A/N: Two chapters today to make up for the shortness of each. We're getting closer to the end, but there are still a handful of chapters left.

Day 157

When Fíli rides through the gates of Erebor on the one hundred fifty-seventh day, he does so with his head held high, an image of strength and confidence for the crowd that has gathered to see him off. And it's much less of an act than it used to be, not so very long ago.

He feels... good. Better than he has in ages. Certainly better than he has since the battle, and even before that, when first doubts about Thorin and the quest they had followed him on had begun to manifest themselves in his heart, he did not feel as assured of doing the right thing as he does today. It would be easy to blame this change in spirits on the events of the night before, but that would be a bit of an oversimplification. Yes – what happened between him and Sigrid has been magnificent, but that's not all there is to it, not by far.

What he feels for Sigrid, the love he carries in his heart for her – for if this isn't love, then what is? – it is not his weakness. He realizes this now. For months he believed that his feelings made him susceptible to attacks from the outside, that they distracted him from what he was supposed to be doing, and, most prominently, that he simply did not deserve to be this happy. Last night, when he finally allowed himself to be with Sigrid without restraint – he understood that this is precisely what will give him the strength to endure any obstacles he has yet to face, that allowing himself this source of joy and warmth in a harsh, cruel world is the only thing that can help him come to terms with the things he's seen, the things he's done, and the things that will be expected of him in the years to come.

Let them call him sentimental. He couldn't care less. A few months ago, he might have wallowed in a certain amount of guilt over having crossed a line last night which he had promised himself he would not cross – not like this, anyway – but now doing so seems altogether pointless. He and Sigrid both know what they are to each other and there is absolutely nothing that is going to stop him from making her his for the whole world to see once he is finally in a position to do so. Their little indiscretion will cease to mean anything once that happens, and until then he has some extremely pleasant memories to carry him through any darkness he might encounter on his path.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he revisits some of the memories of the last twelve hours, warmth coursing through him when he recall some of the things Sigrid let him do to her and her reactions to it. She kissed him goodbye just before dawn, when he was so completely relaxed, so utterly spent, that other than kissing her back deeply and lovingly, he wasn't capable of much else. No grand gestures, no soul-baring declarations.

"This is how I want to remember you," she whispered after her lips left his and he just blinked at her sleepily.

"Exhausted from our lovemaking to the extent that I can barely lift my head off my pillow?"

She lightly slapped him on his still bare chest for his deliberate denseness. "No, you scoundrel." She paused, her expression growing more tender. "Happy. Carefree. Without the lines of sorrow that grace your face far too often."

Her fingertips traced a now invisible crease between his eyebrows, and he took her hand in his, bringing her fingers to his lips. "It's all your doing," he assured her, his speech a little sluggish as sleep fought to claim him with all its might. "Without you, I would be one miserable Dwarf indeed."

"Then make sure to come home to me quickly, love. So that together we can count the many ways in which we can make each other happy," she whispered in his ear in return and the last thing he was aware of before he lost his struggle for consciousness was the flutter of her damp eyelashes against his cheek as she held him close one last time.

When he woke up not much later after a short but restful slumber, she had been gone, her familiar scent on the pillow next to his the only evidence that the night with her had not just been one long, glorious dream. That and the small, purple mark where his neck joined his shoulder, which Fíli discovered with no small amount of smug satisfaction when he sat down in front of his mirror to tame his wild mane.

"You appear to be in a rather good mood today."

Fíli is jilted back to the present when Thad appears at his right shoulder, a knowing grin plastered across his youthful face.

"It makes you wonder what it is exactly that has put His Grumpiness in such buoyant spirits," Flad throws in from his left, earning himself a scowl.

But no matter how hard he tries to maintain a stern expression in lieu of the brothers' teasing, Fíli soon finds that he cannot stop another grin from spreading across his lips. Flad erupts into a roar of laughter.

"Ha! I knew it! I take it that if I were to ride to Dale on this fine morning, I would find a young lass with an equally sappy smile on her lips?"

Fíli's eyes darken by a fraction as he casts a cautious look around. "Contain your enthusiasm on my behalf, will you. There is absolutely no reason to be shouting it from the rooftops."

Flad chuckles but complies with Fíli's request and lowers his voice. "Now that is an interesting thought, indeed. I wonder how the Bowman would react to that?"

"He'd find a wind lance and shoot you off said rooftop with a black arrow before you even got to finish your sentence," Fíli comments darkly. "And then he would find me and do the same to me, but more slowly and a lot more painfully."

"There are no more black arrows," Thad throws in cheerfully.

"Trust me," Fíli says, shifting in his saddle so that he can look at his friend, "Bard would find one just for this purpose, no matter how impossible the odds of doing so."

Flad laughs. "Alright, then. I suppose it is a good thing that discretion is practically my middle name."

"Sure, and Bombur is secretly an Elf," Fíli snorts.

"What's that talk about my dear brother?" Bofur calls from behind them when Thad and Flad join in with Fíli's laughter.

Fíli turns to look over his shoulder, grinning as he observes the line of Dwarves that has formed behind him. Most of the original company will be joining him on this journey, with three exceptions. As the individual entrusted with the deepest knowledge of the king's affairs (possibly even deeper than Fíli's, if he's honest), Balin is staying behind to govern Erebor together with Dáin. Óin, in his old age, preferred not to make that trip for a second time within a year. And Bombur... well. There was simply no way to persuade him to abandon the kitchens at Erebor and live off stale bread and rabbit stew for months.

So it is with Dwalin, Bofur, Gloin, Ori, Bifur, Nori and Dori at his side that Fíli will be undertaking this journey. And aside from Gloin, who longs to be reunited with his wife and son, Fíli feels confident to say that his fellow Dwarves' motivation for coming along is simply their loyalty to him as their king and their desire to support him in the actions he is taking on all of their behalf. Add to this the always welcome company of Thad and Flad, who would follow him almost anywhere, and the reassuring presence of Glorin and a selection of his most trusted soldiers and Fíli could hardly feel more confident in their chances at completing this journey without it ending in disaster.

In addition, there are fifteen Dwarves traveling with them who will remain at the Blue Mountains for a trial period of one year, bringing up the sum of Fíli's company to thirty-six. And while feeling responsible for so many lives is a bit scary indeed, Fíli cannot help but feel strengthened by the sheer number of followers as he leaves Erebor on this sunny morning in late April.

Yes, it will be a long journey and, in all likelihood, not an easy one – Fíli is not so naïve as to trust that they will not encounter the occasional obstacle on their path. But with the memories of last night still uplifting his spirits, it is hard to fall back into the thought patterns which plagued him during the planning stages of this venture.

"Never mind," he now calls over his shoulder in answer to Bofur's question. "Flad here was just saying that he will find it difficult to keep warm during a long, cold night without Bombur there to snuggle up to."

His brethren's laughter carries him along the leading away from Erebor and past the northern border of Dale, the feeling of being on the road again after spending so many months mostly holed up inside the huge slab of earth and stone which he calls his kingdom quickening both his pulse and his pony's steps. A sense of rightness overrides all other thoughts, all sensations, as if this is precisely what he is meant to be doing.

It is only when they have almost passed Dale already that something prompts Fíli to turn his head and look towards the city once more, ablaze in the morning sun. There, atop the city wall, half concealed by the northwestern watchtower, his eyes discern a figure, the wind tearing at her skirts as she gazes after him and his company. The distance between them is large enough to render her unrecognizable to anyone who has not memorized every small detail about her appearance – from the curl of her hair against the side of her neck, the gentle curve of her waist, to the way in which she carries herself – and so Fíli feels at liberty to stare back at her without fear of giving away a secret he is not prepared to part with just yet.

As he looks on, Sigrid lifts a hand and wraps it around her forearm where Fíli knows the bracelet he has given her to be hidden underneath her clothes. Always and forever. He lifts his own hand to his heart, resting it there long enough for her to observe and interpret his gesture. Until we meet again, my love, he thinks to himself as he is carried away from Dale and into the turmoil of a new adventure, one that has the potential of turning his life, once again, upside down.