In the tales and songs the people of Dale would call these days The Days of Healing; when the survivors stopped living amongst the memories of the dead and re-joined the land of the living.

Some would say that it began when Bard emerged from behind the heavy doors of his keep, while others would proclaim that it began when the first stone was re-laid into the kingdom wall. But in truth it mattered little how it began, only that it did.

Bard never told a living soul why he threw open his doors that morning for all would question his sanity if he did. But just as grief appears differently upon all those it adorns, so too does healing.

One morning as he drifted between the lands of dreams and waking shrouded in his miasma of grief, a figure came before him. He knew her instantly; he saw her face each night in his dreams, saw traces of her in Sigrid's eyes, in Bain's smile in Tilda's...

She reached out a hand to trace her finger along the tear tracks that marred his cheeks. Bard closed his eyes as he lent into her touch, soft and fleeting as a distant memory, but he could not bring himself to look into her eyes lest they should reflect any ounce of the blame he felt.

Her fingers caressed his cheek, lingering at the corners of his mouth and then trailed down to his chin, brushing the unkempt hair that grew there and lifting his face so that his eyes met again with hers.

"My love, why do you bear your grief away from the light?" She asked. Bard's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sound of her voice.

"Because I have failed you both. I had one job on this earth; to protect her, to keep her from harm, but she died under my watch." His voice broke.

"You have not failed, my love, you have merely passed the task on to me." She said softly. "It was not you who commanded the evil that took her life."

"But I should have stayed with her."

"And who knows how many others would have died if you had not fought and protected them, how many others would have suffered? The world is inexorably complex and our fates so intricately intertwined with others, if you pulled one string who knows what other lives might have unravelled. It is not the business of living to dwell in regret of your actions but to face the consequences. My love, you cannot shut yourself away anymore."

"But I cannot face them." He whispered. "I cannot be the king they need when I am powerless to protect even my own children."

She placed a hand each side of his face and spoke firmly. "The king they need is one who can raise their kingdom as you have done our children; with love and dedication. Who better than you who would do it without greed or thought of self-gain?"

"Only because you taught me how."

"And now you shall teach them." Her mouth was set in the determined line Sigrid often wore and it warmed his heart to see; to know that pieces of her lived on; that life endured death. Oh how he missed her.

"How are we supposed to go on without you both?" he breathed.

"You have not lost everything. Sigrid and Bain, they need you; they need you to show them that it's okay to succumb to the pain, but that you cannot allow it to dictate your future; the dead will wait. And then you need to teach them that the beauty of life is in living it with others; building yourself up around other people and letting them help you to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. We are not given the gift of love to keep it to ourselves. They need to know this."

Bard felt a small wondrous smile twitch at his lips. "How do you always know what to say? How do you always know the right thing to do?"

She lent forwards and pressed her forehead to his, smiling as she did so. "I was always wiser than you, my love, but only from years of doing the wrong thing. Do you not remember how we met?"

How could he forget? She had hidden from the irate baker after stealing a loaf to bread and in doing so she had stolen the heart of the boy with whom she had bargained for sanctuary in the barrels of his father's barge.

He had often thought of that day, he used to tell the tale to his children as a bedtime story, Tilda begging him for more details about the Mam she had never met…

"Is she at peace?" He asked, a fresh tear rolling down his cheek.

The corners of her mouth lifted softly. "She is, my love. We both are."

And then, as if carried to him on the wind he heard Tilda's voice. He closed his eyes and felt tears cascade from them as feather-light lips brushed his forehead.

"I love you Da." He heard her say, and he squeezed his eyes tighter shut, as if doing so would sustain the dream.

The voice of his beloved reached his ears once more. "One day, my love. One day you will follow us and we shall be together again, but for now you belong here."

He didn't open his eyes for a long time. Not even when her touch faded from his checks and Tilda's voice was nothing more than a distant echo.

Slowly he stood, relinquishing the illusion of his beloved dead to find his feet firmly with the living. Bard drew on his familiar coat; the coat his wife had made, the coat that had held Tilda after the fires...

He splashed water from a jug across his face before he stood ready at the heavy wooden doors, pressing his hands against them and pushing them open.

He found Bain sitting alone at a long table, an untouched bowl of porridge before him, his gaze unfocused upon the empty places along the table.

Bain looked up in surprise as Bard entered the room "Da?"

Bard walked over to Bain and pulled him into a tight embrace. "My son, can you forgive me for thinking that my grief belonged only to me? Can you forgive me for shutting you out when I should have held you tighter?"

Bain nodded and buried his head in his father's coat. "Always, Da."

Bard pressed a kiss to the top of his son's head. "From now on we will get through this together." Bard held him close for another moments before stepping backwards to look around the empty hall. "Where is Sigrid?"

Bain looked mournfully at his father. "Most days she has been at the city walls, alone. But today she left before dawn, I think she went to where Tilda and Ma…" his voice broke as a sob escaped his lips.

"You are allowed to cry for them," Bard said softly as Bain's jaw quivered. "but know that even though we can no longer see or touch them they are here with us, always."

Bain sniffed. "I hear her sometimes; I walk around a corner and I think I can hear her voice or I look into a crowd and I think I see her."

Bard pulled his son again into an embrace. "Hold onto those memories Bain, even though they hurt, even when it feels like they are breaking your heart. They are all that the world has left of her and her memory should not be forgotten."

"I will never forget either of them Da, not for as long as I live."

"And we will rebuild Dale in their memory and honour, together."

Bain nodded and drew himself up, wiping away tears. "Then let's get started."

Bard and Bain walked together out into the light of soft winter sun, shielding their eyes from the sudden unfamiliar glare.

Calls of delight went up around the city as they walked along the streets and soon enough crowds flocked around them, eager to show their king the work they were putting into rebuilding Dale. Bard greeted them all as best he could, finding himself turned in one direction and then the other as they pointed out the different scars of Dale. He was pleasantly surprised with the progress that they had made without a guide and for a moment he worried if his role as king was to be a mere superfluous title. However those fears were assuaged every time he saw the expression on their faces as they caught sight of him and Bain for the first time; hope was rekindled.

Bard watched his son's eyes light up as they passed by the gathering of men who would become the new guard of Dale, so Bard bid him go and watch. Goodness knows there was precious little to light up the eyes of the young anymore.

Bard was winding his way towards the northern gates where the Orcs had breached the walls when a tall figure cloaked in grey and a tall pointed hat fell into step beside him.

Bard looked up at the wizard and grimaced. "The last time you sought me out it was to tell me that an Orc army was almost upon us. Your presence now is not comforting."

The wizard huffed. "You ought to listen less to Thranduil, especially considering that the last time I came to you there was indeed an army of Orcs nearly upon you. But worry not for I bring formal tidings of peace from the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of the Woodland Realm."

Bard raised an eyebrow. "You were sent to give me this message?"

"I would have thought that after battle tidings of peace would be welcome, especially by a King who is tasked with rebuilding a kingdom from the rubble."

"Indeed they are." Bard sighed, coming to stop. The crowds had dispersed and he stood alone with the grey wizard in the winding roads of Dale. "But Gandalf we cannot build a city without material, or food stores. The rubble gives us stone for now but too much has crumbled and we have no other materials and the food will soon run short."

The wizard folded his arms. "Then I should have thought that the solution would be obvious, and in truth you have come to the reason why I came to bring such tidings myself; you must establish a trade agreement with the Dwarves and the Elves."

Bard made a noise of mistrust and the wizard huffed again in exasperation. "To speak of the stubbornness of Dwarves! You were prepared to go to war to claim those same goods but now that it might be gotten on terms of peace you would stand down?"

"I cannot ask them to trade with me when I have nothing to offer!"

"But you will."

Bard groaned and pulled a hand through his hair in frustration. "If only Lord Thrandril had warned me that wizards spoke in riddles!"

"Do not give me such nonsense. You must make them believe in the future of Dale; the possibilities she holds. If Thranduil and Thorin can be made to see what Dale has to offer them then they will give you what you seek."

Bard paused. He remembered the tales of Dale from his father; how the dwarves had sent away their stones to the trade city for them to be crafted and sold beyond the reach of Erebor.

He turned to Gandalf "No King will give away his gold for a mere promise, least of all Erebor and the Woodland Realm. They will want something now return."

"Which is why you must propose a peace treaty between your three kingdoms; an alliance of protection proclaiming that should there ever come a day when evil knocks again at your door that you will stand together once more to smite it. The Dwarves and Elves will not underestimate the worth of an alliance, especially in these times."

Bard nodded in thoughtful acclimation. "And when is this meeting to be held?"

The wizard looked nonchalantly towards the sun. "By my reckoning the representatives from Erebor and the Woodland Realm will gather on the battlefield in an hour. That should give you enough time to adorn yourself like the king you are, coronation or not."

Bard raised an eyebrow, amused. "How did you know I would agree?"

"Because you have more sense than to allow pride to be your downfall, and you have lost too much to want to risk the safety of your people." He looked at the new King of Dale and consolation passed between the two without words. Bard felt the intangible strength and comfort the wizard exuded and although he knew little of the ways of wizards he knew this was a manner of magic, wizard or not.

"Now I must be off," Gandalf said, adjusting his grey cloak "I have a long road to travel. If we do not meet again I wish you well, although there is no doubt in my mind that Dale shall flourish under your guidance." And with that he inclined his hat in friendship before turning to stride towards a small figure leading a pony in the distance.

Bard watched the wizard and the hobbit leave before turning to make his way back to the Keep in search of clothes befitting the role we was about to take on.

Bard entered the grand tent that had been erected upon the battlefields between Dale and Erebor, dressed in the freshly dusted cloaks and furs of his ancestors, a simple crown inlayed with emerald stones resting atop his head.

Already in the tent stood Thorin Oakenshield, his golden haired nephew Fíli, and the oldest of their original company; Balin. Thorin inclined his head towards Bard, a friendly greeting considering that the last time they had spoken had been to pronounce war upon the other. Bard noticed that Thorin, although pale, stood firmly with his kin, an image of the might of the Dwarven Kings of old.

Balin stepped forwards to clasp Bard's hands in his own. "Our deepest condolences on the loss of your daughter, my Lord." The unexpected words were a like fresh blow, stealing the breath for a moment.

"Thank you Master Balin." He said thickly.

The delegation from Erebor had agreed, at the insistence of Fíli, that quite apart from offering their genuine condolences they would needed to gage the animosity their new neighbour might harbour towards them for their part in bringing about the death of his people and beloved daughter.

Balin shared a meaningful look with Fíli as he stepped backwards and the younger dwarf seemed to relax slightly, however all of this went unnoticed by the others as Thranduil chose that moment to sweep into the tent.

The Elvenking was dressed in lavish robes of gold embossed with leaves of shimmering white, a magnificently ostentatious crown atop his head.

"And here I thought he would bring the Elk in the tent with him." Bard heard Thorin mutter darkly to his nephew who bit his lip to supress a grin.

Thranduil either did not hear the jibe or chose to ignore it because he focused his attention first upon Bard. "Dragon slayer." He inclined his head, and there was an almost imperceptible searching look in his grey eyes.

Bard inclined his own head. "My Lord Thranduil, your son is not here with you?" he asked, adopting the Elvenking's own formal tone.

Thranduil seemed to take Bard's measure to be steady for he responded; "Legolas has set off to claim his own path, and I thought it best that he avoided coming into contact with your oldest daughter again."

Bard blanched and behind him Balin reached out a hand to stay Fíli who had had made as if to step forwards. "My daughter?" Bard managed.

Thrandril noticed the movement amongst the two Dwarves although Bard and Thorin did not, he raised an eyebrow. "Let us hope that your own negotiating skills do not involve an arrow pointed at my son." He said before sweeping towards Thorin to exchange a terse greeting.

Bard was left speechless. What had Sigrid done and what else might she have done? As soon as this was over he had to find her.

Balin noticed Bard's distress and stepped towards him to whisper. "He is testing you; he believes that if he can undercut you now before we begin that he will get the better bargain. Do not let his words trouble you."

Bard nodded but it did not assuage the worry in his heart for there had been no lie in Thranduil's words.

When they had settled in chairs around the circular table at the centre of the tent each seemed to wait for the other to speak first. It was a very pregnant and terse silence.

Finally it was broken by Balin. "On behalf of the Dwarves of Erebor we would look to this meeting in the spirit of forgiveness from all parties."

Thranduil interrupted. "I see no reason that I should seek forgiveness. I have only sought to reclaim what was already mine and then sacrificed the lives of my people in defence of your mountain." He sat backwards as Thorin seemed to swell with rage.

"You would not seek forgiveness for imprisoning my kin and then waging war upon us as we tried to reclaim and defend what was rightfully ours, the same motivation that you claim to have guided you own blameless actions?"

"I would not." Thranduil said with smug simplicity. "I was not motivated by a lust for treasure."

"Enough!" Bard yelled as Thorin and Fíli made to leap up from their chairs. "How can we attempt to move forwards when you cannot let go of the past? Either the two of you forgive each other or else Dale walks away from this agreement now."

Nobody moved except Thranduil who raised an eyebrow. "Curious, you are in no position to walk away from a trade agreement, and yet you would threaten to?"

Bard swallowed. "That is true, Dale has very little to offer right now. However what we do have is potential and the Kingdoms of Erebor and the Woodland Realm will not be the only ones to notice. As word travels that the Kingdom of Dale is being made anew many will seek to realign themselves with her through alliances and offers of trade." He stood up from his chair and lent over the table, looking to where the Dwarves and Elvenking sat in silence. "Let no more suffering be done by the hands of kings who put themselves before their people. We united against a common enemy on the battlefields; can we not do it again for the sake of peace?"

He waited nervously, watching the dwarves look between each other as feeling the piercing eyes of the Elvenking upon him. Perhaps they would call his bluff; there was no guarantee that Dale would receive other offers to trade. What if he had again doomed others to die by his decisions?

Fíli stood and Bard admired him for withstanding his uncle's obvious reluctance. "Erebor will seek peace between Dwarves, Elves, and Men." Fíli pronounced. "As heir to Thorin Oakenshield and Erebor I will vow to bind our kingdoms together in forgiveness and for protection, whatever the Dwarves of Erebor can do to prevent the suffering of the innocent we will see it done."

Bard gave him a grateful smile before turning to the Elvenking.

"In the spirit of creating a stronger union, the Woodland Realm will agree to seek forgiveness for the offenses it has been perceived to have inflicted." Thranduil sighed.

Bard supposed it would be too much to ask for either to openly ask for forgiveness from the other but perhaps this union would encourage the notion in the future.

Balin rubbed his hands together. "Well then, bound by forgiveness, friendship, and faith in a prosperous future we will endeavour to create an alliance between our three Kingdoms. Perhaps Dale ought to begin the negotiations?" He inclined his head again to Bard.

Bard swallowed again. He would have given anything in this moment to have his family there with him.

Fíli watched the King before him and thought how like Sigrid he was; determined and strong. He caught Bard's eye and gave him a small nod, hoping to convey reassuring solidarity in the motion.

Again Bard found himself grateful for Fíli's presence and he supposed the young dwarf prince could relate to the sudden position of responsibility that Bard found himself in. He cleared his throat and began to lay out what Dale would need to rebuild; gold and metals from Erebor and food other building materials from the Woodland Realm.

They bartered for a good part of the day. Both Mirkwood and Erebor were reluctant to allow the other protection on their lands and dissolution was only narrowly avoided by Fíli's suggestion of the creation of a specialised liaison between the armies. At Thranduil retort that there could be none who would represent each in equal measure Fíli looked hesitantly towards his uncle and then the Elvenking before he spoke.

"Tauriel. She is an elf and former Captain of the Woodland Guard and bound to the Dwarves of Erebor." He turned to Bard. "If you Bard see no objection then I can think of none better nor more suited for the position."

Bard remembered that name. Tilda's eager voice echoed in his mind, telling him the tale of how an elf named Tauriel and the Elvenking's son Legolas had saved them from the Orc attack at Laketown. Steeling himself back to the present Bard nodded in assent and so it was recorded by Balin.

"In the destruction of Laketown the Woodland Realm lost a much valued trade partner, can Dale offer us the same goods that we have lost?" Thranduil questioned.

"No, we cannot." Bard acknowledged. "That is why I propose that we rebuild not only Dale but Esgorath also. If we can redevelop the Lake as a trade route and as a fishing resource then with the assistance of your gold we can open our union up to trade from other kingdoms."

Thranduil nodded. "See to it that Dorwinion trade is re-established and then the Woodland Realm will see Laketown rebuilt, provided of course that the price of our trade is overlooked in fair repayment for the first ten years."

There was dispute over the precise duration of time and when Erebor offered to invest in the rebuilding of Laketown for the price of its fish, Thranduil reluctantly revised his offer and plans for the rebuilding of Esgaroth were set into motion.

When finally it seemed that there were no more deals to be struck and no more trade arrangements to be made Thranduil stood. He inclined his head towards the King of Dale, a newfound respect for the man beyond that of their prior military alliance.

"Lord Bard, I shall begin the arrangements to have the agreed upon food and materials brought to Dale at once." He said before turning to Thorin. "I will be returning to reclaim the treasures of my people five days hence." He said before inclining his head curtly and sweeping out of the tent.

"Elves." Thorin muttered darkly before seating himself down with as little a hint of pain as he could muster.

Bard smirked. "Neither of you are adept as disguising your contempt however the attempt is appreciated."

"Considering that the only other times that they have tried to negotiate they either got our company imprisoned for life or started a war, I would say that today was an improvement on both sides." Balin remarked and Bard felt himself truly smile for the first time since Tilda…

While Balin and Thorin spoke of Elves Fíli noticed Bard overcome in a moment of painful memories and his heart ached as he was reminded of the pain he could not ease for Sigrid. He waited until Bard had composed himself again, not wanting to intrude, before he walked up to the man.

"I just wanted to say how truly sorry I was to hear of Tilda's passing. She was a beautiful and fierce spirit and even in our short time knowing her she had a place in the hearts of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

Bard was taken aback, but then, he remembered, while he had bene imprisoned by the Master a number of the dwarves had been with his family, protected them from the Orc attack when again he had not been there.

He looked to the dwarf before him and was about to thank him when he caught sight of a flash of red feathers at his throat. He stepped forward. "What is that?" He asked, although he knew very well what it was, he recognised all too well the arrows he had given Bain, the arrows engraved with the sigil of Dale and of Girion.

Fíli looked confused. "This arrow saved my life, My Lord. I was held in Azog's clutches atop Ravenhill staring my death in the face when out of nowhere it struck Azog and saved my life." He lifted it from his chest to run his fingers along the feathers. "I have been searching in vain for the archer these past days but with no luck." He looked up eagerly at Bard. "Do you know who shot the arrow?"

Bard did not know what to feel, all he knew was a confusion of heated emotions that roared up inside of him, and one pure fact; "Yes, I know who shot that arrow." He said darkly and with that he turned and stormed out of the tent to find his son, leaving a confused Fíli behind him.