A/N: I simply cannot keep this from you guys any longer, so here you are! This is an insanely long chapter with a whole bunch of things happening. I'm a bit nervous about it and very much hope that it lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!
Day 98
Ninety-eight days and still Fíli is no closer to finding the words he so desperately seeks for. Having skipped communal mealtimes for the sole purpose of evading the Wrath of Óin, dinnertime finds him wandering Erebor's endless hallways restlessly and more than a little hungry.
Since his attempts at writing to Sigrid have remained so frustratingly unsuccessful, he has made some halfhearted endeavors to speak to Ásta so that he might at least hint to her that what she – and everyone else, for that matter – thinks is going to happen never will. The Blacklock princess, however, has been surprisingly unavailable these past few days, which is a startling deviation from her usual patterns. She is not stupid, Fíli tells himself. In all likelihood she has her own suspicions about his change of heart and is seeking to avoid the unpleasant confrontation they will need to have before too long.
With his thoughts distracted by hunger and too many hours of turning the same matters over and over in his mind, Fíli is inclined to dismiss the person who all but jumps in front of him at the foot of one of the broad staircases connecting the upper, more private levels of the city to the public areas below as a figment of his imagination. However, the scowl on her face – an expression he has never witnessed on her before – convinces him that that is not the case and that it is really Sigrid herself who is standing before him.
There are so many things he has considered saying to her over the past two days that now that she is really here, he finds his mind assaulted by a jumble of words, tying knots into his tongue. It is just as well, for Sigrid does not appear inclined to wait for him to speak either way.
"I want—" she begins but then breaks off, closing her eyes in what appears to be an effort to gather her courage. "I just want to say one thing," she continues and the way her voice sounds makes him suspect that she is clenching her teeth pretty hard. "I probably shouldn't, since you are king now and I am not supposed to talk to you at all without proper decorum, but I find that I cannot rest properly until I have spoken my mind."
Fíli stares at her, unable to comprehend what she speaks of. Also, the flush which anger and embarrassment have caused to appear high on her cheeks is rather distracting in the sense that it makes her look even prettier than usual.
"Very well," he says for there is no request in the world he would deny her if he can help it. "I'm listening."
Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say, although, for the life of him, he cannot fathom why.
"Why, thank you, Your Majesty, for your magnanimity," Sigrid says, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You are welcome?" Fíli says obtusely, wanting to slap himself the moment the words tumble off his tongue. Sigrid looks like she might explode any second – if it wasn't directed at him, he would be rather fascinated by the sheer vividness of her anger. Who knew that she had such a temper? "What was it that you wanted to say?" he asks instead, before he can get himself into more trouble still.
"I wanted to remind you that you once told me I was under no obligation to give you anything," she answers, refusing to meet his gaze and staring at a fixed point somewhere above his right shoulder instead. "And to inform you that the same is true for you. Even if as king you are free to do whatever you wish, I would ask you to refrain from gifts that are not entirely appropriate given your... circumstances."
Again, Fíli can only stare at her. "I'm not sure I... what?"
Sigrid's eyes close and she gives a long exhale, the hands she holds rigidly at her sides clenching into fists. "Please do not send me any more gifts," she says slowly, deliberately, like you might speak to a small child. Only much, much more threatening. "I have no use for such things and am certain your fiancée would be very displeased if she knew."
Fíli decides to forego correcting her wrongful labeling of Ásta as his fiancée in favor of the more obvious problem with her statement. "I—I did not give you anything."
This, at least, has the effect of making her look at him, really look at him, and Fíli is dismayed to discover than underneath the fury that appears to be fueling her, her eyes shine with the pain of a broken heart. She blinks it away, though, holding onto her anger. "Are you telling me then," she grinds out from between clenched teeth, "that this is not of Dwarven make?"
She thrusts her hand out towards him and Fíli sees something glitter on her upturned palm. He steps closer to examine the object. It's a delicate silver needle with a sparkling gem on one end. A hairpin, he realizes, wielded to resemble a long-stemmed rose. It's a stunning piece, but one that does not suit Sigrid at all. Also, he's seen this before, on somebody else.
"Where did you get this?" he asks and the sharpness of his tone causes Sigrid to relinquish some of her anger, her eyes darting from the trinket in her hand to meet his concerned gaze.
"It was left at our house for me," she says, her confusion obvious in her widened eyes. "I thought that since it was my birthday last week you might have... You really did not send this to me?"
"I did not," he answers grimly while he considers the evidence placed before him. This is Ásta's hairpin, he has no doubt about that for since that first day of her stay at Erebor, he has seen her wear it on several occasions. But why on earth would she—
That is when the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place for him. Thad and Flad's warning. The poisoned mead. Ásta's face when she watched him speak to Sigrid after his coronation. Her mood three days ago, after his conversation with Óin. She knows. She knows that there is something between him and Sigrid, something that shouldn't be there at all. But if that is the case, then that can only mean...
His eyes widen in horror. "Drop it," he snarls and then, when Sigrid simply stares at him in bewilderment, "Drop the pin. Now."
Seconds inch by with aching slowness as Fíli watches Sigrid slowly turn her hand, the pin sliding off her palm to fall to the ground with an innocent clink. They both stand and stare at the small piece of jewelry lying on the floor between them.
"I don't understand—" Sigrid begins, but Fíli holds up his hand to stop her and crouches down in front of the pin.
"Do you have a handkerchief on you?"
Sigrid nods and produces a clean, white handkerchief from a pocket in the folds of her skirt. Fíli takes it from her and carefully wraps it around the pin before picking it up.
"I need you to come with me," he says. "Please," he adds, when Sigrid looks as if she is about to argue.
He almost sighs in relief when she gives a small nod instead and without further ado he leads her back up the stairs he has just descended and then up another, more narrow staircase which takes them to the level that houses the king's quarters. She has been up there before, of course, on the night of his birthday. Still, Fíli is glad that the halls are mostly deserted during dinnertime and that no one is around to witness the heat in his cheeks as he leads her straight to his private rooms, not stopping before he has ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.
He cannot know for certain where Sigrid expected he would take her, but clearly it wasn't his bedroom, for once inside, she stops dead, her cheeks pink as she takes in the sight of his large four-poster bed and the variety of his belongings that are strewn across the room.
"I still cannot—I still don't understand," she says. Fíli notices that her anger appears to have left her, leaving only shyness and a profound sense of embarrassment behind. He forces himself not to linger on the slight breathlessness of her voice.
Rather than answering her, he strides across the room to a bowl of fruit he's had brought up from the kitchens earlier in an attempt to appease his empty stomach. Selecting a shiny red apple, he takes it over to her. He holds it up between their bodies and brings the pointy end of the hairpin he still clutches in his other hand to it, careful to keep the rest of the trinket wrapped in her handkerchief.
He pierces the peel of the fruit with the pin, dragging it downward to create a small incision. Then he watches in horrified fascination as the peel around the cut begins to blacken and wither, the darkness slowly spreading outward from the cut until the whole apple lies rotten on his upturned palm.
"Poison," he says without taking his eyes off the shriveled fruit.
"I—what—" Sigrid stares at the apple, lifting a hand as if to touch it, but then letting it drop to her side again. "If I had put this in my hair..."
"One small scratch might have been enough," Fíli confirms grimly. Something cold and hard grips his heart at the very thought of it.
"Who would do such a thing?" Sigrid's eyes are wide with both fear and hurt, her fingers having drifted to her head to absently run them through her hair and she has pulled loose a few strands from the knot at the back of her neck without realizing it. She looks so... innocent at that moment that Fíli feels hot rage bubble up inside of him at the knowledge that somebody would dare to try harm her.
"I know exactly who would," he growls, averting his eyes from her because he does not want her to see the things reflected in them that his anger might make him capable of. He turns away from her, wrapping the hairpin safely in her handkerchief once more. The apple he puts on his bedside table to dispose of later. "I need you to stay in here while I take care of a couple of things," he tells her, still not daring to raise his eyes to hers.
"What are you going to—" She falls silent and when she speaks again, her voice has lost its fearful edge. "You are going to confront whoever did this," she states flatly.
Fíli inclines his head, his hand already on the doorknob. "I am. And until I have done so, I have to know you are safe."
"You can't just lock me in here!" She sounds more offended by the idea than he would have expected her to be and he briefly closes his eyes, hating to cause her even more distress.
"It's for the best. I can't—I cannot focus on what needs to be done unless I know you are out of harm's way."
If he thought that his admission how much she matters to him would shock her into agreeing with him, he was gravely mistaken.
"I am no damsel to be kept in a tower," she cries. "I can look after myself."
He turns his head to look at her over his shoulder. The flame of her anger has been rekindled, her eyes gleaming dangerously as she takes up a stubborn stance, her chin jutting out. He has no doubt that she does know how to handle herself in a variety of situations, but not in this. She has no way of knowing what she has gotten herself in the middle of – this is his responsibility, his mess to clean up.
"I'm sorry," he says as he turns to open the door. "I will be back as soon as I can."
And with that he steps through the door, pulling the key from the lock on its inside. His last view before he pulls the door shut behind him is of Sigrid's expression of incredulous betrayal.
He locks the door, his heart clenching with every turn of the key. Let her hate him. The only thing that matters right now is keeping her safe.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
After seeking out Glorin to instruct him to guard the door to his rooms and not allow anyone in except himself, Fíli feels assured at last that for the time being no harm can come to Sigrid. He does not personally like Glorin very much but knows that he can depend on him to do his bidding without asking questions – even in the event that the current inhabitant of his private quarters should become rather vocal about her displeasure with her confinement.
It is thus not exactly with a lighter heart but certainly with a more focused mind that he approaches Ásta's rooms. He does not bother knocking before entering, which earns him some curious looks from a group of Dwarves just returning to their quarters from dinner, but he does not even acknowledge them.
Apparently, Ásta, too, has made it a habit to avoid communal dinners for as he enters her room, Bersa, her lady-in-waiting, is just about to clear away their dishes. Both women stare at him in surprise and for a moment there is a flicker of excitement in Ásta's eyes, like maybe she thought that he has finally come to make their engagement official. Then she catches sight of the look on his face and blanches.
"Leave us," she says to Bersa, her eyes fixed on Fíli.
Bersa hesitates for a moment, looking between her mistress and the young king with apprehension. "Are you quite sure—"
"Go," Ásta interrupts her, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Quickly Bersa gathers what appear to be her knitting things from a nearby chair and hurries past Fíli to the door. He does not move an inch while she does so, nor does he acknowledge her presence by any means. His eyes are trained on Ásta, waiting for her to make the first move.
As soon as the door falls shut behind him the Blacklock princess rises from her seat and casually strolls across the room to set a book she has been holding on her lap on her nightstand. This has the effect of placing her on the far side of her bed – a clever move, Fíli admits, for if he were to bodily assault her (which he isn't), this would mean that the wide bed would prevent him from coming straight at her.
As things stand, he takes a couple of measured steps into the room, removing the hairpin from his pocket while he does so. He tosses it onto the mattress between them, the handkerchief falling open to reveal the object wrapped inside.
He watches Ásta study the pin for several seconds and thinks for a moment that she might try to play the innocent and deny any knowledge whatsoever of the pin and its harmful properties. That would be a desperate move indeed and Fíli feels that he would be strangely disappointed in her should she choose this path. She doesn't.
"I did it for your own good," she says, her tone as neutral as if they were discussing the weather.
"My own good," he repeats flatly, his carefully contained fury robbing his voice of most of its volume. The silence in the room is so heavy that he can almost taste it on his tongue as he opens his mouth to speak again. "And Thad? Was that for my own good as well?"
Ásta's mask slips for a moment at his mention of the young Dwarf, distaste twisting her lips into an unbecoming sneer. "The brothers were seeking to cloud your judgment. They were – and will continue to be – a harmful influence."
"Bofur almost died," Fíli grinds out from between clenched teeth. "I might very well have died myself that night if the circumstances had been different."
At this, Ásta looks almost remorseful. "I miscalculated," she mutters. "I acted rashly without considering all the eventualities."
Fíli can only be astonished at her calm analysis of those events. "I cannot believe you would do this. I cannot believe I was so wrong about you."
A humorless bark of laughter. "What did you expect?" she asks harshly. "An innocent princess such as that little plaything of yours that sits around and does nothing while watching you go around playing king? Admit it – you do not really know what you are doing. You need someone strong at your side, someone who is willing to do what ever it takes to secure your position. Someone like me."
Her words have caused his anger to rise inside of him like bile, but still he keeps a firm lid on it. "I could never be with someone like you," he hisses. "Not for all the treasures or all the political successes in the world. What you have done invokes only contempt – not recognition, as you seem to believe."
Her jaw set stubbornly, Ásta holds out her arms to both sides in a halfhearted display of defeat. "What will you do with me then? Throw me into the dungeons?"
"No," Fíli returns promptly and takes pleasure in the fact that clearly Ásta has not expected this reply, her arms dropping to hang limply at her sides. "I would not even want you in my dungeons. You and your people will remove yourselves from Erebor without delay. Should you fail to comply with this, I will see to that you will be cut off from trade with the other Dwarven populations entirely. Your clan will fall into both poverty and isolation."
He watches Ásta's confidence waver as he has known it would. If there is one thing you can depend on in any Dwarf, it is that the threat of dispossessing them of their riches is likely put them into a state of anxiety.
"The same thing will come to pass should I hear of any more poisonings or unexplained deaths among your acquaintances," he adds.
Ásta glares at him from across the bed, completely rigid except for the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her disdain is tangible and Fíli can feel the hairs on his arms rise in response to it. Still, she knows better than to argue with him, understands that he is done playing games and being pushed around like a pawn in a game of chess, sacrificing himself so that others can have their needs met.
He looks at her for what he suspects will be the last time, waiting for at least a certain measure of regret to set in. For a short while, at least, he thought that they could become something more. That they could be good together. The regret won't come and he realizes that is because he does not even know the woman before him – everything she did, every moment they spent together, has been an act in her effort to try and get him to choose her.
Without so much as a nod, he turns and heads for the door. Only when he reaches for the doorknob does Ásta speak up again.
"That girl will be your ruin," she snarls in what can only be a final attempt to provoke a more emotional reaction from him.
"And your hatred will be yours," he returns, stone-cold, not even turning to look at her.
He yanks open the door and steps through, letting it swing shut behind him. That's that, then.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When Fíli returns to his private quarters, Glorin is still in position as he was instructed to be.
"Your Majesty," he greets upon seeing him approach. The fact that his tone does not even imply the slightest bit of questioning proves once again that Glorin was exactly the right choice for this job.
Fíli inclines his head. He casts a quick look around and is relieved to find the corridor deserted except for the two of them.
"Stay here," he says, keeping his voice low lest someone should be near still, unseen. "And don't let anyone pass until I tell you otherwise."
Glorin's eyes have remained fixed on the wall opposite and he gives a single, sharp nod. "Understood, Your Majesty."
Fíli steps around his loyal guard and allows himself a calming breath or two before entering his rooms. He could really use the advice of the version of his brother his mind likes to conjure, but for once his imagined Kíli maintains a resolute silence.
Darkness has begun to fall outside and the only sources of light in his quarters are the fireplace and a single candle on his bedside table. For a moment, Fíli thinks that somehow Sigrid has managed to leave his rooms after all, but then he catches sight of her slim silhouette by the window. Her back is turned to him and she is gazing at the sky, the last bits of color slowly fading from it as night claims their world.
Fíli steps closer but stops a few feet away when she does not acknowledge his presence in any way.
"The party from Rhûn will be leaving Erebor at first light," he informs her, the cowardly part of himself prompting him to stick to more factual matters for the time being.
"It really was her then."
It wasn't a a question, but Fíli answers it anyway.
"Yes," he says, worried by the flatness of her voice. "But she will not be causing you any more trouble. Or anybody else, for that matter."
"Good." Sigrid turns around, but to Fíli's dismay she is not looking at him, her face impassive and her eyes fixed on the ground. "I shall take my leave of you then."
Fíli, taken aback by the resignation in both her tone and manner, fumbles for something to say. Sigrid abandons her place by the window and moves toward the door, brushing past him without looking up. Now that the sparse amount of light in the room illuminates her features more fully, Fíli can see that her usually so shapely lips form a hard line on her youthful face. Also, he believes he sees tear stains on her pale cheeks.
Before he can stop himself his hand shoots out to grasp her arm as she passes him.
"Don't leave," he says. When he realizes that this sounds as if he is inviting her to spend the night in his quarters, he adds, "Allow me to have a room prepared for you. You shall miss no comforts and I will assign you my most reliable guard. I would feel much better that way than if you were to return to Dale now, after nightfall and without adequate protection."
Her eyes shift to his and Fíli is relieved to see at least a bit of their previous spark returned to them.
"I have told you before – I'm no princess to be locked up and be kept away from the world." She takes half a step back, forcing him to release his hold onto her unless he wants to grab her more forcefully.
"I know that," he amends, missing her warmth beneath his fingers as he drops his hand to limply hang at his side. "But I also know my own people and am a better judge of situations like this than you are. I apologize if I offended you by forcing you to stay behind, but it was the right thing to do."
The flicker in Sigrid's eyes blazes into a flame. "I don't need your protection! I'm more than capable of looking after myself. I'm not a child."
"Trust me, I'm very much aware of that fact." The words slip from his tongue before he can stop them and he feels color rise in his cheeks.
Sigrid, meanwhile, is too caught up in her indignation to notice. "Then don't treat me as one!" she cries.
Slowly but surely Fíli feels his patience waver. All he has ever wanted was to keep her safe. Is that really so wrong?
"You were almost poisoned just a few hours ago. You could have died, for Mahal's sake!" he shoots back, the mere thought still causing his heartreate to pick up.
Sigrid crosses her arms in front of her chest, her expression growing cold. "I suppose that is what I deserve for getting too close to you and this blasted mountain."
Ouch. That stung.
Fíli sighs and turns away from her, walking the few steps necessary to sit down on the edge of his bed. He cannot help but feel like he just lost a battle he hadn't even known he was fighting.
"What do you want me to do, then?" he asks while staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped with resignation. "Pretend that none of this happened? Pretend that I do not care?"
"Yes," Sigrid says stubbornly. "Just let me go about my business while you go about yours. Go and be happy. If not with Ásta then with another. That shouldn't be too difficult."
Fíli feels something inside of him snap at her words and suddenly anger is coursing through his veins, hot, red, all-consuming. It's not so much anger at Sigrid – even though she is being rather obstinate right now – but rather at fate and at himself for allowing himself to be maneuvered into this position.
"How could it be anything but difficult?" he demands, agony tearing at his heart. "How could I ever tie myself to another when it's you, you, you, in my thoughts, in my heart, in my dreams? Always you. Only you."
He started out yelling, but towards the end his voice has become soft.
"Is that really how you feel?"
He looks up to find Sigrid staring at him, her face pale, its flush having abandoned her alongside her anger. He nods, once, before he drops his head into his hands, defeated. "Aye." His voice is hoarse, not so much from shouting but from laying his soul bare in front of her. "Aye, that's exactly how I feel."
There's silence for a long moment and then he feels his mattress shift as Sigrid lowers herself onto it, not close enough for them to be touching, but still so near that he can feel her warmth seep into his skin, his bones, his soul.
"Well, then," she says.
He expects her to say more, to tell him how inappropriate his feelings are and that he should stay away from her from now on, but she doesn't. When she still hasn't spoken after several long, agonizing moments, he lifts his head from his hands to look at her and finds her studying him like she sees him for the first time, a timid fascination shining in her eyes that has him holding his breath in anticipation.
They both move at the same moment, shifting on the mattress so that they are now facing each other. A couple of heartbeats pass which Fíli allows for fate to change its mind, to stage some sort of intervention. Nothing happens, the only sound the low hissing and popping from the small fire in his hearth and the drum of his own pulse in his ears.
"Well then," he repeats her words from a few moments ago and leans forward in the same instant she does. There is a split second during which he watches her eyes flutter closed, her lashes dark against her pink cheeks.
Then their lips touch and his world both ends and begins anew.
With their first kiss not even having been a real kiss at all, there is nothing that could have prepared Fíli for the rush of feeling that the touch of her lips – soft, pliant beneath his – elicits. A small gasp escapes his lips when his heart stutters and he is intrigued to discover that the action causes Sigrid to open herself to him, her lips parting by a fraction to invite him in.
He follows her invitation with the enthusiasm that it is due, his hands coming up of their own volition to cradle her face between them. He tilts his head a little as he allows his tongue a first taste of her, shyly asking permission with a gentle lick against her lower lip.
Sigrid responds with a small sound at the back of her throat that sets his insides on fire. She scoots at little closer still and he feels her hands come to rest against his chest as they deepen their kiss.
It's all sensation after that for a while and if Fíli wasn't so busy kissing her, he would be crying out with joy over the pleasure that it is to taste Sigrid on his tongue, to feel her pressed against him. When he comes to his senses again and pulls back just far enough to be able to study her face, he realizes that somehow she has ended up in his lap, her legs straddling him while one of his hands is cupping the back of her neck and the other is pressed against the small of her back, holding her firmly in place. It's altogether scandalous.
He blinks at her. "By my beard," he mutters. "Bard will have my head for this.
Sigrid leans back a little to raise her eyebrows at him and Fíli has to fight very hard in order to not allow his eyes to roll back into their sockets when this move increases the pressure of her body against his.
The ghost of a smile lifts the corners of her mouth. "Do you always bring up a girl's father after kissing her senseless? Because, let me assure you, that is not what is commonly considered romantic."
He half laughs, half growls and proceeds to pull her in for another kiss. After having ravished her mouth rather thoroughly, he pulls back again. Smoothing a couple of locks from her forehead and tucking them behind her ear, he grins at her.
"I do not believe I have ever kissed anyone quite like this before." His smile turns into a frown. "I was being serious, though. Even if he does not find out about this—" he gestures between them, "—he is going to kill me just for keeping you here at this late hour."
Sigrid smiles warmly and reaches up to smooth the frown on his forehead with her fingertips. "He won't find out," she says. "He is not even in Dale right now and I can depend on my siblings to keep a secret. Also, I have my ways of keeping him in the dark about things which he does not have to know."
Fíli scowls. "If this is the moment you tell me that you have sweethearts all over Dale whom you visit after nightfall, please be advised that we Dwarves do not take kindly to competition."
Her answering laugh is genuine. "You have no reason to be jealous, Master Dwarf. It's only ever been you."
Her voice has grown tender towards the end and despite the things they have just done – not to mention the fact that she is still in his lap – the look she gives him is almost heartbreakingly shy. Warmth pools somewhere deep inside of him and he pulls her mouth down to his for another kiss, more chaste than the last one.
Before things can grow heated between them once again, he pulls away, leaning his forehead against hers while he fights for his composure. "Please allow me to have a room prepared for you," he says again once he trusts his voice not to fail him. "I need to know that you are safe tonight."
Sigrid gives him a long look and then, to his utmost relief, a small nod. "I doubt that any of us are ever truly safe, but if it puts your mind at ease, then yes, I'll stay."
"It most certainly will," Fíli mutters and briefly touches his lips to hers before gently nudging her off his lap, pushing himself off the mattress until they both stand, still touching, but not as intimately as before.
He reaches down and grasps her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Just give me a moment," he says, "while I speak to my guard."
Her eyes follow him as he crosses over to the door, the blush on her cheeks deepening when he sends her a self-conscious grin as he awkwardly rearranges his clothes to conceal the rather prominent evidence of their encounter. One steadying breath and he opens his door far enough to slip through.
Glorin is still in position outside, although, from the surprised jerk he gives when addressed, Fíli suspects that he was about to fall asleep on his feet. Which is understandable, really, considering how long he has been standing there already with nothing to look at except the wall opposite.
After instructing Glorin to have two of his most trustworthy men prepare one of the nicer rooms in the vicinity of his own quarters – rooms that are ordinarily reserved for the more powerful among their visitors – he lowers his voice to little more than a whisper, looking around to make sure that they are not being overheard.
"It is of utmost importance that the room is guarded for the entirety of the night," he says, laying his hand on the shorter Dwarf's shoulder in a gesture that invokes utmost trust. "If you are too fatigued to do so yourself, have one of your men do it. Also, word of the identity of our guest must not be spread around. The peace between Erebor and Dale is at stake here, and I believe we all know that we are in no position to risk a falling out with Bard and his people."
Glorin takes in those words with stoic seriousness, his deep-set eyes unblinking. If he is at all curious about whom Fíli is hiding in his rooms or how that person might factor in a potential conflict with Dale, he hides it well. Fíli would have expected no less of him.
"I will see to it personally, Your Majesty," the redhead grunts, inclining his head respectfully.
"Thank you," Fíli says earnestly and watches Glorin's back straighten a little further still with the faith placed in him. "Fetch me when the rooms are ready."
With that he slips back into his own room, where Sigrid is already waiting for him, her hands twisting nervously in the folds of her skirt. When their eyes meet her stances relaxes, though only by a fraction. Fíli wants to take her in his arms again, but knows that one thing can only lead to another and they have crossed enough boundaries tonight as it is. Besides, Glorin could be back at any minute.
Instead of the passionate embrace which his heart and body demand, he thus strides over to her and takes both her hands in his, running his thumbs across their backs until he feels her fingers relax in his. "You will stay just down the hall from here," he says, looking at their joined hands. "Glorin will be on guard – he's very efficient and rather... discreet."
Sigrid gives a nervous chuckle. "That it a good thing, I suppose."
Fíli looks up and flashes her a wry grin. "Aye, it is, isn't it." He pauses, his thumbs still drawing circles on the soft skin of her hands. "I shall have Óin come fetch you in the morning. He will be so delighted to have you to himself again that he won't question your reasons for being here."
She smiles wistfully at the mention of the old healer. "I've missed him, too," she says.
Fíli returns her smile and reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. There's a small flutter of affection in his chest when she leans her head into his palm. "It should not strike anyone as odd if you leave for Dale after working with Óin. The Blacklocks will have left by then, too, so there should not be any more danger to you."
"Will I see you tomorrow?" Sigrid bites her lip, not quite meeting his gaze, and all Fíli can think about is how he wants to take that lip between his. He clears his throat.
"You will," he assures her. "But not like this, I'm afraid." He gestures between them and feels a bit of color rise in his cheeks at the though of what 'this' might lead to if only they got the chance to repeat it.
"I understand," Sigrid replies. An impish smile crosses her face. "Not tomorrow, then, but another time."
Fíli cannot stop the wide grin that forms on his lips. "Another time," he repeats. His grin fades and he frowns at their clasped hands again, searching for the right words. "I wish..." he begins, but then breaks off. Yes, what does he wish for? That she did not have to go? That they did not have to make a big secret out of whatever this is? That things were different, simpler?
Sigrid squeezes his hand, causing him to look up at her again. "What I wish for," she says, "is for you to not regret this."
"I won't," he says without a second's delay. "That I can promise you with utmost certainty. Other than that, however..." Again he trails off, not wanting to fill the silence between them with some of the uncomfortable truths of their connection.
"I'll take it," Sigrid says, surprising him. "It's enough for me. For now."
Fíli can do nothing but stare at her, this wonderful young woman who, for reasons he cannot entirely comprehend, chooses him and the complications which he carries with him wherever he goes over everything else. Over everyone else. It's marvelous – he can't think of another word for it.
A knock on the door tears him out of his thoughts and he reluctantly releases his hold onto Sigrid and takes a half step back.
"That will be Glorin," he says, feeling oddly bereft now that he is no longer touching her. From the look on her face, Sigrid appears to feel the same.
She is silent as he escorts her to the door. When he reaches out his hand to open it, though, she stops him. with a hand on his arm. He looks at her questioningly, but before he can ask her what she has in her mind, her lips are on his again, her kiss stealing his breath away. It is over before his mind truly registers what is happening and he finds himself grinning up at her like the biggest of fools.
Her smile, too, is rather sheepish. "Goodnight?" she says, her tone questioning, tentative.
"Goodnight," he returns, trying – and failing – for a firmer voice.
He opens his door then, and silently nods at Glorin who is waiting outside. The seasoned soldier shows no reaction whatsoever to the fact that his king had Bard's daughter in his private rooms at this time of day and merely gestures for Sigrid to come with him, his head lowered respectfully as she passes him by.
Fíli watches them go, his knuckles white on the wood of his door from the restraint he has to exercise in order not to run after them. Out of the many decisions he has made today this might have been the only truly rational one, but that does not change the fact that his heart mourns it as the wrong one.
Before he can change his mind, he turns and steps back into his room, closing the door behind him. As he crosses over to his bed, he has a brief vision of Kíli leaning casually against the wall beside it, winking at him while a knowing grin tugs at his lips.
"Now you show up," Fíli grumbles, but feels a grin of his own lift the corners of his mouth.
He flops down onto his bed without bothering to undress. He does not believe he shall sleep tonight, not with all of this restless energy coursing through his veins, his mind replaying the events of the last hours over and over again.
Marvelous indeed, is his last thought before sleep unexpectedly and mercilessly claims him. And for the first time in months he sleeps like a baby.
