Fili assessed the situation with one quick, penetrating sweep of the room. The three men weren't killers: they were petty cutpurses, who thought they had soft targets in Birger and the two women. They hadn't bargained on any of them fighting back.

His knife was behind his back, unseen; he stowed it, hoping to resolve the incident without bloodshed, and stepped forward coolly. "What's going on, lads?"

"Nothing that concerns you, dwarf," said the man holding Birger, thin, sallow-skinned, and black-haired, and apparently the leader of the group. "That lass is going to give us her purse, and then we'll be on our way. You mind your business, and no harm will come to you. You don't, and this mooncalf's got a broken shoulder, or worse." He twisted Birger's arm tighter, causing him to give a pitiful wail.

"Stop it! Don't hurt him!" Maggie shouted, looking desperately back and forth between the cudgel and her son.

"Tell your weasel-faced mate to let Birger go," Sigrid said through gritted teeth, pushing the knife closer to the throat of her target. As thin and dark-haired as the leader, the man under Sigrid's knife swallowed nervously.

"Maybe you should, Taft," he said. "Let's leave it."

Taft turned angrily on his accomplice. "Shut it, Walcott. If you hadn't let a lass take your knife, we'd be done and on our way by now. You, lass. Put the knife down, and give us your purse. Do it now, or it'll be your fault this lackwit gets hurt."

Fili cleared his throat. The three thugs looked his way. "Taft, is it? Let the lad go. Walk out the door, all of you, and don't come back. That's my final warning."

Taft laughed in surprise and derision. "Hark at him, giving us a warning! I told you it's no concern of yours, dwarf. Now push off."

Fili walked forwards, his fingers trailing over the table top next to him. "That's my friend you're holding. His mother there is my host. And that happens to be my wife you're trying to rob. I'd say that makes it my concern." With a sudden lunge, he swept up a wooden trencher from the table and sent it flying over Sigrid's head into Walcott's, knocking him sideways. He rushed the rangy, sandy-haired man holding the cudgel, dodging his clumsy strike and disarming him easily, and then in the one spiralling movement, he struck the man upward to the jaw with one end of the club, and turned and smashed Taft across the face with the other. Both men fell back against the wall, Taft letting go of Birger as his hands clutched at his nose. Maggie pulled Birger out of harm's way and held him as the three troublemakers collected their wits and scrambled for the door. Sigrid glared after them, her hands balled into fists, one of which was still clutching Walcott's knife.

At the doorway, Taft turned and pointed at Fili. "It's not over, dwarf."

"Yes it is," Fili said, and he drew his hunting knife from the back of his waistband and threw it straight at the thief's head. The last thing they saw was Taft's face, his nose bloody and his eyes wide with fear, before he slammed the door shut and the point of the knife lodged with a thud into the timber, precisely where his face had been.

Nervous energy and outrage radiated from every inch of Sigrid's body. "You weasels," she shouted at the door. "Don't come back." She flung Walcott's knife at the door, her action a pale imitation of Fili's, and it turned end over end through the air before hitting the door flat and sliding to the ground with a clatter. She turned to Fili.

"You have to show me how you do that."

Despite the situation, he couldn't help but smile. He looked from Sigrid to Maggie and Birger. "I need to make sure they don't touch the ponies. I'll be back as soon as I can. Will you be all right?"

Sigrid flexed her empty fists. "I'm fine. No, I'm not, I'm furious. If they do anything to our ponies, I'll tear their arms off. Go."

Birger was nestled against Maggie's chest, and her heart was in her eyes. "Thank you, Your Highness, sir. I'm fine, and I think Birger is too."

At the mention of the ponies, Birger had raised his head and looked around. "The ponies, Mam. They'll hurt the ponies. We have to stop them." He pushed away from Maggie, making a wailing sound and shifting from foot to foot, his concern for the animals' safety making him agitated.

Fili held out his hand. "Come on then, Birger. Let's go stop them," he said with a reassuring nod at Maggie, and the two of them headed for the door, Fili wrenching his hunting knife out of the timber as he went.


Maggie and Sigrid were seated at a bench with warm drinks in their hands when Fili and Birger returned.

"They're gone, and the ponies are fine," he said as he approached the table where they were sitting. "Birger and I checked on them, didn't we, Birger?" Fili patted the smiling lad on the back as he sat down with his mother, and slid into the bench beside Sigrid. "How are you, love?"

She turned with a wan smile and leaned her forehead on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. He felt her sigh and lean into him, and she rested like that for half a minute, then raised her head.

"I wasn't joking when I said I was angry, Fili. I was. I was livid. But I feel fine now. No harm done."

"What happened, exactly? I heard screams, and a thud…"

Sigrid took a deep breath. "Maggie wasn't in the kitchen, so I came out here looking for her. The one with the knife, Walcott, jumped up and grabbed my arm, and I screamed. Maggie and Birger ran in the front door, and Weasel Face grabbed Birger, and then I just saw red."

"She was marvellous, Your Majesty, simply wonderful," Maggie interjected. "I've never seen the like, not from such a slight lass. She shoved her bundle over the knife and pushed the brute fair into the wall with a tremendous smack. Next thing the knife's in her hands and she's got it at his throat."

"They were hurting Birger," Sigrid said with a shrug, almost apologetically. "It really made me angry. I didn't care about the coin, but they didn't need to bring him into it." She reached across the table to where Birger was sitting beside his mother and took hold of his hand. "I'm so sorry, Birger. Are you all right?"

He smiled at them with his innocent, child-like smile. "I'm all right now. The men are gone and the ponies are safe. Mam's all right. Are you all right?"

Sigrid smiled back at him and pressed his hand. "I'm all right, too, Birger."

Maggie pulled Birger closer and craned up to kiss his forehead, her eyes misting up. "Ah, you dear lad. You were so brave, son. Mam's proud of you." He hugged her waist and she blinked away her tears. "We've not had robbers around here for twenty years, and I hope not to see any for twenty more, but Your Excellency, sir, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, if you could show me how I might swing that cudgel, I'd appreciate it."


According to Maggie, there was no local militia that could be summoned to find the thieves and bring them to justice. Justice was, in fact, rather thin on the ground. If it was to come at all, it would come from Dain, a hundred miles to the east. Fili contemplated riding on ahead himself to inform Dain of the incident and request a squad be sent to capture the thieves, but he was loath to leave Maggie and Birger unprotected in case they decided to return. If he'd been on his own lands, or Bard's, he wouldn't have hesitated to arrest them himself, but dragging three bound prisoners with him all the way to the Iron Hills was not exactly his idea of a fun, relaxing camping trip with his wife. The best course of action, he decided, would be to send a message through with a traveller who was already headed to the Iron Hills, and wait for backup to arrive.

He kept an eye on Sigrid while these discussions were going on with Maggie. For all her bravado, Fili could see that she was shaken, although whether that was due to the thieves' actions or her startling response to them he couldn't tell. Once he had assured Maggie he would stay at the inn until the thieves were caught, and deflected her profuse thanks with promises of lessons in how to use the cudgel, the innkeep had left to prepare supper, and he took Sigrid by the hand and retreated to the privacy of their room.

Once through the door, he took her in his arms.

"How are you, in truth, beloved?" he said.

"I don't know," she said, her face full of worry. "I held a knife to that man's throat, Fili. I could have killed him."

"No, love, you wouldn't have. You couldn't. Even in a rage, you're still you."

She pulled back, and her eyes were enigmatic. "Is that what it's like for you? When you fight?"

"What do you mean? The rage?" he said. She nodded. He drew her to sit down beside him on the bed and looked at her, considering how much to tell her. He decided to tell her the unvarnished truth. "Well, sometimes it's like that, especially in the first charge. But you have to channel the rage and use it, or you end up with chaos. You have to focus your concentration and stay in the moment." Memories flooded his mind of a dozen different battles. "Sometimes it's just a hard slog, you don't feel anything much. Sometimes, if the fight's going on and on and you're completely focused, using all your skill to the utmost, you reach a point where you sort of lose yourself, and it's like the swords are swinging themselves. When that happens, you're unstoppable." She looked at him in silence for a long time, and finally her hand reached out to his cheek. "But that's in battle, love. Not a common tavern brawl."

He took her hand and slid his fingers through hers. She had asked, and he had answered. Looking at her face, he feared he'd said too much; at the same time, he hoped it would give her some perspective. His greatest fear was that something like this, some chance incident, would trigger a recurrence of her flashbacks, but he had to trust her. He had to show her that he believed she was able to handle it.

And after he had done that, he had to take the shadows from her eyes. He gave her a teasing look. "I would be happy if you didn't make a habit of it, though, love. One blade-wielding maniac in the family is enough."

She smiled despite herself. "Don't make me laugh. I'm being serious."

"So am I. Leave all your future brawling to me, love. The next lot you decide to take on might not be so inept. But having said that," and he leaned in, grinning, and nuzzled his lips into her neck, "seeing you waving that knife around, it was kind of attractive. Arousing, you could say."

She laughed and pushed him away playfully. "Is that right? Well, you can enjoy the spectacle when you teach me. I'm serious, Fili, I want you to show me how to throw that knife."

He grinned. The shadows were gone. "I will. But not now. Now, I'm going to give you that backrub."


Fili's warm, strong hands had eased the tension in Sigrid's body, and although the insight he had given her as to what he felt in battle was sobering, his words had eased her concerns about her reaction. She felt worlds better when they came out to sit with Birger in the great room for supper. Maggie fussed over their meals, serving them the choicest cuts from what looked like a whole hind quarter of beef turning on a spit in the fireplace, and heaping Fili's plate so high Sigrid feared not even he could eat it all. He did, however, and managed two helpings of plum crumble for dessert besides, which served only to increase Maggie's admiration for him, a feat Sigrid had barely thought possible. While they were eating, a number of new arrivals came in, travellers from both directions who sought food and lodgings for the night. There was a small group of iron merchants headed toward Erebor, a craftsman father and son taking a commission to the Iron Hills, and a wandering tinker, reluctantly forced to seek paid accommodation due to the amount of water and mud still on the ground after the rain. Sigrid was sitting with Birger and Maggie, glancing occasionally at Fili as he chatted to the other travellers, when she heard her name spoken in a deep, resonant voice that she recognized.

"My dear Lady Sigrid, what an unexpected pleasure. I had feared I may have tarried too long with my sweetheart, and made myself late for your arrival at the Iron Hills. Yet, happily, here you are."

It was Owen.