"What is it that you have to say to me Geir?" Rín said calmly, searching his unreadable expression for...something.

The old dwarf simply studied her, and swept his hand out, indicating they retake their seats at the now unoccupied table. Rín nodded her head and sat down, just as Geir did the same. Awkwardly, the white haired dwarf cleared his throat.

"I think perhaps I owe you an apology-"

"Just 'perhaps'?" Rín asked, one eyebrow raised. She would, and in fact already had, forgiven the old dwarf his transgression, but that did not mean she would let him get away from admitting just how wrongly he had treated her, and just how much his distrust had broken her.

Geir inclined his head, regret flickering across his features, "No, you are right. Not just 'perhaps'., but most definitely." he said, "I jumped to conclusions and I should not have, it was just too hard for me to believe that Thorin is the Thorin, risen from the dead. I have no love for traitors, for my own reasons besides the obvious, and it was a low blow, for me to accuse you of being the same as your father."

Rín sighed unhappily, "Geir, you know I do not believe it was my father who betrayed Erebor."

Geir blinked, "All these years and you still do not believe?"

"No I refuse to." Rín shook her head emphatically, "It is easy for anyone to place the blame on one who is foreign to them, even when it could just of easily been someone we knew and trusted. Just look at Ejnarr!"

"Rín, you were no more than a babe at the time. Your father was proved to be the guilty party." Geir said quietly.

Rín gritted her teeth, "Circumstantial evidence! No one looked deeper than the surface."

"Where is he then Rín?" he replied, "He was never in any faction or warren whilst we were beneath Erebor. We asked for word, remember?"

Rín let out the breath she had been holding, "I know Geir, and I know in my heart that he died long ago. "

"How do you think to prove his innocence then?"

Rín shook her head, "I do not know Geir, I do not know." she said, finally looking up from the wood of the table to meet his gaze, "But you did not believe Thorin's tale either, because although the evidence pointed to what you saw as only one outcome, just as clearly, it pointed to another."

Geir studied her in silence with his one good eye. Slowly, he moved his hands across the table and took hers in his, "Child, I have looked after you ever since your mother died, and I have come to think of you as my own kin, my own blood. My quick judgement of you when I know you have not a single traitorous bone in your body was a betrayal in itself." he said bitterly, "In all these years I have prided myself on the ability to see more clearly than others, despite my obvious physical failings. I have failed you Rín, and for that I will forever be sorry. If this is what you truly believe, then I will believe it too, and if I can, I will help you in any way possible find the truth."

Rín blinked back the mist in her eyes and gave the old dwarf a small smile, squeezing his calloused hands. "Thank you Geir, you know I have already forgiven you."

The white haired dwarf grinned toothily and sat back in his chair, letting their hands drift apart, "Aye I do girlie. Though you shouldn't have. You forgive to easily, your heart is too soft."

Rín snorted, "There is nothing wrong with that."

Suddenly Geir was sombre once more, "Perhaps there isn't, but perhaps there is. You should do well to guard your heart Rín," he said sadly, "This world is a cruel place."

Rín was about to reply to his cryptic words when Thorin suddenly burst through the door, startling them from their seats, "Thorin, what-"

"It's Nannulf," Thorin said, his face grim, "He's gone."

Skøldjor was alone the second time he visited his sister. The nurse, or matron, whom he had learned bore the name Rosmértá, was still as 'pleasant' as she had been the last time, obviously uncaring that he was the Sachem. With anyone else, he would not have stood for it, but she did such a good caring for his sister, he let it pass.

Sjöfn's room was dark and quiet when he pushed the door open, a single candle burning next to her bedside. The flickering light cast shadows about her face, highlighting just how hollow it was. Quietly, not wanting to disturb her, Skøldjor crept around to the small chair where Cynered had been the last time they had visited and sat down.

When he turned to look at his little sister, her blue eyes were wide open and watching him, "Why, my lord Sachem, I did not expect to see you here." Sjöfn laughed weakly. "What a pleasant surprise."

Skøldjor grinned, "Why, I could not refuse a visit to my dearest, sweetest, most lovely, baby sister."

Even in her state, Sjöfn managed a dramatic eye-roll in reply. "Always the dutiful one." she grumbled teasingly, a bite of truth to her words, "Cynered couldn't come?"

Skøldjor's eyebrows almost reached his hairline. "No, Cynered couldn't come, I did make him my second in command you know, he does have work to do." he said, laughter in his voice, "And what is this little thing you seem to have going on with my best friend?"

Sjöfn glared at her brother, "I have no idea what you're talking about." she muttered, and Skøldjor got that immense satisfaction only older brothers could have, at seeing the faint pink that stained her ghostly cheeks.

"Oh I think you do Siffy." he teased, poking her gently, "The pair of you kept making doe eyes at one another. Rather hard to miss. Now, how many times have I told you you're never allowed to start seeing any boys?"

"Oh shush Skøldjor," Sjöfn huffed, "There is no possibility of anything between us but, I would like to point out that Cynered is not a boy, he is your second in command."

Skøldjor gaped at his sister in mock-horror. "Trust you to use my own words against me!" he sniffed imperiously, "And there is no possibility of anything between the two of you because you are far too good for him...in fact, you're far too good for anyone... if I recall correctly, that's why I set the 'do not speak to boys' rule in the first place."

Sjöfn started coughing then, a harsh, gasping sound that made Skøldjor feel useless as all the humour left the room. His sister smiled weakly at him after the coughing fit had passed. "So, how was your day brother?" she asked, her pale face over-bright.

Skøldjor sighed, leaning back in his chair as he replied, "Busy, and hard." he said, "No doubt you have heard of the break-out from Erebor?" when his sister nodded hesitantly, he continued. "Well our patrols caught two of the escapee's, one of whom is the wife of the ringleader. One of our most valuable informants from the warrens in Erebor was killed this morning by this dwarf-woman - who just so happened to be bound and still managed to steal a knife from an Orc and drive it through the informant's heart. The incompetancy of the creatures almost makes me wonder why we allied with them in the first place." he said, running his hands through his hair, "To add to this confusion, the final descision of the Mœta is tonight, and by then your brother dearest may no longer be Sachem, that is, if I'm even still alive. I've told Cynered to be on double guard. Something doesn't feel quite right about this meeting, I would not put it past any of the other Vaidas to try and eliminate the competition."

"What of the dwarves?" Sjöfn asked with the faintest sign of a frown on her face. "What will happen to those that are left?"

Skøldjor shrugged, "We will extract as much information from them as possible, and then either execute them, or send them back to the mines, depending on whether or not we capture the ringleader."

"But why execute those who simply want their freedom?" His sister persistently asked. "Is it not the right of all people to be free?"

Skøldjor's eyebrows shot toward his hairline, "Since when have you had radical tendencies Sjöfn?" he asked dryly, "May I remind you that most of the food you eat, not to mention the clothes you wear are all the produce of slave labour. Have you and Cynered been discussing this?"

Sjöfn rolled her eyes at the comment, "No. He is like you. Too stubborn and proud to admit the truth of the matter." she replied, bite in her weak voice, "It is surely good to see that not even your best friends are above suspicion."

Skøldjor frowned at his sister seriously, but all annoyance was wiped away when she started coughing again, worse than before. Blood began to seep from the gaps between her pale fingers, clutched across her mouth. Frantically, Skøldjor called for the nurse, looking for a cloth, or anything he could find to help her.

The older woman came hurtling in at full pelt, pulling a cloth from her apron and tending to the girl retching on the bed. Skøldjor could only stand helplessly by and watch, a stone sinking to the pit of his stomach with the final realisation he was slowly losing the only family he had left.

A few minutes later, the nurse stood from his sister's bedside, giving strict instruction that he had two minutes and not a second longer. After the woman had removed herself from the room, the young Sachem turned back to the figure in the bed, mouth red against pale sheets and an even paler face. "Please Skøldjor," his little sister said, her voice only a whisper on wind, "Promise me, that if you become Sachem you will try and start changing the laws on slavery. No one deserves to be imprisoned, as I am by this room."

Skøldjor stared down at his little sister and sighed, "I will see what I can do." he replied sadly, bending down to press a gentle kiss to her sweaty forehead, "Now sleep Siffy, I will come and see you again tomorrow morning."

The sun had already set halfway by the time Skøldjor made it outside. It was surprising to him then, that he was met quite suddenly by an older man at the entrance. "Excuse me, Sachem." the man said, inclining his head and moving to the side.

Skøldjor however, stopped when he saw the dark-haired man and frowned. "You, what are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously, "This is a place of healing."

The faintest glimmer of a smile flashed across the other man's face, and he opened his arms invitingly, the folds of his blue cloak flaring. "Indeed Sir, and I am a healer," he replied, "Of some sort, in any matter."

"Do you know the identity of one of the occupants of this house?" Skøldjor asked warily, an alarm sounding in the back of his mind. Any area of weakness on the part of a Vaidas running for Sachem could potentially be used against them by rivals. "I had been told that the patient had seen many physicians and was told there was nothing they could do."

The dark-haired man's brown eyes were serious as he replied, "Indeed I do." he was quick to continue at the stony look on the young Sachem's face, "The nurse, Rosmértá called for me when she knew the other physicians had no hope of curing your sister."

Skøldjor relaxed slightly at the sound of the woman's name, he highly doubted 'The General' (as he had so dubbed her) would allow anyone to enter her building if she did not know they were allies. He was still cautious however. With a gruff nod, Skøldjor continued down the stairs, only to stop halfway down. "Please, do all you can to help her." he said, turning around, "And what is your name healer?"

The reply was short, sharp and quick as the man whirled quickly into the building, his blue cloak flying out behind him. "My name, Sachem, is Pallando."

Nannulf had decided that perhaps trying to follow the others so long after they had left the longhouse, had not been one of his most ingenious plans. As it was, he found himself totally and utterly lost. The looks he was getting from the inhabitants of Roskilde was one part curious and three parts suspicious. Nope, it had definitely not been a good idea.

The Rhûnion who had been left to babysit (how he hated that word) him, was as enamoured with the idea of looking after him, as Nannulf himself was of being looked after. However, it became clear quite quickly that the man would not shirk his duty. They had stared uncomfortably at one another for a few moments after the others had left, silence filling the main room of the longhouse, before a plan had formed in Nannulf's mind.

A game of knucklebones had been proposed and accepted, anything to escape perpetual boredom. Feigning tiredness and going to 'sleep' in the room the dwarves shared, separate to the men, Nannulf had prepared everything, and waited. He did not know what it was exactly, that the Rhûnion needed to do in his sleeping quarters, but he did know that something would draw him in there at some point and there would be a matter of only a few seconds where he would be able to make a run for it undetected (so many years trying to be invisible in the mines had taught him much).

And that was exactly what happened.

As soon as he was outside, Nannulf breathed the fresh air into his lungs. He didn't find himself happily cooped up indoors anymore, if he had his way, he would spend the rest of his life under the sun and stars. Almost cheerfully, he set off in the direction he had seen Ása and Ivarr being taken, and that was where he found himself in trouble, or more explicitly, utterly lost.

Nannulf rounded a corner and was just about to set foot onto the adjoining street when he stopped suddenly, eyes and nostrils dilated. He could smell them before he saw them, the Orc battalion, but they stepped into his line of sight just as he moved backwards. His heart almost stopped when one of the battalion pushed its way through its companions, shoving them out of its way. It was difficult to tell Orcs apart, but sometimes, several had...distinguishing features. This particular Orc had a long, straggling mohawk of coarse, black hair that ran down the centre of it's head like a horses mane. And more to the point, Nannulf recognised it, from the Rhûnion camp, in the middle of the thunderstorm.

The Orc shouted orders to its brethren, pointing one of it's long, yellow nail'ed fingers in different directions of the street. For a moment, it's eyes glanced over him and like a rabbit, frozen when it scents a predator, Nannulf stood stock still, fervently hoping the shadows of the building would hide him. Almost like it could feel his presence, the Orc slowly turned it's head and saw him, it's red eyes flashing in recognition. Viciously, the creature bared it's teeth at him and Nannulf turned on his heel and fled, racing through stalls and streets in order to make his escape.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Nannulf huffed a breath of relief, believing himself to have outrun his pursuer. It was because of this backwards glance however, that he did not notice the group gathered in front of him, and ran face first, into a broad, leather-clad chest.

A/N: So, today's chappie was actually quite a long one. I hope you enjoyed it! Trying to tie as many loose ends together as I can before I drop you all off the edge of a cliff (which, you know, I am going to do, very soon ;) ). What type of cliff, remains to be seen, but I am just prewarning you :P

Knucklebones is a game which is also called Jax, and used to be played with the 'knuckle' or ankle bones of a sheep. You will now be happy to know they are now made out of plastic. Apparently it's more hygienic.

I shamelessly nicked the name Rosmerta and made it even more 'exotic sounding'. Consider it a shout out to one of my other favourite fandoms...Seven words: FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM. UHHHH MEH GURSH! SO EXCITED IT WARRANTS CAPITALS!

Special thanks to Fellowship of Avengers, UniversalIndicator, ladymoonscar, DwarvenWarrior, LadyDunla, Suheyla, Dennib68, L. C. Doyle, Pearl Primrose, FromTheAshMeadow, xBelekinax, DeadheadDaisy, and my guest reviewers, DD, PS, and Guest (the last of whom I have decided to name Belt, because of his/her wonderful rendition of a scene from the Croods. I salute you, my friend, because now I have this adorable sloth image of you in my head. SLOTHS ARE AWESOME!). Gracias also to those of you who follow, favourite and read :)