A/N: Alright guys, we're back to a weekly posting schedule! I know it's difficult, but the next few chapters are really pivotal and I want to be very sure I get them as right as I can :) Thank you in advance for your patience, and enjoy!

Chapter Seven

Brie nearly did not survive the wedding.

It was a lovely ceremony, but far more intimate than she had expected, given all the to-do that had been made over it. The room was small by dwarven standards, carved into the eastern side of the mountain so that the tall windows, fitted with warped glass, reflected bits of light over the room. Banners of royal blue and white draped the walls, and the floor was lined with sapphires and swirls of gold. The members of the original Company had been granted seats at the very front, even before the Guild members and elven dignitaries, much to their obvious displeasure. Brie had taken more than a little satisfaction in walking past Thranduil to take her place on the bench two rows in front of him, even giving the elven-king a small nod in passing. He had not let any emotion stray to his face, but Brie imagined she could feel his sharp eyes following her.

The ceremony was also not very long, despite Brie's expectations. She had witnessed a Dwarven bonding before, of course, when Bilbo and Bofur had exchanged their words and braids in Rivendell, but she had thought perhaps there might be more to a joining of this magnitude, uniting, not just two people, but two kingdoms as well. There wasn't. The only differences were that three members of each family stood witness on the raised platform as Fili and Sigrid exchanged their loving vows and made the small braids in each others' hair, with ribbons of dark blue lined with gold for Fili's family and white for Sigrid, since her family had no colors of their own.

From her seat in the front, Brie had a perfectly clear view of Fili's family: his mother, and his brother, and of course his kurdu-adad, the king. He was dressed so plainly, his cream shirt adorned only with the barest hints of blue thread at the sleeves and collar, and it was this lack of adornment that drew Brie's eye (or at least that was what she told herself). That was what nearly took her life. Because as Fili spoke his words, she happened to glance up…and caught the flicker of Thorin's eyes on her. Her breath caught painfully in her chest and she looked away quickly, but it was enough to bring the darkness roaring up around her, swirling in black sheets that threatened to drag her down.

What could have been… If only…

Bilbo caught her hand in his and squeezed, jolting her back. His unhappy frown clashed terribly with his fine red coat (set off with bronze trim, the colors of Ur) and that wasn't right. This was Fili's special day. No one should be unhappy on a day like this. Especially not because of her. So she smiled and managed to force away the Fading tendrils. She would not ruin this day. Not like this.

Though the ceremony itself was short, the celebration afterward was scheduled to run well into the night. The wedding procession made its slow, winding way through the city, allowing the population of Erebor to come out and congratulate their crown-prince. Once that was over, there was an enormous feast, with a seemingly neverending stream of speeches from various important dwarves and Men. Even Thranduil stood and offered his good wishes, in words that were eloquent and diplomatic, if not exactly warm. And after that, the tables were pushed aside and musicians were brought out, offering a pretty song for the couple to take the floor in their first dance, a tradition Brie was happy to see crossed cultural boundaries. Once that was done, others joined them on the floor, the music taking on the more chaotic nature that Brie had come to associate with most dwarven celebrations.

Bofur grabbed Bilbo and dragged him out into the middle of the dancing, and Nori went to get another glass of wine, leaving Brie wrapped in her shawl, watching as Bilbo got caught up in the music almost despite himself.

"Now lass, you are just too pretty to be sittin' here by yourself," Bifur said gruffly, appearing at her side out of seemingly nowhere, unkempt as always, almost in defiance of the occasion, "Buncha blind, hard-headed idiots, can't be counted on to see the treasure for the hoard."

Brie could not help but smile at the older dwarf's good-natured grumbling, but that only seemed to inflame him further. He snorted, shaking his head.

"Well, no help for it—" He threw back the last of his wine and set aside his goblet. "—you'll just have to dance with me."

And with that, he took her hand and tugged her to her feet, eliciting a startled yelp of unexpected laughter.

"Oh, Bifur, don't be silly—!"

But it was too late, they were already in with the dancers, and he caught her by the hands and twirled her into the movement of the song, an easy dwarven dance that she recognized, something that Nori and Bofur had taught the twins on lazy Shire evenings. They switched partners and Brie was delighted to see Kili waiting for her. He winked as he took her hands in his, swinging her enthusiastically about the room for a turn, before passing her on to Biris, Bombur's oldest boy, his ginger hair flying as wildly as Bifur's.

"Irak'amad!" he exclaimed as he scooped her into his arms and spun her about, almost out of time to the music, "Surunsin alfâtul!"

She didn't even have a chance to ask him what that meant, before she was passed on again, this time to a dwarf she did not know, but she was so taken with the dance by that point that it didn't very much matter. Her lavender skirt swirled around her ankles and her toes felt light, skipping across the stones, braids and ribbons whirling as she took the hand of the next dwarf, spinning in to face…

She nearly lost her footing, but Thorin's hands caught her about the waist before she stumbled, spinning her lightly before he set her on her feet again, as if it were all just a part of the dance, something they had practiced until it felt perfectly natural. The music did not falter and Brie was swept away on it: on the blue of his eyes, fixed on her face like someone dying of thirst drinks in the cool clear spring, on the warmth of his hands in hers as they spun and ducked through the other dancers, no more than whirls of faceless color now. He swept her up in one arm, holding her close to his side, and Brie realized she could lean forward and kiss him, feel his lips on hers, just once more before—

And then he was gone, pulled away by the hands of another dwarf, his eyes fixed on her face until the last possible moment. Someone tried to pull Brie in the opposite direction, but her feet felt so heavy she nearly could not make herself follow, until she turned and saw it was Bilbo, his expression fixed and frowning. She gratefully followed him back to her chair at the edge of the crowd.

"I'm alright," she gasped as she sat down, suddenly dizzy and out of breath, "I'm alright, I just...lost my breath is all. It's so warm in here!"

She managed to smile, but Bilbo's disturbed expression didn't waver. She squeezed his hand in hers.

"I'm alright, Bilbo," she lied, a gentle lie, a kind one, "Go. I'll just catch my breath."

He looked as if he wanted to argue with her. But then the music changed again, something even more whirlingly wild, and Bofur appeared out of the crowd, grabbing Bilbo's arm and dragging him off before he could protest. Brie smiled as they went, her eyes sliding over the swirl of dancers...and saw Nori and Dwalin huddled in a corner of the room, talking. Oh. Oh that was good. Brie felt the last thread that had been tethering her slowly unravel. Everything would be alright now. Everything was as it should be. It was time.

She took a moment to gather her strength—the last of it, if she was any judge. She could feel the Fading fluttering over her, all over, not just at her chest or her eyes, like warm fingers pulling her down, lulling her to sleep. She was so tired. But there was so much happiness here, she couldn't stand to ruin it. Not for those she loved.

So, while no one was looking, Brie got up and slipped away, out into the quiet city streets. She knew where she would go, as surely as she knew that it would be last place she went. She wanted to feel the breeze, the soft soil, the moonlight on her skin. She wanted her last breaths to be filled with the smell of flowers.

Primroses...I can't live without you...

Perhaps it was because she was tired. Perhaps it was because she was distracted. Perhaps it was simply fate. But for whatever reason, Briallen did not see the slender bit of shadow peel off from the wall and slink after her on silent feet.

"Look, I know you've got no reason to trust me," Nori muttered, "But I'm telling you, I saw him, plain as I'm looking at you now."

Of course, he had not gotten up the courage to actually look at the guardsman yet, but he figured the implication of the phrase still applied. He didn't even know why he was talking to him. Maybe the wine was having a stronger influence on him than he'd reckoned. But that face—even just the glimpse, in the dark and under the influence of a far too much ale—had been niggling at him all day.

Asgaron. The elven guard who had tortured his kurdu-namad in the depths of the Mirkwood palace, who had forced her to relive unspeakable horrors under the influence of that thrice-cursed elven draught. Tauriel had claimed he'd been 'dealt with' at the time, but what did that mean, really? It had never been discussed. He hadn't been seen again.

So what would he be doing in Erebor?

"It's probably nothing," he mumbled, still not looking at the guardsman, "Might have imagined it. Could have been—"

"Where's Briallen?"

Nori blinked and finally looked up. Dwalin's face was set in hard lines, his eyes sweeping the huge room, full of swirling bodies dancing to the increasingly frantic music. Nori glanced around too, but...he couldn't see her.

"She was dancing," he said, his eyes sharpening, trying to pick out the smaller form, draped in lavender and gold.

"With Thorin," Dwalin said and Nori glared at the guardsman, but he didn't seem to notice, "Last I saw. But not any more."

Thorin was back at the head table, staring into a half full wine goblet with a contemplative expression: the look of a dwarf calculating how much drink it will take to not feel anything for a good long while. Nori hated that he recognized that look, worse, that he understood it.

Dwalin started moving toward the head table and Nori followed, his eyes still frantically searching the crowded room. He couldn't see her. Why couldn't he see her?

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna ask him."

"We should be looking for her!"

"And Thorin saw her last."

Nori hated that Dwalin sounded so calm, so reasonable, when he could feel the beginnings of hysteria threatening to claw up his throat and rip through him in a scream. But it was too late to protest. They were at the table, and Dwalin leaned down to murmur in the king's ear as Nori shuffled behind, anxious and not even sure if he should be. After all, it wasn't that unusual, lately she was prone to taking off on her own, despite Dori's admonishments and his own. And she had disappeared on them before, and it had all been alright. Maybe this was nothing. Maybe...

Thorin's brow furrowed as he continued to swirl the little bit of wine at the bottom of his goblet.

"Gone," he muttered, in answer to Dwalin's question, "Slipped away, not long after the first dance. I saw…"

Then his eyes cleared in a blink, and he looked up sharply at Dwalin.

"Why?"

Dwalin's explanation had hardly left his lips, and Thorin was on his feet, his eyes flashing with the spark of something that Nori felt in his own chest. Panic.

"Gather the guard," he ordered, "Fan out, search every corridor, every dark hole."

Dwalin rushed off and Thorin looked at Nori for the first time.

"Where would she go? Where would she feel safe?"

"Safe?" Nori snorted, "Here? Suppose she might go back to the shop or…"

He trailed off. He'd hardly noticed it at the time, but now he caught himself cataloguing her most recent absences, and her condition when she'd returned: Dori's laments of grass stains upon her skirts, dirt beneath her fingernails, petals in her hair.

"The garden," he whispered, "She's been spending her time in that thrice-cursed—"

He didn't get to finish. Thorin was gone, striding across the room in purposeful steps, ignoring the curious looks of the wedding guests and leaving Nori running to catch up. Dwalin was murmuring orders to the guards at the doors, but Thorin didn't stop and neither did Nori. There wasn't time. Together they broke into a run, heading toward the royal wing.

Brie supposed she had gotten used to the dark within the mountain. She hardly noticed it anymore. Most of the city proper was well lit, almost cheery, but there were still pockets of shadow that seemed keenly intent on reminding the citizens of Erebor that they were, in fact, living in a heap of hollowed out stone. And it was within one of these pockets that the shadow struck.

It was a blow to the back of her head, not hard enough to knock her unconscious, but enough to make her cry out and send her stumbling. She caught herself on the wall and felt the hum of the mountain beneath her hand, let it steady her as she looked up. A sharp angular face peered down at her from within a tattered hood, thin lips spreading in a wolfish grin, and in Brie's memory she saw that face explode in dark fur and a bloodied muzzle. She remembered it as vividly as she still saw it in her nightmares. Ice bloomed in her chest and spread to her limbs, snow swirling with the Fading black at the edges of her vision.

Asgaron's smile widened as he threw back his hood.

"Hello again, perianig."

Lightning quick, his hand shot out and struck her across the face. She hit her knees, the stone tearing at her lovely dress. All of Dori's hard work, ruined. She shut her eyes against tears that were not all from pain.

"Yes," he said as he knelt to see her better, "See, if you had stayed on your knees to begin with, then we wouldn't be here, would we?"

Brie swallowed. She tasted blood. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him, not through any sense of defiance or anger. She was too tired for that. She just wanted to see him, see him as he really was, not how her blurred memories portrayed him. He was thinner than she remembered, gaunt and pale, and his eyes were wild where they had once been cunning. He tipped his head to the side, the grin still pasted uncomfortably on his face.

"What? No clever quips? No witty retorts? Shall I loosen your tongue for you?"

He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to her feet. She cried out involuntarily and a cruel giggle bubbled out of him.

"I do remember how you screamed," he hissed as he shoved her back against the stone, "It keeps me warm on cold nights, all alone in the forest...the endless dark..."

Something gleamed in the dim light, the edge of a dagger slipping between his fingers in gentle rapid movements. Brie let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Oh… Oh this was so much better… Far better than she deserved, but perhaps it would hurt them less, the ones she left behind. Perhaps they would feel less guilt, perhaps they could move on from her and let her Fade away...

"Shall we see if I can make you scream once more, perianig?" Asgaron whispered in her ear, "For old times' sake?"

Brie shut her eyes and let the river ice run through her, washing away her fear. Yes…this would be better. She let the darkness rise up, felt the Fading take her as the steel brushed against her skin. She wouldn't even feel…

Something snarled in the dark and suddenly she fell from Asgaron's grip. She hit the floor, and the jar of the impact opened her eyes. Something moved in the dark, too quick to see, but it flung the tattered form of Asgaron back and swept his legs from under him, snatching the knife from his hand as he went down and, with a quick motion, burying it to the hilt in the elf's chest. Asgaron let out a gasp, a choking cry, and then lay still, his eyes open and his dark hair spread around him.

Brie felt her eyes begin to drift closed again as Thorin turned to her, his eyes shining like blue fire in the dark. But it was too late. The Fading was here, it was upon her, and she was just too tired to fight it again. She had been fighting for so long...

She barely felt it as his arms gathered her in, pressing her into the comforting smell of hot iron and pipe smoke. She sighed and breathed it in, better even than the scent of flowers.

"Should have let him…" she whispered as the black ribbons wrapped around her, dragging at her limbs and head and heart, "Would have...been better..."

She heard her name on his lips, but she could not open her eyes to it, not even for him. His voice echoed as she was pulled down, farther and farther...

"Briallen… please… don't…"

...and then the darkness closed over her, and she was gone.

...

The crackle of dry firewood.

The smell of old books.

A light, warm on her face.

Brie's eyes fluttered open, and the room came into focus around her. It was her parlor. She was sitting in her favorite chair, beside a cheery fire, in the heart of Bag End. And there was another hobbit in the chair opposite her, the firelight shadowing the folds of his soft face, a steaming cup of tea resting on the round bulge of his green velvet waistcoat. He smiled as her eyes fixed on him.

"Hello, Briallen," Bungo Baggins said, lifting the teacup to his lips, "Quite the pickle you've gotten yourself into, isn't it?"

A/N: For the record? This might be my favorite cliff-hanger I've ever written :) I regret nothing!

Khuzdul Translations

Kurdu-adad- heart-father

Irak'amad- aunt

Surunsin alfâtul- You dance like air

Kurdu-namad- heart-sister

Sindarin Translations

Perianig- little hobbit