him with respect when in Erebor or I will send you back here. Do you understand me? My line is above sly talk and rumour-mongering.”

The look Dain sent their way made Hafur’s shoulders tense. 

Stonehelm seemed unbowed by it though. He sat forward in his chair. “I’m disappointed, Adad. That’s all. I’ve heard so many tales about my brave cousins that it hurts to realise they are neither as I had hoped. I had thought we would be good friends. But you will at least agree that Hafdis should not be near him? She can see him from a distance and be content that he’s well. I would never forgive myself if he was roaming free and some madness in his blood took him and she was hurt.”

“And you’ll not say that word in Erebor either,” growled Dain. 

“Madness?” Stonehelm was all innocence. “It’s only a word. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Good. See that you don’t.” Dain lifted his ale and with a final glance at Stonehelm turned his attention back to Hafur. “I know Hafdis may have had…certain hopes. To be honest I think we all did, and I’m as disappointed as anyone. But I don’t know how this will turn out, Hafur. Thorin must agree to a trial, as is proper, and I can’t guarantee you that Fili will be able to walk away. And I know you were very fond of him too at a time. Maybe you still are?”

Hafur had no idea what the right answer was. He dropped his eyes. 

Dain hummed under his breath. “There’s no shame in admitting it, Hafur, but I know you too are in a difficult place.” A heavy hand landed on Hafur’s shoulder and he looked into Dain’s eyes as his uncle leant forward across the table. “Perhaps it might be best after all if you both stayed here. Thorin can come with me. Then, when it’s over, if you and your sister still want to come to Erebor you can join us.”

It was a way out for both of them. And Hafdis would understand when he explained it to her. Hafur nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “As you command, my—” 

Behind Dain’s back, Stonehelm glared at him. 

Hafur cleared his throat. “I mean, if it's your command that I stay, then I will. But I would prefer to go. And I will stand by whatever decision King Thorin makes. I won’t cause any trouble, Uncle. I swear to you.”

“No, no. I know you won’t cause trouble.” Dain smiled at him sadly. “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re a good lad. I’m just worried that it will be hard on you, on all of you.”

“What are you going to tell the king about Buvro, Adad?”

“The truth,” said Dain. 

Buvro was ruined. It hurt Hafur’s heart to see his friend in such a sorry state, and he felt guilty for not visiting as often as he should, but he felt partly responsible. More than partly. And the guilt kept him away from all but the briefest of visits. If only he had arrived at the training hall a little sooner. If only one of his kin had stepped in when it became clear Fili was no longer sparring. If only, if only. He still didn’t know what Buvro had said to Fili to make him snap, what they'd intended shouldn't have been enough to do it, and Buvro couldn’t tell them. He and Stonehelm had both tried, even Dain had tried, and it was no good. There wasn’t enough of Buvro left to tell them, and it was clear now that he was never coming back. 

“Fili will be devastated,” continued Dain. “He’s not a bad lad and this’ll hurt him. But he needs to know and understand the consequences of his actions.”

Stonehelm reached forward and flicked a corner of the letter. “And what will those be? Nothing, by the sounds of it.”

“And that’s why we must have a trial,” Dain said slowly as he looked between the two of them. “I will write to Thorin and tell him that we will leave before winter closes in properly. He hasn’t left me much time. I expect that was deliberate. Thorin knows as well as I do what lies ahead.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t blame him for wanting Fili to have the winter in peace to recover. But we may as well get it over with.” 

Whistling his way up the steps, Bilbo nudged the door to Bag End open with his shoulder and placed the baskets at his feet to close it. Inside, all was oddly silent, and chill, and none of the lamps were lit. He glanced at the clock in the shadowy hallway. He was later than he’d said he would be, the market had been busy and he’d got carried away talking to some hobbits from Michel Delving — distant cousins on his mother’s side that he hadn’t seen in many years — and then he’d stopped with Hamfast, and time had flown by. 

Where was Ness? He’d been half expecting her to meet him in the doorway, with a litany of complaints. He lifted the baskets and crept down the hall. Likely, she’d just gone out and lost track of time like him. Nothing was wrong. Nothing to worry about. 

Except that she didn’t go out. Now without Kili or him, and Kili had still been at work when he left the market. Bilbo’s heart beat a little faster.

Perhaps Kili had come home whilst he was with Hamfast? Or Ness had finally decided to venture out by herself. She must’ve done. This was the Shire after all. It wasn’t like anything terrible could have happened. 

Pushing the kitchen door open he let out a squeak and almost dropped the baskets to the floor as a dark figure rose from the kitchen table and hissed his name. 

“Ness!” He laughed, relief replacing the fright. 

As his eyes adjusted to the wintry gloom of the kitchen, Bilbo noticed both the table strewn with parchment and the anger on Ness’s face. His heart dropped to his toes and he took a step back, wishing he’d lingered for another pot of tea with Hamfast. This was worse than whatever dark path his mind had been taking him down. Much worse. Why hadn’t he stayed out until Kili got home? 

Briskly, he set the baskets on the sideboard and lifted the candles. “Let’s get these lit, shall we? Brighten up the place a bit. And it’s cold too, don’t you think? Did the stove—”

“Sit, Bilbo.”

“I expect you’ve been busy because I don’t smell any dinner so I’ll make a start on—”

Ness slammed her hands flat against the table. “Bilbo.”

With a sigh, he sat. 

“What is this?” Her eyes flashed fury as Ness swept a hand above the mess of paper. Grabbing the sheet of parchment nearest her, she waved it at him. “And what, specifically, is this? Because it’s not his writing, and it's not Bofur's or Bard's either. So whose is it? What’s happened?”

“Where did you find those?” Bilbo winced. That was the wrong question. 

“In a very stupid hiding place, that’s where. Here’s a tip for you, Baggins, so listen closely. If you and Kili are going to hide things from me, because I’m assuming from the look on your face that of course your thieving, hobbity, little fingers are all over this, then don’t tuck them behind something that needs cleaned out and refilled from time to time." She glared at him. "Idiots.”

Pantry then. He’d wondered where Kili had squirrelled them away to. “Don’t call me Baggins.”

“I could call you a lot worse, and I have been, just before you walked in.” Her voice broke and Ness swallowed hard. “Why have you both been hiding these from me? What do they say?”

Lighting a candle, Bilbo set it in the holder and gathered up the letters. They were all completely jumbled, and some of them crumpled at the edges. Kili would be upset. He began to sort them back into some sort of order. “Why don’t you read them yourself, Ness?”

“Because I can’t! You know I can’t. I’ve been trying all afternoon and I can’t do it.”

“You’re not trying—”

“Don’t you dare. I try. I try all the time. Do you have any idea how frustrating this is for me? I’ve never been any good at learning things and I try really hard but you’re always swanning about here and there and don’t have the time to teach me, Kili never has the time and the one person who ever had the patience to try and help me…he...” Ness choked, swiping at her eyes. “Read them to me. Now.”

“I most certainly don’t swan about anywhere.” And he had helped her on multiple occasions. Too many to count. No-one could blame him if he gave it up as a lost cause. It was hard to find the will to teach someone who not only showed next to no enthusiasm but also complained continually that it was all too difficult and that he was teaching it all wrong. 

He didn’t like to think too much about how Fili had structured his lessons to keep her interest. 

“Bilbo. I’m warning you.” Snatching the parchments from his hands, Ness rifled through them. “I’ve read this one, when Kili read it out, and this one too. I know because I took them out of the drawer where I thought all the letters were, after I found these ones that you had hidden from me. So read these others. Read out whatever it is that I’m not allowed to know.”

Listening, leant over Kili’s shoulder whilst he read aloud, wasn’t nearly the same as reading, but Bilbo didn’t like to correct her when she was so upset. He glanced at the window. The last faint rays of sunlight were fading so Kili would likely be home soon, maybe within the next hour or so, and could deal with this. 

Except she wasn’t going to wait an hour or so. Not unless he could distract her. “Where’s the little one?”

“Where do you think? Asleep or he’d be screaming the place down by now.” She banged the table with both hands, her eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight as her face darkened further. “Read.”

A chill draft from somewhere in the smial, likely an open window, sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine. He shifted back on the bench as Ness glowered at him and reminded himself that she was not a witch and had no power whatsoever. Gandalf was almost certain of it. “And how did the little one get on today?”

“Same as every day. When it’s just me and him here. On our own. Cleaning things and tidying things and finding things we shouldn’t, and waiting until one of you two decide to grace us with your presence.”

“You don’t have to be on your own, Ness. You could—”

“Read.” She thrust some parchments at him and tossed the others to the table. “I’m not completely stupid. I know exactly what you’re doing and it won’t work. Read. And then you can explain yourself, or maybe, if you’re really, really lucky, Kili will be home by then and he can explain for both of you. Start with the one on the top. Who’s it from?”

Bilbo stared down at the letter. He’d told Kili this was a terrible idea. “Gimli. It’s from his cousin Gimli.” 

“Kili’s never even mentioned Gimli to me.” A hurt expression passed over Ness’s face and she shook her head. “I know the name though, Fili talked about him when we were in Erebor. Is Gimli in Erebor?”

“Yes, he’s at the mountain. I expect Kili hasn’t mentioned Gimli because he misses—”

“I saw Fili’s name in it.” Ness leant over the table, parchment crinkling underneath her as she did so. “Here and here, and down here. What’s he saying? Why’s he saying Fili’s name so many times? And I know something’s happened so don’t you dare even think about lying to me or so help me I’ll…” She sat back and scrubbed her hands through her hair. “Something’s wrong. I felt it as soon as I saw it and I’ve been sick with worry for hours whilst I tried to work it out so you need to tell me what it is.” 

“Ness, breathe. You’re upsetting yourself and you don’t need to. He’s fine.” 

She stared at him with a mixture of hope and fury and tears in her eyes and Bilbo sighed. This was exactly what Kili had been trying to avoid. 

“You’re lying to me,” she snarled. “You’re a fucking liar."

“I’m not, and I'd appreciate it if you didn’t swear at me.”

She muttered something that might have been an apology, but probably wasn't. “Why is this Gimli writing?” Her voice rose again, “If he’s fine, then why didn’t he write himself, and why did you hide it?”

“Gimli says Fili hurt his hand and—”

“How?”

“He didn’t say. He—”

“When? When was it written?”

“Ness, I can’t tell you anything if you keep interrupting.” Bilbo fixed her with a firm look and she growled something under her breath that sounded very rude. He chose to let it pass. “Do you want me to tell you or not?”

She waved at him to continue. 

“Very well. It arrived a few days ago.” She opened her mouth to speak and Bilbo waited until she thought better of it and closed it again. “Gimli says he’s writing because Fili didn’t want us to worry as he hadn’t written in a while. He says that they’ll send it part of the way by raven rather than overland so it gets to us quicker. I suppose Thorin must have given some special dispensation for that.” 

Bilbo smiled down at the letter. Surely allowing a raven, even if only part-way, to carry a letter rather than the usual slow merchant to merchant route showed some softening on Thorin’s part? That was a cause for cautious celebration. He hadn’t said as much to Kili, not wanting to give the lad hope where there maybe was none, but Bilbo held it tight to his heart anyway. Perhaps it was the first tiny step toward some sort of reconciliation, because, although Kili never spoke it aloud, Bilbo knew his friend longed for even a single line from his beloved uncle. Even a word. Something to tell him that Thorin thought of him from time to time. Perhaps even fondly. 

“Bilbo!”

“He’s well. Everything is fine. It talks about Erebor, things are going well — Gimli says that a lot, I have a suspicion he’s more like Kili than Fili when it comes to letter writing. Less eloquent.” The handwriting was definitely more like Kili’s, with scratchings out, and blobs of ink smudged here and there. Fili, even writing with a damaged hand, might have been more legible.

“What else does he say? And why’s it not sound like Fili if Fili is telling him what to write?” Ness was growing more agitated. “Fili would have checked it to make sure it was right. He would have checked through it all, and made him re-do it if it wasn't right.”

“Maybe he decided to let Gimli have some free rein. Ness. Don’t read things into it that aren’t there.” He’d said the exact same words to Kili only days ago. Not at the kitchen table, but in the forge, as Kili paced back and forth with the letter clutched in his hands and a determined look in his eye. Words of comfort spoken in an attempt to talk the worried dwarf down from buying a horse and riding straight for Erebor. 

Ness didn’t have the money for a horse, but she was perfectly capable of tearing Bag End apart until she did, or even stealing one. He’d put nothing past her. Bilbo reached out and touched her hand. “He’s fine, Ness. It’s an injury. That’s all. They fight, they work in forges, and in mines. They do all manner of dangerous things that no sane person would do, and therefore injuries will happen from time to time.”

She whipped her hand away, glaring at him until he dropped his eyes back to the letter. 

“What else...” Bilbo continued. “Oh, yes. More dwarves arrived from the East, and there’s talk of yet more to come. So Erebor is filling up nicely by the sounds of it. Everyone sends their best wishes and hopes we are all well. Oh, and an update about Sigrid’s wedding. Which is...today actually. I’d quite forgotten. I wonder if the pipeweed arrived in time?”

“Sigrid’s wedding? Pipeweed? Why don’t I know anything about any of this? Why is this all so secret?”

Bilbo looked at her, at the dark shadows under her eyes and the mop of hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days, and thought hard about his answer. 

“Because we didn’t want to upset you.” He raised a hand as she started to speak. “Ness, do you remember what happened the last time a letter arrived? I don’t mean these ones. The last one Kili read out to you.”

“That wasn’t anything to do with Fili’s letter. I just...I wasn’t feeling very well. You know I wasn’t.” 

“It didn’t help though, did it?” Bilbo lowered his voice and glanced toward the hallway. He was sure he’d heard the creak of the front door opening. He had. A happy squeal from the dwarfling and Kili’s voice drifted to them from beyond the kitchen door. He met Ness’s eyes and added quickly, “You just remember that anything Kili does, everything he does, all the choices he makes, he does it all with your best interests at heart. He would never deliberately do anything to hurt you, or the little one.”

“That doesn’t mean that both of you can just—”

Bilbo held up a hand. “I wasn’t finished. You just keep all that in mind before you accuse him of anything, because I’m not so sure if the situations were reversed that you can say the same.”

She paled. The temper drained away, replaced by watering eyes and a hand that drifted toward her necklace. “Are you ever going to stop judging me?” 

“When I think you’re sorry, and I’m not seeing it.” Bilbo sighed as her fingers gripped the necklace’s pendant, her knuckles turning white. He wasn’t sure she was even aware of it. “You’re not the only one hurting, Ness. Far from it. And sometimes I think you forget that, and I’m sorry if I sound cruel or unfeeling. I’m not. I understand. I do. But now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get this stove lit or there’ll be no hot water tonight at all, never mind any dinner, and Kili and your child will both be needing fed and a bath.”

“Hello, Ness, Bilbo. I found this little one…” Kili trailed off as his gaze took in the papers on the table and Ness’s stricken, downcast face. He shifted the dwarfling higher in his arms and looked desperately at Bilbo. 

“Ness found the letters,” said Bilbo. “I explained that we decided not to tell her for her own good but I think she’d like to know what they say?”

Ness nodded mutely. Bilbo’s heart twisted as he watched Kili’s face fall before he spoke, “I’m so sorry, my Ness. I didn’t ever mean to—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was thick and she sniffed hard before lifting her head. With a bright smile and eyes brimming with tears, she added, “It’s good that there’s news. I’m happy. Really happy, I promise.”

“I can read them to you now if you like?” Kili glanced at Bilbo. “Unless you need me to help, Bilbo? No? Then I’ll come around and sit beside you, Ness, and you can read along with me.” He slid onto the bench, shifting the dwarfling to his other knee and wrapping an arm around her. “You’re shaking. Please don’t cry. Please. I’m so sorry. Bilbo, would you run and fetch Ness a blanket?”

Chapter Text

The floor was tacky, tugging lightly at the soles of his boots with every step. Fili carefully weaved his way through the jostling crowd toward the table at the back of the inn and bitterly regretted his insistance on fetching this round.

He shouted a warning as a man stumbled backward into his path, colliding with him and almost knocking the overflowing drinks from his hands. Over the noise, they both shouted apologies at each other, the man heartily slapping Fili’s shoulder and almost over-balancing him, as ale slopped over the tankard brims and joined the rest of the liquid coating the inn’s flagstones.   

Squeezing through another thick group of men, and avoiding as many of their swinging elbows as he could, Fili at last saw Bard smiling widely and waving. 

“There he is!” Bard elbowed Legolas merrily as Fili joined them, setting the tankards and what was left of their contents down on their table. “We thought you’d gone missing. I was about to send out the search party, otherwise known as Legolas.”

“Where’s my seat gone, Bard?” 

Bard looked around. “Oh, for…” He nudged a man at an adjacent table and jerked a thumb, taking the disgruntled man’s stool when he stood up. “Here we are!”

Settling himself on the seat, Fili wiped the ale from his fingers on his trousers. He grinned at them both. “That took a while. This will be costing you a fortune, Bard. There are men at the bar ordering more drink than they can carry.”

“Well, it’s not every day my little girl gets married. I’m just hoping the ale doesn’t run out.” Bard frowned, looking worried. “I did tell them to fill the cellars to the brim.” The frown disappeared and he shrugged, lifting his tankard. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thank you both for coming.”

Fili and Legolas lifted theirs and they all knocked them together. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Fili said to Bard after they’d all taken a long drink. 

He shuffled around on his stool so he could better see out over the merry inn. The musicians stood on tables to one side of the inn, and from what he could make out over the laughter and shouting voices of the crowd they were playing, or attempting to play, a lively tune. One he hadn’t heard before.

Fili tapped his foot in time with the man sawing at the strings of a bow and tried not to wince at the poor treatment of the instrument. But then, as with so many things, sometimes enthusiasm mattered more than skill, and the crowd was enjoying it. A few of the men closest to the musicians seemed to be attempting to dance, staggering and laughing uproariously as they swung each other about. Fili smiled. There was a lot more enthusiasm than skill there too. Men were a strange folk. He turned back to his friends. 

“Or I,” added Legolas. His long legs bumped against Fili’s boots as he stretched out under the small table. “A mannish wedding has been quite the experience. Hopefully, you’ll invite us back for Bain’s.”

“If I can find anyone to take him off my hands.” Bard relaxed back against the wall. “It was good of your father to come to the ceremony, and your uncle too, Fili. They even made what looked like a fair attempt at being civil to each other. I was half tempted to sit them beside each other at dinner, just to see what would happen, but I decided against it.”

Legolas laughed. “That was probably for the best. Perhaps in another fifty years or so they’ll be able to have a conversation without one of us having to step in and separate them. We’ve missed you badly at the trade meetings, Fili. Don’t tell Thorin, but I think my father would rather deal with you.”

Fili wasn't sure that was true. Sometimes he got the impression that it entertained Thranduil to see just how far he could push Thorin before the swearing and name-calling started. Back in the first year of Thorin’s reign, before Fili was confined to the mountain and removed from his duties, the Elvenking always seemed slightly disappointed when he arrived in Mirkwood without his uncle. 

“And I must thank Dis again, Fili,” said Bard. “Sigrid has appreciated her help, especially over the last few days. I think there’s some last-minute nerves and questions a father is no use for.”

“Mother has enjoyed it.” Fili peered out into the crowd again, even though it was futile since he couldn’t possibly see over anyone’s heads, and wondered where she was. He’d sat with her whilst they had dinner in the hall and she’d gone to help Sigrid with something, she hadn’t said what, and he hadn’t seen her since. Thorin was already gone. Returned to the Mountain with Dwalin and Balin, and the jewels that Amad had insisted Sigrid borrow for the ceremony. 

He took another drink. It was nice to be out, and not apparently under guard for once. 

His head ached mercilessly though. Fili tried to remember how many ales he’d had. Quite a few more than the two, definitely no more than three, that Oin had said he was allowed. He wondered if he could mix the pain relief powder with ale or if it had to be water. 

“Ale is mostly water, isn’t it?” he asked. 

“This stuff definitely is,” said Bard. “I think I’m being robbed. Will you stay with us tonight, Fili? Beorn sent a cask of something that came with several stern warnings so Legolas and I were going to open it up later. He’d underlined the warnings and everything so I’m expecting something very special. A little nightcap? I’ve the spare room all made up for you both, not that Legolas ever sleeps but he can do the decent thing and pretend for once.”

Fili shook his head, disappointed to be missing out, but he was already exhausted. And he’d promised Thorin that he would return as soon as the party was over, if not before. His uncle had been disapproving when he insisted on staying, Fili bracing himself for an argument that hadn’t come. 

“I’d best behave myself,” he said. “I think Thorin has plans for me tomorrow.” That might be true. 

“Then we’ll save you some. You will be down with Dis for dinner at the end of the month?”

“Of course.” So long as Thorin agreed to it, and so long as he wasn’t confined to the mountain and awaiting trial. Fili pushed the thought aside and managed a smile, keeping his voice light. “I wasn’t sure if we would still be carrying on with your dinners now that Sigrid is wed.”

Bard looked offended. “Do you think I can’t cook? I’ll have you know I taught Sigrid almost everything she knows. You’ll see, and Tilda will help me. You should come if you are free, Legolas?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Legolas smiled at Fili. “Although perhaps I may eat first. If your attempt at toast last night was anything to go by.”

Bard ignored him, patting Fili’s hand instead. “We’ve missed you, my friend. I’m very glad to see you properly. We were all worried.”

“Have you remembered anything?” Legolas leant forward on his elbows, his voice pitched low even though no-one could possibly have overheard. 

Fili shook his head. Oin seemed confident that the memories would come back but still, Fili had no real recollection of the weeks before or after he’d awoken, in a bed that wasn’t his own, confused and disorientated and in pain. He had tried many times to sit quietly and force himself to remember but it was like sand slipping through his fingers. Or a fading dream. He couldn’t grip onto his thoughts long enough to decide what was real and what was imagined. 

“I couldn’t believe it when Legolas arrived at my door that afternoon and told us you’d been found,” Bard said. “I fetched Ingride and came straight away. Well, almost straight away, it took her a while to gather up everything. I’m still surprised the guards let us in.”

“I’d told them you were on your way,” said Legolas. “Maybe that helped. Or they might just have been so confused by my father arriving that they were just opening the gates to everyone.”

Fili frowned into his ale. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Fili.” Bard reached over and touched his arm. “Anyone can make a misstep...or a hasty decision when they’re not thinking straight. I remember, after my wife passed, that I—”

Fili glanced up in time to catch the warning look Legolas shot Bard, and his heart fell to his boots as Bard took a slug of his ale and quickly changed the subject to a tale of a fishing accident. Legolas joined in with one of his own about falling out of trees in Mirkwood. 

As Bard and Legolas laughed, Fili slipped his tankard out of sight and shook Oin’s powder into it. It was his own fault. Swirling the ale in the tankard to mix it with the medicine, he took a cautious sip and grimaced. If he hadn’t fallen then his friends, and his family, wouldn’t all be giving him strange, concerned looks and watching him closely. 

It had taken him a while to work out why they were all behaving oddly. 

He wished he could remember. He wished it had all been kept private. And he was dreading going back out into Erebor properly. He’d hurt someone, someone whose face he couldn’t even remember, for a reason that he couldn’t recall, and then tried to avoid a reckoning. None of it made sense. It was humiliating and shameful. It all felt like it had happened to someone else. 

Bard and Legolas had quietened, perhaps when they realised he wasn’t joining in. Fili smiled at them brightly to show that he was enjoying himself. 

“Have you tried returning to where Gimli found you?” asked Legolas.

Fili shook his head. “I don’t know where it was, and Oin says it would be best to wait and let my memory come back on its own.” Although perhaps now he was steadier on his feet he could persuade Gimli to take him. He’d lingered long enough, waiting for the memories to return by themselves. It would be easier to face what must come with full knowledge. No matter how bad it was. 

“I expect he’s right. I’m no healer.” Legolas shrugged. “You’re feeling better though? Within yourself? Like I told you in Bard’s, you are looking well. A little thinner than you should be, you’ve lost weight but that’s to be expected after an illness. You’ve got a bit of colour in your cheeks though. Even before the ale. You seem a little happier?”

Shifting on the stool in an attempt to stretch the stiffness out of his aching legs, the paper rustled in Fili’s pocket and he remembered that with the busyness of the day neither Bard nor Legolas had seen it. It would be the perfect change of subject. He reached into his pocket, feeling again a little rush of happiness when his fingers brushed the parchment. 

“That’ll be the excitement today, and Kili’s letter I think. Do you two want to read it?”

Legolas held out a hand and Fili passed the letter over, smiling as Legolas carefully wiped the table with his sleeve before unfolding the sheets of parchment and smoothing them out. 

“His script is, once again, terrible.” Legolas shook his head and grinned. 

“Absolutely terrible.” Fili agreed, watching Legolas run a finger slowly along his little brother’s spidery scrawl as Bard hung over the elf’s thin shoulder, lips mouthing the words as he read along. 

“Congratulations, Fili,” said Legolas with a warm smile after he had finished. He turned the parchment over and moved to the other sheet. “And a letter from Bilbo too, much neater. Let’s see what he has to say.”

Fili tapped his feet happily against the table leg whilst Legolas read Bilbo’s news aloud to Bard. He hadn’t paid it much attention himself, only skimmed quickly, looking for mentions of Kili and Ness, and unable to concentrate on the mundane goings-on of the Shire. He’d read it properly later. 

Legolas flipped through the letters again when he came to the end, turning both pieces over and frowning. “Nothing from Ness this time either?”

Fili shook his head. When he’d excitedly read his brother’s letter, sat in Bard’s armchair, he’d hoped for a line or two from her, and felt a little pang of disappointment that there was nothing. But it didn’t matter. The most important thing was that he had news and they were well. 

“It sounds like Kili has written since the first letter that arrived?” Legolas folded the parchment carefully and handed it back. 

Tucking it back safely into his tunic pocket, Fili nodded, feeling the flush creep up his face. “It does. Thorin’s told me so many times that letters go missing, and I refused to listen. I owe him an apology. I think I owe everyone apologies. I’m sure I’ve been insufferable to listen to.”

Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “No,” he said kindly as he held Fili’s eyes. “No apology is ever needed. Not from you. And anyway, you have nothing to apologise for.”

Cheers erupted around them. Legolas released Fili’s shoulder with a final warm squeeze and jumped lightly up onto his stool.

“The happy couple.” He grinned down at them. “On your feet, both of you. Fili, if you get on the table you’ll be able to see.”

Fili eyed the table doubtfully. 

It creaked alarmingly but, as Legolas helped him up, he found his friend was right. He could see right over the bobbing heads of the crowd, wreathed in pipesmoke, to where Sigrid and Garett stood in the open doorway, smiling and waving together at the well-wishers. Joining in with the cheers, Fili raised a hand in greeting to Molir as he sidled in through the doorway behind Sigrid. 

“Do you know,” shouted Bard in his ear, “for a while there I thought it might have been you!”

Fili turned, being careful not to kick over the half-empty tankards, and Legolas placed a steadying hand on his waist. 

“I honestly did.” Bard grinned and clapped Fili’s shoulder. “She’ll never admit it, and neither of you breathe a word of this or I swear I’ll kill you both. Somehow. But she was quite put out by Hafdis.”

“By Hafdis?” Fili's laugh cut off short at the reminder that he still hadn’t written the letter to Hafdis that Amad suggested he write. 

“Yes.” Bard wagged a finger at him. “I think if you’d shown so much as a flicker of interest Garett would have been dropped so quickly his head would have spun. He was definitely the second choice.”

“You could have had a dwarf for a son-in-law, Bard,” said Legolas. 

Fili felt his face burn as he looked between the two of them. 

Bard smiled back at him warmly. “And I would have been honoured. I expect your uncle wouldn’t have been too happy though so it's probably all-round better this way. Is she coming back soon?”

“Who?” Fili shook his head as he realised who Bard meant. “Oh, I don't know. I haven’t—"

A finger poked the back of his knee and Fili looked down into Gimli’s upturned face. 

“Right, let’s make some space here.” Molir dragged a table across the flagstones, the table’s occupants swearing and grabbing at their drinks. 

“Seats too, Molir,” said Amad as she joined them. “Fili, what are you doing up there?”

“You heard her,” Molir told the grumbling men. “Up you get, lads. And feet off the table, Fili.” He slapped Fili’s leg as he started arranging stools around the two tables. “Make yourself useful and get over to the bar, there’s a good lad. Take Gimli with you.”

The wordless and desperate scream woke him. It woke Gimli too when Fili grabbed for a knife he didn’t have, finding his cousin’s beard instead.

“Fili.” Gimli sat bolt upright. His eyes wide in the darkness of the bedchamber. “What’s wrong? Another dream? Quickly, tell me about it before you forget.”

Fili shook his head, kicking his way free of the tangled blankets in an attempt to cool his overheated skin. A new dream, but only a variation of an old one. He sat up, pressing his palms to his eyes to try and stop the images, and breathed hard as he wished himself rid of it. Shadowy figures of orcs and wargs, outlined in the flickering firelight of burning wagons. Rushing white water. Her voice still rang in his ears. Ness. Crying out his name in pain and despair somewhere out of sight. Calling out for him to save her as his legs refused to work and the water pushed him back again and again. And Bolg, rising from the river with a scimitar in his clawed hand. A dark promise of a reckoning. 

Gimli didn’t need to know any of it. No-one did. No matter Oin’s wild theories that the dreams could be in some way linked to his missing memories. 

These ones weren’t. These were normal. Fili lay down and tried to make himself comfortable, although his skin felt too tight. The dreams had left him alone for so long. He had thought, hoped, that perhaps they were finally over. But it seemed that their absence were linked only to the elvish draughts, and once he was weaned from his reliance on those potions the dreams and sleeplessness had returned with a vengeance. Even worse than before, although perhaps that was just because he had been spoilt by their absence whilst he was ill. 

“Can I get you anything?” Gimli touched his shoulder. His voice was all gentle concern as he continued, “Water?”

Shaking his head, Fili turned his back to his cousin. He closed his eyes as he listened to Gimli shifting about. rearranging blankets and pillows and muttering to himself. Eventually, Gimli’s breathing deepened and the snores started to reverberate off the chamber walls. Louder than usual thanks to the ale. 

Once he was certain Gimli was fast asleep, Fili slipped out of bed, dressing in the dim light from the embers of the fire. Closing the bedchamber door behind him, he picked up his boots as he crossed the main chamber. His hand on the door handle before he thought to return to the table and scratch out a quick note. Folding it, he left it sitting prominently so that if Gimli awoke he would see it as soon as he entered the main room. 

Outside in the passageway, the guards straightened when Fili opened his chamber door. He smiled at them as he tugged on his boots and wished he’d thought to do it inside. Stiffened and heavy from sleep and the activity of the day, his limbs weren’t working as they should.

“Just need a bit of a walk, and maybe something from the kitchens,” he said, waving off their offers to go for him and save him the trouble. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

They didn’t believe him but he appreciated that they pretended they did. One of them would follow him, and he should probably just acknowledge them and walk with them rather than keeping up the pretence, but he didn’t want company or polite conversation. He’d talked and smiled all day and he was tired. 

His once-secret route to the hunting passage was completely changed. Whilst Fili had lain useless in the healing chambers, his uncle had been very busy in the depths of Erebor. Torches burned brightly along the passageways, even though they were quiet and empty this time of night, and light flickered from every side corridor. Fili’s boots echoed against the stone as he made his way across the last bridge, his fingertips brushing along the new handrail that spanned the arch. All the crumbling stone repaired and made good. He smiled. Ness would approve. 

At this late hour, no-one guarded the brand new door that blocked the old entrance to the hunting passage, and Fili huffed out a relieved breath to see the bar in place. So that meant this time there was no-one outside the mountain. Finally, he would have the place to himself rather than being forced to slink back to his rooms. That was something at least. 

Grunting and muttering curses as he strained against what once would have been an insignificant weight, Fili shouldered the heavy wooden bar up inch by slow, frustrating inch. He was sure the guard behind, wherever he was loitering, was twitching to come and help his weakling prince. It was an added humiliation. Dropping the bar to the stone with a crash once it was fully clear, Fili yanked the door open and stomped into the cleared passageway beyond. 

There were footprints in the dust and someone had tracked in mud and grass. Fili sighed heavily. This was no longer his and Ness’s secret place. Now it belonged to everyone to use as and when they pleased. It was sullied and spolit. 

He preferred it the way it had been before. Even if the new doors that swung easily on their shiny, oiled hinges were a lot less work than clearing an entire passageway of rubble. The key to the outer door hung on a hook hammered into the rock and Fili lifted it. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and took a deep breath of chill nighttime air as it rushed in to fill the passageway. 

Even the outside seemed different, although he knew it was exactly the same. In the bright moonlight, the grass ahead of him was trampled, and it just all felt wrong, even before he set foot outside the mountain. But it would do. Fili swung the door — its outer surface cunningly fashioned to resemble the mountainside that it fitted into — closed, slid the key into the lock, and thought about turning it. 

He left it unlocked. It wasn’t worth the panic it would cause if the guard behind him tested it. 

The wind that swept around the mountain was bone achingly cold and held the prospect of snow. Feeling his spirits lift as the chill refreshed his mind and the remnants of the dream retreated a little further, Fili made his way to the leeward side of their rock and considered whether it was sensible to climb it. It was worth any risk just to feel a bit closer to her. To be able to tell himself that it was only a dream, one that held no meaning, and to remember her as she really was. But the exertion of the day had exhausted him, the wind was a bit strong, and likely so many dwarves had sat on it now to admire the view that it wouldn’t feel like theirs anymore. The traces of memory would be gone from it. The need to keep one part of this place unspoilt for a while longer won out and he sat down. Maybe it was a foolish notion, but there it was and he couldn’t help it.

A smoke would help settle his mind. Patting his pockets, Fili swore as he realised that his pouch was far away, lying where Gimli had thrown it after they’d returned from the wedding. After Fili reminded him that if he wanted a smoke then he’d either have to stand in the passageway or wriggle into the recess and hang out the window. 

Neither option had interested Gimli in his drunken state. 

Fili cursed again bitterly. He should have thought to lift it. Shuffling forward until his boots dangled over the ridge, he looked down into the darkness. Without thought, his fingers continued to search through his pockets until they fell on the useless pipe. Pulling it from his pocket, Fili turned it over in his fingers. 

It was a foolish fancy really, his insistence that no-one smoke in his rooms, and Gimli would agree. Although his cousin didn’t know and would never know the reasoning behind it. 

Ness. She’d always complained about the lingering smell of pipeweed in his chambers, and a promise to step outside had been no sacrifice on his part. In the last weeks with her, he’d barely touched his pipe, wanting above all else to keep her happy. Even if she claimed to be only jesting about the smoke bothering her. But perhaps it was a silly habit to keep now that Ness was long gone. There was no-one to gripe at him for smoking in his own rooms now. 

His thumb ran over the carvings on the pipestem as he remembered her stepping out of his bedchamber late one afternoon. 

Ness’s voice was husky with sleep, “What time is it?”

Lost in thought, he hadn’t realised she was awake. Fili knelt, exhaling into the fireplace and tapping the pipe quickly out on the hearth. Swiping the burning embers into the grate, he stood and wiped his hands on his trousers to rid them of the smoky residue. 

“You don’t need to put it out,” she continued, yawning as she languidly stretched splayed fingers toward the ceiling. “I’ve told you before.”

He watched the hemline of his shirt, the one she’d thrown to the floor of his bedchamber earlier, rise up her bare thighs with the movement and felt the familiar stirring in his blood. Her giggle drew his eyes upward and heat crept slowly up his neck as her wicked grin told him that he’d been caught blatantly staring. 

Rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to her elbows, she crossed the room to him. “You don’t mind that I borrowed this then? I would have asked, but I woke up and you weren’t there.” 

He smiled, shaking his head. Of course he didn’t mind. She was close enough that it was easy to reach out and smooth his fingers through her tousled hair in a futile attempt to tidy it. And it would have been easy to close the distance between them, cup her jaw, and press his lips and his body to hers. Forget, for another few moments, another hour, that she didn’t belong to him,  and that she never would. 

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he murmured. Glancing past her he could see a sliver of the window in his bedchamber, the sky darker outside than it had been when they’d abandoned her studies and stumbled, lips locked on each other and hands tearing at clothes, to his bed. 

He’d only untangled himself from the comfort of her arms when he’d felt his own eyes closing and his mind slowing toward a contented slumber. To sleep was too big of a risk. 

“We have a few hours,” he added in response to her earlier question. Ness nodded in silent understanding. The remainder of the sentence — that Kili had told them he would return from his adventures to the lower mines with Tauriel before dinner — didn’t need to be said aloud. 

“I should have a quick bath.” Her eyes fixed on his were a mirror of his own guilt. “And we should change your bed, in case—”

“I’ll do it, and then I can bathe after you.” The thought of joining her was almost overwhelming, but they had to stop this. Today had been yet another lapse, yet another betrayal on top of betrayals that were becoming too numerous to count. 

And they would have to return to her letters. Fili shot a glance at the table, strewn with hastily pushed aside sheets of parchment from when he’d lifted her onto it. Fire burned within him at the memory of her legs wrapped around his waist, his fingers tightly gripping the wooden table edge in a doomed attempt to keep them from touching her any further, and the brush of warm breath against his ear as she whispered what she wanted from him. What she needed.  

He shook his head to clear it. What they needed was some progress to show for the day. Kili would ask, and they would be forced to lie to him. Again. 

“You definitely need a bath.” She stepped forward, lifting a handful of his hair and pressing it to her nose. Her exaggerated expression of disgust and the music of her laughter lifted him from gloomy thoughts as she continued, “You reek of smoke.”

Fili grinned back. “I do not.”

“You do.” Her fingers wound in his hair, drawing him closer. “It’s that stuff of Bard’s. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes held hers. “Ness, we mustn’t. We said this was the last—”

She hushed him, her lips brushing his and stealing the rest of his words before they could form. “I bet you taste of it,” she whispered. 

The shirt bunched in his hand as he pulled her tightly against him, her head tipping back and her lips parting in invitation. He hesitated, trying to remind himself that this was only the trickery of the gold. The magic that lay deep in the vaults beneath their bare feet influencing their behaviour. They could resist it if they only tried a little harder. 

An exhale of his name had been all it took to breach what little remained of his self-control and, between deep kisses, he’d promised to stop. To throw his pipeweed away and never touch the stuff again. He would have promised her anything if she had asked. 

After, as she lay stretched out against him in the cooling bathwater she’d kissed his chest and told him he didn’t need to. But he’d tried anyway. Keeping it to the odd time when he knew he wouldn’t see her for hours. Like the middle of the night. When thoughts of her curled around his brother rather than him, and all the guilt that came with those types of thoughts, kept him awake. 

Sometimes, it seemed to him his rooms still held her scent. And maybe that was why he held to his self-imposed rule. It was as if she had stepped out, just for a moment. 

Sometimes, he thought he might always be waiting for her to come back. 

His fingers tightened on the pipe, the wood creaking in his grip. Everything was different now. Even worse than before. Paler somehow. Lifeless. Hopeless. Even days like today which were full of happiness and friendship, where he could laugh and talk and forget for a while the path that lay ahead of him. It felt like he was watching it all through a pane of glass, watching a dwarf who looked and sounded like him. 

Drawing his arm back, he flung the pipe away. It spun away out and down and he watched it disappear. Swallowed up by the shadows as it spiralled its way unseen toward the valley floor. He huffed out a breath. A bit of an overreaction to not having any pipeweed but so be it. 

And throwing it felt good. Like a release. His fingers groped about in the gritty dust of the ledge until they fell upon a round pebble. Firing that after the pipe, he felt around for more. 

He missed Kili’s runestone. He hadn’t realised how much he touched it throughout the day until it was gone. It had been one of the first things he had looked for when he had awoken and muzzily worked out where he was.  Gimli had been full of apologies, which were completely unnecessary, but, for some reason, his cousin seemed to consider himself responsible. Even though its loss was the last thing Gimli should ever feel responsible for. 

Somewhere far beneath his boots an animal screamed, the sound carried to him upon the cold wind that tugged hard at his unbound hair. A cry of despair, cut off short. It jolted him back into his dream, the blood rushed in his ears and he stared down unblinkingly into the dark as if he might be able to see.

Giving up, he leaned back on his hands and looked up into the starry sky instead. Dreams had no power. He knew he had no gift of foresight, no dwarf did. The only thing he did have power over to any degree was how he chose to face the path laid out before his feet. He couldn’t stumble again. Fail Thorin and his family again. 

Regaining his missing memories would help. He couldn't stop thinking about them. It was terrifying that he had no recollection of the fight, or what had happened after. Thorin had explained gently to him whilst he was still in the healing chambers that there had been an incident, and seemed disbelieving when Fili swore that he remembered nothing. But he truly remembered nothing. It was as if a thick curtain had been drawn across his mind that night and none of the tricks from Oin, or the elvish healers, had lifted the fog. Neither had his plan of retracing his steps to the hunting passageway. He could only hope that returning to the mineshaft would help, because if it didn’t he was out of ideas, and running out of time. 

Already the sky was beginning to lighten, the bright stars that twinkled over toward Mirkwood disappearing one by one as the darkness retreated gradually. The air smelt more strongly of snow and of a new day. Fili sighed. A new day of being slowly suffocated, his every move and word carefully watched and reported on. He had thought it bad before his accident, but that had been nothing in comparison to his life now. Gimli closer to him than his own shadow. And if not Gimli, then it was Molir or Dwalin. Or his amad. All pretending that they had just happened upon him. Treating him like a fool. 

He hadn’t said anything to them, it would only cause an argument, and he owed them all too much of a debt of gratitude to cause any more upset. 

And he deserved a lot worse than constant monitoring and care. Fili scrubbed a hand through his hair, mussed by the wind and his nightmare. He should never have let the guards see him in that state. Barefoot and braidless. But the neat braids — put in by Gimli that morning after Fili had tried for an hour and been unable to get them right — that he’d worn all day for the first time in weeks had been too tight against his head and he’d pulled out before bed and not asked Gimli to redo them. 

Thorin would be annoyed when he heard the report, although his uncle was pretending very hard that there was nothing Fili could ever do or say to upset him. It was the strangest feeling. His uncle tip-toeing around him. He wasn’t sure he didn’t prefer how they were before his accident. And he was certain it had to be an accident. No matter that everyone else seemed to believe otherwise. 

Everyone was tip-toeing around him and treating him like a cosseted little dwarfling. No-one dared to mention the trial that Fili knew was inevitable, no matter who or how he asked. Before they’d left for the wedding — as he sat at the table and tried over and over, with hands that shook uncontrollably, to get his braids right — he’d asked Gimli again. But Gimli, watching his clumsy efforts silently over a mug of tea, had only shook his head and claimed he’d heard nothing. 

Perhaps that was true. 

He’d ask Thorin again first thing in the morning. It felt like an axe over his head and he’d rather know the details than be surprised. Hopefully, he would be permitted to write to Kili afterward, whatever the outcome. One last letter. Although he hadn’t the first idea what to put in it. Perhaps he could write a few and give them to Gimli to send at intervals if the worst should happen? It already felt like his letters to Kili consisted entirely of happy-sounding lies, but he didn’t want his little brother to worry. Surely the Shire was far enough away from Erebor that no actual news would filter out? 

Fili swung his heels, knocking them against the rock, and tried to ignore the sudden grinding pain in his belly at the thought of never holding his little brother again. Never holding his new nephew, or Ness. 

“It’s no different to how it was before,” the wind stole his whisper away. 

But it was different.  

His legs stilled. Even if it were only the cells, it would still be different. The absence of hope. The hope that he clung to that one day Uncle Thorin would call for him and say that he could travel to the Shire. Or that Kili could come home to him. Fili swiped at his eyes, sitting up properly as he groped about for another stone. In the cells he might still be permitted to receive and send letters. That wouldn’t be so bad. 

And if his path led not the cells but to Mahal’s Halls then he would manage too. They said that you could petition to see the world if you wished. Surely, if he asked, permission would be granted? And he could keep asking if not, for what else would there be to do. It was an almost comforting thought. 

He froze with his fingers on a stone, looking down into the retreating darkness in the valley. All of a sudden the wind dropped, and as he blinked the mountainside was gone. Instead of empty air under his boots, he could feel the solid rock of Erebor’s mines pressing against his soles. 

A memory? It passed in another blink of an eye, leaving him breathless and panting for air against the full force of the returned mountain wind. It couldn’t be. Fili shook his head hard, trying to rid himself of the feeling and suddenly cold, like his blood had been replaced by ice. It wasn’t possible. He was overtired. His mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. 

He needed to think of something else. Closing his eyes, he thought hard about his letter, tucked safely inside the chest in his room. In it, Kili had written that the child woke often during the night. Perhaps even now he would be standing in the cosy kitchen of Bag End, barefoot and yawning. The thought made Fili smile, his heart beginning to return to something like its normal rhythm. His brother had always hated early mornings. He’d be half-awake, with his hair tangled about his face. Still warm from his bed and holding the little one carefully. Staring out the window at the same lightening sky, as he murmured soothing words into a mop of dark hair and waited for the dawn. 

He'd wait too. Fili opened his eyes, launching the stone out across the emerging valley beneath his boots. He'd wait for the dawn and keep his little brother company. 

Chapter Text

They descended through Erebor toward the lowest levels, the warm glow from Gimli’s torch bobbing on the walls around them. 

“He’s doing very well,” whispered Oin in Thorin's ear, as they followed Gimli and Fili down the final curving stairwell. “Managing steps much better now.”

Thorin nodded. “He’s been practising.” He’d been finding his nephew hobbling up and down the staircases around the royal chambers, and even been permitted to join in with the exercise from time to time — when Fili’s mood had allowed it. And the practice was paying off, for Fili appeared steadier on his feet than he had only weeks before at the wedding, although how much of that was actual improvement and how much was stubbornness Thorin couldn’t be certain. 

“Whatever happens today,” said Oin, “you need to consider letting him return to join Erebor.”

Let him? Thorin snorted quietly. Apart from Fili’s trip to Dale, where he’d left before first light, and the occasional excursions in the dead of night to the quiet mountainside, his nephew had shown no interest whatsoever in rejoining Erebor. Thorin suspected it would take a direct command from him to initiate it, and he wasn’t quite willing to force the issue yet. 

“It won’t do him any favours to remain apart,” continued Oin. “I know you want to protect him but he needs to be seen, even like this.”

“I will think on it.”

“Before Dain arrives.” Oin shot Thorin a sideways look. “He needs to be seen before Dain and his people return.”

“I said, I would think on it.”

They continued in silence, passing through a darkened corridor and turning down onto the final flight of stairs. The steps were rougher and steeper than the previous stairwells and Thorin resisted the urge to hurry forward and take Fili’s arm. 

With every step he took, he was liking this idea to jog Fili’s memory less and less. Perhaps some memories should remain forever buried. 

“How long before Dain gets here?” asked Oin. 

“Another week, maybe a little more if the winter snows arrive early.” Thorin huffed out a sigh. Perhaps he would have to issue an order to Fili after all. There were dwarves now within the mountain, miners and masons from the east and the north, and even dwarf lords come to visit the wonder of Erebor, who had not so much as laid eyes on their prince. And Dain’s people would bring rumour and memory with them, not that Erebor had forgotten. He glanced at Fili. Maybe tomorrow they could visit the miners, and then, if Fili felt strong enough, he could return to the royal table for dinner rather than dining alone in his chambers with only Gimli for company. Maybe it was time. 

The light from Gimli’s torch disappeared out through the archway at the base of the stairs, and Thorin quickened his steps to catch up. This entire section of Erebor was now fully closed to all. He’d commanded that doors be placed at the top of all the stairwells and entrances, and those doors kept securely locked until such times as the mines were operational. There was no sense in burning torches throughout vast sections of the mountain that were not in use, and no longer could dwarves wander around exploring in the dark when the fancy took them — his nephew included. 

Strange how the idea of accidents had never once crossed his mind. Thorin thought back to his plans for restoring Erebor as their footsteps echoed against the stone of the wide tunnel. It had been a mistake to decide that the mines with their gold and precious metals were the priority, repairing the mountain was the priority. Now that he had taken the time to look he saw potential hazards everywhere. Missing balustrades, damaged stone, crumbling bridges. The ravages of time, and of Smaug, on his mountain must all be repaired, and quickly. There was plenty of work to keep the masons busy for years. 

He pulled the ring of keys from his pocket and flicked through them as he walked, searching for the one that would open the thick door at the end of the tunnel. 

There was plenty of work for all, even Bard’s clumsy apprentices. That had been Fili’s idea, and a good one. Since Thorin owed the man something of an apology, and since masons had been promised to help repair Dale, and since Thorin now couldn’t spare any, having the men learn from those dwarven masons who were willing to teach them resolved a multitude of issues. The extra stipend to the masons for teaching the men made it much more costly, and progress slower, than Thorin would have liked, but it settled things satisfactorily between him and Bard. 

And it would benefit the mountain in the long term. Erebor’s streets still felt echoing and empty, a far cry from how Thorin remembered the mountain before the fall. Offers of work for masons — and for miners since the masonry work paid better and he was losing miners hand over fist — had been sent far and wide to the scattered dwarven settlements across Middle-Earth. Soon the mountain would be busier than it had ever been.  

Gimli avoided his eyes as Thorin unlocked the door and swung it open. A suitable punishment was due. Thorin hadn’t appreciated the attempt at thieving the keys from his study whilst his back was turned. No matter that Fili had accepted all responsibility for it, and claimed that he’d forced Gimli into it. As a guard, and as family, Gimli should have known better than to agree to such a thing. 

The boys hurried on through the door as soon as it was half-open and their voices drifted back to him as they made their way along the edge of the cavernous chamber toward the mineshafts, Gimli chattering brightly, too brightly, about a plan for a spar on the morrow. Thorin shuddered, pulling his furs tighter about him. Despite the vast space above their heads and all around them, the air here felt stale and damp. It clung to him, and the darkness encroached on them like a physical presence, swallowing up the feeble light from Gimli’s torch. 

It was a forlorn and lonely place, and he’d no desire to be here. 

Gimli fell silent as they stopped in front of the mineshaft and Thorin glanced at Fili. His nephew’s face was tight in the torch-light and his eyes were fixed on the new metal cover that blocked the entrance. It was all new. The surround, the hinges, all of it. Thorin had replaced all the other covers on this level too, just to be safe. He’d stopped short of welding them all shut, or filling them in. 

Oin found the words that Thorin could not. “Are you sure you want to do this, lad?”

Fili didn't take his eyes from the mine. “Open it. Please. I need to remember.”

Still unable to speak, Thorin nodded and Gimli heaved the heavy cover free.  Fili stepped immediately toward the entrance and, although they all crowded forward, it was Thorin who reached his nephew first, wrapping an arm around Fili’s waist securely. 

Looking down over Fili’s shoulder into the dark, Thorin’s heart clenched. They stood in silence and he focused on the tips of Fili’s boots, right on the lip of the mineshaft. He could feel the tension in his nephew’s body, and a tremor that was either exhaustion, nerves, or both, as Fili leant into him — quietly seeking support. 

“Would I have had a torch?” Fili asked at last in a small, uncertain voice — one that was becoming far too familiar and didn’t sound anything like the voice of his once brave, confident nephew. Thorin closed his eyes. 

“We didn’t find one,” said Gimli. 

Oin grunted and Thorin's eyes snapped open. 

“Good idea,” said Oin. “Gimli, step away a bit. Not too far but just enough to darken things down. Are you remembering something, Fili?”

Fili shook his head, his hair tickling Thorin’s nose. 

“Nothing,” Fili whispered. “I don’t remember this place at all. Maybe I should be on my own?”

That was out of the question. Thorin glared at Oin, tightening his arm about Fili’s waist as the medic opened his mouth. “Never,” he murmured into Fili’s ear. “You will never have to stand alone again. Not here, and not anywhere. I swear to you.”

Tugging the hood of her cloak further forward, Hafdis stared down through the falling snow to the gates of Erebor. By her side, Odr hung his head, his breathing laboured, the white huffs swirling away in the fierce winds that gusted across the mountain spur. She patted him, murmuring promises into his bristly ear of a warm stall and a good rub down, as dwarves on goats and pigs clattered past, making their way onward to the warmth of the mountain. 

A shiver ran through her. Turning away, Hafdis was in time to see her brother come into sight over the ridge. 

Hafur frowned and dismounted, leading his goat toward them. “What are you doing?” he asked once he was close enough for the wind to not steal away his words. 

“Stretching my legs. It’s been a long ride.”

“Has it? Really?” Hafur quirked an eyebrow and reached over her head to tug her hood further forward, brushing snowflakes from it. “How would you know? You’ve walked the whole way.”

Scowling, Hafdis scratched Odr’s chin under the strap of his bridle and he grunted happily, leaning into her. 

“This is his last outing,” added Hafur.

“What?” Odr snorted as her hand stopped. Looking at Hafur in horror, Hafdis shook her head. “No, it’s not. He pulled something on the last hunt and it’s still healing but he’s fine. I only walked little bits, and we were going so slowly anyway that it was warmer to walk. It’s not his fault.”

Hafur smiled sadly, fussing with her hood again and avoiding her eyes as he tucked her wind-swept hair closer about her neck. “I know. It’s not his fault. He’s served you well, but it’s time. Well past time. It’s nature. You know it, and I know it.”

With her eyes blurring, she slapped his hands away from about her face, clenching her fists to stop the tears as Hafur pulled her into a hug. 

“And I’m pretty sure he knows it too.” Her brother held her tighter as she tried to shove him away. “Stop and listen to me. At some point, when it really matters, and he won't mean to, he’ll let you down. And, as your brother who loves you, I can’t stand by and wait until that happens.” 

“Let me go.”

“I’m sorry. I really am.” Hafur rested his chin on her head, his beard tickling her nose as she huffed in short, furious breaths. “But I’ve made my decision. And I know you’re worried about coming back here. I am too, but it’ll be fine. I promise.”

Hafdis swiped at her eyes when he released her. She wasn’t so sure, and now he was making everything worse by threatening Odr and giving her something else to lose sleep over. On the long, slow trek from the Iron Hills, she had lain awake, running through every possibility and changing her mind a thousand times. The closer they got to Erebor, the more she was convinced that they were fools to have left the safety of home at all. 

The last of the vanguard passed them in a jingle of harness and started on the switchback trail that led down to the valley. Walking away from Hafur, Hafdis looked down the spur behind them and toward home. The wagons were halfway up, with the others strung out ahead and behind in small groups. Her uncle’s people had all picked up the pace though, everyone feeling the need for warm toes and cold ale as the first flakes of snow began to fall. But for now, she and her brother were alone. 

“Do you think it’s a trap?” she asked in a whisper. “Do you think they know what we did?”

It had taken him long enough to realise that he was being followed. 

From the shadows, Hafdis watched Fili dart across the bridge and into the darkness of a passageway opposite. She snorted quietly. So much for him being a master at tracking if he couldn’t even tell when someone was walking for almost a mile behind him. It wasn’t as if she had been particularly quiet either. 

“Who’s there?” he called. “Show yourselves!”

He sounded like his usual self anyway. 

“Fili.” Raising a hand and smiling, she stepped out into view and strode toward the bridge, the waterskin at her hip sloshing with every step. “It’s me.” 

He emerged from the passageway with a frown on his face. Pretending to be preoccupied with keeping her footing on the narrow bridge, Hafdis watched through her eyelashes as he slipped the knives away before stepping forward to offer her his hand. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked once both her feet were off the span. “Why—”

“I came to look for you.” Hafdis unhooked the waterskin and handed it to him. “I heard something happened in the training hall, and then there was fighting everywhere, and Hafur told me to stay in my room…but I just wanted to check that you were well.”

He stared at her, still frowning, and she patted his hand.  “Go ahead. I brought that for you because I thought you might be thirsty.”

He remembered his manners at last, dropping the rude stare and murmuring an overdue thanks as he uncorked the skin. Hafdis watched him take a sip as she talked on, “So I went to the healing chambers but no-one was there, and then I thought I would go to your room. I know I shouldn’t have, it’s not proper, but I really wanted to just speak to you and make sure. Hafur said you were badly hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Fili tried to hand the skin back to her. 

Shaking her head, Hafdis smiled. “No, it’s for you. It’ll make you feel better.” 

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I didn’t. I just started walking.” She smiled at him. “I suppose maybe I was meant to find you and look after you. Do you want to take another drink, a proper one this time, and then we can head back together?”

Obediently, he raised the skin to his lips, his throat bobbing as he drank deeply. Taking the skin back from him when he finished, Hafdis hooked it to her belt. It felt half empty. Which should be about right. With a final glance about the darkened chamber, she followed him as he led her in silence toward one of the wider passageways. 

For someone who was supposed to be badly injured he was moving fast, even faster than he’d been when he’d returned from the mountainside. Hafdis frowned, trotting along behind him. Still steady on his feet, they exited the passageway and crossed through another chamber, and her heart began to beat faster. She recognised this route. They would be at the kitchens shortly. 

“Wait,” she said. 

Stopping, Fili turned. The irritated frown was back, although he seemed to be making an effort to hide it. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just a stone in my boot.” Balancing against the wall, she heeled off her boot and tossed him the skin. “Here, have some more water and take a rest. I’ll just be a moment.”

Leaning on the wall opposite, he took another long drink. Hafdis shook out her boot, feeling about inside whilst he watched her closely. 

“Did you mean it?” he asked, his words sounding slightly slurred together. 

Hafdis tapped at her boot, peering into it. “It must be in the lining,” she muttered. “Do you know, I knew it was cracked, I just knew it, and I didn’t do anything about it. I should have taken it down right away to get it repaired. These are my favourite boots too.” She glanced up at him. “Mean what?” 

“What you said…” 

The words were definitely slurred this time and Hafdis waited but it seemed to her that he had lost the trail of his thoughts. He dropped his head, staring at the ground in front of his boots as if searching for inspiration or hoping that whatever he wanted to say might be written there. 

“Mean what?” she prompted. 

He licked his lips and tried again, each word slow and deliberately pronounced, “You said that you were meant to find me?”

“Of course. I think I was always meant to find you. Don’t you think so?” Stamping her foot back into her boot, she crossed the passageway and tugged the waterskin from his slack fingers. Nearly empty. “That’s got it, I think. Shall we go?”

He caught her wrist as she began to walk away from him. “That’s the wrong way, Hafdis. The kitchens are this way.”

“We’ve just come from that way.” She smiled as he furrowed his brow and stared along the passageway that led to the kitchens. “I think you’re a bit confused. Come on. We’ll get you to Oin and he can have a look at you. I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?” 

She waited patiently as he looked up and down the passageway but at last he nodded and let her go. Leading him back the way they’d come she took one of the side passageways they’d previously walked past, keeping up a constant chatter of nonsense as the stone under them began to slope steadily downward. 

It was her sleeve he caught this time to stop her. “Are you certain this is the right way?”

“Of course it is.” She nodded to reassure him, and he didn’t resist as she took his fingers in hers to tug him along. 

She was telling him another story about Odr when he stumbled, dropping her hand so he could catch at the wall before he fell.   

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Fili straightened with what looked like an effort and smiled uncertainly at her. “I’m fine. A little light-headed only, but don’t worry.” 

He barely managed half a dozen steps before he lost his footing again, falling heavily to one knee this time. As he tried to get up and failed, Hafdis stepped back and listened. 

Fili heard it too. Lifting his head, he looked in the direction of the quiet footfalls. When his eyes turned back to her, she uncorked the waterskin and poured the last of its contents slowly onto the stone. 

“I was just about to tell you how I clean Odr’s teeth,” she began. “He hates it so much, but you have to do it otherwise they get filthy and he’d get sick.”

Fili frowned, shaking his head, and tried again to get to his feet, falling back to both knees with a grunt. “Hafdis,” he said. “I don’t… We need to… There’s someone—”

“Most of the pigs at home hate it, getting their teeth cleaned, I mean. They’re nothing like your docile, stupid little ponies, and we’ve learnt that they have a very long memory for dwarves who do things to them that they don’t like.”

He held a hand out to her. “Hafdis—” 

Taking a half-step back, she continued, “So usually we look after each other's pigs for the unpleasant stuff. But I don’t trust anyone else to clean Odr’s teeth or look after him properly. And then Hafur found out about this mannish thing. It’s tasteless and it doesn’t smell like anything at all. You can just put it in his food, or mix it with something like...oh, I don’t know, water.”

Fili’s reaching hand dropped, his hair falling about his face as he touched fingertips to the damp stone. 

“And then he doesn’t mind so much,” continued Hafdis. “He’ll let you do anything to him. Anything at all. It’s wonderful. Like magic.”

His head jerked up, eyes widening as he stared at her, suddenly looking really young and really frightened. Hafdis smiled. 

“He’s got at least two knives!” she called. “His boots.”

Fear must have given him strength. Somehow he managed to stagger to his feet and tried to run. Only making it a few steps back the way they’d come before he spotted the danger and skidded to a halt, almost over-balancing. With a hand on the wall to steady himself, he turned, his eyes flickering past her and down the narrow passageway to where more shadows stood framed in torchlight. 

Hafdis watched the realisation dawn on his face that there was nowhere left to run — realisation that was quickly replaced by determination. Putting some more distance between them, she took a few hurried steps back as his eyes narrowed and he dropped into a crouch, but he was ignoring her and focused on the others. As her fingers brushed over the knife in her belt, she caught a glimpse of metal in his hand. 

“Knife!” she yelled, pressing herself back against the stone as the passageway filled with the thunder of running, heavy footsteps. Her kin rushed past her, launching themselves on him as one. Silver flashed in the darkness and someone cried out in pain, she didn’t recognise the voice, before his knife clattered to the stone. 

Even disarmed, and not at his best, he was a good fighter. She’d known that anyway but it was quite impressive to see him brawling properly. Hafdis raised herself on tiptoe to see better over the melee, laughing and resisting the urge to clap as Fili kicked one of her cloaked kin out of the way before cracking heads with another. 

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up at her brother. 

“He’s probably had enough fun, I think,” said Hafur, handing her his cloak and torch. “Hold these for me?”

The light from the torch was ruining her view of the fight. Hafdis held it at arm's length and squinted to see better as Hafur threw himself into the fray, shouting and pushing his way through. For a moment, it looked like Fili thought Hafur had come to save him, she thought she saw his mouth form her brother’s name, and she laughed as her brother’s first heavy punch knocked the prince a step backward. The second and third punches, dealt in rapid succession before Fili even got his hands up or regained his balance, threw him back against the wall. 

It tipped the balance of the fight in an instant and the others closed in, wrestling Fili to a stop. And yet still he fought on, kicking and bucking as they grappled with him and he tried desperately to break free. Standing back, Hafur glanced over his shoulder at her, and she saw the moment Fili twisted one of his hands from her kin’s grip. 

“Hafur!” she screamed, dropping torch and cloak to rush forward. The world slowed and tilted as Fili pulled a knife from his tunic, slammed his elbow into the face of the dwarf between him and Hafur, and lunged. 

Her brother spun, dodging the blow by a hair's breadth. The knife skittered across the stones as he knocked it from Fili’s hand and Hafdis stopped mid-step, gasping for breath. 

Silence fell in the passageway. Fili and her brother glaring at each other before, fast as a striking snake, Hafur moved, his hand fisting in Fili’s hair and yanking him out of the hands that held him. Cracks echoed in the quiet passageway as Hafur slammed Fili’s head against the wall before dropping him to the stone. 

“Get him up,” Hafur ordered, stepping back and waving two dwarves forward. “Be careful.”

The warning wasn’t really necessary, in Hafdis’s opinion. Fili rolled slowly over onto his back, groaning, with the fight gone out of him, but still her kin were sensibly cautious as they dragged him upright. 

One of the dwarves by her side produced a rope from under their cloak and Hafur shook his head. “No, no rope marks. Keep a tight hold on him though, just in case. It looked like he could barely stand when we got here so that should have finished him off. Hafdis?”

As one they turned to look at her. It was eerie. She could make out no features of any of them. The black cloths they’d wrapped around their faces and beards, a precaution Hafur had insisted on, made it look like only glittering eyes were contained within the deep hoods. She shivered and looked at Fili instead, who was slumped forward in the arms of the dwarves holding him, and appeared to be barely conscious. 

Hafdis nodded. “He’d fallen twice before you arrived. It’s working.”

“That’s fine, then. By the time he comes round, he’ll be much quieter and better behaved.” Lifting the guttering torch from the floor, Hafur handed it to a dwarf next to him. He crouched to pick up his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Put the torches out. We move in the dark now, and quietly. Follow me. Hafdis, get the knives.”

Fili's dropped knives were well-balanced and a joy to play with. Spinning her favourite of the two between her fingers, Hafdis followed at the back of the column as they moved at a fast walk toward the unused mines on the lower level. By the time they trailed Fili across the vast chamber and stood gathered in front of an open mine shaft, the prince had revived enough to realise what was happening. 

Or at least she thought so. He wasn’t struggling, and she was fairly sure if the dwarves holding him released their grip he would slump to the ground, but nevertheless he seemed to be slightly more alert. 

“Does anyone have anything to say before we do this?” Hafur asked the group, “There’s no going back, and there’s no escape for any of us if this is discovered. You know Thorin will kill us all.”

Only silence answered him.  

“If any of you have any doubts then we can leave this here.” Stepping close to Fili, Hafur wound fingers through the tangled mess of hair, yanking Fili’s head back so they could all see his face. “We can dump him in a passageway and when he wakes he won't remember anything. There won't be any consequences for what you have done tonight, and then, someday, he will be our king. Is that what any of you want? The future of our race entwined with elves and men.”

The dwarf standing beside Hafdis grumbled something under his breath. 

Releasing Fili, Hafur stepped away, raising his hands. “Because they are your friends, aren’t they, Prince Fili? Not allies in times of war, not useful for trade, not any of the usual poor excuses your uncle trots out to anyone who’ll listen, but friends. You’d fill our mountain with them given half a chance.”

Fili was managing to keep his head up, glowering at Hafur as her brother continued, “And we all know that the very first thing you’ll do once your uncle is in his tomb is bring back your brother. We’ll have him and his mongrel offspring in this mountain too.”

She was too far away to catch whatever Fili said, but her brother wasn’t. Hafur closed the distance in a heartbeat. 

“Traitor?” he hissed. “Is that what you just called me? I don’t think so. There’s only one traitor here, and it’s not me. Maybe once you could have been a great king. We heard the tales about you and I thought that I could have followed you. But you’re weak, and our people deserve better than that. We are strong, and our king must be strong too.”

Maybe Hafur’s words struck a chord, or perhaps maintaining eye contact had taken the last of his strength, but either way Fili’s head lolled forward as if in defeat. With a final disgusted glance at the prince, Hafur addressed the others, his eyes sweeping over Hafdis. “And we will have a strong king, for there are still those in whom the blood of Durin runs pure and uncorrupted.”

The watching dwarves murmured in agreement. 

“Good. You all know who I am and, in return, I know who you all are. We keep each other's secrets. Your loyalty tonight will be rewarded, you have my word, and, more importantly, you have the justice that we all know you will not receive from King Thorin’s hand."

Hafur gestured to the dwarves holding Fili. 

There was a noise like a shower of stones trickling down a mountainside as Fili was thrust forward. Scrabbling for a grip on the lip of the mine shaft, his boots dislodged more loose stone and Hafdis’s heart pounded in her chest as she listened to them fall. It was a long way down. She’d leant forward over the edge and dropped a stone down herself when they first found the place, counting heartbeats until it hit the bottom. 

“This we do for our race,” said Hafur. “Our names will never be spoken, but history will thank us regardless. Mahal himself will thank us when we feast with him in—”

“Wait!” called Hafdis, rushing forward. 

Hafur’s fingers wrapped around her forearm, pulling her to a halt before she reached Fili. 

“What are you doing?” her brother whispered. 

Raising his head slowly, Fili’s eyes met hers. His were dull and glazed, but in their depths she was certain she could see the spark of recognition, and perhaps even a flicker of hope, or something else. His lips moved, trying to form a word, and she brushed Hafur off and moved closer. 

“Don’t.” The word was barely a whisper, obviously meant for only her ears. Fili shook his head, the slightest movement, his eyes fixed on hers. Desperately trying to communicate something without Hafur overhearing. 

She tilted her head, trying to work it out, and moved closer. 

“Go.” It was an urgent whisper in her ear this time. “You can’t save me. Go. Go to Thorin.”

Oh. The laugh bubbled up inside her. Did he think she came to help? The fool. Tucking one of the knives into his belt, she spun the other one through her fingers and sighed. It was so well-crafted, and a shame to let it go.  Spinning the knife one last time, she knelt and slid it into his boot. 

“Good thinking, sister,” said Hafur as she stood. “All done?”

She nodded. 

“And you, Fili? Any more last words? No? Nothing?” Nodding to the dwarves holding Fili, Hafur continued, “Fine. Toss him in.”

They’d covered up the trail, but perhaps they had overlooked something in the dark? A footprint, or a dropped weapon. A torch. Something that would lead trouble to their door. 

“Of course it could be a trap,” said Hafur at last, interrupting her spiralling thoughts. “It’s a possibility. Why do you think Stonehelm isn’t riding with us?”

Peering down the trail, Hafdis could make out Dain’s bulk astride his warpig and beside him, Thorin. 

“But he told us…” She gasped as an idea came to her. “We could tell Uncle Dain.”

“Tell him what?” Hafur frowned. 

“If it’s a trap. If they know. Then we should tell Uncle Dain everything.”

“To what end? Who exactly do you think Dain would believe? No. I saw an opportunity and I took it, and Stonehelm has made it very clear to me that I am entirely on my own in this. I should never have presumed to know his mind. My task, as it always was since we first left for Erebor, was to find out more about Fili, about what sort of king he would be, and to report back any rumours and suchlike.” Hafur glanced toward the dwarves making their way toward them. “And we don’t tell Dain that either. We don’t tell anyone anything. Not ever. You seem to think Dain some sort a harmless buffoon but—”

“I don’t. Uncle Dain would—”

“Dain will never listen to you over his own son. Never. Don’t be too confident in your own charms, Hafdis, or your cleverness. Neither of us are clever enough for this.”

“It was just an idea. And no, it wasn’t your task. Have you had a blow to the head that I don’t know about? Or are you forgetting that I was at those meetings too?”

“Then we both misheard.” Hafur gave her a pointed look. “I acted on a misunderstanding as to what Stonehelm expected from me. Some misconception of mine as how to win his approval, and perhaps a reward. I was wrong.”

“No, Hafur.” Hafdis shook her head. “These aren’t your words.”

Grabbing her arm, Hafur pulled her close. “They are, sister, and you need to remember them. Just in case.”

“It’s not fair.” Hafdis glared down the hill at Thorin riding beside Dain. “He was happy with what we did. Right up until the moment the news arrived.”

Hafur laughed bitterly, his breath warm against her face. “What I did. Me. Not you. And you best put that notion out of your head too. Believe me, Stonehelm will not stand anywhere near me or speak up for me. Don’t be so naive. If this goes wrong I’m on my own.”

“No.” Hafdis placed her hands against his cold, wind-burnt cheeks. “You’ll never be alone. I’ll stand with you. If—”

“You will not. If something happens, if Fili somehow remembers—”

“He won’t.” Hafdis laughed, wanting to reassure her brother. “That’s not possible.”

“We shouldn’t have tested the dosage on Fraeg,” Hafur said with a frown, his eyes on hers. “I don’t entirely trust him.”

“Me neither, but he was telling the truth because it works fine on Odr. Trust me, Fili won’t remember anything.”

“Who knows what your pig knows or doesn’t know.” 

“I do.” Hafdis tilted her chin. “Trust me. If they know it’s not because Fili told them. And I know it worked as it should, because by the time I gave him back his knives he had forgotten that—”

 “I know, you said, but if Thorin’s hounds have sniffed something out, and if they work out you were there...then you tell them that you were coerced.”

“No.”

“Yes. You’ve a powerful friend in Dis. Give her no cause to ever doubt your word. And I want you to stay away from Fili, and from Gimli.”

Hafdis snorted. “Fili wouldn’t hurt me.”

“We don’t know that. He’s unpredictable. I wish I knew what Buvro said to set him off. Likely something stupid.” Hafur rested his forehead against hers and sighed, closing his eyes. “But it could just as easily have been nothing. You are not to go anywhere near him. Or Gimli.”

Hafdis laughed.

“I mean it. Gimli doesn’t trust either of us, but he’s got his eye on you.”

“I know, and it doesn’t matter. He’s a child.”

“Do you think Stonehelm a child?” Hafur moved away. Grasping Hafdis’s wrists, he pulled her hands away from his face. “You do, don’t you? Hafdis, you will be overconfident and you will get into trouble. Do not underestimate either of them.”

Without the warmth of her brother to hold onto, the mountain winds seemed more chill. Hafdis shivered and smiled up at Hafur. “Gimli doesn’t frighten me. He’s just jealous.”

“Perhaps, and jealously is a powerful thing.” Hafur gave her an odd look. “You need to protect yourself. Listen to me, and take that stubborn look off your face.”

“I’m listening.”

“Your part in all this is over. No matter what Stonehelm’s intentions are. You’re only back here because I couldn’t stay at home with you so you behave yourself and stay away from all of this. Protect yourself above all else. Promise me.” He frowned when she didn’t reply. “Promise me that if this goes badly you will do everything you can to protect yourself, Hafdis. Because if they arrest us as soon as we are inside and those gates are locked behind us, then the only thing that will give me strength to stand in front of King Thorin and face his judgement will be knowing that you are safe and beyond reproach. So, you must promise me that you will do exactly as I tell you.” 

Hafdis pressed her lips together. 

“Please, Hafdis.”

“Right, you two,” said Dain as he urged his panting warpig over the rise. “I thought you would both be down there squabbling over rooms or warming yourselves with a few ales by the kitchen fires by now.”

“We were waiting on you, Uncle Dain.” Hafdis smiled as Hafur released her wrists. 

“Good lass, making sure your old uncle doesn’t get lost.” Dain heeled his warpig forward. “Come on then. Get back on Odr and let’s go and see what King Thorin is making us for dinner. I’m sure the place has been in an uproar since we were spotted. He’ll be all annoyed that I didn’t send riders ahead to warn him, if I know my cousin at all.” Still grinning, Dain glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s my Thorin? Come on, lad, stop dawdling. I thought you’d be up with these two, in a rush for a first glance Erebor close up.”

Thorin smiled at Hafdis as he joined them. “Just spending some time with you and my people, Adad. I expect we’ll be kept busy with council meetings once we’re in Erebor.”

“Well, I will be anyway,” Dain said as the pig began to pick its way over the ridge and down the stony path. Stopping, he swore before he continued, “Why hasn’t Thorin maintained this? Look at the state of it. And it’s half-washed away down there. We’ll have at least one broken axle before we get the wagons down this, I warrant. Hafur, get back there and tell Fraeg to space them well out, and to keep all the guards at the back on alert until we get them down. I don’t care how much grumbling they do about being cold. Just because we haven’t seen any orcs doesn’t mean they’re not about.” 

Hafur galloped off without a word or a backwards glance. Mounting Odr, Hafdis watched her brother go before she turned her pig and nudged him after Dain. 

“I’m sure you’re excited to see Fili again,” Thorin said with a smile she couldn’t interpret as they picked their way side by side over the ridge. 

“Course she is,” Breaking his stream of grumbles, Dain threw a glance over his shoulder at Hafdis. “Remember what I’ve told you though, my lass. Head injuries are funny things. He mightn’t be quite the same.”

“I know.” Dis hadn’t told her much, despite the length and warmth of the letter, but reading between the lines it didn’t sound like Fili was fully recovered. Despite her reassurances to Hafur, Hafdis could only hope and pray that any recovery hadn't extended to his memory too.

Chapter Text

Gimli would never claim to be an expert on pigs, but even he could see Hafdis’s mount was in a bad way as it limped in through the gates behind Dain’s beast. Glancing at his cousin, he wondered what was going on in Fili’s head this time. “Remind me why we’re here?” 

“Quiet,” Fili hissed. “And stay back.”

That was him told then. Gimli rolled his eyes and shifted further back into the deeper shadows. Now he could barely see out the window, and it wasn’t as if anyone was going to look up anyway. Even if they did, the deserted upper level of the gatehouse where they stood was in darkness, and the torches that burned on the lower levels along with the braziers on either side of the gate would keep them hidden. 

“You know that I’m going to get in trouble with Thorin again for this,” he whispered. 

“You won’t.” Fili flicked him a glance. 

Oh yes, he would. Thorin was still grumpy about the key incident, and he’d gotten an earful from Dis into the bargain, not to mention Oin tearing several strips off him. And now he’d skipped out on his ceremonial duties. Gimli drummed his fingers against the windowsill and watched Dain dismount and greet Thorin. It could almost have been cordial, the wide smiles and the hearty, back-slapping embrace — if you’d never met either of them before. 

“He’ll not even notice you’re not there,” Fili whispered. 

Of course he would, Thorin missed nothing, and neither did Dis. 

It had been bad enough returning to Thorin to tell him of Fili's refusal to attend Dain's welcoming committee, without then disappearing off as well. He was going to end up pulling more double duty as a punishment. He just knew it. 

Gimli looked down at Erebor’s royal guards standing in formation behind Dis and Thorin. He might be able to slip back into the ranks when the welcome was over, if he was quick about it, or maybe Molir had been able to cover for him when they’d switched position in the corridor on the way to the gates. Maybe Thorin and Dis wouldn’t have realised. Maybe.

No chance. He was only fooling himself. “Why were you training with Molir anyway?” he asked. “I get off shift in a few hours and I could have gone up onto the mountainside with you before dinner.”

It had taken him long enough to track his cousin down, which hadn’t improved Thorin’s temper any, and Gimli had been surprised to find Fili not only sparring — which he’d claimed he wasn’t feeling well enough to do — but with someone else. Not that Gimli was jealous, or hurt, not really. 

And now Hafur was back too. Gimli frowned as the dwarf rode in through the gates and leapt off his goat, leading it through the crowd to Hafdis’s side. 

“Molir asked me,” said Fili. 

Gimli kept his face smooth, he knew he did, but Fili smiled and nudged him before he continued, “I know. I’m sorry, Gimli. It’s just…Molir said he was feeling like he’s getting slow—”

“That’s because he is.”

Fili’s smile grew into a grin. “That’s unkind of you, cousin.”

“It’s nothing I don’t tell him all the time.” Gimli folded his arms on the windowsill and rested his head on them, yawning into his sleeve. The expected telling off for not staying back and out of sight didn't come as Fili relaxed and did the same, their elbows touching. 

“He’s getting old," Gimli continued, once his cousin seemed settled. "Actually, he is old, and he needs to cut back on the ale, and join us in the training hall more often. And not just stand and talk to Dwalin when he is there.” 

Fili snorted. 

“It’s true. He does, and then tells the rest of us what we’re doing wrong. ‘Pick up your feet, Gimli. Get that shield higher, Gimli.’ I haven’t seen him run or fight in years. I’m not sure he remembers how.” 

“He does, and I think your gentle encouragement has sunk in. We’ve been running up and down the paths from the hunting passage to the second ridge to warm up before we spar.” Fili’s eyes were fixed on Dain as Thorin's voice began to boom around the vast chamber in the formal welcome. “Today, I had to wait for him at the top,” he added. 

There was a note of quiet pride in Fili’s voice and Gimli allowed himself to feel a little mollified. So that was why. He watched a red-headed dwarf leave Hafdis and Hafur, the crowd of Iron Hills dwarves parting for him, and walk toward Thorin. “Who do you reckon that is then?”

“I expect that’s Thorin, our cousin.” Fili lifted his head, his eyes following the dwarf. “Or Stonehelm. That’s what Hafur always called him. I’m not sure which he’ll prefer.”

Gimli snorted. He’d enough cousins without one more. And if he were in the market for distant cousins, he certainly wouldn't be bothering with one that strutted and swaggered just as much as Hafur. 

“I’ll find out at dinner tonight,” said Fili. “I’ll face the Iron Hills dwarves then. I just wanted to see them first and see how they reacted to Thorin, without me there.” He sighed heavily. “That makes me a coward, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think anyone calls you that, Fili.” 

“No.” Fili had found a stone from somewhere and Gimli watched him roll it along the windowsill. “No. I imagine they call me a lot worse than that.” 

Not to Gimli’s face, they didn’t. Not twice anyway. “Time will sort all that out. You’ll see. I think Thorin’s finishing up, we should go.”

“You go on.” 

Fili's reflexes weren't anywhere close to what they used to be, and he was going to drop that stone on someone’s head if he wasn’t careful. Then there'd be all sorts of questions, or running. And Gimli suspected Fili had done enough running for one day if the way he’d struggled up the steep, ladder-like stairs at the rear of the gatehouse was any indication. Getting his cousin back down without either of them having a fall wouldn't be easy, or something to be done in a rush. Gimli swiped the stone from under his cousin’s fingertips and pitched it over his shoulder, ignoring Fili’s indignant look. The stone rattled away across the gatehouse flagstones. Out of sight, out of mind. 

The welcome was over and the vanguard of the Iron Hills dwarves started to file out into Erebor, splitting off in different directions. Laughter and a hubbub of voices drifted up to them as they were replaced by what seemed to be an army of snow-dusted dwarves pouring in through the gates. Gimli watched them crowd in, the barnyard smell of wet animals and leather growing stronger. He wrinkled his nose. Had Dain emptied the Iron Hills? What was he up to? 

Frowning, he realised his cousin's eyes were following Hafdis through the crowd. "Don't start that up again," he warned. 

"I didn't write to her, and I had no correspondence from either of them." Fili's head was turned away so Gimli couldn't see his expression but there was an odd note in his voice as he added, "So I suspect you don't need to worry."

Good. That would be the only blessing from this whole sorry situation. "I don't trust them."

"You don't trust anybody." Fili turned back to him as Hafdis disappeared out of sight, leading her pig and Dain's in the direction of the stables. 

"That’s not true. I trust plenty of dwarves. I trust you." 

Fili nodded. "Thank you."

"Not your judgement," added Gimli. "That's questionable at best. But I trust you at my back."

"Well, that's something, I suppose."

"But you just blindly trust everybody." Gimli tapped the windowsill. "You believe everyone has the best of intentions toward everybody else and that's just not how the world—"

"Now it's my turn to claim that's not true." Fili looked at him consideringly. "Sometimes you sound so much like Kili."

Surprised, Gimli jolted. "Really?"

"Really." Fili smiled. "He would have told me the same thing, and, in return, I'll tell you what I would always say to him."

Still glowing from the thought that he resembled Kili in any way, Gimli laughed. "Go on then, share with me your great wisdom."

"It's quite simple, and if you or Kili had ever paid any attention to Balin over the years you'd know this, but it all comes down to alliances." Fili glanced down at the courtyard below where Hafur stood deep in conversation with Dain and his son. "You can form an alliance in a variety of ways and...sorry, am I boring you?"

Gimli stifled another yawn. "Double shifts. Carry on, I'm listening."

"This feels very familiar too," said Fili, sounding amused. "Since you’re sleepy I’ll spare you the details but I find it’s easier to build a lasting alliance if you show people the hand of friendship first, someone has to do it, and us dwarves have a long-standing reputation for being stiff-necked so I find it takes people by surprise. It doesn’t mean I trust everyone, far from it, but I trust my instincts.” He shrugged. “It worked with Bard’s people and the Mirkwood elves.”

For all the good that would ever do. 

“I can tell what you’re thinking by the faces you pull, you know.” Fili nudged Gimli’s elbow. “The best, long-lasting alliances are those built on mutual goodwill, not because one can feel the other's boot on their neck. Our people are scattered and, whether we care to think about it or not, we’re a diminishing race. Perhaps Erebor will change that but it’ll take us many years to rebuild our numbers, if ever, and we need to have people we can call on, and know that they will come. We worked together to push back Azog, and that’s the way it should be.”

“From what I heard that was happenstance,” said Gimli with a laugh. “I thought your long-term memory was unaffected?” He realised the error of the misjudged joke when Fili’s face clouded over and added quickly, “You know I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Fili huffed out a breath. “And you’re right, it was happenstance and luck, but the outcome was the same. I’m thinking of the next time, and the time after that.”

“I think you underestimate us.”

“And I think you weren’t there.” Fili smiled. “For which I will be forever grateful.” 

Gimli resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  If he’d been there things would have been entirely different. “Perhaps it’s the bear you should be courting? Rather than wasting your time on Legolas and Bard.” He’d have quite liked to have met the bear, or skin-changer, or whatever it called itself. What he’d heard from the Company seemed more a fanciful tale than anything else, like they’d all been banged on the head or partaken of too much ale. 

“Hardly wasting my time,” said Fili. “They’re true friends now, as good as any I have in this mountain.”

Which was an issue in itself, especially now. Gimli kept his voice gentle, “You do know that you’re pushing against the tide and not winning any goodwill by—”

“I know.” Fili sighed heavily, his good humour fading away. “I should have paid more attention to my own people these last years. I just wasn’t…I couldn’t. The things they all said when they thought I couldn’t hear, I couldn't stand it. I had to keep my distance for fear that I might....”

Gimli laid a hand on his cousin’s arm. “I know, I understand. But these next few weeks, from now until, you know, things are decided once and for all. You need to try harder.”

Fili made a non-committal noise. 

“Not with them,” Gimli added, nodding his head toward Hafur. “With other folk. You need to build alliances for yourself. I’ll help.” 

He’d already been doing what he could, buying drinks and favours as if he had a stack of gold burning a hole in his pocket, and all the Company had been working feverishly toward the same goal, but they needed Fili to play his part, and do more than sit quietly at dinners and slink away at the first opportunity. They needed the old Fili back, the one who'd left the Blue Mountains all winning smiles and confidence, not the new sad-eyed, solitary one.  

"I had hoped they wouldn't return," Fili said softly. "Cowardly again, but I don't know what to say to them, or if I should say anything. Perhaps it's best for them that I keep my distance anyhow, better for you all. We didn't fight for Erebor so that I could pull it apart."

"What?"

Fili sighed. "Erebor's bigger than one dwarf. Bigger than any of us, and so much more important. It's the only thing that matters in the end. Uncle Thorin has said as much so many times over the years, and yet, now that I'm telling him exactly the same thing he's always told me...he isn't listening."

"Maybe because you're not making any sense." Gimli frowned. This was feeling more and more like a conversation that should be reported to Oin, maybe even Thorin. 

"I want you to promise me something." Not waiting for Gimli to answer, Fili continued, “I want you to make an effort with the Iron Hills dwarves. A real one."

It looked like he would have no choice about that. Gimli nodded, his eyes fixed on the gates where Dain’s people still filed through with no end in sight. A chill not from the wind that swirled in from the valley settled in his stomach. 

"Our people need to be as one, not divided and quarrelling amongst ourselves." Fili fixed him with a stern look. 

"I know. There's no need to do impressions of your uncle. I'm listening to you."

"And that includes Hafdis and Hafur," added Fili, ignoring him. "Amad told me that they visited when I was...unwell, and that I owe Hafur my thanks, but that was before."

"Before what?" asked Gimli slowly, not sure he wanted to know what direction Fili's thoughts were taking him in this time. 

"Before we knew that the dwarf, that Buvro, wasn't…" Fili took a deep breath before he continued, "Before we truly knew what I'd done. What I'm capable of doing."

"It was an accident, it could've happened to—"

"But it didn't happen to anyone. I did it." Fili scrubbed a hand through his hair and stood. "And I will pay for it, as I should."

"Fili, you don't need to—"

"Come on." Fili pushed himself upright with a grunt and limped away. "Let’s get back before you’re missed.”

Bree smelt odd. It had smelt strange when they'd arrived yesterday, and even though it had rained all night and was still drizzling it still smelt funny. 

A lot like boiled cabbage. Ness tried to scrape the worst of the muck from her boots on the scraper outside the smithy. Boiled cabbage with more than a hint of drains. It wasn’t pleasant. 

Nobody else seemed to notice though. She leant back against the wall, further under the eaves to escape the drips, and watched the townspeople pass by. All of them had mud-encrusted boots, and mud-stained skirts or trousers, and it felt like all of them were giving her odd looks. 

She straightened as Kili emerged. “Are you done?”

“Done.” He smiled. “You could have stayed inside, you didn’t need to come out here.”

Ness shrugged. She knew that. But the smithy had been too hot and crowded with the tall, burly smith and his equally tall and burly apprentice, and once she’d come outside she hadn’t wanted to go back in. “Did you get him whatever help he needed?”

Kili nodded and took her hand. Together they wandered down the wide street between the muddy puddles. 

“I gave him what help I could,” Kili said. “He’s finishing an order for weapons—”

“Weapons? What do they need weapons for in the Shire?”

“Bree isn’t the Shire, Ness, not really, and even if most hobbits have no use for swords, others do. There’s merchants, guards, and so on. There’s a whole world outside these lands.”

“No, I know.” She remembered that world well. Ness thought of the wicked little knife still in her boot. She’d taken it out a few times to hide it in the drawer or somewhere, but then she always put it back again, telling herself that Kili would recognise it and there would be questions. It was possible that Fili had told Kili what he intended to do with his gift from Dis, she didn’t know for sure, but there was no sense courting trouble — as Bilbo would say. 

“I wasn’t much help.” Kili tugged the hood of his cloak up over his hair and shot her a sideways glance. “I can manage to work out most things, but it’s been a long time since I made anything more complicated than a simple knife. I wouldn’t be confident with swords.”

“That’s what they’re making?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure you could work it out.” She nudged him and grinned. “How hard can it be?”

Kili laughed. “It’s all very well a join failing in a fence, or having to repair a pitchfork that I've not managed to mend properly, but a sword…that’s life and death. I remembered enough to offer some advice but I was honest and told him that it wasn’t a skill of mine.” The smile faded from his face as he continued, “I’m surprised Master Bracegirdle took the order actually, the smith didn’t admit it outright but I feel that he might be claiming skills that he doesn’t have to secure the work.”

“That could end badly.”

Kili hummed, looking thoughtful.  

“It’s not your responsibility though,” added Ness as Kili's steps slowed. “You’ve delivered what you had to, and now you’re on your holidays.” She glanced up at the sky. “Although when you promised me a holiday I was hoping for somewhere slightly sunnier.”

“My apologies.” Kili grinned. “Are you not enjoying it?” 

“I am.” Ness swung their joined hands. “I hope Bilbo is managing though.”

“He’ll be fine. We’ll be back before he knows it.”

That was true. They’d had one night in Bree already and were heading home at first light. And a holiday was a holiday. It might not have been sunny, and it might have been in a place that smelled like it needed hosed or maybe even burned down, but they were alone and not under Bilbo’s roof. 

“What shall we do now?” she asked. 

There was supposed to have been some sort of festival. Kili had been quite excited when he had told her about it on the long, damp wagon ride from Bag End, but the weather seemed to have put an end to things. The only sign that Bree had ever intended to throw a party was the limp strings of streamers that crisscrossed the streets. Rain dripped from them and Ness pulled her hood further forward. 

“Why don’t you go back to the inn?” Kili suggested. “Find us a table in the warmth and order some ales. I’ll join you in a moment. I just have one place to visit.”

She didn’t want to go into the inn on her own. Ness scolded herself. It was ridiculous. What had happened to her? She’d walked into bars by herself plenty of times. Perhaps not bars where everyone who wasn’t a hobbit seemed like they were twice her height, but still. She took a deep breath and looked toward the inn doors. It was early afternoon. Maybe it would be quiet, although maybe that would be worse. “Fine, where are you going?”

“It’s a secret.” Kili smiled, turning to kiss her lightly on the forehead. His damp beard tickled her face. “A good one though, I hope. Go on.”

When she was younger, Ness remembered watching old westerns every Sunday afternoon with her grandparents and, as the door of The Prancing Pony swung closed behind her, she felt like she’d stepped into one. The noise level dropped, she was sure of it, and everyone turned to look, she was sure of that too. There wasn’t a piano player in the corner, like every bar in the Old West always had, but she could hear the music in her head anyway. Kili would probably tell her she was being paranoid but people were definitely looking. 

Pushing back her hood, she wiped the rain from her face and marched to the bar, trying to ignore her heart pounding in her ears, and the urge to run outside and wait for Kili. 

Let them look. 

It didn’t help that the entire inn wasn’t built for people her size. After being used to The Dragon in Hobbiton where it was men, and occasionally Gandalf, who looked out of place sitting at too-small tables and benches amongst the hobbits, it was very disconcerting to barely be able to see over the bartop. It made her feel like a child, and like she shouldn't be here.

Despite her best efforts, the innkeeper didn’t acknowledge her so, with her cheeks burning, Ness looked around the inn for an empty table. The first one she spotted was a small table between two groups of men and she disregarded it immediately. They’d be practically sitting on people’s knees. Standing on tiptoe and balancing against the bar, she spotted another, in the far corner next to the fire. Perfect. 

But there was a man making his way toward it. Ness cursed as she watched him weave his way between the tables, stepping over outstretched legs. She glanced back at the innkeeper but he was busily chatting and ignored her. 

Stuff it. She’d seen it first. She’d nab it and Kili could get the drinks when he arrived. The man could take the other table. 

Hers was the more direct route, even if she had to scramble, muttering apologies, to get through a scattered group of men and hobbits and she made it to the table barely a step before the man and hopped up onto one of the chairs. 

Undoing her cloak, she settled herself before glancing up. “Oh, hello.” She slid the other chair closer in case he got any ideas. “Sorry, this seat’s taken. I’m just waiting for my…” What did she call him? Partner? Not-husband?

The man stepped back, murmuring an apology of his own, and Ness felt a little stab of guilt. She pointed to the table she’d first spotted. 

“There’s a table there. If you’re quick you can get that one.”

“If you weren’t so quick I’d have had this one.” The man smiled, his eyes glittering in the darkness of his hood. He dropped his pack to the floor and unclasped his cloak. “I’m sure I saw you on the other side of the inn only a moment ago.”

So people were watching her. The flush crept up her neck again. 

“What are you?” The man tilted his head, an amused note in his voice as he looked her up and down, his gaze finally resting on her boots that swung inches off the ground. “You’ve very small feet for a halfling?” Tugging the chair she’d saved for Kili out, the man hung his cloak over the high back and sat down on it, staring at her. 

Ness pulled her hair forward to cover her unhobbit-like ears. This, again, always the nosiness and the questions. “I’m none of your—”

“She’s mine.” A string-wrapped package thudded onto the table, making Ness jump. Kili placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. 

They really needed to talk about calling each other that in public, but he was here and if anyone could get rid of a pest, Kili could. Ness tilted her chin, raising an eyebrow at the man.

The man raised his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Master Dwarf. Just two strangers sharing a table and making conversation. Friendly curiosity only, I’ve never seen a female dwarf before.”

“Well, now you have.” Kili shifted closer. 

“And now I have,” said the man pleasantly, ignoring the clear warning that Ness could hear in Kili's voice. Despite her gratitude that Kili had saved her from having to explain for the thousandth time what she was or wasn't, and despite the fact that she wanted the man gone, her shoulders tensed. 

The man smiled, completely oblivious. “So there we are. And I think that calls for a drink? Ales all round? Or would you prefer wine, Miss?”

“I’d prefer if you—”

“It’s Ness, and she’ll take ale,” said Kili. 

Ness looked up at him, her mouth hanging open, as he continued, “And I’m Kili.” The bow that followed stunned her further. “At your service.”

“Anlaf.” The man inclined his head in return and leapt to his feet. “At yours, of course. Here, Kili, take this seat. Back in a moment.”

Ness recoiled back into her chair, folding her arms, when Kili leant forward to kiss her. 

“What’s wrong?” Kili frowned. 

“What’s wrong?” Ness jerked her head toward the bar, where the innkeeper seemed to have woken up and was laughing with Anlaf like they were the best of friends. “At your service? Really?”

Kili looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “That’s the polite way to greet someone, Ness.”

“It’s not the way the Kili I used to know would greet someone.”

“I don't have my kin at my back anymore, Ness, and you never know who might be useful. And anyway, I’m always polite. Would you prefer I threaten him?” Kili scooted his chair closer and pulled her folded arms apart gently, taking her hand in his. “I can, if you like? It’s your holiday.”

Despite herself, Ness smiled as he pressed a kiss against her wrist. “You did sound like you were threatening him but no. It’s fine. However, when your new friend turns out to be some sort of…I don’t know, anything, then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“It’s two ales.” Kili lowered his voice, the frown back on his face as he glanced toward the bar. “We’ll have to buy him one back in return. Did he say something to you? Do something?”

“No…I just…” Ness shrugged, watching Anlaf smile his way across the inn toward them, three tankards in his hands. “I just prefer it when it’s you and me.”

Kili’s eyes lightened. “Me too, Ness.”

Anlaf liked to hear himself talk. Ness hid a yawn behind her tankard and wondered why she was even bothering to be polite. It wasn’t as if either of them were paying any attention. Two ales had turned into three and Anlaf was showing no sign of leaving. 

Around them the bar had grown quieter, moving into the late-afternoon lull that seemed to happen in all worlds. Ness watched the bar staff clear tables and bustle about preparing for the evening whilst she listened to Kili and Anlaf with half an ear. So far, for all the man's words, she’d only worked out that he was a merchant and from somewhere north of Bree. 

And that he was a creep. She was fairly certain of that. 

“That’s a really beautiful necklace, Ness.” Anlaf leaned his elbows on the table and looked her in the eye for what she thought might be the first time since they’d met. “Very fine.”

Oh, so that’s what he was staring at. Ness tried to ignore the flush that crept up her neck and took a sip of her ale. 

“My brother made it,” said Kili. “Ness?” 

Reluctantly, Ness unfastened the necklace and dropped it into Kili’s outstretched hand. Her fingers twitched as Kili handed it to Anlaf. 

The necklace dangled from Anlaf's hand, the stone glinting in the firelight, as he held it aloft and peered closely at it. "Beautiful," he murmured before handing it back to Kili. "Your brother is very talented."

"He is." Kili smiled warmly at Anlaf, his voice full of pride. "Fee claimed that he found it difficult, especially the links here." He shuffled his chair closer to Anlaf. "And here, but I think he just enjoyed the challenge. He can make anything, do anything, and it's always perfect."

"Fee?" asked Anlaf.

"Fili. When I was a little dwarfling I couldn't say Fili, and the name stuck." Kili laughed. "It was my first word and I couldn't even get that right."

Stretching a hand out under the table, Ness could just brush her fingers against Kili's knee. "I think it's sweet," she said. 

"Thanks, Ness." Kili handed her the necklace back. "Here, put it on."

"Older brother, I assume?" Anlaf nudged Kili. "That's the way my siblings talk about me. As if I can do no wrong, but I can promise you your brother isn't as perfect as you think he is. Saying that, if he's taking orders, and I can afford it, there's a girl I've got my eye on who'd be very appreciative for something like that necklace."

The wink Anlaf sent in her direction turned Ness's stomach. 

"Oh, Fee's not a goldsmith," said Kili. "Not by trade, he just enjoys it. And smithing too." Kili pulled a knife from his belt. Flipping it, he handed it hilt-first to Anlaf. "He made this for me, to replace one I'd lost."

Anlaf whistled softly, holding the blade up to the light. 

"Ness helped him," added Kili. 

"You're a smith, Ness?" 

Distracted by a sudden vivid memory of a cold anvil pressed against her back and warm, sweat-dampened skin under her fingertips, Ness jolted when she realised Anlaf was looking at her with interest. 

"I supervised." She cleared her throat and smiled at Kili. "You've both far too much hair for being so close to firey things. It makes me nervous."

"Both?" Anlaf twirled the knife through his fingers before handing it back to Kili.

Kili shrugged. "I try. I'm not as good as Fee."

She was going to have to talk to him again about marketing and selling himself short. "You're every bit as good, Kili."

"I'd heard there was a dwarf smith around these parts," said Anlaf. "Out Hobbiton way, but I didn't believe it. That's not your brother, is it?"

"No." Kili played with the knife in his hands. "No, that would be me. Fee's...far away. I haven't seen him in a while."

Anlaf sat back in his chair. "Ah, I understand. I'm away from home a good bit too, it's hard to be far from family. Where's home?"

Ness tensed whilst Kili tucked the knife away and seemed to be thinking about his answer.

"Out east," said Kili at last. "Near the Orocarni mountains, I don't expect you've travelled that far."

Anlaf shook his head. "Not that far. Heard there was a bit of trouble out that way a few years back?" 

Exchanging a glance with Ness, Kili shrugged. "There's always trouble in this world."

"That's the truth." Anlaf raised his tankard. "I stay away from such things myself as much as I can. Merchants can't afford to get involved in disputes, bad for business." He laughed. "But why Hobbiton? What use do hobbits have for a dwarf smith?"

Kili smiled. "You'd be surprised. They keep me busy."

"I wish I'd known." Anlaf drained his tankard. "I should've checked when I heard the rumours but I assumed it was nonsense. Saying that, you're likely a lot more expensive than the man here, and he seems competent enough but we'll see."

"You're the weapons merchant?" Kili raised his eyebrows. 

"Weapons, grain, linens." Anlaf grinned ruefully and spread his hands. "Whatever earns me the most coin. I've a plan to spend my old age in comfort."

"That's a fine plan." Kili nodded. "But you made the right choice. The smith here is a good man. I knew his father, Birch, many years back when he was a stablehand, and the smith is very like him. You'll be fairly treated."

Ness frowned, smoothing her face when Kili glanced toward her. 

"I'd always meant to return to Bree and find Birch," Kili added, his voice thoughtful. "I owed him my thanks. But forty years is a long time."

"For my people it is." Anlaf barked out a laugh. "It's a lifetime. But that's good to know about the smith, and I suppose I'd best go before he closes or he'll not be at all pleased with me. Perhaps we'll  meet again, Kili." 

Scraping his chair back, Anlaf stood and gathered up his cloak and pack. "And I understand now why I don't see dwarf women. If I were a dwarf I'd want to keep my treasures hidden too." 

Definitely a creep. As Anlaf strode toward the inn doors Ness rolled her shoulders and turned back to Kili. He grinned at her. 

"I've never heard you mention Birch," she said. 

"He's just someone I met when I came to Bree as a lad." 

Ness turned her empty tankard in her hands. "And...he's dead, is he?"

"Some years back." Kili moved his chair closer. "Ness?"

"Was he quite old when you met him?" Kili looked at her consideringly and Ness sighed. She recognised that look. It was one Fili would have given her every time they'd skirted anywhere near the subject. Usually just before he'd launch into some nonsense about how they'd no idea whether Ness was human in the same way as the men of Middle-earth. "He wasn't, was he?"

"We were both young," said Kili quietly. 

The light that reached them from the inn's windows was grey and dull anyway, but it felt like a cloud had settled right over their table — which wasn't the way it was supposed to be on holiday. Ness shook her head and smiled sympathetically. 

"I'm sorry you weren't able to see him again."

Kili shifted closer still, his fingers brushing against hers on her tankard. "Ness..."

"So what's the parcel?" Ness tapped the package that lay abandoned on the table between them. "Now that Anlaf the creep has gone and we can talk properly. And I'm not sure you should be giving out your name all over the place by the way."

Kili snorted. "Thorin didn't tell me I couldn't use my name. He left me that much."

"Well, no, but he maybe assumed that—"

"And it's one person."

And hundreds of hobbits, and most of Bree and the surrounding lands. Ness clamped her lips shut. Holidays weren't for arguing. 

"I know that look, Ness." Kili leant closer and touched his forehead to hers. "Don't worry. My name holds no meaning or significance outside my kin, and without my title it means nothing to dwarves either." With his eyes on hers, he added, "I could shout it from Bree's rooftops if I wished and no-one would care. Open the present."

Ness smiled. "They'd probably care about a mad dwarf on their roof."

"And that would be as far as it went. I'm nobody and nothing, Ness. As it should be, and as Uncle… as Thorin wished."

No-one at any of the tables nearby was paying them any attention so Ness pressed her lips to his, her hand sliding up his chest until her fingers tangled in his beard. Between kisses, she whispered, "Never nothing. Not to us."

They'd arrived late the night before and fallen into bed after a few ales, both of them too tired to do anything more than curl up together. As Kili's hand tightened on her waist and he trailed kisses along her jaw, Ness felt the heat rise in her face again. Perhaps it wasn't so much that Kili had been too tired but that he'd given up? He hadn’t pushed for anything more than a chaste kiss or a brief hug since Gandalf’s visit which was…she didn’t know how many weeks ago. A lot. 

There was a pouch of foul-tasting hobbit tea safely tucked in her pack upstairs. Not that she trusted it since the hobbits all seemed to have huge families but maybe it would be fine. Maybe the hobbits just preferred not to drink something that tasted like dishwater and take their chances. And the midwife had seemed confident of its effectiveness on her last visit to Bag End when Ness had begged that there must be something, whether hobbitish, elvish or orcish — the last one had shocked the round-faced, jolly hobbit into silence — that worked a hundred percent of the time.

She took a deep breath. Under the table and, hopefully, out of sight she walked her fingertips slowly along Kili's thigh until they rested against his laces. He stilled, the warmth of his quick breaths stirring her hair. 

“You’re already hard,” she whispered. 

“Ness,” he breathed. “I—"

Kili jolted away as the table rattled with the slam of tankards. “Excuse me,” said the barmaid with what Ness was sure was a knowing smile. “Apologies for disturbing you but Anlaf said to bring these over to you. Will you be wanting dinner?” 

Stiff-backed and red-faced as he was, Kili seemed to have lost the power of speech so Ness returned the smile. “Maybe later.” She could order hot water for her tea too. Lifting the closest tankard, Ness raised it. “Thanks.”

Gathering up the empty tankards, the barmaid took the hint and left. Ness turned back to Kili. “That was nice of Anlaf, I suppose. Shall we drink these and go upstairs?”

He shifted in his seat. “Please.”

“Always so polite.” Ness grinned. “Just like you said. Shall I open this now?”

The string wrapped around the parcel was knotted tight and Kili moved his chair close. “Let me.” Pulling the knife, he cut it open and pushed the package back to her. 

The paper fell away to reveal a little pair of boots. Ness gasped, lifting one and turning it around in her hands. “Kili, these are…”

“Do you like them?” 

“Of course, and he’s going to be so happy to have a pair of his own.” Pressing a kiss to Kili’s cheek, Ness added, “It might not stop him stealing yours though. I think he likes the noise when he bangs them off the walls.”

“They’ll be a bit big for him.” Kili wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “But he can wear extra socks for a while. I think he’ll be walking soon.”

Not if shuffling on his backside or crawling got their determined little dwarfling places any faster. “Is it strange that I miss him already?”

“No.” Kili's lips brushed her temple. “Not at all. I miss you both every moment I’m away. It always feels like a lifetime until I see the lights of Bag End again.”

Snuggling back against him, Ness wrapped up the boots and retied the string. “He’s going to look very different with these on.”

“That’s because he is different. He’s not a hobbit, and he never will be. He’s a dwarf.”

Or something. 

“I worry about it sometimes,” Kili murmured into the curve of her neck. “A lot, actually, if I’m being honest. That he’ll be lonely here. I know we can’t change that, but...”

His hand moved over her stomach in light circles. Only a caress, and he probably didn’t even realise that he was doing it, but it was pressure all the same. Ness bit back a sigh. “I don’t think hobbits allow people to be lonely. It’s against their laws or something. You probably get left to the borders of the Shire if you’re not obnoxiously kind to strangers. Unless you're Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, that is, I don't know how she gets away with it.” 

"Lobelia isn't that bad." 

Ness snorted. "That's because she's sickly sweet when you're there. All Master Dwarf this and Master Dwarf that. I don't know what you've done to her but ask Bilbo, he'll tell you I'm right."

The inn was growing busy. Ness sipped her ale and watched the barmaid move about the tables, taking orders and ferrying drinks and food. 

“Rosie spoke to me,” said Kili, his eyes following the barmaid too. “And said that you’d asked for work.”

“It was only an idea. I used to enjoy working in bars.” Ness stared down at his hand resting on her stomach and tried not to think badly of Rosie. It didn’t work. 

But then it didn’t matter anyway, because the dwarfling wouldn’t be the only lonely one in Bag End. Given enough time Bilbo would grow old, she would grow old, and Kili…wouldn’t. Her nose prickled. “Maybe when little Fili gets a bit older we can think about it,” she managed, hoping that Kili wouldn’t hear the wobble in her voice. 

Kili nodded. “Maybe. I told her I’d talk to you so I'll let her know.” 

“Thank you.”

“I need to talk to her anyway,” Kili said. “She’s gotten into the habit of calling to the forge and bringing out cake or pie or whatever is leftover from lunch.”

Had she indeed? Ness twisted in his arms so she could see his face. 

Kili looked sheepish and released her, touching a hand to his stomach instead. “I have to tell her to stop. Somehow. Hobbits seem to take it as an insult if you refuse food but I have to try. I’m…if Fee saw…if anyone ever visits they’ll not recognise me.”

“Considering that you barely had anything to eat on the whole way to Erebor or while we were there, Fili would be so happy to see you with some weight back on.” Ness forced the smile to stay on her face. It felt strange to say his name aloud rather than only in her mind or in her dreams. Strange and upsetting. When Kili’s face didn’t lift, Ness added. “You’re perfect as you are, and you look like the same dwarf I first met in the Shire years ago.”

“Do I?” 

“You do.” Ness lifted her tankard and asked lightly, “You haven’t heard any more from him?”

Kili shook his head. “No, I promise.”

They should speak about him more, and maybe it would hurt less. “It was nice hearing you tell Anlaf about him today, but you can talk to me about him whenever you like, I know how much you miss him.”

“And you, Ness.” Kili’s eyes were solemn. “I know you loved him too.”

Heat was creeping steadily up her neck, she knew it was, and Ness said quickly, “I barely knew him.” Tipping her tankard to hide her face, she gulped the ale. 

“Easy, Ness.” There was laughter in Kili’s voice. 

Ness slammed the empty tankard back on the table and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Done.”

The men at the next table were staring at her and Ness lifted her chin, glaring back at them. When they looked away she turned to Kili. “Come on, drink up. Since you're fretting about your waistline I've got a few ideas for working up a sweat.”

"Have you?"

Leaning forward far enough to give him a clear view down her dress, Ness grinned. "Yes."

Maybe she'd leave the hobbit tea for now. Ness watched Kili's throat bob as he hurriedly drained his tankard. Maybe it was time. She'd decide later.

Chapter Text

Sipping at her ale, Hafdis shifted again in the elegantly carved chair, crossing her legs this time to see if that helped and accidentally kicking Hafur in the shin. He glanced at her and she smiled back in apology. It was odd, Thorin's — Stonehelm's, she reminded herself — rooms were as luxurious as any she'd seen in Erebor, easily a match for Fili's and Dis's, but no matter how she wriggled about she couldn't get comfortable. But then, she hadn't felt comfortable, or slept properly, since they'd arrived back in the mountain. Perhaps the chair wasn't at fault. 

Stonehelm was still talking, a continuous excited stream of noise that bounced around the chamber’s stone walls, and she stifled a yawn, forcing herself to pay attention.

“...so I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t remember. You were very lucky, Hafur.” Across the table from them, Stonehelm raised his tankard.  “And you too, Hafdis. I still don’t know what the pair of you were thinking. You should have known better, and waited on justice to take its natural course.”

Hafdis glanced sideways at Hafur. Her brother was angry, she could tell by the tightness of his smile and the white-knuckled grip on his tankard, and she couldn’t say she blamed him. 

“I should have told Dain as soon as you confessed to me,” Stonehelm continued. “I feel terrible keeping such secrets from him, but he would be so disappointed in you both. More than disappointed. It weighs heavy on me, the decision to protect you both, and I’m still not sure it was the right one.”

Lifting her gaze to her cousin, Hafdis tried to keep the frown from her face. That sounded a lot like a threat. Stonehelm’s lips curved into a smile and there was a glimmer of something she didn’t like when their eyes met. Despite the heat in the chamber from the roaring fire in the hearth, not five steps away from the table’s edge, a shiver ran through her. 

“I appreciate your continued friendship, cousin,” murmured Hafur. 

“Good. See that you do.” Stonehelm turned his attention fully to Hafur and Hafdis felt her shoulders relax. “I saw you speaking with Fili last night after dinner, before he left. What did you talk about?”

Hafur shrugged. “Just asking him if he wanted to meet for a spar today. We’ve barely spoken since our return last week and I wanted to look him in the eye and be sure of where I stand."

"And?" 

"He turned me down.”

Her brother hadn’t mentioned that he’d intended to speak to Fili when they’d gone their separate ways after dinner. Hafdis looked questioningly at Hafur, wondering how he’d managed it without her noticing. 

“You were speaking with those dams from the Orocarni Mountains, sister.”

The new arrivals. Hafdis nodded. She’d had a busy week, catching up with dwarves she’d met from their last time in Erebor, and making new acquaintances, and she knew she was distracted, expecting at any moment for Dwalin or Molir’s heavy hand to land on her shoulder and be escorted to a cell. 

No wonder she was exhausted. Hafdis gulped her ale in an attempt to settle her fast-beating heart. The uncertainty was killing her. 

Stonehelm barked out a laugh and she jumped. “He turned me down too when Dain suggested it. I expect he doesn’t want to be defeated by me, for he knows that I wouldn’t hold back as you do.”

“I never hold back,” said Hafur, lifting his chin. “He’s a good fighter, knows all the tricks.”

“Does he?”

The unguarded grin lit up Hafurs’s face. Hafdis tried and failed to catch her brother’s eye as he continued, “Including some I didn’t know. He’s a real filthy fighter when he feels like it, and the few times I managed to beat him he made me work for it. So I reckon he would surprise you.”

“Do you?”

With a glance over her shoulder toward Fraeg standing by the door, Hafdis kicked Hafur’s shin as delicately as she could, to make sure her brother was paying attention to the warning tone in their cousin’s voice. 

“But he’s got Gimli now.” Hafur kicked her back. “They seem to be friends again.”

Stonehelm frowned. “They were friends before though, weren’t they? And it didn’t matter then that he sparred with you. What’s changed?”

Her brother shrugged, staring into his tankard, and Hafdis resisted the urge to say anything. Stonehelm knew as well as anyone what Hafur worried about. And she was worried about it too. The worry that every glance and avoidance was more than simply Fili not being at his best. The prince hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her since their return to Erebor, he hadn’t sought her out or been anything more than as cordial as his rank called for in passing, and, although Hafdis was trying to avoid being near him to keep Hafur happy, she was fairly certain that Fili was deliberately keeping his distance. It was a concerning puzzle. Dis, at least, was still friendly, but again they hadn’t spent nearly as much time together as Hafdis had anticipated. 

Hafdis couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

She’d hoped Dis would have invited her, or both of them, to dine with her at the royal table. But instead, she and Hafur were seated far down the hall at every meal, lost amidst the Iron Hills dwarves whilst Dain and Stonehelm joined the royal family. 

After all the princess’s talk of friendship, it was more than disappointing. It was nerve-wracking. 

“Dain wishes us to be good friends,” said Stonehelm amicably. “Fili and I. But, to be honest, I find him incredibly dull company. He barely speaks. How did you two put up with it for so long?”

Hafur shrugged again, which was probably the correct response since Stonehelm seemed to have conveniently forgotten that he had ordered them to stay close to the prince, dull company or not. Glancing toward the door, Hafdis bit back a sigh. She had hoped Stonehelm would let them go early enough that she could visit again with Odr before dinner. Her pig hadn’t seemed his usual self since they arrived back in Erebor. Slow to rouse and grumpy, she was worried that he was sickening for something. 

“It’s all a bit pointless putting the effort in anyway,” said Stonehelm, “but since it keeps Dain happy I’m willing to do it, and it won’t be for much longer. Dain is certain that Thorin is wavering about the trial.” Stonehelm smiled, leaning back in his chair. “It may already have been agreed. They were meeting this afternoon, in private, and I expect that by the time Dain is finished the trial date will be announced, and then it will be Thorin’s will against six. He cannot overthrow the law.”

Dain had been trying all week with Thorin and gotten nowhere but more and more ill-tempered, but Hafdis nodded as Hafur murmured something that sounded like agreement. If that was true, and progress had been made, then it was good news, and now that she thought about it, it was likely why Dis was so unavailable. The princess was probably upset by everything that was going on and didn’t want to be a burden. Hafdis sat up straighter. She would go and track down Dis, as soon as she had seen Odr, and offer what comfort she could. If the trial had been agreed to then the princess would need a good friend now more than ever. 

“You may all leave me.” Stonehelm waved toward the door. “Not you, Hafdis.”

Hafur frowned as behind them the door creaked open. “I think I should stay.”

“You can wait outside with Fraeg, Hafur. I’ll not keep her long.”

As Fraeg chivvied Hafur out the door and it slammed closed behind them, Hafdis turned to Stonehelm. He watched her silently over the brim of his tankard. 

“So,” she said when the silence became unbearable. “It’s good news about the trial. I’m sure you’re happy.”

“Are you not?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Because sometimes I wonder. I’ve seen your face at mealtimes. You watch us, and I wonder is it me you are watching—”

“You?” 

Stonehelm frowned at the interruption and Hafdis pressed her lips together as he continued, “Or is it him?”

“What?”

Draining his tankard, Stonehelm stood and rounded the table to stand before her. “Do you…” Suddenly, Stonehelm looked uncertain, his eyes darting about the room. “Hafur told me you played your part well. But did you...do you have…” He cleared his throat. “Did you form some sort of attachment?”

“No.” Hafdis pushed her half-empty tankard away and stood so that they were almost eye to eye. Not that she was intimidated by her cousin looking down at her, it was just more comfortable to be on the same level. And closer to the door. She retreated a step, sidling around her chair. “Of course not.”

It was a surprise when he smiled and stepped forward as if to take her hand. Hafdis whipped both of hers behind her back but Stonehelm didn’t seem to notice and turned away, beginning to pace the room.  

She watched him as he roamed to and fro in silence. 

“Stonehelm,” she said at last. “I need to go and see Odr. He—”

“I will be king one day, Hafdis.” Stonehelm stopped in front of her, looking into her eyes intently. “That much is certain, and therefore I must turn my thoughts toward marriage and finding a suitable wife.”

She nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she began to form an idea of where his thoughts were taking him.

“I’m glad you agree. I know you’ve always regarded me fondly, Hafdis, and I feel the same way about you. And I know that I should be thinking of more advantageous matches, but—”

“No.” The word was out before she could stop it or think of a way to phrase it more delicately. Hafdis smiled and shook her head as her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest. “No, I mean, you should be. There are many more advantageous matches, and I don’t want…” She swallowed the words as his smile faded and his eyes narrowed. “What I mean is I do like you, as a friend, like a little brother, but I don’t—”

A yelp escaped her when he lunged forward and grabbed her arms. 

“I’ll speak to Dain and arrange things.” Too shocked to form any words, she closed her eyes as he touched his forehead to hers and said, “I’ll let you get back to Hafur. Keep this between us for now. Our secret. Will you do that for me?” 

Nodding like her head was no longer under her control, Hafdis let him lead her to the door by the hand. Less than a step away from it he stopped her, his thumb stroking across her knuckles, and for a heart-stopping moment Hafdis thought he intended to kiss her. She ducked away and flung open the door. 

“Hafdis?” Hafur pushed himself up from the wall and joined her as she strode away down the passage. 

Hafdis shook her head. Once they’d turned into the busy main thoroughfare that led toward the gate, well out of earshot of Fraeg, she pulled him to a stop. 

“He wants to marry me.” 

Nodding, Hafus said, “I suspected as much. As head of the family he should have spoken to me first, but I suppose as our future king he doesn’t think it necessary.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” 

Hafur hissed as she pushed him back against the wall hard enough that the crack echoed in the corridor. Rubbing his head, and nodding to the interested dwarves looking their way, he eyed her. “I thought you knew his intentions. He’s made them obvious enough.”

“Well, I did not. And I’m not doing it.”

“You have no choice.” Cupping her face in his hands, Hafur touched his forehead to hers. “I know it’s not what you want, and if I could think of a way to stop it I would. He’s hinted at his intentions to me a few times, trying to gauge your interest, and I thought I’d said enough to dissuade him. I joked that he’d be playing second fiddle to a pig. I even told him I thought you might have an interest in someone else but everything I said just seemed to make him more determined.”

“I have a choice.” Hafdis slapped his hands away. “I can say no. I’m not marrying him. I’m not marrying anybody.”

“You can’t say no to him,” Hafur said gently as she sucked in deep breaths and tried to stop herself from crying. “And he’s not so bad as long as he’s getting his own way. You can manage that.” He wrapped her into a hug, whispering into her neck, “You’ve managed me long enough.”

Watching the flames lick at the pile of wood stacked in the hearth, Fili turned his mug of cooling tea in his hands and waited for either Dain or his uncle to take a breath and allow him his opportunity to talk. At least today he had been permitted to join them. When Dain asked to speak with Thorin after the daily meeting with the other dwarf lords and tribe leaders, he'd fully expected to be sent away. 

Perhaps he would have been, if Dain hadn't insisted that he stay. 

And yet, neither Dain or Thorin had asked for his thoughts, or even seemed to remember that he was there. Their eyes remained locked on each other as they paced and argued back and forth. It was obvious that they'd had this same circular discussion many times over the past week, likely from the very moment Dain had dismounted his warpig inside Erebor's gates. Dain pushing for justice, and Thorin pushing back twice as hard. Fili huffed out a sigh and for a moment wished he was anywhere else. Thorin was going to be angry. 

From the armchair opposite, Balin watched him closely, an odd look of pity mixed with concern in the old dwarf’s eyes. Fili offered him a smile and hoped it was convincing. “It’ll be fine, Balin.”

“Of course it’ll be fine.” Dain flopped into the armchair beside Fili and patted his arm, hard enough that tea sloshed over the rim of the mug and his fingers. “Tell your uncle what you told me this morning.”

The look Thorin shot at him dropped Fili’s eyes back to the fireplace. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t told Thorin a hundred times, but it felt underhand to have spoken to Dain, and as if he’d gone behind his uncle’s back to blindside him. 

He’d paused to consider his words too long. 

“I happened upon Fili at the training hall this morning,” said Dain. “And he—”

“You happened upon? Since when did you go anywhere near the training hall?” Thorin’s voice was quiet but Fili had known his uncle more than long enough to hear the barely contained fury. 

Dain laughed, his boots thumping up onto the table and effectively blocking Fili in against the hearth unless he clambered out over his chair or across his cousin’s legs. Fili glared at him and Dain winked back. 

“I told you to stay away from him,” growled Thorin. “You disobeyed me.”

Another laugh from Dain, longer and louder than before. “I can go anywhere I choose in—”

“Uncle.” It had been a relief to finally speak to Dain and hear his views, which Thorin had been trying to protect him from, and which closely matched Fili’s own. Fili only wished that the timing had been better and Dain hadn’t slammed in through the guarded doors at the exact moment that Gimli had swept his legs from under him. It had been embarrassing to accept Dain’s hand and allow himself to be hauled back to his feet. “I wanted to speak to Dain.” 

Thorin’s eyes snapped from Dain to him. 

“I understand what you are doing.” Standing, Fili looked pointedly at Dain until his cousin sighed and moved his legs. Fili closed the distance between him and Thorin. “And I appreciate it, I truly do, but you can’t protect me from this, and you can’t stop it.”

The mulish look Thorin gave him was so reminiscent of Kili that it took Fili’s breath away. Lost in sudden memories, and with no longer any idea of what he’d planned to say, he could only stare at his uncle helplessly, willing away the sudden lump in his throat when Thorin’s eyes softened. 

“Come here,” Thorin whispered, pulling him close.

“The lad’s right,” said Dain. “Balin agrees, don’t you?”

Drawn tight to Thorin’s chest, Fili couldn’t see Balin’s face but he heard the murmur of agreement. He closed his eyes as his uncle stroked his hair. It was what he wanted, it was the only course that was right, and yet he couldn’t stop the cowardly tremor that ran through him. 

“Even if every single creature that walks Middle-earth agreed, it still would not sway me.” Thorin’s soothing hand stilled, his grip tightening. “My answer is no, and it will remain no.”

“Uncle…” He couldn’t remain snuggled in against Thorin’s beard as if he were a dwarfling and yet hope to speak with any authority. Much though it was an effort to leave the comfort of the embrace, Fili pushed away far enough that he could look up into his uncle’s eyes. “If it were anyone else—”

“But it’s not anyone else.” Thorin’s strong fingers gripped his jaw, preventing Fili from speaking further. “It’s not anyone else, nephew. It’s you.” 

Pushing the food around her plate, Hafdis thought hard about her options. There weren’t many, and she kept circling back to the only one she felt had any merit or chance of success. Dain. If she could speak with her uncle first, before her cousin did, and make her feelings clear in some sort of way that wouldn’t cause anyone any offence then Dain would help her. She knew he would. He had to. Maybe it was desperation. She snuck another glance up at the royal table where Dain and Thorin were deep in conversation — the king’s brows knit into a frown that was in stark contrast to Uncle Dain’s easy smile. By Thorin’s side, Fili pushed his chair back and stood. The noise of the musicians and the babble all around Hafdis drowned out whatever words he said, but Thorin nodded and gestured toward the doors. 

Fili strode away with Gimli in tow, and, even though he passed by her chair and she smiled up at him, he didn’t so much as look her way. Hafdis toyed with her fork. Dain would be settled for the night and there was no way she’d be able to speak to him without Stonehelm noticing. 

As if the thought had been a summons, her cousin looked down from the royal table at her. Hafdis dropped her eyes to her plate, her appetite gone. She would have to eat, drink, and dance, and keep up the pretence of going along with things until Dain decided to go to bed. And then follow him and get a private word away from Fraeg somehow. 

Or…

Hafur was busy talking to his friends and didn’t even glance up as she pushed her chair back quietly and tiptoed away. Her brother would come after her as soon as he realised she was gone, but if she’d plans already made with Gimli and Fili it would be harder for him to insist that she return. 

The guards outside the doors seemed amused but pointed her in what she hoped was the right direction and she hurried along, cursing the bulkiness of her skirts and the velvet slippers that didn’t grip the stone half as well as her boots. Reaching the junction at the end of the long hallway that led from the banqueting hall, she spotted them as they disappeared into a side-passage far ahead. 

“Fili!” The shout was louder than she’d intended and Hafdis glanced behind her to check if the guards were watching. Of course they were. As sedately as she could, Hafdis swept around the corner before hitching up her skirts and running. “Wait!”

Her slippers slapped the stones as she ran and, half-expecting them to be long gone by the time she rounded the corner into the passageway, she yelped when she crashed straight into Fili’s chest, knocking him back a step. 

From behind Fili’s shoulder, Gimli glowered at her but she ignored him and smiled brightly at Fili instead. “You waited!”

“Hafdis, what are you doing?” Lifting his hands from her forearms where he’d caught her to stop her headlong rush, Fili shook his head and sighed. “Go back to your brother, and your dinner.”

“I’m finished. I wasn’t hungry and I saw you leaving. Are you both going to your room? Can I come?” 

“He wants to be alone,” said Gimli. 

“He can speak for himself.” 

Fili smiled. “It’s early yet, and there will be dancing soon. You should enjoy yourself.”

She wasn’t completely sure why she was chasing after him and Gimli, but avoiding dancing probably had a good bit to do with it. Stonehelm had told her as he’d escorted her to her seat that he was expecting to dance with her all night, and the thought of it, now that she knew his intentions, made her stomach cramp. 

“But I wanted to talk to you.” Hafdis dropped her eyes and lowered her voice, “You haven’t spoken more than a dozen words to me since I arrived. I know you’re busy but…” An idea struck her. It would probably be Hafur’s first thought too, but it didn’t matter. “Do you want to come and see Odr? He’s missed you.”

Gimli rolled his eyes and Hafdis shifted to keep him out of her eyeline so he didn’t distract her. 

“I…” Fili turned to Gimli. “Will you give us a moment?”

Muttering under his breath, Gimli stomped off a few feet down the dark hallway and pulled out his pipe.  Fili drew closer and Hafdis searched his eyes. He looked tired and sad, but there was no burning hatred or malice, not that she could see, and she allowed herself a moment of hope even though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was hoping for. A reassurance that, despite her confidence that it could be no other way, he truly remembered nothing? Maybe not to be escorted back to the hall? Both, perhaps.  

“Hafdis,” he said, taking a hold of her sleeve and steering her back gently into the brightly lit passageway. “Go to your family. It’s for the best.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean…” Taking care to glance both ways, Fili lowered his voice further, “You know what I’ve done. You know what will happen.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“You should, and you shouldn’t be seen with me.”

“Is that why you didn’t write?” The shake in her voice seemed to alarm him, snapping his attention back to her. Hafdis blinked misty eyes. “Is that why you weren’t there to meet us at the gates? I thought you would be there and I was worried when I didn’t see you. And then you haven’t spoken to me…” 

She sucked in a shaky breath, swiping at her eyes and watching his reaction carefully, pleased to see still no anger, and only a desperately uncomfortable dwarf not sure what to do. 

“I’m sorry, Hafdis.” Patting her shoulder awkwardly, Fili glanced back in the direction they’d come. Probably hoping Gimli would arrive to save him. “Please don’t cry. I wanted to speak with you, I swear, but I had no choice. It’s for the best.” 

Keeping the wobble in her voice, Hafdis said, “You’re worried about a trial, but you don’t need to. Uncle Dain said Thorin told him that there wouldn’t be one.”

“There will. It was agreed this afternoon. I expect that by tomorrow the entire mountain will know.”

It was Fili’s turn to pull in a shaky breath but the smile he gave her seemed relaxed enough. Maybe he was better at hiding his emotions than she had thought? That was enough to send a genuine and violent shiver down her spine. 

Fili must have seen for he grasped her by the waist as if he thought she might swoon. “Hafdis?” 

“No.” Hafdis rallied, looking into his eyes. Nothing but what appeared to be concern reflected back at her. “That’s not fair.”

“It is. It’s the way it should be, and I’m relieved. In a way. Even as Crown Prince I should not be above justice, and you know as well as I what that means.” 

“No,” she gasped, louder this time, a tear escaping as she clutched at his arms. Releasing her, Fili took a hasty step back and Hadfis cursed herself for the misstep. Tears had been too much. 

Gimli wasn’t tall enough to loom but that didn’t stop him from attempting it as he pushed past and caught her arm. “You’ve been longer than a moment. Go on, Fili. I’ll escort her back.”

Surprised that Fili didn’t say anything, Hafdis glanced over her shoulder to watch him vanish into the side corridor, his footsteps fading away quickly as Gimli towed her along. She shook her arm free. 

“He gets headaches.” Gimli shot her a look. “Since his fall.”

“Still?” That was interesting. 

A step away from the junction, Gimli grabbed her arm and dragged her to a stop. “Yes, and terrible pains in his hips and legs. But he’s lucky, and it could have been a lot worse. And he’s lucky I found him when I did.”

He was staring at her intently, searching for something, and looking moments away from attempting to shake whatever secrets he thought she had out of her. And he did think she had secrets, she could read it as plainly on his face as if he'd handed her a note. It was pathetic, how little control he had. Hafdis smiled sweetly and nodded, covering his hand on her arm with her own. Immediately his grip loosened and he shifted away whilst she sniffed and brushed another tear from her eyelashes. Not that tears would work on him fully, but there was no harm in keeping up appearances and sowing some doubt in his stupid, slow little mind. “I know. He’s very lucky to have you, Gimli.”

His eyes narrowed. “Clear off and leave him alone. I’ll not tell you again.”

The push when she began to walk away wasn’t necessary, but she let him have his pretend triumph over her. Hafdis turned at the junction and leant against the wall as she watched him stomp away, strutting in his guard uniform like a self-important, puffed-up little hen. She snorted, holding back a laugh. Absolutely pathetic. Behind her, the music swelled as the doors of the hall opened. She hung her head and braced herself for a lecture from Hafur as quick footsteps drew closer. 

“Hafdis,” said Dain and she jumped. “What are you…ah.” 

Her uncle was many things but unobservant wasn’t one of them. With a glance at her face which Hafdis was sure must be still flushed with temper and stained by tear tracks, he stared down the passageway in the direction Gimli had gone. Hafdis dropped her gaze to the floor meekly and waited for the wheels to finish turning. 

“Where there’s one, there’s the other.” Dain grinned and leant against the wall beside her, a finger under her chin to gently tilt her head back. “I saw our prince leave just before you did. Your old uncle isn’t quite blind yet.”

The blush that rose in her cheeks wasn’t entirely pretend, and in an attempt to avoid her uncle’s eyes she accidentally met Fraeg’s instead. He frowned at her, too far away to hear what Dain was saying — or at least she hoped so. 

“I understand, lass.” Dain let her go and patted her burning cheek. “What I don’t understand is why you’re content to let him walk away? That’s not the determined little Hafdis that I know.”

Scuffing at the stone with the toe of her slipper, Hafdis shook her head. 

“Do you want me to fetch your brother?”

“No. I think I’m tired. I might go to my room.” She smiled up at Dain. “I’ll just go let Hafur know or he’ll worry.”

“Fraeg,” Dain called over his shoulder. “Go tell Hafur that I’m taking Hafdis back to her rooms.” Pushing himself off the wall, he offered an arm. “No arguments, take my arm.”

“No, Uncle, that’s not necessary. I can find my—”

Dain waggled his elbow and grinned. “Come on. Don’t keep me waiting. I’m going this way anyway. I need a walk after that dinner, else I’ll be falling asleep into my wine and Durin only knows what Thorin will get me to agree to.”

They walked in silence whilst Hafdis mulled over the conversation with Fili, and with Gimli. The trial was good news, but it was Gimli’s prodding that had lifted the weight from her shoulders. It was obvious he suspected foul play, and equally obvious that he had exactly no evidence, because if he did then they would already have been thrown into a cell, at best, or run through by their unhinged king either outside the gates, or in their beds.  

Dain looked into her eyes when they stopped at her door. “You're worried.”

“I’m—” Stifling a yawn, Hafdis blinked in surprise. Maybe she would sleep tonight after all? But she’d have to stay awake until Hafur got back at least so she could tell him the good news. Suddenly, she recalled the bad news, and cursed herself that she’d wasted a walk with her uncle thinking about other things. “I…”  

She’d no idea how to approach it. Your son asked to marry me and I’d rather throw myself off Erebor’s ramparts or into a pit of wargs than agree to it? Please don’t make me. She stared into Dain’s kind eyes, his old face wrinkled and weathered, and remembered Hafur’s warning. No. She needed to plan out exactly what to say. She needed to sleep and to think straight. 

“I think I might like Hafur after all,” she whispered, tears pricking at her eyes. “I want my big brother.”

Nodding, Dain leant forward to kiss her forehead. “I thought you might. Go on in and I’ll send him to you.”

Dain slung his feet onto the low table and held out a hand to accept a mug of tea from Dis. “I feel like we should be having something stronger for this?”

“At this time of the morning?” Thorin quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not even daybreak.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. Tea it is then. So, now you’ve slept on it, or not slept on it by the look of you both, what do you think?”

As Dis settled into the armchair beside Thorin, brother and sister exchanged a matching look. 

“Ah,” Dain said. “Go on. I can read the no on both your faces. Give me one good reason why not.”

They both opened their mouths to speak, and Thorin waved Dis on. 

Dis never shied away from eye contact, and always spoke her mind. Just two of the many attributes that Dain admired about her. “I would prefer to let things happen naturally,” she began, “without rushing them into it. I think, given another year, or two, for stronger bonds to form between them, he would be asking for permission—”

“No time for that. I respect your position, Dis, but no. Thorin, you next.”

“I would prefer that he marries for love,” said Thorin. “Not because he was forced into it.”

Unable to hold back the snort of derision, Dain said, “He’s a prince. He doesn’t get a choice. You wouldn’t have got one had Thror or Thrain any space in their minds for anything other than this mountain.” Switching his gaze from Thorin, Dain met Dis’s eyes. “And neither would you.”

She tilted her chin and pressed her lips together. 

Dain looked away first from the sharp eyes that hadn’t changed in a hundred years, not since he’d first seen her amidst the carnage of Azanulbizar. The brave dam mourning her brother and the loss of so many of their kin. The one who’d been promised to him, until suddenly she wasn’t. “And who’s to say that love won’t happen in time? It’s a good match, and they care for each other. That much is obvious.”

“I don’t know, Dain,” sighed Thorin, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Perhaps when the trial is—”

“No time for that either. You need to announce it now.”

“Announcing a betrothal won’t make any difference.” Thorin shoved himself upright and strode away. “I’ve been forced into this sham of a trial so we will make it quick and get it over with. I don’t want Fili dwelling on it, and I don’t want any delays.”

“You can’t browbeat everyone into submission, Thorin,” Dain called, ignoring the grunted response, “or buy them off. That’s not how these things work. That’s not how being a king works. Not if you want to stay one anyway.” 

Stopping his pacing, Thorin glowered at Dain.

“It’s not.” Dain shrugged. “I’ve had my share of conflict over the years.” He held up a hand as Thorin opened his mouth. “I don’t mean war. Any fool can lead an army. I mean conflict. Over mining rights, over land, over anything you can imagine. A thousand little arguments and missteps that can carve a path right into disaster if you’re not careful. You are outnumbered here, Thorin. Your people are loyal to you but your Blue Mountain folk number barely a tenth of mine, if that. And my people are but one tribe. The old Erebor, the old loyalties, they’re gone. Thror’s people lie dead within these walls, and in Gundabad, and by the gates of Moria. You are rebuilding a kingdom here from nothing.”

“Hardly nothing,” said Thorin. But he was listening. 

“You have a mountain of gold, yes, and you have a family name. Heritage and lineage, both tainted with gold sickness, and don’t you think for one moment that our people don’t know it, or that they will forget it.”

They were both glowering at him now. 

“Your Fili needs every advantage he can get, and so do you. This could go badly. You—”

“You stood against me,” Thorin growled, stepping closer. “If you had spoken up, if you had supported me, then there would be no trial. You have worked against me at every opportunity and betrayed me.”

“Not true, and I don’t want to rehash this with you. What Fili did to Buvro needs to be paid for. Our people need to see it paid for. Fili understands it better than you. He knows that there will be a punishment, and he’s accepted it.”

Dis’s face was bloodless and Thorin paled.

“And that’s good.” Dain nodded, relaxing back in the chair. “He just needs to hold himself together. And you need to be clever and stack things in his favour. What better way to do that than with a pretty dam wringing her hands and standing by him? Young love is the most powerful thing in this world—”

Thorin snorted.

“Our people aren’t heartless,” Dain raised his voice. “In fact, they’re the opposite. They’re hopeless romantics. Every last one of them. A bit of young love can melt the most vengeful of hearts, because Durin knows we haven’t seen enough of it over the years. And they’re not impractical either. Hafdis is my niece. It joins our lines. Should anyone be thinking about that sort of thing.”

That earned him a sharp look from Thorin. 

“I’ve told you before that I’ve no desire for your crown, cousin. But I do have an interest in the succession, and the future leadership of our people. If you are determined to keep Fili as your—”

“That is not up for negotiation. Fili is, and will always be, my heir.”

“I know, you’ve said, repeatedly, and I think you are foolish not to give it proper consideration, but you are the king and you have made your decision. So, if somehow you can get him out of this whole sorry mess unscathed, and not bring me down with you, then I want an influence over him. In case you hadn’t noticed, my people are more numerous than any other tribe inside this mountain.”

“It hadn’t escaped my notice.” Thorin crossed his arms. “And I see now why you brought the entire Iron Hills back with you.”

“Only those that felt the burning need to come are here. I haven’t left my mountain short of guards.” Dain held Thorin’s gaze and watched his words sink in. “So you understand, my people need to see that they will have a say going forward. And I need a dwarf that I can trust at your heir’s right hand, or in this case, in his bed.”

Dis rolled her eyes and Thorin looked away. 

“He’s not a child, and neither are you, Thorin.” Dain laughed and swallowed half his tea in one gulp. “Don’t be so prudish. Anyway, I want Hafdis in a position of power should the time come that I might need her. That is not up for negotiation. It is the price for my support, my support which will divide my own people, because they will not all understand. There are some who will only want blood for blood and no amount of betrothals, or promises of peace, or future dwarven wealth will ever dissuade them, but my gentle handling can. You know you cannot stand alone. There is no possibility that you can win this without me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. It is the truth. And I’m only presenting this as an idea, an option. The decision is yours, and Dis’s.” Dain drained his mug. “Hafdis is a good girl, and by giving her to you I will be making my son unhappy, and possibly my nephew, I’m not completely sure where Hafur’s feelings will lie on this matter, so this is not entirely without sacrifice on my part.”

Dis frowned. “Your son?”

“Yes. My Thorin spoke to me late last night. He wishes to marry her, and I said I would think about it. You can imagine how that went. Doesn’t like being told no, my son, can’t imagine where he gets it from. I blame his amad’s side of the family.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dis slowly. “Not that I’m objecting necessarily, it’s only the timing that I’m uncertain of, not the girl herself, but why would you refuse your son’s happiness for our benefit?”

“It’s for his benefit too, although I’m sure he won’t see it that way. He loves her, always has since they were dwarflings, or the idea of her anyway, but she doesn’t love him. Not in that way.” Dis’s eyes were too knowing, and Dain cleared his throat before he continued, “I spoke with her in the hallway last night, after your Fili walked away from her, and I saw the look in her eyes. It’s not my Thorin she loves, and I do not want him in such a marriage if I can avoid it.” 

“Yet, you would do it to your niece, and to my son.”

“Call it double standards if you wish.” Dain grinned at her. “Fili always knew that he would be facing an arranged marriage. This won’t be a surprise to him, and he won’t fight it. The boy understands duty and what’s expected of him. More than most.”

Dis flushed, appearing engrossed in the fire as she lifted a poker. Crossing the room. Thorin narrowed his eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“And your boy will be luckier than most,” Dain added. “At least he knows and likes her. She won’t be a name without a face.” 

They didn’t answer, but Dain hadn’t managed to hold together a people that fought like cats in a sack for so long by not knowing the exact moment he’d won. He rubbed his hands together. “Shall I send Fraeg to fetch them now? Or would you like to discuss it further amongst yourselves? In either case, I’ll be needing more tea while I wait. Have you anything worth eating hidden away in that kitchen of yours, Thorin?”

Chapter Text

It was far too early to wake Odr but sleep hadn’t come as Hafdis had hoped. Stomping along Erebor’s quiet passageways, she ran over and over in her head what she planned to say to her uncle. Hafur had been no use to her, and she’d sent him away with false promises to obey his command and say nothing. 

The folded parchment in her pocket rustled when she pulled it out. Keeping one eye on the path ahead, she mouthed the words to herself. Lying to her brother was wrong, and it wasn’t something she liked doing, but Hafur wasn’t the one about to be married off against his will. She had to try. And trying meant knowing exactly what she wanted to say and not forgetting a single word. One chance to convince Dain, that’s all she would have. 

As the gatehouse came into view ahead she tucked the parchment away. She wasn’t anywhere near word-perfect yet but Odr wouldn’t mind if she read it to him until she was. Waving to the huddle of guards huddled around the gate braziers, Hafdis turned into the wide passageway that led down to the stables.

It was warmer here and the comforting smells of hay and sleeping animals grew stronger as she passed by the first entrances to the goat and pony pens. Summoned by her footsteps, the early risers were already leaning over the stall doors and whickering or snorting at her, hopeful of attention. 

The warpig stalls were next, much fewer of them, and then finally she reached Odr’s. Away from the other tightly packed pens, his was private and hidden behind a heavy door that creaked loudly in the silence when Hafdis pushed it open. Warmth spilled out and she reached through the fence of the stall nearest the door to scratch Dain’s warpig – the only one Odr could tolerate – on the rump as the beast lay half-buried in straw. The loud snores didn’t falter and she smiled, yawning her way toward the basket of torches. 

Hunting about her pockets for her tinderbox, she was nearly at the sconce when straw rustled from the stall behind her. 

“Just a moment, Odr,” she called softly. 

The torch caught and she placed it carefully in the niche between the stalls, brushing some stray wisps of straw away from underneath with her boot. Around her the stable filled with a cosy, flickering light that wasn’t really needed — she could see well enough in the dark without it — but Odr’s night vision wasn’t nearly as good. 

“Hafdis.”

She spun, a hand reaching for her belt knife. With her heart still hammering in her ears, she watched as Fili climbed out of Odr’s pen. “Fili, you frightened me! What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I was just…” Jumping off the fence, he avoided her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You shouldn’t be in there without me.”

“I know.” The fence creaked when Odr bumped against it. Without taking his eyes from his boots, Fili began to idly scratch the pig behind an ear. “But I was reaching through the fence to pet him and then he just lay down.”

As if on cue, Odr backed away from the fence and flopped onto his side in the straw with a huff. Fili pointed. “Like that. Just out of easy reach and then he was grunting and grumbling like he wanted me to come in.” Shrugging, he smiled at Hafdis. “It could have been a trap, I suppose, I did consider it, but I was ready to scramble out if it was.”

Hafdis sighed. After her complaints the previous night about being ignored, it would be odd to send him away now. So much for her hope of peace and quiet to finish her speech. Sliding the bolt back on the gate, she turned to invite the prince to join her, and frowned to find him already back over the fence and settled cross-legged on the straw, stroking Odr under the neck and looking far too comfortable.  She raised her eyebrows at Odr as the pig shifted about, trying to keep an eye on both her and Fili at once. 

She should be annoyed. Odr hadn’t even greeted her and looked to have no intention of doing so. Her pig rolled further onto his back, exposing his belly and grunting. 

“He never does that,” she murmured, half to herself. “Not with anyone but me.”

“I didn’t know what he was doing the first time he did it.” Fili didn’t look up from rubbing Odr’s deep chest. “I was scratching his side, and then he rolled onto his back and started waggling his legs about. I thought he was stuck, or taken ill, and tried to help him up but he began making this awful noise, and kicked me.” Leaning in close enough that Odr could have ripped his throat out should the pig have chosen to do so, he added in a soft voice, “Which hurt, by the way.” 

Fili glanced up at her before he continued, “I thought something had happened, that he was poorly in some way. Then Dain’s pig got upset too and I was certain the guards at the gate would hear. So I got closer, and as I was trying to check him over he became really agitated, and I thought I should try and comfort him. I started rubbing him like this and talking to him, and he calmed down right away, and then Dain’s pig calmed down too.”

She’d crossed her arms without realising and quickly uncrossed them, leaning against the fence in what she hoped was a friendly, relaxed way. A suspicion was beginning to form. “Tonight?” she asked. 

Fili’s unbraided hair hid his face as he shook his head. “Some nights when I can’t sleep,” he said so quietly that Hafdis had to lean forward to hear him, “I go for a walk around the mountain, as much as I can now Thorin has everywhere barricaded off—”

“I noticed that.”

“My uncle is on a crusade to make the mountain safe. It’ll pass. So I walk, or sometimes I go to the hunting passageway. Most times I end up there, to be honest. But the night you got back I went as far as the door and I could hear people talking outside, and I didn’t know where to go so I came here instead and visited Odr. I didn’t stay long.” Fili sneaked a glance at her. “Then I just kept coming back.” 

Oh. The laugh bubbled up before Hafdis could stop it. “I thought he was ill.”

“What?” Fili looked up. 

“When I arrive in the mornings he usually gets himself up and greets me. But since we got back to Erebor he’s seemed so tired, and he lies until I get into his pen and make him get up so I can clean it.” Hafdis sifted through the straw at her feet with her boot. “I’d noticed I had less cleaning to do, and I was really worried that he was sickening for something terrible.”

A flush crept over Fili’s neck and his hand stilled. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t think...I didn’t know. Sometimes I tidy up a bit when he’s sleeping, but I didn’t think you’d notice.” 

Odr waved a foreleg in the air, his iron-clad trotter missing the prince’s jaw by inches. As Fili turned his attention back to scratching the pig, Hafdis kicked some of the straw out of the way on the other side of Odr so she didn’t get any surprises when she sat down. 

“I’m truly sorry, Hafdis.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She stroked Odr’s belly and her pig twisted his head back and forth between them, snorting and looking as if he couldn't believe his luck. As if he were the happiest pig in all of Middle-earth. A smile tugged at Hafdis's lips. Her boy was content, and he wasn’t ill. Her heart felt as if a weight had been lifted from it. A huge weight that she hadn’t even realised she was carrying around. 

“No, it does," said Fili. "If I’d known you were worried—”

“How could you have known?” Hafdis met his eyes. “We’ve barely spoken.”

He dropped his gaze immediately and Hafdis winced. That hadn’t been very tactful of her, and she was grateful to him, in a way─even though it was his fault that she had been worried. She cast about for something else to talk about. “Gimli mentioned the hunting passage when you were missing, but no-one ever told me what or where it was. He just said it was open and then Thorin left in a hurry, and I didn’t hear anything more about it.”

Shifting about in the straw, Fili was still avoiding her eyes. “It leads out onto the upper mountain. The tunnel was filled in before the battle but I reopened a path through, and I would have sat out there sometimes. If I needed some air, or needed to be alone for a while. Thorin has cleared it now and put a door on so anyone can go outside easily and safely.”

He sounded disappointed. Hafdis watched his fingers stroke the pink skin under Odr’s jowls where his harness had worn off all the hair. 

“So you’ve been coming here instead,” she prompted. “To visit Odr.” 

“He seemed pleased to see me.” Seemingly happy that she’d changed the subject, Fili smiled. “And he’s good company. He doesn’t give me odd looks, or not very often anyway.” He glanced at her. “Why are you here so early?” 

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

Fili nodded. “Would you like me to leave?” 

She did but, before the word could form, Hafdis shook her head. She blinked, surprised. 

Wriggling fully onto his back in the straw, Odr snorted softly and closed his eyes. Fili laughed quietly. “He looks happy, like he’s falling asleep.”

“He does.” Scratching slow circles in the familiar, wiry bristles, Hafdis smiled down at Odr. Her eyes blurred with unexpected tears and she willed them away, lowering her head so that her braids fell about her face. “He looks very happy.”

“Hafdis?” Fili touched her arm.

She’d cried in front of him before but this was different. These tears were real, and try as she might she couldn’t stop them. Embarrassed by her weakness, Hafdis hid her head in her hands and tried to ignore the strokes of his thumb against her forearm — an unwanted and unasked for gesture of comfort. But at least he was silent whilst he waited for her to finish and regain control of herself. 

“Nothing.” Scrubbing at her eyes, she forced out a laugh that sounded thin and false to her ears. “It’s nothing. I’m being silly, and I'm tired. He’s getting old. It’s nature. I think I’d feel better about it if he’d sired a litter, but he was never interested. No matter how many times we tried.” 

“Feel better about what?” 

Resisting the urge to cover Odr’s ears, Hafdis tilted her chin and met Fili’s eyes. “He’s outlived his usefulness. Hafur has been kind but I know he’s right. He’ll go to slaughter when we return to the Iron Hills.” 

“Go to…” Fili looked down at Odr. “But he’s…I’ve never had a pet, Hafdis, so I don’t know exactly how you must be feeling. But surely—”

“He’s a warpig.” Pressing her lips together, Hafdis ignored the prickle in her nose. She couldn’t think about it, didn’t know why she’d even said it out loud, to him of all people, and if she didn’t change the subject immediately she was going to burst into floods of tears again and embarrass herself further. “Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked brightly, pleased that this time there was no weak quiver in her voice. 

Fili blinked. 

“You said you would go outside when you needed air, but if you’ve been here…” Hafdis waved at the narrow ventilation gaps set high into the stone above their heads. “There’s barely any air here. We could fetch some sort of picnic from the kitchens, saddle up Odr and one of the ponies, and go out for a ride. Laketown, maybe? We might be able to make it there by sunrise if we go now.” 

She wasn’t sure why she’d suggested it, maybe she needed some air too. And Odr would enjoy it. And they said you could see the dragon’s bones in the lake from the shore if the water was still enough and you were in the right spot. She and Hafur had never managed to find it but if anyone knew where to look then it would be Fili, since he’d put the dragon in there in the first place.

Fili smiled, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t, although it does sound wonderful, and I would really like to. But I wouldn’t be permitted past the gate.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose not. Because of the trial?” 

“That would be the official reason, and a good one. But, if I’m being honest...” Fili huffed out a breath and frowned. “I’m still not quite back to my full strength.”

His face reddened as Hafdis studied him critically. “You look a lot better than you did,” she said, “before I left, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Looking everywhere but at her, Fili continued, “I am a lot better than when I woke up, and I should be grateful for that, but it’s just frustrating. I keep thinking I’m well, and then try to do something, like spar with Gimli, or work in the forges like I used to, and I find out I’m not. If we were outside the gates and something should happen I might not be able to protect you as I should.” He smiled when she snorted. “Not that I think for a moment that you can’t protect yourself, but looking out for me might get you into difficulty. I’m not sure how I would fare against one orc at the minute, never mind a pack of them, and there have been reports, not that I hear very much of it, of packs coming up from the south so the area around Laketown may not be entirely safe.”

They sat in silence until he spoke again, “Amad said you sat with me whilst I was unwell, and with her. Thank you. I should have thanked you before, when you first arrived, or when we spoke last night, I’m sorry.”

He should have. She’d sat by his bedside for a lot of long, boring hours when she could have been doing other more interesting things, but then she had got to spend time with Dis, and she wouldn’t have changed that for the world. Hafdis waved off the apology. “I wanted to be there.” It was stupid to even think about asking the question, but she couldn’t stop herself. “What happened, Fili?”

“I don’t know.” Shaking his head, Fili looked at her with sadness in his eyes. “How do I stand in front of everyone and try to defend my actions if I can’t remember anything?”

The pleading look he was giving her was unsettling, and spoiling what should have been a happy moment. He knew nothing. They were safe. Dropping her gaze to Odr, she hid her smile and rubbed hard at the pig’s belly, her fingers brushing against Fili’s accidentally. He moved his hand away. 

“It’s indefensible anyway,” Fili murmured when she didn’t answer. “What I did. No matter what happened before or what I did afterward, none of it is important. I’ll look like a fool should I say I don’t remember, or a liar, but I suppose that won’t matter in the end.”

“You don’t know that.” She didn’t need to hide her smile this time. “So if we can’t go to Laketown, will you show me the hunting passage? There won’t be stars, like you said, it’s getting a bit late for that, but we can watch the sunrise from there?” 

She could go herself, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know exactly where it was, but she was quite interested in finding out why he liked the place so much, and she had no other plans until breakfast. There would be plenty of time to learn her speech for Dain. Hafur would be annoyed when he found out that she’d sneaked off with Fili, but what he didn’t know right now wouldn’t hurt him, and when she told him that the prince remembered nothing it would cheer him right up. 

Fili didn’t seem to have heard her, his fingers treading slowly through Odr’s fur. Hafdis tapped his hand. “Fili? The hunting passage?”

He shook his head. 

That was that then. Hafdis looked around the stable. If they weren’t going to do anything interesting then she may as well get rid of him and work on her speech. Despite the warmth of the stable, she suddenly felt cold. It had to work. She had to persuade Dain. 

“Hafdis?” Fili’s voice was all concern. “You’ve gone very pale, what’s wrong?”

It was her turn to shake her head. Hafdis smiled widely, her mind whirling as she tried to think of something to say that wasn’t the truth. Stonehelm would be angry enough about her talking to Dain without her telling anyone else about it, even if she felt inclined to spill her secrets to the prince. Which she didn’t. “Nothing, I’m just…worried about what comes next.” That was close enough. 

His silence and the way he was looking at her, as if he was weighing her up, was a little unnerving. 

“I’m worried about you,” she added in a flash of inspiration. “Is there nothing I can do to help? There must be something.”

“Not unless you can tell me what happened that night.” He laughed bitterly. “Don’t look so worried, Hafdis, I’m only making fun, although I grant that it’s in poor taste. No, there’s nothing you can do to help. Thorin has—”

Holding her breath, she waited for him to continue. 

“Nothing,” Fili said. “It doesn’t matter.”

King Thorin was up to something. Stonehelm would want to know, and she could find out. It would be the perfect apology for wriggling out of their betrothal. Fili’s hand had stilled on Odr’s belly and Hafdis considered taking it in hers. No, that would be too much and he’d bolt. “Fili,” she said earnestly. “You can tell me anything and I’ll listen, I always have, haven’t I?”

He dropped his head. 

“I know you want someone to talk to. That’s why you come here, so you can talk to Odr, because he won’t tell anyone.” Hafdis scratched Odr’s ear, keeping an eye on Fili. “But you can talk to me. When you told me stories about Kili, I always listened to you, and I never told anyone. Not even Hafur.”

“I know.”

“We were friends once,” she whispered sadly. “And I’m still your friend, whether you want me to be or not.”

“Hafdis…please.”

She watched him lower his head to his hands, his fingers clawing into his hair. He was desperate to talk, she knew he was. He always wanted to talk about himself. He just needed a little measured push. With the smallest of wobbles in her voice, she asked, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do, but…” Fili made a muffled noise that Hafdis hoped wasn’t exasperation. 

“Then show me.” Reaching across Odr, she poked Fili’s arm. “Come on. Talk to me.” She smiled encouragingly when he looked out at her from between his fingers. “It’ll make you feel better?”

“Will it?” There was a trace of a smile. “I’m not so sure.”

“Go on.”

With a heavy sigh, Fili took his hands away from his face. “I haven’t spoken to anyone of this. Not even Gimli. I’ve just been turning it over and over in my head and I can't see a way out. Thorin was furious about the trial, I don't think that would be a surprise to you, but he already had a plan in place." Despite the darkness in his eyes, Fili's face glowed with pride in the torchlight. "My uncle always thinks several steps ahead, he thinks about every possible outcome. That's why he is such a good king."

Thinking several steps ahead wasn't the impression Hafdis had of Thorin. She pressed her lips together.

"I'd always hoped that someday I could be half the king he is." Fili paused, looking faraway and lost in thought. He blinked and smiled. "But he seems to think that everything can be resolved with enough resolve and willpower, and that we can then go back to exactly how we were before. And I think that he is wrong this time. Once it had been agreed that there would be a trial, he sent your uncle away and told me…” 

Hafdis waited patiently as he lifted a piece of straw, winding it around and through his fingers until it snapped. He lifted another and frowned as he busied himself fiddling with it. Hafdis resisted the urge to reach across and take it from him, or shake the words from him. 

“Thorin says that it must have been treason, what Buvro said to me.” The gasp that came from her was real enough, and Fili nodded before he continued, “I know. You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, Hafdis. You said you wouldn’t.”

“I won’t.”

“Thorin says that, after the fight, I told him that Buvro had said something to me. Something bad enough that I’d wanted to kill him.” Frowning, Fili shook his head. “I didn’t tell Thorin what he’d said, but I did say that I wished I’d killed him. Buvro, I mean. I said I should have killed Buvro.”

He’d stopped, obviously waiting for a reaction, and Hafdis whispered, “Oh, Fili.”

“It scares me that I don’t recognise myself in those words.” The straw snapped and Fili dropped it, sifting through the pile of straw between his knees as if looking for one he couldn't destroy. “I’ve no reason to doubt Thorin’s telling of it. I must have said it, but I…I’ve never been…I’ve always considered myself to be fair. Measured. To lose control, to take matters into my own hands like that—” He shook his head roughly. “But that doesn’t matter. Thorin has decided that what Buvro said must have been so traitorous, so dangerous, that I had no choice but to strike him down. And that I was right to do so.” 

He heaved in a breath. “I’m so sorry. I know he was, is, your beloved cousin.”

Buvro? Beloved? She supposed he was pleasant enough, but she'd barely spoken a hundred words to him in years. “I…” She didn’t know what to say. “He is.”

“My uncle says that will be my defence, and that the dwarf lords will believe me.”

Odr grunted, loud in the silence, and Hafdis patted him, her teeth clenched and her hand shaking. Stonehelm would go mad with fury, because Thorin could very well be right. The dwarf lords would want to believe. They would want their golden-haired, dragon-killing, Durin prince to be a hero. If Fili stood in front of them and spoke of foiling a plot...

“I can’t do it, Hafdis. I won’t.” Fili stared at her. “Your cousin can’t speak to defend himself, and I won’t condemn him and his family as traitors. Thorin is quick to jump to treason, and wants more than anything to believe that I am not capable of being less than perfect. I'm his heir, the future he fought so long and so hard for, and he feels obligated to save me. My fear is that he won’t listen to my wishes.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that he’ll not let me speak in my defence. He’ll say I’m ill, and put Balin there in my stead. He’ll lock me away so that he can put words in my mouth. I don’t know.” Fili buried his head in his hands again, tugging harder at his hair. “And I don’t know what to do for the best.”

“Stop that.” Hafdis crawled around Odr and sat down beside Fili, pulling his hands away from his face. She gripped his fingers. “You’re not thinking straight. I know what you have to do.”

The look of hope in his eyes was truly pathetic. 

“Just tell him that you’ll do it,” Hafdis said.

“But I can't do it, Hafdis. I won't lie to save my own skin. I’m ashamed enough about what I did. All I want is to be as much of the dwarf that I thought I was, for as long as I can. You don't understand. There's so much I've done in my life that—"

“That's not what I mean." Hafdis leant forward, keeping her eyes on his. "You're my friend, and even though I want to be selfish and tell you to do what Thorin says, I know the guilt would destroy you. I know you're not a liar or a coward, because I wouldn't be friends with you, I wouldn't care so much about you, if you were."

He was watching her closely, clinging to her every word, and Hafdis took a deep breath, as if struggling with what she must say next. 

"So tell him you agree.” His eyes widened and Hafdis gave him a thin, sad smile. “That’s all you need to do. Then, when you’re giving your defence, you’re free to say whatever you like. It’ll be in front of everyone, he won’t be able to stop you. You can tell them the truth.”

 He laughed, relief flooding his face. 

“Did you not think of that?” Hafdis laughed too, letting go of his hands. “Really?”

“No. I’ve been pushing at the gaps in my mind, trying to fill them in, and trying to untangle dreams from memories, and getting nowhere. I thought that was the solution, that I had to prove to Thorin that I’d done something unforgivable, or prove that Thorin was right. I didn’t—” His eyes sparkled as he grinned at her. “Thank you, Hafdis. You were right, I did need to talk to someone.”

The mention of dreams and memories was worrying. “I’m glad it was me,” said Hafdis. “If you want to—”

His hand moved faster than she’d expected and Hafdis gasped as Fili caught her fingers in his. 

“I won’t come back to visit Odr after today, you have my word.” Still holding her hand, Fili looked at her intently. “It was foolish of me to keep coming. A selfish indulgence because it made me feel happy, and needed, and I’ve enjoyed talking with you today, I have.”

“But—”

“But it's a risk to you, you can’t be seen to be my friend, and I should know better by now than to assume that anything I do goes undetected for long. Guards track me wherever I go and, although they are loyal to Thorin as far as I know, even loyal guards talk, and there are other eyes everywhere.”

Odr was grumbling between them about the lack of attention. Rubbing him with her free hand, Hafdis chewed her lip. It would be easy to agree, the trial was looming and, so long as Fili didn’t change his mind or he wasn’t stupid enough to let Gimli talk him out of it, then he was set on sacrificing himself. Determined to think himself as good and honest no matter what it cost him. The fool.  

But if she agreed it would be selfish to Odr, because who knew how much longer she would have her boy for? Hafur had said the time would be when they returned to the Iron Hills, but her brother could change his mind. To begrudge Odr any happiness whatsoever in the twilight of his life was cruel, and he did seem to enjoy Fili's company. Hafdis sniffed hard at the thought, the worry gripping her chest again. “No. I want to be here for you. And Odr will miss—”

Squeezing her fingers, Fili shook his head. “And I’ll miss him, and you. But you know as well as I do that it’s for the best. You must promise me that you won’t ever speak to me, or even look at me. It’s not safe for you, and—”

The stable door slammed open and they jolted apart. Hafdis yelped as Fili shoved her backward into a pile of straw and spun, a knife in his hand. 

Molir grinned at them from the doorway. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. 

“Molir.” Tucking the knife away, Fili turned and extended a hand to her. “Sorry, Hafdis.”

She grunted but let him pull her to her feet. So much for his talk of how she could protect herself. 

“Gimli said I’d find you here.” The fence protested under Molir’s weight as he leant against it. “Wasn’t expecting to find you too though, Hafdis, so that saves me a bit of legwork. I’m not overly keen on too much exercise before the sun comes up. Out you come. King Thorin wants to see you.” 

A flash of panic crossed Fili’s face. Touching his snarled hair, he nodded. “Fine, but I need to—”

“You’ll do as you are. Come on. You too, Hafdis.” 

“What?” Why did Thorin want to see her? Hafdis touched her own hair as her mind spun. Maybe this was it, and the king did know something for certain, even if Fili didn’t. Treason. What if Thorin…

Smoothing down a braid, she tried to calm herself. No. If Thorin knew something, or suspected something, then he wouldn’t have let her within a thousand miles of Fili. He would have had her murdered the very moment the thought crossed his mind. The whole mountain knew he was mad and barely controlled at the best of times, and her kin had known the risk they’d run when stood at the mineshaft with Fili in their arms. Thorin would have burned Erebor to the ground had he known. He would have started a war and torn dwarfdom apart at the seams. So it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t. Her heart pounded in her chest. It had to be something else. But what? 

Hafdis forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. At least her hair was neatly braided, although it was more suitable for hunting than meeting with royalty. And it was clean. Glancing down at her tunic and trousers, she cursed herself for not putting on fresh ones. She’d thought no one would see her and that the stained clothes would do one more day before being sent away for washing. Sniffing her sleeve as surreptitiously as she could, she recoiled. These were fine for mucking out Odr, but not for… 

She looked at Molir in horror. “Is Dis—”

“You’ll do as you are too.” Molir pointed at Odr. “Why’s that pig glaring at me like that?”

Chapter Text

Swirling her glass to mix up all the spices that had sunk to the bottom, Ness swore when the wine slopped over the rim, coating her fingers and splashing blood-red droplets onto her dress. She licked her fingers and rubbed uselessly at the spots before giving up and looking out around the party field. Despite the damp chill in the air and the stiff breeze that was rippling the canvas sides of the tents set up along the hedge in case of rain, the hobbits were all having a great time. Music drifted out of the nearest tent, one of the folky tunes that everyone seemed to love, and the hobbits were dancing up a storm on the grass, Bilbo included, singing along with the chorus and laughing. 

Any excuse for a party really. And a birthday was a good excuse, she supposed. A pack of little hobbits, all dressed in their best, ran past — one of them with a wreath of flowers bouncing on his curly-haired head — and Ness smiled. The birthday boy himself. She took a slug of her wine. They’d have to start thinking about that soon. Nearly a year already, she couldn't believe it. Strange how a day could feel like it dragged on forever, and yet at the same time a year had flown past. Sometimes, it felt as if she'd blinked and missed it all. 

She peeped under the table. “How are you getting on down there?”

Her boy was busy, his tongue poking out as he tugged hard at a tuft of grass. Hearing her, he lifted his head and gave her a wide, gummy smile.  

“Ba,” he said triumphantly as the grass came loose, roots and all. Ness watched as he wobbled in his sit, somehow managing to keep his balance, and stuffed the grass into the boot propped up between his legs. The other boot lay abandoned on the grass beside him. 

“And where are your socks?” Ness drained her wine and set the glass on the table. Crouching, she reached behind Fili and retrieved the socks that he’d tossed away. She tickled his toes and he giggled. “The toe snakes will get you if you’re not careful.”

“Ba.”

“I’ll keep these safe for you, will I?”

“Ba.”

That was that then. Ness straightened and sat back down on the bench. The socks were damp and he’d be soaked through sitting on the wet grass but he seemed happy enough. Maybe they should go home though? She twisted to look at the gate behind her. Still no sign of Kili. She’d no idea what hour of the day it actually was but it felt like he was late. And she’d promised him she’d be here. 

But he’d promised that he’d be on time. 

“Here we are, budge up.” Bilbo shoved a glass into her hand and poked her leg with his toes. Grumbling, Ness shifted up the bench to make space and he flopped down beside her, all sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. “I would have brought cake,” he added, “but I couldn’t carry wine, ale and a plate all at once.” He raised his tankard and Ness clinked her glass against it. 

“We’ve all had enough cake,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. It was good and hot, burning her tongue, and she wrapped her cold fingers tightly around the glass. “I think I might take Fili home.”

Bilbo wasn’t listening, his head under the table and cooing at Fili. Over the music, Ness could hear her boy babbling back. 

When Bilbo returned from his one-sided conversation, she repeated, “I’m going to take Fili home. He’ll be wet and cold and it’s past his nap—”

“Nonsense,” laughed Bilbo. “He’s bright as a button.”

“That’s the sugar. He’ll be—”

“He’ll be fine.” Patting her arm, Bilbo continued, “He’s having a good time. You’re the one that’s sitting here looking like you have a thundercloud hovering over your head and you’ve...you've forgotten your cloak.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little.” Bilbo nudged her. “It’s a party, Ness. Come on, let’s go and dance. We can take Fili too, he’ll enjoy it.”

“We’re fine here.” 

Bilbo frowned at her but it looked sympathetic. “Don’t take what Petunia said to heart. She didn’t mean it. She was just a bit shocked, that’s all.”

Petunia most definitely had meant it. But what annoyed Ness the most was that the snooty, I’m a better mum than you, know-it-all hobbit was right. Fili was too big to play with the hobbits his age, and the boots were weapons, and dwarves were far too good with those. She sighed. 

“He’ll be walking soon, and then he can join in with the older ones,” said Bilbo. “I’ll tell her to come over and apologise, and you can apol—”

“I’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“Well, actually, you do.” Bilbo fixed her with a firm look. “She might not have known what the word meant, but your tone made it very clear what—”

“You can fuck off as well, Bilbo.”

“Good, fine. Very mature." Bilbo stood and straightened his waistcoat. "So sit here, sulk, get it out of your system, then you can march yourself over to—”

"No."

"Yes." Wagging a finger in her face, he continued, "You're going to get over there and tell Petunia you're sorry, and you're going to sound like you mean it. It's called setting an example."

Ness clenched her teeth together.

"You’re a mother now, Ness," Bilbo added. "You’ve got little eyes watching you, and he’s learning all the time.”

“Go. Away.”

He sauntered off, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat and with no idea how close he'd come to either a glass of wine in the face or losing a finger. Ness glared after him as he headed in the direction of the food tents at the other end of the field, stopping to talk to this hobbit and that one as he weaved his way through the dancing, chattering crowd. Dark clouds covered the sky beyond the tents and she imagined that she could see beyond them, out over the rolling hills and neat fields, past the lines of mountains and massive forests, to a jagged peak away in the east. 

It was too far. Even on a clear day you couldn’t see a hundredth of the distance, maybe not even a thousandth. She didn’t know. She’d pored over the maps that she’d found in Bilbo’s study so many times and she couldn’t work it out. What was the point in having maps if they were all different? How did you know which one was right? 

She knew how long it had taken them to get to Erebor, and how long it had taken to get back to the Shire. Roughly. They’d stopped so many times it was hard to remember, and she hadn’t been paying proper attention. 

Ness sighed and sipped at her wine. She should have paid attention, but he could still come yet. It wasn’t quite winter, although winter wasn’t the same in the Shire as it was in higher places, but there would be routes that weren’t over mountains. She’d traced all sorts of possible ones on Bilbo’s maps. If he’d left Erebor in the spring then he could arrive any day. Maybe. Or he might have left in the summer, because he would move quickly when he came, she knew it. He wouldn’t stop anywhere. He didn't have to be in Erebor to send letters, he could be anywhere and just pretending — in case a letter went astray. He could arrive any moment.

She heaved out another heavy sigh. If he didn’t arrive soon then he wouldn’t be coming at all. It would be winter and nobody travelled in winter. Even the merchants that continually criss-crossed the Shire did the bare minimum from the end of autumn until the first signs of springtime. Gandalf seemed to wander about whatever the weather, unbothered by snow or wet feet or the threat of hungry orcs and wargs, but he was a law unto himself. So there would likely be no letters, and no surprise knocks on the door, and no hope at all until at least next summer. 

It wasn’t fair. The world was too big, and everything was too far away. Ness blinked watery eyes, rubbing at her nose. He was too far away. 

It was ridiculous that in a world where there were actual dragons, giant eagles, and elves that — as far as Ness could figure out — lived forever, that nobody had ever bothered themselves to sit down and work out a way of communicating that didn’t involve either tying a bit of paper to a bird, or handing a letter to the next person who happened to be going in roughly the right direction. They had wizards, for goodness sake. Ness snorted into her wine. What was the good of having wizards if they didn’t actually do anything? 

She’d mentioned it to Gandalf one night when they’d been in Bag End on their own — not the bit about wizards not doing anything, she wasn’t completely daft — and he’d been less than helpful. 

“Wait, I’m not explaining it properly. I’ll get some paper.” Leaving Gandalf wreathed in clouds of pipe smoke in the parlour, Ness ran to Bilbo’s study, breathing out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t locked it. Rifling carefully through the papers on his desk she found a blank page and tucked it under her arm. She stepped back and looked at the desk critically. Exactly the same as she'd found it. Bilbo would never know she'd been in 'snooping about'.

Next stop was the kitchen for a lump of charcoal, then she ran back to the parlour — with a quick stop to press her ear against their bedroom door and listen for any noise from the dwarfling. Nothing. 

“Here we are.” Flopping down into the chair, she dragged the little table closer to her to make it easier to draw. “So say I’m here, like this, and you’re over here. This is you, with the hat. And you have this box—”

“Vanessa.”

“Fine, I’ll make me into Radagast. See. Now you both have hats, and you both have these—”

“I understand, Vanessa.”

“You do?” Ness looked up. “But you said—”

“This type of power, to look into the mind of another, to influence them and bend them to your will…” Gandalf sighed, shaking his head as he tapped his pipe out on the table.

Ness bit her lip. It was fine, she'd clean it later, but would it have killed him to have stretched out and knocked ash and tobacco into the fireplace? Don't tell him off, she reminded herself, not when you're asking him to help. 

“It's a dangerous magic, not to be trifled with," Gandalf continued, "and not for—”

“No, you’re getting it all wrong again. It’s not trifling with anything because it's not magic. It’s just a way to talk to someone, maybe see them, there’s no bending anyone to your will.” Ness laughed. “Not unless it’s telling them to get home for dinner or else.” She sobered when Gandalf lowered his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t it be good to be able to just contact Radagast without having to ride for weeks to see him, and maybe he isn’t even there? Or wouldn’t it be nice if we could contact you and ask when we would see you next? Or just call you for no reason at all? Just for a chat?”

He was frowning. 

“You wouldn’t have to answer,” added Ness quickly. “If that’s what’s worrying you. You wouldn’t need to be contactable all the time. You could make it so that you can just ignore it and the person doesn’t even know you ignored them. You can make it to work any way you like, so long as you make it. Please, Gandalf.”

“Why would you think I could or would do such a thing?”

"Because you're the cleverest person I know?" 

Gandalf harrumphed, lifting his pipeweed pouch. 

“Oh, all right. Because you’re a wizard. Because your friend Galadriel has that mirror which feels like almost the same thing.” Ness scooted her chair closer. “It could be like the mirror but you just need to change it a bit, so that it’s…as it happens. Instead of all mixed up and confusing. It wouldn’t be anything near as magical as telling the future. It just needs to tell what’s happening now, and it needs to work as a two-way thing. Surely that’s easier to make?”

“And in your world everyone has this power?”

“It’s not a power. It’s just things clever people built.” The frown hadn’t lifted and Ness continued, “Clever people like you. Imagine how useful it would be, not just for the little things, but for the big stuff too. Like checking if anyone’s seen any orcs, or, I don’t know, asking a wizard why he’s not where he said he would be at the time he said he’d be there.”

She sat back and crossed her arms. 

“I told Thorin not to enter that mountain without me.”

“You knew he wouldn't listen. But if you'd had something like this you could've talked to him and made him listen. You could have explained yourself.”

They stared at each other. Gandalf looked away first and for a moment Ness felt a beat of hope, until he swiped the paper from the table, crumpled it into a tight ball and tossed it in the fire. 

"On one hand," Gandalf said, "you assure me that this idea of yours is not magic, and yet on the other you ask me, as a wizard, to help. You understand why I'm finding it a little difficult to follow your reasoning?"

"But, Gandalf—"

“We will not speak of this matter again, and you will discuss your other world powers and knowledge with no one else but me. As we agreed before.” Gandalf shook his head and smiled sadly. “This is for your own good, Vanessa. For your protection, and you must trust me.” 

It wasn’t fair. All she wanted was to speak to him, maybe even see him. That would do. Even if it was only for a few minutes. Long enough to hear his voice and know that he was well and that he was happy. All she needed was a few minutes every day, or even as little as once a week, to talk over what they’d done since they’d last spoken, and to wish each other good night or good morning. To tell him that she missed him so much it hurt, but that seeing his smile, or even just hearing it in his voice, made it all that much more bearable. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask? 

The wine wasn’t as nice when it was cold, but it was still alcohol. Ness wrinkled her nose as she drained the glass. 

Maybe Gandalf was still thinking about it and would realise that it was a good idea after all? She placed the glass on the table carefully. Maybe he would talk to the elves and they could work something out, and he just hadn’t wanted to admit that it was a good idea since he hadn’t come up with it? It was possible. She hoped so. She didn't even care if he took all the credit for it. 

After Gandalf had wandered off to wherever it was that had taken his fancy next, she’d suggested the idea to Kili. But, although he agreed it would be a fine thing to have, he’d reminded her that dwarves had no magic and refused to believe that there was no magic involved, no matter how many ways she tried to explain it. They'd have to make do with letters, he'd said and hugged her. And that was that. 

Except letters were no good. There weren’t enough of them for a start and she couldn’t hear him in them. They were warm and friendly, and they always included a little line just for her, but they weren’t him as he really was. Kili had never said it but she knew he felt the same. They weren’t what Fili would say if he were sitting beside them — too heavily edited and censored in case they fell into the wrong hands. She knew they were. He would be careful with his words anyway, and she could almost see Thorin sitting at his shoulder, instructing him to remove this or that. To remove his voice. To take out anything Thorin felt was a dwarven secret. It was maddening. 

And the dreams. The dreams wouldn’t leave her alone. Not the good kind — those heart-pounding ones that left her aching for him, and unable to look Kili properly in the eye for days —  but dreams of Erebor in flames. Dreams that jolted her awake, with sweat on her skin and a warning cry on her lips. Dreams of Bolg and revenge and mountain tunnels stained dark with blood. It didn’t matter that they’d had a letter within the last few months, that meant it had left Erebor months before that, and she knew how much could happen in a week, or a day. She needed him now. She needed to know he was safe right now. 

Bilbo had left his tankard and Ness tugged it toward her to peer in. Still half-full. She took a gulp and drummed her fingertips on the table. There was only one thing for it. If Gandalf wouldn’t help, and deep-down she knew he wouldn’t, because he never did, then she’d have to send a letter. She’d written dozens, and every single one had ended up burning in the stove, but this time she’d send it. Somehow. 

Someone poked her in the arm as she was mid-swig. 

“This belongs to you, I believe?”

Ness jumped, spilling a mouthful of ale down her dress. She swiped at it, swearing, and looked up at Lobelia holding Fili in her arms. “How—”

“I found him crawling on the lane outside.” 

Fuck. 

Feeling the heat creeping up her neck, Ness stood and held out her arms for Fili. It stuck in her throat to say it but… “Thanks, Lobelia. I thought he was under the table.”

Lobelia raised an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t put him there,” said Ness as Fili tucked his head into her neck, his warm breaths huffing along her jaw and the mop of unruly hair tickling her nose. “He was playing.” She rubbed his back in case he thought he was in trouble. “Were you going home, little one?”

“He was going the wrong way if he intended to make for Bag End,” said Lobelia, her long, sweeping look taking Ness in from boots to hair, to the tankards and empty glasses sitting on the table. “You should keep a better watch on him.”

“I…” It wasn’t worth the argument. “Yes, Lobelia.”

“How many drinks have you had?”

Not enough to deal with you. “It’s a party.” Ness straightened, tilting her chin. “Perhaps you should go join it. There might be some cake left if you’re quick.” 

“Perhaps. I’m not as quick as some.”

Do not engage. Ness buried her head in Fili’s hair and breathed in. “Why do you always smell of sunshine, baby boy?” she whispered into his ear. He giggled, his fingers wrapping around the chain of her necklace and tugging. Ness untangled them before he could get the chance to get a proper grip and held them in hers instead. 

“Bag End belongs to the Baggins family,” said Lobelia. “We have papers from the Thain.”

She couldn’t tell three hobbits to fuck off in one afternoon. Ness sighed. “I know. You’ve told me.”

Lobelia sniffed and turned away. “Where is my cousin?”

If he’d any sense Bilbo would be hiding behind a barrel somewhere, but Ness could see him standing by one of the tables in the food tent on the other side of the dancers, drumming his fingers against his lip and obviously thinking hard about what he should eat next. Lobelia would spot him in a moment, and she should really do him a favour and distract her in some way, but that would mean she’d be stuck listening to her all afternoon. No. Bilbo was on his own. It would serve him right for taking Petunia’s side. 

“Well?” Lobelia turned to her, her foot tapping the grass. “Is he here?”

Ness blinked. “What?”

A hand touched the small of her back and Ness turned in time for Kili to drop a kiss on her forehead. 

“Ba!” Fili shrieked in her arms, kicking her hard in the ribs as he launched himself at Kili. 

“Ba to you too, my little lad.” Kili smiled, hiking the dwarfling higher in his arms and kissing him. “Sorry, I’m late,” he whispered before raising his voice, “Hello, Lobelia. Enjoying the party?”

“I’ve just arrived myself,” said Lobelia. “I was telling Ness that I was looking for Bilbo. How was the forge today? I heard that Meridoc from over Tuckborough way had—”

Ness lifted the tankard of ale as Lobelia droned on about some order that Kili could expect, which to be fair was good news but Ness could have done without seeing her fluttering her eyelashes as she did. 

There was no need to be jealous of Lobelia. Ness smiled up at Kili as he slid a hand about her waist and listened to him chat easily about his day and the goings-on of the Shire. Goings-on that he’d probably heard from Rosie on one of her many visits to the forge. But there was no need to be jealous there either. Probably. Ness frowned and set the ale down. Maybe she'd had enough for one day. 

Kili seemed to be paying attention to Lobelia but Ness could see his eyes flicker around the party field. They swept over the food tent and if he’d noticed Bilbo he showed no sign of it, not even a squeeze of her waist. 

She looked back at Bilbo. As if he’d sensed her attention, he glanced their way and slunk off through the crowd gathered around the trestle tables. No one spoke to him or even looked his way as he squeezed through the hobbits and disappeared from view behind the canvas side of the tent. Ness narrowed her eyes. 

A moment later he sauntered back into view, picking a sandwich up from the table and lifting a tankard. 

“Ah,” said Lobelia triumphantly. “There he is. Excuse me.”

Sitting down on the bench, Kili pulled Ness to join him. He looked around the empty table, littered with crumb-strewn plates and empty tankards and glasses. 

“They all went to dance,” said Ness, "and haven’t come back yet. I'm trying not to take it personally. Do you want to go and get a drink and something to eat?”

“I’m fine for now.” Kili picked up Fili’s socks from the table and tucked them into his pocket. “Wet socks, and where have you left your boots, little lad?” 

Ness laughed as Fili burbled happily in response. “You know the answer to that one. The same answer he has for everything. The boots are under the table, I’ll get them before we go.”

“There’ll be words soon enough.” Kili grinned at her. “I’m certain he’s saying ‘adad’, or ‘amad’.”

“And Bilbo is sure he’s saying ‘Uncle Bilbo’. We might have to get his hearing checked." Ness looked toward Bilbo who was making a good show of being polite, although she was sure he was inwardly rolling his eyes and trying to sneak away. "And maybe Lobelia's eyesight," she added. 

"Lobelia?"

"Well, you saw Bilbo before she did, didn't you?" 

Kili shrugged. "Maybe. He wasn't exactly hiding, was he?"

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Ness shrugged too. She'd think about it later, when she was more sober. "So how long do you have before you have to get back?”

Flicking her a look as he untangled Fili’s fingers from his beard, Kili said, “Not long, and I’m going to be at the forge late tonight, and possibly the next few nights.” He frowned. “I might stay there tonight maybe, I’ll see how I go.”

“Oh.” That must have been what Lobelia was talking about. It wasn’t like Kili’s boss to push that much work on him at short notice. “Did Master Bracegirdle give you something urgent? I hope he’s paying you extra for working all night.”

He made a noise that could have meant anything and busied himself with fetching the boots from under the table and shaking the grass out of them. “This is not what these are for,” he told Fili who stared back at him solemnly. 

This was answer avoidance. “Kili? Did you negotiate a higher rate for working after your hours? That's overtime, remember? I explained it to you.”

“No. I know. This is…” Kili shrugged. “It’s…Master Bracegirdle doesn’t know.”

Taking a quick look around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, Ness lowered her voice, “This is under the table work? You don’t do that, Kili.”

Another shrug. “Anlaf called in today—”

“Anlaf? That merchant guy from Bree? No, Kili, you—”

“It’s fine, Ness.” Kili glanced around. “He was looking for Master Bracegirdle but he called in to say hello to me first, and as we talked it came out that the swords Birch’s son made for him are flawed, badly. Anlaf didn’t realise at first so he was embarrassed, and angry.”

“Oh.” She didn’t like the sound of this at all. 

“And he's annoyed that he had to come back, and make additional journeys so late in the year. He says he's going to end up trapped in some cold northern village until spring if he's not careful." Kili paused before continuing, "I've persuaded him to let me remake them instead of telling Master Bracegirdle.”

“Kili—”

“I owe Birch a debt, and this is my chance to repay it.” Looking down at Fili who was snuggled in tight to his chest and yawning around the thumb in his mouth, Kili smiled sadly. “I’ll keep one of the swords and show the smith next time I’m in Bree. I can see where he was going wrong, it’s my fault for not explaining properly.”

“Hardly your fault.” 

“He has a family, Ness. I'd hope someone would do the same for me. Anlaf is travelling on to Michel Delving and will be back four days from now, so that gives me enough time, I hope. We’ve arranged for him to bring the wagon to the forge after nightfall this evening, and he can pick them up before dawn when he returns. Master Bracegirdle need never know.” 

Ness huffed out a breath and stared over the party field. Nothing stayed secret in Hobbiton, and the forge was right in the middle of the market square. It wasn’t exactly hidden. Bracegirdle was a nice enough hobbit but if he found out Kili was using fuel and resources that didn’t belong to him…

Turning back to Kili, she watched him stroke Fili’s hair, his face pinched into a worried frown. Kili knew all this, there was no point saying it and making him feel worse. She leant in and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ve a good heart, Kili. I love you.”

He smiled, the worried look still clouding his eyes. “I love you too, my Ness. I know Birch will never know—"

"He might. Nobody knows what happens after...you know, just after."

"Dwarves do," Kili said quietly. "We have the Halls, but I'd asked Bard if Men have something similar and he didn't know."

A stiff breeze, damp with drizzle, swept over them, rolling crumbs along the table, and Ness's hair tangled about her face. She pushed it back behind her ears and resisted the urge to check it for more strands of grey. This wasn't a party conversation, and not something she wanted to think about. Ever. "It might surprise you, Kili," she said with a smile, "but I have a feeling Bard may not be the fount of all knowledge in Middle-earth."

"He hopes they do, but he wasn't sure." Kili pressed a hard kiss into Fili's hair. "He liked the idea that the ones we've lost are watching over us, and interceding on our behalf. That someday, no matter how long we're parted, we can all be together again."

"It is a nice thought." Ness watched him bow his head over Fili, dark and golden hair intermingling. Little, mud-stained fingers crept out and grabbed a hold of a braid. "He's a dwarf, Kili. He'll go wherever you do."

"You both will," it was a whisper just on the edge of hearing. Kili lifted his head, his face determined. "I won't let it be any other way."

"I know. Look, it's a party, and you're missing out sitting here on the edge of it. And if you’re going to be working late then you definitely need something to eat and drink.” Ness stood, shaking out her skirt and holding out a hand to him. “Come on. Let’s see what’s left.” And later, she could bring a basket down to the forge with some dinner, maybe help holding things or sweeping up or something. Cheer him up a bit, or cheer him on, whatever he needed. 

He took her hand, stroking a thumb across her palm. “I might have time for a quick dance?”

“To this?” Ness looked at the twirling hobbits doubtfully. There were a lot of fast foot movements going on. She had a feeling she wasn’t nearly drunk enough. “I don’t know the steps.”

“Me either.” Kili grinned up at her. “But how hard can it be? It's only dancing, after all. We can learn together.”

Chapter Text

The mountain was slowly coming to life as they trailed behind Molir through the passageways. Beside her, Fili was brushing futilely at his sleeves and Hafdis was doing the same, trying to get the worst of Odr’s bristly hairs and the straw dust from herself. 

“Can we really not spare a few moments to allow us to change, Molir?” Fili pleaded. 

Nodding to the guards stationed on either side of the thick doors that led to the Royal chambers, Molir spoke over his shoulder, “It’s only your uncles.”

And Dis. Dis would be there because Molir never went anywhere without her. What he’d said sank in. “Dain?” Hafdis reached forward and tugged at his sleeve urgently. “Molir, why does my uncle want to see me? Is my cousin Thorin there too?”

Shaking his head, Molir only laughed and didn’t answer her, pulling away and striding towards the wide staircase. 

Behind them, the doors boomed closed and Hafdis jumped. “What do you think he meant?” she whispered to Fili. “He shook his head, did that mean no?”

Fili glanced her way, still preoccupied with trying to tidy himself as he walked slowly after Molir. “I don’t know, I wasn’t paying...” He frowned up at the long, curving staircase. “Why don’t you go up first and check? I’ll…I need to do something first and then I’ll be right behind you.”

What do you need to—” Fili looked away, the colour rising in his face and Hafdis smiled. Of course. It would be excruciating to admit outright that a few dozen shallow steps were too many. “No, I’ll stay with you. Do you need to take my arm?”

He refused, with a lot less grace than a prince should, and she matched his pace as they made their way step by slow step upwards. Hafdis trailed her fingertips along the curves of the carved handrail, her good humour at his embarrassment draining away as she tried to resist the urge to run. There was nowhere to run, even if the guards would open the doors for her, and she was out of time, because if this wasn’t an arrest then there was only one other thing it could be. Only one announcement that would need her and the Crown Prince in the same place to hear it. Her throat burned and she swallowed hard. She should have gone to Dain, and spoken to him when she had the chance. As they passed the halfway point, Fili placed a hand on her arm. 

“Do you need a rest?” she asked hopefully. It was only delaying the inevitable but still, any delay to brace herself was welcome. 

“No.” 

“You look like you’re in pain.”

“I’m not.” When she raised her eyebrows, Fili smiled. “Fine. Perhaps a little. I’d stiffened up sitting with Odr, but I’m well. I just wanted to speak to you before we go into whatever this is, and tell you that he can stay here.”

The meaningful look he was giving her spiked her heart rate. “Who?” she whispered. “Thorin?” If Fili thought he could order Stonehelm to do anything he could be in for a surprise, but he did outrank her cousin — for now. Would he want to stay in Erebor? Did she? If he was ordered to stay then she could go home, claim that she needed to see her amad. That was what people did when they were getting married. That would buy time, and anything could happen between here and the Iron Hills. Her mind swirling with possibility and sudden hope, she smiled at Fili and nodded. “I think that’s a good idea, thank you. He’d like that, he’s been looking forward to coming here.”

“Thorin?” Fili shook his head, frowning. “Your cousin, Thorin, I’m guessing, not my uncle? Why would I…? No, I meant Odr. He can stay here when you return home. I have gold, he’ll not want for anything.” 

Fili moved up a step and she followed him, her heart still pounding. “I don’t…why?”

“Although it’s no life for a retired warrior,” Fili continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Stuck inside a mountain. But he’ll be safe, and I know I won’t be around but I can leave orders that he’s to be looked after.”

Blindly, she followed him as he struggled up the stairs. He spun on the step above and halted and she barely stopped from colliding with his chest.

“I know,” he said, smiling down at her brightly. “I have a better idea. One where he doesn’t need my protection. I know he doesn’t like other pigs, and he’s not keen on goats and ponies, but how’s he with sheep?”

“With sheep?” Hafdis shook her head. “I...I don’t know. He’s never really met any.”

“Well, we can try it if you like.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Bard’s people keep flocks down by the Lake-town ruins. It’s good grazing down there apparently, and they’ve had to move to livestock as people don’t seem too keen on eating fish from a lake with a rotting dragon in it.” Tugging her up onto the step beside him, Fili grinned. “Can’t imagine why. Anyway, he has boys who look after the sheep and they have dogs, but it’s dangerous work. Wolves prowl the lakeshore, and the occasional orc, although Thorin tries to keep those down with the patrols.”

Hafdis nodded, her head spinning, and tried to focus. 

“I could give you a letter for Bard, for after the trial. You could take it to him and see how Odr gets on. He could be a...a guard-pig, instead of a warpig, and Bard would be very grateful. The boys get very attached to their sheep. I’ve seen them cry when the wolves take lambs, but I’d imagine Odr could easily frighten a wolf off.”

“He is very brave,” said Hafdis. Her voice wobbled. Swallowing hard, she tilted her chin. “He’s fought wargs before. Nothing frightens him.” 

“Well then, a wolf wouldn’t cause him any trouble at all, would it? It’ll be easy. And he’d have more grass and mud than he’d know what to do with. He could even swim in the lake if he wanted.”

“I don’t know if he can swim.” Hafdis smiled at the thought of it. The disappointment of her imagined escape fading. This was better. “We’ve never tried, but he does like splashing in rivers.” 

“I imagine he would enjoy a swim on a hot day, and there’s plenty of shade amongst the trees.” Fili touched the back of her hand before wrapping his fingers around hers and continuing earnestly, “And when the time comes, many years from now, he can go with dignity. With an axe in his hand, so to speak, and on his own terms. That’s the very best anyone can hope for in this world.”

His face blurred when she blinked. Hafdis sniffed hard and looked away. “But why would a man help me or Odr? How do I know that he wouldn’t just kill him for meat and say something happened?”

Calloused fingers touched her jaw and Fili shifted to look her in the eye. “He’s not ‘a man’, he’s my friend and I promise you, Hafdis, it wouldn’t so much as cross his mind. Bard keeps his word. He’s been a good friend to me, and he’ll be a good friend to you if you let him. And I’d like you to let him, after I’m gone. Will you do that? As a favour to me?”

“A favour?”

“Yes.” Fili released her. “And I can ask Oin to take a look at him if you like?”

“You…what?”

“For his leg, I’d noticed he’s limping when he first gets up, and he was limping the day you returned to Erebor so it’s obviously been bothering him for a while.” Fili half-smiled, half-grimaced. “I know how he feels. I’m not sure how much Oin knows about pigs, but he might be—”

“What is taking you two so long?” Molir poked his head around the turn of the stairs. “I was all the way to the doors and thought you were behind me. Come on.”

“Think about it,” said Fili as he turned away. 

Perhaps it was because Molir was watching, or that the end was in sight, or maybe he’d needed the rest after all. But, whatever the reason, Fili was quick enough that she had to jog after him with her thoughts in a muddled mess. 

Hope for Odr warred with a sudden panic in her heart. What if it wasn’t a betrothal announcement after all but an arrest? She’d never once considered that there might be a risk to Odr when she and Hafur had made their plans, but now she was thinking about it and it terrified her. They knew how much he meant to her. He would be punished too if they had been discovered.  

Her heart was beating a tattoo again in her chest by the time they were in the final corridor. Fraeg stood with his arms crossed in front of the doors and a glower across his face, but that was normal, and Molir seemed relaxed enough as he leant against the wall. Surely that was a good sign? And him leaving her and Fili to walk alone was another one? Despite her doubts about his capabilities as Dis’s captain, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave the prince alone with her if she was considered a threat. Surely everything was fine? 

Molir grinned at them. “Ready?” 

“No,” replied Fili. “Does it matter?”

“Not a bit.” Nudging Fraeg out of the way, Molir rapped the door. 

As Fili grimaced at her and shook his head, Hafdis noticed the straw clinging to his hair. 

“Wait,” she commanded Molir, but it was too late and she could hear Thorin call them in. She grabbed Fili’s forearm as Molir swung open the doors. 

“It’s fine, Hafdis.” Placing a hand in the small of her back, Fili pushed her gently forward. “Don’t worry, you’ve time to think, and then you can send a message to me through Gimli once you’ve decided. Let’s just get whatever this is over with.”

“No. You’ve—” She tried to tug the straw out quickly but it was entangled. “Wait. There’s something in your hair.”

The door closed behind Molir and through it they could hear the rumble of his voice followed by laughter. 

Fili lifted his hand to his head and Hafdis slapped it away. “Don’t touch. You’ll only tangle it in worse.”

His lips quirked, trying and failing to hide a smile, but he stilled with his hands at his sides as she pulled the knots apart and wrinkled out the straw. Waving at him, she dropped it to the floor. 

“Is there any more in there?” he asked quietly. 

“Turn around.” Obediently, he turned and she ran her fingers from his scalp to the ends as best she could through the mess of snarls, searching for more hidden debris. “Do you ever comb this?” Her fingertips ran over the long raised scar hidden under the mass of hair. The crack in his skull where it had met the unforgiving stone of the mineshaft, but not hard enough. Strangely, the thought didn’t have as much venom and regret as it usually did. 

His shoulders shook as he laughed. “Every day.”

“You should keep it braided at night.” Her fingers caught on a knot and she frowned, trying to unravel it quickly and ignore the odd intimacy of it all ─ and the feeling of Fraeg’s eyes boring into the back of her head. 

“I do.” He nodded, yanking the knot from between her fingers. 

“I mean fully braided. Stop moving.” Searching through the curls to find it again, Hafdis muttered a curse when she found a different, bigger, one. 

“Perhaps, but my head hurts too much to even tolerate my own few,” Fili added in a low voice with a quick glance over his shoulder past her and toward Fraeg. Turning, he reached up to still her fingers. “But I’m lucky. Things could have been a lot worse, and this way I have time to make arrangements.”

Their faces were close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, and see the pinpricks of his stubble. A stray wondering whether the bristles would be spiky or soft should she run her fingertips over them took her by surprise. The blood rushed to her cheeks and Hafdis shook her head. Where had that come from? She cleared her throat. “Arrangements?”

The door swung open, Molir grinning at them through the gap as they hurriedly stepped apart. “Come on then.” He beckoned. “That’s enough grooming time.” 

She’d expected them to be ushered to seats at Thorin’s table but instead, Molir pushed past them and left, closing the door quietly behind himself. There was only Dis in the room. Smiling broadly, the princess waved at them from an armchair by the roaring fire in the hearth. “There you are. Come in, both of you. Sit down.”

Confused, Hafdis followed Fili toward the fire. Reaching across the little table that sat amidst the circle of mismatched chairs, Dis patted the comfortable-looking armchair opposite her. “You sit there, Hafdis. Warm yourself up, and you can sit beside her, Fili.” Settling back, the princess raised an eyebrow. “Molir was telling us that he found you both in a pigpen?”

The flush crept up Hafdis’s face as she sat down and settled her hands on her lap. It definitely wasn’t an arrest then. Because surely, if she knew something, Dis would have her hands around her throat rather than smiling kindly with eyes that twinkled in amusement?

“What is this, Amad?” Fili asked as he took the high-backed chair by Hafdis’s side. It scraped against the flagstones as he shifted it further away from the fire, and from her. “Why are—”

Across the room, Thorin’s study door slammed open, and Hafdis jumped. Catching her eye, Dis smiled sympathetically before turning to look at Dain reversing out of the study with a tray. 

“Here we all are,” he boomed, striding across the chamber. 

The king followed with a frown on his face and a teapot in his hand, and Hafdis breathed again as the study door swung closed. Her cousin wasn’t here. He would never have allowed himself to be left behind in a kitchen. 

“Dain,” Thorin chided. “I would have opened the door for you if you’d given me a moment.” 

“No need.” The crockery rattled together as Dain dropped the tray onto the table.  He dropped into the armchair next to Dis and grinned at them all. “Get that tea poured, Dis. I’m parched. What have you two been up to?” 

Dis rolled her eyes but there was a small tremor in her hands as she arranged mugs on the table and set the empty tray to one side. The princess wasn’t the nervous type. Lacing her fingers closer together, Hafdis tried to breathe and smile normally. What was going on? 

After placing the teapot on the table, Thorin began to pace the room quickly from the fireplace to the far wall and back like a caged animal. Hafdis kept an eye on him whilst her mind whirled and wished he would stop. It was unsettling. 

By her side, Fili was also watching Thorin closely. “Amad?” he asked. 

“Your uncle has something he wants to speak to you about.” Dis turned in her chair. “Thorin.”

Stopping in front of the table, Thorin glanced between her and Fili. His eyes settled on Fili. “I have determined that you are to be wed. It is past time, and Dain has agreed.”

Hafdis stared at Dain and he winked at her as he lifted a mug of tea. 

“To each other,” Thorin added, sweeping his hand between her and Fili. “I realise I didn’t make that clear.” 

Fili’s chair creaked and although she couldn’t see his face Hafdis imagined it mirrored hers. 

“No,” said Fili. 

Jolting in her seat, Hafdis turned to look at him but he was glaring at Thorin. 

Dain laughed. “You’re not being given a choice, boy.” 

Fili seemed to remember she was there. He turned to her with an apologetic look that made her heart beat faster with what she realised was rising anger. “It’s not you, Hafdis, it’s...I can’t.” He shook his head and stood. “Uncle, may I speak with you alone?”

This was humiliating. Hafdis stared at her hands and listened to the door of Thorin’s chamber click closed behind him and Fili. 

“Well,” said Dain. “That was—”

Dis hushed him and in a rustle of skirts scooted around the table to take Fili’s chair. Moving it closer, she pulled Hafdis’s hands from her lap and wrapped them tightly in hers. 

Hafdis looked up. 

“He’s surprised, that’s all,” said Dis quietly. She shot a look at Dain before smiling warmly. “I expect the thought of marriage hasn’t crossed his mind until now.”

Hafdis nodded. Not sure what she was supposed to say. She supposed she should feel relieved, but instead she just felt numb, and angry. Definitely angry. 

Releasing her hand, Dis picked up a mug of tea from the table. “Here, drink this.”

The warmth of the mug was comforting at least. “Thank you,” Hafdis whispered. 

“I expect you haven’t given much thought to marriage either,” said Dis kindly. 

Hafdis shook her head. She’d given quite a lot of panicked thought to marriage over the last day. Just not this one. 

Turning to look at the closed study door, Dain said, “Typical that he asks to speak with the one person who hasn’t been, and has no intention of ever being, married. Get in there, Dis. Durin only knows what Thorin’s filling his head with.” 

Dis patted her hand and stood with a sigh. “We’ll speak more later, Hafdis. Drink your tea.”

Numbly, Hafdis watched her go. Her gaze returned to Dain when he cleared his throat loudly. “Hafur—” she began. 

“Hafur will be fine.” Dain smiled. “I’ll speak with him, and I’ll send word to your Amad to tell her the good news. How do you feel about it?”

Setting the mug back onto the table, Hafdis crossed her arms. “I have a choice?”

“Ah, there’s the spark back.” Dain leant forward. “Of course you have a choice. I thought this was what you wanted, but if you tell me I’ve misunderstood...well, you’ll make my son very happy. He told me he’d spoken to you already and I haven’t given him an answer yet but I can, if that’s what you want. I didn’t want him to make a match if his wife’s true heart lay elsewhere.”

Hafdis looked into Dain’s eyes, her hands falling to her lap. That was it then. Her choice, and it was no choice at all. 

The silence stretched between them. Within the fireplace, a log shifted, spilling sparks out onto the hearth. Hafdis watched them twinkle and burn out one by one. 

“It’s all very sudden,” she murmured.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dain nod sympathetically. “I expect so.”

“And I’ll have to disappoint someone.” Staring into the fire, Hafdis blinked hard. Not that it was needed, her eyes were already misty. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.” 

“I know.” 

“Maybe I should just...refuse them both?” Dain didn’t respond and she turned to him hopefully so he could see the tears shining in her eyes. “I think that would be best?” 

Dain barked a laugh before he sobered. “No.”

The door to Thorin’s study opened and Fili walked out, a grim expression on his face. He strode to the door and stopped with a hand on it. Hafdis was sure she heard him sigh before he turned. 

“Hafdis,” he said, “I’m sorry.” He appeared about to say something more and she waited but nothing more was forthcoming. With another heavy sigh, Fili turned and slipped out the door. 

As it closed behind him, Dain jerked his head toward it. “Go on, lass. Go and wash your face, get yourself tidied up, and I’ll see you at breakfast. I’ll sort this out with Thorin.”

But which one? There was nothing more to be said, or that should be said —not after her uncle had given her a direct command, no matter how kindly he’d put it. Slinking out of the door, Hafdis avoided Molir and Fraeg’s eyes. Fraeg moved as if he intended to escort her, and she held up a hand to stop him. 

“I think I can find the way to my rooms from here,” she commanded. 

He grunted in reply but didn’t follow and she strode away toward the stairs. As she turned at the corner, deep in panicked thought, she jumped and clutched her chest. “Fili.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Stepping further out of the shadows, he glanced down the stairs. “Do you want to go and get some air?”

Chapter Text

He left her at the juncture that led toward his rooms. Hafdis leant against the wall, closing her eyes and wondering what she was doing. Maybe she should just go? But, saying that, air sounded good. She felt like she couldn’t get a full breath. 

Footsteps echoed behind her and Fili touched her arm. “He’s coming now, and he’s not in a good mood.”

“Who?”

“Gimli.” Fili shrugged, a ghost of a smile creeping across his face. “I’m under orders that we must be chaperoned at all times. No more meeting alone in pigpens, or anywhere.” He tugged her a few steps along the passageway. “Before he joins us I just wanted to say that I—” He sighed, nodding to Gimli as he stomped around the corner. 

Gimli glared between the two of them. “What’s this? I thought we were going to the hunting passage?”

“We are. Hafdis is coming too.”

The filthy look Gimli gave her almost made Hafdis smile. Instead, she dropped her eyes to the flagstones and murmured, “It’s fine, Fili. You two go. I can go up to the ramparts by myself instead.”

“No. You said you wanted to go outside, and I know that you wanted to see it. So we’ll go. Don’t mind Gimli.” Fili shot Gimli a smile. “He’s just grumpy about being woken up early.” 

It was interesting how much the route had changed. Making sure to give no indication that she recognised this section of the mountain, Hafdis walked alongside Fili, running her hand over the newly installed handrails and listening to him tell her about the improvements his uncle had made. As they crossed the final bridge before the hunting passage a guard on the new door nodded to Fili before lifting the bar, swinging the door open, and closing it behind them. 

It was a far cry from the rubble-strewn, darkened passageway that she’d stood in, listening and waiting for Fili to come back in from outside only a few months previous. Hafdis waited and watched as the other two walked along to the far end, Gimli nudging Fili out of the way as the prince placed his hand on the outer door. Some whispered argument in progress that ended with Fili stepping back and raising both hands before Gimli pushed the door open. Fili turned and beckoned her forward. 

The wind tugged at her braids and rain misted her face as she stepped out into the cool shadow of the mountain. Fili glanced at her, obviously expecting a reaction, and she smiled, breathing in deeply. “That feels better.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiled back. “Follow me. You can see right to Mirkwood from over here.” Leading her over beside a large boulder, he pointed out toward the west. “The visibility isn’t good this morning but you can just make it out. The darker smudge? Do you see it? On a clear day, you can see all the way to the Misty Mountains.”

As he rambled on about a view that was pretty much hidden from sight, Hafdis looked out over the ledge before her boots. Thick grey mist swirled along the sides of the mountain, revealing glimpses of sharp rocks. It seemed a very long way down. She peered into the darkness, trying to see if there was a trail, and realised that Fili had fallen silent. Looking around, she could see him staring up the side of the boulder as if considering something, and, behind him, Gimli was prowling about in front of the open door that led back into the warmth and light of Erebor. 

“It’s a bit more sheltered up there.” Fili indicated the boulder. “If you want to stay for a little while?”

She nodded and he climbed up, pointing out the footholds to her as he went. Following him, her boots slipped and skidded on the wet rock, and he grasped her forearm and hauled her over and up onto a flat plinth. 

“Here,” he said, pointing to a depression in the rock wall. Obediently, she settled into it and he sat cross-legged beside her, blocking some of the wind. 

He seemed lost in thought and they stared out toward what he’d claimed was Mirkwood. 

“I’m sorry about how I reacted, Hafdis,” he said at last, without taking his eyes off the view. “I was impolite to say what I did.”

He bowed his head but, since it looked like there were more words brewing, she waited. 

“I wasn’t expecting it, and...with the trial. I can’t.” Shaking his head, Fili continued, “If, when, the judgement goes against me then it wouldn’t be fair on you. You would be tied to me.” He heaved another sigh. “Thorin has told me that—”

“What are you two doing up there?”

“Give me a moment, Gimli!” shouted Fili. Crawling to the edge of the stone, he leant over. “Go and wait inside if you want.”

“I’m supposed to relieve Molir. You know how grumpy he gets when I’m late.”

“He won’t mind. We’ll not be long.” As Gimli grumbled off, Fili scooted back over to his place. “As I was saying, Thorin has told me that if the worst should happen then any betrothal would be dissolved. You would be free to marry someone else, but should I be placed in the cells… I asked him about that and he seems to think that the betrothal could be broken then too but he seemed uncertain. I would need to check with Ori, but, either way, it’s not fair. People would talk. They would think we had—” He flushed to his ears, looking everywhere but at her. “They will assume that we...that certain things may have happened between us. And that would affect your marriage prospects.”

That was interesting. Hafdis filed it away in her mind to think about later. Maybe she should talk to the nervous little librarian too. “I have never cared what people say.”

Fili smiled sadly. “You’ve never been on the receiving end of it. I can’t do it to you, Hafdis. That’s why I said no. I wanted to explain, in case I had hurt you.” 

She watched him fiddle with the ties of the bracelet around his wrist. “Is that the only reason?”

“It’s the main one. But, regardless, I don’t think I’d be a good husband. Even should the trial go in my favour, somehow. I’m—” He took a deep breath and his fingers stilled on the bracelet. “I feel as if I’m broken. That there’s something inside me that isn’t right, and I don’t know how to fix it, or even if I can. I wouldn’t want that for you.”

Hafdis looked out toward Mirkwood. The rain seemed to be easing. “Does Gimli know? About Thorin wanting you to marry me?”

Fili shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Did you mean what you said about Odr?”

He met her eyes. “Of course. Every word. He’ll be safe, either here or with Bard. You don’t need to worry about him.”

“You swear to me that he won’t go to slaughter?” 

“Never.” Fili leant forward. “We’ll not go hungry in Erebor, not with our alliances with Bard and Mirkwood. And, as I said, Bard wouldn’t think of it, should Odr be moved into his care. Odr is, and will be, in no danger, I promise you.”

He seemed to be in earnest. Looking him in the eyes, she nodded. 

“You don’t have to agree to marry me to protect him,” Fili said quickly. “The offer was made freely and there are no conditions attached. Odr is safe regardless.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you do. I won’t force you into anything you don’t want to do, and I won’t let anyone else force you either. Should the trial…should things go as Thorin wishes then I will be expected to marry, I’ve always known that. It was only ever a matter of time. My own wishes don’t come into it, but yours do.”

The rain was easing as the sky lightened. As Hafdis watched, the smudge of dark green became clearer and beyond she could make out the outlines of high mountains. 

“I always dreamt of out there.” She nodded toward the west. “Travelling through the world, making my own way, having adventures. Ever since I was a little dwarfling, it’s all I ever wanted.”

“I think we’ve all had that dream from time to time.” Fili studied her closely. “If you were to marry me I can’t promise that we’d ever travel farther than a few days' ride from Erebor. I can’t offer you a life of adventure, Hafdis.”

“I would be locked in this mountain.”

“No. If you wish to be by my side then you can. Thorin has promised me that I can resume my duties as envoy to Mirkwood, and Dale, should the trial go the way he intends.” Fili shrugged. “Not the most exciting, but better than nowhere. Perhaps, in time, I can persuade him to let me captain some of the orc patrols once more.”

“You would let me come with you?”

“If you wish.” He smiled. “You and Hafur, should he decide to stay in Erebor. I would be happy to have you both fighting by my side. Gimli, too, of course.”

Hafdis drummed her fingers against the rock. It was better than nothing. Better than returning to the Iron Hills and the mountains and passageways she’d walked for ninety years. Better than Stonehelm, perhaps, if there was no other way. Her fingers stilled. There had to be another way. 

“I don’t want dwarflings.” She glanced at him to see his reaction. “Ever.”

He looked stunned. 

“You said you wouldn’t force me.”

“I did, and I won’t.” Lifting a pebble from the rock, Fili bounced it from hand to hand. “I suppose I hadn’t ever thought that I wouldn’t, someday…” They sat in silence until he nodded. “I agree.”

“What?” 

“I agree. I said I wouldn’t force you and I won’t, and I agree anyway. No dwarflings.” Lifting his head, he met her eyes. “I don’t see why a marriage can’t be simply companionship. We can continue as we are now, as friends. If you chose to.”

“There’s that word again. Choice. And once we’re married we’d be expected, I’d be expected to, share your bed.” 

Fili smiled ruefully. “No one is going to follow us into the bedchamber, Hafdis, or at least I hope not. They won’t know what we do or don’t do if we don’t tell them.” In a sharp movement, he threw the pebble. It arced away over the edge of the boulder, out toward Mirkwood, before it dropped away out of sight. “We can arrange for you to have your own rooms, although they’ll probably need to be connected to mine. But there will be a door, and a lock if you wish it.” He shrugged. “I’m a restless sleeper, Gimli can vouch for that, so there wouldn’t be any questions.”

She wondered how he could be so naive. Fili met her eyes as if she’d asked the question out loud.

“Sometimes marriages don’t produce dwarflings,” he said. “More often than not, actually, in recent times. Ori was looking back at the records a few years ago, and he shared his findings with me. So it wouldn’t be odd. Thorin will be disappointed, of course.”

Hafdis glanced at him and Fili laughed bitterly. 

“More than disappointed but,” his voice lowered to an almost whisper and she had to lean forward to catch the words before the wind snatched them away, “maybe it’s for the best.”

“Fili!” Gimli sounded closer and exasperated. 

Standing, Fili held out a hand to her. “You don’t need to make a decision now. The choice is entirely yours. I told Thorin no, and that I wouldn’t even consider any such thing until after the outcome of the trial so you’ve got until then to think it over. And if you decide against it then I’ll just tell Thorin that it’s me who is refusing. It doesn’t matter to me, and if the trial has gone my way then he’ll be in such a good mood he won’t care. You won’t need to say anything, Hafdis, neither to my uncle nor to yours.”

Chaperone or not, Gimli shot off toward the guard chambers at the first opportunity, muttering something about punishments, and leaving her and Fili to walk alone toward her chambers. 

“When are you going to tell him?” she asked. 

Fili shrugged, trailing his fingers along the cracks in the stone wall beside them. “Tonight? After he’s finished his duty, I think. Hopefully it’s not all around the mountain by then.”

“Do you think it will be?”

“A private conversation?” Fili grimaced. “More than likely. I expect it could be the talk of the mountain by lunchtime.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Maybe that was a good thing? The need to speak to Hafur quickened her steps. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Hafdis.” Fili caught her fingers, drawing her to a stop. “I hope it won’t be, but you should ready yourself for talk. Rumour spreads like wildfire through Erebor.”

She laughed. “Oh, I know that. The things I heard about—"

“Hafdis?” Dis’s voice rang out in the passageway, echoing around the corner ahead. “Is that you?”

Fili’s eyes widened and he dropped her hand. “Go,” he mouthed, pushing her forward before retreating down the passageway. 

Hafdis’s heart skipped with excitement. At last, Dis had come to visit her personally. She rushed around the corner, glancing back to check that Fili was far enough away, and collided with Molir. 

“Here she is, Dis.” Molir steadied her. 

“Alone?” asked Dis, stepping away from the wall opposite. 

“Seems to be.” Molir glowered at Hafdis. “Well, are you?”

“Yes.” Hafdis nodded quickly. “I was just walking back by myself to get changed for breakfast.”

Dis raised an eyebrow. “Strange how this old place carries sound, I could have sworn we heard another voice. Someone a lot like my son? Molir, would you agree?”

“That it did, Princess. It did sound a lot like Fili.”

Hafdis looked between them, at their serious faces. “I…I was talking to myself.” 

Dis’s lips twitched and Molir hid his mouth with his hand and then they were both laughing. Nudging Molir, Dis stepped forward and linked Hafdis’s arm with her own, pointing a bejewelled finger accusingly at Molir. “You lost.” 

“I did not, you broke first.”

Turning to Hafdis, Dis smiled. “You’re a poor liar, Hafdis, and for that I’m glad. Your little secret is safe with us, I promise. I came to help you get ready? If you wish. Molir, off you go. Send Gimli to me in the breakfast hall.”

“No, Dis.” Molir frowned. “I’ll stay until—”

“Go on.” Dis tugged Hafdis on, calling over her shoulder, “We can manage a few corridors by ourselves!”

“Gimli’s gone to the guard rooms,” added Hafdis and was rewarded with a smile and an arm squeeze from Dis. 

The princess swept past Hafur’s closed door, and pushed open Hafdis’s room. As the door swung closed behind them, Dis rolled her eyes and whispered conspiratorially, “Honestly, you’d think they expect me to get lost or run away somewhere between here and there.”

Her rooms weren’t too untidy. When Dis dropped her arm and walked toward the fire that was little more than ashes, Hafdis hurried around the parlour. Sweeping the fletchings that she had been working on into a box, she turned and spotted one of Odr’s harnesses hanging over a chair back, and then spotted that Dis was kneeling by the hearth, busily raking out the fire. “No, Dis. I’ll do that.” 

A mountain as grand as Erebor should have dwarves assigned to make sure that fires were kept burning, like Dain had for family in the Iron Hills, but perhaps King Thorin did and it was only for the Royal quarters. She’d spent a lot of time in Dis’s quarters when Fili had been missing, and no one had come in to refresh fires or change bedding, but maybe Dis had told them not to? 

“I’ve been building fires since I was ten years old. I can manage another one.” Dis didn’t look up. “Go and get yourself washed. You’re joining our table for breakfast this morning.”

The Royal table. Hafdis hurried into the bathroom. Tugging her hair out of the braids, she filled the basin and started to strip out of her stained trousers and shirt. If she was dining with Dis, and Thorin and Dain, she should have a bath. Her thoughts skittered to and fro as she hurriedly splashed water on herself, rubbing hard at her skin with a cloth. She should bathe, but there wasn’t time because Dis was right outside and she couldn’t keep her waiting. And Stonehelm would be at the Royal table too. Would Dain have told him? Maybe Hafur would know. Or Dis. If she could work out a way to ask that wouldn’t look strange. Maybe Dain had told Dis already? 

Gripping the edge of the basin, Hafdis forced herself to breathe. Slow, warrior breaths, exactly the same as preparing for battle. She stared into the mirror, the water dripping off her beard, and blinked, her reflection blurring, biting back a sob, as the thought sank in. This was it, her battle. The only battle that she would ever take part in. Not charging down ranks of orcs on Odr, or shouting orders to a regiment of archers. Not protecting her reckless, idiot of a brother as she fought side by side with him. No. Her battle was choosing between one dwarf and another, weighing up which male to pin the rest of her life and all of her dreams to, and picking a cage to be trapped in. The basin creaked against the wall. 

“Hafdis?” There was a quiet knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

She wasn’t dressed. Grabbing a towel, Hafdis wrapped it around herself and kicked her discarded clothes into the corner. “Yes.”

The door edged open, Dis elbowing her way in with hands raised. “Just need to clean these, or we’ll be needing to make an extra stop at my chambers on the way to breakfast.” Slowly washing her hands in the basin, Dis met Hafdis’s eyes in the mirror. “Are you feeling well?”

Oh. Hafdis smiled brightly. “I was a bit quick with the soap, some got in my eyes, but I’ve rinsed them out. I’m fine.”

Dis’s smile was gentle. “That happens. Let’s get you dressed.”

Her feet were still wet. Tracking water across the parlour and into her bedchamber, Hafdis trailed behind Dis. 

“Underthings first,” said Dis. “Which chest are they in? This one?” She lifted the lid and rifled through, throwing garments onto the bed that Hafdis was grateful she’d taken a moment to straighten before she’d left to see Odr what felt like an entire age ago. “Go on. Get them on.” Dis crossed to the large wardrobe and opened the doors, flicking through the dresses inside. “Which one?”

“I…” Struggling to get into her underclothes without dropping the towel, Hafdis shook her head. “I hadn’t thought.”

“I’d like to put you in blue, but—” Dis glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Hafdis. There’s no need to hide yourself. I grew up in camps, there is nothing, believe me, nothing, that I haven’t seen.” Turning back to the wardrobe, she pulled out a dress. “This is beautiful, but it’s a little close to Durin blue, and Thorin, and possibly Fili and yourself, would have words with me if I insisted on this?” 

Wrestling her way into her straps, and cursing her damp skin that just made everything stick and pull the wrong way, Hafdis looked up to find Dis smiling back at her. “I… If you want me to wear it, I’ll wear it?”

“No, I’m only being nosy, and I swore to myself I wouldn’t put any pressure on either of you.” Dis replaced the dress and lifted another. “Green? You’ve worn this before and I remember that you looked very pretty in it.” 

Nodding, Hafdis heaved a sigh of relief that she was finally decent enough and tossed the towel onto the bed as Dis approached with the dress looped over her arm. Stepping her way into the dress, she held her breath when Dis’s cool hands touched her skin, helping her thread her arms through. “I can manage by myself,” she stammered. “I think.” 

“Then you’re a better dwarf than me,” said Dis. “Turn, and lift up your hair so I can lace the back. How tight do you want it?”

“Not very.” Since she’d arrived back in Erebor, she’d gotten used to Hafur being the one to help her dress. Hafdis stared out her bedchamber door and across the parlour to the far wall, the one she shared with her brother. Usually, she’d kick at the wall when she was ready for him to come in, or run the ten steps down the corridor with laces gripped in one hand to kick at his door instead. Was he next door waiting on her or had he gone on already?

“Before I came to Erebor,” said Dis. “All my dresses laced at the side, or front, or barely at all. This, having to have someone help me get into something as simple as my clothes, grates on me. But it’s expected here. Ridiculous, but there we are. Is that tight enough?”

She couldn’t breathe. “It’s fine.”

“Too tight?” Hafdis rocked on her heels as Dis pulled at the laces. The princess swore under her breath. “I’m not very good at this. I should have called Molir in, I’m sure he’s lurking out there somewhere, disobeying my direct order to leave. Better?”

It was. Hafdis placed a hand on her stomach and took a deep breath. “Yes, thank you.” 

“Good.” Dis spun her around. “So pretty. Would you permit me to do your braids?”  

Permit her? Hafdis fairly flew across out of the bedchamber and across the parlour to fetch the stool from its place in the corner.

Behind her, Dis laughed. “Put it in front of the fire so you can warm your toes. Your braids are more intricate than mine or Thorin’s so this may take a while.” 

Hafdis swung her feet, staring into the flames, as Dis started work. The princess was gentle as she combed and separated out her hair. 

“You’ll be wanting to send for your amad, I expect?” asked Dis, her voice muffled by the pins held in her mouth. “Drop your chin for me so I can do the back.”

Did she want to send for Amad? Hafdis lowered her head. People would expect her to. “It’ll be winter soon.”

“That’s true, and the paths from the Iron Hills will be dangerous. Very considerate of you, Hafdis.” Dis’s quick-moving fingers brushed the nape of her neck. “Well, I’ll be here if you need to talk to anyone. Even if you think it’s not appropriate. I only want you, and Fili, to be happy.” A light tug as Dis pinned the braid and started on another. “I can stand in for your amad until she arrives, if you like.”

“I’d like that.” Hafdis wound her fingers together. 

“Good. That’s settled then.”

Dis was efficient, working her way through the braids and Hafdis sat, oddly comfortable in the silence only punctuated by the occasional muttered swear from the princess and the crackling of the fire. 

“I wasn’t much over twenty when my adad told me that he and the king, my sigin'adad, had arranged a marriage for me,” said Dis, her voice loud in the quiet. “Don’t turn your head.”

“Twenty?” whispered Hafdis. 

“I know. I was just as shocked, believe me. It was wartime, alliances were being made at speed, things were more different than you can imagine, but still, I was barely more than a dwarfling. And a stubborn one at that.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. My sigin'adad was not a dwarf you told no.” Dis huffed out a laugh. “And Frerin, my brother, had already warned me to hold my temper as he walked me into the King’s tent. I remember him standing behind me, a hand on my back for comfort. And Thorin was by the throne, signing desperately to me to keep quiet. So I held my tongue.”

A log shifted in the fire and Dis moved on to another braid. “I held my tongue until we were back in our tent,” continued Dis after a long moment. “And then I raged about the unfairness of it all. I swore up and down, on everything I could think of, that I would not be married off. And not to a cousin who I’d never so much as laid eyes on. I told Thorin I’d die first, or run away, if he didn’t put a stop to it.”

She couldn’t not move her head. Hafdis twisted to look up at Dis and got a gentle tap on the nose for her trouble. 

“Eyes front until I get this finished, Hafdis. Anyway, my brothers, once they got over their shock at what I’d said, assured me that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. We were at war, and I was far too young to marry. It would be a long betrothal and anything could happen in forty or fifty years. They took it in turns to try and calm me down. Their own marriages were still being discussed, and they would be in the same position soon. I suppose as a dam I had more value, or less, for my sigin'adad needed the strength of my brothers’ sword arms and not mine.” Dis paused and Hafdis was sure she heard the sound of teeth grinding together before the princess spoke again, “I was nothing more than a trinket to be traded for the promise of more dwarves to throw at the war. And as soon as we had triumphed, we would be split up, my brothers and I, and scattered across Middle-Earth. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to be apart from either of them. They were all I had.”

“You were so young.” The thought of being parted from Hafur chilled her blood. Hafdis gripped her fingers together tighter on her lap. 

“I was, and by saying what I did I lost all my freedom. I could go nowhere in camp without either Frerin or Thorin by my side. They’d turn up, checking in on me, relief in their eyes that I hadn’t run away when I should be sewing or making dressings or stirring soup. And I fumed. I raged inside until, less than two short years later, on the eve of battle, the dwarf that I would marry walked into the camp with a fiddle on his back and the merriest smile you have ever seen.” Dis patted her on the head. “All done, have a look in the mirror and tell me if it’s right.”

She wanted to see Dis’s face. Hafdis spun on the stool. “Was it your cousin?”

“Mirror, Hafdis. We’ll be late.”

Hafdis ran into the bathroom. The braids were perfect, but she’d know they would be because Dis had done them. A little different to her usual but she didn’t mind. She skipped back out. 

“Happy?” Dis stood by the stool. “You’re smiling so I hope so.”

“I am.”

“Good. Get something on your feet, and fix your beard beads, and let’s go.”

She wanted to hear the end of the story. Hafdis ran into her bedchamber and grabbed the first pair of slippers from the trunk. Shoving her feet into them, she quickly braided her beard, still attaching the beads as she walked into the parlour. Dis stood by the door. 

“But was it your cousin, Dis? The dwarf with the fiddle?” 

“No. Wouldn’t that have been much easier?” Dis swung open the door. “Molir, I thought I told you to go?” He rumbled something incomprehensible from out of sight and Dis sighed. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”

Hafdis locked the door, slipping the key into the pocket of her gown, and took Dis’s offered arm. They strolled down the passageway after Molir. 

“Less than three months later,” said Dis. “I knew. I knew that he was the only dwarf I would ever want by my side. So I told Thorin, and said I would tell adad.”

“And what happened?”

“Thorin talked me out of it, and warned me to stay away from the dwarf that I had set my sights on. I think he panicked, I was his baby sister after all, and, in hindsight, it was the last thing he needed, because, by that time, relations between him and adad were strained. But I was young, and didn’t care. I kept quiet, but I didn’t stay away.” Dis shot her a sideways glance. “Love can creep up on us when we least expect it, and we should embrace it when it does.” 

They walked down the stairs. Below Hafdis could see the wide passageway that led to the eating hall was full of bustling dwarves. “But you didn’t marry your cousin?” she whispered. 

“No.” Dis drew them to a stop and lowered her voice, “War rushed over us, with loss and heartbreak and change, and our world would never be the same again. Thorin became king, in name at least, and put an end to my betrothal. My big brother, my rock and my protector, as he ever was from the day that I was born. We were all that was left of our family and we clung to each other. Despite his personal disapproval of my choice, despite the rift he knew it would cause, despite the financial strain it would put him and all our people under, he freed me to marry as I chose. For love. And I did.”

“Why…” Hafdis looked into Dis’s eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“My brother will not force you into a marriage, Hafdis. You have nothing to fear from him, or from me.” Dis touched their foreheads together briefly and sighed. “I have always wanted my boys—” She shook her head. “My boy, my Fili, to marry for love. No matter how unlikely that may be for Thorin’s heir. More than anything, I want him to be happy. Back when we were in the west, that was easy, no one was overly interested in their positions. I suspected that would change when we were in Erebor, and it has. Thorin has had many offers, some that Fili knows about and many he does not, but my son has shown no interest. The only prospect he’s smiled at, danced with, shown any willingness to spend time with, is you. And that gives me hope.”

“Oh.”

“But I said I wouldn’t pressure you. I know there’s more than my son who has been offered. You have a choice, as I once did. Maybe a little different.” Dis grinned, although Hafdis was sure she could see strain on the princess’s face. “I’ll support you, no matter your decision. But I have a favour to ask.”

Hafdis nodded, her mind whirling. “Of course. Anything.”

“Good girl. I’d ask you to be a friend to my boy these next few weeks. It did my heart good to see him arrive today, ruffled and covered in straw dust, grumpy but with a lightness in his eyes that I have missed.” Dis’s smile was definitely strained. Hafdis imagined that she could see the worries of the trial flickering across her friend’s face as Dis urged, “Keep him company, for me? Make him laugh again? We never fight fiercer than for those we love, whether it be friend or family. Please, give my son one more reason to fight for himself.”

Chapter Text

She’d eaten far too much at breakfast for all this rushing about. “Slow down, Hafur,” Hafdis laughed, jogging up the torchlit winding stair behind her brother. 

“We’ve already kept him waiting for an hour.” Hafur slowed long enough to grab her wrist. Dragging her behind him, he continued, “I was waiting outside the doors for you, and I know you saw me."

"I didn't!" She had, but she'd been enjoying her time with Dis. The princess had shown no signs of needing to be anywhere else after breakfast and they'd talked on whilst the tables were cleared around them. It was only when Dis spotted Hafur lurking that the princess had stood and claimed another engagement. "If I'd known you needed me, I would've left straight away."

Hafur snorted. 

"You could've come back to the table," said Hafdis.

"I'd already kicked you on the way past."

She'd ignored that too. Seated by Dis at the long table on the dais, with an empty seat next to her for Fili, Hafdis had been busy talking with Dis and occasionally nodding and agreeing when the King joined their conversation. It had been easy to pretend that her brother and cousin were not seated further down the table. And to see past the King and Dain would have required her to lean out, which would have been rude when Dis was being so kind and attentive. 

"I didn't notice," she said, stumbling over a step as she tried to keep up. "Slow down, Hafur. My legs aren't as long as yours. I didn't notice because I was concentrating on my table manners." Which was true. A place at the royal table in full view of the busy dining hall had been more intimidating than she'd imagined, and Dis was so delicate and graceful when she ate. Worried about looking like a fool, Hafdis had mirrored the princess as best she could and hadn't had time to fret about cousins or betrothals. 

"Table manners?" Still taking the steps two at a time, Hafur glowered over his shoulder. "And I shouldn't have been left in the dark. You should have come to me the moment Dain let you go. What were you thinking?” 

“I was thinking that I needed some air, to think about what to do, and then Dis was waiting for me, and—”

“You could have warned me!” At the top of the stairs, Hafur stopped and she slammed into him. “You could have excused yourself for a single moment from your precious Dis, long enough to knock on my door, and tell me.” 

It wouldn’t have been a single moment. Hafur would've taken forever and Dis would have left. “I couldn’t. She—”

“Stop it.” He shook her, his face dark. 

“Why are you so angry?” Hafdis twisted free. “You know now, and what difference would it have made?”

“What difference? He thought I knew, Hafdis. Because why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I have been involved? Or if, for some reason, I’m telling the truth and I wasn’t included in the meeting, and these are his words and not mine, then why wouldn’t my sister, who I am so close to, not have run to me and told me straight away?” Hafur scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you?”

“I told you. I didn’t get time. Dis was—”

“Dain summoned us, and Stonehelm thought it was about your betrothal to him. I thought it was about your betrothal to him. He was happy, making plans as we ran there. And then—” Meeting her eyes, Hafur’s mouth fell open. “No, Hafdis. You’re not thinking about it. You can’t.”

“You want me to say no to King Thorin?”

“I…” Huffing out a breath, Hafur’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.” 

“And neither do I,” Hafdis snapped as Hafur slumped against the stairwell wall, pressing his hands to his face. “I don’t want to marry anybody.” 

Behind his hands, Hafur made a muffled screaming noise and, despite herself, Hafdis’s lips quirked into a smile. 

“I know,” she said, as comfortingly as she could, and patted her brother’s shoulder. “We’ll think of something. We always do.” She glanced along the passageway that led to Thorin's chambers. “How annoyed is he?”

The happy feeling from lingering over breakfast with Dis had long faded. Even though she'd eaten less than she normally would, the food still sat in her stomach like a stone. Hafdis watched her cousin pace the length of his chambers. Thorin had to speak eventually. He hadn’t demanded their presence just so they could watch him stomp about all day. And, whatever it was he wanted to say, she wished he would just hurry up and get it over with because he was getting on her nerves. Then she and Hafur could go for a long, head-clearing ride and figure out a plan. She glanced at her brother beside her. Slouching in his chair, he looked relaxed with one hand swinging loosely by his side and the other twirling Fili’s runestone on the table, but she could see the muscles twitching in his jaw. Without turning her head, she knew Fraeg was lurking by the doors. Not that they needed to run, but she would be happier if he wasn’t there. Hidden by the table, she wiped sweaty hands on her dress.

The soft grinding noise of stone on wood every time Hafur spun the runestone was getting on her nerves too. Hafdis wound her damp fingers tightly together to stop herself from reaching out and smacking the stone out of his hand.

As she glared at Hafur and willed him to stop, she realised too late that something else had. The footsteps. Taking a deep breath, she looked up. Thorin gripped the table’s edge, with rage in his eyes and well within striking distance. Not that he would dare. She tilted her chin. “Yes, cousin?”

“You are to marry him!” 

Despite herself, Hafdis shrank back further in her chair and reached out under the table for the comfort of Hafur’s hand. “It’s not agreed yet. I haven’t said that—”

“It sounds like it has been agreed! Dain seems to think that it has all been arranged and that you are betrothed.” Stonehelm glared between her and Hafur. “He told me, smiling like the fool he is, as if he thought I would be happy.”

“Perhaps it’s not as bad as it seems,” said Hafur. Flipping the runestone into the air, he caught it and tucked it into his pocket before sitting up straight. “The last of the eastern lords are due to arrive in the next few days, and the trial will be set a few days from that. Opinion is very much against Fili, or so I’ve found because I’ve been speaking with the—”

“Dain seems to think that this betrothal will swing the lords in the traitor’s favour,” Thorin growled. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how he can still be loyal to them. How you” —he pointed at Hafdis and she shrank back further— “can be loyal to them.”

“She isn’t,” said Hafur quickly. “She’s loyal to you. We both are. But what can she do?” Hafur turned to smile at her, squeezing her fingers gently. “She can’t very well tell the king that she refuses to take his nephew, can she? She must accept.”

Hafdis blinked, pressing her lips together. So Hafur had a plan after all. Perhaps. As he squeezed her fingers again, harder this time, she dropped her eyes to her lap and told herself to follow his lead. 

“Fili will be tried,” continued Hafur, “and found guilty, and all will be well.” 

“You sound very certain,” grumbled Thorin. From under her eyelashes, Hafdis watched her cousin’s grip on the table edge loosen. 

Hafur laughed. “I am. How can I not be? Hafdis tells me he remembers nothing. How can he defend himself if he cannot even explain his motives? He will stand in front of them like a fool, looking as if he is hiding his guilt, and no amount of marriage proposals will make a difference to that.”

The silence thickened as Thorin returned to pacing. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Thorin muttered. “If, by some deviousness, his uncle can save him?”

“Then he will go to the cells, and the succession passes to Dain. To you. It can't be any other way.”

“Even if he walks free,” Hafdis began. She swallowed hard as Thorin turned his attention to her. Straightening her shoulders, and ignoring Hafur’s urgent tightening grip on her fingers, she continued, “Even if that should happen we have spoken, and I’ve told him that there will be no dwarflings. He has agreed to it.”

Close behind her, Fraeg snorted with laughter, and Thorin barked out a sharp laugh too. It echoed off the walls. “You’re a fool, Hafdis,” he said.

“No. He’s promised me. It will be a marriage of companionship, nothing more. We are to be friends.”

“And you believed him?”

Wriggling her fingers free from Hafur, whose squeezes were distracting her, Hafdis nodded. 

“Then you are even more naive than I thought you were,” Thorin spat. “Should you be wed, you will see what his promises to you are worth.” 

“His word means something to him,” said Hafur mildly, shooting her a warning glance. “If Hafdis doesn’t change her mind, I don’t believe he will force the issue.” 

“I won’t,” said Hafdis. 

They both ignored her. “You said yourself he was an animal, Hafur,” growled Thorin, slamming a hand against the table. “He’ll have her on her back with─”

“He knows that he will have me to deal with should he lay a single finger on her without her permission.” Hafur held Thorin’s gaze. “And Hafdis knows to come straight to me if she is ever frightened. So, you see, the succession will still be yours. You may just have to wait a little longer.”

Hafdis nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table as Thorin resumed his pacing. “And I believe he is telling me the truth. There will be no more heirs.” She laughed. “And you know what they say about that line, cousin. They are prone to getting themselves killed early. He’s shown more than enough signs of recklessness already.”

“That’s true,” said Hafur.  “I fully expect Hafdis will be playing the grieving widow well before her time. And you will play it beautifully, sister.”

Thorin’s steps slowed and he nodded. “And you will be free to marry once more.”

“That might look a little suspicious,” said Hafur. 

“I don’t believe it would.” The pacing began anew and they waited for what felt like an age before Thorin spoke again, “Fine. I agree.”

Hafdis let out a slow breath, an unexpected wave of relief rushing over her. She chanced a small grateful smile at Hafur. So that was the plan then. Unless Hafur had something else up his sleeve. Not ideal, but it would do. She could be a grieving widow, just like Dis. The thought of being comforted and looked after by the princess made her heart beat faster with excitement. And if she was distraught and in mourning, and claimed that she could never love again, Dis would protect her. There would be no more marriages. She would be free to do whatever she wanted.

“But he hasn’t accepted you, has he?” Thorin gave her an odd, calculating look. “Dain told me he refused initially, but that Thorin will talk him into it.” 

“He’ll accept,” laughed Hafur. “Of course he’ll accept. Why wouldn’t he have her?”

“We have to make sure he does,” said Thorin slowly. 

“I will.” Hafdis nodded. “He will. It’ll be fine. He won’t refuse me. Why would he? He thinks we’re friends. And he said it was my decision so I don’t think he cares much either way. He knows he has to marry someone.”

“No, that isn’t going to work.” Joining them at the table, Thorin dragged out a chair and sat opposite. His boot brushed her ankle as he settled. “If he walks away from this trial, which I agree we have to consider is a possibility, then we have to be clever. No matter what promises he’s made to you I don’t believe for a moment that he won’t want an heir.” 

He leant forward and Hafdis shuffled backward in her chair, pulling her feet underneath her. “But he—”

“So you have to make him want you instead.” The chair scraped against the flagstones as Thorin pushed it back and stood. 

“What?” Hafdis looked at Hafur. 

“Has he kissed you?” asked Thorin. 

The heat rose in her face. Feeling all eyes on her, Hafdis said, “What? No. Of course not.”

Thorin nodded. “Then you need to make him. If he’s agreed to your outrageous demands then the only possibility is that he doesn’t want you. You need to make him want you.”

Hafur opened his mouth but Thorin held up a hand and began another fast circuit of the chamber. On his return, he snapped his fingers at her. “Get up. Now.”

Reluctantly, she stood, shooting a worried glance at Hafur. Her brother shook his head slightly and she frowned at him, wishing they could speak freely.

“We’ve all heard the rumours about him,” began Thorin. 

Hafdis nodded. Of course she had. “I don’t think they are true though. He’s talked to me about loads of things so I think he would have mentioned if he had a—”

“Then you know what you need to do, and, for that, you need to practice. So, go on, choose.”

Choose what? Hafdis looked between Thorin and Hafur. “I don’t under—”

“Choose. You need to know what will happen when you kiss him so you don’t make a fool of yourself and have him put you aside. Go on. Quickly." He frowned. "I’m giving you the choice, Hafdis.”

“Stonehelm.” Hafur stood before she could speak, spreading his hands wide. “This is unnecessary. Mahal knows, I don’t like the thought of her being anywhere near the traitor, but if, as you say, she needs to...attract him in some way, which isn’t something as her brother I want to think about, then she can do it. She doesn’t need to—”

“Choose,”  Thorin’s voice was dark with menace. “Or I will choose for you.”

Her heart dropped to her boots. Desperately, Hafdis looked to Hafur. He sighed, passing a hand over his face, and his shoulders slumped. 

“Oh no, I don’t think so.” Thorin laughed. “No. You don’t choose your brother. What is wrong with you? It’s me or Fraeg.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Hafdis met Fraeg’s eyes and she shivered. “But surely it’s better, if I have to kiss him, and I don’t think I do, but if you say I must then I will, but I think it’s better that I don’t have any practice. He won’t be expecting me to know how to—”

She cried out, her hip banging painfully against the table, when Thorin grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. As she struggled to wrench herself free from his grip, Hafur shouted once from close behind her before falling silent. Twisting in Thorin’s grasp, her blood ran cold at the sight of Fraeg's thick arm wrapped around her brother, and a blade, pressed tight to Hafur's throat, that glimmered in the torchlight.

“Back to your seat, Hafur,” said Thorin, “and no sudden movements. You wouldn’t want Fraeg’s knife to slip, would you?”

Slowly, Hafur sat with his eyes fixed on her. 

Strong fingers grasped her chin and turned her head. Hafdis looked up into Thorin’s eyes, her heart pounding hard enough to burst. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to.”

“Now. How will he do it?” mused Thorin, smiling. “We know he’s an animal so I think…” With his hands on her shoulders, he spun her to face him and began to push her backward. Retreating before him and stumbling over her feet, Hafdis yelped when her head cracked against the rough stone of the chamber wall. 

“Please, Thorin,” she begged, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see Hafur. 

“Never call me that again.” Stroking her face with a thumbnail, he pressed his lips to hers. 

Hafdis froze as he increased the pressure. Her head pressed harder back against the wall uselessly. There was nowhere to go.  

“No, that’s no good at all,” Thorin murmured. “That won’t do.” His fingers dug roughly into her jaw. “You have to open your mouth to kiss properly. Don’t you know anything?”

With humiliated tears stinging her eyes, her fingers twitched by the knife on her belt. Slowly, despite her clenching her teeth together, he forced her jaw open and thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, making her want to retch. Hafdis clenched her legs together futilely as his thigh pushed between them. The hilt of his knife dug into her belly. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut when he caught hold of her hand and unfurled her clenched fist to press her palm against his laces. 

At last, he drew away. Fingers ghosted along her neck and across her collarbone, and Hafdis’s skin crawled in their wake. As he traced the neckline of her dress, she opened her eyes, fighting the urge to spit in an attempt to get rid of the taste of him. 

Still pressed against her, Thorin smiled. “This is for your own good, Hafdis, so you know what to expect. He won’t be nearly as gentle with you as I am. Not once you make him desire you as I do.” He raised his voice, “Isn’t that right, Hafur?”

Her brother didn’t reply. His face dark and his eyes flashing with fury. 

“Fraeg told me,” Thorin dropped his voice to a whisper, pushing her hand tighter against his laces. “He told me that this morning he saw you. The two of you caressing like lovers, like beasts in a field, and that was before this...proposal was even mentioned.”

“You told me to be friendly with him,” she whispered.

“You were promised to me. You made me believe that you loved me.”

Opening her mouth to tell him no, Hafdis thought better of it and concentrated on a spot on the far wall, over his shoulder, trying not to think about what was pressing against her hand or about the feel of his fingertips trailing over her skin. If she kept quiet this would be over soon and she and Hafur could go for a ride, and make a plan. They needed to make a plan. She blinked, cursing herself inwardly as a hot tear trickled down her cheek. 

“You’re a liar, Hafdis,” Thorin hissed. “And you’ve always been a liar. I can’t trust you. I don’t know where your loyalty lies any longer.”

“With you,” she managed, hating the crack in her voice. 

“With me? Does it?” 

He released her and Hafdis sagged against the wall in relief, her fingertips gripping the stone for support.

When she opened her eyes, Thorin was crouched in front of Hafur and digging into her brother’s pocket. Standing, Thorin turned and showed Hafdis the runestone. “I’ll be keeping this, as a reminder of where your loyalty should lie. In case you forget. Get out.”

Chapter Text

Hafdis waited at the end of the passageway for what felt like an eternity, but Hafur didn’t emerge from the room and she didn’t dare creep a step closer to listen. As she lingered, scrubbing at her lips with her sleeve, shaking like a frightened dwarfling outside her cousin’s rooms, it occurred to her that Hafur had no plan. There was only Thorin’s plan. 

She barely realised that she was walking away, her steps echoing faster and faster as the thoughts crowded her head. There was no clever way out. They were trapped like rats in a cage. He’d held a knife to her brother's throat, he’d threatened them. And, if her big brother, the one she'd always relied on, couldn't help her, then she had to help him, and that meant doing exactly what Thorin wanted, quickly, before their cousin changed his mind. 

Almost at a run, and with her heart hammering in her ears, Hafdis hurried across what felt like all of Erebor, searching the training hall, the hunting passage, everywhere she could think of. She even went to his rooms, and asked the amused guards if they knew where he was. Desperate, she checked Odr’s pen, upsetting her boy by not lingering for more than a quick scratch behind the ears, and was searching the ramparts and planning to find Dis instead when she bumped into Bofur. He’d pointed her in the right direction, and she’d picked up her skirts, and ran. If Bofur had looked amused she hadn’t noticed. 

And now here she was. Smoothing down her skirts and her hair, and trying to steady her ragged breathing, Hafdis glared along the final walkway that led toward the huge gates of the forges. He had to be here. If he wasn’t she would go straight to Dis, or even unannounced to King Thorin himself. Not to Dain. She no longer knew where her uncle stood. If her cousin changed his mind and was even now speaking to her uncle, then who knew what might happen? She needed the Durins. The thought chilled her blood, despite the waves of heat rolling along the walkway. 

The forges were a hive of activity and as she stepped through the gates in her bright dress she knew that she drew eyes. Dwarves at anvils and fires stopped their work to watch her pass. Hafdis quickened her steps, cursing the silly slippers, and resisting the urge to run once again. Avoiding meeting their curious eyes, she tilted her chin and looked straight ahead, gripping her skirts to stop herself from reaching to adjust the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t low. It wasn’t anywhere close to indecent, she knew that, but her mind was itching at her and telling her otherwise. 

She should have spared a few moments to go to her chambers and change. She felt...unclean. As if something was creeping and crawling, writhing, beneath her skin. As if his fingertips had left a trail of something slimy and wrong and she longed to scrub all trace of him away before it could spread. 

But this wasn’t going to make her feel any better. She could have a hot bath later. Piping hot. 

And she would burn her dress. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away. Even though the dress was the one Dis had picked out for her, and said that she particularly liked. She’d burn it to ash. 

By the furthest corner of the forges, she spotted him. Amongst the sea of dark and red-haired dwarves, his hair shone golden in the light of the fires as he stood at an anvil with a hammer in hand. But he wasn’t alone. She stopped, watching as he laughed with someone who had their back to her. Drifting closer, she recognised the ridiculous spikes of hair. Nori. 

Fili's eyes met hers over Nori’s shoulder, and when he frowned she almost turned and ran. 

“Hafdis?” Tossing the hammer onto a bench, Fili grabbed his tunic, pulling it over his head as he strode toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I—” As Fili touched her forearm, the words dried in her mouth. Hafdis forced a smile. “What are you making?” 

“He’s making dwarfling cages,” said Nori, joining them. 

“Cribs,” added Fili when she frowned. He took his hand away from her. “There are plenty in Erebor but, understandably, some families would prefer newly made. Nori is helping.”

“Helping?” Nori laughed. “I’m keeping him company.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, “I have no skill in a forge.”

“Me neither.” Hafdis lied. She looked up at Fili, willing herself to say the words and follow through on the plan. “Can I speak with you for a moment? Alone?” 

He glanced at Nori who shrugged and said with laughter in his voice, “Go on, Fili. I’ll chaperone from away over here. If Thorin appears I’ll throw a hammer or something to warn you both.”

There were no side chambers on this level but there was a shadowy space out of the way behind one of the wide staircases. Hafdis glanced around as Fili led her toward it. They would be hidden from all but the most determined prying eyes, and the noise of the forges would mask any conversation. It would do. 

In the darkest corner, Fili leant against the wall and crossed his arms, waiting for her to speak. 

“Why weren’t you at the hall for breakfast?” Her voice was shrill in her ears, and it wasn’t the best of starts, but it was as good a place as any to begin. If he’d been at breakfast then maybe Dis would have invited her to join them afterward. If he’d been at breakfast maybe they would have gone and seen Odr again, or anything, and Hafur wouldn’t have been able to stop her. 

A faint smile spread across Fili’s face. “I didn’t realise that I needed to report my wherea—” The smile disappeared. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Hafdis concentrated on keeping her voice friendly rather than accusing. “Your amad invited me to sit with you all, and there was a seat beside me for you but…” She swallowed. “Everyone was looking at me.”

Fili grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mind,” she said quickly. “I was worried, that’s all.”

He was frowning again. “Worried?”

“A little.” Her mind spun. She should have planned what she was going to say. “This morning, what your uncle said, it was a surprise, and I was scared you might…” 

She’d no idea what she might have been scared of but Fili seemed content to fill in the rest of her thoughts himself, as she'd hoped. He dropped his eyes to the floor and she watched him as his fingers twitched, knowing that he was searching for something to fiddle with. A rock, a loose thread — a shiver ran down her back — a runestone. 

“You don’t need to be scared, Hafdis.” Continuing to avoid her eyes, Fili dragged his hands through his hair and directed his words to his boots. “I’m… I don’t know what happened that night, after Buvro, at the mineshaft, but I won’t do it again, I promise. You have my word. I think… I believe I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Perfect. Hafdis stepped closer, pasting an earnest expression on her face. “You know that you can come to me if you ever feel like that again?” 

“Thank you.” Despite the darkness in their corner, his face flushed a bright red when he looked up. “I will, I swear.” He smiled, although to Hafdis’s eyes it was weak and shaky. “I’ve promised almost everyone else in this mountain the same thing, so it’s only fair I make the same one to you.”

She waited, as much for inspiration as anything. 

“After we parted this morning, I thought about what you said.” This time the smile touched Fili’s eyes. “You'd asked when I intended to tell Gimli. And I reconsidered, because I didn’t want him to find out through rumour, so I went to find him.” He shrugged. “It took longer than I expected, and then we went to see Ori together. That’s why I missed breakfast.” 

“It took longer than you expected to find him?”

“No.” Fili looked beyond her, out over the forges, as if searching for someone. “I found him quickly enough.”

So Gimli had been difficult. Hafdis smothered the smile that threatened to creep across her face. She’d expected as much. “He doesn’t approve,” she said in a low, quavering voice. 

“No.” Fili’s eyes snapped back to her and he closed the distance between them, taking her hand. “No, I mean, of course he approves.”

Hafdis sighed heavily. “It’s fine, I know he doesn’t like me. We haven’t been friends like we used to be since the day that you—” Clapping her free hand to her mouth, she widened her eyes and added quickly, “I meant…since I left Erebor.”

His brow furrowed and he gently pulled her hand from her mouth, holding them both in his and staring down at her upturned wrists as if searching for answers written there. At last, he said, “Gimli is your friend, of course he is. He’s just concerned about me, the trial, and then a betrothal on top of it being too much.” He shook his head. “Gimli feels that he must be not only my cousin and my guard, but also my brother, perhaps even my adad. He tries to counsel me as if he’s older and wiser, despite there being twenty years between us.”

Watching him through her eyelashes and knowing he was looking at her for a response, Hafdis pretended to hide a smile. 

“Gimli wants things to go back to how they were.” Fili released her hands. “He longs for adventure, and for the days when we—” He shook his head. 

“He misses Kili,” she added, filling in the obvious. It always circled around to Kili. Always. He was so predictable. 

Fili smiled, his eyes sparkling, as if surprised yet pleased that she understood. “He does. Terribly, although he has never admitted it outright to me. They were always close, and I am only a very poor substitute for my little brother.” Another shrug. “And I think Gimli will never forgive us for seeing a dragon or having fought in a battle. Or even for being imprisoned by elves. He has no comprehension of what danger actually means, or what adventures can cost. I believe he thinks marriage, to anyone, would chain me to Erebor and keep us from the exciting travels that he feels we are destined to have. He hasn’t come to terms yet that all has already changed.” 

“I don’t blame him for wanting adventure,” she said, smiling brightly up at him. 

Fili grinned, relaxing back against the wall. “I know. You’re the same. I expect that you would like to visit the far southern lands to track Oliphaunts, or travel to the northern wastes, or whatever wild ideas Gimli might come up with.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Once, I would have. But Erebor brings us peace, and stability, and a chance to rebuild.” His eyes drifted out over the busy forges and he spoke as if to himself, “That has to be worth more.”

“It is,” she said earnestly. Whatever Gimli had tried to dissuade him with, or whatever they’d spoken to Ori about, it didn’t matter. This was the plan, and this was the perfect opening. And if it irritated Gimli then that was only one more good reason to go through with it. A reason that would be just for her, to make her happy rather than please anyone else. Hafdis sucked in a breath. “Erebor is all that matters, and I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided.” 

“Decided?” Fili stood straighter. 

“Yes.” Hafdis nodded. “If you swear to me that you are true to your word, I will marry you.”

“I—” He swallowed hard, his face paling. “I thought you intended to take some time to consider?”

Had she misjudged? Hafdis was certain her face had paled too. Despite the heat, a chill settled deep in her bones. “You don’t want to marry me?”

“I didn’t expect you to reach a decision so soon, that’s all. I’m… surprised. Marriage has been the furthest thing from my mind recently, and I’m sure the thought hadn’t once crossed yours. Not a marriage to me anyway.” Fili frowned as he continued, “But I meant what I said. Every word of it. I don’t make promises idly, and I don’t break them.”

“Will you swear it? That everything you said to me was true?”

“If you wish.”

“On your brother’s life.”

Fili’s face darkened before he nodded. “If that is what you ask of me, then I swear it.”

“Fine. Then you may kiss me.” Hafdis closed her eyes. The pounding and banging from the forges faded away, replaced by the pounding of her heart as she braced herself, her breaths coming quick and shallow when his clothing rustled. He’d moved closer. She knew he had. Squeezing her eyes tighter closed, she willed herself to stay calm and to give every pretence of enjoying it. Would he expect her to touch him? Or should she wait for him to take her hand and place it against him as Thorin had? She didn’t know. 

Another soft footstep. She waited, dreading the feel of another tongue probing her mouth, and forced herself to unclench both her jaw and her fists. Rapid heartbeats ticked by and yet he still didn’t touch her, but she could feel him standing right in front of her. She could hear him breathing. She huffed out a breath of her own. This was torture. 

She hated him. 

At last, at the limits of her endurance, there was a gentle press of lips, and a scratch of what she could only assume was the stubble of his beard, against her forehead. 

“Open your eyes, Hafdis,” he whispered, his breath stirring the loose hairs that had worked their way free of the braids looped over her ear. “Please.”

She didn’t want to but if that was what he wanted to get it over with. 

Fili smiled at her. 

“Please just hurry up and kiss me,” she said. 

“I just did.”

“That wasn’t a kiss.” 

“It was.” The smile faded slowly and Fili shook his head. “I’m not sure what you were expecting me to do, Hafdis, but that was a kiss. It was. We don’t need to do anything more than that.”

She stared at him. 

“If you are agreeing to this marriage,” continued Fili. “Then let’s agree to it on the same terms that we discussed, and not muddy the waters between us. Friendship and companionship are all that I will ever ask of you. If the trial goes well, and you are still willing afterward, then we can tell our uncles.”

He didn’t want her. No matter what he'd promised, he intended to set her aside. The world span and Hafdis thought she might be sick. He would set her aside and her cousin would be displeased, or pleased, and she didn’t know which was worse. 

“Besides.” Fili smiled again, a teasing look in his eyes. “You look as if you’re either going to stab me or burst into tears, or both. And either would bring Nori over here, and I’d have a lot of explaining to do.”

She tried to force a smile, her mind whirling desperately.  

Fili’s face twisted in sympathy and she stiffened when he touched her shoulder. “Please don’t cry,” he said. “It’s been a long day, Hafdis. You’ve had a lot to take in, and I think you—”

“We should go and tell them now.”

He blinked and stepped back, as stunned as if she had pulled a blade on him. 

“King Thorin,” she added. “And Dain.” If they both knew and it was all agreed and announced formally then he couldn’t set her aside or change his mind. If they both knew then it may as well be written in blood. It would be unbreakable.

“No. We should wait until after the—”

“I don’t want to.” Hafdis let the tears that were threatening fall. Her voice shook as she continued, “I’ve thought about nothing else and you’re my friend and if Uncle Dain thinks it might help, then why wait? They could announce it in the morning. Or tonight.” The sooner the better. Dis was a powerful friend, Hafur had said that, and Hafdis could only hope it were true. 

“Help?” Fili sounded distracted, looking as if he were torn between wiping away her tears and running for the Blue Mountains. “Help how?”

“With the trial.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Where did you hear that?”

“I…” Hafdis felt the blood drain from her face, remembering too late that it had been a private conversation between Hafur, Thorin, and Dain. “I know my uncle, that’s all. I know how he thinks.”

“I can’t let you—”

“Unless you don’t want to be tied to me,” she said quickly. Another tear trickled down her cheek. “You said that I would be tied to you, but you would also be tied to me. And after the trial you might want to marry someone...better.”

“Please. Don’t cry.” He winced, shifting closer, his hands hovering above her forearms. “Please.”

“I know that you don’t want me—”

He hushed her, his hair suddenly about her face as he pulled her into a hug. Trapped within arms that she suddenly realised were stronger than hers would ever be, and with their bodies pressed tight together, Hafdis forced herself to take a shaky breath. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Resting her forehead against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. Bile burned in her throat, her stomach roiling, as the scent of his stale sweat mingled with the hot metallic fumes from the forges.

“Hafdis, I promise you there’s no one in this mountain I would rather marry.” Pulling back enough to look her in the eye, Fili gave her a small smile. “No other dwarf I’m even thinking about. But I’m concerned about you. I feel like you haven’t given this enough proper thought, or any proper thought. You’re giving up your entire future, and I fear your future happiness, to try and help me. Which I appreciate, I do, you’re a good friend, but this is a situation I’ve got myself into and I’ve only myself to blame for it.” 

She sniffed as he brushed the tears away with his thumb, freezing when he cupped her jaw. Her heart beat a tattoo in her throat. No. He'd promised he wouldn’t kiss her. She wasn’t ready. 

“I think you should sleep on it tonight,” Fili said. “It won’t make a difference, and we can talk again when you’re rested and—”

She shook her head, letting out a breath when he released her and stepped away. 

“You are certain?” he asked. 

When she nodded he smiled faintly, holding out his hand to her. “Then let’s go tell Thorin.”

The forges were deafening. Gimli strode along the gaps between the work areas, stopping every few yards to make way for the smiths that hurried back and forth, carrying hunks of metal or hauling huge bags of fuel for the fires over their shoulders. Already, his heavy winter guard uniform was sticking to him. At a nearby bench a dwarf he didn’t recognise raised a hand, calling out his name, and Gimli nodded back, raising a hand in return and indicating that he really couldn’t stop. 

Moving on quickly, he tried to place the dwarf’s face. Maybe some friend of Gloin’s? Or maybe someone he’d spoken to once at a gathering and forgotten? Who knew. Being family to the Heroes of Erebor, and wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard, meant a lot more dwarves knew his name than he did theirs, leading to all sorts of awkwardness and bluffing. Better to disappear into the crowd. 

And, in truth, he was much too busy to talk. Under the circumstances of his cousin actually considering something so monumentally stupid as marriage to Hafdis, Molir had allowed him an extra hour off, and he needed to use it wisely. Not waste it chit-chatting with random strangers. Gimli stopped and stood on tiptoe, peering all about. Where in Durin’s name was Fili? And how did anyone work for hours in this noise and heat? And look so comfortable? How was nobody collapsed face-down in a puddle of their own sweat? Or even red-faced? He’d taken his turn at home as soon as he was of age, they all had — although admittedly he and Kili had dodged their shifts at every opportunity —  but the forges of Ered Luin were nothing like this. He couldn’t understand why Fili came here so often and so willingly. It was as if he were being bathed in dragonfire. 

At last, he spotted someone he knew, although of all the dwarves in Erebor it was the last one he expected to see. Trotting across to where Nori was packing up a bench at the furthest end of the forges, Gimli glanced around furtively. Once he was certain his back was to most of the burly smiths, he tugged at his collar to loosen it, gathered up his beard, and attempted to blow some cool air down his chest. Mahal’s balls, but it was hot. 

“Gimli, my lad.” Nori waved at him. “Am I glad to see you. Give us a hand, I have no idea where anything goes.”

He was glad to see Nori too. Mainly because Nori’s face was glistening with sweat and his hair was wilting, falling out of its ties and flopping down around his face. At least someone was suffering worse than him. 

“Although maybe you should have a sit down first,” added Nori. “You look like one of those beets Bard's folk send up from Dale.”

Maybe he wasn't glad to see Nori after all. Gimli lifted a hammer from the bench and looked around for somewhere to tidy it away to. “Is Fili about?” 

“You missed him.”

There was a box by the open doors of the closest forge fire. Unwilling to get any closer to the heat, Gimli tossed the hammer underarm, feeling the thrill of victory when it bounced in, clanging against other tools. Probably other tools anyway. It would do. He turned back to Nori. “Where’d he go?”

Some scraps of metal lay scattered on the bench. They could be tidied into the box too. Gimli picked one, and took a few steps back to make the throw more of a challenge. 

“Away to see Thorin,” said Nori. 

He should probably head back to Molir then. Thorin would keep Fili for hours most likely and there was no point wasting his precious leisure time hanging about here. Gimli eyed the distance to the box and swapped the metal to his left hand. He was almost as good with his left as with his right, but again, it was a bit more of a challenge. He lined up the shot. 

“With Hafdis,” added Nori. 

The metal clanged off the forge door. Gimli swore and spun on his heel. “What? Why?”

Nori was leaning against the opposite bench, fanning himself with a book, and not making any pretence at helping to tidy up. “They left hand in hand so I’m guessing that they’ve got some happy news to share.” Nori stopped fanning and frowned. “You do know, don’t you?”

“Of course, Fili told me first.” Maybe. His cousin could have told him earlier but Fili hadn’t really had a chance since Hafdis had insisted on coming to the hunting passage with them. Gimli crossed his arms. “He told me at breakfast.”

The guards hadn’t been expecting a royal visit. With Molir, Fraeg, and the other captains safely on duty, and the royal family and all the other mountain dignitaries supposed to be dining, the guard room had been relaxed and raucous. They'd all been enjoying some entertainment over their own breakfasts when Fili walked in. One of Dain’s guards had been midway through a side-splittingly, and probably accurate, impression of Dain visiting the stonemasons the day before when he’d spotted the prince. Choking on his ale as he tried to change the story to something less…well, less likely to end him up in the mines. 

Gimli had never seen the guard room clear so quickly, and he’d gotten a lot of filthy looks as if it had been his fault. 

“But nothing’s to be agreed until after the trial?” Gimli turned about, hoping his cousin would leap out from behind a bench, or out of a dark corner, claiming that this was a fine joke. He’d murder him. “Fili said that it was only an idea.” He thought he had time. 

“Thorin says he’s to be married, Gimli,” said Nori gently. “It’s a little more than an idea. It's a command. And, by the looks of things, Fili and Hafdis are settled on it.”

“But… he can’t.”

“They looked nervous, but content enough.” Nori returned to fanning himself. “It’ll be a good distraction from the trial for him. I know you’re not keen on—”

“Not keen? I'm not keen?” Gimli glanced around, and lowered his voice, “She tried to kill him.”

Nori stopped mid-fan and set the book down. “Gimli—”

“She did. I know she did.” Rushing forward, Gimli grabbed Nori's arm. “We have to stop it.”

“Gimli,” Nori’s voice was whip-sharp. “Who else have you told about this?”

Gimli looked out across the forge floor, trying to work out the fastest way to Thorin’s chambers. “Nobody. How long ago did they leave?”

“Too long ago for whatever you’re thinking. Lad, listen to me. You have precisely no proof except for what you’ve conjured up in your mind, and I’ve told you before, you cannot go to Thorin, or Fili, or anyone, and throw out accusations of—”

“I know. I know.” Releasing Nori, Gimli paced between the forge and the bench. Too hot. He couldn’t think. Slamming the forge door closed to shut off the heat from the flames, his eyes fell on the scrap of metal by his boot. Long and pointy. Pointy enough to wiggle in a lock. “They’ll be with Thorin for ages.”

“What?” Nori gestured at his ear. 

Swiping up the metal scrap, Gimli rushed back, waving it triumphantly. “Thorin will keep them there, to celebrate.”

Nori shook his head. “I’m not following you. You’ll have to be clearer.”

“You want proof,” said Gimli. He slapped the metal down onto the bench. “Then we’ll get proof.”

Chapter Text

Despite the clamour of the forges, and despite the fact that no one should be able to hear them, they were drawing looks. Why was everyone in Erebor so infernally nosy? Gimli scowled at the nearby dwarves who were shooting them curious glances, and waited for Nori to stop laughing. 

After what felt like a thousand years, Nori leant back against the bench, wiping at his eyes. “No.” 

“Please, Nori.” At a time like this, Gimli wasn’t above begging. “You have to come with me. I don’t have much time until I need to get back to Molir, and I don’t know how to pick a lock.”

Frowning, Nori’s good humour drained away. “And I do?” He crossed his arms. “I’d still like to know who’s been feeding you stories about me. This is madness, lad. When’s the last time you were out of this mountain?”

They were wasting precious moments arguing when they should be turning her rooms upside down. “It's nothing to do with the gold,” said Gimli. “Come with me and we’ll just take a look. If she’s left her door unlocked then she’s nothing to hide.”

“Fili had gone by the time you woke up this morning? Yes? To meet with Hafdis?”

Gimli tilted his chin. “So I’ve heard.” And the next time Fili tried to sneak off in the middle of the night, he was going to get a surprise for Gimli intended to tie a bell to him. Several bells, and maybe even a good solid chain locked to the bedpost for good measure. What had his cousin been thinking secretly meeting with her? “But I don’t see how that’s relevant to anyth—”

“It’s relevant for two reasons. One” —Nori held up a finger— “is that he wishes to spend time with Hafdis. Voluntarily. They’re friends, or so it would appear to me. That’s an important reason and I’d like you to remember it.”

“But that’s only because he doesn’t know that she’s a—”

“And two.” Nori raised another finger. “And this one’s important as well. Did you leave Fili’s door unlocked when you left?”

“That’s…not the point.”

“Because I certainly didn’t leave mine unlocked,” continued Nori, patting his pocket. “I’ve got my key right here.”

“That’s not the point either.” Gimli stepped forward and grabbed Nori’s arm, lowering his voice in the way Thorin did when he was asking nicely for you to do something, “Please, I’m asking you to help me.”

“And I’m telling you, for your own good, to take a moment and think. What’s your plan? Ransack her room in the hopes of finding, what, a written confession?”

“No.” A journal was too much to hope for, Gimli knew that. He let Nori go and sighed. 

“Go for a walk, Gimli,” said Nori. “I’ll finish up here. Why don’t you head out to the ramparts, sit down and have a smoke? Have a break before you go back to your duties?”

“Fine. Fine.” Searching his belt and pockets, Gimli pulled out his smallest knife. He examined the tip, and considered the shard of metal lying on the floor and the others scattered on the bench. No, the knife would do. “Then I’ll go myself. Will this work?”

“How would I know?” 

“Fine. Then don’t help me.” Gimli put the knife away and lifted the narrowest shard from the bench, tucking it carefully into a pocket, just in case. “I’ll manage all on my own. I expect I’ll get caught, and Gloin will be disgraced, and I’ll be up on trial beside Fili.” He spun on his heel. “Farewell.”

“Farewell, lad,” called Nori. 

He’d marched out from the forges in a fury, but now, as he stuck to the quieter passageways and took a meandering route toward Hafdis’s chambers, Gimli wasted time dawdling, hoping to hear Nori's running footsteps behind him. Climbing one of the narrow, unlit staircases that would bring him out near Dain’s family quarters, he glanced over his shoulder one more time and fingered the metal shard in his pocket. Nothing. 

Fine. He’d do it himself. How hard could it be anyway?

The passageway he stepped out into was torchlit but reassuringly empty. Gimli straightened his uniform and his shoulders and brushed away the thought that he should be hooded and cloaked. The bright Durin uniform was fine. It wasn’t as if anyone wouldn’t recognise him a mile off anyway, and if anyone asked he could say he was visiting Hafdis and Hafur to offer his congratulations. Creeping along the passage, he stopped in a shadowy spot between the torches and waited, watching the end of the passageway where it intersected with the main one. 

Once he’d slowly counted to a hundred and still no one patrolled past, Gimli strolled to the end and peeped out. Voices echoed along the passageway, followed by a peal of loud laughter, and Gimli grinned. Guards, doing what guards did best when their royal charges weren’t in their rooms and weren’t likely to be back anytime soon. A few games of cards and an illicit smoke or two whiled away the slow hours much better than stomping up and down empty thoroughfares. Perfect. That meant Dain and his sharp-eyed, rat-faced son weren’t about at least. Gimli’s shoulders relaxed and he snuck down the wide corridor, turning down the side passage that led to Hafur and Hafdis’s rooms. 

Hafur’s was first. Pressing an ear to the door, Gimli held his breath to listen better. And almost leapt out of his skin at a touch on his shoulder. 

“I’ve checked already.” Nori jerked his head. “Come on.”

With his heart pounding, Gimli crept down the passageway after Nori. “Where in Durin’s name did you spring from?” he whispered. 

“I’ve been waiting on you,” said Nori, pulling a pouch from an inner pocket. Torchlight caught on a line of shiny tools as he unrolled the pouch. “Thought, well, hoped, you’d changed your mind, but turns out you’re as stubborn and single-minded as Gloin. I should have known better. Ah, here we are. Keep an eye out.” He knelt, his hair blocking Gimli’s view. 

With a click, the door swung open and Nori stood, raising an eyebrow. “You were keeping an eye out?”

“Both of them.”

“Not being nosy?”

Gimli did his best to look offended but Nori paid no attention and shoved him inside, stopping to take a last look both ways down the passage before closing the door.  The lock clicked again as he fiddled with it. 

“You’re locking us in?” asked Gimli. 

“Some rules before we start,” said Nori, tucking the tool back into the pouch and the pouch into his pocket before Gimli could get a proper look at it. “We do this quick. Quick but careful. If you pick up anything, it gets put back exactly as you found it. And I do mean exactly. In the same place, as if you had never touched it. One room at a time. We’ll start in here.” He waved a hand around the antechamber. “And we keep to a system. Walls first. You go that way and I’ll go this way and we meet in the middle. Then we'll search the middle together. Watch out for dust.”

His heart was beating fast and Gimli itched to get going. He looked around the chamber. It was laid out similar to the other royal apartments, although on a much smaller scale. Comfortable armchairs in a semicircle around a large fireplace, a long table for entertaining guests, and a succession of smaller tables, bookcases, and cabinets around the walls. So many places to hide all sorts of incriminating evidence. And there was something here, he could just feel it in his bones. Nori was frowning at him and Gimli nodded. “I know. Fingerprints.”

“And bootprints. I mean it, Gimli. Quick and careful.” 

Even though he knew it was the right thing to do, poking through Hafdis’s things still felt strange. Being careful to follow Nori’s instructions, Gimli worked his way along the wall, checking drawers and trying to replace all the knick-knacks and weapons that were jumbled together inside exactly, or at least roughly, where he had found them. It was a series of flickers of hope followed by small disappointments. 

Lifting the corner of a tapestry to check the wall behind, he held his breath in anticipation, not sure what he was expecting but certain that this time there would be something… and nothing. Again. He dropped the tapestry and huffed out a breath. Nothing after nothing after nothing. Moving on, he stopped at an ornate cabinet. The drawers were almost empty and he pulled each one out in turn, dumping the contents on top of the cabinet so he could better shake the drawers and check for false bottoms. With the drawers stacked on the floor, he shoved his hand into the gap they'd left and felt about, hoping for a hidden parchment or a clue and finding nothing but a rough wooden back and a lot of splinters. 

Sucking one of the splinters from the pad of his thumb, he replaced the drawers and their contents before lifting a small trinket box that sat in pride of place on top of the cabinet. He poked through it, leaning against the cabinet, while he watched Nori work his way at speed through a narrow bookcase. One book after another was pulled out, flipped through, and replaced with practised ease. And Nori was almost halfway around his side of the room. They wouldn’t be meeting anywhere near the middle if he didn’t hurry up. 

“How many times have you done this sort of thing?” he asked. 

Seemingly not listening, Nori pursed his lips before rearranging some of the books, tugging on a spine to pull one further forward, then pushing it back to maybe a fraction of where it was originally. 

"You're the one who said we had to be quick but you've spent ages fussing with that," said Gimli. 

Nori stepped back, tapping his lip as he studied the bookcase before beginning to fiddle with the books again. 

Since Nori still didn’t seem to be paying attention, Gimli added, "I don't even know what books are in our room, never mind what order they're in on a shelf."

“You'd be surprised what folk notice.” Nori knelt, looking under the bookcase before beginning on the bottom shelf. “Concentrate.”

Rolling his eyes, Gimli turned back to the trinket box. A tangle of half-made fletchings, necklaces, and earrings were all bundled up carelessly together and he tipped them out onto the top of the cabinet to better sift through them. Nothing. Holding the trinket box to his ear, he tapped it all over in the hope of finding a false bottom or secret compartment but that led nowhere either. He sighed heavily, sweeping all the belongings back in and turned, hands on hips, to scowl around the room. Nori’s pernickety way was taking too long. They wouldn't be done by nightfall at this rate.

“We need to think like her,” Gimli said. “If you were a murderous viper, where would you hide your proof?”

“Was this earring on the floor?” asked Nori, joining him at the cabinet. 

Gimli looked down between his boots. A jewel twinkled back at him from between two flagstones. He glanced at the trinket box. “Yes?”

“Gimli,” Nori said. “What did I tell you? Now, think, are you certain?”

“Of course, I’m certain.” He would have felt it drop. Or heard it. His ears were as keen as a fox's. Keener, most likely. 

Nori sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll finish here. You start on the bedchamber, and I’ll join you after I’ve searched the bathroom.”

“Why would she hide it in the bathroom?”

“Why do people hide anything anywhere?” Nori shoved Gimli in the direction of the two doors at the far side of the antechamber. “Get on with it.”

On the way, Gimli passed the table. One of the chairs had a harness, presumably belonging to her pig, hanging over it. He lifted it and gave it a shake just in case, checked under the seat cushion, then felt about under the chair. As he toed up the edge of the large rug that lay beneath the table, Nori called his name.

“Lad,” said Nori, sounding exasperated. “Go and do what I told you to do.” 

“Fine. Fine.” Gimli stomped on toward the doors. One was ajar and he could see straight away that it was the bedchamber. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open to step inside. This room was crammed full of hiding places too and his heart lifted once more. Three trunks, two wardrobes, and a smattering of small cupboards lined the walls. And a large bed was in the centre of the room, its headboard pushed up against the far wall. He decided to start there.  

The bed was made, with a towel discarded on top of it. Lifting the towel, Gimli dropped it again quickly. It was damp. The thought that it had been wrapped around her made him feel a little uneasy and he wiped his hands on his trousers. 

No. This was the right thing to do. For Fili. He shook out his hands and rolled his shoulders. Where to start? 

Lifting the pillows and bedcovers to check underneath them felt odd too. And, disappointingly, there was no sign of a journal tucked in her bed. Gimli bit back a growl of frustration. He wanted to just find the proof and get out of here, and forget he’d ever been. He checked under the mattress, carefully remaking the bed, then knelt to look into the narrow space between the bedframe and floor. It badly needed to be swept but nothing but dust lived underneath. More disappointment. And a bejewelled box sitting pride of place on the bedside table was stuffed full of nothing more exciting that more necklaces and sparkly earrings. How much adornment did one dwarf need? And he could barely remember Hafdis wearing any of them. 

With his spirits sinking further, Gimli trailed around the walls, pressing at the joins between the stones and the stones themselves. It wasn’t likely that any of them were false, even Hafdis wouldn't be digging holes in Thorin's mountain, but he needed to check. For who knew what cunning tricks the dwarves of the Iron Hills were capable of? 

It wasn’t that he was putting off opening the wardrobes or any of the trunks. 

He wandered to the door and poked at the door panels in the hope one might spring free and reveal a treasure trove of proof. Again, he’d never heard of such a thing but you never knew. 

Peering around the door, his heart lifted to see that Nori wasn't in the antechamber. “Nori?” he called hopefully. 

“Nearly done,” came an answering hiss from the bathroom. “How are you getting on?” 

“Haven’t found anything yet.” Gimli moved on. A warg head stared glassy-eyed at him from the wall above the bed and Gimli was struck by sudden inspiration. Hurrying across the room, he wiped his feet on the bedside rug and hopped up onto the bed. Close up, the warg was even uglier and Gimli ignored its reproachful look to check inside its open jaws and torn ears, running his fingers over the dusty fur before cautiously moving it to one side on its hook. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. 

And Nori was taking forever. Gimli jumped off the bed and straightened the bedcovers once more, tugging them back and forth to try and get them exactly as Hafdis had left them. Not that anyone, except perhaps Nori, would ever notice an extra or one less wrinkle. He sighed and gave them a final yank. It'd do.

Fili had better appreciate this. 

Still no Nori, and he'd run out of other places to check. Huffing out another deep sigh, he made his slow way to the nearest trunk and opened the lid. And closed it again. 

Mahal. 

No.

Nori sauntered in. “So, what’s left in here to check?” 

“This.” Gimli took a step back from the trunk. “This one needs checked…and the wardrobes, and some other places. Since I know what's left to do it's easier, and quicker, much quicker, if I do them and you” —he gestured at the trunk and retreated further— “start on this one. When you're finished let me know and I'll tell you what to do next.”

Nori raised an eyebrow. “Why? What’s in that one?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t looked.”

He’d barely made it two steps toward the nearest wardrobe when he heard the creak of the trunk being opened followed by Nori's snort of laughter behind him. “Get back here.”

“We’ve no time, Nori. You said it yourself.”

“And this was all your fine idea,” said Nori. “So you get to go through this one.”

He couldn’t do it. Turning, Gimli stared sadly at the trunk full of underclothes and shook his head. “I—”

Nori heard it too. The rattle of a key in the lock and voices. Hafdis, and, oh Mahal, Hafur. Gimli stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Nori. 

Silently, Nori closed the trunk lid and signed for Gimli to hide.  

‘Where?’ Gimli signed back frantically. 

But Nori was already moving. Gimli watched him race for the bed, fall to his belly and slither underneath. As Gimli moved to follow, he stopped. It was too narrow. He knew it was. Nori, with his scrawny limbs and barely any muscle since he never bothered himself going to the training hall, could fit, maybe even Fili would be able to fit, at a push, since his cousin was narrower front to back, but there was no way he could. 

He'd never regretted inheriting his adad's frame so much. Bulk and muscle were all very well, being shaped exactly as a dwarf should be shaped was all very well, he was very proud of how he looked, but not right now. 

Right now, he wished for a leaner build like his cousins. Because, even if Fili might have some trouble, Kili would have been able to slip under the bed with no issues. Gimli took back every name he'd ever called his cousins back in the Blue Mountains. In fact, if Kili were here in front of him, he'd say sorry for all the skinny elf jokes and apologise. Because right now, Gimli would happily give an arm to be half the dwarf he actually was.

Gimli blinked and gave himself a shake. Right now, he was panicking. 

“Nori,” he hissed, spinning around. Panicking wasn't helpful, because panicking was going to get him into real trouble. He could panic as much as he liked once he was safely hidden somewhere. So, where to hide? Behind the door? But if she came into the bedchamber and closed it… Why was there no windows? Not that he’d fit out any of the arrow slit windows in Erebor either. He'd get his shoulders stuck and be discovered, waggling his legs, half-in and half-out, and it was all sheer drops down the mountain anyway. Not much point in a daring escape if all it meant was smashing face-first into a rock a thousand screaming yards below. 

And there wasn't even a window. What was he doing? Apart from not thinking straight. He needed help. “Nori," he begged in a desperate whisper, "where?”

A finger shot out from under the bed, jabbing in the direction of the largest wardrobe. 

The antechamber door creaked open and Gimli heard Hafdis as clear as a bell. “Please, Hafur,” she said. “I need to get changed.” 

Whatever Hafur said in return was muffled. He must have been further down the passageway, perhaps at his own room. 

Keeping one eye on the antechamber through the open bedchamber door, Gimli tiptoed across to the larger of the two wardrobes and eased the nearest door toward him. Brightly coloured silks and wools were closely packed together on a rail with boots lined up underneath. He swore under his breath and yanked open the other door. Cloaks and furs hung from a rail, but mercifully there was nothing on the floor underneath. Luck at last. His pounding heart lifted. It would do. The wood of the wardrobe creaked under his weight as he gingerly climbed inside and crouched, pulling the heavy furs about himself and breathing out a sigh of relief.

The doors. He'd left them open. Certain he heard an ominous crack from the frame of the wardrobe when he moved, Gimli stretched out and pulled the doors to with his fingernails. And just in time. Through the gap, he watched Hafdis run into the bedchamber. 

Chapter Text

“Help me out of this,” Hafdis called over her shoulder. “I can’t undo it myself. And run me a bath.” 

“What am I? Your servant?” Hafur replied from somewhere out of sight. “And why is one of Amad’s earrings lying on the floor? I almost stood on it. Do you know how much this is worth?”

Hafdis made a frustrated noise. “Hafur, please.”

“You don’t have time for a bath,” said Hafur. The clump of heavy boots filled the bedchamber, and Gimli narrowed his eyes as Hafur came into view, a sword on his hip rather than his usual axe. 

“You don’t understand. I need one. I’ll be quick.” 

“Sister,” Hafur’s voice was a warning. Taking Hafdis by the shoulders, he turned her and began on the laces. 

Gimli leant back quickly, the furs hung up about him tickling his nose. Some things he didn’t need to see. He closed his eyes to make doubly sure he didn’t catch sight of anything that would give him nightmares, or mean he couldn't look her in the eye when he was presenting his evidence at her trial. 

Fabric rustled before Hafur spoke again, “You heard what the king said. He’ll announce the betrothal before dinner is served. That means, that you need to be in whatever finery you want to be in, and sitting by Fili’s side well before that happens. We don’t even have time to be here.” 

Was it nearly first dinner service already? Gimli grimaced. They’d been searching for a while, and he had taken his time between the mines and Dain’s quarters to allow Nori to catch up, but it hadn’t been that long, surely? Although, now that he thought about it, his stomach was rumbly and empty-feeling. 

Molir would be furious. Gimli placed a hand against his stomach, willing it to stay quiet, because Molir being angry he could deal with. The tongue-lashing for not reporting back for duty wouldn’t be half what he could expect should Hafur discover him hidden in his sister’s wardrobe. Tangled up as he was in furs and bent-double, he’d be run through before he could so much as free his axe. 

Gimli shuddered. It would be an embarrassing way to die. 

“Hafur, please,” Hafdis sounded on the verge of tears. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you have to.” Something heavy thudded to the floor before Hafur continued, “Step out, and I’ll hang it up for you.”

“I don’t need it hung up,” snapped Hafdis.  

The wardrobe door rattled as a weight slammed against it, Gimli's heart rattling in tandem. 

"I’m going to burn it,” Hafdis said. 

“You’re—” Hafur sighed. “Fine. Throw your dresses around.  Burn them if you wish. Whatever makes you happiest. But you do need one to wear tonight. Which one? The gold?”

“It’s too low at the front.”

“Hardly.”

“It is,” Hafdis’s voice dropped and Gimli strained forward to hear. “I…it doesn’t matter. Dis told me I could wear the blue tonight, if I wanted, and I think she wants me to.”

“So that’s what you were whispering to her about before we left. Well, if Princess Dis said you should wear it, then that’s what you’ll do. Which blue one?” 

Footfalls approached the wardrobe, and Gimli shrank back, pressing himself tight into the corner. Gritting his teeth, he hugged his knees tighter to his chest and slowly tugged a fur from its hanging. But, as he draped it over himself as best he could, tucking it in under the tips of his boots, something fell with a too-loud clunk and rolled away. Blind under the fur, he groped about frantically, managing to slap a hand over it and stop its loud trundles across the floor of the wardrobe. Some sort of small jar? Or vial? 

“The darkest one,” said Hafdis. “That’s the closest to Durin blue. It has the black stones around the collar.”

Shoving whatever it was in his pocket to deal with later, Gimli moved his hand over the knife on his belt, his heart beating loudly in his throat. In the darkness below the musty-smelling fur, he wasn't able to see, but he heard the door creak, and felt the change in the air.

He held his breath. 

“No, Hafur,” said Hafdis. “It’s in the other one.”

There was a slamming noise, and Gimli let out a ragged but cautious breath as Hafur stomped away, muttering curses about dams and their wardrobes packed full of clothes. 

With his heart pattering against his ribs, Gimli peeped out from under the fur, dust drifting down around him. The dams in the Iron Hills were obviously very different from those he’d known. His own amad only had seven dresses, carefully pressed and hung in his parents’ room in Ered Luin, and Dis the same, although perhaps things had changed now. He hadn’t exactly rifled through either of their wardrobes to look, or paid any special attention to what they were wearing. Maybe he should. 

And maybe — he wiped his sweaty hands on the fur, muttering a curse when loose hair and dust stuck to them — he should keep his mind on the task in hand. 

His nose tickled suddenly and he wrinkled it, saying a silent and desperate prayer to Mahal to not let him sneeze. To his horror, the door was further ajar, bounced open with the force of Hafur’s slam, but Gimli didn’t dare move to close it. Outside, Hafdis was stalking back and forth, clad in only a thin shift, and he couldn’t see her brother. But he could see Nori, lying still as stone under the bed. 

“This one?” asked Hafur, sounding calm once more. “Or are there perhaps two blue dresses with black stones?”

Hafdis sniffed, and, instead of answering, let out a loud sob that sounded as if it came from the bottom of her chest. Words followed after, hidden in more sobs, and she dropped to the flagstones with a thud that, almost, made Gimli wince in sympathy for her knees. With her hands tight against her belly, she doubled over, sobbing brokenly. 

Rushing into sight, Hafur threw himself to the floor beside her and wrapped her in his arms, while Gimli, sneeze forgotten, crouched stone-still, somewhere between horrified and needing to move closer so he didn’t miss a word. 

This was it. The confession. Gimli knew it in his bones. 

He glared at Nori. He’d better be listening and not fallen asleep or something. And they’d better not look in Nori’s direction, because if Hafdis decided to prostrate herself to the floor in whatever fit of the vapours she was having, Nori would be exactly in her eyeline. 

It took a long time of Hafur forcing her more upright, hushing her, and whispering in her ear, before either of them had the decency to speak clearly enough for Gimli to hear them. 

“—now,” sobbed Hafdis. “Please, let’s just get Odr and—”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere. I don’t care where we go. Please, Hafur. I can’t breathe. I didn’t want any of this. I can’t...”

The boards underneath Gimli creaked as he leant forward. He froze in place, not daring to take a breath, but mercifully neither of them noticed. Hafur was busy stroking her hair, and whispering again. 

“But it will be forever,” said Hafdis. “You say it won’t but it will. No matter what happens, I can’t escape it. And neither can you. Please, let’s just go, while we can, before we’re trapped here.”

He was going to leap out of the wardrobe and strangle Hafur if he didn’t speak up. 

Gimli pulled the fur down from about his ears in case that helped, and hoped Nori was having better luck, since his ancient ears were closer. 

“And then what?” snapped Hafdis, pushing Hafur away and scrambling to her feet. “I get married off again? And you’ll stand by and watch and do nothing.” 

With Hafur’s head bowed and his hair hanging about him, Gimli couldn’t see Hafur’s face, but, from his fists white-knuckled against the flagstones, and the tone of his — again — whisper, he sounded upset. 

“No. You promised that you would always protect me.” Hafdis stormed out of sight. Bangs followed before she returned with an armful of clothes. Throwing them, followed by a pack, onto the bed, she said, “We were supposed to look after each other. But you can’t, and I can’t. Not here. Go and fetch your things.” 

Hafur pushed himself to his feet and, thank Durin, at last found his voice, “Hafdis. I don’t like it, but, so long as you stay calm and quiet, you’re safe.”

“Safe?” Hafdis spat. “Safe?”

“With Fili. Mahal knows, the thought of him near you makes my skin crawl but, for now, there’s no alternative.”

Gimli bit down on his knuckles to stop himself yelling out in triumph. He looked to Nori. Did he hear that? 

“We can’t run,” continued Hafur. “It’s no life out on our own.” 

“But it would be a life.”

“No coin? No family? What would you have us do? Scratch out a living somewhere, like rats, doing what?” Hafur grimaced. “Smithing for men? Guarding their caravans? Hiding what you are, so I don’t spend every waking moment worrying about you being… You know what men are like. You’ve heard the stories about what happens to dams out there the same as I have.”

“And it would be better here?” Hafdis whipped the shift over her head, and Gimli teetered, almost losing his balance, in the wardrobe. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cursed her. He needed to see. This was important. 

“I’ll take my chances," she said. "For, from where I'm standing, it's better to worry about something that may happen, than waiting for it to happen. At least out there I can fight back. Here…" She stifled another sob. "What can I do here? Close my eyes and wait for it to be over?"

Gimli frowned. What in Durin's name was she talking about?

"Hafdis—"

"We'll go north. We’ll go and find Adad and—”

“He’s dead.” There was a shocked gasp from Hafdis, before Hafur continued, “Or if not, he may as well be. Maybe he’s found another family to the north to replace us. Maybe we weren’t good enough for him. Who knows. But we haven’t heard so much as a whisper from, or about, him, so I’m going with dead.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“We stay here. You do as I say and we can—”

“Until when? Thorin will watch us forever.”

“Don’t call him that," said Hafur. "You know he doesn’t like it.”

“He will watch us, and wait. You know he will. Tonight, I’ll have to sit beside Fili, and pretend to be happy, and he will watch every move that I make, listen to every word I say. If I put a foot out of line, or if you do, then what’s he going to ask of me? Of you? He’ll hurt you to hurt me. You know he will. Or he’ll hurt Odr. Or—” Hafdis broke off, panting. “You know what he’ll do to me. What he’s capable of. And Uncle Dain won't lift a hand to stop him, you said it yourself.”

“But I will. I’ll stop him." Hafur's voice was a low growl as he continued, "I'll kill him if he tries. I’ll kill anyone who so much as even thinks about hurting you.”

Hafdis laughed bitterly, muttering something that he didn’t catch, and Gimli risked a look. Still not dressed. Closing his eyes again, he swore under his breath. 

“I will, Hafdis. You have to believe me,” Hafur’s voice was muffled. Maybe they were hugging? Gimli didn’t dare look, in case she'd removed yet more clothes. 

“We have time," continued Hafur. "Let’s keep running away as an option. I’ll think about it, I promise, and we can make a proper plan. But for now, you need to stop, and breathe. Let’s get you dressed, and wash your face, and go.”

Fabric rustled for what felt like forever, and was the only sound in the room apart from Hafdis’s ragged breaths. Only when Gimli heard the zip of laces being tightened did he open his eyes a crack. Hafdis stood, wiping at her face, as Hafur finished lacing her into her dress. 

“There,” Hafur said, turning her around. His smile faded. “Hafdis, please stop. I let you down, and I'm sorrier than you know, but I won’t ever again, I swear it. I’ll think of something.” He ran his hands over her hair, tucking away loose strands, before taking her fingers in his. “Come on.”

Gimli strained to hear as they moved, talking quietly, into the antechamber, but it was no good. Water gurgled in pipes somewhere overhead before he heard the slam of a door. About to clamber out of the wardrobe and stretch his cramping legs, he stopped at Nori’s frantic signal. 

And waited. 

And waited some more. And, now that he’d thought about his legs cramping, they were really, really, cramping. 

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, Nori crawled out from under the bed and waved him forward. 

“So now can we—” Nori made a sharp gesture and Gimli rolled his eyes. Waiting, he busied himself stretching out his calves and hamstrings as Nori crept away into the antechamber. 

Nori returned and nodded. “Right, let’s get this finished and get out of here. Quick as you can, Gimli.”

“But…”

Gimli watched Nori cross the bedchamber, open a trunk and kneel. Lifting out a pair of jewelled slippers, he gently shook them, feeling inside with his fingers.

“But we have our proof now,” said Gimli as Nori held the shoes to his ear, tapping on the soles. 

Nori stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “We do?”

“Did you fall asleep?” asked Gimli. “Were you not listening?”

“No.” Replacing the pair of slippers he held in his hand, Nori lifted another. “And yes, although I am wondering now whether we heard the same conversation.”

“And I’m wondering the same thing. Because I'd hoped you heard a good deal more than me, since you took the better hiding place, but I heard enough anyway." Gimli moved closer, lowering his voice, "I heard Hafur say that he hates Fili.”

“I heard him say he didn’t want his sister anywhere near Fili, but go on.”

“That’s the same thing. So he was only ever pretending to be Fili’s friend. I knew he was false. And she said that she had to pretend to be happy tonight.” Gimli crossed the room to the bedchamber door. “They’re both false, and we need to warn Fili and Thorin.” A thought struck him. “And Dis.” He shook his head, tapping his fingernails against the doorframe. Dis would be devastated. She seemed really fond of Hafdis, for whatever reason. But, it was better she found out now. He took a deep breath. 

Behind him, Nori sighed, and when Gimli turned, Nori was still rifling through the chest.

“Nori,” said Gimli. “Come on. He threatened Thorin. Even if you didn't listen to anything else, you heard that. That's treason. And it's enough on its own. We cannot let this betrothal go any further. It puts Hafur in the royal line, and her. Whether you care about Fili or not. ”

Nori closed the lid of the trunk and manoeuvred it out from the wall, looking behind it. Shifting it back into place, he said, “Of course I care about Fili. Would I be doing this if I didn't?"

Gimli snorted. 

"I'm not just here to save you from your own stupidity, Gimli," continued Nori. "I'm here in case, by some chance, your instincts are right, and I'm going to tell you something that goes no further."

"Go on then."

Nori shot him a sharp glance. "After you found Fili, after we returned from Mirkwood, Thorin asked me to…make certain enquiries. He thought as you did. That there had to be someone else involved.”

“But you told me—”

“I know what I told you. I was there. There’s a way to go about these things, Gimli, and throwing around baseless accusations and stirring up trouble isn’t it. After we spoke at the mineshaft, Bofur and myself looked a little more closely at Hafur.”

"Why didn't you tell me that—” 

“As Buvro’s cousin, he was high on our list anyway and we had already considered him. No matter his history with Fili. However, his whereabouts are fully accounted for, and not just by dwarves of the Iron Hills, before you ask.” Nori stood and moved to the trunk containing the underthings. Flipping open the lid, he knelt. “Hafdis was escorted to her room by Hafur, several witnesses saw them having an argument about it, and she didn’t stir from there until the morning. Hafur returned to Dain afterward.”

“Then your witnesses are lying, or they’ve got their times muddled.”

“Perhaps,” said Nori. “It’s possible. Or perhaps it was someone else. There's a few dwarves that we're still looking into.” His voice was muffled as he buried his arms in the trunk, “I’m trusting you to keep this to yourself, lad. And I do mean you tell nobody because, as far as Fili’s concerned, he doesn’t know that our investigation is ongoing, and Thorin and Dis are keeping it that way.”

“Now, that’s not fair.” Gimli crossed his arms. “He thinks he chucked himself down there. He says he knows he slipped, but I know how my cousin's mind works, better than anyone in this mountain, and he will be churning this over and over and—"

“Then let him think he slipped. Show him that you believe him. There's no harm in that, and we have exactly nothing to prove otherwise.” Nori frowned into the trunk. “Not yet. But you don't tell him about today, or anything about this case that you're desperate to build against Hafur."

"And Hafdis. I know that she is as much involved as—"

"You don't know anything. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"I do. I—"

"I’ve been doing this kind of work since before either of you were born. If it were anyone else but Fili, Thorin would consider the matter settled.” Nori heaved out a sigh. “And if we were anywhere else but Erebor…”

Gimli waited, but Nori seemed distracted as he pawed through underthings. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked when his patience ran out.

“It means that, for the first time, I have a mountain full of tainted gold to take into account.” Nori closed the trunk and stood, hands on hips as he looked around the room. “Gold that seems to have a mind of its own. And I have Fili, who doesn’t remember anything. Or claims not to. Not to mention that the only time Thorin has set foot outside the mountain since he returned from Mirkwood was for a few hours at the wedding." 

Muttering to himself, Nori added. "And he really needs a longer break."

“He seems fine to me.”

Nori made a non-committal noise. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go.”

Gimli flung out an arm to stop Nori as he walked past. “No. We’re not done. What we heard changes everything. You have to—”

“No. You have to leave this to us.” Nori gestured to the room. “All of it. I’ll be speaking to Thorin tonight. Hopefully, I can catch him before he leaves for the banqueting hall.”

“Good, and—”

“But I need you to speak to Fili.” Nori held up a hand as Gimli opened his mouth. “I need you to tell him to build bridges with Hafur, and to treat Hafdis kindly. I know he will, but he’s under strain at the moment, and it may slip his mind to make an extra effort. I’ll have a quiet word too.”

“No.”

“Yes. And I’ll deal with Thorin, not you. I don’t know what he’s said to either of them, but, if I know Thorin at all, he’s been glowering and glaring without realising he’s doing it and frightened the lass. I’ll tell him to be more friendly. I know Thorin’s mind is full of the trial but—”

“Frightened her?” Gimli choked. “Frightened? Hafdis?”

“That’s what I heard lying under that bed,” said Nori. “I heard a frightened little lass whose world has been turned upside down in a day. I’m sure she likes Fili, but that doesn’t change the fact that she feels as if she’s being trapped into a marriage, and, more worryingly to my mind, that she's convinced herself Fili will force himself on her before she's ready."

So that's what she'd been on about. Gimli shook his head. "Fili wouldn't do that, and she knows him well enough to know he wouldn't."

"Didn't sound like it to me. Not to mention that she's terrified of our king. Terrified enough of them both, and what this betrothal means, to consider running away with nothing more than the clothes on her back.”

“Thorin isn’t the only Thorin in this mountain.” Gimli frowned as he thought it over. 

“I’m aware of that. We've got over two dozen so far, half of them in cribs.”

“This is no joking matter.”

“I’m not joking. And I’ll keep it in mind, but our Thorin can be intimidating, even when he doesn’t mean to be, so, to me, he seems the most likely culprit at this time."

"But—"

"And, as for treason, I’m choosing to ignore Hafur’s remarks made in private and in the heat of the moment. I’d likely say the same thing if Ori or Dori felt threatened."

Gimli gasped. 

"You doubt me?" Nori raised an eyebrow. "No matter what happened at the mineshaft, whether Fili stepped off himself or not, it doesn’t change the fact that Fili hurt their cousin. These are two separate incidents."

"They're not."

"Have you proof? No, you don't. So, as of right now, they are separate." Nori huffed out a breath. "I love that boy as much as you do, but the fact remains that we all make mistakes. That's the long and short of it. Maybe there was a good and valid reason for it, but he lost his head. And took it too far."

"I know my cousin. Fili would have had a good reason for—"

"I didn’t say that he didn’t. I’m saying that he forgot himself, as we all do from time to time, and I’m not surprised, considering—” Nori looked away. “Is there anywhere else we need to check?”

Considering what? Gimli watched Nori pretend to study the room. It could be Kili, but Nori wouldn't have stopped if it were Kili he meant. “Nori,” he said. “Is there something more you’re not telling me?” 

He was getting more than a little tired of being the last to know about everything. He hadn’t known about the tower at Ravenhill until Nori let it slip. And, after weeks of quiet thinking followed by subtle questioning of the rest of the Company about it, Gimli still couldn’t work out why or how Fili and Kili had been up there before Thorin. Kili had been in Dale when the battle began, that much he was certain about, but why hadn't Fili been at Thorin's side? And, the more he mulled it over, and the more little inconsistencies he unearthed, the more he suspected that there were a great many other things that were being — badly — hidden by the Company. And Nori was in the middle of it all. He was convinced of it.

“Something that happened on the quest?" Gimli prompted. "Because I’ve been asking around, and there’s a lot that doesn’t quite line up.”

“Of course, things don’t line up,” said Nori. “Do you think that folk sit down and make notes in the midst of battle? Things get muddled, misremembered. You haven’t been in one, remember?”

That was a low blow. Nori knew how much he longed to prove himself in battle. 

Shaking it off, Gimli re-centered himself. It wasn’t just the battle. Far from it. There were more secrets, and they were all in on it. He was certain of it. For it wasn’t in his adad, or Uncle Oin’s, nature to be close-mouthed about any adventure, and especially not after Gimli had plied them with ale. Yet, they’d managed it. “I haven’t pushed Fili for answers," Gimli continued, "but I will, if you force me to.”

He didn’t miss the sideways glance Nori gave him. 

“Tell me,” Gimli urged. “Whatever it is.”

“There’s nothing that needs telling. And Fili’s been through enough without you poking at old wounds to satisfy your curiosity.” 

That stung too. But Gimli suspected it was meant to — to stop him asking questions. And, if so, then Nori was out of luck, for Gloin had been using that tactic for years, and it wasn’t about to start working now. “That’s not fair,” he said doggedly. “I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do that blind and with one arm tied behind my back. You need to—”

“You need to drop this. All of it. Support Fili, trust that Thorin has a plan, and do your part. That’s it. Do what I tell you to do, and what Thorin tells you to do. And that is all. Do you understand me?”

Ori would be the weak link. Gimli glared at his boots before meeting Nori’s narrowed eyes. Fine. He’d question Ori again. Once the trial was out of the way, he’d set up camp in the library, and wrinkle the truth out of Nori’s little brother. If he asked enough questions about enough things, and upset the peace and quiet of Ori’s space for long enough, he’d crack. It seemed a shame to pick on Ori, but Nori had given him no choice. 

Maybe he should do something similar with Hafdis? Gimli sighed. Why did all the problems fall on him to solve? Not for the first time, he wished Kili were here so they could share the burden. Kili would’ve listened and understood. And he wouldn’t have rested until they’d ferreted out enough evidence to have put Hafdis and Hafur in cells twice over. 

When Gimli didn’t answer, Nori frowned and continued, “Put yourself in Hafur’s boots. Imagine the situations were reversed. You and Hafur were good friends. Hafur injures Fili, badly enough that he’s no longer the dwarf you recognise. Badly enough that the memories you shared are now yours alone. It was an accident, perhaps, and Hafur is very sorry for it. Would you find it easy to be friends once more? To draw a line under it and go back to how things were? With no hard feelings?” Nori stared at him, waiting. “Well?”

That wasn’t the point. Gimli pressed his lips together. 

“Because you'd be a better dwarf than me if you could. Glower at me all you like, but at least think about it. And remember to keep this to yourself. Thorin won’t take kindly to you breaking into anyone’s rooms. No matter how noble the reasoning for it,” said Nori, patting him on the shoulder. 

Gimli shook him off. “You’re not listening. He told her forever mightn’t be very long, or something like it. What more proof do you need? He means to try again, finish what they started, and I won’t let him.”

“You didn't listen to a word, did you?" Nori's eyebrows lowered. "And you’re twisting what you heard to fit your own suspicions. That’s dangerous, lad. Take it from someone who knows."

"I know what I heard, and I know what I know."

"You need to keep a cool head. Fili needs you, and maybe, just maybe, you can find it in your heart to accept that Hafdis and Hafur might need you too.”

Gimli scoffed. Never. 

“Think of it as keeping your enemies close if it makes you feel better.” Nori smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes. “Let’s get you back to Molir.”

Chapter Text

The applause and cheers rolling around the banqueting hall were beginning to peter out. Fili glanced at Hafdis standing by his side. Staring straight ahead, she was smiling, but it was strained, and her face was pale. He touched her fingers and she jumped. 

“I think we can sit down now,” he whispered. Raising a hand to the crowd, and nodding in acknowledgement when the cheers swelled in response, Fili helped her back into her chair and sat down beside her. 

Her hand trembled as she reached across her plate of barely touched dinner for her wine glass, and Fili met his amad’s eyes when Hafdis drained the glass and signalled for another. He didn't know what to do. His own head was a tangle of confused emotions. He couldn't begin to imagine what Hafdis was feeling, and he was at a loss as to what he might say to make her feel any better. Covering his glass when the server tried to fill it too, he shook his head. More wine would not make his thoughts any less muddied. 

Thankfully, Amad did know what needed to be said. As she and Hafdis talked quietly and the colour slowly returned to Hafdis’s cheeks, Fili looked out over the hall. He supposed that he should be happy. Setting aside thoughts of the impending trial, his marriage had always been inevitable, and things could be a lot worse. For him anyway, if not for Hafdis, and if not for his uncle. Any hopes that one day he would father dwarflings had gone the day he'd destroyed Buvro's chance for the same, he'd known that the moment he returned to himself fully after his illness and realised what he’d done, but, even so, it had still been a shock to say the words aloud to Hafdis. Therefore, to have her wishes align with his was serendipitous. A marriage of companionship was more than he deserved, in the unlikely event that he and Hafdis reached that stage. 

But it was all happening too fast. 

He watched the servers move around the hall, gathering up plates and replenishing ales as they went. Certainly, everyone had appeared to greet Thorin's news of the betrothal with enthusiasm. Hafdis was well-liked, and if there were those amongst them gathered who disapproved then they would not dare show their hand in front of the king. Not yet, not openly. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Her fate and her future were shackled to his now, and that wasn’t how it should be. 

He jolted when Thorin touched his wrist. 

"You are not hungry, my sister-son?" 

"I'm…" Fili stared at his plate. He couldn't. His stomach was in knots. He couldn't remember the last time it hadn't been. "I ate earlier."

Thorin studied his eyes for what felt like an age before he nodded. “If you are going to insist on wearing that instead of any of the gold that is rightly yours,” said Thorin quietly, unravelling Fili’s fingers from about Ness’s bracelet. “At least keep it out of sight.” Pushing the bracelet under Fili’s sleeve cuff, Thorin raised his voice, “Tomorrow, Hafdis, you and Fili will visit the mines on the lowest levels with me. I am overdue an inspection.”

Hafdis snapped to attention. “Yes, King Thorin.”

“Just Thorin is fine.” Thorin smiled. “Or Uncle will do if you must give me a title.” Reaching across, he patted Hafdis’s hand. “We are family now.”

As wide-eyed as any rabbit, Hafdis nodded. 

“And Dis is just Dis, not Princess.” With another broad smile, Thorin nudged Fili. “You may call your betrothed whatever you wish. That is between you two.”

They’d shared several bottles in Thorin’s chambers before separating to dress for dinner, but that was hours ago. And the wine had been split between Dain, Thorin, Amad, and Hafur, as well as he and Hafdis. Fili eyed Thorin’s wine glass. His uncle didn’t seem anywhere close to drunk, but the joviality was suspicious. 

Although Uncle Thorin had been angling for suitable marriage prospects for both him and Kili for years, so perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise. 

The thought made him reach for his own glass, his head pounding. He needed to write and tell Kili the news, or as much of the news as he could. And he was long overdue for sending another letter, but he’d been trying and the words wouldn’t come. His plan to have a series of letters to entrust to Gimli before the trial was proving to be more difficult than he had hoped. Imagining a life in Erebor well enough to fabricate a story for Kili was simply too upsetting. 

The stabbing pain in his chest that Kili would not stand by his side on the day he wed, should that day actually come, was as sharp and painful as it had ever been. Fili drained his glass. That he would not be by his brother’s side, that likely Kili’s own wedding had been and gone, that perhaps the letter with whatever scant details Kili could share of the happy day may have been lost somewhere on the long road between the Shire and Dale — it was all too painful to even contemplate. His fingers tightened around the stem of the glass. 

“If we have time,” continued Thorin, gently pulling the glass from Fili's fingers and setting it to one side. “Then we will also visit with the stonemasons, and you can see how the work is coming along in the Gallery of the Kings.”

“I would like to see that,” said Hafdis. 

His uncle’s words settled in. “But I thought you met with them yesterday?” asked Fili. 

Thorin looked surprised. As if he thought Fili perhaps wasn’t paying attention to goings on in Erebor, which was fair, because that was partially true. 

“I did," said Thorin, "but only to return the men to Bard. Tomorrow, I intend to—”

Fili frowned. “To Bard? But why? There’s plenty of work here for—”

“This isn’t the place to discuss it,” Thorin’s low voice held a warning and Fili pressed his lips together. “Hafdis won’t have seen the Gallery, what with it being closed off for the repairs, and tomorrow is as good a time as any. And you haven’t visited the works in some time. The masons there will be glad to have sight of their prince at last, and know that you are well. They will wish to offer you their congratulations.”

Fili stared straight ahead, feeling his face heat at the gentle reprimand. Across the hall, the musicians were finishing tuning up, the sound of their instruments barely noticeable over the shouting and merriment of the crowd. 

“And they will wish to meet the dwarf who will, one day soon, be their new princess,” said Thorin. “You will gladden hearts all over Erebor, Hafdis.”

“I agree that she will do that, Uncle.” Fili shot a glance and a quick smile at Hafdis before turning back to Thorin. “But I think we should wait until after the trial. I still feel that you should have announced that first. Tonight, this celebration, and our betrothal, it feels as if it is premature and—”

“Exactly what’s needed. We’ve been over this.” Thorin lowered his voice for Fili's ears only, “The trial is but a formality, and we can deal with it later. Your betrothal is far more important for you, me, Erebor, all of us. We must all plan for a bright future.”

“But—”

“And this is neither the place nor the time to worry about such things.” Thorin raised his voice, “Take Hafdis and dance. Try to smile and enjoy this happy moment. Let me concern myself with everything else.” Wrapping a hand about the nape of Fili's neck, Thorin touched their foreheads together. “That is all you must do tonight. Go.”

When he didn’t move, Thorin added, "I'm sure Hafdis would like to dance on the night of her betrothal."

It was said pleasantly enough, but it was a command. Beside Fili, Hafdis stiffened in her chair, picking up on Thorin's tone. She nodded. "I would, and I do like this tune."

He hadn't even noticed. 

The singer was standing on the musicians' dais, and he had a fine voice, but… Fili looked at Thorin, wondering if his uncle had even been paying attention. It was hardly an appropriate song for a first dance, and certainly not a first dance with Hafdis. However, in a way, it was also very apt.

Fili stood, holding out his hand to her, and very aware of the drop in conversation in the hall as all eyes turned to them. No one else was dancing as yet, but, in a way, that was apt too. 

Whispers followed them as they walked side by side between the long tables to the cleared central space by the musicians' dais. 

They'd danced before, when Hafur pushed them together what felt like a lifetime ago, but this seemed different. More awkward, if that were possible. Hafdis jolted when he placed his palm against her back, and he was sure he did the same at the light touch of her hand on his shoulder. 

She laughed and he suddenly felt the urge to laugh too. This was ridiculous. 

"Sorry," she whispered. "I think I'm nervous. I feel like everyone's watching."

They were. Fili glanced over her head, wanting to check if his uncle looked content, and met Hafur's eyes by mistake instead. He huffed out a breath. "If we can manage to not trip over each other's feet we can count this as a success." He smiled down at her. "It's been an incredibly long day. Let's just try and get through this as best we can. Am I holding you too close?"

"No. Shouldn't we be closer though?" 

He wasn't sure. In their dancing lessons, Balin had never covered the difference between dancing with a dam, and dancing with a dam to who you were betrothed — which seemed like a serious oversight now. 

"I think this is fine," he said. "Unless you think we should be?" Maybe it was something that dams were taught. "Either way, I'd rather you were comfortable than worry about what anyone thinks."

She snorted and made no move to close the space between them. 

"I didn't know you liked this song," he said after they'd managed a few steps without incident and fallen into a rhythm. 

"I don't know it," Hafdis said. "It was the first thing to say that popped into my head, but I'm listening to the words now and I don't think I've heard it before." She shrugged. "It's very maudlin."

"It's an old song." Fili accidentally met Hafur's eyes again as he slowly turned Hafdis. It was hard to tell an exact expression at this distance but, sat by Stonehelm's side, Hafur certainly wasn't smiling. 

Fili frowned before he caught himself. As he'd finished dressing for dinner, Gimli had run into their room, gasping out a breathless suggestion that they invite Hafur to their next sparring session. With no explanation as to why the sudden change of heart other than Gimli thought it was a good idea, and that it would be a welcome to the family. Then he'd rushed off before Fili could question it, yelling over his shoulder that he was late to see Molir. 

It was very odd. 

But, probably sensible too. Fili sighed. Since Hafdis was tied to his fate now, so was Hafur. 

"What's wrong?" asked Hafdis with concern in her eyes. "Are you in pain?" 

"No. Nothing's wrong." Others had joined the dance, and Fili concentrated on manoeuvring them through some other couples, smiling at the dwarves who nodded to them and called out congratulations. When everyone had been acknowledged, he turned his attention back to Hafdis. "Would you and Hafur wish to join Gimli and I for a spar? We meet a few times a week at daybreak, before the training hall opens. It's my uncle's usual time for training, but sometimes he's busy and allows us to take his session."

She smiled brightly at him. "Of course."

"You don't have to. It sounds as if Uncle Thorin plans to keep us busy as well." As Fili said the words aloud, his uncle's reasoning became clear and he stumbled. 

"Fili," gasped Hafdis, her grip on him tightening as if she could hold him upright. 

He forced a smile. "Sorry, I'm out of practice, that's all. I'm fine." 

She had told him she suspected the betrothal was to help with the trial and she was right. He should have worked it out earlier. 

Fili cursed his tiredness for not picking up on what Thorin had meant when he had spoken in his study and at the table about planning for the future. 

He was a fool. For it wasn’t optimism of the trial’s outcome that spurred Thorin's rush to introduce them to as many dwarves as possible, nor was it a distraction from it. This betrothal was the opposite. The miners and the stonemasons, and whoever else Thorin had on his list, likely the smiths, cooks, and those who worked in the stores and at table, would not have a say in the outcome of the trial. But their lords would. And it was a foolish lord who didn't pay some attention to the hearts and minds of their people.

"Gimli suggested we invite your cousin too," he added, in an attempt to distract himself from the anger welling up inside. Thorin's plotting to sway the trial’s outcome, and his plan to use Hafdis’s friendship as leverage to do it, it was all wrong. Her own hopes for her future were of no consequence to Thorin. And his own hopes that the trial would be fair, that it would take place as dwarven trials down the ages had always taken place and how they should always take place, with no difference whether the accused was a miner or a prince, and no trickery — all of that too was of no consequence to Thorin. 

It twisted as if it were a knife in his side. Thorin knew that all he wanted was to tell the truth. The truth with no embellishments, no pretending he remembered events when he didn't, and no underhand tactics. 

Fili ground his teeth together. Fine. If his uncle wasn't going to even attempt to play fair, as a king should do, then there was no choice remaining but to follow Hafdis's suggestion in Odr's stable, and lie. 

"Gimli suggested Stonehelm?" Hafdis asked, interrupting his thoughts. Spots of red bloomed in her cheeks. "Yes, of course. He'd like that."

Likely, he would. Likely, Stonehelm would relish the chance to put him on his back. Or perhaps he didn't hold a grudge. Looking down at Hafdis, Fili wondered where her heart truly lay. 

It felt as if it were a lifetime ago, but, this morning in Thorin's study, after he had initially refused the betrothal, his uncle had mentioned Stonehelm. Telling him that Stonehelm was also vying for Hafdis's hand, as if Fili should jump at the chance to claim her. 

He'd told Thorin that he'd no desire to stand in the way of anyone's happiness, especially Hafdis's. And he thought he’d made his feelings clear to her too. 

Fili's heart twisted. Misplaced loyalty would and could only ever be a poor substitute for true love. Hafdis might seem content to pretend that she was happy with the situation, but the way that she had barely touched her dinner, and the tension in her body as they danced told a different story. And, as for Stonehelm, he was a mystery. He'd barely spoken a dozen words to Dain's son, but then he'd barely spoken to anyone apart from the Company, Amad and Gimli. 

The music swelled as they passed the dais. Fili looked up at the singer, nodding to them and the musicians to show he approved. It might have been an old song, and completely inappropriate, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was laced with memory. 

The scratching of Ness’s quill and the crackling of the fire were the only noises to disturb the comfortable quiet of the chamber. Resting his head against his fist, Fili shifted in his chair, watching her from across the top of his book. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and the tip of her tongue poked out between her teeth as she laboured painstakingly over the runes. He hid a smile behind his fingers. The very last thing he needed was for her to glance up and think him amused by her efforts, for she'd never believe him that he simply found her focus endearing. 

Ness stopped, shaking out her hand carefully. “How’s your reading coming along? Interesting book, is it?”

“Very.” He counted the mistakes in the last line she’d written. Only six this time, which was a vast improvement. Truth be told, it didn’t matter if she didn’t memorise the entirety of the letter, for as long as he could get the gist that it was their agreed message it would be enough. 

Not that he’d any intention of telling Ness that, for it would ruin what little determination she had to actually learn it by rote. Worry gripped his heart as it did every time the thought of her ever needing to send it crossed his mind. Hopefully, it would never be necessary. 

“Must be hard going.” Ness dipped the quill in the inkwell and scraped the excess ink off diligently, and, for once, in exactly the way he'd shown her. Her bare toes brushed first his and then his ankle, creeping their way under the cuff of his trouser leg, and sending a shiver through him at the touch. 

“I haven’t heard you turn a page in ages," she said. "In elvish or something, is it?”

Marking his place in the book, he set it on the table and reached across to her, adjusting her fingers on the quill. “Your hand is hurting because you’re holding the quill in a death grip. Relax.”

“My hand is hurting because an orc broke something in my arm.” She grinned. "Several somethings. The bastard."

Fili’s blood ran cold as it always did at the memory of Ravenhill. Her scream still rang nightly in his ears. “I know,” he said as lightly as he could. “And that’s why you should be using your left hand and resting your right. As I keep telling you.” 

“You only think I’m breaking quills now.” Ness laughed. “If I use my left hand there’ll be none left in Erebor, and Balin will be out chasing ducks or whatever animal it is that you get them from. No, I’m fine. It barely hurts much anyway.”

Fili stroked a thumb over her forearm, feeling her skin move over the fragile bones underneath. So different from sturdy dwarven ones. “You should be more careful,” he said. “I can’t bear the thought of you—”

“And,” Ness added. “I also told you that it’s off-putting when you’re watching me and glaring over the top of your book.” 

“I’m not glaring.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Just watching then.” A drop of ink splashed onto the parchment and she swore, her good mood disappearing. “This is useless, Fili. I’m never going to learn all this before—” Biting her lip, Fili watched her trap the words before they could come out. The truth none of them could say to each other. 

For days were all they had left. A handful of too-short days before they both would leave him. The time could be counted in hours now, and each one that trickled away was breaking his heart. Fili felt ill anytime he thought about it. He’d prayed as he’d never prayed before for a storm. For a spell of weather to arrive that was so terrible that it would keep Kili and Ness safe in Erebor a little while longer. Then the guilt would wrack him because any such storm’s wrath would bear down on his amad as the leagues fell away between her and Erebor. So he’d pray for fine weather, and hope Mahal was paying no mind to any of his middle-of-the-night sleepless entreaties.

Another drop, not of ink this time, fell to the parchment, blurring the wobbly, dwarfling-like runes further, and he clasped her hand.  “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please, Ness.”

“I’m sorry.” She swiped at the tears with her free hand. “I’m just… I was talking to Bofur and…”

Her shoulders shook with a silent sob and Fili shunted his chair closer. Gathering her in his arms, he made a note in his mind to find Bofur and strangle him at the first opportunity. 

“It’s nothing,” said Ness, curling tighter into him. 

Trying to ignore the need to pull her entirely onto his lap and kiss away her tears, and the stronger urge to sweep her up, carry her into his bedchamber, and do his best to help her forget whatever she’d heard, Fili closed his eyes. Perhaps it was pointless at this stage to fight the whispers of the gold hidden deep inside the mountain any longer, but they’d promised they’d try. And, more importantly, she needed him in this moment as a friend and not a lover. He was certain of it. 

Ness sighed, her breath ghosting over his neck and her fingers coiling into his hair. It wasn't an exhale of pleasure, his mind knew that, and she clung to him because she needed the comfort of touch, he knew that too — but his rapidly heating blood was choosing to interpret it differently. He held her closer, rubbing her back, but, with every stroke of his hand across her clothing, he became more and more aware of the ridges of her bindings. It would be but a moment's work to slide his hands underneath tunic and shirt and free her from them.

She'd sigh his name, in that way she did, when his fingertips brushed the soft skin beneath her breasts, and he knew she'd arch against him should his teeth graze her collarbone. And then she would— 

“We were up on the ramparts," said Ness, interrupting his fevered imaginings.

Trying to regain control of himself, Fili forced himself to listen as she continued, "And he was saying that there’s more dwarves on their way from the Iron Hills and from somewhere out in the east, I forget the name he said, but it sounded like something to do with orcs.”

“The Orocarni Mountains?” He moved his hands to her waist, hoping that would help cool his blood. 

“That’s the ones.” She lifted her head and smiled, and the sight of her eyes bright with unshed tears managed to do what his willpower alone could not. “He said his sister might be coming, but that he wasn’t sure because he hadn’t heard from her. Do you know her? She's younger than him, he said, and pretty, now that she's finally grown into her nose.”

“I’ve never met her,” said Fili, suddenly completely certain that he knew what had upset her and unsure how he felt about it. 

“And he was talking about all the parties, and about everything that needed to be done before your and Thorin’s coronations.”

Tamping down his desire further, Fili pressed his lips to her forehead. It was still a kiss, but no more than a comforting one between friends. “It’ll be Thorin’s coronation, not mine.”

“And I had to leave. I pretended I was cold and pretty much ran away. I couldn’t… There’s so much we’re going to miss.” Burying her head in his neck, Ness made an angry noise and Fili drew back to look at her properly. She gave him a watery but brave smile and continued, “I know it’s stupid of me, that we should be happy that things aren’t a lot worse, and missing a few parties and a bit of dancing is nothing to cry over, but…”

He nodded. It was something he told himself continually as he paced his chambers in the dead hours of the night. That they should be grateful to even be alive, and that being parted, and perhaps it would be only for a time, was no great hardship. 

And who knew what the future might hold? He pleaded with Thorin every day, and at every possible opportunity, for his uncle to change his mind. Perhaps Thorin would yet relent at the final hour and not send Kili so far away? He tried not to hope, but hope wormed its way into his heart regardless. 

“We haven’t even danced,” whispered Ness. 

That, at least, he could change. Carefully untangling her arms from about him, Fili stood and offered his hand. 

“There’s no music,” she protested as he drew her to her feet and led her away from the table. 

His rooms were large, but cluttered with enough furniture to host a dozen dwarves easily. Leaving her in the middle of the antechamber, Fili busied himself pushing chairs back against the walls. He inspected the space, ignoring her raised eyebrow. 

“You danced in Rivendell,” he said, wiping suddenly damp palms against his trousers as surreptitiously as he could. “So you know—”

“You were watching?”

“Of course. We were all watching.” Fili smiled at Ness’s grimace. “That was when I first began to realise the depth of Kili’s regard for you. I had suspected, but, as you danced first with the elf and then with Bofur I could see his fingers gripping the windowsill beside me, tighter and tighter.”

“Oh.” She frowned, chewing on her lip. 

“And then he swore and stormed off. I chased him as far as the base of the stairs, but he was already pushing his way through the crowd and I didn’t want to cause a fuss and draw Thorin’s attention, so I raced back to the window in time to see him take you in his arms.” 

Would things have been different had Kili run from the elvish dancers that balmy evening, and not toward them? Would it have been easier if Kili had stopped, for one moment, and recalled that he was a dwarven prince who had a duty first and foremost to his kin? 

Probably.

But then, had it not been for Ness and her visions, and her love for Kili that had been too great to keep her safe in Rivendell... 

To distract himself from thoughts of his brother lying forever still in a cold tomb, Fili lifted her hand, placing it on his shoulder. 

“He held you far too closely. When we dance we keep a space between us. Like this.” He spread his fingertips wide to show her. “No closer than a handspan.” 

“Your hand or mine?” The frown had lifted and his merry Ness was back. She grinned, shaking her head. “Hold on, is this a serious dancing lesson? Because I thought we were just going to dance for a bit of fun, and I’ve already been studying for hours today and—”

“Think of it as a small break to rest your hands, and your mind. Feet closer together.”

She laughed but did as he said. 

“When I turn you our bodies will touch, but then I’ll—”

“Who taught you to dance?”

He smiled. “Balin.”

Ness’s grin widened. “You danced with Balin?”

“Yes. And Amad. Until Kili got old enough that he could take it seriously, and not try to trip me up or kick my shins every time Balin looked away.” Fili smiled. “He never truly grew out of it, and in truth neither did I. We’d usually end up wrestling on the flagstones of Balin’s study until he could drag us apart by the ears. It drove him mad.”

“I bet it did.” Her fingers caressed his shoulder, tracing along the Durin markings embroidered on his tunic until they reached the bared skin above his collar. “I can imagine it. Were you not allowed to dance with girls? Apart from your mother, I mean?”

“Not until we were old enough to not need Balin’s instruction.” 

As her fingers stroked over the nape of his neck, raising the hairs on his forearms, Fili closed his eyes, remembering feast day celebrations. The hall would be decked out in all the settlement’s finery, Kili would be grumbling, and Fili would share in the eye rolls that were as much to hide their nerves than anything else when it came to their turn. They’d dance with dams who, although there were a few in the settlement close to their age, were almost all as old or older than their amad. And they’d try desperately to lead their partners in any route that avoided Gimli, who would be snickering on the edge of the dancefloor, doing his best to distract them while not getting himself into trouble at the same time. 

And Fili would anxiously watch, either over or around his partner’s shoulder, always hoping for Balin’s tight nod of approval, or the glimmer of a smile from Thorin. 

He opened his eyes, smiling at Ness. “Thorin was very clear that he didn’t want anyone to see us while we were learning. He wanted us—”

“To be perfect,” Ness finished, an odd note in her voice. 

“Wanted us not to make fools of ourselves,” Fili corrected, moving her fingers back to his shoulder. “Everything we did reflected on Thorin, but he gave us a lot of freedom regardless. More freedom than he ever had.”

She nodded, with a look in her eyes that told him her mind was elsewhere, distracted by her own thoughts. 

“I expect you’ll get to do a lot of dancing now,” she said, glancing at him. “Maybe with Bofur’s sister when she arrives?”

His hand had curved about her hip rather than where it should be, and they were somehow already standing a good deal closer than was proper. Fili shifted his palm to the small of her back and considered how to answer. Obviously, she had no intention of actually paying attention to dancing until they discussed what they had managed to avoid so far. 

“I expect so," he said. "However, Bofur’s sister is closer to Thorin’s age than mine so if we dance that is all it will be.” He released her hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, avoiding her eyes as he continued, “I have to marry, Ness. It’s my duty as Thorin’s heir. Maybe not for some years, but, at some point, Thorin will choose someone for me.”

“Thorin?” The frown had returned. “That’s a bit unfair.”

Fili shrugged. There was a smudge of ink on her cheekbone and he ran his thumb over it before taking her hand again. “I may have some say now. Certainly more than I would have had in Ered Luin.”

“Because there are more girls here?”

“Because we have gold.” He met her eyes. “When Thorin makes his choice, I expect it will be a decision based more on alliances than wealth. Before Erebor, all Thorin had to trade with was my name.”

“Oh.” With her fingernails otherwise engaged, Ness seemed to have settled on mauling her lip with her teeth instead. “And Kili?”

“He would have been the same, but he’s not and never will be. He’s chosen you, and he's chosen love.” He frowned. She was going to draw blood if she wasn’t careful. “Stop that.”

She made a face but stopped and Fili breathed deeply, struggling against the magic urging him to simply give in, pull her close, and press his lips to hers. “It doesn’t matter, Ness. You and Kili will be happy, I swear to you. He wouldn’t change having you in his arms for anything. Not for any amount of alliances, or for all the gold of Middle-earth.” 

Not for his family. 

She snorted, muttering something under her breath. 

“What we’ve done.” What he wanted to do. “None of it matters, and it has been out of our control. We said we’d protect Kili’s heart above all else, didn’t we?” It was something they repeated often, as often as their promise that it would be the last time. As often as they swore that they would no longer be puppets forced to dance to the tune of a dragon’s gold. “If what we have done must weigh on either of our consciences, Ness, then let it be mine. I’m his brother and any fault must rest with me. All you need to do is love him, enough for both of us.”

Tears shone in her eyes once more as she whispered, “I do love him.”

“I know you do.”

“I hope Thorin picks someone you love." She swallowed hard. "I want you to be happy.”

It was an effort to force himself to smile brightly. “Thank you, Ness. Shall we dance?”

Hafdis’s fingers tightened against his shoulder, her fingernails digging into the ridge of the old scar left to him by Bolg’s archers. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning her so he could see what she was looking at. Up at the royal table, between Dain and Hafur, Stonehelm was pushing his chair back and standing.

"I think my cousin intends to—” Hafdis's face grew paler. "He's coming."

"That's fine, Hafdis," said Fili, smiling. "You can dance with him, I don't mind."

"No." Hafdis shook her head quickly. "I mean, not tonight. We need to look as if we are in…that we are betrothed."

Stonehelm was weaving his way through the crowd toward them. Fili watched his shock of red hair appear and disappear between gaps in the dancers. 

"Hold me tighter," whispered Hafdis, closing the distance between them to a lot less than was appropriate. 

"Hafdis?" The press of her body against his was more than a surprise. Horrified, Fili could feel his traitorous blood stirring quickly against his will. He tried to shift them apart but she moved even closer, her chest tight to his. 

"This is far too close to be decent," he warned, making the mistake of looking down at her, his eyes betraying him too as they drifted past hers, and to the swell of her breasts above the bejewelled neckline of her dress.  

"Fili, please. Stop pulling away from me." 

As he cursed himself and tried to tamp down the sudden need coursing through his body, Fili hoped his heavy winter tunic and her skirts were thick enough to hide his unwanted and growing arousal away from her. For it wasn’t Hafdis he longed for, and he was certain she would be appalled should she feel him press against her. 

Heat flooded his face. The song had distracted him, placing unguarded thoughts of dancing with Ness into his mind. He should never have allowed his thoughts to wander so freely, and certainly not have been foolish enough to think of Ness while he held Hafdis in his arms. It was her memory that his body was responding to. It had to be. She was the only one that his body should ever respond to. The only one he needed and wanted. It was betrayal upon betrayal and lies upon lies. 

His fingers twitched against Hafdis’s back, and he tried to focus. "Is there something you need to tell me?" he managed. 

She shook her head. 

He assumed she knew about Stonehelm's intentions toward her, but perhaps not. Perhaps it had only ever been discussed between Thorin and Dain. 

"Does Stonehelm know that our betrothal is a pretence?" he asked. 

She stiffened in his arms, drawing slightly away, and, within the feelings of relief that she was putting distance between them, Fili suddenly knew he had the right of it. "Hafdis. What about your brother? Have you told him the truth of this?" 

"It's not a pretence," hissed Hafdis. "We are betrothed, and to be married. We will be married. This is what your uncle and my uncle want."

To buy them time, Fili moved them between the other couples, pretending he hadn't seen Stonehelm. "What I mean is, do I have to pretend that we are more than friends?" 

Dain, Thorin, and Amad seemed to have happily convinced themselves that the betrothal was a true love match, even before Hafdis had agreed to it. They all seemed to think that Fili was merely being coy about marriage, and fretful about the trial, no matter that he had spoken as plainly as he could. 

He frowned. With Hafdis still closer to him than he would like, although mercifully his body was once more falling back under his command, this dance would do little to convince his family otherwise. But he'd hoped that he could at least be honest with trusted dwarves in private, and he’d assumed Hafdis’s closest family amongst that number. "When do you intend to tell them?"

Her eyes were wide and pleading as she looked up at him and Fili sighed. He supposed it made a terrible sense. Neither Stonehelm nor Hafur would be likely to ever forgive him for Buvro. Yes, they might pay lip service to it to his face, and to Thorin and Dain, but they would never mean it. Had the situation been reversed and Hafur done the same to Gimli, or Ori…

To Kili.

Fili's heart tightened. He would never have been able to forgive. Not if he lived for a thousand years. No matter that he liked to think of himself as reasonable and measured. 

He would have held a grudge forever, until death and beyond. 

Perhaps, for Hafur, believing his sister in love might build bridges that otherwise would be impossible? And, for Stonehelm, perhaps believing the one he'd wanted was happy with someone else would be enough?

"You shouldn't have been forced into this, Hafdis." He touched his forehead lightly to hers, his heart aching for her. "We're asking too much from you. Lying to your family—”

"What I tell my family is my decision," said Hafdis. Her eyes flickered in Stonehelm's direction, the worry clear in them. "Kiss me. Properly." 

"Properly?"

"Not as you did earlier," she lowered her voice. "Not as you would kiss your amad. Kiss me as if we are properly betrothed, as if you want me."

"Hafdis, no. I—”

"Do it," Hafdis whispered urgently, "or do something, anything. I can't, but you need to. We're being watched and we have to make it look convincing. Otherwise, this is all for nothing."

Fili glanced around the hall. She was right. There was more than Stonehelm paying close attention to them, but surely the announcement and some dancing was enough?

"Fili," Hafdis hissed. "Hurry up."

He took a deep breath. It wasn't betraying Ness, he couldn't for she wasn't his, and would never be his. And yet he felt ill. 

Hafdis nodded, the smallest incline of her head, and he forced a smile. This was wrong. It was all wrong. But, at the same time, it was what his uncle and, more importantly — since he was furious by Thorin's duplicity — it was what his amad wanted. And it was his duty, and he and Hafdis had agreed to it. 

Not on these terms though. 

"Fine," he said. "Try not to punch me." 

He kept an eye on Stonehelm, and he knew Hafdis was too for all she pretended to be staring besottedly into his eyes. 

"This is ridiculous," he murmured into her ear as he leant close. "And neither of us should have to do this, but pretend I'm whispering sweet words to you, or telling you something about how pretty you look in your dress." 

She giggled, a very un-Hafdis-like giggle, when he drew back, and, despite himself, he almost burst out laughing when he caught her eye.  

"Stop that," he warned, his lips twitching when she snickered harder. "You're making this very difficult, and I'm not good at play-acting."

She drew him to a halt. "Now," she urged. "Kiss me. Go."

With the other dancers forced to swirl around them, Fili cupped her face in his hands, stroking a thumb along her jaw. The feel of her neatly braided beard and the jewels, that sparkled in the torchlight, adorning it was unfamiliar. And so was the press of her hands against his chest, Hafdis falling in line with this false show of love. As her eyelids fluttered closed and her lips parted as if in invitation, in a way that reminded him painfully of Ness, his heart clenched. 

He couldn't do it. He couldn't kiss her.

And, even more important than his own misgivings, he could feel the tension under his fingertips. The muscles in her jaw and neck were as hard as bands of iron. Hafdis might be a better play-actor than he, and she might be making a better pretence of things than only hours ago when she'd demanded he kiss her in the mines, but play-acting was all this was. 

Taking a steadying breath, he touched his lips to the corner of her mouth, lingering long enough to hopefully strike the right balance between convincing but not completely scandalous, and drew away to resume the dance, at the proper distance. As they corrected their course to join with the couples, he looked for Stonehelm but he was gone. 

He glanced down at Hafdis. She beamed back at him, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. At least she seemed happy enough, or relieved that it was over perhaps.

"Well done," she said, a laugh in her voice.

He forced a laugh in return. "I hope Thorin agrees with you and we haven't just bought ourselves a long lecture on proper behaviour on our way to the mines tomorrow." When she raised an eyebrow, he added, "And you do look very pretty in your dress, by the way, in case you thought I was pretending about that. Durin blue suits you, and the black opals are striking." 

Looking down at the Durin blue braiding on the black tunic Thorin had insisted he wear, Fili frowned. “By any chance, did a member of my family dress you for tonight?”

Chapter Text

Leant over the low table in Bilbo’s second-best parlour, now little Fili’s bedroom, was not the best place to try and write an important letter. And the low fire in the hearth was not the best light to try and write by. Ness ground her teeth, shook out her hand, and slipped from the armchair to sit cross-legged on the rug. Now she had to reach up to write, and it was still awkward, but she was closer to the parchment so that could only be a good thing. 

She should have practised more to keep the letters or runes or whatever they were called straight in her head. Smoothing out the crumpled parchment that she had smuggled all the way from Erebor — the cheat sheet that Fili had no idea about and would have told her off for or burnt had he known — Ness laid it on the rug beside her and frowned. Obviously, she’d known what it all meant when she wrote it down, so why was it so hard to work out now? What was 'leaning tree with two little branches' supposed to look like? Leaning which way? Did it matter? She had a sinking feeling it did.

Ness sighed. Maybe she should just ask Bilbo, she could ask him in the morning, but then he’d want to know why the sudden interest in particular words, and then there’d be questions, and more questions, and she just wanted to write her letter and get it sent before she changed her mind again. 

Behind her, Fili snuffled in his sleep and she shuffled over, pressing her forehead to the bars of his crib. “What am I doing, baby boy?” she whispered, sliding her hand through to lay her fingertips gently on his chest. “What am I doing?”

She wasn’t liking the look of the amount of runes he was putting on the parchment. Drawing the feather up Fili’s back, Ness hummed under her breath as his muscles shifted in its wake. 

“Ness,” he murmured. “You are being very distracting.”

“I'm practicing my letters, like you said I should.” Slowly, she eased the tip of the feather under his hair and along his shoulder blade, frowning when it snagged on a golden curl. Tugging the feather on, she completed the rune with a flick and started on the sweeping movements of the next one. “I feel this is helping my concentration. A lot. I should practice like this all the time.”

“You should practice on parchment. Balin would be unhappy should he find you using a quill the wrong way round.”

Ness laughed. “I think Balin would be very unhappy about a lot of things if he were here, so we’ll maybe not mention this to him. For some reason, I think the way I’m using a quill would be the least of our worries.” Shuffling back from her seat on his waist to straddle his thighs, she brushed his hair over his shoulders so the feather didn’t get caught again. “But I need more space to write on than just your back, and that letter you’re working on is far too long by the way. I can’t learn all that.”

“You can.” Fili stretched over the side of the bed to reach the inkwell. “We’ll get as much learnt as we can before you go, and—”

“You’re seriously overestimating my—”

“And you’ll learn the rest in time,” Fili finished. He glanced over his shoulder. “This is important, Ness, and I know you can do it.”

“I think I should just send you a letter. Any letter. I could even draw a picture, or put a handprint in charcoal and send it. It’ll make no difference.”

“Are you an orc? Have we been wrong about you all this time?” The laughter in Fili’s voice faded away. “And what about in two years’ time, ten years' time? When you can write perfectly. As if you had been using Westron your whole life?” 

Ness stared at the runes, her stomach twisting. Some of them looked familiar. Maybe. “Using West-what? Fili, I can’t even write in one language. You can’t expect me to learn—”

“I meant Common. I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have called it by a different name.” 

As Fili added a line of more runes to the already far too long letter, Ness’s head span. First with relief that there wasn't another language that he expected her to learn, and then panic at the thought of two long years without him, never mind ten. They’d been apart for barely two days, and that had been two days too many. 

“Someday, when you send me an innocent letter,” he said, “I’ll worry, thinking it contains secret messages. That’s why we need to have our code. You write this, and only this, if you need me, and I will come to you.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can. Ness, please. I pray you’ll never need it but it’s only sensible to have it as a precaution. For me. So that I know for certain.”

Ness huffed out a breath and followed the line of tight bandage wrapping his chest with the tip of the feather. “You know exactly how to guilt trip me.”

“I don’t know what that means.” 

She smiled, nudging him with her hips. “I know that you know exactly what it means.”

“If you’re going to insist on practicing your letters by drawing on me, why don’t you try something different than our names, and Erebor?” Fili began, thankfully, scoring out some words on the letter. “Can you remember how to write Beorn?”

She thought hard. Maybe. There’d been a lot of words since Fili had climbed out of his sickbed and declared that she needed to learn to read and write, and there’d been a lot of words this afternoon. Too many, and her head was aching. The feather trailed over the bandage, meandering lower until she ran out of bared skin. Tracing along his waistband, she murmured, “I think I definitely need a bigger surface to write on.” 

Actually, maybe it wasn’t her head that was aching. 

They'd fallen on each other the moment the door of his chambers clicked closed behind her. All thoughts of the promises they'd made, again, tossed aside in the instant their eyes met and Ness saw the hunger that had tortured her for days reflected back at her. Hands and lips and frantically tearing at each other's clothes, desperate for touch and taste, and neither of them giving a single thought to turning the key in the lock until well after they should have. 

Worrying at a fingernail, Ness frowned. They needed to be more careful, anyone could have walked in. Well, maybe not anyone, people did knock, but Thorin wasn't people. He was the almost-king, and perfectly capable of flinging open an unlocked door.

And so was Kili.

She shuddered. Thorin would kill her. She knew he would. He wouldn't think about it, he'd just react, run her through, and ask questions later. And, under the circumstances, she couldn't really blame him if he did.

But Kili… 

"Are you sure he's in there?" Kili's voice was muffled by the thick door. The handle rattled again. 

The guard outside said something in reply, but Ness couldn't make it out over the thudding in her ears. She was going to be sick. She was going to have a heart attack. She—

"Ness," Fili whispered urgently. They'd scrambled apart at the first rattle of the door and, on silent feet, he stepped to her, finishing tying up his laces. "Breathe."

"Do we stay quiet?" she managed. “Pretend we’re not in?”

Quickly, he straightened her clothes, running his thumb over her lips, and Ness's chittering mind said a prayer of thanks to whatever god might be listening that at least she was dressed, because she was shaking far too hard to tackle any laces or buttons. She only wished she hadn't noticed that Fili's hands were shaking too. It wasn't helping her feel any calmer. 

But he'd have a plan, he always had a plan. Not always a good one — she'd still not forgiven him for Ravenhill and his idiotic solo assault on Azog's tower — but, any plan of his was bound to be better than the only one she had. Climbing out the narrow bedchamber window and attempting to scramble down the sheer face of Erebor in howling wind and rain probably wouldn't end well for either of them. 

Better that than staying here though. 

Anything was better than that.

"What do we do?" she urged.

Gathering his shirt and tunic from the floor by her feet, Fili held a finger to his lips, the worry clear in his eyes when he stood. 

"Fee?" called Kili. 

"Coming!" Lowering his voice, Fili looked into her eyes. "Stay quiet, I’ve got this."

Despite herself, she nodded, her legs trembling uncontrollably as he crossed the room to the door. He buckled his belt and lifted two swords from the rack, turning to toss one to her. 

It was an easy throw, deliberately easy, and they must've practised her catching weapons a thousand times, but still, Ness fumbled it, biting back a yelp when her injured wrist twisted. Grabbing the sword off the floor, her hands slick with sweat, she managed a quick, tight smile in answer to Fili's widened eyes. 

"I'm fine," she hissed, showing him her fingers so he could see she hadn't chopped any off. Her wrist throbbed, pulsing in time with her pounding heart, and she forced another smile.  

Fili's gaze flickered from her face to her wrist before he shook his head, unlocking the door. "Sorry, brother," he said, beckoning Kili in. "I had to lock the door in case—"

"In case Oin caught you training when you're supposed to be resting?" Kili raised an eyebrow, leaning on the door to push it closed. "And healing." He tutted. "Fee, I thought you had more sense, and, as for you, Ness—"

"It was my idea," Ness blurted out. "My wrist's feeling better and—"

Fili shot her a filthy look and she pressed her lips together. 

"It was my idea," Fili said firmly, "A break from her studies, and you know I'd never cause her harm." At Kili's nod, Fili added, "As for me, I'm hardly exerting myself. It's only Ness."

It was her turn to glower and Kili laughed. "I think Ness might be more than enough of a challenge for you, brother." Tucking a stray curl behind Fili's ear, Kili tapped his neck. "At the moment anyway. You're looking very flushed." 

It couldn't happen again. The fallout should Kili have realised, or, even worse, walked in and found her on her knees, it didn't bear thinking about. It would break his heart. They really needed to be more careful. Or just stop. But they'd tried that.

Ness touched her fingertips to her lips, which still felt swollen from hard kisses. Two days of abstinence had been too long, and it hadn’t been anywhere near enough. 

They needed to try harder. 

Or, at least, be really sure the door was locked.

Busy with his letter, Fili wasn't helping take her mind off things. Ness glanced at the window. It was hard to tell, but maybe the dull wintery sun was going down? Kili had said that he wouldn't be back before dinnertime, so they were probably safe enough for another while, but that wasn't certain. What was certain was that time was slipping through their fingers once again, and another precious day was almost gone. 

“Did Dwalin say anything to you this morning?” She stroked the tip of Fili’s ear where it poked out between his braids with the feather when he didn’t answer. “Anything about me?”

“I suspect that means you don’t remember how to spell Beorn,” said Fili, shaking her off. “I’ll show you again in a moment.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be writing to him. I mean, we’re friendly enough, but—”

“You will,” said Fili. “I have it all arranged.” 

He shifted his hips, obviously trying to subtly adjust himself against the mattress, and Ness grinned, starting another rune. She'd thought he'd like the feather, and she had been right. 

“Ness," he said. "Stop torturing me and come here. This is important."

Lying down on his back, Ness sighed and rested her chin on his shoulder. Fine.

“Go on then,” she said, tossing the feather to one side and running her fingertips over his other shoulder to check how bad the ever-present knots were. She smiled, pressing a kiss to the soft skin between his shoulder blades. Better than they were. “Explain.”

Lifting himself onto his elbows, Fili pulled the parchment in front of him. “I’ve kept this as short and simple as I can, Ness, before you say anything, but it needs to look genuine. You only need to learn this, and a few variations—”

“A few what?”

“Word changes, that’s all.” Fili twisted and brushed a, too light and too brief, kiss against her lips. Turning back to the letter, he touched a section that meant nothing to Ness. Her heart sank.

“A few words,” he continued. “If you are in Hobbiton, or any of the surrounding areas, this is what you write. But, if you are not, I have other words to switch in depending on whether you are north, south, east or west of the Shire.”

She wriggled an arm around his chest and leant her cheek against his shoulder instead, which nicely blocked her view of the runes. Out of sight, out of mind.

“I know you’re worried, Ness,” said Fili. “But you can do it. I know you can.”

“I really can’t,” she mumbled into his hair. 

He ignored her. “I’ve arranged with Beorn that you will send it to him.”

“Why?”

“Because Beorn is known throughout the villages east of the Misty Mountains, and men will not hold onto a letter for him. It won’t sit behind a tavern bar or lie forgotten below a bench in a merchant’s wagon. And he rarely receives letters so he knows that if he receives one in a script unknown to him that it will likely be from you. I trust him to open it to check, reseal it, and get it to Erebor. And quickly. He has sworn to me that he will. For he knows that if you send this, it means that you are in grave need.” 

“So I could write anything, so long as I send it to Beorn? I could just write the different words, the ones that let you know where I am?” 

“Again, no. For two reasons. One, I will worry, as I said, and two, even if it arrives in Erebor, there’s a chance that it may pass through other hands before it reaches mine. I may need to leave in secret. That’s why it needs to be written in Common, and read as if it is nothing more than an ordinary letter of unimportant news.”

“And have you planned out a letter for Kili?”

“Kili doesn’t need one.” His body moved under her as he reached for fresh parchment and Ness peeped over his shoulder, watching him begin to copy the runes from one to the other — the quill moving faster than she could ever imagine being able to use one. And no smudges either. As he worked, Fili added, “My brother knows Middle-earth, you don’t.”

“I think I can manage to find my way back to Erebor.” 

“If something happens, you find somewhere safe and you stay put.” He glanced at her. “That’s an order, Ness, so you can take that stubborn look off your face. I don’t want you wandering about Middle-earth getting into who knows what kinds of trouble. Do you understand me?”

Ness pressed her nose against his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of him. “I’ve missed you, even when you’re bullying me.”

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him smiling. “And I’ve missed you. Please, Ness. Humour me and do as I say.”

“On one condition.” 

“Go on.”

“Let’s not do anything stupid like take any more breaks away from each other.” 

“I agree.” Fili sighed heavily. “That afternoon, with Kili, it was too close a call, and it brought what we were, are, doing into the forefront of my mind… We should stay apart, that much is clear, but I spent every moment wanting you. The magic is too strong for us to overcome, I think.” He shifted, nuzzling closer, and Ness moved to meet him, wanting more than a gentle rasp of stubble and the cool trail of his beard beads against her cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Did you go to Dale as you’d said? Apart from last night in Bofur’s chambers, I didn’t catch a glimpse of you at all.” 

Ness smiled, grateful for the change of subject if not a kiss, because she didn't want to think about the guilt. It was bad enough that it kept her up at nights, staring at Kili asleep by her side and wondering what the hell she was playing at, without ruining what little time they had left with each other. 

“We did," she said. "Kili told us that Bard was planning lunch but it was all a lie. He hadn’t even thought about what he was going to feed us with. He didn’t even have any food in, just a barrel of ale. Bilbo was very offended and muttering about false pretences.” 

Fili snorted. 

“I know. So Bilbo took himself off with Tilda to go truffling about the markets, and Bard showed us around.”

“Which house did he finally choose?”

“It’s the one with the green door. Near the southern gate? Looks like it’s about to topple down.” Ness grinned. “Well, every house in Dale leans a bit, and has bits missing, but Kili is pretty sure a troll hit this one. Several times. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because they’ve made their decision. And Sigrid has big plans for the garden, and it has a view of the river from the attic if you lean right out. I’m thinking that he’ll fix that hole in the roof though, but he could put a window in so they can keep the view." She shrugged when Fili made what she thought was a puzzled noise. "I suggested it anyway. It’s Bard. He’ll do whatever he wants.” 

“He should have chosen one inside the inner wall.” Fili blew on the parchment and set it to one side to lift another. “The King of Dale should be near his council, and at the heart of the city. To keep him safe.”

“You tell him that next time you see him, but you’d better be quick because he’s all pleased with himself for finally settling on one. Anyway, he had a wall for us to build because the girls have decided that they want separate bedrooms after all, and Bain needs his own room, and—”

“The large house by the merchants’ quarter had enough rooms, with some to spare.”

“Again, you can tell him.” Ness pressed her lips to Fili's neck before she sat up. “I have a feeling Bard wants to be nowhere near his council or the merchants, but I could be wrong. And the house is nice. Cosy, and they’re happy.” 

Fili made a non-committal noise. 

“Happy is good, after all everyone’s been through. He can move later.” Ness smiled. “And he wanted the downstairs painted too. He wanted quite a lot in return for a liquid lunch. I’m not sure Tauriel has ever lifted a paintbrush in however many hundreds of years that she’s lived, but it’s handy that she’s so tall because she could get right up into the corners without standing on anything, and she was enjoying herself.”

The quill had stopped moving. “Did Kili take care of his back?” Fili asked quietly. 

“I kept an eye on him.” Mostly. “He and Beorn both had ideas about how best to build the bedroom wall, and Bard tried to mediate, but they told him he'd no idea what he was talking about and turned on him, and so in the end we left them to discuss it between themselves and went and had some ale.”

Sighing, Fili scrubbed his free hand through his hair. 

“I know. We could hear them from downstairs so I knew Kili wasn’t actually doing any work, unless winding Beorn up into a fury counts as work." Ness frowned, remembering. "I was a bit worried Beorn might snap and put him through a wall or out a window, but I figured he knows Kili's still healing so it was safe enough. Tauriel beat me to it and went upstairs in the end and brought Kili back down with her.” 

The pantry door was swinging from the top hinge and didn’t quite close, but at least there was an actual full door for some privacy. And it had no scimitar marks or dark stains on it. It would do. Turning, Ness smiled at Kili who was leant against the shelves with his arms crossed and a belligerent expression on his face. 

“And what was all that about?” she asked, glancing at the ceiling above as it creaked. More ominous-sounding creaks followed, likely Beorn stomping about, and Ness edged away from the centre of the small room and closer to the shelves. Dust floated down, dancing in the faint light that seeped in through the cracks in the door. It tickled her nose. “Those boards are safe enough, aren’t they?”

Kili followed her gaze. “Should be. Anything that’s survived a dragon, a hundred winters, and then a war, should withstand a bear.” He muttered something in Khuzdul under his breath. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t say whatever that was to Beorn’s face.” 

Kili smiled. 

“Because we have to travel with him,” continued Ness, “so you two really need to get on and not, you know, murder each other before we even get a day’s ride away from Erebor.” She leant on the shelves beside him, digging a thumbnail into the spongy wood. “And I think you should start to teach me.” 

“Teach you?” 

“Teach me Khuzdul.” Ness frowned when his smile broadened. “What? Did I get it wrong? Don’t you dare laugh at my accent.”

Closing the distance, Kili pressed his lips against her forehead. “I wouldn’t ever do such a thing. But you’re not a dwarf, Ness. You know I can’t teach you.” He drew away, studying her face. “And besides, you have enough to learn with your letters.”

There was a flush rising on her face, she knew there was. Ness looked away. A labelled jar lay on its side at the back of the shelf behind Kili and she reached in to set it upright. “That’s true, I suppose.” 

“Fee is a good teacher,” said Kili as Ness stared at the handwriting on the label, trying to decide if she recognised any of the runes and hoping the guilt wasn’t written across her face. She jumped when footsteps echoed from the other side of the wall, someone running up the stairs. 

“He is.” She nodded, risking a glance at his face and having a sudden flash of inspiration. “He could probably do with some help though. You should join us more.” 

It would be perfect, because as much as she would miss her time alone with Fili, even the thought of not touching him made her ache, they really needed someone else in the room at all times to keep their hands from each other. And Kili was the perfect person. Since he was the one they were betraying. She felt her face heat once again. If anyone could put a stop to things, no matter how unwittingly, it was him. And it was a much better plan than Fili’s one that they should stay apart as much as possible. It hadn’t even been a full day and it was already too long. 

They stood in silence, listening to the rumble of Beorn’s voice and Tauriel’s high lilting one in response drifting down from above. Kili’s gaze lifted from Ness to the ceiling. Outside in the kitchen, Bard and the children were banging about and chatting happily, Bilbo’s voice amongst them. Everyone sounded happy. Everyone was talking, laughing, healing. They were moving on with their lives and making the best of things. Everyone except…

Reaching out, Ness took Kili’s hand. “You need to see him more. You need to stay in the mountain, and spend every single moment you can with your brother. Not with her.”

He met her eyes, his brow furrowed. “Tauriel’s my friend, Ness. Nothing more than that, you have no reason to be worried.”

“No. I didn’t say she was anything more than that.” As he brushed her cheek with his fingertips, Ness listened to a peal of musical elvish laughter followed by Beorn’s deep chuckle from the floor above, and tried to ignore both the sting of jealousy and her guilty conscience. When was the last time she and Kili had laughed like that? It couldn’t have been as long ago as Rivendell? Could it? 

She squeezed his fingers, moving closer and standing on tiptoe to press her forehead to his. “But Fili’s your brother. You’re the person he loves most in the whole world, and he is yours. Please. I know it hurts, more than I could ever imagine, but—”

“Don’t.” Pulling his hand from hers, Kili stepped quickly away. “I see him every morning before I leave. I think about him all the time. Every moment of every day, and I—” He moved past her, turning with his hand on the door. “Uncle Thorin won’t look at me, but everyone else does. With pity, if I’m lucky. Or…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to leave him, and I don’t want to stay.”

“I know. I know it’s so hard on you, on you both, but Fili needs—”

“Don’t ask me to give anything more.” In the darkness of the pantry, Kili’s eyes shone and his voice was ragged. It twisted Ness’s heart. He looked away. “I cannot.”

She shouldn’t have said anything to him. She’d been trying to help, but only ever made him feel worse. Ness bent forward, pressing her forehead tight to the nape of Fili’s neck, her eyes burning. 

“Ness?” 

“I’m fine.” She worked an arm under his chest and held on as tightly as she could. Her still-healing wrist twinged under the sturdy weight of him, but the pain was welcome. She wanted it to hurt. 

“Do you need me to turn around and hold you?”

Yes. Please. Ness shook her head, pressing her forehead against him harder and breathing in the familiar summer scent of his skin. Her heart hurt, so much more than a broken wrist ever could. Everything she did was wrong. Everything she ever did and everything she ever said was wrong. “No,” she whispered. “I’m fine like this.”

Setting down the quill, Fili shifted underneath her, his fingers finding hers. A thumb brushed over her knuckles as Ness fought back tears and tried to focus on the steady beating of his heart against her forearm.

“I’ll have to take a walk to Dale and see this house for myself,” said Fili lightly. “I think I should be able to manage the distance well enough by now, and I'm sure Dwalin will insist on escorting me, but maybe you can both come too?”

Ness hugged him tighter. “I’d like that. And Bard would be so happy to see you. He was asking how you were.”

“Good. I’ll speak to Thorin tonight and arrange it. Perhaps we can go tomorrow evening.” His fingertips stroked her palm in soothing circles. “And how did you entertain yourself yesterday, before dinner in Bofur’s chambers?” 

“The mines.”

Fili stiffened underneath her, his fingers stopping mid-circle. “Ness. You know that you shouldn’t be wander—”

“Oh, don’t worry. I took Bilbo with me.” When Fili sighed heavily, she continued, “It was fine. Everyone likes Bilbo. He’s Thorin's little wonder-hobbit.” 

The mines had been a dark and claustrophobic warren of tunnels, mixed in with vast, dark, and noisy spaces filled with the clatter of pickaxes and what sounded suspiciously like the occasional explosion under their feet. And every part of them were filled with busy dwarves. So many busy dwarves. Even with Bilbo being a ray of sunshine — Ness suspected that his cheeriness was due to him spending the morning locked up with Thorin — they’d gotten a lot of funny looks. 

“He ‘at your service’d everybody," she said, "and was his usual hobbity charming self. Nobody had a conversation with him though so he was stuck talking just to me. I think he was disappointed. You know how he is.”

“Everyone likes you too, Ness.”

“Liar.” She snuggled in against his back. “I think they would’ve talked more if I hadn't been there.”

“No. They wouldn’t.”

“Yes, they would, because I think no matter how much Thorin tries to hide it, the Iron Hills dwarves all know that Kili and I are—”

“Dain's miners don’t speak Common, Ness.”

She lifted her head. 

“Most of them anyway.” Letting go of her hand, Fili lifted the quill. “I’d be a fool to imagine that there aren’t rumours swirling about the mountain regarding you and Kili, and doubly a fool to assume that there is no ill feeling toward either of you. That’s why you must take care.”

“I do.”

“But as far as people not speaking to you.” Fili shrugged. “There might be a few miners who have had contact with other races, but most of them have no need of any other language but our own.” 

“But—”

“Back home, we would occasionally have dwarves petition to join our settlement who had little to no Common, and Thorin would insist they learn enough to get by. It was one of his main stipulations.” Fili looked over his shoulder at her. “My uncle is perhaps somewhat unusual amongst the great dwarf lords, for he knows better than most that a dwarf may end up outside their mountain through no fault of their own. And not being able to communicate is akin to being cut adrift in an already stormy sea.” 

“But…” Ness frowned. “But you all speak Common all the time? You always have. Apart from the swearing.”

Fili shook his head. 

“Then, at home, you wouldn’t speak—”

“Once you and Bilbo, and the others, leave.” Fili took a deep breath. “When the mountain has only dwarves within it. Then we will speak Khuzdul, as we always do.” 

“Oh.” Ness blinked. “Then Kili—”

“Will speak Common, of course. He must.”

She hadn’t known. How many hundreds of conversations had she had with all of them over an entire year, and not one of them had ever thought to mention it? Why did no one ever tell her anything? Why did absolutely everything have to be a huge secret? 

“Then teach me,” she said. “Never mind runes and writing, I can learn all that later. Teach me enough that I can talk to Kili in his own language.”

Fili looked away. 

“Please.” Ness shook his shoulder. “Please, Fili. A few sentences. It’s not fair that he won’t be able to talk to anyone.”

Fili bowed his head, and she watched his fingers tighten on the quill, the shaft crackling. “I can’t, Ness. I would, you must believe me, but it’s not my place.”

“You’ll break that.” Reaching over his shoulder, she tapped his hand. “And then you’ll have to explain to Balin what you were doing with quills.”

He laughed softly, swapping it to his other hand. “We don’t want that.” Catching her fingers, he brushed his lips to them and released her. 

Ness closed her eyes, trying to ignore the familiar swoop in her stomach at his touch. She sighed. There was no point in pushing it. She recognised a refusal by now. “Will you at least tell me how many languages you speak? Three? Because I’m counting the sign language thing you all do when you think I’m not looking.”

“Iglishmêk,” said Fili. 

She wasn’t even going to attempt to pronounce that, but at least he’d volunteered a word. “And I expect that no one will teach me that one either?” When he didn’t answer she continued, “Is that all then? Three?”

He shook his head. “We should get back to this. Get off me and we’ll move to the table.”

“Surely how many languages you all speak isn’t a big secret?”

“Ness.” Fili huffed out a breath. “Fine. Five. There’s an older form of Khuzdul, used for ceremonies. I can read and speak it, as can Kili, but not everyone can. It’s close enough to the daily form that most dwarves will be able to get the gist of what is being said  but only the lords, and their close families, are permitted to study it.”

“That’s a bit unfa—”

“And Black Speech.” 

“What? The orc one?”

“Hush, Ness.” Fili glanced worriedly toward the window as if there might be someone clinging by their fingernails to the rock outside with nothing better to do than eavesdrop. He lowered his voice, “I’m far from fluent. Not all dwarves can understand it, and even the ones that do…we don’t admit to it, nor is it written down. Even amongst ourselves. So this is a secret I’m trusting you with.”

Ness nodded. “Thank you. So orcs and dwarves were more friendly once?”

“Why ever would you think that?”

“Because how would you learn their—” Ness shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She suspected it involved cells and probably hot pokers and all sorts of things she didn’t want to imagine. 

“I don’t know any of the elvish languages,” Fili continued. The quill was moving rapidly over the parchment again. “A few words here and there but that’s all, and I’m not even sure if my understanding is correct. But there are some books in the library, and Ori and I intend to learn.”

“Maybe Tauriel might teach you.”

He shrugged and Ness lay down against his back, yawning as she listened to the scratch of his quill and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Outside, the wind had picked up, howling around the mountainside and she snuggled closer, enjoying the heat from his body and just being close to him. 

“What did you think Dwalin had said to me?” asked Fili, as she was drifting off to sleep. 

“Dwalin?” 

“Earlier. You asked if Dwalin had spoken to me. Why?”

“Oh.” Sleep probably wasn’t a good idea anyway. She skimmed her fingertips over his shoulder, over the knots from years of hard training that needed so much more attention before she left. Circling the stitches that closed the wound from Bolg’s archers, she frowned, trying very hard not to think of Ravenhill. The skin underneath was still discoloured but healing quickly. He would be fine. Azog was gone, and Bolg was gone, and Fili would be safe inside Erebor. Thorin would make sure of that.

“Ness?”

“I thought he might have mentioned…something.” She cleared her throat. “After Bofur’s party last night. But if he didn’t, then that’s fine.”

Fili laughed. “Sounds to me as if you’re the one keeping secrets now.”

“I have no secrets from you.” Ness stroked a finger along his arm and smiled. “Brace yourself, and remember you asked for this. He caught me.”

“Caught you?”

“In Bofur’s room. You and Kili were playing your fiddle so you probably didn’t notice I’d slipped off.”

“Do you mean Bofur’s bedchamber?” Fili sounded shocked. “What were you doing in there?”

“Not getting any privacy. Apparently. Why do none of the doors in this place have locks?” Fili began to twist to look at her and she pressed her full weight against his back, grabbing his head to stop him. “No. Keep writing or whatever you’re doing, and let me tell my story. I was in Bofur’s room because I needed a moment alone, and I thought I was more likely to get it there than in the bathroom.”

“You were upset?” Fili tried again to turn and she wrapped her arms around his neck instead.

“No,” she said slowly, her lips by his ear. “Not upset.” 

Most of the company were scattered about Bofur’s front room, playing cards or talking amongst themselves, but Ness sat alone on the floor, tucked into a corner, nursing an ale, and watching Fili and Kili. 

Despite her regret at saying them at all and upsetting him, it seemed that Kili had taken her words in Bard’s pantry to heart. Or maybe he’d always intended to come since it was a private gathering. But, either way, he and Fili were sharing an armchair near the hearth, and a fiddle. 

Wrapped around his brother, Kili sang quietly in Khuzdul, his chin resting on Fili’s shoulder. The song was slow and mournful, and it was one that Fili either wasn’t familiar, or confident, with, by the way his brow furrowed in concentration, and by the amount of stops and starts for Kili to adjust his fingers or whisper in his ear, but it was very pretty. And she could quite happily listen to Kili sing forever. 

As Ness listened, watching Fili's nimble fingers move, and with her mind wandering away from the song to somewhere else entirely, the fiddle bow skidded from the strings. The tortured squeak made her jump, and toss half her ale over her trousers, but across the chamber the brothers didn't notice, bursting into peals of laughter. They pressed their foreheads together, the laughter slowly dying away as they stared into each other's eyes, and the bow and fiddle slid forgotten from Fili’s fingers to his lap. He knotted his hands in Kili’s hair, pulling his brother close. 

Squirming in her corner, and thinking heart-pounding thoughts that Thorin would definitely have murdered her for, Ness watched them break apart only far enough for Fili to press a hard kiss to Kili's brow. 

This was ridiculous. 

What the fuck was wrong with her? 

It had to be the gold. 

She looked around the room. An unlit passageway led out of the chamber toward the other rooms, and she turned back, counting heads. All here. Perfect. It would take the edge off. 

“Ness?” asked Fili, his voice concerned. 

“I was just…well, we hadn’t done anything for days.” And she and Kili hadn’t shared anything more than goodnight kisses and cuddles since before the battle. Which was fine, his back was hurting him, and he had things on his mind. Ness huffed out a breath. It must be the gold. She’d never felt this frustrated and desperate before. Sitting up, she said, “I just needed to, what’s the pretty little phrase you use? Find my release.”

The quill skidded, leaving a trail of ink across the parchment. Fili coughed, then said quickly, “No. You don’t need to say anything more. I understand.”

“Dwalin pretty much caught me with my hand down my trousers. He just barged in. I was behind the door, with my back to it to hold it closed.” Ness grinned, watching the tips of Fili’s ears begin to turn pink. “Since there’s no lock.”

“Locks aren’t really necessary inside a set of rooms, Ness. But you don’t need to tell me any more, I—”

“I think I managed to get my hands away before he saw me. But he gave me this look, and I’m sure I was a bit flushed. I’d been pretty close—”

“Ness—”

“Really, really close, if I’m being honest. And then he walked across the room, rifled through a drawer and lifted a pouch of something, I’m guessing pipeweed, and walked back past me, looking like he was going to laugh. He didn’t say a word. And I thought I might die right there of embarrassment.” She chewed on a fingernail. “Do you think he knew? Will he tell anyone? He’s going to tell everybody, isn’t he?”

Fili shook his head. 

“Are you sure?” She peeped over his shoulder and he quickly turned his face away. “Why are you looking so shifty? Because, although it's sweet how embarrassed you still get, considering everything we've done to each other, he caught me, not—” She gasped. "Fili?"

“No.”

“Tell me.” She raised herself up on her knees to give him space, and swatted him on the backside. “Turn.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Fili leant over the bed to set his quill down. He pushed the parchments to one side and slowly rolled over. 

“I didn’t force you to look into my eyes when you were telling your story,” he said, glowering at her even as his fingertips slid along her bare thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. 

“That’s because you’re a better person than I am.” Trying to distract herself from the feel of his hands on her and the need for more, Ness bounced on his stomach and he grunted, adjusting his grip to her waist and pulling her closer. “Sorry. Did I hurt you? Please, I want to hear it. Go on, tell me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“I know.” He drew her closer still, freeing a hand from under her shirt to cup the nape of her neck. Lifting his head, his lips brushed hers, parting them. 

“Oh no, you don’t.” Wriggling her head free before he could deepen the kiss, Ness laughed, pressing her lips lightly to his wrist. “Good try though, very sneaky. I approve. Get talking. Who caught you?”

Groaning, Fili fell back onto the bed. “Fine. It wasn’t caught, not exactly. More… I was very young. I feel I need to say that first. Barely twenty.” 

Dwarf ages still threw her into a spin every time. She couldn’t reconcile them in her head at all. Staring into eighty-year-old eyes that still looked so impossibly young, Ness nodded. 

“It had only started happening, perhaps a few weeks before, no more than that…” Fili threw a forearm over his face. “Every morning, and all the time. Uncontrollably. And I hadn’t, I didn’t fully know what was happening to me."

Oh. Ness grinned. "Did you not think to ask someone?"

Fili shook his head. "Perhaps, if my father had still been… But, no, I didn't. I hoped it would just stop. And then, one day before dawn, in the training yard, when I was wrestling with Dwalin, he always took it easy on me back then, I wasn’t much of a challenge to him, and— No, I can’t say it.”

Ness clapped her hands over her mouth before reaching to pull his forearm away. “Dwalin?”

“Don’t laugh. I was mortified. He pinned me—”

“Well, you do like being pinned down.” 

“Not by Dwalin, I don’t.” As Ness pushed his arms to the bed, her fingers wrapping around his wrists as far as they could, Fili murmured, “I make an exception for you.”

“And what did he do? Say?” 

“He…” Fili rolled his hips, slow and deliberate and very distracting, his eyes holding hers. “Is that not enough story yet?” When she shook her head, he sighed. “He said nothing, and sent me for a run.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And then, two days later, Thorin summoned Kili and I to him.”

“He told Thorin?”

Fili nodded. “I expect so, or perhaps Amad and she decided it was better coming from Thorin. I don’t know and I’ve never asked. And, at the time, I was too busy wishing I was dead.”

She tried not to laugh. 

“I don’t think Uncle Thorin was overly happy about it either. I remember he strode back and forth across his chambers, and I was certain we were both in trouble but I couldn’t think of what we’d done that time.” Fili’s lips quirked into a sad smile, his eyes far away. “There was usually something. We spent a lot of time in Thorin’s chambers watching him pace, and frantically trying to work out what we’d been caught at when we were young.”

Ness leant down, touching her lips to his forehead. “I can imagine.” Letting go of his wrists, she curled against him and he wrapped his arms around her. “What did Thorin say?”

“There was a lot,” he murmured into her hair. “Kili was completely confused, of course. I’d managed to hide what was happening to me from him, which is hard—”

He waited while she giggled. “Sorry,” she whispered when she was finished. “Carry on.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Pressing a quick kiss into her hair, he continued, “As I was saying, hiding anything is difficult when you share the same small bed. And Thorin talked in circles for some time without actually saying a great deal of anything. Which I was partially grateful for, although not when I had to try and explain to Kili as best I could afterward.” Fil’s chest lifted under her cheek as he took a deep breath. “All in all, Thorin wasn’t particularly informative. We weren’t declared as his heirs by then, that was still some years away, but there was a lot about responsibilities to our kin, and to the dwarven race, and a great deal about how, when the time came to have dwarflings, bearing in mind there were many in the settlement who still considered us little more than dwarflings at the time, that it would all become clear to us.”

“So he didn’t actually tell you anything?”

“The gist of it was to train and study harder, and in the meantime—”

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

His fingers weaved through her hair. “More than that, but, basically, yes. Not quite so succinctly.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” 

His fingers stopped moving. “Then, you knew? The first time that we… That I…” Faltering to a stop, he cleared his throat. 

Ness tried to turn to look up at him but he held her steady, his fingers tightening against her head. “I wasn’t sure,” she said. “But I suspected you hadn’t.” 

He was silent. 

“Let me up,” said Ness. Resting her forearms on his chest, she looked into his worried eyes. “You didn’t say anything then, and you’ve never said anything since, so I didn’t know for sure.”

“But you suspected? Because of something I did?” He studied her face. “Something I didn’t do?”

She hated the uncertainty in his voice because she knew it was more than just needing his ego stroked. Thorin had a lot to answer for. With a smile, she said gently, “No. Not because of anything you did or didn’t do. Only because of what I knew by then about this world, and about dwarves.” Because one night in Rivendell had turned so quickly into talk of marriage and forever — not to mention the occasional death threat from Thorin — that it had made her head spin. 

The relief on his face made her frown. 

“You do know,” she continued, “and this is not related to how good you are in bed by the way, and you are great, in case you need to hear it, but you do know that you don’t need to be perfect at everything? No matter what your uncle has told you for the last however many years.”

“Of course,” he said, too quickly to have actually listened to what she was trying to tell him. His eyes flickered around the room before settling on hers. “Then, you didn’t know?” 

“I’m not going to score you out of ten, Fili.” Ness laughed at his scowl. “Or give you some sort of written report. I was very happy with your performance.” She kissed the frown line on his forehead. “Very. And you’ve only got better and better, I promise. You were not what I meant at all when I said that it explained a lot.” Grinning, she added, “I only meant that it explains why you’re all so uptight.”

The frown had melted away. Fili shook his head. “We’re far from uptight. You haven’t seen us outside our quest, remember? As a people, we're merry, and Thorin is—”

“Uptight.” Resting her chin on her arm, Ness looked up at him, enjoying the feel of his fingers skating along her side and toying with the hem of her shirt. “Completely. He needs a good… Actually, I don’t want that image in my head, and it explains why—” She managed to stop herself in time. Fili didn’t need to know anything about what his brother preferred. At Fili’s raised eyebrow, she continued hurriedly, “But you’re not like that, what Thorin said all those years ago. You like it when I touch you. It’s not all about making dwarflings.”

Fili flushed. “It can’t be, Ness.” Drawing her closer, he kissed her, soft and slow. When they broke apart, he brushed a thumb over her lips. “What we do, it’s wrong in so many ways, and you using your hands, your mouth—” He coloured further. “It’s the least thing to worry about. If I were to put a dwarfling in your belly, it would be… I’d never forgive myself.” The smile he gave her broke her heart. “I will never forgive myself for what I have done to you regardless, or what I have done to Kili, for the thoughts that I have had about us—”

“I have never once told you no.” Ness pressed her lips to his to quieten him. “And, as I have told you many times, your guilt is mine. We share it equally.”

The sadness in his eyes didn’t lift as it usually did. “As it is,” he whispered. “I worry that it may already be too late.”

So did she. Before the battle, when he'd kissed her on the ledge high above the Gallery, the need to be careful hadn’t crossed her mind in the heat of the moment. And even after, as she shoved the guilt to the back of her mind and stamped it down, half-convinced that they were all going to die anyway, she’d pushed the worry of any long-term consequences away too. But, the days and weeks were sliding past, and it was becoming more of a concern. Telling herself that she wasn’t late, that not only the stress of war and Azog, but also the loss in Dale, could all be affecting her body, had helped, but not entirely. It was an ever-present panicky thought swirling about at the back of her mind. And what made it worse was that the Gallery hadn’t been the only slip-up. Fili had surprised them both a few times since, although they were both getting better at realising when he was too close now. She stroked his chest as she thought. 

“You don’t need to,” she said at last. There was no sense in them both worrying themselves sick about it. “We’ve been pretty well behaved, mostly, and I’m sure I’d know by now.” 

That might be true. Maybe, with all the stress of the trip across Middle-earth, she just hadn’t properly realised until Dale, and she would have known sooner in normal circumstances. Or maybe she had never been pregnant at all, and had only thought she was because of what Galadriel had shown her in the mirror. Maybe it had put thoughts into her head and she'd assumed. It wasn't as if you could just pop to the chemist and pick up a test. And she’d been on the pill for years, off and on, before her arrival in Middle-earth, and she was fairly sure she’d read or heard somewhere that it took a long time to wear off. Oin wouldn’t know about that specifically, but he might know about other things, but Ness didn’t dare speak to him, because that would mean confronting it properly. 

She didn’t want to think about it. 

She didn't want to talk about it.

And she really needed some sort of calendar. How did anyone ever keep track of dates here? 

“Anyway,” she said brightly, tugging at the bracelet wrapped around his wrist. “I've got an idea. It can be like a present to me.” She could see the suspicion growing in his eyes, but suspicion was a lot better than him looking sad and worried. “I want to see you.”

The suspicion gave way to something closer to panic. Fili sat up as she did. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly. 

“You know exactly what I mean. Touch yourself. I want to see you, and I know you do because you’re not as uptight as some of the rest of your lot.” The flush was back on his face and Ness grinned as she carried on, “Don’t deny it, because I always know when you’re lying, and anyway you’ve seen me.”

“Ness, I—”

“Are you about to tell me you’ve never?” Ness ran her fingers down his chest, and over him until they circled on his thigh. “Because I don’t believe that for a moment. The last few days I’ve been so… That’s why Dwalin caught me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” And about Kili. But, as she began to slowly undo his laces and Fili’s breath hitched, she kept that thought firmly to herself. “Imagining your hands on me. Wanting you. It was driving me mad. And I know you like watching me. So I’m thinking it’s only fair, and, now that I'm thinking about it, also very overdue, that you return the favour.”

“But you’re not as—”

“Be really very careful how you finish that sentence, Dragon-slayer.”

Fili smiled, his shoulders relaxing. And Ness didn’t miss the shift of his weight onto his hands or the slight lift of his hips to allow her easier access. 

“Uptight,” he continued, his voice husky as he watched her free him from his laces. “I think people in your world are not as uptight as we are about certain…activities.”

“Nicely saved.”

“And, I have to admit, that I’ve been thinking about you too,” he said, meeting her eyes. “More than I should. You fill my dreams, and I wake aching for you, wishing you were in my arms, but I—” He took a deep breath. “You want this? As a present?”

She shrugged. 

“And, in exchange, you’ll learn the letter.” Shifting his weight to one hand, Fili gestured vaguely toward the pile of parchment, not taking his eyes from her. “As I want you to learn it, with no more arguments?”

“I feel like we’re missing some common understanding about how presents work,” said Ness. “Maybe it’s lost in translation, but fine. If you need to negotiate then I’ll learn your letter. No more arguments.”

He nodded, his mouth set in a determined line.

The guilt trickled in as Ness studied his face. “If you don’t want to, just say no. I never want to force you into anything you don’t want to do. I can imagine it just as easily.” Straddling him, she closed her eyes, smiling at his low moan of her name. “See. I’m imagining it right now. You’re on your knees, and you look good.” She hummed as his hips moved under her. “Really, really good.”

He laughed, his lips touching hers a moment later. “Fine,” he said between deep kisses that set her blood on fire, his hands tangling in her hair, parchment crackling under them, as he rolled her to the bed. “Then I agree to your terms. All of them.”

Softly, Ness banged her head on the bars of the crib. “What am I doing?” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to the papers scattered across the floor and table behind her. 

She couldn’t do it to him. And she shouldn’t. No matter the reason. Because, no matter how much she lied to herself that they could be friends and nothing more, in the dark of the night it was a lot easier to admit that she wanted him. Every bit as much as when they’d kissed for the first time in Dale, and for the last time in Erebor. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. And Kili didn't deserve any more betrayals. 

On her knees, she shuffled away from the crib and started to gather everything together. The letter was a stupid idea. It was. And, more than that, it was cruel. To both of them. She’d known it when she’d written the first one, and burnt it, and she knew it now. And anyway, the middle of the night was never the time for making hard decisions. Fili had always told her that. 

The parlour door creaked and she leapt to her feet as Bilbo poked his head around it. 

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked softly, his eyes moving from her, to the crib, to the papers clutched to her chest. “Is the little one restless?”

“No.” Ness crumpled the papers together and stepped over to the fire, tossing them in and lifting the poker. “I thought I heard him, but he’s fine. Just a dream.” She glanced over her shoulder at Bilbo. “So I worked on my letters for a bit until I was sure he was asleep.”

“You don’t have to burn the evidence,” said Bilbo with a quiet chuckle. “I'm sure it wasn't that bad, and I could have looked over it in the morning with you. I have no plans until the afternoon."

She absolutely did have to burn the evidence, especially if Bilbo wanted to see what she’d been writing. Poking hurriedly at the pile of curling, blackening paper and willing it to burn faster before Bilbo’s hobbity nosiness drew him closer, Ness sucked in a breath. Her heart pounded harder as she recognised the paper tucked in amongst the others, flames licking at its edges. No. Her cheat sheet. 

Fuck. That was that then. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. Her decision had been made for her. Taken out of her hands. As always. 

“Kili not coming home tonight either?” asked Bilbo when she turned away and shoved the poker back with the rest of the pokey fire-things. 

He’d asked the question suspiciously innocently, and was leaning against the doorframe in a very suspiciously innocent way. Ness studied his wide eyes, narrowing hers. “You know?”

“About the weapons merchant?” Bilbo nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“Will he get into trouble?”

“No.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“That’s because I am, of course.” Warm candlelight spilled in from the hallway as Bilbo pushed the door further open. “Come. We’ll leave the door ajar in case Fili wakes again so that you can hear him.” He smiled, wagging a finger at her. “I’ve got a pot of tea on, and you look like someone who could use a cup.”

Chapter Text

One of the stairs had developed a creak. Pressing on it again, Bard frowned. Nothing to worry about, he was sure. Back in the house in Lake-town, all the stairs had creaked, and the floorboards, and occasionally the roof and rafters when the winds that swept across the lake were strong enough, and the stout stilts that held their house high above the lake had groaned ever since he could remember. But still… He pushed at the board again. The staircase had been newly built to Kili’s exacting instructions after he’d condemned the old one as unsafe. Surely it shouldn’t be creaking after only a few years? How quickly did things fall apart? 

“Do you know anything about wooden staircases?” he called. 

Legolas poked his head into the stairwell, blocking out the light from the lower level of the house. A smile played on his lips as he looked Bard up and down. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, when you’re finished with that, the tea that you asked me to make is ready.” Legolas vanished only to reappear a moment later. “And it’s getting cold.”

Bard trudged down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen. Yawning, he stretched and glanced at the rain-streaked window. “What… How late is it?”

“Late enough that you won’t need to worry about your guards rousing the stableboys.” Legolas held out a steaming mug of tea. “First light has been and gone, and so have Bain and Tilda. They said to remind you that Sigrid is expecting you for dinner, and not to be late.”

Taking the mug, Bard flopped down at the table. He rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Have you decided on your course?” The bench creaked gently as Legolas sat down opposite. “Now that you have a clear head.”

“Is it clear?” Bard looked at Legolas from between his fingers. 

His friend smiled, looking as fresh and bright-eyed as always, despite the several bottles of wine they’d shared over dinner, and the several flagons of ale they’d shared before that in The Dragon — where Bard had ranted about the fickleness of dwarven promises until he’d run out of steam. 

He groaned. How loudly had he been talking? Who had overheard?

“I can’t answer that for you, Bard,” said Legolas. “It’s your head, not mine.”

“Should you not have been left already?” It was a full day's ride to Thranduil’s Halls in Mirk—The Greenwood, Bard corrected himself, and although Legolas’s horse was fast, faster than any in Dale’s stables, it didn’t have wings. 

Legolas looked at the window. “I have time, and I wanted to tarry until I knew if you would have need of me.”

Did he? Beorn’s letter still lay on the table, where Bard had thrown it last night, and he tugged it toward him. “I have to speak to Thorin. First, this arrives, and then he kicks my people from his mountain without so much as informing me. I’m struggling to understand how the two are not connected.”

“Thorin needs you, King of the great city of Dale, as much as you need him. And so does my father. You will never be short of allies, my friend.” Legolas patted his hand. “Not anymore. Things are no longer as they once were.”

Bard nodded, staring at the letter. So they said. Both Thorin and Thranduil had promised as much. They’d flattered him in trade meetings, and made all the right noises, and yet Bard couldn’t shake the feeling that any man who could turn out enough produce to satisfy the elves and dwarves' requirements would do. To dwarves and elves, the farmers, vintners, and assorted merchants of Dale were short-lived and easily replaced, like an old pair of boots or a ship that had passed the point where repair was profitable. Middle-earth was packed full of men who would leap at the prospect of wealth. Should the worst happen, the lure of Erebor’s rivers of gold would fill the city again within a season. And who knew? Perhaps Othur would return from his new town to the north —where he was apparently setting up very nicely as a Master once more— and pick up where he had left off in Laketown. Memory was short when times were good, but Bard was certain that memories of a king who failed at being one would be held onto a lot longer. 

He sighed. He had a responsibility to Bain to get this right, and to all his people. 

“Why don’t you send another invitation to Fili?” suggested Legolas. “I know he might be reluctant to share his uncle’s mind, but he will reassure you if he can. You know that he would not lie to you, not if what you suspect is true. And if he cannot, or will not, send word, then—” 

“Then I will have wasted another week, or two weeks, and it will be truly winter.”

“Winter is neither here nor there.”

“I expect not.” Bard drummed his fingers against Beorn’s letter. “But it may slow the orcs down, I suppose.”

Reaching across the table, Legolas gripped his forearm. “If it would ease your mind, then go and speak with Thorin, as you intended to last night.”

There was a flush rising in Bard’s face. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you for talking me out of that.”

“I can come with you, if you wish?”

It was tempting. Another pair of eyes, and sharp elvish ones not dimmed by too much wine —or the worry that, once again, the people who depended on him would be abandoned— to spot everything Thorin wasn’t telling him would be useful. Bard smiled, despite his pounding head and the sickly churning in his stomach. “And have the Elvenking kicking my door down should you not return home before nightfall? Or, even worse, at all? You don’t think I’ve enough problems?”

“I have ridden in the dark many times. Once more will make no difference.”

“I’m not having that on my conscience.” Bard grinned. “No, and Thorin mightn’t take kindly to us both turning up unannounced. He’s stone-faced enough at the best of times.” 

“If you’re sure?” Legolas stood at his nod. 

Turning on the bench, Bard watched him gather up cloak and weapons. “When will you return?” 

“A few weeks, if I can. Depending on what my father has planned for me. Otherwise, I’m sure we’ll see each other at the next trade meeting.” Fastening his cloak, Legolas grinned. “Since that is only a few days before our winter celebrations, you might stay and join us this year? Now that Sigrid has a house of her own?” 

Bard nodded. 

“There’ll be feasting, and a lot of wine, and the break will do you good.”

Bard nodded again. 

“The crown wears heavy on you, my friend,” said Legolas. 

“It probably would” —Bard summoned a smile— “if I had one. Fili tells me it’s past time I had a crown made. He suggested a similar design to the last king’s, there are detailed drawings of it in the Erebor library apparently, and said he’d craft it for me.”

“That’s a generous offer, but there’s enough time for all that.” 

He hoped so. Bard sighed, lifting his mug of cooling tea. 

“There is.”  Legolas strode back to Bard and pulled him upright, tea and all. “When you come, I’ll arrange for you to have rooms close to mine so that it will be easy to carry you to bed once you’ve fallen asleep on a table. We’ll drink and hunt and you can forget your troubles for a while.” He frowned, tilting his head. “Have faith in yourself. You are as much Thorin’s equal as my father, and you have the right to be treated with the same amount of respect.” 

They stared at each other, and Bard laughed first, Legolas joining in. 

“That sounded much better in my mind,” admitted Legolas. “Good luck, Bard.” He slapped his shoulder. “Try not to start a war with the dwarves before we meet again.”

“I’ll do my best.” Following Legolas to the door, Bard waved him off and lifted his own cloak from the peg by the door. Draining the tea, he set the mug on the sideboard and nodded to his guards. “We’re going to Erebor.”

Listening to the guards clomping along behind her, Hafdis wished again that she’d harkened to Dis and worn her boots — no matter that it would've looked odd to have them poking out from beneath one of her finest gowns. But, she glanced down at her feet, she’d know better next time. The dainty slippers were never going to be the same again after hours spent in the rough, coal-dusted stone of the tunnels. And neither would her jaw, for it ached from keeping it fixed in a smile, even though it was probably unnecessary since all eyes appeared to be on the king walking several paces ahead. But you could never be sure. It did rankle somewhat that no one was paying her any attention, but it was also a relief in a way. And she’d been prepared for being ignored. Dis had warned her what to expect when she’d helped her dress. 

If it was one thing she was enjoying so far about her betrothal, it was all the extra attention from Dis. They’d spoken more over the last days than they had since Fili’s disappearance. And tonight, after Thorin was finished with them, she would be with Dis, both of them getting measured for new gowns. She couldn’t wait. Hafdis smiled genuinely, nodding to the miners lining the tunnel as she followed along in Thorin’s wake. The ones that noticed nodded back, bowing. 

Perhaps she could be moved to rooms closer to Dis’s chambers? Then they could see each other all the time. Hafdis was tempted to ask, but she didn’t want that getting back to Dain, because then it would get back to Stonehelm, and, despite him saying that he was happy with the plan, he wasn’t acting anything like it. The look he had given her when she had returned on Fili’s arm from dancing at their betrothal dinner had chilled her to the bone. 

And she was certain that he had been in her chambers. Someone had been, for her belongings had been disturbed. But the lock hadn’t been tampered with, and neither had the rooms been left unlocked for the key was always in her pocket, and she was always careful. Hafdis shivered despite the warmth of the tunnel. Whoever it was wanted her to know that a lock made no difference, and that they could enter anytime they chose. 

She hadn’t slept. Tempted to insist that Hafur stay with her, or she with him, but driving herself mad with worry that her brother, the only other dwarf who had a key, was somehow complicit in it. She’d wedged a chair under the handle of the antechamber, and another under the handle of her bedchamber, and, with her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife under her pillow, attempted to rest. 

And what could she truly do? If she should awaken to find Stonehelm standing over her? Nothing. To fight back would be a fight to the death. 

But she couldn’t voice such things to Dis. She’d sound mad or, even worse, the Durins would believe her, and Stonehelm, whether she named him or not, would fight back. He had the runestone. He had Dain’s ear. And he had no incentive to not use them both if he felt cornered. It would be Hafur’s ruin, and likely hers too. Hafdis shook her head before she caught herself. No. Rooms within the Durin sections of Erebor might help her sleep better at night, but the only way to arrange it would be if she could manage to make Dis think of the suggestion herself. 

Ahead of her, the light was growing stronger, the tunnel steeper, as they progressed slowly toward the mine head. Their inspection was almost over. And, despite her not having been asked to provide any opinions or observations, she had quite enjoyed herself, in parts. It was interesting, seeing for herself not only the huge swathes of coal that far outstripped the wealth of the Iron Hills, but also the vast glittering seams of gold and clumps of precious jewels buried within the mountain’s heart. And Thorin had been courteous, if maddening, insisting on explaining everything to her as if she were a little dwarfling, and making sure that she was by his side every time their steps halted. 

As if she had called out his name, Thorin half-turned to her, beckoning her forward with the warm smile that Hafdis was still trying to get used to. They stepped together out into the warm torchlight of the main cavern. Obediently, she stood by his side as he thanked the head miner, and then all the other dwarves who had accompanied them. 

As Thorin talked on long-windedly, Hafdis looked around the crowded cavern for Fili. He hadn’t joined them for the inspection, begging off with a poor excuse about wanting to remain and speak with the miners' families. An obvious lie, Hafdis was sure of it, for a fear of being in a dark mine must be closer to the truth. 

The coward. She was betrothed to a coward. 

But, better a coward than whatever Stonehelm intended. 

And, maybe to marry a coward wasn't the worst thing in the world, because, despite herself, as she looked around the cavern Hafdis felt a thrill. So closely related to Dain, her Amad had always considered them royal, but this was an entirely different type of royalty. This was a mountain full of gold. She could feel it calling to her, and her thoughts of running away with Hafur, of living a life of poverty and claiming that it was a life of adventure, of searching the wilds for their adad, already felt as if they already belonged to someone else. 

Was she so easily bought with attention and the promise of new gowns and riches? Hafdis frowned down at her slippers. She hadn’t thought so. And, unless she could ingratiate herself fully with the Durins, then this was only ever temporary. Stonehelm would not be so willing to shower her with presents, not now. And he wouldn’t need to sneak into her room should they be wed. 

If only it were so easy to forget with the lure of gold the threat that hung over her head like an axe. She chewed at her lip. Perhaps if Dis asked her to move to the Durin’s chambers then Hafur could move too? Away from Stonehelm, her brother would be less easily swayed. Hafdis could insist on him having rooms next to her, and it wouldn’t look too strange since her brother was still the head of her house until she was married. 

Until she was married. She felt herself grow pale. After she was married, would Hafur be sent away? Fili could order her brother back to the Iron Hills should he choose to. And, if she should be forced to marry Stonehelm, then he could do the same. Or worse. Either of them had the power to do anything they wanted. 

And she had none. 

She hated all of this. Hafdis clenched her teeth. Gold and riches meant nothing. Less than nothing. They should have left when they had the chance.

“Hafdis.” 

She jerked her head up, pasting the smile back on just in time, at a light touch on her arm. 

Thorin nodded his head toward a raised area at the back of the cavern. The platform where the mine supervisors could stand and observe the workers moving between the mine heads. “Come,” he said, offering his arm. “Let’s sit for a while.”

The miners, or someone, had laid out a table groaning with ale and food for them. Very aware of all eyes now being on her, Hafdis smiled her way up the steps on Thorin’s arm, and smiled as she took the seat he directed her to. Taking the chair beside her, Thorin dismissed the other dwarves, including the guards, and Hafdis kept her smile in place as she watched them all troop down the stairs to form a rough ring around the platform. 

“Here we are,” Thorin said, pouring an ale and handing it to her before filling a tankard for himself. “For the coal dust.”

As she sipped her ale, Hafdis looked out over the floor of the cavern. From this higher vantage point, Fili was easy to spot, his golden hair shining in the torchlight amongst the sea of darker-haired dwarves surrounding him. And, by his side, she could see Dwalin, standing tall with his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. She frowned before catching herself. She still couldn’t work out what Dwalin’s purpose was. He wasn’t a guard, and he wasn’t a warmaster, nor held any other title as far as she could tell. He was just…always around. And always close to Thorin or Fili. It was very unusual. 

“They are the true heart of Erebor,” said Thorin, nodding at the miners when Hafdis turned to him. “Not gold, nor coal, nor any precious stone. Without their continued hard work and knowledge, without their loyalty, this mountain would be just that. An untapped resource.”

She nodded. 

“It was never my calling. My heart was ever in smithing, as Fili’s is.” Thorin smiled fondly and Hafdis followed his gaze. They sat in silence, watching Fili talk animatedly with a burly miner. Another dwarf approached, with a bundle in her arms and a dwarfling held by the hand, and introductions seemed to be being made, the burly miner beaming when Fili knelt to speak with the dwarfling. 

“I did my time in the mines, of course,” continued Thorin, his eyes not leaving Fili. “When I was a dwarfling here, and then later, in Ered Luin. But it wasn’t for me. A throat full of coal dust and scrubbing the dirt from under my nails for what felt like an eternity is my lingering memory of it.”

He didn’t seem to need any input from her, but Hafdis made what she hoped was an interested noise as they watched Fili stand. The bundle must've been another dwarfling —Hafdis craned her neck to see better— for he took it in his arms, cradling it. 

“Of course, when we were travelling in Dunland with little more than the clothes on our back, I wished myself back in the mines of this great mountain many times,” Thorin said, stretching out his legs. “You are young, Hafdis, and I see a fire in you. And, although you do well to keep that fire banked down, I know it is there.” He gestured toward her with his tankard. “I think we all feel it from time to time, and particularly when it might seem as if the walls of our life are closing in around us.”

He looked directly at her and she stared back. 

When she didn’t answer, he added, “So it may shock you to hear that a life spent on the road isn't always as exciting as you might imagine.”

She felt the breath stop in her chest. 

“War and adventure is all very well,” said Thorin and, although he appeared to have returned to watching Fili, Hafdis got the impression that he was truly watching for her reaction. “Travelling from place to place is all very well, never settling anywhere, taking work where you can find it. You can live that way, I grant you. I did. For many years. But, it is not quite as the stories would have you believe. Soon you discover that there is a lot to be said for a warm hearth to return to, a safe shelter amongst your kin, and the love and care of a family.”

He was watching her. He was definitely watching her. Her heart beat faster. 

Thorin sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, and with the tankard held loosely in his fingertips. His hair covered his face and Hafdis watched his braids swing gently to a stop while her mind whirled in panic. 

She’d spoken only of running away with Hafur. How did he know? He couldn’t know. Hafdis focused on one of the braid beads shining within the curls of his grey-streaked hair and forced herself to breathe normally. Fili had always said that the king was perceptive, and Hafur had warned her of the same. Was that it? And if it was, then what else did he know?

“I can’t think why anyone would ever want to leave Erebor,” she managed.  

“Of course.” He glanced at her, inclining his head in the smallest of nods. “I am merely making conversation.”

The silence between them stretched and Hafdis desperately tried to think of something, anything, to say. “It must have broken your heart to leave all of this,” she said at last. 

“It did.” Thorin looked out across the cavern. “Many times.”

They sat once more in an uncomfortable silence. Hafdis gripped her tankard tighter. 

“If I have made you feel unwelcome in any way.” Thorin turned in the chair to look directly at her. “I would have you—”

“No. Never.” The words were out before she could stop them and Hafdis grimaced, dropping her eyes to her ruined slippers. “I’m sorry, my king,” she added quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt and—” She froze as fingertips touched her chin, tilting her head up to face him. 

“And now it is I who must interrupt you.” A faint smile flickered across Thorin’s face, his sharp eyes holding hers. “Firstly, to insist that you call me Uncle, as I have already told you last night, and again this morning.”

She nodded. 

“Good.” Thorin released her. “See that you remember it. Secondly, it has been brought to my attention that I can be, at times, somewhat intimidating to those who do not know me. Therefore I wanted to let you know that you can speak freely in my presence, Hafdis. That goes for both you and your brother. I know that may take some getting used to, but, if I had any doubt about the suitability of the match between you and my nephew, then that doubt is gone.” 

When she nodded again, Thorin leant back in his chair, his eyes drifting out once more to Fili. With his attention removed from her, Hafdis sipped quickly at her ale, desperate to soothe her suddenly dry throat. 

“I have reminded Fili already about impropriety,” said Thorin. “And, in lieu of you having no family here asides from Dain, who does not share my, apparently old-fashioned, views on such things, and Hafur, who is too close in age to you to properly be expected to know of such things, I should remind you as well.” He shot her a glance. “Last night, caught up in the excitement of the moment, I can excuse. Once. But, you are betrothed to a prince, and you must act in a way that is appropriate and above reproach. At all times.” He waited for her to nod before he continued, “Fili told me that he instigated the closeness between you.”

It hadn’t sounded as if he were asking a question, yet he seemed to be waiting for an answer. The silence was unbearable, and Hafdis’s mind flickered through possible answers, trying to decide on what would displease him. This felt as if she were walking on thinning ice. Despite Thorin’s words that she could speak freely, and that she was one of the family, and that he approved of the match, she still had a sinking feeling that one misstep would have dire consequences. Surely the betrothal could not be broken now? But then, he was the king, and a mad one at that, and the king could do anything. So, which was worse in Thorin’s mind? To be a liar, no matter how small and innocent the lie might be, was that the test? Or, in his mind, was it worse if she were too forward? She did not know the full story of Kili and his witch, but she knew enough. 

The flush that was rising in her face was more panic than embarrassment but it would work the same. “That isn’t quite true,” she said, hoping her guess was correct, and adding as if it were an afterthought, “Uncle Thorin.”

“Oh?” he said. “And how so?”

She couldn’t see his face but it sounded as if there were a smile in his voice, but whether it was pleasure at the name, or he was pleased to have her confess, or something else, she couldn’t tell. Hafdis took a deep and audible breath for his benefit as well as her own. “I…” she began, pausing as if she were stumbling over her words. “The music was so beautiful, and I was so happy… Even if we only have a little time together, I—” Her breath hitched and she clapped a hand to her mouth. 

Thorin spun in his chair, his eyes wide. “Hafdis.” A hand gripped her forearm, steadying her as if she might swoon. “Hush,” he lowered his voice. “I apologise. I did not intend to upset you. I understand that this is a trying time for everyone.” With a glance at the guards, he continued, “There are many eyes watching you, I suspect that you know of what I speak.”

She stared back at him, her eyes watering. 

“This can’t have been easy,” said Thorin, with a flicker of a smile that, worryingly, didn’t touch his eyes. “Buvro is your cousin, and Fili a friend, and now, your intended. I expect that it was a difficult decision to make. Family loyalty is so not easy to set aside.”

“Fili didn’t mean to hurt him, I know he didn’t.”

Thorin patted her arm and sat back, studying her for what felt like an age. At last, he moved, but only to take the ale from her and set it on the table. To Hafdis’s shock when he turned back, he caught both her hands in his. 

“I think it is time we spoke plainly to each other,” he said.

Chapter Text

Spoke plainly? With her heart rattling in her chest and her mind racing, Hafdis nodded. She hoped her hands weren't sweating in Thorin's, but it felt as if they were. And badly too.

“You love my nephew?” Thorin’s eyes were fixed on her. “Truly love him? And wish to be married to him? Over any other?”

Relief rushed over Hafdis. “There is no one else I would wish to marry.” She supposed that was true enough. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to marry anyone else, even if—” Breaking eye contact, she allowed the first tears to fall. “Even if…”

Thorin squeezed her hands, and not in a comforting way. “Not here.” 

It wasn’t as if she could stop on command. Well, she could, but Hafdis felt that might be the worst possible thing she could do. She sniffed hard instead, freeing a hand to swipe at her eyes, and murmuring an apology. 

“I am the King of Erebor, Hafdis, and justice must be seen to be done. I cannot stop this trial, and will not. But I swear to you that I will do everything within my power, and within the laws of our people, to ensure that it is a fair one.” Thorin frowned, studying her closely. “We are both in difficult positions. I, as he is my beloved nephew, and you, as he is your beloved. Yet we cannot forget your cousin in all of this. Do not think me heartless."

Hafdis shook her head. "No, I understand."

"Good. And I understand that the flush of love may cloud your judgement, but you must never forget that Fili is not without some small part of blame in this. None of us can take the law into our own hands. You must stay strong, and tread a delicate line.” 

He was a liar. 

Under the guise of sniffling and pretending to regain control of herself, Hafdis watched his face. He had no intention of seeing justice for Buvro. There had never been an intention of it. And yet he appeared so genuine, as if he believed what he said. 

A chill shot down her spine. He was a liar and she could not tell. But, she could always tell. 

And what did he want from her? She was being manipulated, she knew that, but why? Did he want her to influence Dain? Hafur? And what would he do if she didn't fulfill whatever task he was asking of her?

“I do not want to ask you this,” said Thorin, “or have this conversation at all, but I know how these things go."

She nodded, holding her breath.

"There are more dwarflings born in the aftermath of war than at any other time in our history. The thought of a parting can make dwarves who know better do certain” —without taking his eyes from her, Thorin gestured vaguely toward the crowd around Fili— “things, activities, that they would not do in normal circumstances. It can cause them to make decisions based on a feeling of little time.” He leant closer. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Smoothing her face, Hafdis nodded. Was that it? Was that all he wanted? Or was there some unspoken command she was missing?

“Good.” Thorin patted the hand he still held in his. “I will tell Fili the same, of course.” He released her, settling back in his chair. “I know you are both sensible young dwarves.”

“Perhaps there is time for us to marry before the trial?” she asked hopefully. If Thorin agreed to it, then it would be done, whether Fili liked the idea or not, and she could be a widow rather than simply a sad dwarf with a broken betrothal. She would be blood, and Dis would keep her close. Her heart skipped a beat, an idea leaping to the forefront of her mind. If they married then she could pretend she and Fili had— 

“Fili doesn’t wish it,” Thorin said. “My nephew is preparing for every eventuality, and that includes protecting you. He feels that it will be easier for you to marry again, should the worst happen, if you were only betrothed, and not carrying his child.”

Her eyes filled with tears without her bidding them to. 

“Any new betrothal would be In the fullness of time, of course,” Thorin added, his sharp eyes on her. “My sister-son is always thinking ahead, and he is considerate of others. Almost to a fault. Considerate, and trusting. He believes in the good in people."

This was all a test. To break away from Thorin's gaze, Hafdis looked toward Fili, her heart hammering. It was a test. Thorin's words were deliberate, carefully weighted. She knew they were because she did the same thing. He'd planned every single one of them. 

The air felt thin in the cavern, as if there were too many dwarves using it. She couldn't catch her breath. 

He knew. Thorin knew, suspected, something. Suddenly, she wished for Hafur's hand in hers. She was out of her depth. 

“I was forged in war and hardship,” said Thorin quietly, almost as if to himself but Hafdis was certain it was intended for her ears. “It made me into the king I am today. But Fili is a king of peace. My sister-son will lead our people back to prosperity, forge friendships and alliances across Middle-earth, and rebuild our race. Should he be given the opportunity to do so.”  

A wide-shouldered dwarf in Durin guard uniform had entered the mines and was making his way through the crowd toward the platform. Thorin stood and met him at the top of the stairs, leaving Hafdis to clutch at her skirts in panic and strain to hear their low-pitched conversation. 

He'd brought her to the mines deliberately. How did he know? Black spots swam on the edge of her vision, distracting her. And it wasn't Hafur's hand she needed, it was her axe. For someone had turned on her and her brother. She knew they had. Her heart stuttered, and her palms were sweaty, leaving dark marks on her silks. 

Hafdis swapped her grip to the chair arms, squeezing tightly and fighting for calm. An axe wouldn't help, but her wits would. 

Someone had told Thorin, but who? Stonehelm? Surely he wouldn’t? Not without a reason. And she hadn't given him any cause to betray them, she'd done nothing but follow his orders. She’d even told him that Fili had kissed her, and Stonehelm had been angry, furious, but he’d believed her. He had no reason not to. Not that her cousin wasn’t unpredictable. But he'd know that if he turned them in, then, in desperation, they'd drag his name in too. He wouldn't risk it. He couldn’t. 

The chair arms creaked, and her jaw too. Then was it one of the others? Someone who believed that the betrothal was genuine? Someone who believed that she deserved to be punished for betraying her people? Her former friends from The Iron Hills had melted away already, fickle creatures, since the announcement. She’d known they would. And she'd been on the receiving end of enough disapproving looks from those who couldn't control their emotions to know how the betrothal appeared to outsiders. 

Thorin turned to her with an unreadable smile. Hafdis clutched the chair arms tighter as he approached, a hand resting on his sword hilt. 

She straightened her spine. If it were Stonehelm then they were finished, but, if it were anyone else… They would regret ever crossing her and Hafur.

“I have been called away,” Thorin said. “Have you had enough of a rest?”

A rest? Blinking hard, Hafdis nodded and released her grip on the chair. “Yes, my Ki— Uncle.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Good. Go and join Fili. Tell him that we will visit the stonemasons this evening instead, and that you both are free to go and entertain yourselves however you see fit until dinner.” Turning to leave, he stopped and spoke over his shoulder, “Chaperoned, of course.”

“Yes, of course.” Shaking, Hafdis followed him down the stairs, a few steps behind, and waited while Thorin spoke with the guards. 

Taking two of the guards with him, he left without a look or another word, sweeping off in the direction of the gates. 

The remaining dwarves were looking at her curiously. “I think I am to be taken to Fili,” she said. 

One of them nodded. “Follow me, Princess.”

They surrounded her, and she walked forward in their midst with her mind whirling. What had just happened? But they'd called her Princess and they all appeared relaxed. And they were taking her to Fili. 

Somewhere, deep in her mind, the unexpected title, and that she wasn't being clapped in irons, gave her a thrill, but her gown also felt a lot tighter than it had. Struggling to breathe, Hafdis focused on the braids of the guards in front of her. 

The crowd parted for them and, between the wide shoulders of the guards, she could see Fili turn, smiling at their approach. 

Patting the head guard on the shoulder, Fili pushed past. His smile dropped away. “Hafdis?” Reaching to take her hand, he seemed to think better of it and let it fall by his side instead. He stepped closer and lowered his voice for their ears only, “What has he said to you?” 

The urge to fling herself into his arms took her by surprise. Shaking away that disturbing thought before she acted on it, Hafdis clasped her hands together and smiled. “Only that he has been called away and we are free to do as we please until he needs us again.”

Fili raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Do you want to go or are you content to stay a little longer? I can take you to Hafur?”

She shook her head. It was the comfort of her brother's arms she wanted, and for Hafur to dissect Thorin's words and reassure her it was all her fevered, sleepless imagination, but she would also be expected to play her part here. Hafdis looked around at the dwarves surrounding them. The main floor was even more crowded than it had been, with dwarflings running around, weaving through the few miners that were heading back and forth from the mineheads. But, even to Hafdis’s untrained eye, it would appear that all work had stopped or was stopping. Groups of dwarves stood laughing in groups or staring at them. From one of the side tunnels came a cheer followed by a rumbling that sounded a lot like barrels on stone. 

“Are you certain?” asked Fili. “You’re very pale.”

“No, I’m fine. Honestly.” Hafdis forced another smile. “Is this turning into a party?”

“They’re excited to meet you.” Still watching her with concern, Fili offered his arm. “Come, I’ll make your introductions.”

Drumming his fingers against his sword hilt, Thorin strode through the wide passageways that led toward the gates. Hopefully, the talk had gone some way to settling Hafdis’s opinion and nerves about him. 

Intimidating. Thorin snorted, ignoring the questioning, worried glance from a passing dwarf. He’d been nothing but friendly and welcoming, and supportive about the betrothal once it had been decided upon. But, Nori had always been perceptive, and if he felt that reassuring Hafdis of her new place within the family was necessary, then it likely was. 

She certainly hadn’t seem overly frightened. Upset and nervous, yes, and showing a surprising lack of feeling about or loyalty towards her cousin, but then, perhaps Dain and Dis had been correct and this truly was a love match. For what did he truly know of such things? Only that Kili, Thorin's lips curled at the thought of his wayward nephew, had tossed away all familial obligations at the first inkling that he might be in love, and Dis too had, a hundred years previous, done exactly the same. Perhaps Hafdis was simply behaving the way that everyone did when in the grip of passion?

Fili, at least, seemed to be approaching the match with more sense. However, from his nephew's overly-amorous attentions to Hafdis the evening before during their dances, Thorin didn’t hold out much hope there either. He sighed. 

But, perhaps that was for the best too. For, if Fili was enamoured with his betrothed, then perhaps Thorin didn't have to worry quite so much about his heir’s state of mind. Of which, he had major concerns.

“I have thought further on what you said, Uncle.” Fili turned the quill over in his hands. “And I believe that you must be right.”

This was an unexpected change of heart. Setting his papers to one side, Thorin leant his elbows on the desk. 

“Buvro,” Fili stumbled over the name, his fingers working harder to tease the quill feather apart. “He must have said something, as you said, something that I…that I—”

“Treason.” Fili’s shoulders tensed at the word and Thorin regretted the interjection. “Or something like it,” he added, reminding himself to keep quiet until Fili had finished. No matter how long it took. 

Fili nodded once, no more than a jerk of his head, his eyes fixed on the mine reports in front of him. Mine reports that he had been annotating, and that Thorin now noticed had more than one splotch of ink on them. And, Thorin's heart twisted at the thought, Fili’s usually neat script was closer to his brother’s scrawl. He frowned, studying his nephew’s shaking hands. 

The silence stretched. “Fili,” said Thorin, when he’d waited long enough to be certain that his nephew intended to say nothing further. He reached out and took the quill from Fili’s fingers before he destroyed it completely. Setting it to one side, Thorin took Fili’s hands in his instead. “Does this mean that you will say what I tell you to say? When the time comes?”

Another jerk of the head. 

Thorin stroked his thumbs over Fili’s knuckles, feeling the tension in his nephew’s hands and forearms. “Look at me.” 

Slowly, Fili lifted shadow-rimmed eyes to meet Thorin’s. Thorin stared back, searching. 

He still couldn’t decide whether Fili was lying to him. Ever since he’d been a little dwarfling, Fili had been strict with himself, holding himself to a higher standard than he ever held anyone else. Yes, there had been the usual litany of dwarfling transgressions, but he’d always admitted to them and taken the blame. And not only for his part, but for Kili’s and Gimli’s too. This, the agreement to tell a lie, even if it were only a lie of necessity —for Thorin was more and more certain that whatever had been said between Fili and Buvro must have been treason— especially after Fili’s initial resistance to the suggestion, was sudden and out of character. 

Perhaps it was love, or the prospect of love, that had so suddenly changed Fili's mind? It was possible. Love did strange things. Certainly, Thorin had never thought Kili capable of making any decision that would separate him from his brother, and yet, here he was, with Kili half a world away, and with not a single pleading letter sent to Erebor since. His nephew hadn’t even so much as dropped to his knees once and begged to remain in Erebor by Fili’s side, as Thorin had been braced for. He wasn’t sure, even now, that he could have remained steadfast in his refusal had Kili been truly distraught. Instead, it had been Fili doing the relentless pleading over the last few weeks of Kili’s time in Erebor. Kili had remained stubborn and silent on the matter, avoiding Thorin’s company entirely until their too-short farewell on the last morning, and then he’d left without a backward glance. 

Nori and Dwalin had reported tears at their parting with his nephew. But, if such a thing had happened before —Thorin snarled at the thought—  the witch, then nothing more than a few tears would have been unimaginable. 

Thorin shook his head to clear it as he passed under the archway and into Erebor’s towering gatehouse. He could not think more on his nephew, or nephews, further. Not at this time. For it would distract him from his immediate problem, which was currently glowering at him from inside Erebor’s gates. 

“Bard,” he said. “This is unexpected.”

“Is it?” Bard shot a glare at the guards. “I can’t imagine why you would—”

Thorin’s raised hand cut off whatever the bowman had been planning to say. “Come.” Thorin smiled, indicating the stairs on the far side of the gate. “Let us speak in comfort.”

And in private.  

Bard stomped after him willingly enough, although why any king would settle for an audience in a gatehouse room was unfathomable to him. Not insisting on being led deeper into Erebor and to Thorin’s rooms was an oversight on the bowman’s part. Thorin ran up the first set of gatehouse steps, and then up the next, listening to the heavy tread behind him. Bard had much to learn of kingship. 

The guards in the chamber leapt to their feet, putting out pipes hurriedly as Thorin entered. He dismissed them with a glance and turned, watching them file past Bard as he ducked under the doorframe. 

“Here.” Pushing the door closed for privacy, Thorin indicated the largest of the chairs. “Please sit. The mountain is not designed for someone of your stature.” The tall passageways and the vast high-ceilinged royal chambers of Erebor were, of course, more than accommodating of a man’s height. As Bard should know, having spent some time in the mountain while his son recovered from his injuries during the battle. Even the lower levels of the gatehouse had more head-room. Thorin waited for a protest that didn’t come. 

“I’d rather—” Bard seemed to realise that he was unable to straighten fully. “Fine. I’ll sit, but this is not a social call.” 

Thorin wrinkled his nose as Bard stomped past him. Even over the lingering scent of pipe smoke, the bowman reeked of horse, sweat, and stale ale. “I didn’t expect it was. I expect that you are here to discuss why your stonemasons have been returned to you.” 

“Amongst other things.” Crossing and uncrossing his legs, Bard was obviously uncomfortable. He stood and moved to the window, perching on the sill and blocking out the light from the braziers outside. “But we can start with that. You—”

“I apologise,” said Thorin. With Bard temporarily stunned into silence, he continued quickly, “I had intended to travel to Dale this morning, but other matters came up that took priority, and I had to reconsider my plans. You know how it is running a kingdom.” Thorin waited for the curt nod. “Then you understand.”

“No.” Bard frowned. “No, you—”

“Perhaps I should have informed you ahead of time, and for that, I also apologise.” Thorin spread his hands. “We all make mistakes from time to time, and I am certainly not immune to that, but I had imagined that you would be happy to have them back.”

“And why would that be?”

It was Thorin’s turn to frown. “Because they have been trained by my people, and—"

"Trained?" Bard laughed. "Training involves talking, and you have no comprehension of the amount of complaints I've had to listen to. None. By the sounds of things, this training of yours involved little more than pointing my men at a rock, grunting at them, and letting them get on with it."

Thorin kept the frown from his face. All of the masons should have had more than enough Common to help the men. He had instructed the overseer of the works to ensure that was so. "I will look into it. That is regrettable, and unacceptable."

"Then I can send them back to you?"

"No. They will have learnt more than enough by observing. You can put them to work. For you still have not made any real attempt to repair Dale’s walls. When I attended Sigrid’s wedding, I noticed that—”

Bard laughed. "Is that the real reason?"

"What other reason would there be? Dale is the gateway to Erebor. The city before my doors directly reflects on my mountain, and you have allowed it to fall further into disrepair and—"

“Nothing to do with this?” With his face a mix of triumph and worry, an expression Thorin knew well, Bard tugged a crumpled piece of parchment from a pocket and brandished it. 

“I expect not,” said Thorin. “Since I do not know what it is that you hold in your hand.” 

Bard made to stand and thought better of it, leaning forward to hold the letter out. 

“Thank you.” 

“Well?” Bard snapped. “Explain yourself.”

Thorin frowned, reading through the letter. 

“Tell me that you are not, once again, intending to close the mountain,” said Bard. “Tell me that you don’t, once again, Thorin, intend to abandon Dale and close Erebor’s gates when Bolg sends his armies to destroy us.”

Thorin looked at Bard more closely. He’d thought the ale scent stale. “Have you been drinking?”

“Answer my question.”

There hadn’t been a question. What there had been was a demand, and Thorin didn’t care for either it or the bowman’s tone. “I did not abandon Dale. I opened my gates and—”

“You opened your gates to protect your people. To protect Dain’s people.” Bard’s face darkened. “Let’s neither of us pretend it was anything more than that. At least show me enough respect to not lie to me directly.”

“There is nothing in this letter about Bolg, or any armies.” Thorin re-read it to be certain. It was short, curt, and very obvious from the painstakingly-formed runes that the shapeshifter wrote little correspondence, but there was no mention of armies. Thorin tried not to bristle at the postscript of ‘tell the dwarf king’. He and Beorn had parted on good terms, or so he thought. Likely this new hostility from Beorn was the witch’s doing. She would have delighted in dripping poison into the bear's ears for the entirety of their shared journey from Erebor. And it wouldn’t have taken much effort on her part, for Beorn was yet another who had long been in thrall to her. “He writes only that orcs are crossing his lands in greater numbers.” Thorin looked up. “Has he questioned them?”

Bard scoffed. “You think Beorn takes prisoners?”

“No.” Thorin leant against the wall. “No, I would imagine not.” He refolded the parchment, returning it to Bard. “Write back. Tell him that he must." 

Bard frowned.

"I need to know what Bolg, if it is indeed Bolg, is planning. If he is gathering his forces then we—” Thorin stopped, noting Bard’s narrowed eyes. “You have a question.”

“Where’s Fili?”

“Busy with his duties.”

“Then, unbusy him.” Bard stood, his head crooked against the ceiling. “I want to speak with him.”

“That is not possible. I will tell him that you called and—”

“There’s no need.” Bard sat again, crossing his arms. “Since I’m here, and willing to wait while you send for him.”

“As I said, he is occupied. He is my prince, and—”

“No.” The glower was back. “No, that’s not good enough, Thorin. Because, if I were to believe that you’re not throwing out my masons because we’re about to be overrun, then it means you're up to something else.” Bard waited, pressing on when Thorin didn’t respond, “What are you up to?”

“I returned your masons for the reasons I already told you.” Thorin pushed open the door. “Now, I have other matters to attend to today, and I’m certain you do as well. Running a city such as Dale must be—”

“I want to see Fili,” said Bard. “Fetch him.”

“Fetch him?” Thorin frowned. “You think to command me?”

“And why not? You think to command me often enough." Bard snorted. "You just commanded me to write to Beorn when we both know you’re more than capable of writing to him yourself. Or getting Balin to do it.”

That was because the bear was more likely to ignore him, but Bard didn't need to know such details. “Bard, you're behaving like a petulant—”

“I know what you’re capable of,” said Bard. “None better. And so I’m not leaving until I satisfy myself that Fili’s well.”

“I assure you he is well.”

“I don’t care about your assurances. I haven’t seen nor heard from him since my daughter’s wedding,” Bard continued, ignoring Thorin as he ticked off his points on his fingers. “My last letter to him went unanswered. He hasn’t been to Dale. And—”

“He has no need to travel to Dale, unless for his own amusement or an official engagement.”

“Then he hasn’t been put on trial?”

Thorin closed the door and rubbed at his temples. Dis, or Fili. But, he suspected Dis. And the incessant noise from his time in the mines was triggering one of his headaches, as he’d known it would. Squeezing his eyes closed, Thorin hoped Bard mistook it for irritation —which was also a likely cause— rather than weakness. “What do you think you know of dwarven business?” 

“It’s not difficult to put together, Thorin. I know you don’t think much of me.” Bard stopped, awaiting some input. He frowned when Thorin gestured at him to continue. “But I know about you. I know that there will be some sort of trial, and, although I might not know how these things work in dwarven terms, I can imagine what that involves. Fili’s my good friend. So if you’re intending to treat him as you did his brother, or worse, then send him to me. Let me help this time.”

“Your friendship has helped my nephew more than enough,” said Thorin. 

Bard jolted. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let me speak plainly, and you would do well to listen. Do I invite the elf king around for tea, or ask that he join me to sup a few ales in a mannish tavern? I do not.”

“That’s because you can't stand being in the same room as—”

“Fili is your ally. He’s not your friend, not some fellow smuggler sitting with you around a campfire. My nephew is a prince. A prince who will one day be king. And he will be an ally with your people. But allies do not write back and forth like lovers, nor spend more time in each other’s company than with their own people. Allies do not help each other with every minute detail of running their kingdoms. How many decisions have you made without Fili’s guidance? For I suspect it is very little. He is neither your lawmaker, your advisor, nor your consort, that you must consult him on every little thing.” 

Bard’s mouth fell open. “But Fili likes to—”

“My nephew is well. I thank you for your concern, but my word is good enough for you.” Swinging the door open, Thorin signed to the guards. He turned back to Bard. “Our next meeting will be in Mirkwood, as planned. Do not return to this mountain uninvited again.”

“Thorin—”

“You’re a king, Bard. It’s about time you started to think and act like one.”

Chapter Text

The dewy dampness of the moss-covered tree trunk was slowly but steadily seeping through her cloak to soak her trousers. On her lap, Fili wriggled, bored of sitting quietly and listening to stories, and Ness lowered him to the ground. 

“Not too far,” she warned. 

Crowing happily to himself, he crawled away without a single backwards glance—off in search of whatever adventure his little mind told him lay hidden amongst the grass and flowers of the Shire. When he stopped, entranced by something, Ness sat up straight and stared down at her stomach. Was there a slight swell? Or was she imagining it?

She still hadn’t got the hang of the hobbit dances. Everyone went to the right, she knew that much, but—Ness swore under her breath when Bilbo spun her before shoving her on toward the next laughing hobbit—there was always something complicated that everyone did with their feet, and then, when she thought she finally had it figured out, the direction changed, and the steps changed, and there were no clues in the music ever. 

Muddling along as best she could, and regretting the wine while at the same time wishing she’d had a lot more, she somehow made it back through what felt like a thousand hobbits to Kili. With Fili held on his hip, and his eyes bright and happy, Kili seemed completely at home, and, annoyingly, looked like he knew what he was doing. 

“I hate you,” she half-shouted in his ear as Kili caught her about the waist to spin her. Fili grabbed a fistful of her hair, shrieking with happiness when she kissed his cheek. “Hello, baby boy," she said, kissing him again. "I don't hate you."

“You’re dancing beautifully, my Ness,” laughed Kili. “I only wish I’d been earlier so we could have danced more.”

“Well, then” —with Fili’s hand fisted in her hair, they were falling out of step with the hobbits— “I’d glad you were late, because much more of this and I’ll be facedown in the grass. Where do they get the energy?”

Kili smiled but didn't answer, slowing them to a stop. As he busied himself attempting to gently untangle Fili’s fingers from her hair, Ness snuggled closer, feeling a warm rush of contentment. Hip to hip, and with the hobbits and the music flowing around them, it felt oddly private, as if they were in a bubble. A peaceful bubble. And one that was briefly brightened by the sunlight streaming through a break in the darkening clouds overhead. She wrapped her arms tighter about Kili's waist, around both her boys, and smiled, watching them. Kili's dark eyes, warm and relaxed but narrowed in concentration, were a perfect match for Fili's determined grey ones.

And then her hair was free once more. Raising herself on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against Kili's cheek, finding the bare skin above his beard. “I’m glad you were able to get away, even if only for a short while,” she said, smiling. "And better late than never."

“Me too.” Kili met her eyes. 

The warm feeling of contentment rapidly drained away, a chill replacing it. He no longer looked relaxed, but nervous. Worried. 

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I—” Lifting a hand in greeting as Bilbo skipped past, Kili grinned, but the odd look in his eyes remained. “We should join back in, and we can talk later about it, when I’m home from the forge.” 

Talk later about what? And, by the sounds of things, he wouldn’t be home for days. She'd go mad with worry well before then. Ness caught his forearm when he moved away. “Kili? Tell me.”

“You don’t know." He frowned. "Truly? I...I'd thought you were simply keeping it secret from me. Are you not?” 

The chill had spread to her lungs, she couldn’t breathe. Ness pressed a hand to her suddenly churning stomach. There was only one secret, and if Kili had somehow worked it out they wouldn’t be dancing and laughing in a field. Would they?

Kili covered her hand with his. “Then, you do know?” he asked, his voice hopeful. 

Following his gaze, Ness’s heart flipped. Trapped somewhere between relief and horror, she opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came out. 

“I thought you hadn't realised.” Kili smiled, his eyes glowing bright with happiness. “I’m not the only one who’s late, Ness.”

The thin rope around Ness's wrist jerked, yanking her hand away from her stomach. Straddling the fallen tree trunk so Fili didn’t drag her right off it, she took a firm grip on the rope with both hands.

“And where do you think you're off to?” she called. 

There was no response. Her boy was too busy, straining against the rope tied to his belt, fingers and boots digging into the wet earth as he tried to make for the woods.

“Get back here.” She shouldn’t laugh, not least because he was ridiculously strong for such a small child and perfectly capable of dragging her from her seat if she wasn’t concentrating, but she couldn’t help it. 

Huffing out a resigned breath, Fili grumbled his way back into a sit. Ness rubbed at her wrist, watching him rip up clumps of grass, his eyebrows knitted tightly together as he talked a string of angry babble to himself. She knew the boots would be next. Once he'd grown bored of his gardening, he'd remember the boots, and they'd be off and launched. Likely at her.

“Come on,” she said. “Come and play over here with me. There's stones, we can build a house?”

In response, he lunged, not for his boots but for the trees, and Ness swore when the rope snapped tight. Clambering over the tree trunk, she pulled herself quickly hand-over-hand along the slippery wet rope until she was close enough to hook an arm about his waist. She lifted him and muttered another curse when his kicking feet caught her on the thigh. 

He screamed wordlessly, loud and piercing and bound to carry for miles in the still grey air before dawn. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Ness frowned back along the road toward Hobbiton.

“Stop that,” she said when he sucked in a damp breath against her palm. “You’ll wake the hobbits and they’ll think you’re being murder—”

She froze, her head whipping toward the woods. Searching the deep shadows between the trees, her breath caught at another snap, closely followed by another. Something big and heavy, and coming their way. Hushing Fili, she retreated. 

“I have a knife!” she yelled. Which she did, but it was tucked into her boot and her hands were full. “Stay quiet, baby boy,” she begged, peeling her fingers from Fili’s mouth and wrestling him under one arm.  

Balanced on one leg, she fumbled for the little knife under the buckle of her boot, her fingers touching it but sliding away when Fili knocked her off-balance with his furious wriggling. Trying again, Ness stopped as leaves rustled. A quick-moving shadow flitted between the trees. And she couldn’t tell herself it was imaginary because Fili had spotted it too. He was still, suddenly rigid and silent in her arms, his eyes fixed on the trunk the shadow had darted behind.

Wishing he had the words to tell her what he’d seen, because even if he was only half-dwarven his eyesight would still be a thousand rimes better than hers, Ness knelt on the grass. With her heart beating wildly in her chest, she set him down, keeping one hand fisted in his tunic just in case, and, at last, freeing the knife. 

The woods fell deathly quiet. Ness held her breath too, pointing the knife in the direction of the sound and cursing her shaking hands. Whoever, whatever, it was, was unmoving, watching her, watching her little boy. She knew it was. Her legs quivered with the urge to run. They were less than a mile from the market square and safety, but Fili was heavy, and she couldn’t carry him and hold the knife, and she hadn’t ran properly in what felt like forever. Not that her legs wouldn’t remember how to, should an orc burst out from the undergrowth. 

She clamped the knife between her teeth and slowly began to pull in the rope, coiling it as best she could. No point running only to trip. Or worse, have whatever it was grab the trailing rope and yank them backward with it. Staring at the woods and not daring to blink, she lifted rope and Fili.

“There are no orcs in the Shire,” she whispered, sliding a foot backward and her finger into the knife hilt. With the knife pointed once more at the woods, she retreated in a half-crouch. It would be a rabbit, a big one, big enough to snap what sounded like very big branches. Or a deer. 

Or a wolf. 

Fat flakes of soft snow swirled in the darkness, drifting down to settle on the already thick layer that coated the parlour windowsill. And it would have felt cosy, to be tucked up inside with the fire burning brightly in the grate, and the lamps lit, and the smell of their late supper in the air—had Bilbo not just finished his story.  Ness looked at the infant lying asleep in Kili’s arms and shivered. 

“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” said Kili, the muscles of his bared forearms twitching as he held Fili tighter to his chest. “Wolves were spotted regularly on the lower slopes of the mountain. They'd slink away if we got too close but we would have heard them howling in the night from time to time.”

“I expect they have more sense than to attack dwarves.” Smiling sadly, Bilbo stared glassy-eyed into his mug of tea.

“I remember that winter.” Kili's brow furrowed. “Our stores ran low.” He glanced between Ness and Bilbo, looking as if he was trying to decide how many dwarven secrets to tell them, before he continued, “The settlement, my home, it wasn’t anything like Erebor. We lived outside the mountain, although still within high stone walls. But that winter, we moved inside, all of us, closing the mountain’s gates behind us and hunkering down until the weather eased. Uncle Thorin had his rooms within the mountain so Fee, Amad, and I didn’t have to bed down in the halls with the rest of our kin." His eyes were unfocused, lost in memory. "We were warm, and comfortable enough, but we did go—"

He shook his head. "I wish we'd known the hobbits were suffering, we would have marched to help.” 

“Would you? Would Thorin have done anything?” There was an odd light in Bilbo’s eyes when he lifted his head. “Had he known?”

“He…” Kili frowned. “He—”

“It’s fine, Kili.” Snatching up the teapot, Bilbo refilled their mugs. “You don’t need to answer. We managed, and Men arrived to help, and there hasn’t been a wolf sighted in the Shire ever since.”

Gravel crunched under her boots. The road. As Ness took another step there was a rush of fast branch-snapping noises from the woods, and she scrambled backward with a yelp, her fingers slippery on the knife. Breaking into a run, she stopped, the realisation reaching her. It was moving away?

Holding her breath, she forced herself to wait, listening hard over the pounding of her blood in her ears. 

Yes. It was leaving. She sagged, huffing out a shaky breath.

“Fuck this.” Keeping a tight grip on Fili, she knelt to slip the knife back into its hiding place, her hands trembling. “It was a stupid idea anyway.” She hoisted Fili higher on her hip. “Shall we go home and get breakfast?” 

“Ba.” He bounced in her arms, yanking at the still coiled-tight muscles in her shoulder, but she didn’t care. The jolts of pain barely registered in the wave of relief that they weren't being eaten, or worse. Ness kissed his smiling face until he giggled. 

And it was a stupid idea. The letter rustled accusingly in her pocket as she walked back along the road toward the stile. Not only a stupid idea but a selfish one. Because two years was a long time, more than long enough to forget and fall in love. Proper love, the love she wanted for him, not…whatever they’d had. 

Ahead, the stones of the road were turning from black to a rosy-grey in the glow of the rising sun. It would be a fine winter’s day. And the same sunlight would already be stealing over Erebor far to the East, sneaking across the hulking mountainsides and creeping in through the few narrow windows hacked into its thick walls. 

With the road flat and even under her boots, Ness half-closed her eyes so she could imagine it better. Not that she hadn’t imagined it a thousand times. She’d imagined it when stood at the kitchen window with her hands in a sink of dishes, and when she was lying awake in the quiet darkness of Bag End. 

She’d dreamt it too. And it wasn’t the worst dream, far from it, because those were the ones filled with orcs and wargs. The worst dreams were the ones filled with archers, and the clash of metal, and the coppery taste of blood. The dreams where she jolted awake and could still feel his blood, warm and sticky, against her fingers, or the too-thick ice, cold as death itself, under her palms. The worst dreams were the ones where Legolas and Tauriel weren't fast enough, or Beorn hadn’t listened, or where Thorin had turned his back and abandoned them. Dream after dream, night after night, until she was too exhausted to dream anything at all. 

They were the same dreams Kili had. She’d wake him gently if she awoke first, as he did for her, but they didn’t speak about their dreams. Not anymore. Because if Kili liked to pretend that everything was fine, and that he wasn’t reliving Ravenhill and suffering the same as her every single time he closed his eyes, then who was she to take that away from him? 

So her imaginings of dawn light, falling in a slant from a high window and across a room far away in Erebor, a room that was so familiar to her that it made her heart ache, wasn’t a bad dream. It couldn’t be. It was a dream of hope and warmth. 

His rooms were on the eastern side of the mountain, where all the royal rooms were, so the sunrise would gradually seep in. It would fall first across the ornately carved bed, and Ness knew that if she allowed her mind to wander further she would see them. She’d imagined it so often. The light would be caught within a tangle of golden hair, and fall on his bare arm thrown across her. His wife. The one he loved with all his heart. Ness could never bring herself to properly look at her face but she knew that she would be beautiful, and clever. She would know several languages, and be able to read, and talk about books and clever things. She’d be his equal. 

Ness crumpled the letter in her pocket, frowning. She’d be his equal in every way. And she’d be a dwarf, so she’d not need every single thing explained to her as if she were a child. And she’d know how to fight. She wouldn’t be an idiot who didn’t even think to bring a proper knife in case of wolves or orcs hiding in the woods. In fact, she’d probably have an axe on her at all times. 

If she was wanting to properly torture herself, and right now that was exactly the way Ness was feeling, she could imagine the light waking them. They would have a busy day of royal duties, by Thorin’s side and with Thorin’s full approval. But, before they fully woke up, there would be sleepy soft kisses, and whispered ‘good morning’s, and she’d have her hands in his hair, and on him, and his would be on her. And they really didn’t have time, but they’d make time because nothing was more important than each other. 

There’d be movements under the blankets, and gasps, and half-bitten back moans. The deep one that Ness could still hear whenever she made the mistake of thinking too hard about him, and a new one that she couldn't bring herself to imagine. 

There’d be shared, hushed laughter and whispered reminders to be quiet, even as they brought each other to the edge. But not because it was a filthy secret. No, they'd be quiet because there was a little boy still fast asleep in his crib. A little boy with golden hair tangled from sleep, and the brightest green eyes. The newest prince of Durin. 

With her foot on the stile, Ness took her hand from her pocket. She tousled Fili’s hair before taking a firm grip on the fencepost so his weight didn’t tumble them both into the ditch. 

“The Lady Galadriel was right,” she said, looking into his eyes. “They won’t accept me, and they'll never accept you. Not with your witch's blood.”

Fili shook his head. “Ba.”

“You’re right.” She kissed him. “As always, you’re right. I am being selfish. Because it doesn't matter anyway, everything and everybody I could ever want is right here.” 

The letters from Erebor were light on detail. And, even though it was still possible that there were bits of the letters Kili hadn't read to her, Kili wouldn't withhold, wouldn't have been able to withhold, any news of a marriage or dwarflings. What was more possible however, since chances were that Thorin considered things like new heirs to be confidential information—because everything to do with dwarves was such a secret—was that Fili already had his new family, and they would never know.

And what she did know for certain was that he would drop everything if he thought they were in trouble. He would kiss his family goodbye and race across Middle-earth without a second thought. Because he had made a promise. He had sworn to her that he would come if she needed him, and he didn’t break his word. 

She could never ask that of him. 

Ness scrubbed her eyes. Home. They’d go home, stoke up the range for making breakfast, and feed her letter into the flames where it belonged. They’d go home, and she’d do the right thing. For once.

Halfway over the stile, she froze at the sound of fast-approaching hoofbeats and rumbling wheels. A pair of horsemen, stern-faced and with swords on their hips, rounded the curve, followed by more trotting horses pulling a covered wagon. 

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Chapter Text

The horses passed in a jingle of harness without the men giving her a second glance, and Ness scrambled across the stile, crouching in the long grass beside the well-worn path. Along it, after a few miles of rolling hills and pastures, they would come out onto a grassy hedge-lined lane near the party field. Then it was only a few minutes’ walk along Bagshot Row and home. And she could forget that she’d ever been so stupid to consider this. 

“Ness?” Horses whinnied and the rumbling slowed to a stop. There was the crunch of boots on gravel before Anlaf called out, “Ho, the wagon!” 

Ness stood slowly. In her arms, Fili jigged, making clicking noises with his tongue. 

“Well, this is a surprise,” said Anlaf, striding down the road toward them. “And this must be…Fili, isn't it? Named for his uncle?"

So Kili was being free with information again. Ness held Fili tighter. He wriggled, stretching his hands out toward the wagon and clicking his tongue faster. “We’re just heading home," she said.

“You can spare a moment or two, surely? Here, let me."

Not taking no for an answer, Anlaf helped her over the stile. He released her hand once her boots hit the road and Ness stepped back. The height difference shouldn't bother her by now, and she was annoyed with herself that she let it, but it did. It was unsettling that the top of her head would barely reach his chest. 

But if Anlaf noticed that she was uncomfortable, he didn't care. Closing the distance, he ducked down to smile at Fili. “I think I know a little boy who’d like to meet some horses? Yes? Horses, Fili?” Anlaf shot a glance at Ness, holding out his arms. "May I?"

It was ridiculous that she could barely hold on to a one-year-old child, but when Fili was determined there was no stopping him. He caught her a solid kick in the ribs on his flying leap into Anlaf’s arms. 

“Wait,” she said, untying the rope from Fili’s belt. 

“You tied him to you?” Lifting Fili to eye level, Anlaf asked sternly, “Do you run away from your mama?”

“Every chance he gets."

Laughing, Anlaf walked toward the wagon. He nodded to the two guards and jerked his head along the road. “The rope’s a good idea," he said over his shoulder. "Wish I’d thought of it with mine.”

As the guards trotted off, Ness jogged forward to catch up with Anlaf's long strides. “Where are they going?” 

“Not far. They’ll go and have a smoke around the next corner.” Anlaf grinned, hefting Fili in his arms as they walked past the wagon to the dun-coloured horses. “I’m not in danger of being ambushed by you, am I?"

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Trying not to worry about little fingers and big teeth, Ness watched him take Fili’s hand and help her little boy pat the leading horse. Fili giggled as the horse whickered, its long ears flickering. “You have children?” she asked to distract herself.

“No," said Anlaf, his attention fixed on Fili. "Brothers and sisters." 

“Oh, yes, you’d said in Bree that you were the eldest.” 

Anlaf nodded. “After my mother died—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago now, almost six years. But, after she passed, my father didn't… Well, he still isn’t doing well. So it fell on me, and my younger brother. He looks after them when I’m away.” Anlaf shot her a rueful smile. “It's not the path he would have chosen for himself. I try not to be gone too long.”

“Kili had said you might not get home before winter?" 

Fili's fingers were getting a bit too close to the horse's long eyelashes for comfort. A vision of him poking the horse in the eye and them all being stamped to death under angry hooves sprang into Ness's mind. "Can he pat the horse's neck now?" she asked quickly. Although that might not solve things, because if her boy decided to give the horse's mane a good yank, they'd be squashed all the same. "Or its back?" she added. "That might be better."

Anlaf side-stepped, shifting Fili's patting hand to a hopefully safer spot by the horse's shoulder. “I’ll do my best to make it home," he said with a shrug. “Such is the life of a merchant, always on the move. But Kili’s done a fine job, and I’ve got good horses, so, with any luck, I might yet make it.”

“I’m sure they've missed you.” 

“They’ll be impatient for their presents,” Anlaf said. “The little ones will have grown so much. The youngest just turned six last month so I’ve missed his birthday and he'll be—” 

“Six? But you—” Ness bit her lip. “Sorry, I’m being rude. It’s not my business.”

“It’s fine. My mother died, childbed fever, but, despite the odds stacked against him, he lived.” Frowning, Anlaf continued, “It was a hard time for us all. Sadness, but there was joy too.” The frown vanished and he grinned. “A lot of joy. Once we worked out what we were doing.”

Her hand had drifted to her stomach. Ness shoved it into her pocket when Anlaf glanced down at her. She wanted to ask for more detail. Numbers. Symptoms. Specifics. How many women died in childbirth, and what was childbed fever? How did you get it? Or not get it? Was it more likely the more children you had? The older you got? Was it all just luck? 

She shook her head. No. Asking him would be callous and wrong. 

But she still wanted to. She needed to know. Her fingers brushed over the letter in her pocket. She needed someone who would tell her the truth, someone who’d understand and put her mind at rest, and someone who'd spent more decades reading books than any jolly hobbit midwife. 

She needed him. 

“You're going east?” At his nod, she thrust the letter at him before she could talk herself out of it again. With her heart hammering in her ears, she asked, “Will you take this with you? I was going to leave it at the Dragon, for someone else to take. But, since you’re heading home that way?”

Anlaf raised his eyebrows, shifting Fili onto his hip to take the letter. “How far east? Because I’ll be turning back before the Misty Mountains," he said, "but I can make sure it gets taken on.” Turning the letter over, he held it up to his face and squinted. “Where is this going to? 

Her writing wasn't that bad. “My friend Beorn. He—” 

“Beorn?” Anlaf’s eyes widened, his eyebrows disappearing under his fringe. “The woodsman? How do you know him?”

“He’s a good friend of mine.”

“It’s a strange spelling.” Anlaf tucked the letter in his pocket. “But—” 

“I’m not very good at letters,” she admitted. “I might have written it down wrong. I’m used to just saying his name aloud, you see, but I thought I should write to him since I…haven’t seen him in a while.” A fly was crawling along the horse’s flank and Ness flicked it off, stepping back hurriedly when it stamped. 

"I've missed him," she said. "And he might have missed me too. A little. And, maybe, he might decide to visit. Would it…how long would it take him to get here, do you think? If he did miss me too and wanted to visit?” 

When Anlaf didn't answer, she added, “I expect it would be a lot less than seven, eight, months, wouldn’t it? By the time you got the letter to him, and he packed up and came here?” She looked up at Anlaf, trying to sound and appear unbothered by whatever the answer might be. "I thought he might even be able to manage it in maybe as little as three months or so? If he really wanted to come."

Anlaf gave her an odd, considering look before he shrugged. “I expect so. If he left the moment he got the letter. But I'd have to find someone to take it who's travelling further east in winter, and that might prove difficult." 

“I’d really need you to try hard to find someone,” said Ness. 

“This is urgent then?” 

“Not urgent,” said Ness quickly. “But, it's just that Beorn gets really easily pissed off about things. And he won’t like it if anything delayed him getting his letter so I’d…worry for whoever hands it over to him. If it were late.”

“I understand.” With a laugh, Anlaf turned his attention back to Fili. “Did I just hear your tummy rumbling?” Lifting Fili higher, Anlaf pressed an ear to him while Fili giggled. “I did.”

“We were going home for breakfast,” said Ness, her fingers twitching when Anlaf swept past her and swung himself easily up onto the wagon, Fili still on his hip. 

“After we went to the Dragon,” she added, remembering her lie. “We were going home after that to have breakfast. And Kili will expect us to call into the forge. We have to go."

Anlaf didn't seem to hear her, busy with the horses' reins and talking quietly to Fili.

"What are you doing?” she asked, her voice shrill and squeaky to her ears. 

Turning, Anlaf crouched by the wagon steps and held out a hand to her. “Come on.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you.” 

“Ness.” Anlaf wriggled his fingers. “The hobbits have given me more food than I can eat in a week. Let me feed the little one at least, and I’ll fix the spelling on your letter. It’s a long enough walk from here to Bag End.” He smiled. “Especially if you have to double-back across country to Hobbiton.”

Double-back? Ness swore under her breath. He’d seen her climbing the stile. Of course, he knew she’d been walking away from Hobbiton and not toward it. 

She looked up at her little boy trapped in Anlaf's arms, trying to weigh up her options as her heart raced. Kili seemed to trust the man well enough. That felt like the most important thing. And Anlaf had said he’d take her letter. And not even just take it, but fix it too. 

And she had a knife in her boot. 

That was a lot of pluses. And if he'd intended to try anything then he'd already had plenty of opportunity by now. 

So why was her skin prickling? 

Wishing she’d practiced more with her knife, like Fili had told her to, Ness took Anlaf's hand and was hauled up onto the foot rest. She looked down at the road. It wasn’t a big jump. If it came to it, she’d snatch Fili and— 

“To where?” she asked, her mind catching up with her ears. 

“Bag End. That’s where you live, isn’t it?” 

She frowned. So Kili had given out more than names. 

Lifting an edge of the heavy canvas that covered the wagon, Anlaf ushered her ahead of him into the gloomy inside. Crates were stacked in the centre—the repaired weapons, she assumed—and the earthy smell of mushrooms rose from a cloth-covered basket sitting on one of the long benches that lined the wagon’s sides. 

Anlaf squeezed past her and sat beside the basket, settling Fili on his lap. “Now,” he said, flicking back the striped cloth. “What do you eat, little one? We have…” Smiling at Fili who was leaning over his arm, Anlaf rummaged through the basket. “Hard-boiled eggs, or hopefully hard-boiled anyway, we'll have to take our chances with those. Bread, some ham. Mushrooms, of course. Lots of mushrooms. And some sort of cake. Oh, and cheese. The hobbits are a generous folk.” 

Fili bounced, stretching his arms toward the basket, and Anlaf restrained him gently. “What will he take, Ness?” 

She shook her head. “Anything. Not cake though, not at this time of day. Please.”

“A good eater. That’s a wonderful thing.” Fishing out an egg, Anlaf spun it on the bench before cracking the shell cautiously against his knee. He glanced at Fili who was intently watching him. "Hard-boiled after all, Fili. Stroke of luck for both of us, yes?" 

Fili licked his lips, his fingers clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

“My youngest sister was very picky and it was troublesome," said Anlaf, shifting Fili back against his chest. He began to peel the egg, flicking remnants of shell to the floor. “You lied to me.”

She stiffened. 

“You told me you were a dwarf.” When she opened her mouth to correct him, he cut her off. “I know you’re not, Ness. The hobbits are generous with more than just food.”

Rosie.  Ness felt the heat rise in her face. “You assumed I was.”

“And neither you nor Kili corrected me.” Anlaf brushed the last pieces of shell from his knee to the floor and handed the egg to Fili. “There you go, little one.” 

Stroking Fili's hair, Anlaf turned his gaze back to Ness. “In fact, I distinctly remember Kili confirming that you were a dwarf, when I said I’d never seen a female dwarf before. Do you remember that?”

A shiver shot down her spine. “I don’t remember exactly what was said. It was over a month ago.”

“Strange how you remembered that I was the eldest in my family, but not that.” Anlaf smiled. “Anyway, merchants remember these things, the little details of conversations. We have to. Because it’s bad for business if we forget who’s lied to us. And I make it a point never to deal with liars.” He glanced at the crates and a chill settled in Ness’s stomach. "Or thieves."

Lobelia. Ness unclenched her jaw. “Look, I don't know what hobbity gossip you've been listening to, but it's all wrong. Kili has never taken anything that wasn't his to take. That's not who he is. Bag End belongs to Bilbo, and it'll be Bilbo’s decision who it goes to and when. And anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know Bilbo half as well as they think they do."

Still stroking Fili's hair, Anlaf looked at her steadily. And Ness looked at his big hand on her son's delicate skull. In the darkness of the wagon, and very aware of the quiet lonely road outside, Anlaf no longer seemed a friendly, harmless merchant. Her mind was screaming at her to run. 

"On the scale of lies,” she continued, her fingers twitching to have Fili safely back in her arms, “me not being a dwarf is hardly an important one.”

“Maybe so, and maybe it was just idle gossip, but it makes me wonder what else you might have lied to me about. And what else Kili has to hide." Anlaf jerked his head toward the crates and Ness held her breath. "He tells me these swords won’t cause me trouble.”

The weapons. That was all he cared about. Weapons that would make him money. Ness forced her shoulders to relax. “I might not be a dwarf," she said, "but Kili is, and his word means everything to him.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Anlaf. “Reassuring.” Breaking eye contact at last, he smiled down at Fili, taking his hand from Fili’s hair to brush some crumbs of egg from his chin. “Good boy, still hungry? Of course you are. Here, Ness, take him, and I’ll slice some cheese.”

With Fili back on her lap, even if he was grizzling to get back closer to Anlaf and the food, Ness could breathe again. Holding Fili close, and telling herself that it was all her overactive imagination, that she was still spooked from the rabbit or whatever it was that had been lurking in the woods, she watched Anlaf rifle through the basket and told herself running was a stupid idea. He had horses, and long strides, and even if she legged it into the woods he'd catch her.

And it was fine. She was overreacting. He was only a man, like Bard, and like the other good men of Dale. And Kili had known immediately that Othur and Alfrid were not to be trusted, and he trusted Anlaf. It was fine. 

Fishing a plate out from a box under the bench, Anlaf pulled a sharp knife from his belt. As he set to slicing bread and cheese, he continued, “So, if you’re not a dwarf, Ness, and you’re definitely not a hobbit, then what are you?”

She wanted out of this wagon. “I’m human. A man. Just like you.”

“Not quite like me.” Anlaf stretched out a long leg and tapped her boot. 

“Smaller, that’s all.” Shifting her boots away, Ness took Fili’s hand. “My family are all quite…small. It’s normal where I’m from.”

“And where’s that?”

“You wouldn’t know it. It's a long way from here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Anlaf scooted forward and handed her the plate. Before she had a chance to steady it with both hands, Fili crowed with delight and grabbed a chunk of bread, trying to cram it all into his mouth at once while hanging onto the plate as if she intended to take it from him. 

“Fili.” Prying his determined fingers from the plate's lip and trying to calm him down was a distraction from Anlaf at least. “Honestly,” she said, looking up and smiling with relief to see Anlaf had returned to his own bench. “You’d think we never fed him. I blame the hobbits and their twenty-seven meals a day habit.”

Leaning back against the wagon side, Anlaf smiled back. “Well, hobbits do make the best bread in all of Middle-earth so I can’t say I blame him for being excited. Even better than my sister’s, not that I would ever tell her so.” 

Ness grinned. This was better. This felt like a normal, everyday conversation. She could manage that. 

“Will you be able to stay at home long?” she asked, looking up at the patter of what sounded like heavy raindrops on the canvas above their heads. “If you make it back for winter, that is."

Anlaf shrugged. “I hope so. I've several possibilities in mind for the spring, but nothing confirmed yet. So unless I pick up any more work on my way to deliver these” —Anlaf patted the nearest crate— “then I will be home, getting under everyone’s feet, for at least a month or two, maybe even longer. Until the worst of the weather is over.” 

That felt like a good escaping point. “And we are keeping you back," Ness said.

Fili growled when she pulled the plate away from him. Setting it on the bench, Ness stood and tried to ignore her son bouncing and kicking in her arms. She gripped him tighter. “Thanks for the breakfast, and for taking the letter for me.” Tugging Fili’s hood over his head, she pulled back the canvas. “Take care of—”

“Wait, Ness.” Anlaf hadn’t moved. “Do you not want me to fix your letter for you?” Pulling it from his pocket, he waved it at her. “If your spelling is as bad as this, I can rewrite it and reseal it before—”

“No,” she said quickly, wanting to be gone. “No, don't open it. It’s fine. Beorn likes puzzles so it’ll entertain him trying to work out what I’m saying.” When Anlaf raised an eyebrow, she added, “You fixing it will only spoil his fun.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Definitely not. But if you can fix the spelling on the front I’d appreciate it.” A flitter of panic that he would open it and read it flashed across her mind. She resisted the urge to snatch the letter back. People didn't open other people's letters—unless maybe you were a king like Thorin and wanted to micro-manage everything and everyone at all times. She understood that much about Middle-earth. And it was all, mostly all, in Fili's code so it wasn't as if it would tell anyone anything interesting anyway. 

At Anlaf’s nod, and before she could change her mind, she scooted out. Clambering down from the wagon, she tried to be quick but careful, feeling clumsy and unsteady on the wet, too-big steps, and off-balance from clutching Fili. 

“Wait.” Anlaf jumped down, landing with a splash in a puddle. He grinned. “We didn’t discuss payment.”

“What?”

“For the letter.” Anlaf spread his hands. “I’m a merchant, Ness. Can’t start not charging for my services.”

Oh. She hadn’t considered that. “I…don’t have any coin.” She cursed herself for not thinking to lift anything from the chests hidden away in Bag End. None of it was hers, but Bilbo would never have missed one tiny coin when he had hundreds. Kili had ‘their’ coin in a jar in their room but he counted them carefully, and often, and there certainly weren't hundreds of them.

“I’m sure we can work out another arrangement.” Anlaf looked her up and down. “No pretty necklace today?”

Glad that she’d left it safely hidden amongst her clothes in Bag End, Ness frowned. “That necklace is worth a lot more than one stupid letter.” She thrust out a hand. “Give it back and I’ll find someone else to take it.”

“That’s not necessary, but it's a long journey east, with little pleasant company. Tell you what, how about I take it for you in return for a kiss?”

Her eyes fixed on the sword at his hip, Ness scurried back as he stepped forward. “Tell you what," she said before she could stop herself, "how about a kick in the balls?" 

He stopped, but only to laugh. 

Glowering up at him, Ness added quickly, "And then I'll tell Kili. And a kick in the balls will be the least of your worries."

Threatening to set Kili on him felt like the cowardly way out, but it stopped the laughter at least. 

Anlaf held his hands aloft, his lips still twitching. “Ness. No. You misunderstand me. I don't mean you. I meant the little one."

"Oh." She looked down at Fili. 

"Who knows how grown up he'll be next time I see him?" Dropping to one knee, Anlaf smiled broadly and shuffled closer. "Maybe far too old and grown up for kisses. They always grow up too fast." He tapped his cheek. "Fili?" 

Ness held Fili tighter. "He mightn’t want to." But Fili was already smacking his lips together, pushing hard against her as he stretched down for Anlaf's upturned cheek.

She sighed. "Fine." She lowered him enough that he could plant a wet and noisy dwarfling kiss against Anlaf's stubble. Pulling him back against her chest, she asked, "Happy?" 

Getting to his feet, Anlaf ruffled Fili's hair. "I am. Take good care of him, Ness. He's a fine little boy."

"I…" Feeling wrong-footed, she tried again, "I know he is, and I will." 

"Hopefully, I'll be back this way again sooner rather than later," said Anlaf. He nodded toward the wagon and grinned. "With this one trade, I can make as much as in weeks of ferrying grain, and only pay two guards instead of twenty. That feels like a good plan to me. And if I can send more work Kili's way, I will." 

She nodded. "Thank you." 

"Here." He dug a cloth-wrapped package from his pocket. “For the child.” 

Cautiously, Ness reached out and took it. 

“My guards and I will never manage to eat all the cake before it goes stale,” said Anlaf. “And don’t worry, Ness, the coin Kili gave me to deliver his letter will cover yours too.” 

Kili's letter? She opened her mouth to ask but Anlaf was already leaping back onto the wagon. He lifted the reins. “I'll make sure it gets to your friend in good time for you. Farewell.”

“Creep,” she muttered as Fili jigged in her arms, waving after the wagon that rumbled away down the road. She looked at the package in her hand and shoved it into her pocket. 

He had given them cake and taken her letter. And offered to send more work Kili's way. And he'd been very sweet with Fili. Maybe she had him wrong, after all? 

"Should we invite him for tea next time he's back?" she asked Fili. That would make her feel better about thinking badly of him. "What do you think?"

Fili’s hand slowed, dropping to his side as the wagon disappeared from sight around the bend.

Smiling down at him, Ness said, "Just because someone gives you food and lets you pat their horse, doesn't mean you have to fall in love with them, baby boy."

He heaved out a sigh. One that sounded as if he had the weight of the world on his little shoulders. 

"Never mind. We can talk about that later." Ness kissed the top of his hooded head. "When you're a bit older."

What to do now? The rain was growing heavier. Ness glanced at the stile, and then back down the road toward Hobbiton. She hefted Fili in her arms. “Let’s go surprise your adad, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Nori better appreciate this because it definitely counted as keeping his enemies close. Gimli flinched when Hafdis touched his elbow. Again. Why did she keep touching him?

"A bit higher," she said, close enough that her breath stirred his beard. "As I told you before, if your stance was better then you—" 

"My stance is fine." More than fine. His arrows were all clustered neatly in the target. They were exactly where he wanted them. Even Kili couldn't have done better. 

"Think of the centre as an orc's neck. It's a wasted shot if you—"

"Hardly a wasted shot if my arrow's wedged in its eye." Shifting away from her as far as he could without making it obvious, Gimli lowered the bow. He gestured at the target. "Or its heart. That's what I was aiming for."

"Oh." 

He didn't care for her smile.

"I suppose that makes some sense," she said, shrugging. "Unless they're wearing a helm and armour, of course." At another loud clatter of metal from the middle of the training hall, she jumped, glancing away before turning her attention back to him, composed and smiling once more. "I expect you know that you wouldn't have time for a second shot at this distance."

He didn't care for the look in her eyes either.

Tilting her head, Hafdis asked, "You have been charged by an orc before, Gimli?"

He'd had enough of this. “Here.” Gimli thrust the bow at her. "Your turn."

She nodded, taking the bow and moving past him. “And will you watch this time, and concentrate, and actually learn something? Or are you just going to keep sneaking glances at them?” 

“You mean, as you were doing?” 

Hafdis laughed. “Maybe we should just give up. Before one of us accidentally shoots the other.”

Accidentally. Gimli snorted, aiming for a smile that was likely more of a grimace. He watched Fili duck under one of Hafur’s swings. “Your brother is aware that they're only sparring?”

Hafdis lowered the bow, biting on her lip. “Yes, of course.” With her eyes fixed on Fili and Hafur, she whispered, “Gimli, can I tell you a secret?”

Surely Nori’s advice wasn’t working already? Gimli shrugged, trying not to appear too keen. 

“When this was suggested,” Hafdis lowered her voice further, forcing him to lean in closer than he wished so that he could hear her over the clash of the practice weapons and Fili and Hafur’s grunts and shouts. “I thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but…” Her eyes widened, glittering with what to Gimli’s horror looked a lot like tears.

No. His heart plummeted to his boots. This was too much. Bad enough that everytime he looked at her his mind pictured her in underthings—he cursed himself again for ever having peeped out of the wardrobe. Why, in Durin’s name, hadn't he stuck to listening?—but he couldn't cope with her weeping on his shoulder as well. 

He looked desperately toward Fili. His cousin, if Fili didn’t come to his senses before it was too late, would be the one shackled to her, so he was the one to deal with any tears and sniffling. Maybe that would even help him come to his senses. 

But Fili wasn’t paying attention, focused on Hafur as they circled each other, searching for an opening. 

By his side, Hafdis sniffed delicately, and Gimli sighed, his shoulders slumping. He turned back in time to catch her brushing a tear away. 

“My brother is the most important dwarf in the world to me,” continued Hafdis. “And… Promise me this goes no further?”

Gimli nodded. 

“When he first learned of the betrothal, he wasn’t happy.” Hafdis sniffled, dabbing at her glistening eyes. “Because of what had happened with Buvro. He felt…he was worried about me. He felt Fili maybe wasn’t the dwarf we thought we knew. I told him he was, that it was an accident, but Hafur was worried in case something happened.” More sniffs were followed by a watery smile. “I can say silly things at times, you know I can, thoughtless silly things, and Hafur was worried I would say something to offend or upset Fili and he—”

"He wouldn't." Gimli bristled, trying to put his own fights with Fili prior to the Buvro incident out of his mind. Fili had punched a wall rather than him. Mostly. Fili had shown self-control, and, anyway, scuffles between cousins who'd grown up in each other's pockets were completely normal. It wasn't the same. Not nearly the same. Whatever had happened between Buvro and Fili, why Fili had felt it necessary to hurt Buvro so badly, it had been justified. Gimli could not be more certain of anything. 

But then, perhaps, as Nori had said, it was possible that Hafdis was frightened. She didn't know Fili even half as well as he did. 

She was watching Fili with her chin tilted and her eyes still watering, and Gimli studied her closely. The marriage wouldn't happen, he'd work out a way to stop it, but Hafdis didn't know that. As far as she was concerned they would be wed—unless things went very badly at the trial. Shoving that thought away quickly, Gimli refocused on Hafdis. Did she truly think that Fili would force himself on her? Surely not. 

And he couldn't very well address it directly. That would look odd. Not to mention what did or didn't happen on Hafdis's wedding night was not a thought he wanted anywhere near his head either. Underthings were bad enough. 

“My cousin isn’t that sort of dwarf," he said. That would have to do. After a few heartbeats had passed and she didn't respond, he added a brief, but comforting, he hoped, shoulder pat. 

“No. I know that.” Hafdis nodded. “And I think, my brother sparring again with Fili, like they used to, was such a good idea.” 

She laid a hand on his arm and Gimli tried not to whip it away. Why had he patted her? He'd just encouraged her to paw at him. He was a fool. 

“Thank you for arranging today." Hafdis smiled warmly. "I know you did it.”

So Fili had told her then. Gimli frowned before he could stop himself. He'd told Fili to say that it was his own idea. His cousin really was the most useless liar in Middle-earth. “I thought it was about time we tried to get back to how things used to be,” he said, smoothing his face into a smile too. 

“Perhaps we can do it again. Tomorrow morning?”

Laughter rang out. It echoed off the walls of the closed hall and Gimli clapped along with Hafdis, watching Fili help Hafur off the floor, the pair of them holding on to each other because they were laughing so hard. After shaking out his sword arm, Hafur grinned and wagged a finger at Fili.

“That’s us even,” said Fili.

“One more?” Retrieving his sword, Hafur spun on his heel. He raised his eyebrows at Gimli. “Do we have time?” 

Dwalin would be arriving any moment to open the training hall for the dwarves who preferred to train before breaking their fast, but he would check they were clear first. Or he should check. Because he certainly knew Fili’s feelings on being seen training at the moment—Gimli having reminded him in case he’d forgotten. Not that Fili had said his actual feelings outright, but you couldn’t spend almost every day with someone for almost seventy years and not know them better than they knew themselves. Gimli nodded. “If you make it quick.”

“Oh, I’ll make it quick.” Lowering into a stance, Hafur beckoned. “Come on then, Crown Prince. I’ll not take it so easy on you this time.” 

The laugh from Fili warmed Gimli’s heart. Still grinning, he turned back to Hafdis. “I can talk to Thorin, perhaps he’ll let us take more of his sessions for the next while.” 

Until the trial at least, because, after that, Fili might be more prepared to train with others, and not out on a lonely mountainside or in a locked chamber. Gimli pushed away again the panicky thoughts that threatened every single time his mind tried to touch on life after the trial. It would be fine. Thorin would make sure of it. 

“Or we can come earlier?” Hafdis smiled. “I don’t mind, and I’m sure Hafur wouldn’t either.”

Gimli considered it. Since neither he nor Fili were apparently sleeping much, it probably made little difference whether they arrived in the pre-dawn, like now, or in the middle of the night. He stifled a yawn. Perhaps with such an early start today he might sleep a little better? It would make a pleasant change not to spend the entire night tossing and turning and worrying. “I’ll speak to Thorin first,” he said. “And see what he thinks.”

“Maybe we could ask Dis to join us too?” 

Dis was exhausted. The last thing she needed was to lose more of what little rest Gimli suspected she was able to find. But there was someone else who should be considered. He watched Hafdis carefully. “Perhaps we should ask your cousin again?”

“Thor—Stonehelm?” Hafdis shook her head and Gimli was certain she paled. “I suppose we could,” she said slowly, “but he is very busy, because Dain keeps him busy, and I don't know that he and Fili know each other very well yet. And I know Fili said that he didn't mind, but would he truly want my cousin here?” She rested her fingertips on his forearm. “You know him better than I.”

That was true. Through narrowed eyes, Gimli watched Fili throw Hafur back a step. His cousin was far from the dwarf who couldn’t cross the healing chambers without needing an arm to lean on. It was heartening to see. And, even though he hadn’t seen Stonehelm spar, Gimli was confident that Fili could easily put their puffed-up, full-of-himself, so-called cousin on his backside. And, if Fili couldn’t, then he certainly would. Gimli fingered the throwing axe on his belt. The one Hafdis hadn’t allowed him to use in their archery competition. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “They are related after all.”

“I don’t think Stonehelm is keen on very early mornings anyway,” said Hafdis with a brittle smile. 

Or perhaps Stonehelm wasn’t keen on showing his hand until after the trial. Gimli filed that away for further thought. 

“I’m glad we’re able to talk like this again,” said Hafdis. “I feel like we’ve had this barrier between us, ever since…”

She was waiting for a response, he knew she was, and Gimli looked away—in time to see Hafur use his shield as a bludgeon, almost succeeding in knocking Fili from his feet. Relieved by the distraction, he clapped hard, shouting, “Well done, Hafur!”

“This feels as if we might be friends again,” continued Hafdis. “I don’t know what I did to—” 

“You didn’t do anything,” said Gimli quickly. 

“It felt as if I had upset you in some—”

“How’s that pig of yours?” Gimli looked toward the door. Had he heard Dwalin’s voice? “Odr? That's his name, isn't it? How's he getting on? Happy to be back here?”

“I think so.” Hafdis smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I was hoping to take him out, perhaps to Dale, later, but I think King Thorin has plans for us all day. I need to talk with Fili first.”

Us. Gimli’s heart sank. He forced himself to keep smiling. Such a small word, and yet it had the power to change everything. He watched Fili. His cousin was unsteadier on his feet than he had been in the previous bout, tiring but refusing to give in, and it was allowing Hafur to press his advantage. 

Dwalin or no Dwalin. He was calling time. This was enough for Fili for one morning. 

“Right!” Gimli shouted, striding toward them, his hands raised. “Time’s up, and I’m declaring a draw. You’ll have no time for baths before breakfast at this rate and they won’t let you into the hall.” 

In the flickering torchlight of the hall, both Fili and Hafur were sheened in sweat, and both of them protested before lowering their weapons. But, Gimli felt, there was a hint of relief in his cousin’s eyes.

“You can’t keep dragging this out, Thorin.” Dain swirled his tea. “It’s not fair on anyone. Not your boy, and not Buvro’s kin. And not on me.”

Meeting Dain’s eyes across the table, Thorin frowned. He wasn’t dragging anything out, as Dain well knew. And, as he had explained as much as he wished to this morning, plans took time to come to fruition. “You?” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s not fair on you?”

“Yes. Me.” Dain’s lips curved into a smile. “For who do you think the family come to, every day, with their questions? They’ll return home as soon as this is over, and even you have to agree that they’ve been more than patient with you. You’ll trap them here over winter if you’re not careful.”

“It's not a difficult road between here and the Iron Hills, even in winter.”

“That’s unfair, brother,” said Dis. When he glanced at her, she added, “Durin knows I want this as little as you do, perhaps even less. But Dain has a point. The sooner we set a date, the sooner we can…” She swallowed hard and Thorin reached to take her hand under the table. Her fingers crushed his, but her voice barely quivered as she continued, “The sooner we can get back to how things should be.”

“You understand what you are asking, Dis?”

She released his hand, drawing away to better glower at him, and Thorin sighed. Of course, she understood. Now that they were committed to a trial, it would be nothing short of a miracle if there was not some sort of punishment insisted upon. Thorin drummed his freed fingertips against the tabletop. He could and would overrule all punishments if necessary, but to fully toss aside any judgement of the dwarf lords, should they dare to stand against him, would undermine the fragile, newborn Erebor. 

He needed more time to think, and it was rapidly running out. 

And maybe not all could be saved. All hard-fought battles called for some measure of sacrifice. But what was he prepared to lose? 

“Balin,” he said. “Dwalin. Your thoughts?”

“Don’t forget that the mountain is stuck in limbo while you decide on your course,” said Dain. “Get it announced and get it over with.”

“I had not asked you.” Thorin lifted his head from his drumming fingers to glare at his cousin. “I know your feelings on the matter.” 

“Well,” Balin started, standing and clearing his throat. “As far as we can determine, the mountain is responding with great enthusiasm to the betrothal—”

“The miners threw them a party, for Durin’s sake.” Nudging Thorin's side, Dwalin grinned. “A party that lasted long after the happy couple had left. So you can count on their support.”

“—and the other trades have responded likewise," said Balin. "We have pockets of resistance and dissatisfaction where you might expect.” He glanced at Dain. “And some dissent in areas we didn’t expect, but we’re working on that.”

Dain raised an eyebrow. “Working on it?”

“As I said.” Balin tucked his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “In my opinion, if we can keep Fili and Hafdis on show and behaving as they are doing then perhaps, a few more days, a week…” He frowned. “There is one problem that we do need to resolve, and today, if at all possible.” 

“Which is?” Thorin leant forward. 

“Your lad, Dain,” said Balin.

Dain’s mouth fell open. “My Thorin? Why? What’s he done now?”

“It’s more what he hasn’t done.” Balin smiled. “We're seeing a split, not overly concerning, but I fear that he is a rallying point for those who may wish for, shall we say, a firmer type of judgement. I think it would help melt away some of the” —he shot a wary glance at Dis— “ill-feeling toward Fili, which, I’m sorry to report, we are seeing, if Dain’s Thorin made more of an effort. Or any effort. I have become aware that he was invited to a private gathering with Fili in the training hall this morning, and refused to attend."

Dain held up his hands. “May I remind you all that my son is feeling somewhat jilted over the betrothal. He’s doing his best.”

“And is that all it is?” asked Thorin. 

“You know as well as I that my Thorin is good friends with Buvro’s kin. It is not so easy to—”

“Support my nephew?” Thorin met Dain’s eyes. “As you claim to. As Hafdis and Hafur, who are both with my nephew right now in the training hall, at the gathering your son refused to attend, are currently doing. Is there perhaps any other reason why your Thorin feels the need to snub his Crown Prince?”

“He’s hardly snubbing,” said Dain. “As I said, he’s taken the betrothal hard. He’s young, and he'll get over it.”

“He'll get over it faster,” said Thorin. 

“Give him time.”

“As you keep reminding me, there is no time. Therefore, If I cannot delay, then neither can you. Speak to him today, this morning.” Thorin nodded at Balin. “I want him seated beside Fili at breakfast.” 

Looking back at Dain, Thorin continued, “I want to see your son smiling and making a convincing effort. The dwarf lords will see that they are friends, because I am as aware as you are that there will be those who feel your line has a claim to my throne. You have told me you have no designs on it.”

“And I don’t.”

“And your son?”

“Of course, he doesn’t.” Dain frowned. “I'll speak to him.”

“And if I am satisfied with his performance,” said Thorin. “Fully satisfied. Then I will agree to set a date for the trial.” He stood. “I have a busy day ahead, and much to do before it begins. You may leave me.” He patted Dis’s shoulder, feeling the tension in her muscles as if she were made of tightly coiled springs. His sister needed some reassurance, and another pot of tea. “Not you, Dis.”

Hobbiton was sleeping. Mostly. Some light seeped from the side windows of The Dragon, the cooks getting ready for their guests to wake up and demand their breakfasts, but the stalls in the market square were quiet and dark, the covers drawn tight over them and lashed down against the expected winter winds. 

Smoke trailed from the forge's chimney, threads of grey against a darker sky, and Ness shivered, wriggling her damp toes inside her boots. The rain had grown heavier after they had left Anlaf, and so had Fili. Her hip was aching. She peeled back her wet cloak. “Look,” she whispered. Fili pulled his thumb from his mouth and peeped out. “See where we are?"

As he blinked and looked around sleepily, she pushed her hood back, pulling the ties from her hair and shaking out the braids. 

“What do you think?” Ruffling her hair to separate out the damp curls, she smiled down at Fili. “He’ll never know, will he?” 

“Ba.”

“And if you didn’t keep trying to yank all my hair out by the roots, then I wouldn’t have to tie it up at all.” Ness tapped him on the nose and he giggled. “And then your adad wouldn’t get all weird about it.”

Strictly speaking, she should’ve known by now that there was something significant about braids, but she hadn’t ever thought to ask. 

Why was there not some better way of scrubbing a floor? Dipping the brush into the pail of piping hot water, Ness wiped her forehead and tucked a few stray hairs back into the braid. 

“What are you doing?”

She looked up. In the kitchen doorway, Kili stood with a frown on his face and Fili on his hip. 

“Cleaning?” Tossing the brush back into the pail, she wiped wet hands on her skirts and clambered to her feet. When had her knees started hurting? There had to be a better way of cleaning floors. Maybe Kili could make a mop. “He was awake?” she asked. “I didn't hear him call out.”

“He was fine. Just playing in his crib.” Kili adjusted Fili on his hip. “You shouldn’t be over-taxing yourself, my Ness. You look warm.” 

And so the fussing was beginning already. Ness smiled. “Are you home for today?”

He shook his head, an odd look in his eyes. “Only a quick visit to see how you both were, since Bilbo’s out this afternoon.”

She didn’t need Bilbo hovering over her either, but there was no point in saying that. Sometimes she felt that it had to be a competition between the two of them to see who could fuss more. Ness’s lips quirked. Not that it would be much of a competition. Kili would win by a mile. “Everything all right?” she asked. 

It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t because he was still looking at her strangely. Ness frowned. No, he wasn’t looking at her strangely, he was looking at her hair. She lifted a hand to her head. “Does it look weird? I tried with mirrors but I couldn’t see the back of it, and I’ve never done this on my hair before.” When he didn’t answer, she continued, “My mum would have done it like this before school, when I was little, but I definitely haven’t done it right because bits keep falling out.”

Kili nodded, crossing her clean floor and not seeming to notice that he was leaving a trail of not-quite-clean boot prints. His fingers brushed over the braid above her ear. 

“It keeps it out of my way,” she added. “And, more importantly, out of Fili’s way.”

He nodded again and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “It’s fine, my Ness.” 

“But it’s obviously not fine,” said Ness, pulling her hood back up. “Not that your adad will tell me why. Some big dwarven secret, I imagine. Maybe he’ll tell you why when you’re old—”

“Adad!”

Fili’s shout was shockingly loud in the stillness, and Ness hushed him, her heart pounding. She’d nearly dropped him, and that was no reward for his first word. His first proper word. She grinned. 

“That’s right,” she said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. Just pretend it’s totally normal. Words are totally normal. Kili was going to be so excited. “We’re going to visit Adad. But we need to be much, much quieter because the hobbits are sleeping. Can you be very quiet?”

“Ba.”

That was fair enough. Ness hurried across the water-logged square, trying to dodge the worst of the puddles in the dim dawn light. She pushed at the door of the forge, found it locked, and rapped quietly. “Kili,” she whispered, huddling in under the eaves and trying to keep Fili away from the drips. 

There was the sound of a heavy bolt sliding, and she stepped back as the door swung open. 

“Ness?” Finishing tugging his shirt on, Kili’s eyes were wide and his hair mussed. Ness felt a pang of guilt when she saw the bedroll spread out in the corner of the forge behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “you were asleep.”

He took her arm, pulling her inside and closing the door behind her. “No, never apologise. I’m always happy to see you.” Fili was squirming, fighting to get free from under her cloak, and Kili laughed. Untangling Fili, he pulled him out and into his arms. “Both of you. What are you doing here?”

“We thought we’d go for a walk.” She dug the package from her pocket. “And we brought cake.”

“Bit early for both those things, isn’t it?” Taking the package from her, Kili's smile dropped away. “But, Ness, you’re soaked through, and what were you thinking, carrying him all this way? He’s too heavy.” 

“I’m not completely useless, you know.”

Kili shot her a look. “I know you’re not, but you are with child. We need to be more careful.”

“We don’t know that for certain and, even if I am, it doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. You need to stop—”

“Fussing.” Kili grinned. “I know that too. But no, I won’t. I can’t.” Tossing the package onto a bench, Kili towed her after him. He left her by the anvil and swung open the forge doors, bathing her in scorching heat. 

Ness stepped back. 

With Fili balanced on his hip, Kili knelt to rummage through a trunk on the other side of the forge. He returned to her with an armful of clothes. 

“Strip,” he ordered, draping the dry clothes on the anvil. “And put these on. They’ll be too big but they’ll be warm, and yours will dry out soon by the fire.” He set Fili on the anvil too, running a hand over him. “You’re nice and dry though, little lad, apart from your knees, and your sleeves. What were you up to?” 

“He was crawling on the grass,” said Ness, heeling off her boots. She staggered, off-balance, trying to peel herself out of her clinging trousers, and caught hold of Kili’s waist for support. “But I didn’t tell you the best bit.” 

“Why was he crawling on the grass at this time of the morning?” Kili was busy attempting to pull the shirt over Fili’s head as Fili giggled and batted at his hands. “Stop wriggling about.” He lifted the still giggling Fili onto his hip. “Let’s get you wrapped up in a… Ness, are your feet wet?” 

With a dry shirt in her hand, Ness looked at the dark trail of her footprints, already fading away on the flagstones by the heat blasting from the forge-fire. 

Handing Fili to her, Kili crouched. He lifted one of her boots and frowned, turning it over in his hands. 

“They’re fine,” said Ness, jigging Fili in her arms and trying to wrap the far-too-big shirt tighter around him. He grumbled, his hands grasping toward Kili. “It’s been raining really heavily out there, and it’s not important anyway because Fili—”

“Boots are supposed to keep your feet dry.” Kili sighed. Setting the boot down, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it over the anvil. “Put that on. I should have had you a decent pair made before we left Erebor, I didn’t… I didn’t think about it, with everything, but I’ll buy new ones. Next time I’m in Bree.” He picked up the other boot. “Or Michel Delving perhaps. They have a cobbler there too. He’s rarely open, but I'll leave a message that I want to speak with him.” He tapped his lip, frowning and talking half to himself. "Actually, now that I think about it the one in Bree might be better. It's a mannish town, after all. More mannish than Michel Delving anyway."

She didn’t want new ones. “Honestly, they’re fine.”

“If they can be repaired, I’ll do that.” Kili examined the sole, and Ness tried not to panic as his fingers rested against the buckle Fili's knife was hidden under. “ I know you’re fond of these ones, but I can’t make any promises.”

He looked up at her and Ness shrugged. “They were a present. I know that sounds daft.”

“No, not at all. It’s—”

“Adad.”

Dropping the boot, Kili shot to his feet. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” said Ness. “Surprise!”

“I…” Kili held out his arms, and Fili jumped into them. Stroking Fili’s hair, Kili pressed a kiss into the golden curls, his eyes wet. “You heard it too.”

“Of course, I did.” She leant forward and kissed his cheek, then Fili’s, before pulling on the shirt. It was still warm from Kili's body and she drew it tight about herself. 

“I thought he might have been trying to say it before, or maybe Amad, but that was so clear.” Kili grinned, shaking his head. He pressed another hard kiss into Fili’s hair, his voice cracking, “My clever boy.”

“His first word, and in Khuzdul too.” Ness tucked a curl behind Fili’s ear, watching him snuggle against Kili’s neck, their boy happy to be with his favourite person. “When he’s old enough,” she said gently, “you should teach him properly.”

“Ness, you know that I—” 

“He’s your little boy, and he’s a dwarf.” She moved closer, her fingers drifting to the braids at the nape of Kili’s neck, hidden deep within his unruly tangle of hair. “He is. And he deserves to know what any dwarf knows. He needs to know about his own people and be proud of who he is." She tugged on a braid lightly. "Like you are.” 

Kili dropped his eyes to the flagstones, and she gently wound her fingers through his beard, tilting his head back to look at her. 

“No matter what rules you are holding yourself to. He’s your family, Kili.”  He was silent and she smiled sadly, adding, “It’s only a suggestion. Think about it.” Through the high narrow windows of the forge, the grey sky was growing lighter. “How long do you have before work?”

Kili glanced upwards at the windows. “An hour, or thereabouts.”

“Then you need to get some sleep.” Taking his hand, she led him to the rumpled bedroll. “And Fili can have a nap. Go on, lie down.”

Fili was bouncing in Kili's arms, clicking his tongue, and not looking anything like a dwarfling who needed a nap. But he did. They'd been up very early, and he’d be a tyrant if he didn’t sleep. She took him so Kili could get settled. 

Shifting until his back was tight to the wall, Kili held out his hands for Fili. “There’s space for you too. You need to rest as well. I know you’ll say I’m fussing, but all I want is to look after you properly.”

The ‘this time’ might have been silent, but Ness heard it all the same. She smiled down at him and shook her head. 

“I’ll keep watch.” Sitting on the edge of the bedroll, she stretched her legs out and watched Fili curl in tight to Kili’s chest, babbling and clicking contentedly to himself. 

"Ness…"

Her fingers ran over the crumpled bedroll, its covers slightly damp to the touch, and Ness frowned. She looked at Kili properly, at the dark shadows under his eyes. “I promise I’ll rest later," she said, "and that I’ll take it easy.” 

Not that she ever did anything else. A bit of housework and wandering around Bag End and Hobbiton was hardly exerting herself. “But I’m not sure I’m the one who needs looking after," she added. "Have you managed to have any proper sleep the last few nights?” 

He moved closer until his head rested on her thigh, and Ness ran her fingers over the hair at his temple. It was damp with sweat. Which could be the smithing, he would've been working hard to complete Anlaf’s order in time, but…

“Are you having bad dreams again?” she asked gently, unable to stop herself. He stiffened and she pushed on. Because they should talk about it. “Or are you not sleeping at all?”

“I’ll be glad to be back in our bed,” Kili murmured, slinging a heavy arm over Fili and across her legs—and avoiding her question. As she'd expected. He glanced up at her. “I’ll sleep tonight, I promise.” 

“You’ll sleep now.” Ness circled her fingertips at his temple, feeling the flutter of eyelashes against her bare thigh and the softening of his muscles as he relaxed against her. “And I’ll wake you when the hobbits start making a racket outside.” She leant over to kiss his forehead. “Sleep.”

Still making his clicking noises, Fili yawned, and Ness rolled her eyes. She supposed she’d better admit it, in case her boy suddenly found more words and grassed her up. 

“I think Fili wants a story,” said Kili around a jaw-cracking yawn of his own, his voice sleepy. “Something about horses by the sounds of things.”

She wasn’t sure she knew one about horses, but she could switch in horses for some other characters. It wasn't as if Fili would care. Ness weaved her fingers through Kili’s hair as she thought, deciding on the truth. “We saw Anlaf,” she admitted. “That’s why he has horses in his mind.”

Kili stiffened again. 

“Anlaf let him pat one, so I think they’re best friends now. Fili and Anlaf, I mean, although it could be Fili and the horse, I suppose.”

“You were speaking with him?” Kili’s made to sit up but Ness fisted her hand in his hair. 

“Stay there,” she warned. “And put your arm back around me. Yes, we spoke. He seemed pleased with your work, don’t worry.”

“I sent a letter,” said Kili in a whisper. “I’m sorry, I only decided late last night and I went to The Dragon before it closed, and—”

“It’s fine. I’m happy you sent one.”

“No, I should…” Kili sighed. His warm breath ghosted along her thigh, raising the fine hairs on her arms, and Ness looked down at him. He wouldn’t touch her, not now he knew, or suspected, that she was carrying his child, and he certainly wouldn’t do anything with Fili curled against his chest, which was only right. But, she couldn’t help it. As he drew in a breath to speak, she closed her eyes, shifting her hips, heat pooling in her belly. 

“Bilbo,” Kili said and Ness’s eyes snapped open. All thoughts of where else she wanted—needed—Kili’s hands and lips on her were forgotten in an instant. She waited, not sure why her heart was pounding, until Kili took a deep breath and continued, “When Bilbo called in yesterday, he told me you’d been practicing your letters again. And I'm sorry. I should have come to you. We should have written to Fee togeth—”

“Next time.” Ness pushed away the guilty thoughts of the other letter Anlaf carried with him. “I’ll practice some more, and then you can help me write something on the next one. Would that be all right?” When he nodded against her leg, holding her tighter, she smoothed his hair. “Good. That's all agreed then. Now, be quiet, and let me think of a story for you both.”

Chapter Text

“Will King Thorin repair up here, do you think?” asked Hafdis as she led Odr along the broken road that led toward Ravenhill’s largest tower—a tower that looked to her as if it had one more winter before it joined the rest of the crumpled ruins scattered about the mountain’s spur. 

“Why don’t you ask him?” Hafur kicked a stone along the road. “Since you’re the greatest of friends now.”

“Oh, stop sulking.” 

Another stone rattled along the road, ricocheting back hard enough off a boulder that both Odr and Hafur’s goat snorted and side-stepped. 

“And you can stop that too,” said Hafdis. 

“I’m not sulking.” About to kick another stone, Hafur seemed to reconsider. He shot a glance over his shoulder, and lowered his voice, “What I am doing is wondering what you are playing at."

Hafdis shot a glance over her shoulder too. Dwalin and the pack of Durin guards who’d accompanied them on their ride were loitering far enough behind that they likely wouldn’t be overheard, even without the ice-laden wind that whistled across the spur and tore at her braids and cloak, but still… 

She lowered her voice as well, “I am playing at what you all tell me to play at. As always. I’m doing what I’m told, when I’m told, in exactly the manner you and Thorin tell me to do it.” 

“I’m assuming you mean Stonehelm.”

“Who else would I mean?” 

Hafur rolled his eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re angry with me. What have I done? It was me who got interrogated by King Thorin, not you. It’s me that he’s suspicious of. He said that—”

“How many times?” Hafur spat. “This is all in your head. He doesn’t suspect you of anything. You’d be in a cell by now if he did. If you were lucky. But you’re not. You’re free to simper and make cow eyes at his cherished nephew, and hang off his arm and his every word, as much as you wish. All over Erebor.” He laughed bitterly. “You’re far beyond suspicion.”

Cow eyes? Punching Hafur square in the jaw would attract Dwalin’s attention, but that didn’t mean the thought wasn’t a tempting one. Gripping Odr’s reins tighter, Hafdis said through gritted teeth, “No, I’m not beyond suspicion. I told you. King Thorin’s gathering—”

“He’s not gathering anything. Not on you.” Hafur grabbed her arm, ignoring the warning rumble from deep within Odr’s chest. “Tell me your loyalties are unchanged, Hafdis.”

“Of course, they’re unchanged.” Yanking her arm free, Hafdis busied herself with brushing the clinging snowflakes from Odr’s whiskery snout. He huffed a hot, damp breath into her palm and she smiled at him. 

“Look at me,” demanded Hafur.  

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “I’m doing what I have to do, as you told me to.” At an irritated noise from Hafur, she turned away from fussing Odr and met Hafur’s eyes. “And if I’ve convinced even you then I must be doing even better than I thought.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Perhaps that’s it.”

“It is.” His eyes hadn’t lost their grumpy look and she continued, “Maybe you’re right and I’m worrying unnecessarily about King Thorin.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Hafur begrudgingly. “You’re right to be cautious, and you should continue to be cautious around everyone, especially the Durins and their close friends. But there’s a line that you need to be careful not to cross with your own kin. I’m protecting you as much as I can, and not only from Stonehelm—"

"From Stonehelm?"

"Of course, from him. He's furious with you, with Fili, with this whole arrangement, despite him agreeing to it. But, from the outside, to those who don’t know, it looks—”

“I know very well how it looks. What do you suggest I do?”

Hafur looked taken aback. 

“I’m sorry,” said Hafdis. “I don’t mean to snap at you. But I can’t please everybody. And neither can you. You need to try harder.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” Hafdis glanced back toward Dwalin. Still far enough away. “I had to practically drag you to the training hall this morning. That’s not good enough. And you enjoyed yourself when you were there.”

“Did I?” 

It was cooler in the shadow of the tallest tower. Looking up at the unstable walls, Hafdis pulled her cloak tighter around her with her free hand. “I know you did. No matter what you say otherwise about it all being a pretence.”

“I barely broke a sweat. He’s slow, and cautious.” Hafur barked out a laugh. “Sparring with him used to be fun, but it was as if I were sparring with Stonehelm when he’s having one of his bad days. I had to throw the second bout. Did you notice?”

“I was talking with Gimli.” She’d kept one eye on her brother as much as possible but she hadn’t spotted him playing under his strength. If he was being truthful, and she’d no reason to think otherwise, then he’d made a good show of it. She smiled. It wasn't as if they both hadn’t had plenty of practice throwing bouts with Stonehelm. Not that her cousin wasn't a fierce fighter, only that he couldn’t bear to lose. And, if he did, he’d be in a vile temper for days. No fleeting triumph in a training hall was ever worth that. 

“Oh.” Hafur’s face fell. 

“But I’m not surprised you didn’t find him a challenge,” said Hafdis. “I suspect, although he hasn’t said anything to me, that Fili may have been holding back too.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

She tried not to laugh. “I think Fili may notice more than we’ve given him credit for. Who’s to say he didn’t throw the bout? As a friendly gesture?”

Hafur glowered at the road beneath their boots, his brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t be very friendly,” he muttered. "Fili wouldn't do that."

Out of the wind, between the tower and the ruined walls that surrounded it, the ring of iron-clad pony hooves against stone was sharper. Hafdis didn’t dare look behind again. Too many glances would appear as if they were having a furtive, secretive conversation and that was the very last thing she wanted reported back to King Thorin. She shuddered, tugging her hood further forward over her hair. The fewer lies she had to look into those sharp eyes and tell, the better. 

She watched Hafur, still muttering to himself about the spar, stomping along at her side, and hid a smile. But, entertaining though it was to watch her big brother pout like a spoiled dwarfling over the realisation that he may not have been the only one pulling punches, they did have urgent matters to discuss.

“You need to try harder,” Hafdis urged again, stepping closer to him. And he did need to, because she couldn’t do this by herself. No matter what she or Hafur said to each other, she couldn’t shake the worry that the Durins were biding their time. She needed to be convincing, and stay convincing, and Hafur needed to do the same.  

“And you’re allowed to appear a bit off,” she added.

When he didn’t answer, likely still running through every strike and block of his bouts with Fili, she jabbed him hard in the ribs. 

“For a short while at least,” she said. “Because Fili understands that you need time to be friends again. He knows that what he did was terrible, and that you may never forgive him, but you need to be seen to let it go. And he is sorry for what he did to Buv—” 

She bit her lip when Hafur raised his eyebrows, her brother suddenly paying very close attention to her words. 

A raven flew out of one of the tower’s broken windows and swept low over them, croaking as it went. Grateful for the distraction, Hafdis turned to watch it sail along the road, past Dwalin’s ear, and gracefully circle, with wings outstretched, to dive over the ridge and away. She sighed. 

“No,” said Hafur slowly. “Don’t pretend we’re finished. Keep talking.”

She’d gone too far, and approached it all wrong. It was time to regroup, think properly about her words, and talk to him again later. Once she had every word planned out. Jerking when Hafur poked her in the ribs, Hafdis slapped his fingers away and shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I don’t think I want to talk about anything else. What I want to talk about is why you’re talking about him. And I particularly want to talk about why you’re talking about him with such warmth in your voice.”

She was doing no such thing. Hafdis stopped Odr’s slow amble with a word. They were only a few steps away from the yawning dark of the tower entrance, but heavy clouds were gathering to the east and there was a tingling feeling in the air. “I think we should turn back.”

“Because of a storm? You’ve got a cloak, haven’t you? And you’re the one who wanted to come out for a ride.”

“Because I wanted some air, and to spend time with you.” And because Fili had suggested that she go for an afternoon ride while King Thorin was otherwise engaged. 

More than suggested. Hafdis hid a smile by fixing Odr’s reins, remembering Fili’s insistence that she give herself a rest from all the attention—even though he couldn’t leave the mountain to escape for a few hours with her. She kept that memory to herself. It would only irritate Hafur further and she couldn’t be bothered listening to him. The Durins would be expecting her to return to the mountain refreshed and smiling, not in a foul mood. 

“Getting soaked to the skin or struck by lightning exploring a crumbling tower no longer appeals to me,” she said. “Can’t think why.” 

Hafur snorted something she didn’t catch. 

“And you’re being insufferable,” Hafdis added. She raised her voice, “Dwalin, I would like to return to the mountain now.”

Dwalin raised a hand in acknowledgement. 

“I think you’re enjoying this,” said Hafur in a low voice. “Giving orders. Being a princess.” 

“As I said, I’m playing a part.” Ignoring Hafur’s offered hand, Hafdis swung herself onto Odr’s back. She adjusted her axe and tilted her chin. “You know how I truly feel.” 

“Do I? I don’t think I do. Not days ago you were weeping and wailing in my arms, begging me to run away with you, and now…” Hafur’s goat sidestepped as he mounted and he swore at it. 

“And now,” said Hafdis. “I’ve accepted my fate.” She kicked Odr forward, her nose in the air and listening to Hafur trot along behind her. 

As they passed Dwalin, his pony fell into step beside Odr. “You’re feeling well?” he asked. 

“Yes, fine. My brother is being…” Hafdis sighed. “My brother.”

Dwalin snorted, grinning. “Aye, they do that, lass.”

Trying not to let the annoyance at the overfamiliarity show on her face, Hafdis smiled sweetly. “I will ride alone for a while,” she said. 

He nodded, reining his mount in. “Not too far ahead."

Erebor loomed larger with each turn of the switchback trail that led down toward the valley. Behind her, she could hear the clatter of hooves and the guards talking quietly amongst themselves but Dwalin had, at least, kept them well back. Overfamiliar he might be, but at least King Thorin had him well enough trained to obey a direct order. 

It was just her and her thoughts. And she supposed it was refreshing to have a few moments to herself. Maybe she should have come alone? She huffed out a laugh. Alone, with a dozen guards.

When the laughter faded, her spirits sank. She no longer knew the best course. Run? Or stay? Whatever she decided, she had to protect Hafur as much as herself. Insufferable or not, he was all she cared about. Or almost all. Staring at Erebor’s gates, Hafdis tilted in the saddle to spare Odr’s hip as much as she could while he slowly navigated the next sharp turn. 

And then the view was no longer of Erebor but of Dale. And beyond it. Beyond, to where the world stretched out, half seen, through a veil of swirling snow and falling dark. With Odr sure-footed once more, her gaze followed the river. It snaked around Dale, the city’s walls glowing with braziers, and wound its way to the end of the valley where she could just glimpse the vast lake, a darker shadow against the land. And to the west, over the smaller mountains and hills, the line of Mirkwood’s eastern edge continued as far as her eye could see. 

So many lands. And all of them bursting with strange folk and adventures. Hafdis sighed again, feeling Odr’s hip click under her with every third step he took. Stroking her fingers through the ridge of bristly fur between his ears, she leant forward and whispered, “Nearly home, my boy.”

Her brother allowed her peace and quiet with her tangled thoughts for as long as it took for the rough track of the spur to rejoin the wide, freshly-paved one that led to Erebor. Then she heard the pounding hooves of his goat approaching at a gallop. 

“I’m ready to listen,” he said, reining the goat in. Snowflakes clung to his hair and beard, his hood lying loose about his shoulders. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

She was thinking that it wasn’t fair. Not that she particularly wanted wet hair plastered to her face, nor melting snow dribbling down her neck, but she would be expected to trot in through the gates looking as if she were a dignified princess. And dignified princesses could not ride their warpig in through Erebor’s gates looking as if they had been tossed about in a snowdrift. 

“Hafdis.” Hafur grinned at her. “Come on, I know when you're plotting and planning something. Tell me what it is.”

Was it a plan? Perhaps the beginnings of one, and she’d rather not share it without giving it more thought, but Hafur looked keen, and who knew when she’d get a chance to talk to him alone again? Since King Thorin seemed intent on mapping out her every spare moment. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Our people love him, Hafur.” 

She thought back to the mines, and to the whirlwind of other visits over the past days. The stonemasons; the kitchens; the rows of dwarves sequestered away in a vast chamber by the vaults busily cataloguing and recording every piece of treasure within the mountain. The sight of the gold and jewels from the dragon’s hoard that still had to be processed had dazzled her, but not as much as the instant deference that King Thorin had commanded. 

And the love that had shone in the dwarves' eyes for their golden-haired Crown Prince as he’d strolled amongst the rows of desks, his arm in hers, had chilled her to the bone. The dwarves he’d stopped and spoken to had been fawning, stumbling over their words, and beaming with pride to have been so lucky as to be chosen to speak to the one who’d ridden them all from the dragon. They couldn’t have been happier had they been graced by Mahal himself. 

The thought of it chilled her still. 

And Stonehelm hadn’t seen it. Banquets in the dining hall and the respect that the lords and their families showed the Durins didn’t come close. He’d no idea what or who he was dealing with. And how could he possibly compete? It was all very well to whisper in corners about the Durins and their shortcomings, of which there were many, but what could Stonehelm offer their people in return? He’d stood against no dragons, nor fought and won against an orc king who had once defeated a dwarven army. Hafdis scrubbed her fingers across her lips. She hadn’t yet decided whether she wanted to warn him. But Hafur needed to understand. 

“You haven’t seen it,” she said, “not properly, but Fili has this way with—”

“They will love Stonehelm every bit as much.” 

“You said you would listen,” Hafdis snapped. “And it’s just an observation.”

"It's a ridiculous observat—"

"Hafur!"

He mimed sewing his lips shut. “Fine. Go on.” 

“Would it be so bad if he lived?” 

The heavy silence was worse than his interruptions, and, when more rapid heartbeats passed and her brother still didn’t speak, Hafdis risked a glance at his face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Have you completely lost your mind?” hissed Hafur, yanking at his reins hard enough that goat and warpig bumped shoulders.

Before Odr could gore the goat, Hafdis turned him, flicking his ear in warning when he pulled against her. “I think we may have made a mistake in underestimating them, brother, that’s all. We didn’t know. How could we? We need to consider our position.”

“Consider our position? Have you forgotten what he did to Buvro?” Hafur snarled. “What if he does that to you?”

“He won’t.”

“You can’t know that. And you remember why we had to do what we did? Do you want our people mixing freely with men, and elves, and, and,” Hafur clenched his fists, spluttering, “halflings? What use are halflings to anybody? And more than mixing. Breeding. Or have you somehow forgotten the brother and his mongrel too?”

“How could I forget him.” For every single conversation she had with Fili circled around to Kili. No matter the subject, he’d manage to wedge in a mention his brother somehow, and yet, at the same time, give her nothing of any value that she could use. It was maddening. And mind-numbingly boring.

“We are dwarves,” said Hafur, “and we don’t need anybody. Our resources will be drained, our lives taken up by petty concerns or spent in battles that mean nothing to us—”

“I know all that.” Stealing a quick look over her shoulder at the guards, Hafdis hissed, “Keep your voice down.”

Hafur ignored her. “And what? You know all of it, but you don’t care? I thought you didn’t want this marriage.”

“I don’t. You know I don't.”

“Then…” With his eyes fixed on Erebor’s gates, Hafur’s brow furrowed in concentration. His face darkened. “Is this all because you don’t want to marry Stonehelm? You can’t condemn our entire kin because you’re being selfish.”

Hafdis sat up straighter in her saddle. “Selfish?”

“Or frightened.” Reaching across to take her hand on the reins, Hafur’s voice softened, “I know you're frightened, but this is bigger than us. It always has been. Ever since we heard that Erebor had been retaken. And you know that Dain and Stonehelm are the stronger bloodline. They always were. The madness that runs through Thorin, and his father, and his father before him, that same blood runs in Fili’s veins too. No matter what control you think you might have over him, it will never be enough. Never.” 

"If there's madness, then it's through the whole bloodline, and that includes" —pretending to fiddle with her stirrup with her free hand, Hafdis shot another glance behind them— "Dain."

"And Stonehelm and us, I suppose?" Hafur laughed as she straightened. "No. Dain is free from it. It runs in Thror's line. Stonehelm and I have looked into it."

He wasn’t listening as he’d promised he would. “But,” said Hafdis, “even if there is something in their blood, I can make him listen to me. I know I can already, and, if we were married, then I’d have even more of a say. And he’ll listen to you too. If you were his friend then you could be the same as King Thorin is with Dwalin. You could be his advisor and his—”

“No.” Hafur squeezed her fingers. “Do you think your new friend Dwalin will hold Thorin's madness at bay? It didn't before, did it? Not from what I’ve heard anyway. And the next time he falls, we need to be ready.”

“But—”

“Stay on the course that we’ve planned, and I will support you in not being remarried, I swear it.” Hafur smiled warmly at her. “I’ll think of something, or, if we must, if there's no other option, then we’ll run.”

“Hafur, you’re not listeni—”

“You cannot abandon our people's future,” said Hafur, “and you cannot turn away from doing what you know in your heart is right. You must not.” With a final squeeze of her fingers, he let her go. “But you are right in that I need to make more of an effort. And I will.” He shot her a sideways look. “Dain suggested that I may want to fetch Amad. I think he wants me out of the mountain.”

“Dain wants you out of Erebor?” Her brother couldn’t leave. Hafdis’s fingers twitched, wanting to grab Hafur’s in hers and not let go. “But why?” 

Hafur shrugged. “He didn’t say, not overtly. Only claimed that, whatever happens, you need her here. I suspect that’s not the full reason. As I said before, your good friend King Thorin may not suspect you, but that doesn’t mean his suspicion hasn’t fallen elsewhere.”

“On you?” Her heart stuttered when Hafur shrugged again, his face deliberately smooth but his eyes worried. “Then…” she managed, her voice cracking, “you must go. You have to listen to Uncle Dain’s warning. And once you’re gone, stay away.” 

“And leave you here alone?” Flicking a glance behind them, Hafur smiled warmly at her when he turned back. “Never. Not if there were a thousand King Thorin’s and them all suspicious of me. I can handle it. But gather yourself, sister. We have company.” 

She’d barely time to rearrange her face into a soft benign smile before Dwalin and the guards joined them. They rode on together into the shadow of the mountain and she hugged her cloak tighter about herself, listening with half an ear to Hafur chatting gaily with Dwalin and a few of the guards, her brother trying to persuade the warmaster to agree to a bout on their return. From Dwalin’s gruff laughter, and the egging on from the others, they’d discussed it already at length on their journey down from Ravenhill. 

No one paid any attention to her, and she suspected that was exactly the way her big brother had planned it, to give her some time to compose herself before they were in sight of the gate-guards, and those strolling on Erebor’s wide ramparts. And she needed it. Her mind was whirling, desperately seeking a way out and finding none. And she couldn’t breathe, the stays of her new riding outfit, an outfit fit for a princess, suffocating. 

If they only had the runestone then they would have options—Hafdis tugged at the boning of her tunic as surreptitiously as she could—but the runestone was out of reach, and would remain out of reach until Stonehelm chose his moment to reveal it. And she had no doubts that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it to condemn them, should it ever suit him to do so. 

There were too many threads, and too many loose ends. And she didn’t know which way to pull, or what move was required to avoid unravelling their whole world around them. Perhaps Hafur was right? If Stonehelm hadn’t asked to marry her would she ever have harboured the smallest doubt that their course mightn’t be the right one? Was that all it was?

A horn blew from deep within the mountain, echoing across the valley and jolting her from her thoughts. Her fingers tightened on the reins as the gates swung slowly open on oiled hinges. She’d take Odr to his stable, and go run a hot, soothing bath, and—

Fili was leaning against the door jamb of the gatehouse, obviously awaiting their return. Straightening, he smiled at her and raised a hand in greeting as she clattered through the gates. 

Was it too much to ask to have a single moment to herself?

Reining Odr in, she smiled through gritted teeth as Fili approached. He took his sweet time, making her and her cooling pig wait by speaking with all the guards before exchanging a few words, a nod, and a shoulder clap with Hafur. Her brother was also smiling broadly, as if seeing the prince was the perfect end to a bracing ride. 

Hafdis flexed her chilled fingers on the reins. When would King Thorin stop malingering and announce the trial? She was sick of all of it. She wanted her old life back. 

Just as she'd decided she was waiting on him no longer, Fili seemed to remember her. Detaching himself from Dwalin, he hurried to Odr's side and helped her dismount. 

"Did you enjoy your ride?" he asked, taking his hands from about her waist and stepping back as soon as both her boots touched Erebor's stone.

“I did,” she said. "But you'll have to excuse me, Odr needs his rub down before he catches a chill."

"Of course." Fili took Odr's reins from her. "I'll come with you." 

There was no use in protesting. Their slow walk side-by-side across the gate chamber and toward the passageway that led on to the stables caused a small commotion amongst the guards. Ponies were hurriedly pulled aside to make a path, the guards nodding and bowing to Fili as they passed. 

“Should we arrange a chaperone?” she asked as they passed through the wide archway. 

Fili laughed, glancing behind him. “I’m sure Dwalin and Hafur will arrange several, and we’ll leave the stable door open so there’s no cause for complaint.” 

That was true, she could already hear voices echoing off the passageway’s walls behind them. Odr’s hooves rung out against the stones and Hafdis racked her mind for something to fill the silence between her and Fili—since he seemed to have no interest in continuing the conversation. “How was your time with my cousin?”

Fili grimaced, lowering his voice, “We were paraded about Erebor for hours, with my uncle and yours. Thorin has obviously decided that we must be seen by all to be friends, for reasons best known to himself.” His fingers toyed with Odr’s reins. “I suspect we both know what those reasons are. But, I am certain that I am the very last person in this mountain that your cousin wishes to spend time with, considering all the circumstances. He was very cordial though.”

“That’s good.” They were being watched and Hafdis smiled, keeping her voice low too, leaning toward him so that the guards behind could see how close and in love they were. A stolen, almost-private, but still proper, moment would be a useful thing to be reported back to King Thorin. It would make him happy. She weaved her arm through Fili’s. “I know that, in time, you will grow to be firm friends.”

“Perhaps.” Fili looked down at their linked arms. “I suspect your Captain Fraeg would happily toss me down a mine shaft though, given half a chance.” 

The flagstones were even and the passage torchlit, and yet Hafdis missed her footing. As she stumbled, Fili caught her against his chest to steady her. 

“I’m jesting,” he said, releasing her quickly and patting her hand. “And it was in poor taste. I’m sorry.”

What had Fraeg said? Or done? And had King Thorin seen it? Hafdis swallowed hard to soothe her suddenly dry throat. “He’s not my Captain,” she managed. “He’s—”

“Hafdis.” Fili smiled at her. “I promise, there was nothing. Some dark looks, that’s all, but I remember being on the receiving end of Fraeg’s dark looks well.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “We’ve met before, many years ago now, in Ered Luin. We had a…I suppose you could call it a run-in.” He laughed. “Perhaps two.” 

Why didn’t she know this? Hafdis’s mind spun. Stonehelm had never mentioned it, nor Hafur. And definitely not Fraeg. He’d been present through all their plans, contributed to them, and not once had he spoken about any more shared history than meeting with the Durins. There’d been no mention of any bad blood. 

“I didn’t know,” she said, feeling shaky. 

“Why would you? And it’s all in the past.” Fili handed her Odr’s reins, ducking out underneath them. Propping open the stable door, he waved her and Odr through. “Hafdis, I swear to you it was a joke, that’s all. Pay it no mind.”

Dain’s pig grunted out a greeting, lumbering to his feet, and, as Fili moved to fuss him, Hafdis breathed out. Or tried to. It felt as if the air was lodged in her chest. She looked back up the passageway. Guards and ponies were milling about, crowding the passageway, and she couldn’t see her brother, although he must be amongst them. Where was he? 

She jumped when Fili touched her arm. 

“I still feel it might be better to be honest about our situation,” he said. “To your brother and cousin at least, no matter how much time there is, but I do understand your reluctance.” Taking Odr’s reins from her once more, he shrugged. “And you may very well be right, I—”

“I know you despise lying.” It still stunned her how Odr was so content with him. After only the lightest of tugs, and without so much as a backward glance, her pig trundled behind Fili into the open pen. She frowned, smoothing her face quickly when Fili turned and smiled at her. 

“It won’t be for much longer. The lies, I mean,” he said. “And I’ll be very glad to be finally free from it. But do you feel better from being outside? I always find my head clearer after some fresh air.”

She nodded, wishing her head did feel clearer. What did she truly want? Fili was still set on his course, or so she supposed from his self-pitying words. She glanced toward the open stable door, making a note in her mind to ask him outright, to be certain. Somewhere where she could be confident that they wouldn’t be overheard. Perhaps when they were dancing after dinner? Since they seemed expected to dance every night now. 

Which, if truth be told, she supposed that she didn't mind as much as she’d thought she would. At least, Fili didn't press his hips tightly against her on the turns, as her cousin did when she couldn't avoid a dance with him. And Fili's hands weren't sweaty in hers. And he didn't look at her as a wolf looked at a rabbit. 

She wiped her hands on her riding skirts. 

She hated being a rabbit. 

“I had the guards let me know when they saw you returning,” Fili said, distracting her from the thoughts of Stonehelm's determined eyes on hers. 

“Oh.” Her heart sank. “Does your uncle have another task for us? I thought I might have a bath.” 

But, too busy with Odr, Fili wasn't listening, his fingers wedged under the harness straps to scratch briskly at Odr’s snout and cheeks. Hafdis couldn't help the smile as, under Odr's happy grunting, she heard Fili whisper, “And I didn't ask if you enjoyed your walk, Odr?”

"He did," she said, still smiling as Fili looked up. "Very much. Do I at least have time to rub him down?"

"Time?" 

"Before whatever it is we're needed for." Hafdis watched Odr's hind legs twitch as Fili moved to scratch first one shoulder, and then the other. Aware of wasting what little time she might have, she joined Fili and began to quickly undo the straps of the saddle. "He likes that."

Fili laughed. "He does, but he's not going to like keeping his harness on for a while longer. And I need to get all my scratches in now, because he may not like me very much later either."

"What?” She paused with the saddle over her arm. “Why?"

"Because I asked Dwalin to send someone for Oin." 

“For Oin?” 

Odr was rootling at Fili's side, and Fili patted his pocket, grinning at her, seeming to be pleased at the shock in her voice. And she was shocked. Yes, he'd said he would ask Oin to look at Odr, but she’d never truly believed he would go through with it. 

"He's worked out that I've brought some apples too," said Fili, his attention back on Odr. "I'd guessed that he mightn't be too happy with this, so I thought we can hold onto him between us, and the apples might work as a distraction?"

It would take a lot more than that. 

But the vial with Odr’s medicine was far above their heads, hidden away in the lining of a fur in her wardrobe. Maybe she could run and fetch it under some excuse? But, right now, she couldn't think of one. And, even if she could get her hands on it, she'd have to sneak the medicine into Odr without him causing a fuss, and without anyone else noticing. And his medicine needed time to work. 

Hafdis frowned. It wouldn’t be possible without explaining something about what she was doing, and that wasn't worth the risk. Fili’s memories were gone, irretrievably. She knew that. But there was a chance that Oin, in his physician’s studies, may have read of the potions that the Haradrim used so effectively on their huge, tusked mounts. And she really didn’t want him knowing for certain that any such potions either truly existed—for she hadn't believed it any more than a fanciful story when her adad had returned from the southern lands with a bottle for her to try on her first pig. Or that, not only did they exist, but worked. Or, crucially, that there was any such potion inside Erebor, and definitely not in her possession.

No. She would just have to tell Oin to be gentle. And find Hafur, because then he and Fili could hold on to Odr. Odr hated Hafur anyway. And, if her pig hated Fili afterward too, then what did it matter? It might even be better this way. 

Tossing the saddle over the fence, she nodded. It would be better. Whether she liked it or not, and for whatever reason, her pig had taken an irritating shine to Fili. Odr would pine for his friend after the trial. But not if he associated Fili with anything he didn’t like. 

And if she told Fili that she couldn't bear to see Odr in pain, then he'd insist she left the stable. So Odr would think she wasn't involved. 

She smiled. That would do just fine.

"You don't mind?" asked Fili, stopping his scratches to watch her. “I’m not sure if Oin will be able to help, but I’ve already spoken to him and he’s willing to do what he can.” 

“I—” Hafdis looked up at footsteps outside the stable. Hafur had arrived. With a deliberately smooth expression on his face, he leant against the door frame, his eyes on the passageway outside. Likely, Oin wouldn’t be far behind, making his way through the guards milling around by Erebor’s gates and within the stable block. By nightfall, it would be all around Erebor that King Thorin’s physician had visited with her pig. 

“No," she said, turning back to Fili. "I don’t mind at all.” 

Slowing his scratches, Fili smiled warmly at her. As he opened his mouth to say something, Odr grunted, bumping against him hard enough to knock the prince a full step sideways. 

Fili swore, stumbling, and Hafdis held her breath, ready to intervene, but he didn’t raise a hand or his voice. Still swearing, but laughing at the same time, he returned to his scratches, and Odr returned to his contented snorts, neither of them paying her any attention. 

“Thank you," she said quietly.

Chapter Text

Shaking the rain from his cloak, Bilbo pushed open the door of The Ivy Bush. Inside, the tavern was warm and cosy, a welcome respite from the cold, damp winter weather hanging over the Shire. He hung his cloak on a peg, tucking his walking stick under his arm as he looked over the busy tables for his lunching partner. 

“Baggins.” The stout hobbit he was searching for stood and waved to him. “Over here.”

Ah, so it wasn’t a first-names sort of meeting. He’d suspected as much when the invitation had arrived. Bilbo made his way to the table by the rain-streaked window, nodding to the hobbits busy about their lunches or ales as he passed. 

“Bracegirdle,” he said, sitting down opposite. “Well, this is all very cloak and dagger, I must say.”

Ignoring the observation, Bracegirdle pushed a generously laden plate and a mug of what would once have been foamy ale across the table. “I took the liberty of ordering for you. The pie will be cold, I expect, and the ale warm, but I had anticipated your arrival some time ago.”

Bilbo looked at Bracegirdle’s crumb-strewn plate. He supposed he should be grateful that his lunch hadn’t been eaten too. “I was caught up with matters at home.” 

“Oh?” 

Even lukewarm, the pie was very good. Bilbo swallowed and took a sip of ale. “Little Fili took his first step this morning, and we’ve been celebrating.” And awaiting a repeat performance which the dwarfling didn’t seem inclined to give, no matter how much encouragement or bribery he and Ness had tried. “I stopped at the forge to share the good news with Kili.” 

At Bracegirdle’s raised eyebrow, Bilbo added, since there were no secrets for long in Hobbiton, “Kili has closed briefly to rush home, but he will stay late tonight to make up for it, so there’s no need for concern.”

Bilbo smiled into his ale. A first word and a first step, all in the same week, was a marvellous cause of celebration, the only fly in the ointment being that Kili was disappointed to have missed both. But there would be more. And their persistence had paid off. They must have all spent hours, bent double, trundling up and down the gardens of Bag End, holding Fili upright while his bare toes or boots—whenever the dwarfling felt inclined to wear them—danced over the grass. The little one had thought it a fine game. But, he’d worked it out for himself in the end, and all before his first birthday too. Bilbo set the ale down with a clunk. 

“You’ve gone very pale, Baggins. Are you feeling well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

The birthday party. 

He’d quite forgotten. How had he forgotten? How had they all forgotten? Kili, he could forgive, since apparently dwarves didn't bother themselves with such things. But him, and Ness. How? With his heart beating fast, Bilbo ran through the dates in his head. Less than a week away, and they had simply nothing organised. 

“I’ve just remembered something that needs my urgent attention,” he said, tapping his fork against his plate as he glanced out the window.

The dark, rain-laden clouds over Hobbiton might feel settled in for the season, but perhaps they could yet risk the party field? There might be a break in the weather. And the party field drained well. All they would need was a dry day or two and it would be perfect underfoot.

But maybe The Dragon was the more sensible choice? He frowned. Or perhaps Ness might feel more comfortable with a small, select gathering in Bag End? It wasn’t the hobbit way, and certainly not for celebrations such as a birthday, but—

“Then I won’t keep you,” said Bracegirdle, “for I too have matters that need my urgent attention, and that is why I called you here.” He leant forward, lowering his voice, “It concerns Kili.”

“Oh?” He'd thought it might. Bilbo nibbled at a piece of pie crust. It truly was exceptional. He’d have to speak to the cook for the recipe. 

“I have become aware that the forge has been operating overnight for the past week,” said Bracegirdle, “and that a merchant’s wagon, with the driver cloaked and hooded, was seen leaving Hobbiton in the early hours.” 

The filling was marvellous too. Wonderfully creamy and rich. Bilbo eagerly forked up another mouthful. Some sort of sharp cheese complemented the earthy field mushrooms perfectly, but—he smacked his lips together—he simply couldn’t identify it. He'd ask.

“Can you explain it to me?” asked Bracegirdle. 

“The cloak and hood? I expect it was raining, and nothing more sinister than that.” Bilbo looked up. “May I ask the source of this malicious gossip?”

He suspected he knew, and, if so, he was disappointed. Trust to Lobelia to rat Kili out. Did she have nothing better to do with her time than twitch at curtains? And blast and confound her for thinking do to it. And blast and confound himself for not thinking that she'd think to do it at the first possible opportunity. He'd been so certain that she thought fondly of Kili, as all of Hobbiton did, that he'd taken his eye off her. But that was a mistake that wouldn't be repeated.

“It is far from malicious gossip. Kili works for me, and only me. This is a breach of trust. I have been nothing but good to him. He comes and goes as he pleases. He makes mistakes that cost me coin. Mistakes that I have been more than tolerant of when they are brought to my attention, for I know he's young, or so you have told me, by the measure of his people. And, despite what you told me a year ago, I know that he's far from a skilled dwarven smith." Bracegirdle rapped the table, his face flushed. "And I have known that, Baggins, right from the outset, because I've met dwarven smiths. I think you forget that. And yet I've said nothing. Not to Kili, and not to you. Not until now.” 

Bilbo set his fork down with a sigh. Meeting one dwarf as they passed through Bree many years ago made nobody an authority on them. Even after travelling with dwarves, and sharing in their adventures, and then living with one for a year, he wouldn't consider himself an expert. Far from it. He had a feeling he'd barely scratched the surface.

“I appreciate that you've kept any such thoughts to yourself," he said, smiling at Bracegirdle. "I do. And I know how well-travelled and wordly-wise you are. But I think we also both know that what you're paying Kili is very far from a skilled dwarven smith’s wage, so any point you think you're making...” He shrugged. "It's not overly important."

“And that's where we disagree. It's a fair wage for these parts, and I've been fair. But I will not be made a fool of. My goodwill only extends so far." Glancing about the inn, Bracegirdle lowered his voice, "I know exactly how much work goes through that forge, to the last nail, and I will be checking Kili’s books today. If there is any—”

“That is unnecessary.”

“It is very necessary. I had no need of a smith in Hobbiton, and I set up this forge as a favour to—”

“Me, I know.” Bilbo leant his elbows on the table. “And with my gold, I might add. In case you've forgotten that bit. Are you claiming that Kili is not a hard worker? That you have not made a good profit from him? A profit that more than covers a few nights of fuel in a forge.”

“No, but—”

“The merchant was a man called Anlaf. Kili was putting right a mistake that your man made in Bree.” Bilbo fixed Bracegirdle with a firm look. “A mistake that you won’t mention to either of them, if you had any sense. It is done, and that is an end to it, as far as I am concerned. Kili intends to have a quiet word next time he is in Bree, and there will be no more issues. You have my word.”

“You can’t tell me how to run my—”

“Consider it some well-intended advice.” Bilbo took a sip of his ale. “Oh, I almost forgot. Kili has been invited to visit with my grandfather.”

“The Thain?”

“Yes, that grandfather. Likely, Kili hasn’t had a chance to mention it to you yet, but the forge will be closed for a few days.” Bilbo shrugged. “I didn’t receive an invite, but I expect that’s because my grandfather knows that Kili is dedicated to his family and wouldn’t wish to leave Ness alone with a young baby, not even in the Shire. He understands better than most of us how dwarves think.” 

Bracegirdle frowned. 

“Especially when there's another little one on the way,” said Bilbo before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat, adding quickly, “Although my grandfather is unaware of that at this precise moment.”

Bradegirdle’s smile was genuine. “Another little one? Why, that is good news.”

“It is. Very good news, but as yet they are not making it common knowledge." Mainly, Bilbo suspected, because Ness was still deep in denial and refusing to accept what was, in Kili's eyes anyway, an absolute truth. He shook his head. Sometimes, he didn't understand her. And that was just as well, because he didn't want to think too deeply about why she was so hesitant to embrace Kili's excitement about the possibility of a brother or sister for Little Fili. He smiled at Bracegirdle. "So I'm trusting that you will keep it under your hat.” 

Hoping that would be enough to keep him out of trouble with Kili and Ness, Bilbo raised a hand for more ale, and continued in a low conspiratorial voice, “And, in return, I feel I must warn you. I suspect my grandfather is up to something.”

“Up to something?”

“Oh, yes. On his last visit, he inspected some of Kili’s work, and he was asking a lot of questions. You know how he is. Always deeply interested in collecting new and interesting things. And a dwarf smith settled in Hobbiton is a new and interesting thing indeed."

Bracegirdle opened his mouth and snapped it shut again, his brow furrowing in thought. 

"And much metalwork is needed on such a large estate," Bilbo continued merrily. "Not to mention the family estate at Tuckborough.”

“But I have a smith in Michel Delving who supplies the—”

“Kili’s well-liked around these parts. Folks around here know he'll do anything for anybody and they need only ask. And not even ask. Did you hear about old Gaffer Brandywood's wagon overturning up near the mill?" 

"I don't see what that has to—”

"It bogged down, half in, half out, of the millpond, and the old gaffer's mare with it. A fair panic. When young Brandywood ran to The Dragon with the news and folks gathered to help, Kili went straight over with them, and, by the sounds of things, hauled it out himself. Wouldn't even hear of taking anything for it." Bilbo tilted his chin, awaiting a response. Obviously, Kili wouldn't need to put his hand in his pocket for some time for ale, but that was neither here nor there. He'd done it because he felt he should, and he hadn't expected anything in return. He hadn't even thought to so much as mention it, or at least not to Bilbo, who'd heard the news second-hand from Rosie two days later.

Bracegirdle remained silent. 

"I daresay," said Bilbo, "that if Kili decided to set up on his own, or if someone, say my grandfather, decided to vouch for—"

“You wouldn’t dare."

“In fact, now I come to think of it.” Bilbo tapped his lip. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my grandfather hasn’t decided that having a smith dedicated to his estate full time, and a hard-working dwarven one at that, wouldn’t be a sensible move on his part.” Thanking the serving hobbit who set two ales on the table, Bilbo waited until she was gone before continuing, “There would be no waiting for whatever work he requires done, for one.”

“The Thain never has to wait, I always make sure that—”

“And the Thain is very generous with his coin to those he likes. Kili is loyal, to a fault, but the fact remains that he has a growing family to think about, and Ness and his children will always come first. Always. I know that for a certainty. I would miss them terribly should they leave Bag End.”

Bilbo frowned into his ale. Those weren't empty words. He would miss them. Hearing the thud of a dwarfling escaping his crib in what was once Bag End's second-best parlour, followed by the determined pitter-patter of little hands and knees as Fili sped along the hall to Bilbo’s bedchamber every morning... It was his favourite way to wake up. It was sweeter than any birdsong. 

“I am a selfish hobbit, I find,” Bilbo continued, “and I have become used to having them around. But Michel Delving isn’t overly far, and I have always been fond of a bracing walking holiday. And, in the end, I will always support Kili with whatever he should decide to do.” 

With his brows knitted tighter together, Bracegirdle didn’t answer.

“Kili is a quick learner," said Bilbo. "You know better than me, of course, for I know nothing of metalwork beyond that it exists and is necessary, but I suspect his work is much more skilled than it was when you first opened the forge doors a year ago?”

A tight nod. 

“And yet his wages have not increased.” Bilbo held up a hand when Bracegirdle opened his mouth. “I know that you’ve been tolerant of his occasional need for time away when Ness was ill, but he’s always made up the hours, and more besides.”

“If I were to increase what I pay him, then I would have to do so for all my smiths.”

Bilbo considered the fine cut and brass buttons of Bracegirdle’s walking jacket. “Perhaps that is something to think about.” He glanced at the window. The rain seemed to have eased, although he was sure he would be soaked anew by the time he was back in Bag End. He tapped his soggy toes on the floor. Never mind. He had things to do. A party to arrange. “And while you think things over," he added. "I would suggest a nice gesture would be to lend Kili a wagon.”

“Excuse me?”

“Or a pony at least.” Kili would never think to spend the coin himself to borrow one. He hoarded his coin as if he were a dragon and not a dwarf.

Bilbo shuddered at the thought. 

Or perhaps—his thoughts turned unwillingly to Thorin transfixed by mounds of gold in a cold mountain—a dwarf was accurate enough. But, sure as eggs were eggs, Kili wouldn’t accept an offer of a pony from Bilbo. Dwarvish notions of pride and charity being the prickly and stiff-necked things they were. 

“He’ll be back from my grandfather and working for you again a lot faster if he doesn’t have to walk all the way, or beg a lift,” said Bilbo. “If I were you, I’d suggest some necessary little task you need completing in Michel Delving that requires he take the wagon.” He stood, lifting his ale. “I’m sure there’s something.”

His tankard was three-quarters full, but he had said all he needed to say. About to set it down after a sip, Bilbo thought better of it and lifted it again to his lips. 

Bracegirdle’s eyes were wide and shocked when Bilbo clunked the empty tankard back on the table. 

“Thank you for lunch.” Fighting down the urge to burp, for that would be too much, Bilbo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He smiled around the nearby tables at the hobbits staring open-mouthed at him and lifted his walking stick. “Good day.”

Chapter Text

Heaving out a sigh, Fili crumpled the letter and hurled it across the room. As it landed in the grate to join the fate of the others, he scrubbed ink-stained fingers through his hair. 

He was running out of time for starting again. But start again, he must. The most important thing in the world was not to cause his brother more worry. 

He glanced towards the fireplace where the flames were licking at the ball of parchment. The letter with the truth, the first letter he'd written today, had already long burned down to ash. He couldn’t do it. He couldn't tell the truth. He had to lie. And much though it felt like his entire life consisted of nothing but lies, and that one more shouldn’t pain him…it did. Yet hiding the truth from Kili was a lie of necessity. 

But weren’t they all? Couldn’t every single lie that every person told be explained away as necessary? All you had to do was twist your mind into enough knots and, with enough self-belief, you could justify anything. Sighing, he picked up the quill. 

Once he had thought that the occasional half-truth was all he was capable of. Half-truths such as insisting that it were he and not Kili or Gimli who had had this idea or that—for what were older brothers and cousins for if not to be responsible for the actions of those under them? Or assuring his uncle or Amad that he was not tired, that he could easily continue for another few hours of training or studies, when it was clear that Thorin expected nothing less of him?

Small, inconsequential lies that mattered not. Before Erebor, those lies were all he had told. Fili dipped the quill in the inkwell, watching the ink trickle from the nib as he scraped it. But now he found that those small lies had built up with practice to be all he had, to the point where he could no longer tell where one lie stopped and another began. 

“Has it words?” Ness whispered into his neck. 

On her insistence that she wanted music instead, they’d given up on him counting the steps to help her. And then they'd given up on the dance entirely. In front of the fireplace, Fili held her clasped in his arms, his cheek resting against the crown of her head. 

“There are words,” he said. “But not in Common. It wouldn’t translate in the same way.” 

“Oh.” Nestling closer, her arms tightened about his waist. “Will you sing them anyway?” She looked up. “It’s a nice tune, when you hum it, but I’d like to hear you sing.” 

He placed a light kiss on her forehead while he considered it. They were very much alone, and it wasn’t as if she would recognise or remember any of the Khuzdul. “Fine," he said, "close your eyes.”

As he sang, they swayed gently, hip to hip, her body fitted close to his, and he wished for… He didn’t even know. It was a myriad of jumbled wishes. Wishes for more time, for all of it to be different, for the ache in his heart to just stop. Wishes for her to be nothing more than a beloved sister, and traitorous wishes for her to be everything. For the world and all that was in it to slow and still, and leave them trapped forever in this moment. 

It was his own fault. He wasn’t sure why the tune had been the first to come to mind when she’d asked for one, for he hadn’t heard it in years. It had been a song that Amad would have sung from time to time, on important dates, when her grief was too near, and when she’d thought he and Kili sound asleep. A song of a love that endured beyond the most final of partings, and of waiting. 

“I know you won’t tell me,” said Ness, interrupting his thoughts, “but I’m going to ask anyway—”

“Gold.” He pressed a kiss into her hair, breathing in the soft comforting scent of her. 

Her hand had drifted as he’d sang, tracing a slow line from his waist, over his chest, and past open laces to rest above his heart. And his, without him willing it too, had moved to cover hers, the thin material of his shirt all that lay between them. 

“It’s about gold?” He could hear a sad smile in her voice, “You are such a bad liar, Fili.”

A sharp knock jerked him upright. 

“Fili.” Thorin closed the door behind him. “Are you alone?”

He nodded. 

“Good. I need a few moments of your time.” Thorin frowned. “Are you in pain?” 

His hand was over his heart, as if he could still feel her touch, and feel the heat of her skin against his. 

Moving it, Fili tried to ignore the heat of blood rushing to his face. “No. I’m fine.” 

It hadn't been convincing enough. Thorin was still looking at him with concern. 

“My head hurts. A little,” he offered. That was true enough. And, if he were being entirely honest, he'd tell his uncle that his head ached, and had been aching for days. The hours he'd spent labouring over words that wouldn’t come hadn’t helped it in any way.

“Have you any powders left?” At his headshake, Thorin strode to the doors, cracking them open wide enough to issue a curt command. 

“I can manage to go to Oin myself, uncle.”

“No need when I have half his stores in my chambers. Dis will fetch them when she’s finished dressing for the evening. No, don’t move.” 

As his uncle walked behind him, Fili sat back down. He flinched at the touch of hands on his hair. 

“I find,” said Thorin, “that, when I'm at my worst, even the thinnest and lightest of braids can feel as if it were an orc hanging off my skull.” A braid bead clattered to the table.

Watching it roll away to a stop against the inkwell, Fili felt the tug and release of another being taken out. 

“I rarely wear mine at night these days," added Thorin. 

Fingers smoothed through his hair, Thorin pulling apart each braid in turn and shaking them out. 

“And then I find,” said Thorin, “that when I wake I look like Nori.” 

Fili snorted. 

“I’m jesting, of course.” Deft hands teased apart the final braid. “Nori spends a lot of time on his hair, and I should not say such things, even in jest. Does that feel somewhat better?”

Fili nodded. Chair legs scraped over the flagstones as Thorin pulled out a seat. 

“Here.” Shuffling their chairs closer, Thorin took Fili's head firmly in his hands. “Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing.”

Obediently, Fili closed his eyes, feeling his uncle's breath against his face and strong fingers sliding over his skull. 

“This is a trick Oin showed me,” said Thorin. “I strongly suspect it is elvish, but, when my head felt as if it were splitting in two, and nothing else gave me relief, I found I did not care quite so much for its origins.” 

As Thorin rubbed slow soothing circles, Fili fought the urge to confess that Ness had known this particular magic too, although his uncle should have been well aware of that particular fact. Surely, he had watched her at Beorn’s? And at all the various times on their journey when she’d insisted on easing knots they hadn’t even realised existed. It had been Ness's way of feeling as if she were earning her keep in the Company. Surely, Thorin had noticed?

But, the battle for Ness to win a place in Thorin’s heart was over, and had long been lost. There was nothing further that could be said to ever persuade Thorin that she had meant no harm. Certainly, any reminder that she practised elvish tricks would not help. 

“Thank you, uncle,” he managed, feeling himself beginning to drift away with the magic. 

“I have decided,” said Thorin in a low voice, “that I will announce the date for the trial tonight.”

Fili’s eyes flared open. 

“You will dine here, in your rooms.” Thorin wasn’t making eye contact. “I thought that would be easier on you, and I have arranged for Gimli and the others to keep you company.” His fingers slowed to a stop. “There is no need for you to be present in the banqueting hall tonight.”

Who were the others? Was he expected to host some sort of party? Pushing the annoyance away, for it didn't matter, Fili asked the only question that truly mattered, “When will the trial be?”

“A few days.” Thorin met his eyes, but Fili didn’t miss the flicker to the sheaf of parchment on the table. “Does that give you enough time to ready yourself?”

Maybe the magic of touch had brought down the barriers between them, or maybe he just needed to talk to his uncle, but Fili couldn’t stop the confession tumbling out, “I can’t write to Kili. I wanted to have letters that Gimli could send if… Should I not be able to write to him anymore.”

Thorin’s brows knitted into a frown. He pulled his hands away. 

“I know what you have said,” Fili continued, lifting the quill and turning it over in his fingers, avoiding his uncle's eyes. “But there is no certainty that the judgement will not go against me. You cannot overrule the dwarf lords should they—”

“They won't. I have told you—”

“Please, let me finish. I know what you've said. But I thought… I have told Gimli that he should send the letters when he thinks they fit best, and then, after a few years, he could send one saying that I have had some sort of accident.” Fili stared at the uppermost sheet of blank parchment. “An orc hunt, an arrow perhaps." 

At Thorin's sharp intake of breath, Fili quickly pressed on, "Or a fall, as I…fell in the mines.” He shook his head. “Or perhaps that is cowardly, and wrong of me, and I should write him one letter, with the truth. But, when I tried, I—”

“You wish to protect him.”

“Or is it only myself that I am protecting? Because I don’t want him to think less of me? I go back and forth on it. Gimli is upset by the deception—"

"I'd imagine it's not the deception that's upsetting him. It will be that you are preparing for—"

"Please, Thorin." He hadn't intended to snap at his uncle. In a softer tone, Fili continued, "Please let me finish. I worry that Kili will somehow know, because my letters won't address something in one of his, or…” 

Dropping the quill, Fili buried his face in his hands, fingernails digging into his skull. As the magic faded, the headache was spiking once more. “What if Kili decided to come? And something should happen to him on the way? What if, by trying to protect him, all I do is cause him more hurt or cause him to be hurt?"

Strong hands gripped his wrists, and Fili peeped out from between his fingers. “I don’t know what to do for the best,” he whispered. 

"Are you finished?" Thorin asked. "For I have counsel, should you wish to hear it."

Fili nodded. 

“There is no need for you to make such elaborate plans,” said Thorin gently. “Or to trouble yourself so.”

“But, there is. I have to—”

Thorin raised an eyebrow and Fili muttered an apology. 

“Would it give you rest to leave such decisions to me?” Thorin pulled Fili's hands away from his face. “Look at me. I swear to you, should you wish to prepare for the worst, no matter how many times I tell you that it will not come to that, that I will travel to the Shire myself.”

Fili stared into his uncle’s eyes. 

“Were anything to ever befall you, or your Amad” —Thorin’s grip grew tighter— “such news would never be entrusted to a letter. No matter how little you think of me, I would never let your brother find out in such a way. I will go, and I will hold him, should he wish it from me after all that has passed between us, and I will tell him myself. As gently as I can.”

Their joined hands blurred and Fili bowed his head, closing his eyes. He should tell Thorin that he did not think badly of him, but his throat was burning. If he spoke he would weep, and if he started weeping he wasn't certain he'd be able to stop.

“Does that bring you peace?” asked Thorin. 

It did. With his eyes still tightly closed, Fili nodded. The rush of relief was almost overwhelming. It felt as if a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There would be no need for letters, nor more lies. 

But it wasn't only Kili he was worried about. He swallowed hard.

“Will you be kind to Ness?” he whispered. “I know I should not ask any more of you, but…” His voice was cracking, failing him. He tried again, "But…"

He couldn’t open his eyes, his fingers twitching at the loss when his uncle released him. He'd pushed Thorin too far. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I know I shouldn't have—"

He sucked in a breath at the touch of Thorin's forehead to his. A strong hand rubbed at the nape of his neck. 

“I will.” Thorin held him closer, his voice low, “Should it ever come to such a time for bad tidings, I will be kind. I swear to you.”

Fili nodded, flinching when the first tears escaped. And flinching again Thorin’s thumbs brushed over his cheeks.

“Wait here,” commanded Thorin. 

The chair scraped again as Thorin stood and Fili scrubbed at his eyes, watching him leave. A heartbeat later, the door reopened and Thorin stepped back inside. 

“Come.” Thorin crossed the living quarters and into the bedchamber. 

Obediently, Fili followed, standing uncertainly in the doorway and watching his uncle yank back the bed covers. 

“You need to rest,” said Thorin, his voice muffled as he pulled his tunic over his head. “Get in.”

“But—” Fili looked back at the table. 

“Leave your worries in my hands.” Thorin took his arm. “All of them. And trust me as you once did.”

Towed to the bedside, Fili opened his mouth to protest, but a firm look from Thorin silenced him. He stood unresisting as his uncle briskly stripped his outer clothes from him, tossing them to the floor. 

He grabbed Thorin's wrist when his uncle touched the laces of his shirt. “No, I—”

“Fine. Sit.”

He sat, watching as if from a distance, while Thorin knelt to tug off his boots. They were tossed aside too. And he supposed that he was tired, but it was only the middle of the afternoon. With thoughts of the trial running through his head he would never be able to sleep. 

“I have told the guards that we are not to be disturbed," said Thorin. 

“We? But you have—”

“Nothing that is more important than being here right now.” Kicking off his own boots, Thorin undressed quickly, climbing past Fili into the bed and settling against the pillow. “Come, I know I’m no substitute for who you truly want, and likely I’m a poor one even for Gimli, but we’ll have to make do.”

The bedcovers were cool against his skin, the fire in the bedchamber having long gone out, but his uncle’s broad chest was warm. Fili settled against it. 

They lay quietly. Fili listened to the winter wind howling outside, feeling the steady beat of Thorin’s heart against his cheek and the reassuring weight of his uncle’s heavy arm about him. 

“When you were ill after your fall,” said Thorin, his voice a deep rumble in his chest that Fili felt as much as heard, “we lay together as we are doing now, and it seemed to bring you a measure of comfort.”

Fili didn’t answer. He couldn’t recall it. 

“And it reminded me,” continued Thorin, “of home. When I would return from trade, or from a hunt, and I would not have seen you all in days, sometimes weeks. It would be late, inevitably, and when Dis would chase you off to bed, I would come to say good night. Do you remember?” 

Fili nodded. 

“And, although your bed was much smaller then than it is now, we would end up like this, with you under my left arm, and Kili—”

“You don’t have to say his name. I know you—"

“Kili,” Thorin continued pointedly, “curled up under my right. I would look down at you both resting against me, and listen to you both talk over each other, both wanting to be the first to ask your questions, and I would wonder at how I ever managed to gather the strength to leave you at all.”

Thorin’s arm tightened, drawing Fili closer. 

“I would tell you tales of my travels,” said Thorin. “I think you always knew that they were heavily embellished.”

With his eyes burning, Fili shook his head. 

“Well, perhaps I am a better storyteller than I thought.” There was a smile in Thorin’s voice as he continued, “And, eventually, you would both fall asleep, and I would carry Kili back to his bed, not that he ever stayed there. In hindsight, I should have insisted that you broke the habit of sharing a bed. But that doesn’t matter now.” 

Thorin’s chest lifted under Fili’s head as he took a deep breath. “And I would stand between you, watching you both breathe, and repeat the vows that I had made. Both to myself, the moment you took your first breath, and to your adad, as he lay in my arms and took his last."

Barely daring to breathe, Fili lay still. Their adad's final moments. It wasn't something Thorin spoke of, and he longed, selfishly, to know more. "Did he… Did Adad speak of me?"

"Of you, and your amad. Of Kili, although they would never meet." Thorin shifted. "You know this, but you were very young. I should have known you wouldn't remember."

It was a rebuke. Fili stiffened. 

"That wasn't a criticism, Fili," said Thorin gently. "Not of you. Never of you. His final thoughts were of you all, and you especially. He wanted my word. And it was easily given for they were vows I had already made. I swore to him that I would do everything in my power to keep you both safe from harm. That I would never hurt you, or ever give you cause to doubt how much I loved you. That I would treat you both as if you were my own blood.”

Thorin sighed heavily. “And yet I have broken the vow I made to Afli, although I never intended to. But then, no one who makes any promise plans to break it. I have failed you, and I have failed your brother, and I know that I will never be able to fully make amends but I am sorry for it regardless. And I miss the closeness that we once shared.”

He should say something, something to reassure his uncle that he still loved him, but the words would not come. A lie would be a kindness. A lie wouldn’t be wrong. But he couldn’t manage this one. Even after years of trying to understand, and even after having fallen prey to, and knowing all too well the effects of, the same sickness of the mind as his uncle, Fili couldn’t bring himself to say the empty words. 

“I will not ask for your forgiveness,” said Thorin. “I can blame the gold muddying my mind, or a thousand other things, but the decisions I made were mine alone. And some of them were the right ones. 

"Not the decision I made where I ever doubted you. But my decision to send Kili away, no matter how much it has hurt us all, was the right one. To keep him safe from harm. I will never doubt my course in that regard for a moment, no matter how much I wish it could have been otherwise. Some day you will understand, and you may even forgive me for it.” 

Fili managed a nod as Thorin’s fingers stroked through his hair. The separation he could forgive. Even the cells he could forgive. But helping his brother climb over the ramparts of Erebor, watching Kili walk away towards an elvish army, that was not something he could ever forgive or forget. It was a wedge forever driven between them. 

“There is nothing that you could tell your brother in any letter that would make him think less of you,” said Thorin. “And there is nothing that you could ever do that would make him love you any less. He loves you and he will always love you. As I do.” 

“I miss him every day.” The words slipped out before Fili could stop them. 

“I know.”

“You said it would lessen as time goes on.” Fili swallowed, trying to take the unfair accusation from his voice. “But it doesn’t. It hasn't. I can’t bear the thought that Kili is far from me, and I can’t bear the thought that he may be feeling the same way I do.”

He waited as the silence stretched, worrying that his uncle would get up and leave. 

“When I lost your Uncle Frerin, I felt I would never smile again,” said Thorin, “and that, if I did, it would be a betrayal. But with time came healing, and new life. And I found that, even though at times I felt, and at times I still feel, his loss as keenly as the day I fell to my knees by his side on the field at Azanulbizar, those times are less than they once were, and pass more quickly. And so it will be with you. And with Kili. It is a different kind of loss, but yet, not so different.”

Fili closed his eyes. 

“When I think of him,” said Thorin. “Of Kili. I think of him as we are now. He's lying in bed at the end of the day, with the last rays of the evening sun of the Shire streaming through a window, and his little boy is safe under his arm. 

"I hear him telling stories, as I once did, of the time that they have been apart, no matter how short that time was. He's still in Bag End, with that infernal clock ticking away heartbeats in the hallway, and a kettle whistling in the kitchen, and the scent of Bilbo’s cooking in the air. I imagine him safe and warm and content in that moment. He will miss you, and he will always miss you, but I believe that, far away from us, he is yet able to build a life that will make him happy.”

Fili nodded. He hoped so too. It was all he hoped for.

“And I know that one day you will do the same.” Thorin pressed a kiss against his head. “For you are both my brave boys, as you ever were, and I know that you can both overcome this. But I have talked enough, and I had said that you should rest.”

The rain had started outside, hammering against the pain of glass at the back of the recess. 

“Unless…" Thorin cleared his throat. "Perhaps, you might have a wish to hear a story?” 

At the hopeful lilt in his uncle’s voice, Fili smiled, curling in closer. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

Neatly-raked gravel crunched under the wheels of the wagon as Kili turned off the lane and onto the long, winding, and tree-lined avenue that led to the smial. 

If the Thain's home could even be called a smial. It was true that the residence was shaped into a hobbit-like mound and speckled all over its wide frontage with the rounded windows and doors that the Shirefolk preferred, but it resembled more a grand merchant's house in somewhere like Dale than anything else. Kili snickered at the thought. If a grand merchant's house were covered in soft grasses and sunken deep into the soft dirt on which it sat. 

It wasn't a mountain, and its wood-panelled tunnels and hallways would never be half as impressive as Erebor's stone, but still, its size never failed to leave a lasting impression.

On his few visits with deliveries from Master Bracegirdle’s smiths, Kili hadn't been much further than the kitchens, but he'd managed to peep into the main hall and some of the surrounding rooms through open doors. It was a vast and richly-furnished home, and, according to Bilbo, the ancestral homes in Tuckborough were even more expansive and opulent. Some of its tunnels were even wide and tall enough that Gandalf would be able to walk fully upright. 

He'd dearly love to inspect the construction of the tunnels and have a poke about, but Bilbo—for all his talk of his fondness for this or that set of relations scattered across the Shire—seemed to have no burning desire to call on his kinfolk.

Not with a dwarf in tow anyway. 

Kili smiled down at the reins held loosely in his hands. Or perhaps he shouldn't judge Bilbo so harshly. Perhaps it was only that Bilbo had done more than enough walking and adventuring to last him a few more years yet.

But, even if he couldn’t visit Tuckborough, he might have a chance today to see more of the Thain's home, since Gerontius had requested he visit specifically. Whatever the reason for that might be. 

There was gravel crunching under more hooves than just his pony's. Kili glanced over his shoulder and nodded to a hobbit driving a fully-laden cart close behind. And there was another beyond, piled high with boxes, just turning off the lane outside the grounds. What was going on?

Flicking the reins against the pony’s stout back, Kili picked up his pace. Ahead, where the avenue widened to a circle in front of an oversized door, there were close to a dozen carts being unloaded by scurrying hobbits. Some stopped to stare wide-eyed at him as he approached, and Kili smiled and nodded at them all. 

It was easy to forget at times how sheltered the Shirefolk were. How many gathered here had never laid eyes on a dwarf before? 

Easing his wagon through a gap, Kili drove on along the front of the Thain’s smial, ignoring the rising ripple of excited whispers behind. There were definitely several hobbits who had never seen his kind before. 

As he trundled along the curving path that led to the carriage house and adjoining stables at the rear of the smial, one of the younger grooms ran out to meet him, waving his arms. Slowing the pony to a halt, Kili jumped down. 

“You can’t bring the wagon round here, Master Kili.” The lad pointed. “Take it on to the sheep field. You know which one that is? It's got sheep in it. Turn the pony out, then leave the wagon there too.”

Kili frowned. The goods Master Bracegirdle had requested he collect from Michel Delving were well hidden under a stout covering. And hobbits weren’t known for their thieving. But the Thain's fields were out of sight of the smial, and backed onto a vast woodland, and sunset was fast approaching.  

“Is there not a corner I can leave it in for now, somewhere where you could keep an eye on it while I speak with the Thain?” Kili asked, trying to recall the boy’s name. "I don't expect I'll be long."

Mungo? Was that the boy's name? Kili thought that might be it. But so many of the hobbits looked alike, and, on his last visit, he’d been introduced to them all by the head groom in a rush of similar-sounding names. 

And, as was the hobbit way, all introductions had been delivered with a myriad of extra and convoluted information about familial connections. Despite his best efforts to match names with faces, Kili's head had been spinning. 

“But…” Probably-Mungo frowned. “Speak with? You’re not staying for the party?”

That explained why the smial was so busy. Kili shook his head. “I shouldn’t imagine so.”

The frown deepened. “Wait here.” 

Before Kili could respond, Mungo was gone, running at full tilt past the carriage house, the stables, and on out of sight into the warren of outbuildings beyond. 

Patting the pony’s neck, Kili thought about his return journey. Master Bracegirdle had insisted he stay the night in Michel Delving—even pressing a fat coin into his hand for a room at one of the inns—but, if the Thain didn’t keep him for long, he could be on the road again before full dark. 

Hobbit roads were smooth and easy for the most part, and most of his journey would be on the well-maintained Great East Road. If they were lucky enough and the sky remained cloudless, then, with the help of moonlight and starlight, and with the lantern lit once more on the wagon, the pony could manage her footing well enough. 

They could be back by dawn. Rather than sleeping alone in an inn, he could be in his own bed with his arms around Ness before full light. The thought was a tempting one. Since she’d found out she was again with child—even though she seemed to be still coming to terms with the idea—it felt as if something had shifted between them. 

It felt as if it were, at last, the tentative beginning of a return to how they had been when they'd first fallen in love. Before they'd ever laid eyes on Erebor, and before all of the heartbreak that followed. They’d lingered over kisses and touches in a way that he'd spent so long wishing for, so long dreaming of, that it stirred hope in his heart once more for the future. 

“You didn’t have to rise and see me off, Ness.” 

It was yet well before dawn. And Bag End might be cosy, but its doorstep was not. Ness, barefoot and clad only in a thin shift and robe, was not dressed for a winter’s night—even when it were nothing more than a winter's night in the Shire. Kili wrapped his arms tighter around her. 

“I did," she said. Her fingers had crept under his beard, stroking the sensitive skin of his neck. It sent a shiver through him that wasn't from the cold. “When will you be back?” 

“I’ll try to return in time for dinner tomorrow.” Kili glanced at the web of stars shining brightly in the clear sky overhead. “If the weather holds it should be an easy ride.” 

“I’m glad he needed you to take the wagon.” 

That had worked out unexpectedly well. Kili smiled. “It will save my boot leather, at least.” 

Out on the lane the pony stamped, the sound loud and echoing in the sleepy stillness of Bagshot Row. And he was grateful to Master Bracegirdle. It was a happy circumstance of timing that there were goods awaiting collection in Michel Delving.

The road would be longer. But that was fine, now that he had a wagon. And his planned walking route—the more direct one across fields and then through the Thain’s vast woodlands—would, technically, have been trespassing. 

Not that the Bounders who patrolled the Shire’s borders weren’t easily avoided if he hadn’t felt inclined to explain himself. But it would look better to be first sighted arriving at the Thain's front door, as expected, rather than be spotted scaling the low walls surrounding his parklands. 

“And did you take your bow?” Ness asked, her eyes on his. 

“It’s the Shire, Ness.” Kili grinned when her brows knitted together in disapproval. “And it’s in the cart. I might bag a rabbit or two with any luck." Kissing her chilled forehead, he released her. "I should go.”

His pack was on the doorstep. As he lifted it her hands caught at his cloak, pulling her to him hard enough that he overbalanced, his shoulder knocking against the doorframe. With her lips brushing his, Ness whispered, “Stay.”

Her robe had fallen open. And, should Bilbo happen to leave his bedchamber, he'd find them outlined against the starlight and be scandalised. But Kili found he didn’t care. His gloved fingers stroked their way from her shoulders, trailing over her breasts and belly to grip her waist. Sharing the same air, her breaths quickened in time with his. 

He kissed her. He didn't care about Bilbo. Neither did he care should any hobbit be taking an after-midnight stroll along the row and happen to look up the steps of Bag End to see them silhouetted against the candlelight within. He couldn't care. Not when her fingers had tightened in his hair, and she was returning his kiss with the same bruising fervour. 

They stumbled backward into the smial, still kissing hard, her nimble fingers working on the laces of his tunic and shirt as he shrugged off the pack and tore off his gloves, tossing all aside. The door of Bag End swung backward with them, knocking against the wall with enough force that they stopped to stare at each other, wide-eyed. They giggled, hushing each other as they listened hard for movement within. 

“That probably chipped the paint,” whispered Ness, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Bilbo’s going to murder us.”

The night air was cool, tickling his bared chest, bringing him back to his senses. As Ness reached for his belt, Kili caught her hand, pressing his lips to her palm. A farewell kiss on the doorstep was one thing. But bedding her, as his body was demanding he do, on that same doorstep was entirely another. Even if they cared nothing for hobbitish eyes, they had the little one's welfare to be mindful of now. 

“I’ll fix the paint when I get back," he said, "and I’ll be back as soon as I can." 

With her eyes darkened with need, it pained him to say it, and he expected he'd be halfway to Michel Delving before his blood cooled enough for him to concentrate on the road, but… "I do have to go.”

Pulling the coin from his pocket, Kili smiled, the memory of her frustrated moan warming his blood once more. 

Since Master Bracegirdle wasn’t expecting his return, he could ignore his conscience and perhaps steal an extra day before he had to return to the forge. He could hide the pony and wagon away in the fields and woods beyond Bagshot Row and breakfast with his family. And after they could go for a walk, perhaps even as far as the Ivy Bush, and have lunch and some ales. They could talk over the plans for the birthday party that Bilbo was insisting on, and then perhaps Bilbo would agree to look after Fili for a few hours. 

He and Ness could take the whole afternoon to themselves. He might not be able to bed her as he wanted, and as he thought she wanted, but kisses and caresses wouldn’t harm the baby growing inside her. 

If Ness was still willing. 

He hoped she was still willing.

Kili flipped the coin before tucking it away. He’d have to return it to Master Bracegirdle, but no matter. He hadn’t earnt it anyway. 

“Could you manage it?” he asked the pony, smiling when she whickered softly at him. “It’ll be another long journey in the dark, but I’ll look after you. And you can have a rest now for a little while.”

Mungo was racing back toward him, a long strip of parchment flowing from his hand. Kili walked to meet him. 

“Look,” said Mungo excitedly. “You’re on the list. I knew you were, but then you said… So I checked, just in case, and you are.”

“What list?”

“This list. The party list.” Mungo thrust out the parchment, whipping it back before Kili could get so much as a glimpse of what looked like an extensive list of names. “Here. It’s right here, so I’ve to take your wagon, and I’ve to take this list back before I muddy it because it’s the only one we’ve got, and—” He frowned. “Is that what you’re wearing for the party, Master Kili?”

There had to be some mistake. Kili looked down at his clothes. He’d pulled the wagon off the road before the town to wash the road dust from himself and change. Because Gerontius Took might be Bilbo’s grandfather, but he was still the King, as far as Kili could work out, of the hobbits. He’d wanted to be presentable. And he was, he was certain of it. 

“I didn’t know I was coming to a party,” he said. “And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Not a thing.” Mungo grinned. He leapt up onto the wagon, tossing Kili’s pack and cloak down and grabbing the reins. “Not a thing at all, forget I mentioned it. And I’ve to tell you to go on in. The Thain’s expecting you.” 

With a shout to the pony, Mungo cracked the reins and the wagon trundled off. He looked over his shoulder as Kili stepped toward the smial, and called, “Not that way, Master Kili. The front door!”

Kili spun on his heel. Fine. Front door. And a party into the bargain. Unless there had been some muddle, which was likely, and, if so, then this was just going to be embarrassing for everyone. He sighed. At least, he'd get a chance to view the smial properly, as he'd wanted, and, if Gerontius insisted he stay for the party—which he would, since hobbits were unfailingly polite—then maybe he could still slip away early? If the stableboys were expecting all the names on the long list to arrive, and if there was no space for his cart, then the Thain must be having a very large gathering, even by hobbit standards. He'd never be missed. Shouldering the pack and slinging his cloak over his arm, he brushed quickly at his sleeves and trousers as he walked around the side of the smial.  

Mungo must've sent a message ahead for the Thain was awaiting him at the doorway. Hobbits, laden down with boxes and parcels, flowed around them both like busy bees. 

“Kili.” Gerontius spread his arms wide. “So good to see you. No, don’t worry about bowing, my boy. Come on, come on in.”

Kili straightened, and ran up the steps where Gerontius took his arm, ushering him into a grand hallway filled with a very hobbit-like bustling chaos. Although, truth be told, it wasn't a hallway. Or not so far as hobbit homes went. It was a vast space, stretching out and up with many passageways leading from it. It even had a broad staircase at the far end. 

All about them, more hobbits in neat and identical serving clothes were setting up tables with pitchers of drinks. One hurried past with a large tray of—Kili’s stomach rumbled and he quickly placed a hand on it to quieten it—delicious-smelling food. And more were arranging long-stemmed flowers into huge vases. 

It did feel like a hobbit party. But on a much larger and grander scale than those he'd attended in Hobbiton. Wishing he'd combed and tidied his hair by the stables, and that he'd thought to bring finer clothes, Kili shifted the pack on his shoulder and tried to subtly flick a pony hair from his cloak.

“And how is my grandson?” asked Gerontius. 

“Bilbo is well,” said Kili, stopping to let a harried-looking hobbit with a broom rush past. “He sends his regards.”

“And the rest of the family?” 

“Very well too.” He’d promised Ness they wouldn’t tell anyone she was with child until they were certain that was the case. Biting back the news before it could escape, Kili nodded. “Couldn’t be better.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Gerontius smiled. “And glad too that you arrived early. I’ll have to leave you now but your room is upstairs, second on the left.” 

His room? Kili opened his mouth but Gerontius was already pushing him on toward the stairs, adding, “Dinner at seven, don’t be late.” 

For an elderly hobbit, Gerontius was light on his feet, and scooted off, leaving Kili alone at the base of the wide staircase. Kili frowned before smoothing his face. So Mungo and his list had been correct, and he was truly invited to the party. He dug the summons out of his pocket and stared at it. As he’d thought, there was nothing whatsoever about any party, and hobbits—or Bilbo anyway, and the hobbits of Hobbiton—always added plenty of detail when there was a party. 

He didn’t even have a gift. 

Trudging up the staircase, he sighed again. He couldn’t offend Bilbo’s grandfather so, if he was expected to attend a party, and expected to stay overnight, then that’s what he would have to do. 

Sometimes, he wondered if it would make a difference if any hobbit apart from Bilbo knew he was once a prince. Kili ran his fingers along the sweeping curves of the expertly carved handrail. Probably not. Bilbo had never made any particular difference in how he treated any of them. But then Bilbo was the grandson of the hobbit king, which Kili certainly hadn’t had any inkling of until well after their return to Bag End. 

And Thorin hadn't known either. Kili was sure of it. For, if his uncle had known, then he certainly would never have called Bilbo a grocer, or any of the many other names that had been muttered in Khuzdul. He would never have spoken to Bilbo in the curt manner he had at times. As the handrail swept along the landing and Kili followed it on and up the last flight of stairs, he smiled. Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered one bit to Uncle Thorin? For his uncle bowed to no one. 

It would’ve mattered to Fili though. It was one of a thousand little things he desperately wanted to tell his brother. And one of a thousand little things that couldn’t be entrusted to a letter. 

At the thought of Fili, the smile had faded and Kili shook his head. No. It was a party, and, if the Thain had invited him and yet not Bilbo, then there was obviously a reason for it that would be made clear in time. He had to smile, and be charming, and not think of Fili or wish that his brother were beside him. At all. 

He took the last stairs two at a time. It was an odd feeling to be upstairs in a smial. He’d been upstairs in The Dragon, repairing the odd piece of furniture here and there to help out, but hobbits as a rule liked to stay near the ground. Leaning over the handrail, Kili looked down at the hallway below. It was a hive of activity, perhaps even moreso than when he’d first walked in, and he didn’t recognise any of the— 

But he did. Kili grinned, spotting an unexpected but familiar face amongst them. 

“Rosie!” The shout was out before he could stop it. Resisting the temptation to flatten himself against the wall behind as all heads swivelled upward, Kili raised a hand. 

Rosie waved back. “Kili,” she called. “You came!” 

“Of course.” He spread his hands. “It’s a party.” 

Pleased though he was to see her, they couldn’t keep yelling back and forth, and she had a tray in her hands. She was obviously busy. “I’ll—”

“See you later," Rosie finished with a wide smile. 

He nodded, and made his way to his room. Pushing open the door, he stopped in the threshold. The chamber was half again as big as Bag End. 

He stepped back, checking it was the second door on the left, as Gerontius had said. 

It was. Setting his pack on the floor, Kili closed the heavy, rounded door behind him. His boots sank into the thick rug, and he heeled them off, brushing at the specks of mud they'd left behind on the creamy-coloured rug. 

The noise from the rest of the smial disappeared, as if it had never been, and Kili leant back against the doorframe. Dinner at seven. That meant he had over two hours, by his reckoning, and, if he knew hobbits at all, there would be a timepiece somewhere, ticking away the hours. 

He found it in an antechamber—one of two that led off from the main bedchamber. Lifting the clock from its place on the mantelpiece, he tucked it under his arm and poured himself a mug of ale from the pitcher on a table. Chairs were spaced out around a cosy fire, and he was tempted to sit, but instead he wandered. By the window that looked out over the avenue that he’d trundled down earlier, there was a bench groaning with bread and cheese and an array of cold cuts. He snorted. It was far more than was necessary for any lone dwarf. 

And far more than necessary for a dwarf who would be expected to eat as much and as enthusiastically as the hobbits at dinner, or risk offence. Shaking his head, Kili carried the timepiece with him into the bathroom and set it and the mug of ale on the floor near the tub. 

He turned the hot tap on full. The Company would scoff if they saw him using such a device rather than looking at the sky and feeling the hours in his blood as any normal person did, but there was something comforting about the noise. Not that he would ever admit such a thing to Bilbo. And it did take the guesswork out of things. Especially since hobbits liked their guests to be punctual at mealtimes. There wasn’t much that offended such a gentle folk, but being late for dinner would definitely do it. 

Stripping off, he draped his clothes over a chair, and swung open the window, leaning out to look down at the grounds below. Ornate gardens stretched out to the grassy fields beyond, and the perfume of flowers at dusk, mingling with the scent of manure, drifted up to him. He wrinkled his nose. Off to the east, he could see the outbuildings beyond the carriage house, but, if Master Bracegirdle’s wagon was there, he couldn’t spot it. 

It would be fine. The wagon would be fine. 

As he pulled the beads from his hair and undid the braids, his eyes lifted reluctantly from the gardens and outbuildings, moving higher to follow the rolling hills northward, beyond the borders of the Shire. In the falling dark, the sharp peaks of the Ered Luin mountains, of home, were a darker shadow against the sky. 

Setting the carved beads carefully on the sill, Kili cradled his chin on his arms and sighed. 

Less than three days' hard riding from where he stood, his kin would be closing the settlement gates for the night. The market would be silent, its stalls tightly covered in canvas against the wind and rain. The miners would be chattering and laughing in the taverns closest to the mountain, calling for ale to wash the coal dust from their throats before they returned to their warm homes for dinner. And his kin would all be blissfully unaware that their once youngest Prince of Durin was here, nothing more than a blacksmith in a small town, without a home to call his own. 

Behind him, the rushing water had changed tone. Kili turned, knocking off the tap with more force than was strictly necessary. Steam curled invitingly from the tub and he climbed in, ducking under the water to wet his hair. 

It didn’t matter. 

There was a tray of soaps laid out on a little table beside the tub. Kili sniffed at them in turn until he found the one that would make him smell least like he’d been rolling in a flower bed. He set to scrubbing the road dust fully from himself. It didn’t matter that his kin were so close, because they weren’t his kin anymore, and they never would be again. 

And the sooner he got used to that, the better. 

Chapter Text

With his eyes closed and his fingers wrapped about the hilt of the knife hidden between mattress and bedframe, Fili lay still. He was in Erebor. Even half-awake he knew that. He knew the weight of the arm about him and the soft breaths that stirred his hair belonged to his uncle, not Kili, but, if he forced himself to remain quiet, he could hold onto the peaceful dream of home for a few moments longer. 

But someone was in his room. His fingers tightened on the knife. Someone quiet enough on their feet that they had awoken neither him nor Thorin. And, from the crackle of burning wood and the orange glow that played on his eyelids, that same someone had lit a fire. 

Keeping the movement slow, he lifted his head and released the knife. Amad sat in one of the chairs by the fire. With her slippers kicked off and legs folded underneath her, she seemed absorbed in whatever she was reading. Paper rustled as she turned a page. 

No. Not completely absorbed. She looked up and smiled, beckoning to him. Easing himself out from under Thorin’s arm, Fili lifted his shirt from the floor, tugging it over his head.

Outside, the rain had passed and pinpricks of stars filled the view from the narrow window. How long had they slept? Taking the other chair, he whispered, “How long have you been here?” 

Raising the book, Amad showed him a fair section of pages. She glanced toward the bed when Thorin grumbled in his sleep, turning over. 

“I brought the powders Thorin asked for,” she said, gesturing to a pouch by the hearth. “You or him?” 

“For me.” Fili rubbed gingerly at his head. The ever-present headache had receded to a dull ache. Whether the talk with Thorin had eased his mind, or if a few hours of good rest had done the trick, he didn’t know, but it was a relief to be free of it, and free of the need for Oin’s numbing and mind-dulling powders. 

Amad’s face was deliberately smooth but the worry was clear in her eyes. “I feel better now,” he added. “I’m sorry for bringing you here needlessly.”

She tutted, glancing again at Thorin. “I’ll need to wake him soon, unless he intends to go to dinner straight from your bed.” Setting the book aside, she met Fili’s eyes. “I didn’t have the heart to wake either of you. You slept well?”

“Well enough that I didn’t hear you enter.”

She nodded. “Then you both must’ve needed the rest.”

“Did you knock?” When she huffed out a laugh, Fili added, “I had a knife in my hand, Amad. You should have—”

“Entered banging a drum perhaps? Or with a war cry?” Amad shook her head. “I have no need of a lecture, and you have no need to feel ashamed for not waking sooner.”

“I’m not.” But he could feel the heat rising in his face. Fili stretched out his toes toward the fire, avoiding her knowing eyes. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. 

“If there’s anywhere that you should be able to rest properly, it’s here. Deep inside a mountain, with your uncle’s loyal dwarves guarding your doors. But, no matter, I know minds don’t work like that. Did you have pleasant dreams?”

That felt as if it were a pointed question. Toying with a fraying thread on the chair arm, Fili nodded. He had. The dream had been pleasant, and more memory than imagining. It was yet vivid in his mind. A dream of sunshine sparkling on the still waters of a lonely lake, high in the mountains of Ered Luin. Lazy days spent swimming, and nights spent under the stars, and nothing more perilous than arguing with Kili and Gimli over whose turn it was to gather firewood or cook dinner. And he’d dreamt of trailing home over familiar paths. He’d dreamt of waking in their own bed, in his brother’s arms, with the memory of sun on their skin, and the scent of their amad’s cooking in the air. It had felt so real. Fili forced a smile. “Gimli has been speaking to you?”

“No more than usual. He said he wasn’t sleeping either.” Amad reached out and took his hand. “It will be easier once the trial is over and done with. Your uncle told you?”

Fili nodded, running his thumb over his amad’s fingertips. The calluses there were softening, slowly disappearing with time. He frowned. When was the last time he had spent any real time with her? With his uncle? “You’ve been neglecting your axework, Amad.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “My son, is that a challenge?”

His flailing hands caught on something solid. Yanking himself upright, Kili coughed water, his heart pounding against his ribs. 

The tub. He was in a tub. 

Sucking in shaky breaths between coughs, Kili lowered his head to hands that still held the edge of the tub in a white-knuckled grip. It was bath water, not river water. His fingers rested against copper, not ice. There was only air above his head. He could breathe. 

He could breathe.

“Fool,” he muttered. 

Unable to let go of the tub quite yet, he peered over the side. Water had been tossed over the floor by his panic but, apart from a few splashes on the clock’s glass-covered face, it looked unhurt. 

And he had time. Barely. His hands were shaking as he tried to peel his stubborn fingers free, scolding himself. A bad dream, and a mouthful of water, and he was behaving as if he were a frightened dwarfling ducked underwater on his first swim. 

Gimli would laugh his leg off if he could see him now, and so would Fee. 

Banging his forehead against the cool edge of the tub, Kili tried to bash some sense into himself. This was ridiculous. At their lake at home, deep in the embrace of the Ered Luin mountains, he could have swum down to touch the silt and smooth rocks that covered the lake bed. He could have done it without a care in the world. Even Fee couldn’t match him. And now… He kicked at the cooling water. Now, even the still waters of the Bywater pond, or, apparently, a simple bath, for Durin’s sake, made his heart pound. 

And it was still pounding, knocking hard against his ribs. Raising himself out of the water, Kili stopped. No. It wasn’t his heart. There was knocking. 

“I’m coming!” he called, grabbing a towel from the table beside the tub. Drying himself off quickly, and intending to wrap it around himself, he spotted the robe hanging from a hook by the door. 

Hobbits. 

Fine. 

The knocking had turned from impatient raps to a lively hobbit tune by the time he padded from the bathchamber. He hurried to the main door, certain that he was leaving a trail of water soaking into the thick rugs behind him. 

Swinging open the door, he said, “Sorry, I was—Rosie?”

With her hands still raised, knuckles poised to continue the tune, Rosie grinned. “Oh good, you’re not dressed yet.”