Thank you all so kindly for the reviews! And for favoriting and following. I can't tell you how encouraging it is! It's been so fun to get inside of the heads of some of my favorite Hobbit characters. The story should really start to pick up some steam after this point, and I'm getting very excited over my plans for where it's headed. (Short answer: Nowhere good! Much strife! Maybe some good things? Hehe.)

And thank you for being patient with slow updates. :) I'm a writer by trade, which means fun writing like this sort of gets pushed to the side until I have a free day to work on it, lest my eyes become bamboozled with screentime.

Chapter 6: Where the Road May Go

After leaving the dwarvish camp, Tauriel wandered off through the ruined streets of Dale, hardly caring where she went. She just needed to find a place, any place, where she could sit down and have a good long think about what to do next.

This was all very new to her; her whole life, she'd always had somewhere to be, somewhere to dwell, some task to do. But now? She had never been confronted with such... such uncertainty before. Her life had always been made up of choices, but she'd taken for granted how apparent her options had been.

Should she join the Guard or take up a craft? Which spider nest should they tackle first? Often, Thranduil would give her no choice on matters pertaining to her duties. This had irked her, but she had to admit, it quelled the uncertainty of life by not having to choose. While perhaps Thranduil's path went against her heart, he'd at least lit a path, and many elves were content to follow it.

Tauriel found herself sitting on a low stone wall and gazing at the setting sun. The streets in this section of the city were a bloodbath, still piled with the bodies of dead men, elves and orcs. She stared at the carnage numbly and briefly whispered a thanks to the freezing winter air that would keep the rot at bay.

You must consider now, unless you are to sit on this wall forever, where do you go next? What are your choices?

To Tauriel's surprise, she answered her own question by bursting into tears. It was ridiculous, but for all the terror and exhaustion she'd experienced over the last few days, she had yet to cry. Now she suddenly felt a powerful loss and yearning for her home in Mirkwood having been cast out. She missed the dappled trees and the halls of living stone and running water that echoed with the music of her people.

But beneath that, there was a second powerful longing. She knew exactly what it was, and who it was for. Not that it helped her much. Kili, she knew, was beyond her reach by now, separated by grief and injury and duty to his people.

No, she corrected herself. Kili's been beyond your reach from the very start.

The dwarf had been right. It was just a dream. A strangely exhilarating dream. But a dream just the same. And yet the deep longing persisted, and for a long, blissful moment she allowed her mind to linger on his playful smile.

"Oh! What a relief I've found you!" said a voice suddenly behind her.

Tauriel quickly composed her face and wiped her eyes on her sleeve before looking over her shoulder. She was quite startled to see Bard the Bowman's eldest daughter barreling down the street, covered shoulder to hem in blood.

"Sigrid, you're hurt!" said Tauriel, aghast.

"What?" It took Sigrid a moment to understand, then she waved her hand in a distracted sort of way. "Oh, the blood. No, it isn't mine."

"Why are you covered in blood?" said Tauriel, still taken aback by the sight of this child of men.

"I've been aiding the wounded," she stated simply. Then she implored, "Please my friend is hurt. Badly hurt. We could use your help."

Tauriel blinked a few times. She swallowed and smoothed out her sleeves.

"I'm afraid you mistake me. I'm no healer, Sigrid. I'm a warrior."

"But you are a healer," said Sigrid, a desperate edge rising in her voice. "I've seen you do it, I saw you draw the poison out of that dwarf."

Oh dear. Tauriel felt rather guilty for having misled the girl. She could set bones and bind wounds as well as any member of the guard, for that was a necessity in their line of work when they patrolled the forest, wandering for days in the wild. The truly magical healing arts were beyond her. Healing Kili had been a desperate act. She'd surprised herself as much as everyone else when it had actually worked. She wouldn't bank on it ever working again.

"Did you ask at the elven camp? They have healers, many of them highly skilled."

"They say they have their own to look to, and that they can spare no hands," said the girl.

"Typical," Tauriel muttered. "Well, if he needs a bone set or a wound stitched, I can manage well enough, if you truly have need of me, though I expect many of your people can do the same."

Tauriel gathered herself up.

"No, it's nothing like that," said Sigrid. "It's a wound like the dwarf had. From an orc blade. Something poisoned. It looks almost exactly the same, black and festering, and he's with a fierce fever. Please, if you could do something. He's fading fast."

Tauriel clenched her jaw. She looked down upon Sigrid's pleading face, desperate and hopeful. She did not want to give hope where there was none. And yet...

... it had worked on Kili.

"Have you athelas?"

"Heaps of it!" exclaimed Sigrid, relieved.

Tauriel paused briefly.

"Then I suppose I must try. Lead on."

Dain made an announcement in the dwarvish camp. Any dwarf who was able was to report to the gates of Erebor the next morning to begin clearing away rubble. Dain had taken it upon himself to give orders, for Kili was still said to be in his sickbed, and most of the dwarves had marched with him from the Iron Hills anyway. Once the gate was again passable, they were to move their entire camp into mountain.

"It's high time we leave this city to its men," Dain had said to Dwalin and Balin. "And our kin have waited long enough to be laid in their tombs."

Dwalin brought this news to Kili, who still lay in his bed, wrapped in bandages. He was grimacing in pain. Dwalin offered him Oin's draught, but Kili pushed his hand away.

"No more of that stuff, Dwalin," said the prince. "It's making my head swim."

Dwalin relinquished, but he figured this was some sort of improvement; at least Kili was speaking again.

"Fine. Have it your way," said Dwalin gruffly. And before he knew it, Kili was struggling to get himself out of bed.

"Oy! What do you think you're doing!" said Dwalin, grabbing Kili by the shoulders and forcing him back upon his pillow. "You'll tear out your stitches, you fool! Oin will have my head."

"You're scared of taking Oin in a fight?" said Kili. A ghost of a chuckle briefly lit up his face. "Never thought I'd see the day, Mr. Dwalin."

"That's not the point!" shouted Dwalin. Kili glowered up at him. Then Dwalin added softly. "I'm here to watch over the king of Erebor, last of his line, to keep him safe. And lad, you are not ready to be moving."

Ah. So there it was, at last. The first time either of them had mentioned the word "king". Until now, it had been hanging over them, the big oliphaunt in the tent. Kili slumped at these words. King. He was never meant to be the king. Thorin and Fili, maybe, but never Kili. Kili could do a lot of things very well. He was a fine archer and a warrior; he could lead well enough if given an order from someone higher. He would have made an excellent prince-under-the-mountain, but a king he was not.

"I can't be the king, Dwalin," said Kili.

"You already are the king, Kili," said Dwalin. "The blood of Durin himself runs in your veins."

But Kili shook his head in despair.

If he hadn't been injured, Dwalin may have shaken him by the shoulders and slapped his face. Was there nothing of Thorin in the young dwarf? Dwalin was baffled and growing angry. When his grandfather and father were lost, grief had not stopped Thorin Oakenshield from taking up the mantle of leadership. What was wrong with Kili? Why couldn't he do the same?

"Dwalin... I... I need to see my brother. Before we bury him."

Dwalin let go of the young dwarf and looked at knees. Well, what he supposed to say to that?

"Take me to him," Kili said. "Please."

"Very well," said Dwalin at last. "But if you tear your stitches, I'm letting you bleed to death!"

It took them some time to dress Kili. Getting his arms into the sleeves of a tunic was a struggle, and Dwalin had to lace up Kili's boots himself, for the young dwarf could not bend over. Kili was not so happy about this and he grumbled the whole time. Dwalin draped a coat over Kili's shoulders and at last they were ready to go.

"On your feet," said Dwalin, which was easier said than done. Kili was not very steady, and his face blanched as he righted himself. Dwalin began to wonder if he should have denied Kili this. But Kili managed to stay upright by leaning heavily on Dwalin as the two of them made their way through the camp. Many dwarves looked up at his passing and bowed their heads in respect.

"I'm not going to get used to that," whispered Kili.

"You will," said Dwalin firmly.

Thorin and Fili lay in a dimly lit tent. The bodies had been cleaned and dressed in regal attire, ready for burial as soon as the tombs were opened. To Dwalin's surprise, a startled Bilbo Baggins looked up at their arrival. He stood over Thorin's body.

"Oh!" said the hobbit. "Well... erm, hello Kili. Dwalin." There was a long awkward pause as Bilbo looked at Kili. Bilbo cleared his throat. "I'll just... just give you some privacy, shall I?"

"Please stay," said Kili to Dwalin's surprise, and he noticed the young dwarf was trembling, from pain or grief he did not know.

The hobbit nodded, clearly taken aback by this invitation, nodded and said, "Yes. Alright. Of course, I will stay."

Kili let go of Dwalin. He walked slowly across the tent to where lay his fallen brother. Fili's blue eyes were now closed and his hands rested upon his chest. He fell to his knees and lay a hand upon his brother's shoulder.

Bilbo swung his arms uncertainly before walking over to join Kili, and soon Dwalin did the same. The three crouched side by side in silence. Dwalin felt tears resurface in his eyes as he gazed upon Fili's still face. Kili was very quiet.

"He's so cold," said Kili after a while. "You know, I don't think we spent longer than a week apart in all our years."

"Aye, I believe it," said Dwalin softly, and he thought back to the time two young dwarflings had knotted his bootlaces together under their mother's table. He'd been fiercely angry with them at the time, and chased them around the hall in his stockings.

"He was... he was very brave," said Bilbo, choking a little. "At the end."

"Yeah," said Kili. "He always was brave. And selfless. He would have been a great king, my brother."

Dwalin frowned a little. Kili was right. And Kili was not meant to be a king. Fili had grown up all the while knowing he would one day have to fill Thorin's shoes, but Thorin had done nothing to temper the second brother. Kili was reckless and unsure. Hardly kingly material. But Dwalin resolved in that moment to do everything in his power not to let Kili in on those thoughts. As Balin had said to him once, sometimes lies can become the truth if you work at it hard enough.

"You two were more alike than you think," he said, giving Kili's shoulder a slight squeeze. "In time, you'll see it."

"I don't know, Dwalin," said Kili. Then said quietly, as though admitting something embarrassing, "I'm not sure I even know how to live without him."

Dwalin didn't know what to say to that, but Bilbo spoke up.

"Perhaps you don't now," said Bilbo thoughtfully, "But you know, I think almost anything can be learned. And we all have unexpected abilities within ourselves. Though sometimes it's simply a matter of the right set of circumstances to see it. That is, if this journey has taught me anything."

The hobbit patted Kili's arm encouragingly and Dwalin couldn't help but smile. He had, after all, once grossly underestimated this brave little halfling. So perhaps he could start believing his own lies about Kili after all, long enough for Kili to start believing them too.

"You'll be alright in time, Kili," said Bilbo.

"And remember, you'll never be alone," said Dwalin. "Whatever comes. We're with you."

"I'm sorry," said Tauriel. She sat next to a stunned looking Sigrid by a small campfire. "I told you it might not work."

"It's not your fault, you didn't stab him in battle," said Sigrid quietly. Then she added, "I don't understand why it didn't work? It worked on the dwarf. I... I don't... are dwarves easier to heal? Was it a different sort of wound?" Now Sigrid was picking up steam. "I should have known better. I looked at it and I thought it was the same poison. Maybe I was wrong-"

Tauriel placed a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder to quiet her.

"Don't do this," she told her. "You did everything right."

She wanted to add you were right to seek my help, but she wasn't so sure about that. The boy had died under her hands. The charm of athelas would not work for her again. Why it had worked on Kili was still a mystery.

How old is Sigrid anyway? Tauriel wondered. She seemed a child, but then, Tauriel was not very good at guessing the ages of the race of men. It was quite possible that Sigrid was considered almost a grown woman among her people. And in that case...

Tauriel saw now that there were tears in the girl's eyes. Something clicked into place in Tauriel's mind. The worry and hope in Sigrid's face as she'd pressed the herb into his wound, and the horror as breath left his body.

"Who was he, Sigrid?" asked Tauriel softly. "The boy?"

Sigrid opened and closed her mouth a few times. She seemed to be having trouble finding words. "No one. He was just a boy from Lake-town who got caught in the battle."

"Who was he to you?"

Sigrid was quiet for a long time. Then she spoke.

"He... he was apprenticed to a grocer. He used to smile at me when I bought potatoes... and... and I would tease him. That's all."

That's all. All that will ever be. It can never grow to anything more. A familiar tale, indeed.

Tauriel nodded. The boy had sold potatoes the way Kili had been her prisoner once. Dungeon bars and potatoes could not be underestimated when it came to matters of the heart.

"I am sorry. Truly."

Just then, Tauriel felt a pair of small shining eyes upon her. Sigrid's younger sister, Tilda, was peering at her from around the corner of a makeshift tent. Sigrid looked up and spotted her as well. The older girl almost laughed.

"Oh, Tilda!" she called, then added to Tauriel. "She's a bit fascinated with you. You're the first elf she's seen up close, you know. And you made quite the impression, slaying all those orcs in our house."

Tilda shyly walked over, and Tauriel regarded her kindly. The little girl sat down next to the elder, and Sigrid took her hand.

"Sigrid, the elf-maid came back!" whispered Tilda loudly.

Sigrid smiled, and wiped a stray tear from her eye.

"You know she could hear you, even if you spoke in a real whisper, Tilda. Have you not heard of the magic of elf ears? It's said that elves can hear a leaf fall in a forest five miles away!"

"Is that true?" said Tilda.

Well, that's an exaggeration! thought Tauriel, and she was about to open her mouth to say so, but thought better of it. After all, here was this child, staring in wonder and smiling amidst a ruined city filled with dead bodies and dying boys as winter closed in around them. What other joy was to be found in this place? Let her have this.

"Yes," Tauriel said to the girl, smiling. "It's absolutely true."

"Wow," said Tilda. Sigrid held her sister close with a sad smile on her face.

"I can stay and help," Tauriel offered. "If the Lake-men have need of me."

"We do," said Sigrid. Then she said to Tilda, "Go find Bain, we should all have something to eat in a bit."

Tilda left a little reluctantly, casting a long stare over her shoulder at Tauriel even as she trotted off. It wasn't until Sigrid spoke that Tauriel understood the reason for sending her away.

"Winter is upon us," said the girl seriously, having spared her words for when the little girl would not hear them, "and many are wounded. The men are saying we may not last till spring, and... and they think it's only a matter of time before what's left of the orcs come back to raid us. They say orc packs are hiding in the hills still, biding their time 'till the elves to leave."

"These are rumors only?" said Tauriel, troubled.

"Yes. As you say, just rumors," said Sigrid. "But I'm not sure I doubt them. It seems lately hardly an hour passes before some foul beast or other is come to kill us. Orcs, and dragons, and still more orcs... It's amazing my whole family is still alive. So many are not."

And Sigrid looked no longer like a girl, but like a somber, serious woman who'd seen far too much.

"I know you would go back with your people when they leave. But you seem to have a knack for helping me and my sister. So if you offer it, then I... I would ask that you to stay."

Tauriel felt her path become a little clearer.