1. the caged bird sings of freedom
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Erebor
The year 2946 of the Third Age
Fifth Annual Celebration of the Destruction of Foul Worm Smaug and
Commemoration of the Retaking of the Lonely Mountain
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Kili barged into Fili's room and stood just inside the doorway, nearly dancing from foot to foot. "Aren't you ready yet? Hurry up! We need to get downstairs!"
"You look like you need to use the necessary," Fili remarked sourly, fitting the last clasp to his braid. He stepped back from the mirror to ensure there was nothing about his appearance his mother would find fault with. Or his uncle. Or Balin or Dori or… bah. All this focus on appearance—he understood the importance of image, but sometimes he wished to be back in the Blue Mountains where no one cared to fuss at his hair or his clothing.
He cast appraising eyes over his brother and sighed irritably. "Come here, idiot." As he fixed Kili's carelessly secured braids he muttered, "Rushing downstairs isn't going to make the delegation from Mirkwood arrive any sooner. And if Uncle sees you acting this way…"
Kili's smile fell away and Fili mentally cursed the irrationality of both his brother's love and his uncle's hatred. "Are you even sure she's coming this year?"
The younger prince immediately brightened, whispering, "Nori smuggled a message to me this morning. The report from the perimeter outpost said she was one of Thranduil's guards."
Fili sighed again, remembering last year, when Tauriel sent word she was coming yet a last minute change by the elf king had left her in the Mirkwood. Kili had gotten blindingly drunk and it was only with the help of Bofur and the quick thinking of Nori that he'd been able to remove him from the hall before Thorin realized what was going on. Fili had spent the night holding his brother's head over a bucket and the following morning arguing desperately that no, it would not be better for everyone if he just left Erebor.
"That pretty princeling with her?"
Kili pulled a face. "Eh, probably. He's not that bad though."
Fili looked at his brother's hopeful face, wondering for the thousandth time if he was being unforgivably selfish in encouraging Kili to stay here.
There was no doubt in his mind that he was being selfish. It was the unforgivable part he was unsure of.
"I'll talk to Thorin again when the celebration is over, see if I can get him to see reason," Fili announced abruptly.
The weariness on Kili's face looked completely out of place. "Don't, brother. He won't change his mind, and nothing good is accomplished by pressing him. We can… we'll just continue as we have been. We'll have tonight and the next few days, and I'll be able to see her again in a few months."
Fili ground his teeth, pulling his brother roughly to him and pressing their foreheads together. "When I am king—"
"I know," Kili interrupted. "The first thing you do after plunking the crown on your head. I know." He lowered his voice. "I appreciate it. I do. Just… don't keep telling me. I don't… I don't want to ever have a reason to wish for Uncle…"
To wish for their uncle's death. Fili's stomach lurched. "I never meant… Kili, I'm sorry."
The younger prince pulled back, already restored to good humor. "No harm done, brother. Now let's go! My fair maiden approaches, and who knows? Maybe a fine lass will catch your eye."
Fili scoffed. "Not likely." He followed his brother out the door, grousing, "And if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times- I won't be plunking the crown anywhere."
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The first day was always relaxed. It was really the eve of the celebration, a day of arrivals. Tables and couches were scattered around the edges of the room, with ample supplies of food and drink laid out for everyone to enjoy as the guests arrived. The pomp and ceremony would begin on the morrow, after everyone had recovered from their journeys. The Company had a large table reserved for their sole use, and even five years after the Quest still tended to gravitate towards each other. They had a bond which they did not share with many others. They had answered their king's call when others had not.
Much to Kili's dismay, hours passed with no sign of the party from Mirkwood. He perked up at the sound of new arrivals approaching, only to slump back into his seat and reach for his mug when he saw it was only King Bard flanked by his two oldest children, the three of them surrounded by a bevy of councilmen and their wives. The human princess hadn't attended the Celebration before, and when he got a good look at her he nearly spit out his ale. "Well. Sigrid's… um… grown up."
"That's not… that's Sigrid?" Bofur sputtered. "The little girl who we stayed at her house?"
"No, the little one was Tilda," Kili informed him helpfully. "Sigrid's the older one."
"I know that. I just meant she was… she was… not like that."
All eyes turned to watch the vision in cream silk as she smiled gently at her father. Her hair was intricately braided, curls brushing her cheeks and spilling down her back. Her gown flowed over her body like water, unrevealing yet still enticing. Fili scowled. She was beautiful. Too beautiful. Too perfect. Passionless and controlled.
He hated seeing what she had become.
Dwalin grunted disparagingly. "I don't know what you're all gaping at. She's not overly tall and her hair is pretty enough, I'll grant you, but she doesn't have a beard and she's skinny. Looks breakable, if you ask me."
"Well, nobody asked you, did they?" Ori retorted bravely. "We can look at her if we want."
Fili ignored the argument that broke out around the table and gestured at a server to bring another pitcher of ale.
If he planned to drink it all, that wasn't anyone's business but his own.
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He'd seen her twice since leaving her and her people on the shore of Lake-town. Only twice, but he'd seen more than enough to know that she'd changed, and not for the better.
The first time was the second summer after the defeat of the dragon. She and her sister had been in a field outside of Dale, almost hidden in the tall grasses. She was wearing a blue-dyed linen gown with embroidery around the neckline, finer than the clothing she'd worn before, and her half-braided hair was pinned up around her head. Tilda had been working small colorful flowers into the braid, and given its somewhat lopsided appearance he suspected she was responsible for her sister's entire hairstyle. Sigrid was gently teasing her younger sister as he approached, and he had found the scene charming.
Until they saw him.
It was fine at first. Tilda had squealed and run up to him, jabbering away and asking him questions, then taking his hand and pulling him to where her sister now stood. Stood stiffly, her face pale and her hands tightly clasped before her. She had greeted him formally, using his title and not just his name, and had inclined her head the precise amount she should to show respect to him while still allowing for her own status.
He knew what the precise amount was due to the interminable lessons he and Kili had suffered through, learning the appropriate way to greet Men and Dwarves and Wizards and even Elves, and the greetings they should receive in return, all dependent on the other person's relative social status. It had been enough to drive him mad, and he probably would have done something regrettable if it hadn't been for Kili making a game of it.
Clearly, the same lessons had been inflicted on Sigrid. Other lessons as well, no doubt, and he supposed that was just part of becoming a princess (or a prince, since he'd also had plenty of lessons.) But the lessons hadn't changed him, had they? He didn't understand why they had changed her from the open, somewhat bossy girl she'd been into this stiff, cold creature.
He'd persevered through several minutes of stilted conversation only to give up and take his leave after she commented on the weather.
He didn't see her again for well over a year. Almost two years ago now. He had been attending a meeting at King Bard's home in Dale—not a palace as he knew some human kings had, but a grand enough place, he supposed. Sigrid had passed through the far end of the hall, clad in silk and lace, her curls subdued and gold glinting in her hair. There were flowers in her braid again but they were pale, almost colorless. She looked as beautiful and as emotionless as a glass doll.
He watched her now as she moved smoothly about the hall, his hall, a perfect smile on her perfect face, and wondered what had become of the practical, wide-eyed girl who had shoved her sister under a table and protected her from orcs with her own body.
You're not really being fair, a voice that sounded like Kili's proclaimed inside his head. You've only spoken to her once in five years, and she was what? Sixteen? And think of her situation. At least we knew we would be princes if we retook Erebor—she became a lady and then a princess with no warning at all.
He shook his head and stared into the bottom of his mug, wondering exactly how much he'd had to drink. A voice that sounded like Kili's speaking reason inside his head? It must have been a lot.
"Ah, out of ale, laddie?" Balin asked genially. "Let me refill your mug."
"So how do they do it?" Bofur made a rude noise and Ori flushed to the tips of his ear. "Not that! I mean the betrothal! Does she choose who she's to marry, or her father, or I've read sometimes humans have tournaments! Do you think they'll have a tournament for her hand?"
"It could be interesting seeing that," Balin mused. "I wonder if we'd be invited."
"Who needs to be invited?" Nori scoffed. "We can just sneak in, no problem."
Under the uproar of Dori and Balin taking Nori to task, Fili leaned over and asked his brother, "What are we talking about?"
"Princess Sigrid," Kili replied easily. "Apparently, she's to be married."
Everything slowed and dimmed and kernel of rage ignited in his chest. He fought to keep it out of his voice as he objected, "She's too young, surely."
"Old enough by human standards. They're a short-lived race."
Balin turned his attention their way. "Aye, they are. And it's a honorable thing she's doing, lads. Dale is doing well, but is still rebuilding and is far from prosperous. Whoever she marries will be able to provide much in the way of resources."
Fili grunted and drained half his mug. Did she not place any value on herself at all? How many different ways was she going to give herself away?
"You all right, brother?" Kili asked quietly.
"Yes, fine," he replied dismissively. "Of course."
His brother's concerned expression didn't change, and it was with relief that Fili heard another group announced into the hall, this time that of Mirkwood. The instant Kili's attention was pulled away Fili glared across the room at Sigrid. Their eyes met briefly and he took savage pleasure in seeing her perfect composure crumble a bit around the edges, even though it was only for a moment.
Over the next half hour she drifted closer and closer to the door cut into the side of the hall, finally slipping unseen onto the balcony.
Almost unseen. Fili drank the rest of his ale, barely resisting the urge to slam his mug down on the table, and followed her out.
She was standing by the railing, the moonlight gleaming on her smooth skin and the twists of her hair, looking like a precious jewel of pearl and gold. Unattainable and infuriating.
He scowled at the back of her head and spat viciously, "I hate your hair."
She turned, her eyes flaring wide with shock and hurt, before all emotion was hidden away. "Prince Fili." She took a breath, her fingers clenched white on the stone railing the only sign of her disquiet. "Why?"
"All twists and braids and clasps wrapping around each other—it's like a cage. A beautiful cage with a dead metal flower on top."
She took a shaky breath. "That is…"
"What?" he demanded. "Unkind? Rude?"
"Appropriate," she finished quietly, taking the wind out of his sails. "Surprisingly appropriate."
He eyed her uncertainly.
"I don't understand why you're so angry with me."
"I'm not angry with you," he lied, since he didn't understand himself why he was so angry.
Sigrid laughed outright at that, though it wasn't a particularly happy sound. "Yes. You are. If you don't wish to speak of it then of course I will not press you, except to say that if I have offended you, it was unintentionally done."
He pointed at her. "That! That offends me! Why not press me? Why not demand to know why I'm acting like a savage?" He stalked closer to her and hissed, "The Sigrid in Lake-town, the Sigrid who told a bunch of grumpy dwarves to take their booted feet down off her clean table, that Sigrid would press me."
"I don't have the luxury of being that Sigrid anymore," she proclaimed icily. "That Sigrid wouldn't survive, dealing with the councilmen and their wives and the tutors and—"
He waved a disparaging hand at her. "That Sigrid didn't survive. She's long gone."
"Why do you even care?" she snapped.
He opened his mouth and shut it again, not sure he even wanted to know the answer to that question. He changed the subject instead. "I hear you're to marry. Should I congratulate you?"
She pulled her composure around her like a cloak, her face smoothing into vaguely interested impassivity. If it was anyone else he might have found it fascinating to watch. "If you like."
"Maybe I should wait until you actually know who it is you're marrying," he sneered.
Her eyes flashed fire. "I will do what my father needs me to do. There is nothing improper about marrying for alliance or to strengthen Dale."
"He shouldn't be asking this of you," Fili snapped, even though he knew his outrage was uncalled for. More often than not, this was the way of the world for those of high birth or high position. He himself, now that he was approaching ninety, had heard more than one grumble that he needed to be looking for a wife, and he suspected that Balin had begun compiling a list of suitable brides.
Female dwarves were few, and ones that would be thought appropriate for the heir of Erebor were even fewer. It would be a short list.
She shook her head. "It's not his fault. Da… Father has told me I needn't do this. He fought with the council when they suggested it. He said he wants me to be happy. He…" She shook her head again, her lips pressed together as though to keep words from spilling out.
Fili was quiet for a long moment, the coal of anger still burning hot in his chest. "You can still call him Da, you know." Her mouth quivered and twisted and he tried to stop talking, he really did, but the words flowed nastily on despite him. "The prim and proper perfect little princess act is wasted on me."
He watched in horror as she lost the battle for control.
She didn't cry the way she should. It wasn't pretty little tears sliding artistically and attractively down her cheeks. It was violence and despair, sobs shaking her entire body as though to wrench her apart and he couldn't bear it. He wrapped his arms around her—just to help her hold herself together and it was his fault she was crying—he had to try to help her he had to try. "I'm sorry," he said over and over, feeling useless and inadequate and guilty. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Her tears were wet against the skin of his neck and her shaking breaths were hot, and soon he realized she was saying something too. "It won't be Tilda. Bain will have to marry for alliance, but he's a man and he'll be king. He'll be well. But not Tilda. It won't be Tilda. It won't. It won't."
He rocked her and shushed her, her braids coming undone between his fingers, a sickening twist in his stomach as he realized she was still the same Sigrid, the same girl protecting her sister with her body.
"I made them promise. It won't be Tilda," she hissed feverishly, her fingers knotted into the velvet and silk covering his back. "Tilda will be free."
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A/N: If you go to my writing tumblr (I'm whilewewereyetsinners there also) there's a copy of this story with pictures of Sigrid from the three times he saw her. And don't worry, this isn't the end. :)