A/N: Hey look it's 3am! Apparently this is my posting time omg this happens so much. Don't worry, I will be fine. I promise. Extraspecial thanks to madammadhatter for betaing as usual, because she's awesome and always sees things I need to fix and reassures me that the rest is good enough... and I dedicate this chapter to Pericula Ludus because I know she will love how much of a certain someone is in this chapter.

A couple notes I almost forgot to mention! One, remember that this is 18 years after The Hobbit, so Bain is a grown-up. If you have trouble picturing that, I've been imagining that guy who played Peter Pevensie as an adult in the first Narnia movie. Not a bad image. Two, reminder that this is in the same AU as The Ghost of Erebor, so if you are like what is Kíli talking about, it's that. Wow this chapter is long and I love it a lot. Read on.


Nála stepped into the dark chambers and closed the door behind herself quietly. The fire was burning low in the hearth; its low crackle was the only sound in he room, and its meager illumination seemed to cast more shadows than light. She looked to the bed in the far corner, where a hint of gold glinted in the firelight, though the figure did not move. In a chair beside the bed sat Óin, his chin dipped into his chest. Nála stepped forward.

"Óin, are you awake?" she asked softly.

Óin did not respond. She moved over to his seat and rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to his ear.

"Óin?" she called, a little louder this time, remembering how little the old Dwarf could hear.

With a startled snort, Óin opened his eyes and looked up. Nála smiled, and he reached up and patted her hand.

"He's been asleep," he said. "As have I, it seems. Not much to do. What is the time?"

"Somewhere around nine-thirty or ten, I believe," Nála replied.

Óin made a disgruntled noise in his throat. "Four hours," he said. "It's only been four hours since I was called to see the poor lad…"

"It feels like it's been days," Nála said, settling down on the bed beside her slumbering fiancé. She took one of his hands in her own. It was comfortingly warm.

"There's not much else I can do for him," said Óin. "What he needs now is rest. And, I imagine, a familiar face if he wakes."

"Thank you for all you have done, Óin," Nála said, looking up at him as he stood and stretched. Then, suddenly, she realized that someone was missing and furrowed her brow. "Where is Kíli?"

From the look on Óin's face, it appeared that Kíli's absence had thus far escaped his notice, as well.

"He was here," he said. "He was stoking the fire when I must have dozed off…"

Nála looked at the dying fire skeptically. Clearly, his heart had not been in it.

"Don't worry about him," Óin said. "He was in a mighty bad mood… you know how he gets."

"You don't think he went after Beren, do you?" Nála asked.

"If he did, Beren had better hope Balin finds him first, or he won't survive the night."

Nála pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide a smile. Óin did not sound like he particularly disapproved of such an action, and she was not sure that she did either, diplomacy aside.

"You've been here for hours," she said. "I'll stay with him; you are clearly exhausted. Go rest."

"My lady, I don't believe it is proper for a young man and lady of the court to—"

"Don't 'my lady' me," Nála said, turning a sharp eye on the apothecary. "Proper, my foot. Honestly, what do you think is going to happen?"

"Still, it isn't—"

"Oh, please, Óin, I think we are a little past propriety and protocol tonight," said Nála, rolling her eyes. "Don't tell me you aren't tired. Fíli is asleep. Nothing inappropriate is going to happen, even if he does wake up." She grinned slyly. "I doubt he is in the mood."

Óin chuckled and shook his head. "I won't tell anyone you said that," he said as he headed for the door. "Take care of him, Nála."

Nála smiled and turned back to Fíli as the door shut behind Óin. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, and then she set it down and gently moved a messy braid away from his face. Her heart seemed to miss a beat or two, and she smiled at herself; even sick and asleep, even after so many years of loving him, he still could do this to her. Of course, he had not realized how she felt in Ered Luin; only when she had come to Erebor had he suddenly come to feel the same way about her. She bit back a silly grin, remembering that moment when they had both realized that the other felt the same. Really, Óin was probably right to worry about propriety. It wasn't as if the two of them had not been caught too many times in abandoned corridors or dark corners, and though they were wise to be proper enough, they had both had their hands and lips places they probably should not have. She had heard enough lectures from Balin to last her a lifetime. But really, it was Balin and Thorin's fault—if they did not insist on some silly old court rule about marrying age, they could have already been married, but Nála would not be a hundred years old for another three years. They had tried to argue that Fíli was already a hundred, but their arguments had fallen on deaf ears. So if someone turned a corner and found the two of them kissing—well, they could blame the King Under the Mountain and his most trusted advisor for the sight.

For now, though, she was just grateful that he was alive. The thought of losing him was too terrible to even think about. Anger burned in her at that weasel Beren, but she dismissed it quickly; the others would deal with him. She just wanted to be here for Fíli.

She watched his chest rise and fall and frowned, shifting on the bed to sit closer to him. He had looked so frightened… she had never seen him in such a state in all her life—and she had caused it. She had given him that tea with that poison honey, and though Dís had tried to comfort her, the guilt remained. She had seen Fíli upset before, yes, but never like that. She was sure that she never wanted to see it again.

With a sigh, she looked to the bedroom door. They were alone, she was sure; the others were all busy. She lowered herself so that her head rested on Fíli's chest, looking up at his face, and drew up her knees. Fíli was alive. He was resting. He would recover. She closed her eyes and listened to the slow beating of his heart.


Kíli was alone. Usually he did not particularly like being alone, but right now, it was welcome.

He looked around for the first time in a while; his feet had been carrying him somewhere, but he had not really been paying attention. The guest quarters, it looked like; specifically where the Men of Dale often stayed when they came to visit. He had been down this way many times to see Bain. Part of him wanted to knock on his friend's door and see if he was there, but at this hour, he probably was, and Kíli was not sure he wanted the company. Instead he trudged past the collection of guest chambers and further down the corridor. He turned a corner and discovered a balcony overlooking the main hall of Erebor. A few chairs and benches were scattered throughout, and he settled down on a bench and looked out into the distance. The far side was shrouded in darkness, though lights twinkled here and there, illuminating the corridors burrowing into the mountain, and a large stairwell rose higher than Kíli could see through the middle of the grand hall, disappearing into nothing; high above, he knew, was the throne of Erebor, a grand and terrifying sight, the Arkenstone shining above it. Green and gold glimmered everywhere, and the torchlight, though low at this hour, illuminated the golden statues encrusted with gemstones that peppered the square, boasting of the riches of the Dwarves of Erebor.

Kíli closed his eyes and wished for the blue stone of Ered Luin and his wooden fiddle.

"Kíli?"

Kíli opened his eyes. Walking towards him was Bain, looking concerned. The young Man stopped before him, and Kíli lowered his gaze.

"Hello, Bain," he muttered.

"What are you doing all the way down here?" Bain asked. "We all heard what happeend to Fíli. I thought you would be with him."

"I…" Kíli started, but his voice cracked, and he shifted his jaw and bowed his head.

"Kíli, is Fíli—"

"He's alive," Kíli interrupted, looking up at Bain. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to frighten you. He is alive."

Bain relaxed his shoulders and nodded. He gestured to the spot beside Kíli.

"Mind if I join you?"

"No, by all means," said Kíli, scooting over to make room. Bain sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, looking unnaturally large on the Dwarven bench. He trained his eyes on Kíli and waited, but Kíli did not say anything.

"What is the matter, Kíli?" Bain asked finally.

Kíli sighed and shook his head lightly, keeping his gaze trained on his boots. He swallowed down the lump building in his throat. Bain's eyes burned into him—he could feel it—but he did not trust himself with words, and the silence stretched on.

After a while, Bain spoke again.

"That's all right," he said, leaning back. "We can just sit for a while. As long as you don't mind my company."

"No, it's fine," Kíli replied softly. "Thanks."

"Of course," said Bain.

They sat quietly together for a while. Kíli studied the display before them, his eyes tracing the striations in the grand Erebor marble. It was beautiful.

"Do you ever miss Lake-town?" he asked.

Bain seemed unprepared for this question. "Uh," he said, "I suppose, sometimes. I don't really miss the cold. Or the smell of fish."

Kíli let loose a half-smile. "Fair enough."

"I miss the simplicity of it, though," Bain continued. "We were just a family in a wooden house on a lake. Now… well, Da is a king. I'm a prince. My sisters are princesses. It's not at all how I expected life to be."

"I know how you feel," Kíli said. "I mean, I've always known I was a prince, but back in Ered Luin, things were so much simpler—there weren't courts and kings and impending war to worry about. It was just… just home, just my family, we we were happy enough, well-off enough, I think. Now there are important alliances to worry about and duties to perform, and"—Kíli's voice cracked—"battles to remember."

Bain was silent for a moment.

"Aye, battles to remember," he agreed quietly.

"Fíli isn't doing well, Bain," Kíli said, finally looking up at his friend. "We didn't tell anyone, for Fíli's sake, but after the battle… Azog nearly killed him. He suffered at that filth's hand. He didn't say a word for five months afterward."

Bain's eyes widened. "I didn't know," he said.

"Yeah, well," Kíli said, looking down again, "it was terrible. I thought I'd lost my brother forever."

"But that was years ago," said Bain. "He has recovered well."

"He had, I thought, but now I don't know," Kíli said. He could feel the tears building in his eyes, and his voice began to wobble. "That poison, Bain—it did something to him. I haven't seen him look like that since the battle, and I can't, I can't…" He dropped his head into his hands. "I know it's not about me, but I just can't do this again. I can't see him like that. I just can't."

"Is that why you are all the way down here?"

Kíli sniffed and nodded. "I left him there asleep. He's not alone… Óin's with him. But they're both asleep. I didn't want Óin to see me leave. I just couldn't stay."

"I'm sorry, Kíli," Bain said, resting a hand on Kíli's shoulder and squeezing. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to," said Kíli, wiping tears off his face. "I probably shouldn't have said anything. I mean, I know you're not involved, but…"

"It's all right," said Bain. "I won't say anything about this to anyone, I swear."

Kíli huffed and smiled. "Thanks."

He breathed a heavy sigh and looked out into the dim room again. Bain offered no further words; he simply sat, one hand firmly on Kíli's shoulder. After a minute or two, he let go, and the two of them remained in silence, side-by-side. The mountain was quiet.


"Nála."

Nála shifted, but she did not open her eyes. She was comfortable; whoever it was could go away.

"Nála, wake up."

A hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes slowly and looked up. Dís was standing over her, a placid smile on her face. Nála blinked.

"What?" she said blearily.

"You fell asleep," said Dís softly. "You should go to bed, love."

Nála suddenly realized where she was and lifted her head. Fíli was still sleeping beneath her; his chest rose and fell under her arms. She ducked her head, feeling heat creep into her cheeks.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," she said sheepishly. "I didn't want to leave him alone."

"It's all right," said Dís. "I know you just want to be here for him. But you know you cannot stay the night in his chambers; even I cannot justify allowing that."

"He's just sleeping," Nála protested. "You know as well as I—"

"Sometimes, appearances matter more than the truth," said Dís. "I know you care for my son. I know nothing will happen tonight. But it could appear that way to others…"

"He needs me," said Nála, frowning deeply. "If he awakes, someone should be here for him…"

"I will sit with him," Dís said. "You are tired. Go sleep, Nála."

Nála looked down at Fíli. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew that Dís was right. She could not stay. She sighed and bent down, kissing her beloved's brow, and then slid off the bed. She could not wait until the day she did not have to be parted from him.

As she started towards the door, Dís suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug. Nála, though surprised, responded in kind; something inside her seemed to break and mend at the same time, and tears sprang to her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and pressed her face into Dís's collarbone; the world disappeared into the comforting smell of woodsmoke and soap and berries. Then, Dís let go, and Nála stepped back, wiping her face. Dís smiled down at her.

"It will be all right, princess," she said softly, brushing a curl behind Nála's ear.

"Thank you," Nála whispered. She stepped past Dís and out of the room, breathing deeply to control her emotions. She had needed that. Fíli would be fine; his mother would take care of him. She would not lose her Fíli.

It was not until she was at home in her bed, nearly asleep, that she realized with a grin that she had never been called princess before.


"How dare you?"

Thranduil was standing, his bright eyes wide and burning with fury, his hands clinging to the table before him. He loomed over the others in the room, some of whom were sitting, some standing, but none were as imposing as the Elvenking in this moment, and certainly none were as furious. His fiery gaze was focused on Thorin, who looked up at him coldly. He would not be intimidated by this Elf and his acts of outrage.

"I will not allow such vile accusations to be made against me and my kind," said Thranduil. He looked around the rectangular table at the others; the three Dwarves—Thorin, Balin, and Dáin—met his gaze, but Denethor kept his head bowed, as he had for most of the meeting in which Thorin and Balin had described the events of the previous evening and the results of their investigation. Bard was looking between the Dwarves and Thranduil warily. Thorongil, however, did not seem daunted. He rose from his seat across from the Elvenking.

"My lord, I am sure no offense was intended," he said calmly. "This is a trying situation. If a Man of such high station in Gondor as Beren is serving Sauron, it would be prudent to—"

"This is no matter of prudence," Thranduil snarled, fixing his gaze on Thorongil. "This is an accusation, and hardly out of character for this lot. They have often tried to fix me as the villain in their minds when they hardly know the depth of what they speak. I will not be suspected by children."

"No one said we suspected you, my lord," said Balin cautiously. "But Beren did say that he was not alone among us, and we have to consider that there are those among any of us who may be serving alongside him."

"Perhaps there are those who serve Sauron among you, but my own people are loyal and would never side with evil," Thranduil retorted. "You are ill-learned in history if you believe that danger comes from my realm or from any Elf."

"Please, my lord, sit down," Thorongil pleaded.

Thranduil glared at him, but Thorongil did not budge; he merely stared back, his grey eyes soft and sad. A swell of emotion seemed to pass over Thranduil's face, and then it was gone. He and Thorongil sat.

"As I was saying," said Balin, casting a glance over at Thorin, "it seems that the Dark Lord has infiltrated even the high ranks, and I would guess that Beren was an underling of low worth. He seemed almost eager to be found out, which seems to be a bad strategy for someone Sauron would seek to preserve. That begs the question—how many are out there? Who can we trust? It seems best to look inward and investigate our own people."

"How will you find them?" Denethor said, lifting his head to finally look at the leaders around him. "I have known Beren as long as I can remember. He has served my father since before I was born, and we never knew…"

"A matter I find curious," Dáin piped in. "How do we know you are telling the truth?"

"By Elbereth, Gondor requested this meeting!" said Denethor irritably. "Why would we come all the way to Erebor to arouse suspicion? I assure you, Gondor is a greater target than the kingdoms here in the north for the Dark Lord."

"I can think of a battle not long ago that tells a different story," said Thorin. "Why waste time with Erebor if Gondor is supposedly the jewel for Sauron's crown?"

"You forget that Beren was among us then, too," Denethor replied. "I do not know when he began serving Sauron, but the Dark Lord could have been among us even then. And Erebor was not a kingdom then, but a ruin beneath a mountain, no more than a hole for a worm. Defeating that dragon"—he nodded respectfully to Bard—"set an opportunity before him; seize the mountain and its riches, claim its position, and watch the world fall at his feet."

"You have been talking to Gandalf, it seems," said Bard. "I heard him say the same then."

"Mithrandir is a trusted advisor in the White Tower," said Denethor. "But the fact remains that then, Erebor was an easy target; now it is fortified again. I would not be surprised if he has messengers within or without this mountain; he must be eager to arm his orcs with Dwarven finery. He has done so in the past."

"Are you suggesting that Durin's Folk would side with the enemy?" asked Dáin.

"You were quick to assume the same of the Elves," Thranduil snapped, glaring at him, the fire quickly rekindling in his eyes.

"And what makes your kind excepted from such an offense?" Dáin retorted.

"The fact that unlike Dwarves and Men, my kind have never sided with the enemy," said Thranduil, rising again from his seat. "You may not know the past, or even choose to forget it, but we are not afforded such a luxury." He moved to the head of the table opposite Thorin and pressed his hands into the marble, leaning forward.

Thorin studied him warily; the last time he had seen the Elvenking in such a state had been in the Woodland Realm when he had questioned his honor. That day he had also seen a horrifying sight—half the flesh on the Elf's face gone, it seemed, and then a moment later, restored to its pristine state, not even a trace remaining. Sometimes Thorin still thought he must have imagined it. Now he was not sure.

"I am not young like you," Thranduil said to the folk around the table. "I have seen many things that would destroy the heart of Man or Dwarf. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall; I have seen great armies rise against the Dark Lord and come together to defeat him. Yes, I can see now that you all have conveniently forgotten that I was there. I fought in the battle of the Last Alliance alongside my father and I saw many of the great generals of that alliance fall. My own father was among them."

At this, Thranduil stopped, and to Thorin's great amazement, it seemed that he was fighting to control tears. He realized with a pang that this great Elf had seen greater losses than even he had in his unhappy experience; a sense of shame rose in his heart. Thranduil was haughty and aloof, to be sure, but clearly still touched by the agony of the ages. Thorin suddenly felt very young in his presence.

"I am not mortal," Thranduil said finally. "I am bound to this earth for as long as it exists, as are all my kind. We do not forget what the enemy has done to us, and we are not allowed the freedom of death to save us from such a grave mistake as following him. I have seen many Men and Dwarves on the side of the enemy. You would do well to examine your own people, but as for mine, we will do as we have done. We will keep away from you."

Thranduil straightened and turned, leaving the room with long strides. The others rose and called out to him, including Thorin, but he did not listen. Thorongil ran after him, but Thranduil had already pushed through the heavy doors with ease and disappeared from sight; they swung shut as Thorongil reached them, and he stopped, looking up at them and running a hand through his hair. He turned back to the group.

"I do not think he is coming back," he said.

"What will we do now?" said Bard as Thorongil rejoined them at the table. "Thranduil is a powerful and necessary ally."

"And a supposedly incorruptible one, as well," Balin mused.

"You do not give him the credit he is due," said Thorongil. "I have spent much of my time with the Elves; I lived in Rivendell for a time, and I was taught much of their history as a lad. I am also friends with King Thranduil's son Legolas. What he says is true. The Elves never have and never will side with Sauron. I am sure of it."

"He gives us no credit, either," said Dáin. "Durin's Folk fought in the Last Alliance as well under Durin IV. We have not turned to darkness, either."

"Not Durin's Folk, perhaps, but many Dwarves did," Thorongil replied. "As did many Men. We can see from recent events that at least in the case of my own kind, we have not yet learned our lesson."

The group reflected upon these words. Thorin was not inclined to think that his own people would betray him; not now. He had just reclaimed their homeland, and the spirits of his people were high. But these Men… they were a different story. He knew that a Man had defeated Sauron, but that Man had also been responsible for the loss of the One Ring, a great aid to the enemy's power. What if Gondor had not lost it after all? What if they knew where it was? Such a find would prove disastrous for all the peoples of Middle-Earth. And even if they did not have it, he had already seen the power of Sauron without his precious Ring, and it was already a force to be reckoned with. He could not let his kingdom fall into the hands of these Men who could not even discern friend from foe.

"How can we protect ourselves from the enemy if we cannot even protect ourselves from our own?" said Bard grimly.

Thorin crossed his arms and nodded. "How can we trust those in power if they are listening to the counsel of those who submit to the enemy?"

Denethor stood abruptly, his brow furrowed.

"What are you saying?" he demanded.

"My lords, please," said Thorongil, rising and holding out his hands entreatingly. "This is no time to insult one another."

Thorin's eyes fell on the tall Ranger, and he felt a sudden rise of suspicion. "And how can we know that they truly stand with us if they cannot even bother to send one of their own, for that matter?"

Thorongil looked taken aback. "I am a servant of both Gondor and Rohan," he said. "I am a trusted advisor to King Thingol and Lord Ecthelion…"

"We have seen the merit of Lord Ecthelion's advisors," Thorin retorted. "And why would King Thingol send a Ranger over one of his own? Does he actually care about this meeting?"

"I assure you, King Thingol cares very much," Thorongil said fervently. "That is why he sent me as a delegate alongside many of his trusted men—"

"And how long have you known the king?" asked Balin.

Thorongil deflated a little. "Two years…"

"How is that long enough to merit such high trust?" Balin demanded, gesturing at the Ranger. "For all we know, you could be a spy in our camp!"

"I am not a spy of the enemy," Thorongil said, standing to his full height and looking down at Balin stormily. His grey eyes flashed. "Sauron is no friend to my people. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that."

Thorin eyed him skeptically. In his experience, the Rangers were a good people, but Gondorians were also supposed to be good, and Fíli's current condition proved that was not always the case. Thorongil met his gaze, and then he let out an exasperated sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

"Can none of you see that you are playing directly into the enemy's hand?" he cried, throwing his arms out wide. "He does not want you to join together against him. He is planting seeds of doubt in your minds, shadows of suspicion against each other—he is putting wedges between us so that conquering us is easy! You cannot let him win!"

Silence followed this outburst. Thorin, for one, was torn. The young Man had a point; it would be easier to defeat individual kingdoms than to come against a mighty alliance that stretched from the Grey Mountains down to the River Harnen. And yet trust had led to the disaster he was now facing. Could he justify his bias against these Men in the face of the threat of Sauron? Was Fíli's life dearer to him than the future of Middle-Earth?

"We have already possibly lost the support of Thranduil, my lords," Thorongil said quietly. "We cannot afford that, and we certainly cannot afford anything more."

"I agree," said Denethor. "Do not give up on Gondor. We will search high and low for any signs of a cult of Sauron among our people and remove them. I have already given Beren over into the hands of Erebor; justice will be done, I am sure."

He looked to Thorin, who nodded seriously.

"We have time still," said Thorin. "Beren will be dealt with. In the meantime, we will have to bring Thranduil around again; that will not be easy. Bard, Thorongil, I am sure he trusts you more than any of the rest of us. I hope you can help in that regard."

"I would do whatever I could to get him back with us," said Bard seriously. Thorongil nodded in agreement.

"Well," said Thorin, rising from his seat, "this has been both productive and a complete disaster. I hope the next time we meet will be more of the former and less of the latter."

The others rose as well, and they respectfully said their goodbyes. The Men departed, leaving Thorin, Balin, and Dáin behind. Dáin looked chagrined, and Balin was deep in thought.

"I am going to check on Fíli," Thorin said, rubbing at his brow. "You two are free to go wherever you please."

"Do ye really think we can trust these Men, Thorin?" Dáin asked.

Thorin raised his eyebrows and sighed. "I don't know," he said. "Clearly not all of them. But we will discover who is a true friend or foe through time and effort, I believe."

"And hopefully not make too many mistakes in the process," Balin mused.

"Hopefully not," Thorin agreed. "Excuse me."

Thorin left the room and started on his way to his family's chambers, deep in thought. The morning had thus far been a completely disaster, but if Fíli was doing all right, maybe the day would not be a total loss. He could only hope that they would recover from the losses they had already allowed.


My, how exciting! So much happening. What will happen next? Stay tuned.

Speaking of Pericula Ludus, if you haven't read her fics, you should. You should read all of them. I finally read No Sacrifice, which took me forever because I am a bad friend, but oh my God guys it's so good please go read it if you haven't. Bring a box of tissues though. You'll need it.

Don't forget to review! And thanks for all your congratulations and stuff last chapter, that was so nice, but also don't forget to comment on the story! :P