Day 143
"What a mess."
On the one hundred fourty-third day, Bard leans back in his chair and runs a hand over his tired face. He gets up and crosses over to the low table on which a young servant girl left some refreshments earlier, foregoing the jug of water to pour himself a glass of brandy. After knocking back the golden-brown liquid, he refills his own cup and a second one, which he passes to Fíli on his way back to his seat.
Fíli peers at the drink, the fumes rising from it enough already to make him feels a bit tipsy. He has yet to eat something and indulging in a drink of this potency is probably not a good idea. He shrugs and has a sip anyway, hoping that this will loosen the tight knot in his chest somewhat.
Bard has come to stand beside the window, looking out at the streets below. They are in a room on the first floor of the large, official building where Bard has set up his administrative offices since the battle. Nothing about the rooms here is in any way pompous, all furniture and what little decorations there are being entirely practical and modest. They call Bard their king, but one wouldn't recognize him as such just by looking. A king without a palace, a king without a crown. But then again, if there is one thing that Fíli has learned about what it means to be a king in the more recent past, then it is that such trifles matter very little.
Now, said King of Dale wears a dismayed frown upon his brow that makes him look older than he presumably is while he watches his people clean up the reminders of last night's attack.
"A good portion of our stocks have been rendered useless. This will make trade very difficult in the months to come."
"There is no need to worry about upholding your end of the bargain with regard to the transactions we have already agreed upon," Fíli says. "Erebor will happily supply Dale without expecting anything in return until you have recovered from the attack."
Bard inclines his head gratefully. Fíli knows enough of the man to know that accepting gifts does not come easily to him, and it is a testimony to his qualities as king that he is able to overcome his pride in favor of the well-being of his people. "I cannot thank you enough," Bard returns. "Not just for your offer, but for everything you have done. I shudder to think what would have happened if you had not come to Dale's aid. I am forever in your debt."
"I did not do it because I wanted you to owe me," Fíli says softly, staring down at the contents of his cup.
Bard turns around to lean with his back against the windowpane and Fíli looks up to find the bowman studying him intently. "No, I believe that is not your way, is it?"
Fíli doesn't really know what to say to that and fights the urge to fidget under Bard's scrutiny. He settles for a noncommittal grunt.
"You are quite different from your uncle," Bard remarks after a moment of tense silence, his tone not indicating whether or not he believes that to be a good thing.
"The world I was raised in was different from the one in which Thorin grew up," Fíli says, forcing himself to meet Bard's gaze. Over the past few weeks, maintaining an image of calmness and composure during meetings with the bowman has become increasingly difficult for Fíli – for obvious reasons – and he has to make an effort to not give Bard any reason to become suspicious of his behavior. "Thorin was haunted by many ghosts. He was braver than anyone I ever knew, but sometimes even he was overpowered by the terrors of his own past. He would have been a good king, despite all that – or maybe even because of it. I haven't made up my mind about that yet."
Bard absorbs this for a moment. "We all have our hauntings. I do, and so do you, I should venture to say. But we mustn't forget to live in the present – especially when said present demands us to take action quickly. Which is what you did last night. I do not mean to disrespect his memory, but I have my doubts about whether your uncle would have done the same thing. To get through a night like this, with so few casualties... only your lack of hesitation made that possible."
Again, Fíli finds himself staring at his drink. It's true what Bard says, of course. Fewer than he would have dared to hope were killed in the attack and most of those injured are likely to make a full recovery. Still, he finds it difficult to accept the Bowman's praise, the image of Jorund's lifeless eyes staring back at him haunting him whenever he closes his eyes. "There was a considerable amount of luck involved in what happened last night," he admits. "Another time we might not be quite so fortunate."
Returning to his desk, Bard sinks back into his seat, his expression grim as he rests his chin on his folded hands. "What do you propose? I know that the city guard is not up to Erebor's standards by far, but I fear that we are already at our limits as it is. The people of Lake-town weren't fighters and it will be a long time yet before they can hope to defend the city by themselves."
"I know that," Fíli returns. "And it is but one more reason why Erebor needs to strengthen its forces. So that we can fight not only for ourselves, but for you as well."
Bard leans back in his chair, pinning Fíli with a long, hard stare. "How?"
Fíli shifts and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he explains. "I am going to travel back to the Blue Mountains to convince the remainder of my kinfolk to move here. Not only will that bring us strength in numbers, but in experience and influence as well. Some of those families are very old and have ties into other houses scattered all over Middle Earth."
Bard considers this for a moment. "If they are so old and wise, shouldn't they have come to that conclusion on their own and have moved over here already? I thought the kingdom of Erebor was the pride of all Dwarves."
"It is," Fíli concedes. "Or rather it was. It's more complicated than that, I'm afraid. People were already reluctant to follow Thorin, but after he reclaimed the Mountain they would have done so without hesitation. However, Thorin is not here anymore to restore Erebor to the glory which the Dwarves of his generation remember. All they have left now is me."
"And that isn't enough for them? You are your uncle's legitimate heir, after all."
"I am – but I am also very young by my people's standard and have yet to prove my worth to them. Which is why I must undertake this journey in person – to show them that I am not merely a child that cowers on his uncle's throne, scared to act."
"I see," Bard says. "I know a thing or two about what it means to grow up with the shadow of your ancestors hovering over you. Your plan certainly has its merits – with one pitfall, however. How long are you going to be absent for?"
"Two months, give or take. That is, if we don't run into trouble along the way. Which is not entirely unlikely, given my family's long history of misfortunes." He scratches at the side of his neck, remembering for a moment the many times he and the others were being hunted or taken captive during their journey from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain. "Obviously I will take as few men with me as possible. Still, I am aware that this leaves Dale more vulnerable than it already is."
"That cannot be helped, I'm afraid." Bard reaches up to briefly massage his temple with his fingertips. Fíli can sympathize with him – after all, the what-ifs of this plan have been giving him a headache for more than a fortnight. "He won't like it, but maybe I can persuade Thranduil to assist with the protection of the city."
Fíli inclines his head to hide the small frown at the mention of the Elvenking. "That would be rather helpful indeed." He pauses, biting his lip until his curiosity gets the better of him. "What is the old elk-lover up to these days?"
His flippant choice of words earns him a raised eyebrow from Bard, but he thinks he can see the corner of his mouth twitch. "I couldn't say," the bowman says. "He has truly shut himself off from the rest of the world these past couple of months. Now, he seems open to resume our relationship. Legolas has been to Dale several times in the past few weeks and if things had gone as planned, I would be sitting down with the Elvenking right now to negotiate trade between Mirkwood and Dale."
"Probably ran out of wine," Fíli remarks with a little sniff.
"Then he will have to do without it for a little longer still after that stunt which your two young friends pulled."
Fíli winces, remembering the avalanche of wine barrels which Flad and Thad let loose on the goblins and the resulting mess. "I would apologize for them if they hadn't done it with Dale's best interest at heart."
Bard chuckles. "Don't worry about it. Still, those two are real troublemakers, aren't they?"
"You have no idea," Fíli says, not bothering to hide his fond smile.
They sit together in comfortable silence for a bit, each lost in thought while they sip their drinks. Eventually, Bard sets down his cup and heaves a weary sigh.
"I ought to get back outside, help with the clean-up. Unless there was something else you wanted to discuss?"
Fíli forces himself to keep breathing slowly and regularly, hoping that his ears have not gone red from his sudden impulse to blurt out that he has secretly been seeing the bowman's daughter. That wouldn't accomplish anything, would it? Except for a broken nose, maybe, and a lot of expletives directed at him. No, he will have to carry this particular secret with him on his journey across Middle Earth.
He shakes his head, trying to clear his throat as inconspicuously as possible. "I, too, must return to my people. We will speak more once all arrangements have been made?"
Bard inclines his head as Fíli rises to his feet. "I assume you will want to begin your journey as soon as possible?"
"It wouldn't do to wait too long," Fíli says, even though the thought of leaving soon nearly chokes him with sorrow. "Two weeks ought to suffice to get everything in order, three at the most."
"Very well. We will meet in due course, then."
Regarding their conversation as finished, Fíli makes for the door, where he is halted in his tracks by Bard calling out to him once again.
"I was meaning to ask you – whatever did you do to Legolas to make him avoid you like the plague? I could never persuade him to accompany me to Erebor when he stayed here, but all I ever got out of him were some incoherent mumblings about how he's had enough of your kind for a lifetime at least."
Fíli raises his eyebrows. "The Elf-Prince? I cannot think of any way in which I have personally wronged him, no." He mulls this over for a moment. "Well, admittedly me and the others did cause quite a bit of destruction when we escaped his father's dungeons. Also, Thorin liked to insult the Elvenking and his entire line at every chance he got. Oh, and my brother tried to steal the princeling's lass, I suppose."
Bard blinks slowly. "Alright. Forget that I even asked."
After dipping his head in the Bowman's direction to hide his smirk, Fíli turns to leave. This time, Bard does not stop him, and he hurries outside, grateful for the change of air. Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed his conversations with Bard, but as things stand, they always take their toll on his nerves.
He walks slowly on his way to the meeting point he agreed upon with Dwalin earlier, enjoying a few moments to himself. All day he has been rushing about, helping tend to those who have been injured in the attack, cleaning up the mess. Now, after his talk with Bard, he feels positively drained and in bad need of a bath and an early night. However, he fears that the hardest part of the day is still before him.
As he exits Dale in the company of some of his men about half an hour later, this suspicion is proven correct when he notices a little flutter of movement somewhere to their left. He suppresses a sad sigh and rides up to Dwalin.
"There is one more matter which I must attend to," he says. "Will you lead the others back to Erebor? See to it that they are fed and get some rest. It has been one hell of a day."
Dwalin keeps his eyes on the road even as he raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you certain that you do not want me to wait for you instead?"
"No, please go with them. I might need some time alone after this," Fíli says, deciding to be as honest as he can afford to be with his friend.
Dwalin grunts in agreement and if Fíli did not know that doing so would in all likelihood earn him a punch to his gut, he might have hugged the older Dwarf for not asking any questions. Instead, he watches while Dwalin quickens his pony's pace, putting himself at the head of the small convoy traveling back to Erebor.
When his men are scarcely more than black dots on the long road connecting Dale and Erebor, Fíli gives a gentle tug on Arran's reins, leading him off the main road. The sun is rather low in the sky already, and he has to squint as he draws closer to the abandoned guardhouse in order to discern the figure leaning against the open doorway. Sigrid's arms are wrapped tightly around her midsection, as if she is trying to keep herself warm. Only the weather isn't cold at all – in fact, it has been an uncommonly hot day for the middle of April.
Without having to think twice about it, Fíli slides out of his saddle and crosses over to her, pulling her against him with his arms around her waist. She leans into his embrace and rests her head on his shoulder, the air rushing out of her lungs in a shudder.
Fíli reaches up with one hand to cup the back of her neck, stroking the smooth, warm skin and turning his face to press a kiss against the side of her jaw. He can smell the tang of dried blood and dust and sweat on her as well as a few more subtle, herbal notes, and knows without a doubt that she has been on her feet since sunrise, tending to the wounded, giving help wherever it was needed.
"Come," he says, "sit. You can barely hold yourself upright."
She allows him to help her settle herself on the ground, her back against the outside wall of the decrepit building and her knees drawn up against her chest. He slides down the wall beside her, coming to sit close enough to her for their arms to be touching. She scoots a little lower still, so that she can lay her head on his shoulder again and he reaches out to lace his fingers through hers, noticing several scrapes and callouses on her normally so smooth skin.
"You push yourself too hard," he comments, raising her knuckles to his lips to press a kiss to them.
"Hmm, so do you," she mutters, the almost sleepy quality of her voice making him smile. Not for the first time he wishes desperately that he could stay with her and just rest and not think about anything else for a change.
A few minutes pass where neither of them speaks and Fíli wonders whether Sigrid really has fallen asleep. Her voice, when it comes, startles him out of his musings on how he is supposed to tell her what he knows he must say before they part ways today.
"You are going to do something awfully brave and honorable that is bound to break my silly heart, aren't you?"
He flinches and angles his upper body away from her, so that he may see her face. With obvious reluctance, she lifts her head off his shoulder and meets his gaze, her jaw squared like someone who is expecting a blow.
"Tell me."
He sighs, his forehead crumpling with grief over what he is about to reveal. There is no backing out of this, now, so he might as well get on with it. "I need to travel to the Blue Mountains to convince the Dwarves who still live there to follow me to Erebor. I do not want to do it and had hoped to find another way, but after last night I know that I must. We cannot go on like this; Erebor is weak and it cannot afford to be. Not when there are other fates such as those of the people of Dale at stake as well."
During his little speech, his eyes have strayed from hers. Now he forces himself to meet her gaze. She is paler than usual, but two red circles have appeared high on her cheeks and her eyes glitter as she asks, "How long have you known?" And then, when he drops his head to once again stare at the floor in both shame and dismay, "No, don't tell me. That day at the river – this is what was bothering you, isn't it? Why didn't you tell me then?"
"I did not want to hurt you," he admits quietly. "I thought—I hadn't made up my mind yet as to whether or not I would go."
"Still, you should have told me. Is that why I saw so little of you over the last two weeks?"
Her eyes shine with hurt and Fíli feels more ashamed of himself than ever. "I cannot even begin—I should have told you, yes. And I was going to. Today was supposed to be the day where I spoke to you about it, where we talked things through. And then, this morning, I realized that I must go, no matter what either of us wants." He pauses and then adds quietly, "No matter if it breaks my heart as well."
Sigrid does not speak for what seems like an awfully long time. Fíli still clutches her hand in his, holding onto it for dear life. To his dismay, her fingers are limp in his.
"You are angry with me," he says eventually when she still has not said anything.
Her eyes remain fixed on the horizon where the sun is preparing to disappear behind the jagged edges of the Misty Mountains in the distance. "I am not angry with you for going," she says. "You are right – we cannot put our own desires before the needs of our people and if you believe that your best chance to improve our situation depends on you making this journey, then you must go." She pauses to withdraw her hand from his and brush some dirt off her skirt. "I wish you hadn't treated me like a child, though, by keeping this from me."
Fíli's heart sinks. He knows how much she hates to be left out of things, to be patronized because of her young age. Which, he now realizes, is exactly what he has done. "I never meant for you to feel that way. I was—I was a bloody coward, alright?"
"Why?" she demands. "This isn't too terrible. You won't be gone forever, will you?"
"No, but... It will be two months at least. Maybe more."
She laughs at that, but it holds no mirth. "Two months? I would wait for you for much longer than that. Surely you must know that?"
"I—yes, I suppose I do, but still…" He fidgets under her scrutiny, not knowing what to say. Now that they are finally discussing it, his worries about the whole matter do appear a little blown out of proportion.
"Were you planning to take this prolonged absence as an opportunity to end things between us?"
Sigrid's question catches him off guard and he snaps his head up to look at her, ignoring the painful crack in his neck as he does so. "What? No! How could you even think that?"
She's gone back to picking at nonexistent lint on her clothing. "I just thought... well, I am not unaware that being with me will not exactly cause your people to look favorably upon you. And you just said yourself how important it is to have them follow you..."
Her voice trails off. She's still not looking at him and Fíli stares at her in horror – horror at what disastrously wrong conclusions his secretive behavior has led her to draw. He pushes away from the wall, crouching down on his knees in front of her instead. He reaches for her hand once more, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of it.
"If either of us ought to be worried about what people will think when they find out about us, it should be you," he says. When she finally looks up at him, a surprised frown creasing her forehead, he adds, "People are going to say all kinds of fouls things about us. That I don't deserve you. That I will be your ruin. I don't care about that, not for my sake, but I hate the thought that they will cause you pain with their careless words. And as for the more political dimension of my decisions... what I was really hoping for was that by undertaking this journey, by strengthening my kingdom and stabilizing my reign, I might end up in a position where my choice of who I want to share my life with will not draw the same kind of attention it would do now, when I still need to prove my worth."
It takes her a moment to process his words and when the meaning behind them registers with her, a gentle blush creeps across her cheeks. "Share your life with?" she asks shyly, her fingers finally tightening around his in a tentative hold.
He allows himself to relax a little. "Well, unless you had other plans, that is."
The blush in her cheeks remains, but she manages a teasing smile. "Oh, I'd have to see if I can fit that into my otherwise very busy schedule," she says in a lofty tone.
Seeing that it does not seem that likely that he will get punched for it anymore, Fíli reaches out to poke her in the ribs for her little joke. She squirms and a little giggle escapes her lips, which in turn causes him to chuckle. Afterwards they sit in silence for a little while, their fingers still entwined in Sigrid's lap.
"I will miss you," Sigrid says eventually, her tone a little less light than it was mere moments ago. "Terribly so."
Fíli swallows against a lump in his throat and raises himself up on his knees, leaning forward far enough that he can capture her lips with his. He kisses her deeply and without restraint, seeking to offer comfort rather than passion. Sigrid's hands come up to cradle his face, and he leans unto her touch, sighing against her mouth when her fingers tangle in his locks, pulling him closer.
He breaks their kiss after a few more blissful seconds, the smile on his lips rather rueful. "If it hadn't been for those blasted goblins, we would be up at the Mountain right now, with no one to disturb us until tomorrow."
"Hmm, yes, they are quite an impertinent race, aren't they," she says with a smile of her own. Her expression turns a little more thoughtful and she cocks her head to one side. "Although I am not sure whether I would have forgiven you for your secretiveness quite so easily if I wasn't so awfully worn out after last night."
The blow that her words deliver to his heart is well-deserved and Fíli hangs his head with a renewed surge of shame. But then he looks up again, his eyes twinkling with a flutter of hope. "But I am forgiven?"
Sigrid gives a little huff and pulls him closer once more, claiming his lips. "You are," she says when they break apart. "You're as stubborn as they come, and I have an inkling that this shall not be the last time we will have a disagreement such as this. But I do forgive you."
"That is so much more than I would have dared to hope for, you splendid girl," he mutters just before kissing her again, silencing any protest that she might have made. For all his flaws, all the mistakes he keeps making and all the baggage he carries around with himself, he must have done something right along the way if he has somehow managed to deserve her.
Splendid girl, indeed.
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A/N: If you've read The Gift you already knew that Fíli would eventually go on this journey and why he must do so. One more chapter and then we'll send him on his merry way. Thanks for reading!