When the Frosts Are Setting In

"Kíli!"

He looked up at the sound of his name called by a young female voice and then choked on his beer.

"Kíli," Sif said again. After watching uncertainly for a few moments as Kíli stared at her and coughed, she gave him several sturdy thumps to the back.

"Thanks. Hullo," he croaked at last.

"I was going to say I was surprised to see you here, but I suppose I'm not the only one." This tavern was in the mining district, and nobles of her own or Kíli's station would have been far more likely to visit one of the taprooms near the royal quarters. Kíli himself was here to escape the council guests, of whom he had already seen enough for one day.

"Sorry, no, I thought you were someone else," Kíli explained.

"Ah!" Sif's expression was relieved. "May I join you?"

He nodded, and she slid onto the bench beside him. "I came down here to order materials for the shop," she explained. After taking a slow draught of her dark beer, she asked, "How is the council going?"

"Oh, fairly well, I suppose." Kíli shrugged, and then continued, his tone somewhat wondering, "I never knew how much talking goes into these political agreements. Do you know, this morning I think the ambassador from the Broadbeams talked for a solid hour about the long and storied history of relations between our clans? I was waiting for his jaw to fall off. Even Thorin seemed to be losing interest."

Sif smiled. "I don't envy you! It sounds very tiring."

"I can't say I wouldn't rather be on guard duty, but it's interesting, I suppose. I never really paid attention to what Thorin did as a ruler, down in Ered Luin, and it's good to learn about the relations between our clans."

"I suppose Fíli must have a lot to attend to, as well" she said. Kíli had been wondering when she would mention his brother.

"He's as important to these discussions as Thorin is," Kíli agreed. "Maybe he doesn't have to decide things, but he has to know how each issue stands if he's to rule someday." He took another swallow of beer. "I'm just glad it's not me," he confessed. "I know how to follow and defend, but leading? That's Fíli's place."

During the ensuing pause, Kíli wondered if Sif had been indirectly trying to ask where Fíli was tonight. As the answer was that his brother was being formally presented with yet another prospective bride, Kíli preferred not to say. Instead, he asked, "Have you met any of the visitors yet?" Even quiet Sif must be curious about strangers from such distant kingdoms.

She nodded. "Mother wouldn't listen to my excuses but dragged me along to meet some of the women last night." She pulled a self-mocking frown, and Kíli knew she had not enjoyed herself. "I mean, they were nice enough, I suppose," she corrected. "But... They're here to meet your brother, aren't they?"

"Yes." So he would not be able to avoid this topic, after all. In part, Kíli was glad: he had wanted to know how things stood between Sif and his brother. It was already quite clear how much her thoughts were on Fíli. But had Fíli offered her any assurance of his faith? Kíli guessed not, if Sif had had to work out for herself why these women were here.

Sif was not forthcoming with any further insight, so Kíli went on, "I think it's just been formalities so far. Introductions and that sort of thing. They've come all this way, and so at the very least, Fíli has to meet them." Kíli did not know how seriously his brother considered any of the proposed matches, but it was true enough that Fíli owed them a polite reception: women wouldn't normally travel for a meeting like this, so the fact that these had come to meet him in person was a sign of great honor.

Sif took another drink, her expression inscrutable.

"Did you meet Tófa, from clan Ironfist?" Kíli asked.

She squinted at him thoughtfully. "Golden hair and blue gems in her beard...? I think so. Why?" Her tone was disinterested, but Kíli was not convinced.

"That's who I thought you were earlier." It was true: he'd hardly been able to get away from Tófa after dinner a few nights ago. That was another reason he was drinking down here among the miners.

Sif regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then her mouth lifted slightly in a smile. "You mean she fancies you."

"Sif, I didn't do anything!" Kíli protested earnestly. "I welcomed her when everyone arrived, and I've maybe talked with her a few times since. But I've shown her no particular attention beyond that."

"I'm sure you didn't," she returned, serious.

"And she must know about Tauriel," Kíli went on. "Our suit has been no great secret since one of the Stonefoots asked why his niece hadn't been presented to me."

"She did ask if I'd ever seen your elf," Sif confessed.

"See? I know Tauriel and I are not betrothed yet, but our courtship is well-established. Tófa can't expect I'd break it off now."

"Perhaps," Sif offered cautiously, "she cannot believe you could truly want an elf. Or else she's just very smitten." She shrugged.

"She can't be," Kíli muttered into the bottom of his mug. "I didn't even flirt with her."

Sif gave him an odd, knowing smile. "Sometimes it happens like that," she said, and then hid her face in her own mug.

She was talking about herself, Kíli realized. How long had she been in love with his brother, before Fíli had even left on the quest? And what had it been like, knowing he'd gone and she might never see Fíli again? Kíli remembered the very real pain he had felt leaving Tauriel on the lake shore; he didn't know if she could want him, but at least he had told her what he felt. How much worse must it have been to feel you had lost even that chance to speak?

Kíli very much wished he could tell Sif that Fíli was too honorable to hurt her now, when he surely knew what she felt for him. Of course Fíli knew, if even Kíli could see it. But Kíli could also see that honor could become a complicated thing, when divided between family, duty, kingdom. He knew his brother would do the honorable thing; Fíli always had done so, but what that would be this time, Kíli couldn't answer any more.

And so he had said only, "Here's to a swift end of the council and a happy resolution for all," and knocked his beer mug against hers.

Fíli would be glad when the introductions to noblewomen were finished. All of them so far had been nice enough girls, but that was just it: he wasn't truly meeting girls. He was being offered military alliances, trade routes, ambassadorial connections. In a way, these introductions felt like a continuation of the day's council discussions, though with the added strange condition that approving a connection also decided a queen and the mother of his heirs.

It was almost funny: in Ered Luin, girls had found his royal station attractive mainly for the novelty of the thing. Without throne or kingdom, the title of prince leant him a kind of tragic distinction, but was nothing to be grasped. But now, of course, his rank actually meant something, and during these interviews Fíli often felt as if he were merely a title and a crown which these noblewomen—or their fathers—would be happy to gain. He almost missed those lost days when the most any girl had wanted from him was a smile and perhaps a kiss, provided no-one was looking.

Thus far, Thorin had not advised Fíli for or against any of these young women, and Fíli believed his uncle meant to respect his opinion. The thought gave him confidence to defer his choice till after the council when, of course, he would declare his suit to Sif.

But in the meantime, he was politely going through the formalities of yet another presentation.

He had met Audha before, of course, on the day of the Blacklocks' arrival. Since then, he had spoken with her once or twice in the banquet hall or during music after the evening meal. But today, her father, Andvari, was formally presenting her to him as a prospective match.

Andvari spoke of their family's high position among the eastern tribes, of the ready respect and allegiance that Fíli might command through her, and of the wealth that, joined to Erebor's, might extend their influence far. Even Thorin had thought it a prudent connection, for he had meant to marry Audha's aunt, before Erebor had been lost. Andvari hopped that Fíli might seal this long-desired connection between their houses at last.

These were many of the same things Fíli had heard in favor of the other matches, and yet today, he somehow found the reasoning especially tiring. As Andvari enumerated the advantages of the marriage, Fíli considered how it would have troubled him to hear Lord Ironsides speak of his own daughter that way, as if Sif's dowry or the number of trade deals held by her brother mattered more than her gentleness and her steadfast heart.

Yet at last, Audha's father had done, and he left the two young dwarves alone, save for her chaperone, who sat at the far end of the chamber doing beadwork at a small loom.

Fíli was able to relax then, and Audha, too, shifted towards him in her chair as if she had been waiting to be able to speak.

"I'm sorry to talk of you like that," Fíli began, speaking his mind. "You should be treated like a treasure, not a business contract."

Audha regarded him openly. "I am Father's treasure," she corrected. "Just one with a very salable value." She did not speak as if she resented this fact.

"Fíli, this is a contract. Let us not pretend otherwise." Her expression softened then, warming and becoming almost self-conscious. "But that does not make it bad. I would like you to choose me."

He had not expected such directness, but he respected her for it.

"I've heard why your father says I should," Fíli told her. "Why do you say so?"

"I could be happy with you," Audha said, surprising him again. "My house is the younger royal line, and so my duty is to marry and strengthen our kingdom. I've never expected to marry someone I would have chosen for myself. But I would choose you. Fíli, you are handsome and kind and noble. And I believe you would love me."

Fíli did not know what to say: none of the other women had told him anything quite like this.

"I'm not sentimental," Audha protested gently. "I don't need you to be in love with me. But I see that you would treat your bride as more than a mere political accessory."

Of course he would. Poor Audha; had she expected otherwise from him?

Fíli asked, "Tell me, if you had the choice between duty and affection, which would you choose?"

Her expression was momentarily confused. "Your brother's devotion is commendable," she said carefully. "But I do not think he is wise. I could not respect him as I do you."

She had not understood the question quite as Fíli had intended, but he had his answer, true enough: she would choose duty. What would she think if she knew he meant to chose for love?

Audha continued, "I would consider it an honor to serve you, not only as wife but as queen. I am familiar with the politics of a court, and I could aid you in managing your own."

"I'm sure you are quite accomplished," Fíli concurred, offering her a smile that expressed real respect. "Tell me, what is it you want most?"

Fíli thought she had been raised on duty, the same as he, and yet she seemed to understand it somewhat differently. For him, duty had been something he had striven to live up to, a promise of worth he might attain. But her duty seemed to be something she could not escape, and must therefore make into something she could live with.

"What do I want?" Audha echoed him, sounding gently surprised. "I suppose... I should like to be given something noble to follow. Or," she touched his hand lightly, "someone."

"Audha," Fíli began, and his fingers caught on her rings as he clasped her hand. Sif never wore rings—the thought flashed through his mind—they interfered with her grip on a hammer. He forced his attention back to the dark-haired young woman before him. "You would be a great gift and honor to any man. But I am not yet ready to chose." It was true, it a way.

She nodded, untroubled. "Promise you will think of me," she said

"I will." And this was true, as well. He would certainly remember what Audha had said, for she had given as convincing an argument as any he had heard yet. If he had not already settled his heart on Sif, he would probably have listened to her. Indeed, there was some part of him that wondered if choosing someone like Audha, with political connections and experience to offer, might not be the more prudent choice than a woman who brought nothing new to his kingdom. Yet while Fíli might have gained politically by a match with Audha, it was still true that he lost nothing by marrying a worthy woman of his own clan. And so he could not consider his choice wrong.

"Good night, Your Highness," Audha told him, her eyes holding his for one brief yet intimate moment before she dropped her lashes and looked away, demure once more.

"Good night, my lady."

Tauriel closed her eyes and let the heat of the sun sink into her as she leaned back against the ivy-covered wall of the small, private courtyard in Dale. This secluded space was not quite the garden it had once been: the fruit trees and roses had long since been destroyed by dragon's fire, but the wildflowers and beech saplings Tauriel had found to replace them were already flourishing. Perhaps next year she could add some more exotic offerings, but already the place served well as her personal retreat.

She held the runestone in her palms, and the sunlight warmed it so that she could almost imagine Kíli had just handed it to her and the warmth was from his touch. Yet she would have preferred to hold his own hand. She had not seen him since he had given the visiting dwarves a tour of Ravenhill, and the truth was that she missed him more than she had known to expect.

Footsteps sounded on the flagstones of the court: quick and light, the stride of someone small and young. Tauriel opened her eyes to look up at Tilda, Bard's younger daughter.

"Here you are! Darion said you were still in the city," Tilda said brightly, and then she faltered, seeming to realize she might be trespassing on Tauriel's rest. "Do you mind if I join you?" she added, cautious.

"Not at all; please do," Tauriel assured her. She felt a special affection for Bard's two daughters and was pleased by the chance to see them regularly now that she lived in Dale. Tilda especially seemed drawn to her.

The young girl stood looking down at Tauriel for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "You look so beautiful when you dress up," Tilda said at last.

"Oh... Thank you," Tauriel murmured, touched by the girl's sincerity. She would not have considered her simple dress very fine, especially compared to the elaborate gowns the women of Thranduil's court often wore, yet perhaps it seemed so to someone unaccustomed to anything elvish. Once again, she was reminded that Tilda, like Kíli and indeed most mortals, saw her as someone exotic and almost other-worldly. She had never thought of herself that way, and Tilda's reverence humbled her even as it gave her a new sense of worthiness.

"You're not going to Ravenhill today?" Tilda asked, settling onto the grass beside Tauriel. "I thought you always did on your days off." The girl, like most of Dale, knew of Tauriel's connection to Kíli.

Tauriel smiled, both touched and abashed by Tilda's bold interest. "Kíli is not there today. There is a great meeting of the dwarven clans this month, and he is busy with that."

"What do dwarves talk about, I wonder? Growing their beards and counting gold?"

"Or perhaps how to tell the inside of one mountain from another in the dark!" Tauriel teased, then went on more seriously, "I'm sure there are many alliances to reestablish, now that Erebor is a kingdom again."

Tilda's eyes went to the runestone in Tauriel's hands.

"What is that?"

"It is something Kíli gave me." She held it out to the girl, for once not reluctant to share something so personal. Tilda had always seemed to accept her attraction to Kíli without question; indeed, as far as Tauriel could tell, Tilda thought it was only logical that Kíli and his elven savior should belong together.

Tilda took the stone with reverent hands. "Did he ask you to marry him?"

"No!" Tauriel returned, equal parts surprised and amused. Was that what her young friend thought the gift meant? "He gave it to me so we won't lose each other."

Tilda turned the stone in her fingers, watching the light glint off the hidden colors in its depths.

"Is it magic?" she wondered.

"Perhaps." Tauriel had never been quite sure, herself. Was there some kind of blessing attached to the stone that made it more than simply a memento?

"It's very pretty," Tilda said appreciatively and handed it back. "Will you be a princess if Kíli marries you?"

"I don't know. I suppose perhaps." Tauriel knew she would never be counted part of the royal line, though whether that meant she would be excluded from a title as well, she had never asked. She did not particularly care, so long as she had Kíli.

"I hope so; then you'll be like Sigrid and me." Tilda shook her head with mirth, and a few loose curls waved about her face. "It's still so funny to think I'm going to be 'Princess Tilda.' It sounds like someone out of a story!"

"Maybe you are," Tauriel suggested.

"Maybe! It really has been strange enough! Da coming home one day to let a bunch of grumpy, wet dwarves in right up through the privy and then—"

"What?" Tauriel interrupted at this piece of the story she had never heard before.

"Well, it was the only secret way into the house!" Tilda grinned as if she had just let Tauriel in on some great conspiracy. "Don't say I told you, though! The bald dwarf with all the tattoos said he'd pull our arms off if Bain or I ever said anything about it."

Tauriel could imagine Dwalin, who in that moment had surely been compromised in dignity more than in anything else, uttering such a threat. Yet surely he would never have made it good against someone as sweet as Tilda.

"I don't think he would," Tauriel confessed. "Dwalin is not as terrible as he seems. But I won't tell. Though perhaps I may tease Kíli about it?"

Tilda considered for a moment and then nodded. "You have to tell me what he says."

"I will."

They sat in friendly silence for a while, and then Tilda asked again, "Tauriel, please, would you—" She stopped, momentarily bashful.

"Yes?" Tauriel prompted kindly.

"Well, I was wondering if you would teach me how to do a real elvish braid? Sigrid says she doesn't know how to do one like yours."

"Of course!" Tauriel felt her heart warm at Tilda's grateful smile. "Did you want me to now?"

The young girl nodded. "Oh yes, if you would!"

"With pleasure." Tauriel slipped the runestone back into the pouch at her belt, trading it for her comb. As she pulled apart Tilda's neat, if plain, braid, Tilda caught the silver comb from Tauriel's lap and admired it.

"I know who gave you this," she remarked, and Tauriel could only laugh softly in reply.

Once she had combed Tilda's hair smooth, Tauriel positioned the girl's fingers, guiding them through the motions of the braid as her own mother had done for her many years ago. Although Tauriel had never before tried to imagine having a daughter of her own, she could not help but do so now as she leaned down over this young human girl, offering instruction and encouragement. She had always supposed she would not want a child, simply because she had always been content alone. But she was not alone now; there was Kíli, and because of him, perhaps one day even—

No, she must not hope too far. What if they could not? She did not think him inferior to her, in either body or spirit, but it was still true: dwarves were Ilúvatar's children by adoption only, having been created by a different hand. What if an elf and a dwarf were simply not made for each other, never mind what the two of them had shown by their love? Of course Thorin and his council must make provisions for the case of half-elven children, but that concern was hardly a guarantee of such an event. She and Kíli would only know the truth by proving it themselves. And until then, Tauriel would not wish for something she could not be sure of. For now, she had Kíli, and even Tilda, and they would be enough, she told herself as she pressed a kiss to the top of Tilda's head before helping to bind off the finished braid.

Council discussion had been under way for the last sennight, and Thorin was pleased with how things had gone thus far. Not all of the talks had been primarily to do with Erebor; the Council of Seven Kingdoms was an opportunity for all the clans to do business with one another. But Thorin had already sealed trade connections with the Firebeards and Broadbeams in the west and with the Blacklocks in the east. Erebor, he could confidently hope, would soon be prosperous once more.

During the last few general meetings of the clans, talk had turned to more military subjects: each kingdom's defensive needs, the size of their respective armies, and who could be counted on to aid whom. By right of the oath sworn by other six kingdoms upon the Arkenstone to his grandfather Thrór, Thorin properly had the right to command them in matters of war, as well as peace. Yet he knew this authority hardly amounted to the prerogative to arrange alliances solely according to his own whim. Not only would such an imperious attitude sow hard feelings among the clans, but Thorin knew he hardly had the knowledge to decide everything on his own. And so for the most part, he meant to engage in the building of treaties by the same process of slow negotiation as the other clans did amongst themselves.

Today's talks had finally edged past the preliminary account of the current status and holdings of the various kingdoms, and Thorin felt they were nearly ready to begin on the details of individual treaties at last. Indeed, he was nearly ready to propose they do so when Jari of the Stiffbeards took advantage of a lull in the discussion to address Thorin himself.

Jari cleared his throat somewhat apologetically and then said, "Before we proceed with negotiations, I should like to establish who is to be your successor to the throne of Erebor."

"My nephew Fíli is my heir, as he has always been." Thorin did not understand the question; Fíli's claim was legitimate, as all present knew.

"I understand," Jari conceded, his tone respectful but firm. "But some of us have been considering: would it not be best to revert to the ancient law of succession, in light of the decline of your line?"

"The decline—?" Thorin repeated, momentarily astonished. But of course, he'd felt before that he had not heard the last of this topic. Still, he was not able to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he said, "If you refer to the gold sickness, neither of my heirs have shown any inclination to that malady. Indeed, they were among those who opposed me in my madness."

"Yes, we grant that. But does not one of your heirs wish to marry an elf? Tell me that is not equally mad."

Thorin could see Kíli's face without turning his head; his young nephew's jaw was tight and his brows drawn. The dwarven king looked back to Jari.

"If you are afraid to see an elf on the throne, that will not happen," Thorin said steadily. "Kíli renounces all claim."

"Then even you yourself acknowledge him unfit," Jari replied.

Just as readily, Thorin shot back, "I acknowledge that the son of an elf has no right to be king."

This time, Frár of the Ironfists spoke. "And what right does a son of Durin have to join himself to an elf? If the house of Thrór is to become a tribe of madmen and half-breeds, perhaps it is best that you are the last of his line to rule."

This statement elicited a rumble of astonishment from the table, but before anyone else could contribute, Thorin pressed on.

"Thrór's is still the elder claim. Or does blood mean nothing now?" he demanded. "Are we to elect our kings, as if we were some village merchants' guild, and Durin's royal line were spent?" The idea was frankly ridiculous, unworthy as it was of a clan which could claim such a high lineage.

"No one is talking of an election," Nidhi, the Broadbeam ambassador put in now, his tone conciliatory. "Only of restoring the throne to the legitimate line of descent. You are quite right; Durin's blood is hardly spent."

Thorin glanced to Daín, whose claim was the next, after Thrór's descendants. Yet his cousin appeared just as flabbergasted by this turn of the discussion as Thorin was himself.

Nidhi continued, "You must not take this as a personal insult. It concerns us all. When Durin is reborn once more, it will be into the royal bloodline, and so we must see the worthiest heir on the throne. Given the strain of madness that runs in your blood, Fíli may no longer be a suitable heir. If he or his sons should bear the same taint, Durin may refuse to be reborn, or worse yet, inherit the same malady."

Thorin was as well aware of the prophecy of Durin's return as anyone here. While there had never been a specific sign that foretold the rebirth of their patriarch, Durin had always returned within the direct royal line. Some, Thorin understood, might see that fact as reason to guard the purity of the bloodline. Yet he had never expected anyone to challenge a legitimate claim to the throne on such grounds.

Balin was apparently thinking along the same lines, for the old dwarf said in a quiet yet pointed manner, "Our law has long established that the throne belongs to the eldest male of direct descent, regardless of the parent through which he makes the claim. As Dís's son, Fíli is Thorin's legitimate heir. To rule otherwise, you'd be talking about changing the law."

Jari nodded. "Aye, and with all seven kingdoms represented, we could do just that."

This time, the room truly erupted in a commotion of surprise and protest.

"That law has stood for generations! Why dispute it now?"

"It isn't just the throne of Erebor we're talking about! This matter concerns the good of all the Khazad. If we are to see Durin return, we must uphold the proper bloodline!"

"And that's why we have the current law! To keep the throne in the nearest line of descent!"

Here Daín cut in with scoffing laughter. "Do y' really think Mahal can't judge the right time and place to send back our blessed ancestor? If it weren't so bloody stupid an idea, I'd call it blasphemy."

"The old law was established by the great Durin himself; it's no impiety to reestablish it. Quite the contrary, I should think."

"Times have changed. In his days, there were more births. Our numbers have declined since then, and it is only right that inheritance laws reflect this fact."

"Enough!" Thorin shouted. Then, after a few breaths, he said somewhat more calmly, "I acknowledge that the law might rightly be changed. But what are your claims that it should be? I would know plainly what your charges are against me and my house."

Jari acknowledged Thorin with a nod, and then stood to address him. "Your Majesty, I mean no personal disrespect." Here he bowed. "In retaking Erebor, you have accomplished what no-one else had dared, and in so doing, earned an honor for yourself and your kin that shall last until these mountains are dust. Let your name be your legacy; not your blood. A madness runs in your family: your grandfather succumbed. So did you. And we have no reason to believe the weakness has run its course. Your nephew Kíli transgresses all bounds of nature, sense, and duty to desire an elf. You already lose half your legacy through him, and thus it would seem your line has been ordained to end. We merely wish to set things right, to return the throne to the stronger line so that our people may flourish once more. Under the previous law established by our patriarch, the rule would have passed to your cousin Daín, and perhaps in this instance, that is what Durin himself would want again."

"I see." The matter was entirely as Thorin had guessed, but it was best to have it stated plainly for all to hear. "And how many do you speak for when you say this?"

Jari did not answer, but several others— Frár, and Nidhi, and another of Jari's Stiffbeard men—indicated their support by nods.

One of the Firebeards cut in. "My allegiance is to Durin's heir, and that, as yet, is you, Thorin."

"Aye," came Lord Andvari of the Blacklocks.

Thorin regarded them all for a long moment while no-one spoke. At last he sighed, and said "Clearly we must settle this before the Council proceeds. Balin, please see that arrangements are made to discuss this further. For today, you are all dismissed."

He sat back and watched the rest of council disperse, feeling that the anger he had fought to resist had finally unleashed itself in a deadly, if self-contained, smolder. This was the last problem he had expected to encounter during the Council. Even knowing that his lapse into dragon sickness would rightfully be a point of concern, he had never thought it would throw into question the entire right of succession. And while a dispute would not affect his own rule, it would decide the future of his nephews.

Thorin glanced at his two young kinsmen, who still retained their seats near him. Fíli stared back at him, face devoid of any distinct emotion. And Kíli— If Thorin had felt any desire to be irritated with with his younger heir's contribution to this mess, all frustration vanished at the sight of the lad's pale, sick face.

Author's note:

Thanks again to my readers and commenters, both new and returning. You are all lovely.

I know you're probably wanting more explanation about the issue of the dwarven succession laws. I promise Kíli will explain it clearly to Tauriel in the next chapter.

Regarding Kíli's claim on the throne, he hasn't legally finalized the renunciation yet since his connection to Tauriel is still only a courtship. But Thorin talks about Kíli's renunciation as if it is completed, since it will be in the case that Kíli and Tauriel get married. So technically at this point in the story, Kíli is still in the line of succession.