Day 70

Despite the disastrous events of the night before, they do put a crown on his head on the seventieth day. It's a good thing that Balin has had him rehearse the offical parts of the coronation ceremony a few times, for Fíli is not quite sure he would not have kept making mistakes otherwise. His mind keeps wandering back to the previous night and its reminder how quickly things can go from perfectly fine to utterly chaotic.

Thanks to Óin's quick thinking and his carefully cultivated stash of healing herbs, Bofur is expected to make a full recovery.

"With a bit of luck the events will dampen his enthusiasm for anything alcoholic at least for a little while," Dwalin joked when he informed Fíli about Bofur's condition just this morning. Fíli has his doubts about that, but he'd much, much rather have a drunk Bofur on his hands than a dead one.

The fact that Bofur will be fine after all does however not make what has transpired any less shocking. Fíli has been aware, of course, of a certain amount of hostility towards him, but over the past few weeks things appeared to be quieting down inside the mountain and the fact that now someone would do something as bold as attempt to take his life came as an unpleasant surprise.

Because that's what this has been, right? An attempt on his life? Fíli has had more than enough time to relive the events in the dining hall and still things don't sit entirely right with him.

Last night found him pacing up and down the length of his room, impatient for news on Bofur, when he heard a commotion just outside his door. Not wanting to wait around doing nothing for any longer, he wrenched the door open and came face to face with a very red-faced Glorin as he sat on Thad's back, struggling to restrain the flailing limbs of the younger Dwarf. Flad was a few steps behind, his face ashen and two more members of the royal guard blocking his path.

When Thad noticed Fíli he instantly stopped struggling and gazed up at him with wild eyes, strands of his flaxen hair falling into his face. "I didn't know," he pleaded with Fíli. "I had no idea that the bottle was poisoned and now they're saying I tried to kill the king and I can't—I cannot—"

Fíli crouched down in front of his friend, signaling to Glorin to let go of their kinsman. Glorin looked decidedly unhappy to do so, but complied with the unspoken order.

Once Glorin had climbed off Thad's back, Fíli extended his hand and helped his friend sit up. He grasped Thad by the upper arm to stop him from shaking as violently as he did right then.

"I know that you could never try to harm me," he said earnestly, "and will say so to anyone who claims otherwise."

It took a while for his words to register with Thad, but eventually he grew calmer and allowed himself to be pulled into a standing position. Fíli kept his hand on his friend's arm.

"We do need to get to the bottom of this," he said. "Will you sit down with me and go over everything that happened?"

Thad nodded, still rather shaken. He looked to his brother and Flad was at his side in an instant, ready to accompany him into any trials that might await. Fíli suppressed a jolt of envy and led the brothers into his quarters where they were soon joined by Balin and Dwalin.

The poisoned bottle, it turned out, had been anonymously left in Thad's and Flad's quarters sometime during that day. Thad, in the hopes of Fíli accepting his and Flad's apology, had brought it down to dinner without questioning its contents.

"Whoever gifted the lad this bottle must have guessed that he would want to share it with you," Balin said to Fíli.

"Well, it's no secret that we have a drink together, from time to time," Fíli said. "And that we would do so tonight might have occurred to anyone, given the day we have ahead of us tomorrow."

"Which brings us no closer to determining the true culprit," Balin returned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been a very long day already.

"I say we round up anyone who has been known to speak in favor of Dáin taking the crown," Dwalin said, a dangerous glare in his eyes. "Lock them in the dungeons until after the coronation."

"We are most definitely not doing that," Fíli said indignantly. "I will not begin my reign with some of my people imprisoned just because they dared to speak up against me."

"I would not deem that very wise either," Balin commented, regarding his brother with something akin to amused cautiousness. Turning back to Fíli he added, "We should still proceed with the coronation, though. Postponing matters will only give those who seek to undermine you more time to do so."

Despite his reluctance to act as if nothing had happened when one of his kinsmen had nearly been killed mere hours ago, Fíli could not but see the reasoning behind Balin's words. Which is how he comes to be here, now, accepting the crown that was supposed to be his uncle's.

It feels heavier than it ought to, that crown of his, the muscles in his neck straining under its weight. For a brief, weak moment the lines Sigrid wrote him flash before his inner eye, but he pushes the memory and the feelings that are inevitably tied to it away. Not now, he tells himself. Keep your head up, your heart strong, and this, too, will be over before too long. And then... well. Then you will be expected fulfill your destiny.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It really is over before too long and Fíli finds himself at the grand celebration following in the wake of his coronation. While it is a relief to be done with the stiff formalities of the day, he still struggles to fall into a more relaxed attitude. Too many faces to remember, too many obligations to uphold, to many expectations to meet.

The events of the night before are still on his mind, looming over his head like a dark cloud that might drench him at any minute. Even though he is not particularly concerned about his own well-being he cannot help but feel on edge, his eyes darting around the halls every so often on the lookout for any suspicious activity. Thad has not left his side since the moment the official ceremony ended and insists on personally sipping every drink which Fíli is being handed. Fíli tolerates this, more for Thad's sake than his own. His young friend is even paler than usual today, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. If putting himself in harms way for his king can help him overcome his guilty conscience then so be it.

Ásta, Fíli notices, appears rather tense too, staying close to him for most of the time, her dark eyes unusually timid. He cannot hold that against her – how could she feel safe after what has happened? Their guests from Rhûn have been welcomed with as much cordiality as can be expected of the Dwarves of Erebor, but if people are now beginning to poison one another, who is to say that the foreigners might not become the next targets?

The Blacklock princess certainly gives the impression of knowing how to defend herself, but still Fíli makes a silent promise to be especially vigilant for her sake. His heart may not (yet) be overly enthusiastic about their prospective union, but the very least he can do is offer her certain measures of stability and security.

With his thoughts wandering down these paths, Fíli somehow makes it through the first hour or so of the feast without any incidents worth of notice. Until he catches sight of her standing at the edge of a small crowd of people from Dale. Sigrid's hair is braided for the occasion, the intricately woven strands of gleaming hair piled at the back of her head doing some very interesting things to both his heart and his imagination.

He's... surprised to see her here tonight. After that gut-wrenching moment in the entrance hall yesterday afternoon, Fíli would have thought that she might wish to avoid him and even though that thought is rather painful, he has managed to convince himself that it would be better this way. Clearly, she is not going to make it that easy for him, though – not that he would deserve as much.

He cannot tear his gaze away from her, even when he watches a small frown pass over her face and knows with utmost certainty that she is about to look up, look at him. Their eyes meet across the sea of people between them. Sigrid's eyes are dark and vulnerable today and for a moment it is as if Fíli can only see her, the world around them fading into nothingness.

Mahal, it has been too long since he has touched her. Much, much, much too long.

When Fíli comes to his senses once more, he finds that he has taken a few steps in her direction, the small group of people he has been conversing with – Ásta, Balin, and two more members of the Blacklock clan – staring after him in utter bewilderment for abandoning them in what might have been the middle of a sentence. He wavers on his feet for a moment, but then realizes that this will look even worse if he simply turns back around now, and so he keeps his head held high and his steps measured as he continues to advance upon their guests from Dale.

For a moment Sigrid looks like she might run, but then her spine straightens by a fraction and she thrusts her chin forward, meeting his gaze as he advances upon her and her people. Fíli feels stripped bare under her gaze, but he, too, forces himself to keep his face calm and his shoulders squared. He has no idea what he is trying to accomplish here, but it is too late to turn back now. Also, turning away from her is just about the last thing he wants to do.

He comes to a stop a couple of feet away from her, close enough to be able to speak without having to raise his voice above the considerable amount of background noise. But not an inch closer than that – this is a very public backdrop for such an encounter and given his tendency to make a fool of himself wherever she is concerned, he is determined to uphold a respectable distance.

Sigrid's eyes have yet to leave his, but they remain cautious – no teasing twinkle, no tenderness to be found in them today.

"Your Majesty," she says, finally breaking eye-contact as she lowers her head in deference.

Fíli's stomach is in knots and he wants to tell her not to call him that but stops himself just in time. This is how it will have to be, from now on. "How are you?" he asks instead, forcing his voice past the tightness in his throat.

"I am quite well, thank you," Sigrid responds politely, still not looking at him. He hates every second of it.

Silence stretches between them and Fíli feels his face grow hot while he desperately searches for a way to let her know how sorry he is about the way things went, how utterly devastated he feels for not being allowed to follow his heart. To let her know how he misses her. Before he can embarrass them both by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, he is saved by a slight weight knocking into him from his right and, swaying a little to the left while he catches his balance, he looks down to find Tilda beaming up at him, her short arms wrapped around his midsection.

"It is so good to see you!" she all but squeals. "Congratulations on becoming king!"

A little gasp from Sigrid causes Fíli to glance at her and finds her cheeks flushed with mortification on behalf of her little sister. "Tilda, that is not exactly how you—"

"It's quite alright," Fíli assures her, not wanting to add to the load she already carries on her shoulders. To Tilda he adds, "Thank you. It is very good to see you, too. How have you been? I heard that you were sick a few weeks ago."

Tilda's smile is unwaveringly bright and she releases him from her embrace to stand beside her sister. "Oh, it was nothing really. Sigrid made me stay in bed for days and it was so boring." She seems to remember something then and a slight shadow passes across her doll-like face, making her lower lip quiver. "What about Bofur, though? I heard he fell terribly ill just last night."

"He did," Fíli affirms gravely. "But you need not worry for him. He is much better already."

The girl's relief is palpable. In those confusing hours during and after the dragon's attack on Lake-town when fate decided that it would be an entertaining idea to throw four Dwarves, an Elf and the three children of a bargeman together in their struggle to survive, Bofur had been the one to pay the most attention to the small girl, distracting her from the gruesomeness of what was happening with his silly antics and affectionate smiles. It is only natural, then, that she should worry for him, but still the fact that she does is a stark reminder of how friendship can be found in the most unlikely of places, how love cannot be constrained by the prejudices which continue to exist between the peoples of Middle Earth.

He glances at Sigrid again as that last part of his thoughts echoes through his mind, but she is not looking at him, smiling down at her younger sister instead. Tilda looks over her shoulder, catching her older sibling's eye.

"I know you said I should not," the girl says, "but please, Sigrid, may I?"

Sigrid looks slightly exasperated. After a moment she sighs, casting an apologetic glance at Fíli. "Fine, go ahead if you must," she says to Tilda.

Bewildered by their exchange, Fíli watches Tilda rummage around in her skirt pocket for a few seconds and then produce an oddly shaped object made of cloth. She offers it to him, pride shining in her young eyes and he automatically reaches out, wrapping his fingers around it. It's some sort of doll, he realizes, fashioned out of what might once have been a pillowcase. Two buttons, one brown and one black, serve as its eyes and it is equipped with long hair made from brown wool and – he smirks – a beard complete with braids and a few wooden beads threaded into it.

"It's for Bofur," Tilda states solemnly while Fíli turns the doll over in his hands, "to help him get better. Will you give it to him?"

Fíli feels laughter bubble up in his chest at the thought of Bofur's expression when he is presented with this gift. He smiles his first genuine smile today. "I will be honored to pass this along to him," he says, earning himself another delighted smile from the girl.

He glances up at her sister once more and finds her watching him with some of her usual warmth. That choking tension inside his stomach begins to uncoil and he feels it again, that tenderness that he only seems to be capable of when she is near. Then he remembers where they are and that this – short, impersonal exchanges in public settings – is all he can ever have from her now and the knot in his inner organs returns, tightening until he has to swallow against a bit of bile rising in his throat.

It isn't fair.

Sigrid is still regarding him carefully and opens her mouth to say something when Tilda pipes up again. "Why does that Dwarf over there keep looking at us?" she asks, peering at the group Fíli left behind when he crossed the room to join her and her sister. "He wasn't at our house when Da brought you there to hide, was he?"

Fíli does not have to turn to know whom she is speaking of and watches in utter dismay as Sigrid's expression closes off once more. He is saved from giving an answer, at least, by a deep voice cutting through the silence between them.

"That, my dear daughter, is not a Dwarf at all. It's a Dwarf woman."

Fíli carefully clears his face of all feeling before he turns to acknowledge Bard with a polite nod, which the new King of Dale returns, his inquisitive eyes lingering on Fíli's face for just a split second longer than he is comfortable with. Surely Bard cannot know...?

Tilda, meanwhile, is perfectly abuzz with excitement. "A Dwarf woman? How splendid! And she even has a beard." Turning to Fíli with her small hands clasped underneath her chin she asks, her face a picture of innocence, "Are you going to marry her?"

A cold, dead weight settles in Fíli's stomach and he has to muster all of his self-control to affect the semblance of a smile when Bard gently admonishes Tilda for her inquisitiveness.

"That is none of your business, my dear."

"But—" Tilda begins, but is cut off by her sister.

"Tilda," Sigrid hisses, "leave it be. Now."

Fíli tries to swallow the lump in his throat and almost chokes, tears stinging the corners of his eyes while he fights to keep his composure. In the presence of her father he does not dare to look at Sigrid directly, but from the corner of his eye he can see the tension rolling off her in waves, her cheeks flushed and her fists clenched.

This was a terrible idea, he realizes, for all he has accomplished is to cause them both more pain.

"I am expected by my people, I'm afraid," he says stiffly, turning to Bard once more. The bowman is frowning at his older daughter and, panicking, Fíli fumbles for words that might distract Bard before he can draw certain conclusions from Sigrid's uncharacteristic behavior. "I just wanted to speak to you in person and thank you for joining us here tonight," he rambles on and to his relief Bard's eyes leave his daughter and fix him instead.

There's something in the eyes of the King of Dale that has Fíli slightly worried for a second, but then it passes and the man inclines his head in acceptance of Fíli's words. "Thank you for including us in such a meaningful event," he says. Bard, too, has learned a thing or two about politics since his people made him their leader. "I hope our dealings with each other will be characterized by the same friendliness."

"I see no reason at all why they should not be," Fíli replies, exerting all of his willpower to not allow his gaze to flicker to Sigrid. Leave her be, he commands himself, you've caused enough damage as it is.

Seeing that there is nothing else to say and that he has already announced his departure, Fíli forces himself to turn away from the small group then, his heart sinking a little more with each step that he takes. If he were Kíli he would turn back now, find some way to show Sigrid that this is all very painful for him, that this is not at all what he wants. But he isn't his brother and now, more than ever, he cannot not allow his longing for Kíli's presence influence his actions, cannot let it make him reckless and impulsive.

And so he walks back the short distance necessary to rejoin his people, calm on the outside while inside of him a terrible storm is raging, waves of despair crashing against the barriers he is fighting so hard to uphold.

He feels Ásta's gaze linger on him during his journey across the hall and when he looks up finds her usually so animated features stone-cold, her full lips forming a hard line. Or maybe it's just the light playing a trick on his eyes, for as he draws closer, her face appears softer once more, a companionable smile stretching her lips as she hands him a goblet of wine.

"Are your guests finding everything to their satisfaction?" she asks, looking at him over the rim of her own goblet. Her voice betrays no particular feeling whatsoever and Fíli tells himself that he really did imagine that hard look on her face just then.

"Very much so," Fíli replies, hoping that his voice doesn't really sound as hollow as it does to his own ears. Ignoring the protesting yelp from Thad, he drinks deeply from his goblet, the rich flavor overpowering the bitter taste his conversation with Bard and his daughters has left behind. The effect lasts only for a moment, though, and Fíli suspects that he will be needing to drink a whole lot more if he wants to chase the image of Sigrid's eyes, the hurt reflected in them sending daggers straight into his heart, from his mind. Well, so be it, then.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It is much, much later that night when most of the guests – including the party from Dale – have already left, that Fíli finds himself hiding out in a small alcove behind one of the tapestries hung on the high walls of the Great Hall, Ásta pressed against his front, her whole form shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

"Shh," he whispers into her ear from behind. "Ye're going to give us away."

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, a testament to the fact that, despite Thad's frequent interventions, he has managed to work himself into a rather inebriated state. The younger Dwarf is currently passed out with his head on one of the long tables, having overexerted himself in his self-imposed position as the king's cupbearer.

Ásta turns to face him, her long curls tickling Fíli's nose as she does so. In the small space there is no other way for the two of them to stand other than with the length of their bodies touching – unless they want to be discovered by the two ancient Dwarves who have been chewing their ears off about the long lost glory of the olden days for over an hour.

Tilting her head back to look at him, Ásta grins, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes reminding him a little of Kíli. "Don't you worry," she says. "I can be quite... discreet."

The stress she puts on that last word sends a little jolt through certain regions of Fíli's body which must have shown on his face somehow, for Ásta's smile widens by a fraction before her face comes so close to his that her features begin to blur and Fíli instinctively closes his eyes.

He lets her kiss him then, for how could he justify pushing her away, both to her and to himself? Her lips are soft and full against his, the breath rushing from her mouth into his when she opens them, demanding more, sweet with wine and full of promises.

Fíli brings one hand up, running his fingers through the mass of curls at the back of her neck before cupping her head, tilting it gently to one side to allow his mouth better access to hers. Ásta complies readily with his request and the sigh which escapes her lips as their kiss deepens leaves a tingling heat behind in some hidden place inside of him.

This feels... good. Pretty damn good, in fact. There is no way for Fíli to deny that, just as there is no way denying the shortness of his breath or the slight tightening of his trousers which Ásta's touch evokes.

And yet... and yet.

It appears that not even the heat of this moment, not even the glorious intimacy with this extremely attractive Dwarf woman currently pressed against him, asking for more, can convince his stubborn mind to relinquish the image of sad hazel eyes or his even more stubborn heart to stop clinging to a much more innocent brush of lips like it is the only touch that ever mattered. Like it is the only touch he ever truly felt.

to be continued

A/N: I was happy to see that my little poisoning plot in the last chapter caused some reactions. Now I'm hoping that what I did here is not going to send you guys after me with pitchforks - this is still a Fíli/Sigrid story, we're just taking a little detour.