Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, Róskva, Ari and any other original characters.

Thank you so much to all those who have reviewed, and those who are still reading this. Once again, so sorry for the wait! I have been working on something else at the moment, and I have to be in the 'hobbit' mindset to write this story properly.

Also, this chapter is mostly Fili & Róskva centred. However, it should be noted that I'm not trying to suggest that a relationship will fix everything.

As always, I would like to thank RMoriluvr for editing my chapters!

Chapter 11: Drowning

Bilbo was worried. He had always worried about a lot of things before his adventure: tea, clothes, his garden, and even his reputation. Yet, after the journey, they seemed like trivial things to worry about. Now, he was worried about Fili. He had felt responsible for him, now that Thorin was gone, but Fili still had Dis, and that was something.

On the outside Fili seemed to be doing well, despite his situation; he had two ways to get around, wheelchair for the mountain, and maraes for everywhere else; he was doing well as King. Yet, he was not well on the inside. The grief inside him was strong, and so was the guilt. He was worried that it was destroying Fili. There were whispers too, within the mountain, that his mind was unwell, not like his predecessors, but in a different way. He seemed to stare off at things no one else could see. Some questioned his strength as a leader. Frár had been the worst of them, but he was gone now.

So, Bilbo went to the person who knew Fili best, probably better than Fili knew himself. He went to Fili's mother, the Lady Dis.

They met in her chambers, with the tea set on her dining table, and some ale in case they needed something a little stronger. She was leaning forward as she sat, elbows on the table as her hands clasped a warm cup of tea; steam swirling into the air. Her face was relaxed, but still strong, like her brother's had been. "So, "she said, before taking a sip of her tea, "what brings you here this fine winters morning, Bilbo Baggins.

He coughed, setting down his own tea, "I wanted to talk to you about Fili."

She sat back, some of the relaxation in her face receding. "Why so?"

"I am worried about him," he answered simply.

She nodded her head, "as am I. The loss of his brother and uncle has been hard on him. He has already lost another uncle he never knew, and a father he barely met."

Bilbo gaped for a moment, shocked. "I didn't know you had another brother, Thorin never-"

"Thorin never spoke of Frerin after he was killed, I think it pained him too much. Our grandfather had just been killed, and our father soon went missing. But Frerin was the one who broke him. Thorin had begged him not to fight, he was so young you see, but Frerin would have none of it. So Thorin felt personally responsible, and it brought him so much pain; he blamed himself for his death," she paused, taking another sip of tea, "like Fili is now.

He took this in. There is so much I did not know… "That's exactly what Fili is doing. He told me himself that he believed it was his fault, right after the battle. But I don't think that is all…"

Dis looked at him inquisitively, "you noticed too?"

"I noticed the way he seems to stare off at things no one else can see; I noticed the way he hides the pain he is feeling instead of acknowledging it. I know everyday he is growing more like Thorin, and not in the way one might hope. He isn't sure of himself right now, and Frár worsened his doubt."

Dis reached for the ale, "you notice a lot, Bilbo Baggins."

"So I am right in my observations?"

The dwarrodam nodded, "Aye, you are. And if others are noticing too, not just the eyes of a concerned mother, then it must be more serious than I thought."

He took a sip of his tea, "So you will go to him?"

"Of course, I am his mother."

It was morning. Early morning, the time the King, her son, normally woke. He said it was to get ahead start on the day, but she wondered if it was because he was never asleep in the first place. Perhaps the medicine wasn't working. She came upon his chambers, with the large oak wooden door. It was guarded by a young dwarrodam, the one her son had been spending so much time with. Róskva.

Dis couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was something else going on between them a little bit stronger than friendship. Róskva seemed beautiful, very beautiful in fact. Though, her son wasn't one to fall for looks alone. Pretty she may be, she must be something much more for Fili to be taking an interest in. She had no braids, and didn't seem to be of high birth, but she stood as nobly as a queen. The night Fili had been attacked, he called for her first, not Dwalin or herself. She was proving quite loyal to the prince, and apparently had been since the battle. She smiled inwardly; she was always one for a good old-fashioned love story.

Róskva bowed. "My Lady."

"Róskva," she bowed her head respectfully, offering a smile, "I wish to speak to my son."

Róskva nodded, stepping aside to open the door, "of course."

Dis stepped into the chambers, and to her surprise, she found Fili asleep, the potion beside his bed. His face was not contorted or furrowed the way it usually was when he was awake, but peaceful; appearing as young as he actually was. She decided she would not wake him just yet; he would not be needed for many hours.

So, she sat down beside his bed, and waited.

She studied her son further as he slept. She hadn't seen him asleep since he left on her brother's quest. He looked aged, but not older. Aged by pain, not time. He still looked very young, especially now as he slept. His hair was still just as gold, and was once again past his shoulders. As always, his beard was neatly trimmed, and as gold as his hair. Her golden lion, she used to call him; he did look remarkably like a lion. She ran her fingers through his hair, affection in her heart.

Suddenly, he began to stir. He shifted slightly, shoulders going up; gone was the peacefulness in his face, replaced again by worry. "Fili?" She asked tentatively.

He opened his eyes, "mother? What are you doing here?" Grunting, he pulled himself up and leant against the headrest.

"I wished to speak to you about something."

"Why didn't you wake me? I would have listened."

She smiled softly, "you seemed so peaceful; I did not wish to disturb you."

He looked at her for a moment, face calculating. "What did you want to tell me?" he asked curiously.

"We are worried about you, Fili."

He frowned, "Who is worried? Why?"

"We all are, Fili. The company, myself, Bilbo, others within the mountain," she paused, thinking about how to best say her next words. "no one has seen you cry, Fili. No one would doubt your grief, but some believe that you are 'bottling it up', as they say."

Fili gaped, lost for words. "'I… I don't- "

"That is not all, Fili. Sometimes you seem to go…somewhere else, like you see something no one else can. Is there something going on?" She did not wish to say that the whole of the mountain was beginning to notice this.

He bowed his head, "It's nothing."

So it is something… "that's exactly what you say when it is something."

"I know, I just… You don't need to worry. I just sort get lost in my thoughts sometimes," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

He is lying. She did not want to push him about it just yet, he would tell her when he was ready, or at least she hoped he would. "There is something else," she started, shaking off another shiver.

He hummed, looking distant again.

"I want you to have someone accompany you at all times. I know you want to do things by yourself, but please, take a guard with you." When Frár had attacked it brought to attention just how vulnerable her son was at the present time, if Frár hadn't slipped and hit his head…

Fili chuckled.

Her eyebrows rose; she hadn't expected that. She had imagined some form of protest or anger. "Is something funny?"

He shook his head, "no, it's just that I already have a personal guard, since last week actually."

Now that was a surprise. How had this gone unnoticed, unless… "Who?"

He smiled, gesturing to the door.

"Róskva?" she asked, trying to conceal her own smile. So it was true. "You have been spending quite a lot of time with her… is there anything I should know?"

He flushed, looking anxiously at the door, as if weary she could hear them.

"I'm happy for you, but are you sure you are ready? Have you begun courting her?" she asked, trying to conceal her excitement.

"No, that's not… I haven't," he shook his head, "I mean I don't- "

Uh, well… Soon then. "A mother always knows," she laughed as her son buried his face in his hands, face as red as a beetroot.

The sound of sword meeting sword rang out from the training yard within the mountain echoing in Fili's ears. Usually, such a training yard would be built outside the main keep, but the city of Erebor was within the mountain, not just the keep, and so the training yard was within it. The only thing that wasn't built into the mountain was the farms and stables, for obvious reasons. He had often wondered if the mountain would smell any different with horse manure instead of dragon.

He wasn't too preoccupied with that thought the moment. He had a promise to keep. He was, however, wondering what had possessed him to agree to this humiliation. His mother, Ari and friends, were all watching.

Róskva delivered another attack with her sword. He wheeled his chair to the left to avoid it. Róskva had forsaken her mace for the first session, saying that it would be easier to fight with the same weapon he bore, and one he was familiar with. He supposed he agreed with her, but it didn't seem to be making fighting in his chair any easier as of yet. He found it easier to simply move away from attacks then block them. It took most of his attention to move the chair, and all to even think about returning an attack.

"You cannot keep moving away like that, you will become too predictable for your enemy, especially if they have the advantage of two weapons. She delivered an overhead attack, her wrist flicking her short-sword with little effort. He mourned for the time he could once do the same. Though, Róskva seemed convinced he would again. He wasn't so sure. "I'm not used to this; I do better with two weapons."

She stopped, but didn't lower her sword, "of course you are not used to this, who would be?" She gestured to his chair with her sword, "you have two weapons; your sword and your chair."

He frowned, "I don't follow."

"Well, you know how to use a sword, the only difference is now you are sitting down, so you will have to get all your power from your core instead of your legs. You have already figured out how to use that chair to your advantage. You are moving away from them instead of blocking them, and quite swiftly at that. All you have to do now is combine the two and get a little faster."

It was like a light bulb went off. He knew he would never be able to fight in his chair with two blades, but this was similar. He had often used one of his blades to give trick attacks, distracting his opponent, he guessed he could do the same with his chair. A chair could only go so fast, and so far, "I will never be able to fight a battle in this," he sobered.

Róskva stared at him in amazement. "What in Middle Earth do you think you have Felaróf for?"

He wanted to slap himself. "Oh, right."

Róskva shook her head, "speaking of which, we should practice on horseback sometime later," she offered, swinging her sword at him again.

He blocked it, before swinging his chair around so he was at an angle, "how does Tuesday at lunch sound?"

"Perfect," she smiled.

Suddenly, his sword was flung from his hand, leaving him unarmed, but not defenceless. He always had a problem with hoarding weapons. Not wasting a moment, he wheeled forward into her legs, sending her stumbling backwards. He used the time to draw a dagger from the sheath on his left forearm.

Róskva yelped suddenly, a small red cut on her hand. He felt his heart jolt for a moment. No… Oh Mahal, don't let me have hurt her. He moved forward to apologise but was stopped in surprise at the look on her face. She was smiling.

"Good, now you are getting it."

"For the last time Fili, you do not need to apologise for a small cut that was made in sword practice, two days ago. It has already healed!"

Fili shook his head, tightening Felaróf's girth. "I hurt you."

"Fili, if that little cut hurt me, you need a new guard."

He moved his chair around so he could let down the stirrups, "that won't be necessary, but I am still sorry."

"I forgive you."

He sighed. What could he say to that? He supposed it was pointless arguing with her. "thank you," he smiled, appreciative. He moved to the makeshift ramp that had been built to let him get as close to his horses back as possible.

"Perhaps we should try getting on from the ground," Róskva suggested.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

She shook her head again, smiling. "Fili, Felaróf is a Mearas, remember. Ask him if he will go down on his legs for you."

He looked to his new friend. His buttermilk coat glistening in the early morning sun. His head was turned around to look at him in question, though his large brown eyes already seemed to know what he wanted.

Fili nodded.

With a blink, Felaróf went gently down on his knees, his hind legs following later.

Fili breathed out, unsure. He considered the best way to go about it without help. He settled on gently pushing up from the chair, and then away from it. He landed on the ground with a thud, but not entirely ungracefully.

Róskva moved to help him.

"No, it's alright. I can do this," he promised. Carefully, he moved so he was leaning against his Mearas, one arm gently carding through his mane. "Is this alright?" he asked, seeking permission.

Felaróf breathed out, chewing.

He smiled, "thank you." Carefully, he placed both hands on the saddles pommel and pushed himself up into it, careful not too land too heavily on Felaróf's spine. He found himself sitting side-saddle, legs hanging limply as he struggled to balance himself without being able to feel the horse beneath him. He pressed his hands into Felaróf's withers for balance.

Róskva beamed, "so far so good!"

With a boost of confidence, he pulled his right leg over so he was straddling the horse's back. He let himself smile, and touched Felaróf's neck to ask him to stand. He smiled, enjoying his small victory.

Hafwen grinned back, "so, to the river?"

"To the river."

The river was beginning to thaw, there was still a month or so of winter left, but the river was flowing beneath a sheet of ice, not thick enough to stand on. The river was closer to Mirkwood; Fili wondered if some elvish magic had something to do with it. He supposed he did not care. He wanted winter to end, one way or another. Too much had happened too fast. He hoped that spring would signal a new chance for life, a new beginning.

It was odd, to fight on horseback without the use of his legs; Felaróf still listened to his every thought and wish, but it felt strange not to have to use his legs to steer away or around an oncoming weapon. One thing was for certain though, Róskva was unrelenting in her practice drills; there was little sympathy from her. He appreciated that, once he came to understand why she did it. She cared. She reasoned that a real enemy would not give second chances, or take it easy on account of his condition, they will only use it against him. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to fight either, so he wasn't exactly green in his experience with weapons.

So, they fought, or rather practised, along the bank of the river, both mounted on their steeds. Fili had the advantage of height, his mearas taller than a dwarven mountain pony- that took a little getting used to as well. Though, despite the difficulty of the whole ordeal, he found he was enjoying himself. It was different to the chair. In the chair, it was obvious he had a weakness, but on a horse he could hide it. An enemy might not notice, lest they notice the straps that held his legs to the saddle. What was more, with his mearas he did not need to hold the reins, which left him with two free hands, free to hold two twin blades.

It felt right.

He grinned as he parried another one of Róskva unrelenting attacks. Though his pride was short-lived, for suddenly she rammed her own horse into his, sending them both stumbling. He felt his balance lesson, and he would have fallen had it not been for the straps holding him in place.

"We should work on balancing without a saddle, just in case," she suggested, for once giving him a moment, but only short one.

He shook his head, delivering a blunted undercut. In a real fight, he would have to watch out for such blows towards his mount, for they would be the doom of them both is an opponent wisened up to the easier target. "That isn't possible," he argued.

"Only until you make it possible."

They continued on like this for another half an hour or so, Fili paying more attention to keeping his own mount safe, and Róskva doing everything she could to prepare him.

For what, suddenly became quite apparent.

First came a sharp, guttural, shriek. Then another, and soon two more. Orcs.

He looked to the sky, and found that the sun had begun to fade. Have we really been practising for so long? With the sun faded, the orcs could roam wherever they pleased, without the threat of burning. They came from behind a ridge, some survivors of Azog's army, their bodies hunched over as they skulked towards them. There were four of them, all armed.

Felaróf snorted, pawing the ground.

"Fili, go. Run!" Róskva ordered, her normally cool composure broken, if only for a moment.

"Not a chance." He was certain that Róskva could handle herself, but there was no way he was going to leave his guard, and his friend alone to fight some stray orcs while he hid like a coward. Though, he could not deny that he felt a spark of fear within him. He shivered, but took up arms, ready.

And so, they fought.

Róskva killed one almost immediately, removing its head with a quick strike of her sword. The rest was a blur of red, black and white. He tried to focus, he had three things to watch out for, Felaróf, for if he lost him he would not be able to protect anyone. Róskva, for he could not lose her, and himself, last of all. He reminded himself that there were only three of them left, maybe two now. Not that much of a threat really. It only took two to kill most of my family…

He let out a roar, slicing at the stomach of the nearest, and smallest orc. Its entrails fell from it in a flush of black blood. It screamed a horrible, terrible sound, clawing at its own stomach. It would not last much longer.

They were at the edge of the river when Felaróf went onto his hind legs, kicking at the next closest orc, sending it leaping backwards. It screeched, enraged. It lunged forward, swiping at Felaróf with its sword. He wheeled Felaróf away, exposing his own side to save his mearas throat. The orc swiped at his legs, slicing through the straps of his right leg easily. He heard Róskva scream his name, and then he was falling. He heard the ice crack.

He was hanging by his left calf, torso submerged in the icy water. He could not see, or breathe, but he could think. With as much strength as he could muster, he pulled his torso up, just enough that he could reach out of the water and grasp for the emergency release he knew was there. Panicked, his fingers grasped at empty air, and he felt himself fall back again, only to be pulled out of the water, but not the river itself. Felaróf was pulling away from the river. Gasping for lost air, he reached up again, and able to see, his fingers met with a leather strap. He pulled.

He fell, again. This time, his whole body submerged in the freezing water. He struggled to pull himself up, his legs a useless dead weight, dragging him down. Panicked, he grasped at the water, trying to claw his way back up to the surface. He felt his lungs strain, as if they would burst, and his mouth open-ended to allow a pool of water to enter his lungs. His vision began to fade. He felt himself begin to give up.

Then he felt an arm encircle him, pulling him up. Pulling him to air, to life.

He fell against the earth, and he gasped out, retching up the water in his lungs. Felaróf nuzzled him, worried. He reached up to pet his muzzle in reassurance. "I'm okay, boy. I'm ok." He pulled himself up, and turned to face his rescuer. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression, or maybe perhaps shock. Without hesitation, or maybe without thinking, he pulled Róskva into an embrace, grateful. So very grateful.

"Fili, you're freezing!" she exclaimed, but returned the embrace nonetheless.

He pulled away, "I don't know how to thank you."

"I think you just did," she smiled, pulling her own coat over him.

"How did you pull me out of the river? I would have been a dead weight."

She shrugged, "Well, I suppose it was panic. You were drowning, and I needed to save you. It was like something was pulling me out of the water as well, I suppose."

He nodded, grateful. "I owe you my life; again it would seem."

She frowned, "when was the first time?"

When I met you. He only smiled.

"Fili!" his brother cried out, disappearing beneath the rushing water, still not letting go of the pony's reins.

The stupid idiot had tried to rescue the ponies when the pony's legs were swept out from underneath them. "Hold on!" he cried, ignoring his uncle's shouts. Without hesitating, and without thinking, he dove in after his brother.

He reached him through the struggle against the rushing water, more mobile without having to worry about the ponies. He wrapped an arm around his chest and fought against the strength of the river. Still, Kili refused to let go of the ponies. A rope splashed into the water just shy of them; Fili reached out with his free arm for it, letting them be swept down the river just a bit to catch up with the rope. He grasped it with his fingers, and felt them begin to be pulled to shore, ponies swimming behind them.

The ponies were taken from Kili's shaking hands, and led safely up the bank. Fili collapsed with his brother on the same bank, both shaking in each other's arms.

"What were you thinking?!" A harsh, yet concerned filled voice scalded. "You could have gotten yourselves killed!

Kili tried to smile, "we're fine, uncle. We're safe."

Thorin sighed, exasperated and relieved; he knelt down to embrace them both. "Don't ever do that again."

They knew better than to argue.

Fili awoke with a start, though he wasn't disturbed by the memory, more saddened.

"Now we are even", a voice whispered, from nowhere.

He shivered.

Two days had passed since the incident at the river, and his kin where growing wearier of his safety. He had insisted it was an isolated attack, just a few stray orcs from the army, nothing left to fighting for. His mother had remarked that he had almost died. Once he would have argued otherwise, but he would admit she was right. He had sent his saddle off for repairs, however, and he was once again confined to his chair.

He was with Róskva now, watching Ari ride around on her pony, seemingly oblivious to any trouble in the world. He wondered if Ari just hid it well. Nevertheless, he drew happiness from her own. He glanced at his guard, watching as her auburn hair flowing gently in the wind, braid-less.

He drew a deep breath, summoning any courage he might still have left. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gift. "Róskva?" he asked gently.

She hummed, turning to face him. Her eyes grew wide. "Fili, what- "

"I was going to give them to you later, to thank you, but you might find them more useful in this wind," he turned his hand over hers, letting the two silver beads fall into her palm gently. Their hands lingered for a moment.

Róskva stared at her palm for a moment, her mouth agape in shock. "Fili, I… I don't know what to say.

"You don't have to say anything," he reassured, he opened his palm back up, "may I?"

She smiled back, nodding as she returned the beads. She turned and knelt so her hair was in reach. Cautiously, and not without a moment of hesitation, he reached out and undid the hair tied at the back of her head, letting it fall to the rest of her hair. Tentatively, he began to braid the lock of hair that normally was pulled back simply; as he did so, he threaded one bead into the braid, before tying it loosely so he might do the same for the other side of her head. When he was done, he re-tied the two braids into the normal bun she wore at the back of her head, long tresses hanging beneath it. "Done," he said, pleased.

She touched the braids gently, smiling warmly, "done."