17

"Fíli, Kíli, I can't help but notice that the boat is still outside," Balin said.

It was around midday, and the wintry light was filtering through the windows as about half the company sat in the main hall. Thorin was seated in an armchair, reading a book that he'd found in one of the many shelves – it was possibly the only book in Westron that wasn't a some form of a guide that Thorin would only take up if he suffered a severe head injury. Fíli, Kíli, Balin and Ori were seated around the circular wooden table by the window in varying states of wakefulness – Ori was annoyingly cheerful, Balin was his usual self, and Fíli and Kíli were huddled around the steaming mugs of tea that sat before them as though the drinks were a lifeline. Oin sat in front of the fire, also with a mug of tea, while Nori searched through the kitchen looking for something he deemed edible. Bilbo was also in the kitchen, cooking a colossal amount of bacon that he'd found in the pantry.

It had been incredibly convenient for the elves of Mirkwood to leave, not least because Bilbo doubted that Esgaroth would have two fully furnished houses fit for a party of fourteen or more, and also because the elves had left a vast amount of food – he had learnt that morning that Thindor's party had originally intended to stay for another two weeks, but the arrival of Thorin had led the elf to go and inform his uncle of all that had happened the previous night.

"We asked Bilbo to do it," Kíli mumbled, folding his arms on the table and resting his head on his hand.

Bilbo snorted. "'Asked' would not be the word I'd use..."

"It was his responsibility to take it back," Fíli grumbled, ignoring Bilbo.

"No, it wasn't," Thorin said, looking up from his book. "It was yours. And it still is."

"Thorin, we've been rowing all night," Fíli shot across the room. "My arms ache so much, and judging by the state of Kíli this morning, he's probably feeling worse. Find somebody else to return the boat!"

Thorin glared at Fíli, who gave him a disdainful look back before adopting an identical position to his brother. Thorin put down the book without bothering to mark his page and stood up to face his nephews.

"You have a responsibility to see that the boat makes it back to its rightful owner. If you are physically incapable of doing so yourself, then you see that it is done by a willing volunteer, not by the first person stupid or polite enough not to fight back when you shove the task into their hands. You have a duty to ensure that such a task is done, and not to rest until you are satisfied that it is completed."

"How can he lecture us on responsibility?" Kíli muttered to Fíli under his breath.

"What was that, Kíli?" Thorin barked in a tone that indicated that he had heard every word.

Kíli stretched a smile across the lower half of his face, the muscles around his eyes barely twitching. "Nothing."

Thorin gave a cold look at Kíli, who continued to smile. "Remember that we are guests here," Thorin continued, as though there had been no interruption. "We rely on these men for help. We can't just steal a boat on our first night. See that it is returned."

Thorin turned away, intending to return to the book that he hadn't been reading all that closely, when Kíli called him back.

"It's not exactly easy, rowing with this," Kíli said, standing up and walking towards the stairs, holding up the stump of his arm. "You see, you may not realise it, but some things don't come as easily to me as they used to."

Kíli brushed past Thorin, who grabbed his arm.

"Is there something on your mind?" Thorin asked, a note of concern finally creeping into his voice. Kíli turned to face Thorin, meeting his eyes for the first time since their escape from Mirkwood. Kíli kept his tone as free from expression as he could, knowing that if he allowed even the slightest drop of emotion to escape from the tight fetters in which they were bound, he would lose any control that he had.

"Before you speak to us of responsibility, kindly remember your own to this company," Kíli said in a monotone. "What was it that you were doing in the long hours during which Bilbo planned our escape?"

Thorin let go of Kíli's arm, and the question was left unanswered for many days afterwards.

Somehow, goodness knew how, Fíli had found himself consenting to return the boat back to Bard alone. Balin had a significant amount to do with it, appealing to the fact that Fíli and Kíli were the ones who knew where the house was, and, away from Thorin's ears, pointed out that returning the boat would give him time away from the tense atmosphere of the house. The latter was far more to Fíli's tastes – he needed time away from Thorin, and time where he could think. He needed a chance to order everything in his mind: he no longer knew what exactly he felt about Thorin, about the quest...

Having asked several different passers-by where exactly Bard's house was, he finally came to a door which he was approximately eighty percent sure was the right one, and knocked three times. When the door opened, however, that number halved.

A boy, about a head shorter than he was, opened the door. The boy's eyes widened as he realised who exactly stood before him.

"Hello," Fíli said tentatively.

The boy stood speechless for a moment, before he seemed to remember how his voice worked. "You're a dwarf!"

Fíli couldn't help but grin slightly. "Yes," he replied. "Yes, I am."

"Bain! What are you doing? Away from there!"

Both Fíli and the boy looked inside, and caught a glimpse of the man that Fíli had seen last night. Bard came to the door just as Bain burst out:

"Pa, there's a dwarf at the door!"

"Yes, I know, Bain, now go inside," Bard hissed, ushering the boy away from the door before turning to Fíli. "What do you want?"

"I came to return your boat," Fíli answered, gesturing behind him to the vessel.

"Oh. Right."

"Thank you, by the way," Fíli said. "The company of Thorin Oakenshield is very grateful to you-"

"I don't want – or need – your gratitude," Bard snapped.

Fíli kept his expression neutral. "Then what do you want?"

Bard raised his eyebrows. "Honestly?"

Fíli tilted his head. Bard looked around, before ushering Fíli inside and shutting the door.

"Honestly, I wish for you and your company to leave these parts," Bard growled, keeping his voice low. "I wish for none of your kin to ever return. I wish that you would leave Smaug and all that treasure alone, and never disturb him. I wish for our peaceful existence to continue. I wish that you would never disturb Smaug again, so that my son gets a chance to grow up!"

"I understand your concerns-"

"No, I don't think you do! It is all very well and good for you to risk your own lives, but if Smaug awakens, then we will be the first ones he would attack! I want my son to have a chance to live! I-"

Bard broke off, his hands shaking, as all the fear, all the doubt that had been building overnight with the arrival of the dwarves threatened to overcome him.

"I know that Thorin Oakenshield gave the Master his word that he would do all in his power to prevent this, but what good is his word when he is dead? Fourteen of you cannot destroy that thing! It is not within Thorin Oakenshield's power to destroy Smaug, it is not in anybody's power! His word means nothing to me!"

"His word no longer means very much to anyone," Fíli said coldly, quietly.

Bard was startled into silence. "What did you say?"

In all honesty, Fíli's words had surprised himself more so than they had Bard. It was the first time since Beorn's that Fíli had placed his own feelings into words. He had not been himself in the aftermath of Kíli's disappearance and subsequent reappearance, experiencing emotions so much stronger than he had ever felt before that he had almost tried to throw them back at the world, at anything that dared invoke them – they felt like poison in his body, and at the time, he had done everything he could to get rid of them. But some residue had remained and spread, some burning hot anger had cooled into something far more dangerous, and it was only now that he could put a name on it. He had sensed a similar change in his brother, but Kíli was far more vocal about it, never allowing any of his emotions to hide, and letting them out as soon as he became aware of it. Fíli, however, never found doing such a thing as easy.

"Thorin's word means very little," Fíli said.

"You do not speak as one who loves him," Bard said.

Fíli's mind drifted back to the plains outside Rivendell. To Thorin throwing him down into the passage. To the pony returning, dried blood over its coat. To Thorin returning, unsuccessful, after looking for Kíli when he was too late. To the goblin tunnels, glimpsing Kíli on the bridge below, only to be dragged away by Thorin. To standing on the edge of the cliff, seeing Thorin watch as the warg mauled Kíli. To Thorin pulling him away from the cliff edge after Kíli had fallen. To Beorn's house, where Thorin had made the decision to amputate Kíli's hand. To Thorin holding Kíli's hand while Oin raised the knife. To Kíli's sobs after his entire world came crashing down... All of it could have been prevented if Thorin had simply helped Kíli outside Rivendell, and everything that had happened afterwards was on Thorin's head.

"He abandoned my brother against impossible odds," Fíli finally said. "I cannot love him after that."

As Fíli walked back into the house that they were staying in, he was greeted by a sight that made him wonder for the second time that day whether he was in the right place. A man was standing there, very lavishly dressed, with two large bags filled with what appeared to be cloth.

"Ah, hello!" the man said as he caught sight of Fíli. "The Master requested that I come here, and-"

"I don't mean to be blunt, but who exactly are you?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, do forgive me," the man stuttered as he put one of his bags down on the floor and stretched out his hand. "Where are my manners? Introductions... My name is Garm, I am a tailor. As I said, the Master sent me here – he wishes for your company to join him at a feast in honour of Erebor, and he thought that I could make you some clothes for the occasion. And while I was at it – ah!"

Thorin emerged from one of the rooms to see what was going on. At the sight of Garm, his demeanour instantly turned hostile. "Who are you?"

"He was just telling me that," Fíli said, noting how tense Garm was becoming.

Garm's eyes flickered from Fíli to Thorin, before he gave what he evidently hoped would be a winning smile. "The Master of Lake-Town has invited you to a feast tomorrow night in Erebor's honour, and has asked me to make some clothes for your company fit for the occasion, as well as some clothes for some far more everyday occasions."

Thorin studied the man as Nori and Ori both entered, taken aback by the sudden appearance of (at least to Nori's eyes) the most ridiculously dressed man that he had ever seen. However, unlike the other two occupants of the room, neither of them opted to say anything.

"Fíli, Nori, Ori, would you go and find the rest of the company and bring them here?"

Garm's countenance relaxed, as Fíli explained briefly to the two bemused members of the company what exactly was going on. He maintained his smile as the three younger dwarves disappeared, though it faltered slightly as he found himself falling into an awkward silence as he was left alone in a room with a less-than-cheerful Thorin.

-:-

Nori didn't bother knocking on the door as he opened it, expecting to see Kíli sitting on the bed, possibly perusing a book of some form. He hadn't seen Kíli since he had questioned Thorin's role as the leader of the company, but had assumed that Kíli had just gone up to the room he shared with Kíli. However, the room was deserted.

Nori looked around the room – it was smaller than the one he shared with his brothers, but there was more than enough space. The walls were lined with books, and one had been taken off the shelf and lay on what appeared to be Kíli's bed, judging by the boots that were sitting at the foot of the bed. He felt his eyes drawn to the bright red leather cover, which showed a picture of a mountain, and a title that proudly proclaimed 'Erebor – a history.'

And then he realised that there was a small scrap of fabric sitting on top of the book.

Curiosity won out over Nori, and he walked over to it. If it hadn't been displayed so prominently, he might have assumed that it was something left behind by one of the house's former occupants, but the fact that it was sitting on top of a book clearly picked up by Kíli indicated that the scrap of fabric was his.

Nori walked over, questions rushing to the forefront of his mind, tumbling over one another as they fought to make themselves known. What was so important about this scrap of fabric? We lost everything in Mirkwood, even our weapons and most of our clothes. Why, of all the things, did Kíli bring this single filthy scrap of fabric so far?

He picked up the piece of material and unfolded it, and his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened as he recognised what was embroidered there, and the significance of it all suddenly made sense. It was so dirty, covered in filth and blood, but the gold and silver thread still gleamed dully in the light streaming through the window. But as soon as his questions were answered, a thousand more came to mind.

He barely noticed the door opening, but he noticed the voice. Not what the voice was saying, but the realisation that the voice was Kíli. He didn't notice the question about what he was doing in here, over the sound of all the questions in his own mind, as he tried to see which one to ask first.

"Kíli," Nori said in a voice that wasn't his own, holding up Thardin's coat of arms. "What is this?"

A/N: YAY! ONLY 33 DAYS UNTIL HOBBITNESS! (Casually been counting down since 100 days...) Already got my tickets booked for Desolation of Smaug, and DID ANYONE ELSE WATCH THE FAN EVENT? PETER JACKSON IN HIS DIRECTOR COSTUME WITH NO SHOES ON LITERALLY MADE MY DAY!

*Clears throat like someone who doesn't belong in a mental hospital diagnosed with Tolkienphilia*

So yeah, you remember all that stuff at the beginning of part 2 where I introduced a random character that had no seeming relevance to the plot? Well, now you shall know what exactly I was going on about. I would also like to say that this small plot arc shall become relevant to a bigger plot arc, which is part of the overall SUPERMASSIVE plot arc. (Enter Muse soundtrack.)

Now, on a slightly different note (well, let's be honest, a completely different note,) a while ago I referenced a link to deviantart of a really good piece of fan art for this story. Now, at the time I wanted to make it the cover art for this story, but when I asked, the artist never got back to me. So to all you aspiring internet artists who are at a loss for what to do next and who also love this story, I would like to ask: would you be interested in entering if I were to hold a cover art competition? If people think that this is a colossally stupid idea, then I probably won't hold it, but enough people show an interest, I'll post full details, terms & conditions that shall be short and to the point, rules and guidelines, and anything else relevant on my profile over the next week. If nothing appears by the next update, then check the author's note of the next update to see what exactly is happening... So yeah, if you think it's a good idea, just mention in a review or a PM (whichever you feel more comfortable doing) that you're interested.