A/N: Another delay, sorry. 6K chapters seem to be my new thing. As always, thanks for reading and, especially, reviewing. Every comment makes my silly heart skip a beat or two.

Day 99

"The Blacklocks are leaving. What in Mahal's name did you do?"

On the ninety-ninth day Fíli is roused from sleep by the loud bang of his door hitting the wall and Balin's voice that wheezes slightly from running up too many stairs in too short an amount of time.

He sits up in bed, blinking in annoyance as he pushes the remnants of a very pleasant dream from his mind. But then again, it's not as if he hasn't expected something like this.

"I did what needed to be done," he says and swings his legs off the side of his bed, rubbing his palms across his face. He's glad that he did not dress for bed last night, for while Balin has seen him in all kinds of humiliating situations, this is a conversation he would rather not be having in his nightshirt. "Actually, you ought to be proud of me," he adds. "I opted for a course of action that appeared to me as the least detrimental to the peace within our kingdom."

Balin does not even react to that last bit and merely gapes at him, obviously in a bit of a shock. "Please tell me that this is unrelated to the fact that Bard's daughter spent the night in a room down the hall."

Now it is Fíli's turn to stare at Balin. "I'm not sure what you—"

"Don't even bother denying your knowledge of that fact," Balin warns him. "And before you ask – Glorin would not have parted with that bit of information had his life depended upon it. Surely you must know, though, that the mountain has its eyes and ears everywhere."

"You mean to say you have eyes and ears everywhere," Fíli grumbles, cursing himself for underestimating Balin's means of obtaining information. At least he did not err in trusting Glorin, though – even if that doesn't exactly help him now.

"Well?" Balin prods.

Fíli recalls a strategy then that he learned in his youth from none other than the master of all mischief himself – Kíli. After an endless series of punishments and repercussions for his mad schemes, his brother eventually figured out that if you wanted to hide something, it was easiest to do so in plain sight. "Tell just enough of the truth to satisfy initial curiosity," he remembers Kíli lecture him. "Outright denial will only make you seem suspicious. If you dangle the truth in front of someone's face, though, there's a good chance that they will leave it alone eventually."

"There has been an attempt on Sigrid's life," he thus says to Balin, "I did not think that our relationship with Dale would survive the death of one of Bard's children at the hands of one of our own. So I asked her to stay here, where she can be protected."

"I—what—" Balin stammers but then composes himself. "Who would want to go after the lass? Forgive me, but that does not make an awful lot of sense."

"It does if you are blinded by hatred and prejudice," Fíli says. He sighs, knowing that what comes next will shock Balin. "It was Ásta. She tried to poison Sigrid. It was also her behind Bofur's accidental poisoning. The wine was never meant for me – Thad and Flad were her target."

"The brothers?" Balin's bushy eyebrows are quite close to disappearing beyond his hairline. "What did they ever do to her?"

"They warned me against her and her family. I didn't want to believe it at the time, but now..." Fíli walks over to his dresser and pours himself a glass of water from a carafe, drinking deeply before he turns to face Balin again. "The point is that the evidence is irrefutable. And Ásta has not even denied any of it – the brothers were a likely source of opposition and so she tried to get rid of them. Apparently that is what she does when someone gets in her way. "

Balin walks a few steps across the room and sinks down in his usual chair, not even bothering to remove the papers scattered across it. He looks so utterly disappointed that Fíli cannot help but pity him.

"And what happens now?" the older Dwarf asks with the air of someone whose carefully laid out plans have just been shattered before his eyes. "How are we—oh ye gods, there is going to be some sort of retaliation, isn't there?"

Fíli takes the chair opposite and leans forward to look at his friend, his elbows resting on his knees. His posture exudes a lot more confidence than he feels. "Nothing is going to happen," he says. "I made sure of that. If Ásta or her family so much as look at someone the wrong way, the consequences will be rather severe. They have been allowed to leave peacefully – which, as you have just confirmed for me – they already did."

"Aye," Balin says, "they left without a word to anyone. I thought—forgive me, but I thought that you had rejected Ásta or insulted her in some other way to prompt them to take such drastic action. I should not have doubted you. Please forgive me."

Fíli's eyes stray from Balin's pleading ones and he stares at his own hands instead. "I was going to reject Ásta's offer," he eventually admits. "I just had not yet found the courage or the words to do so."

"Oh." Fíli can hear the creak of Balin's chair as he leans back in it, the air rushing out of the older Dwarf's lungs in a sigh. "May I ask why? I thought—I thought you had grown rather close."

"Not that close, obviously, if she went around trying to poison people I c— innocent people right under my nose," Fíli returns, a bitter grin twisting his lips. His restlessness gets the better of him then and he pushes out of his chair, walking over to lean against the wall beside his wide, high window instead. He's looking out at the sky but can see Balin's reflection in the window glass, the white-haired Dwarf's eyes following his every movement. He sighs. "But even if she had not done those things – I could not have married her." He turns to face Balin once more. "I cannot marry for political reasons, no matter how sound they are, Balin. I just can't."

Balin stares at him for a long while, his intelligent eyes not betraying any of his feelings about that matter. Eventually he, too, sighs. "Following calculated reason is not a trait that runs particularly strong in your immediate family," he says. "It is not as if I wasn't aware of that. Still, I had begun to hope that we had set our eyes on the same goal in that matter."

"My goal is to be a good king," Fíli returns. "And I fear that marrying for the wrong reasons will not help me with that. On the contrary."

Balin folds his hands in his lap, an image of utmost composure. "I cannot force you to do anything."

He cannot. Fíli has known this all along, of course, but to hear Balin say it, reaffirms his confidence in the choice he has made. "I expected you to be more upset," he says honestly.

"I won't pretend that I am happy about this," Balin returns, "and I do fear that there will be consequences neither of us can foresee right now. But I see that you have made up your mind about the matter and it would worry me if you were to act against your own convictions. That is not what Thorin would have done and you are so very much like him."

The glimmer in Balin's eyes at those last words makes Fíli uncomfortable and he looks away, ashamed that he is hiding a substantial part of yesterday's events from this loyal follower of both his uncle and himself. He tries to think of something to say, but comes up with nothing. In the end, it is Balin who once more breaks the heavy silence between them.

"You are aware, I hope, that your decision might force us to take other measures in the future," he says, pinning Fíli with his eyes.

Fíli swallows. "What do you have in mind?"

Balin shrugs. "Only time will tell. Lucky for you, most of the families have already accepted that they will not be marrying into the royal line with Ásta being singled out as your favorite. So I do not expect too much trouble from those sides. However, I fear that the position which Erebor holds among the Dwarf kingdoms is still too weak. We will have to address that problem one way or the other."

Fíli nods. "You can count on my cooperation in whatever course of action you deem necessary."

Rising out of his chair in preparation to leave, Balin eyes him with something akin to amusement. "Be careful with those promises," he cautions him. "Or I might find you a wife after all."

Fíli chuckles, choosing to let Balin have a bit of fun at his expense. That's the least he can do for overthrowing the older Dwarf's carefully laid out plans. "I'm certain you'll think of something else."

Balin graces him with a crooked grin and makes to leave. He abruptly stops halfway across the room, though, and looks at Fíli over his shoulder. "If you don't mind me asking," he says, his brow furrowed in thought, "whatever did Bard's girl do to draw Ásta's attention?" When Fíli merely gapes at him he adds, "You said before that Ásta wanted to rid herself of anyone who got in her way. How would the young lass achieve such a thing?"

Ah, damn it, Fíli thinks. So much for hiding things in plain sight. He should have known that Balin's mind is too sharp to be diverted so easily. Before Balin has the chance to catch sight of the guilty look that crosses his face, he turns away sharply, looking out of his window again.

"I couldn't say," he says, keeping his voice deliberately disinterested, "not with certainty at least. It angered her that Sigrid's frequent presence at Erebor was so easily accepted by everyone, I believe. Not a good reason to murder someone if you ask me, but who am I to question the motives of a lunatic, right?"

He sends Balin a wry grin over his shoulder and watches the older Dwarf's lips twitch in response. His gaze, however, remains trained on him. This scrutiny makes Fíli decidedly uneasy and he turns away again. His heart is beating loudly in his chest, so loud, in fact, that he almost fears it might betray him in front of Balin.

After a few painful seconds, however, he hears the rustle of Balin's clothes and heaves a soundless sigh when he realizes that the other Dwarf is finally leaving.

"I'll need to do some thinking," Balin's voice sounds from the door, "and shall speak to you once I come up with a new course of action that takes into account the most recent changes."

"Please do," Fíli says softly. It pains him more than he would have thought to lie to Balin, but now is simply not the right time to discuss what truly occurred between him and Sigrid. It's all still much too new, too fragile, too uncertain, and Fíli is terrified of breaking something that cannot be fixed.

"Do me one favor, though, and don't do anything reckless in the meantime." Fíli thought Balin had already left and so the sound of his voice startles him. His back straightens when realizes the implications of the older Dwarf's words. "Things have been quiet recently, but we both know how quickly that can change. It would be a pity if everything we have worked for were to be jeopardized in a moment of... temptation."

Fíli's cheeks burn as Balin pulls he heavy oaken doors shut begin him, the click of the lock and the ensuing silence doing nothing to appease the feelings of embarrassment and guilt that course through his veins. If Balin knew how close he has just gotten to the heart of the matter, he would not be praising him for his likeness to Thorin.

Then again, the chances that Balin does know and is merely waiting for Fíli to make the right choice on his own are also rather high.

The right thing... determining what that is has become increasingly complex in the more recent past, Fíli cannot help but think as his gaze sweeps across the lands stretching out below the mountain. The 'right thing' for him used to depend upon the judgment of other, more experienced men like Thorin, Balin or Dwalin. Nowadays, though, the things which they consider – or would have considered if they still lived – to be the right choice appear to be in constant conflict with one another. Not even to mention his own, frequently completely opposite convictions or what the part of himself that stubbornly insists on impersonating Kíli thinks he ought to do.

In the end, he realizes, it does not matter. As his mind drifts to the previous evening, he admits that nothing could keep him away from Sigrid now – if she'll have him, that is. He does not know how a relationship between him and her could ever be accepted by those around them and she most certainly deserves better than sneaking around behind closed doors. Still, he knows that he won't give her up, won't give them up, and suspects that neither will she.

You'll have to live with your guilt, then, he tells himself and tears his gaze away from the lands below.

He listens for the sound of Balin's receding footsteps out in the hallway. Once he is confident that the older Dwarf has left, he crosses over to his bed and rummages around in the drawer of his nightstand for a bit before pulling out an unused piece of parchment. It's a bit rumpled and frayed at the edges, but will serve the purpose of the short message he intends to convey just fine.

Sitting down on his mattress, he scrawls down a short notice for Óin, informing him that his request has been fulfilled and asking him to fetch his apprentice from her temporary quarters, as he promised her he'd do. Satisfied that Óin will interpret his message correctly while any other curious eyes that might read it should be none the wiser as to whom it refers to, he seals the short letter and puts it in the pocket of his new coat.

He frowns a little as he slides his arms into the garment, the leather still rather stiff and the smell so very impersonal, almost foreign. However, after his little accident a few days ago, his old coat was nowhere near salvageable and so he will have to make do with this one.

Impatient to get going, he uses his palms to flatten his hair and pulls it into a tie at the back of his neck. After splashing a bit of water on his face from the basin on his dresser and running his fingers through his beard, disentangling it and straightening out the braids, he feels confident that no one shall notice anything suspicious about his outward appearance even if, inside and in secret, everything has changed.

Once outside his chambers, he has to summon all of his self control to not head straight for the rooms Sigrid spent her night in and turn into the opposite direction instead. Seeking her out and continuing where they left off the night before is tempting to the extent that he feels a little flutter in his chest and a tightening just behind his navel at the very thought of it, but it simply wouldn't be wise to do so. Just because he has resolved not to fight his attraction to her any longer does not mean that he should go about that in a completely reckless manner. No, he has other plans.

Hurrying down the corridor leading from his private quarters to the more public areas of the mountain, he hands the note for Óin to the first member of his guard – a stout, mousy haired individual named Bolli – he encounters, trusting that it will reach the old healer within the next half hour.

His next stop is at the kitchens where he asks one of the workers to take a tray up to Sigrid's rooms and to leave it outside her door after knocking. Satisfied that everything is taken care of to make her stay at Erebor as little awkward as possible, Fíli joins his usual crowd of people for a communal breakfast. No one remarks that he has been absent from mealtimes for the past couple of days, though Bofur makes a joke or two about the smug grin that allegedly flashes across Fíli's face now and then. He does not react to those jibes and simply continues to spoon up his porridge, his appetite better today than it has been for the longest of times.

The departure of the Blacklock clan is also among the hot topics of the morning and Fíli is acutely aware of the expectant glances thrown in his direction while speculations are being tossed around. He keeps his face blank and his stance relaxed, refusing both to refute or to affirm any of his brethren's suspicions about the reasons behind the Blacklocks' unexpected departure. Even though his opinion of Ásta and her family is forever ruined, he does not actively wish them harm and thus has no desire to feed into the rumors that have already begun to circulate. Also, the more quiet the whole affair is kept, the higher Sigrid's chances are to avoid becoming associated with Ásta's crimes. Its bad enough that her safety was threatened – now Fíli is resolved to spare her the unwelcome attention that being branded as one of Ásta's victims would be sure to bring.

No, the best way for them both to proceed is to behave as normally as possible and to not show the world how profoundly affected they are both by the most recent events. He thinks back to the night before, to how her lips felt against his, her warm body pressed up against his chest. Profoundly affected indeed, he admits to himself as he feels heat rise in his cheeks at the thought of doing any of that again. If he could somehow manage to have her with him like that every night he would be one lucky Dwarf.

"You're doing it again!" Bofur exclaims opposite him, pointing at him with his spoon and dripping blotches of porridge all over the tabletop. "That grin. Spill it, what's your big secret?"

Fíli just smiles and pops his own spoon in his mouth again, leaving Bofur to some wild speculations that range from a secret stash of mead to beating Dwalin in a wrestling match. Not even close, Bofur, he thinks. Not even close.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

One last time. Fíli figures he can risk strolling down the corridor which houses Erebor's library one last time before his behavior becomes too suspicious. There is not much traffic in this part of the mountain, but at least two individuals have passed him twice already on his aimless wanderings along the wide, vaulted hallway and encountering them a third time would surely raise unwelcome gossip.

He takes his time as he directs his steps back in the direction he has just come from, begging with each foot that he places in front of the other for his silent pleas to be heard. He needs to see Sigrid, just once, and assure himself that what happened last night was real and not some cruel joke of his sometimes overactive mind. If he doesn't, he is sure that he shall go mad.

The first half of his day went by rather quickly with him being wrapped up in some of his usual business. As the afternoon wore on, however, he found himself growing increasingly restless, the warm glow of happiness he had experienced all morning giving way to more anxious thoughts and a deep-seated sense of loneliness. Which is how he comes to be here, now, in a part of the mountain where he has no business at all, pacing the halls like a cat waiting for a little mouse to peek out of its hole so that he may catch it. It's pathetic, really.

A few more steps and he will have passed the wide, arched entrance to the library and he knows that he cannot allow himself to turn back once he has. He slows his steps even further, craning his neck to peer inside the high-ceilinged halls that house the wisdom of generations of Dwarves. Sigrid and Óin have to be somewhere in there – he's quite sure of that for he has checked the small laboratory Óin has set up for his medicine brewing before coming here and found it empty. If only they would finish whatever it is they are doing in there so that he might have an excuse to walk Sigrid to the gates, to have a few precious (albeit mournfully public) moments with her.

Four more steps, if he were to guess, and his chances at such a meeting will have gone.

Three...

Two...

One...

Fíli almost gasps when a shadow falls across his path and he stops in his tracks at the last moment in order to avoid colliding with an enormous stack of books. Or rather with the person carrying that stack. He glances around the heavy tomes precariously balanced on top of one another and finds Óin, his lined face furrowed even further in concentration.

"Need any help there?" Fíli asks the healer, cocking a skeptical eyebrow at the swaying stack of books.

"Kelp? What would I be needin' any kelp for, lad?" Óin returns and it takes Fíli a few seconds of confused staring before he realizes that with his hands otherwise occupied, Óin is unable to use his ear-trumpet.

"Oh, never mind," he says, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

"Ah yes, very fine weather indeed." Óin jerks his head into the direction of the large bookshelves visible from the archway beyond which they are standing. "Go on then. The lass will be delighted to see you, I'd wager."

Fíli attempts an innocent look, but he needn't have bothered for Óin's attention has already returned to the books Fíli suspects he intends to take back to his workshop. He watches the old healer stagger down the hallway for a couple of feet, lightly shaking his head in amusement at their elliptic exchange.

Turning to face the entrance to the library once more, he experiences an anxious flutter inside his chest and his stomach clenches in the most peculiar manner. For a split second he struggle with the sudden impulse to leave, but then gives himself a mental slap on the back of his head. This is what he has come for, right?

He breathes a soundless sigh and steps across the threshold into the wide space beyond. Immediately, he is enveloped by a heavy silence, a silence that is different from that of the mostly deserted hallway outside. The books, they appear to absorb all sounds, leaving behind no echo, no trace. It's oppressive, this silence, and Fíli impulsively clears his throat, needing to hear something, anything.

"Hello?"

Her voice, bright and clear, chases away any feelings of confinement and the pressure Fíli has begun to feel inside his head lifts instantly. All trepidation forgotten, he strides further into the room, rounding the bookshelves which obscure the central reading area from view. And there she is, crouched over a large, dusty volume from which she has evidently been taking notes on a scroll of parchment. She has her back turned to him and he can see her pause in her annotations, letting her gaze swerve across the room in search of whoever might be intruding upon her.

"It's me," Fíli says softly, not wanting to startle her. Still, she whirls around at the sound of his voice, rising from her chair as she does so.

"Hello," she says again, her voice distinctly breathless this time. Fíli can tell that she is surprised to see him there, but whether it is a welcome surprise or not he is agonizingly uncertain of. But then Sigrid smiles a little self-consciously, her cheeks turning pink.

It should be said in Fíli's defense that his intentions in seeking her out have been thoroughly honorable, his need to ascertain that the events of the day before have not upset her too deeply outweighing any more selfish reasons he might have had to long for her company. However, as she looks at him from across the room, her lips parted slightly and her eyes glistening, reason abandons him for a little while and he finds himself striding toward her with purpose in his step, his gaze never leaving hers.

He does not stop, not until he is standing so close to her that he can feel her breath on his skin and her warmth seeping through his clothes. And even then he takes another half-step forward, backing her up against the table behind her. Her hands come up to rest on his shoulders just as he reaches up to cup her cheek in his right palm, trailing his fingers across her smooth skin until they rest against the back of her neck so that he can pull her face down towards his.

Their lips meet in a slightly uncoordinated fashion, each a little too eager for the touch of the other. Fíli pulls back by an inch or so, letting air flood his lungs to stop himself from becoming too dizzy to stand. Sigrid makes a small sound of protest that sends a bolt of lighting straight to his very core and before he knows it, they are kissing again, more controlled this time, his lips slanting across hers like they have never been used for anything else in his life.

When her tongue darts out to first trace his lips and then explore his mouth more thoroughly, Fíli surprises himself with a deep, possessive growl and his hands drop to her waist, lifting her the few inches necessary to deposit her on the edge of the table. It's a scandalous move on his part and the only thing that shocks the portion of his mind that is still capable of rational thought even more is the fact that Sigrid does not protest his actions but complies by parting her legs slightly so that he can step between them and align his body to hers even more fully than before.

His lips leave hers as he bends her backward a little, his mouth trailing across her throat and down the side of her neck. She gasps softly when he nips at her creamy skin with his teeth and for a few moments he completely loses himself in her scent, in her taste, in the way she arches her body up against his whenever he grazes a particularly sensitive spot.

It is only when he realizes that he is mere seconds away from climbing on top of her on a table in the middle of a public – deserted, yes, but still public – area that he finally comes to his senses and he forces himself to release his hold on her and to take a step back, the action leaving him bereft in ways he cannot begin to explain.

"Forgive me," he says, feeling rather embarrassed by the heavy panting that accentuates each syllable. "I assure you, that was not the reason I have come."

Sigrid, still perched on the table, straightens up and slowly slides forward until she comes to stand before him, looking down at him with eyes darkened by the intensity of their encounter and cheeks that are more flushed than ever before. "And yet it would have been a perfectly good reason to do so."

Her words are bold and daring, but the slight hitch in her breath and the little tremor in her hand as she tucks a stray curl behind her ear cause Fíli to realize that she is just as overwhelmed by this whole affair and as terrified to make a mistake as he is. And so he does the only thing that feels right and reaches out to take her hands in his, lightly lacing his fingers through hers. "Aye, it would have been indeed," he assures her, desperate to have her understand that he is by no means rejecting her.

He almost sags with relief when her gaze flickers to his and she gives a swift nod accompanied by a bashful smile. They may still be struggling to figure out which path to take with their relationship, but they do understand each other without saying much most of the time. They always have, Fili realizes as affection for the young woman in front of him crashes over him like a tidal wave and he steps closer again, leaning up to press his lips to hers in a more chaste kiss.

"Why did you want to see me, then?" she asks after he has pulled away again.

He flashes her a grin. "Just to make sure that you were well and that being forced too spend so much time in this mountain with a bunch of Dwarves has not caused you to change your mind about me..."

It's meant as a joke, but still Fíli cannot stop a hint of seriousness from creeping into his tone.

"Nothing could make me change my mind about you," Sigrid says softly, "nor about us, for that matter. In fact, my stay was rather pleasant. Someone was thoughtful enough to send a lovely breakfast up to my room."

She winks at him and he colors, romantic gestures not exactly having been part of his past interactions with women. "I wouldn't want you to set to work on an empty stomach," he mumbles and glances at the books and papers still strewn across the table. "I see that Óin has wasted no time in putting you to work again."

Sigrid rolls her eyes playfully. "That he did indeed not. I think my dreams tonight shall be filled with lists of herbs and their medicinal uses."

Fíli chuckles at that. "You know that you are under no obligation to work with Óin, right?"

Sigrid nods earnestly. "I do know that, yes. I want to work with him – his knowledge is invaluable, especially since we currently have so few healers and midwives at Dale. It was stupid of me to stop coming here when he has so much to teach me."

Fíli smiles gently and runs a finger along her arm, absently caressing the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. "I believe you could plead to mitigating circumstances with regard to that. I know I would have stayed away if our positions had been reversed."

And indeed, the mere thought of Sigrid with somebody else sends his blood boiling and he has to close his eyes to keep his feelings in check. His thoughts are stopped from spiraling into dangerous terrain by the sensation of her fingers against his tense jaw and he opens his eyes to find her gazing down at him not with ridicule but with gentle understanding. He leans into her touch and feels the tension leave his body until only the warmth of what they have finally allowed to grow between them remains.

"I am glad I did come back in the end," Sigrid whispers.

"So am I." Fíli reaches up to cover her hand with his and for several moments they just stand there, leaning against each other while around them the world continues to revolve.

The distant sound of footsteps rouses them from their entranced state, cruelly reminding them that even if they are much clearer on what they are to each other than they were just a few days ago, finding a time and place to act on those feelings will continue to prove quite the challenge.

Fíli sees his own regret mirrored on Sigrid's face when he drops his hand and steps back. "You shouldn't delay your return journey for much longer," he says, even though every fiber of his being screams at him to keep her here, with him. "Two of my men will be delivering a small load of goods to Dale later. It would appease my mind greatly if you could be persuaded to ride with them."

It's a pitifully thin veiled attempt on his part to make sure that Sigrid stays safe and even if she cannot know that he specifically arranged for Thad and Flad to go to Dale so that she would not have to undertake the journey by herself, she probably sees through his scheme right away. Still, she does not call him out on it and nods her assent with a small smile on her lips. "Then that's what I shall do. Will I still have time to finish my notes?" she asks, glancing at the book which is still open on the table. "I would love to put that dusty old thing back in its place on the shelves before the day is over and not have to take it back down tomorrow."

Fíli grimaces in understanding. "Absolutely. Go ahead, then. It will be at least two hours before you need to be down at the gates." He hesitates, running his fingers through his beard a little nervously. "Do you—would you mind if I stayed? Just to keep you company, I mean. I won't distract you from your work, I promise."

He fervently hopes that she does not think him some kind of creep for asking her to allow him to stay and watch her while she finishes her task. He has no idea when he will see her next without the prying eyes of others and intends to make this meeting last, to burn the image of her as she leans over her book, her lips still swollen from their kissing and some loose strands of hair framing her lovely face into his mind to keep him company during lonely hours without her by side. For those, he is certain, will be large in number.

It feels as if his heart expands in his chest when she does not question his motivation and merely sends him a shy smile by ways of granting him permission to stay.

And so he settles himself down by her side, not close enough to be touching, but still so near that if he inhales deeply he can catch a little of her unique scent – something fresh like a spring day after a shower of rain, and something warm, like home. He watches her while she resumes her work, quickly losing herself in her studies once more, clearly entirely comfortable now in his presence.

He wonders if she has any idea at all how beautiful she is, or how her dedication to her work and her talent make her even more attractive. How she makes his heart skip a beat or two every time she glances up from her parchment and sends a small, knowing smile his way. How just being close to her makes him feel whole in ways he never thought he could be again after Kíli was ripped away from his side. Probably not, he thinks, and vows to himself not only to tell her all those things, but to show her, little by little, on each and every day that he is lucky enough to spend by her side.