Day 262

On the two hundred sixty-second day, Fíli abandons his people on the outskirts of Dale, trusting that he will be back in time to give the newcomers their official welcome at the feast planned for this evening. Until then, the Dwarves who have elected to follow him to Erebor – which are, to his astonishment, almost all those who had still been installed at Ered Luin – will be busy greeting long-lost family members and admiring the splendor of the fabled kingdom under the mountain and he shan't be terribly missed.

As he directs his pony's steps away from the convoy of travelers, he catches his mother's gaze. When she is sure she has his attention, Dís nods and smiles tightly, a rare sentimental glint moistening her eye.

Fíli hesitates, wondering if he shouldn't be at his mother's side when she reenters the kingdom of Erebor for the first time since she was a young girl, but then the moment passes and Dís leans closer to Dwalin once more, resuming their previous conversation. She'll be fine, Fíli tells himself, and besides, she's far from alone on this final stage of their journey. Also, he knows that if he were to turn back now, she would have words with him later for chickening out at the last moment.

Contrary to what he might have expected, Dís took the news that he loved and hoped to marry the daughter of the King of Dale in stride and has been nothing but supportive (even if a bit too inquisitive at times). Maybe this is owed to the fact that in comparison to Kíli's unexpected survival and his highly controversial choice of a partner, Fíli's own course of action looks entirely reasonable and more or less compliant with any expectations his mother might have had for him. Or maybe Dís just wants him to be happy after the things he has lived through this past year - Mahal knows that he's had his fair share of both grief and heartache. Either way, the long conversations he and his mother have had on their eastbound journey across Middle Earth are part of the reason why he is here now, about to throw himself into yet another adventure, even though this one is rather more delicate than that which he has just returned from.

He gallops up to the city gates where he entrust Arran to the hands of one of the guards, asking him to provide the pony with some much needed water. Apprehension tightens his chest as he walks into Dale, but he quickly finds himself distracted by the bustle of city life in the late afternoon.

The months on the road have not been lonely – far from it, actually, with their traveling party having grown considerably for their return journey. Still, life in those weeks was characterized by a quiet routine, days spent making as much progress as possible, and nights huddled around the campfire, talking to Dís, mostly, reminiscing about times past and making plans for ventures to be undertaken in the future – such as the one he is about to embark on now.

"It is the honorable thing to do," Fíli hears his mother's voice echo in his head. "Even if you find it difficult, even if it bears a certain risk – you must do it. The sooner, the better."

When he looked doubtful still, she slapped him playfully on the back of his head. "Stop being such a coward." A roguish grin lit up her face. "You are our king, are you not? When push comes to shove, you can do what you like and no one will dare question you. So you might as well follow your heart."

Dís has never much liked to hear it, but it is her that Kíli has inherited his rebellious character and his penchant for reckless maneuvers from. Fíli, meanwhile, has always been said to be taking after his father, but since he has scarcely any memory of him, he has never been able to judge the truth of that assessment.

Be that as it may, he has now come to Dale to take the first step necessary if he wants to heed Dís's advice (although, with his mother, advice and instruction are not always so easily distinguished). As he weaves his way through the throngs of people populating the narrow streets, his stomach is in nervous knots. A few streets in, he begins to notice that those whom he passes keep throwing him curious glances. Perhaps he should not have come straight from the road, looking travel-worn and in dire need of a hot bath, but, well, it's too late for that now. And besides, any additional day that he might have put this off for would have seemed like one day to many. The two months he had planned to be absent have turned into more than three, and now he's impatient to attend to the business he left unfinished upon his departure.

Before too long he reaches the market square at the center of the city and stops before the tall building looming over it. The high windows reflect the light of the afternoon sun, and he has to shield his eyes against their glare, his throat suddenly rather dry. With sweat gathering at the back of his neck, he makes for the door, but finds it bolted shut.

"Master's gone home for the day," the owner of a nearby market stall informs him. "Some sort of family emergency, from what I heard."

Fíli turns towards the old man and watches as his watery eyes widen in recognition. The people of Dale may have their own king, but the authority of the King under the Mountain is respected here as well, to some degree. Quickly, the man lowers his head.

"What sort of emergency?" Fíli asks, a sense of dark foreboding taking hold of him.

"Can't say, sir," the man mumbles, clearly not comfortable in his presence. "Something to do with one of his daughters, I reckon."

Oh no. Not that. Before the merchant has straightened up again, Fíli has turned away again and is hurrying back the way he came from, his feet carrying him up the alley where Bard lives with his children.

Not hesitating this time, he rushes up to the house, but before his knuckles make contact with the door on which he intended to knock, it is wrenched open from the inside and Fíli finds himself face to face with Bard himself.

The bowman's eyes widen in surprise as he stops dead and looks down at the Dwarf on his doorstep. "You!" he exclaims, but then clears his throat, gathering his composure. "Forgive me – I knew you had returned, but wasn't expecting you today." He takes another look at Fíli. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Not a ghost, Fíli thinks, but the spectre of his worst fears materializing before his inner eye. "Your children – are they alright?"

"My children? Why would—"

"I was told you had been called home for an emergency."

"Ah, that. Yes – nothing to worry about. Tilda fell of a horse – again – and scraped her knee. She screamed bloody murder, scaring everyone within a hundred feet half to death, but she will be just fine. In fact, she's already out and about once more, no doubt causing some mischief."

His breath rushes out of Fíli's lungs as some of the tension that has carried him to Bard's doorstep leaves him. His bad luck seemed to have eased up on him a little during those past few, quiet weeks, but still he would not have been entirely surprised to find that something terrible has happened to Sigrid on the very day that he finally returns to her.

In his relief, he has momentarily forgotten all about the man still standing before him and now finds himself thoroughly scrutinized by Bard. "What are you doing here?" the bowman asks, as usually getting straight to the point.

Fíli swallows, but forces himself to hold Bard's gaze. "There is something that I need to speak to you about. Is this a convenient time?"

Bard's eyebrows shoot up. "As convenient as any, I suppose. I was about to return to the town hall, but seeing that you are here already, why don't you come upstairs."

He holds the door open for Fíli to step through. It would be rather suspicious behavior indeed if Fíli refused this invitation and so he gives himself a push and crosses the doorstep, even though he would much rather have had this conversation in a place that is not also Bard's private home. As he follows the King of Dale up to his study, Fíli strains his ears and eyes for any sign that Sigrid might be about, but all is quiet, the small house apparently deserted. It's just as well, he thinks. If things go badly, Sigrid should not have to bear witness to whatever the outcome of this whole business might be.

In Bard's study, Fíli's eyes are immediately drawn to the spot on the floor where he and Flad covered up the boy soldier's body all those months ago. He swallows against the tightness in his throat. "How is Alva?"

Bard sinks into the chair behind his desk with a small sigh. "About as might be expected. She gets on very well with the girls, though. Tilda especially. Keeping an eye on her distracts Alva from thinking too much about everything that she has lost."

Fíli nods in understanding. He knows a thing or two about that, even though his own loss, as it has turned out, is not as devastating as he had believed, for a long time.

"From what has been reported to me, the party of Dwarves marching past Dale towards Erebor just a few hours ago has been a rather large one," Bard says, pulling Fíli from his thoughts. "I assume your undertaking has been a success, then?"

"It has," Fíli confirms, embracing the change of topic. "Many have followed my invitation to relocate to the mountain and more will follow still from other Dwarven settlements, in the months to come."

"That is good news for both Erebor and for Dale," Bard concludes. "What is that urgent matter you wanted to discuss, then? It sounds as if things are, for once, going according to plan."

"They are indeed," Fíli says haltingly. By Durin's beard, how is one supposed to breach such a topic? By jumping in head first, would be Kíli's advice, probably, and Fíli suspects that Dís would agree with his brother. He takes a deep breath. "Before I left, I was not entirely honest with you."

"With regard to what?" Bard seems genuinely puzzled as he leans forward in his chair, fixing Fíli with a stare that nearly makes him squirm in his own chair.

Fíli clears his throat. "An agreement between me and your oldest daughter."

"Sigrid? I'm afraid I don't—what sort of agreement?"

Mahal, Bard is really going to make him spell it out, isn't he? Unable to hold the bow man's gaze, Fíli fixes his eyes on a spot on the wall. "The sort made between two people who... care very deeply for each other."

When Fíli finally musters enough courage to once more look at Bard directly, he finds on his face not the murderous fury he has feared, but something much less easily defined. A fair amount of horror, yes, but also something else that almost looks like concern.

"Oh ye gods," Bard moans after several moments of bewildered silence. He runs the back of his hand across his lips once, as if to rid himself of an unwelcome taste. "This is what has had everyone so worried. I thought you were different, thought that you would not be so easily affected. I see it now, though, see that the same madness that has tormented your uncle has taken possession of you."

"I assure you that is not what—hold on, people have just been waiting for me to lose my marbles?"

Fíli bristles at the thought, but Bard does not even appear to be listening to him, rising from his chair to stalk across the room in a state of agitation.

"When you gave up your claim to the Arkenstone, I truly believed that we could leave the past behind us, but clearly that is not so. Clearly you are utterly, hopelessly mad."

"I am no such thing."

Fíli's voice is firm and something in his tone causes Bard to pause and whirl back around, studying the young Dwarf king with wild eyes. "Then pray tell me, what is all this?"

"This is me asking for your daughter's hand in marriage."

That is the moment Fíli expects Bard to reach for a weapon and aim it at his head, and if not that, to deliver a blow to his nose with one of the fists currently clenched tightly at the bowman's sides. A loud bang does indeed follow his words, but it's not produced by a weapon or by an act of bodily violence. The door to the study bursts open, crashing against the bookshelf placed behind it, and a blurred shape comes flying into the room, hurling itself at Fíli.

He nearly falls out of his chair when slender, surprisingly strong arms are wrapped around his neck.

"You're here, you've come back. Finally, you've come back," Sigrid murmurs against the side of his neck.

"Sigrid!"

Before Fíli has any chance to respond to Sigrid's enthusiastic greeting, Bard's outraged cry cuts through the air like a clap of thunder. With obvious reluctance, Sigrid loosens her embrace and straightens up to stand beside Fíli's chair, biting her lip. Fíli, too, feels compelled to rise, if only to be able to make a fast escape should the need arise. He risks a quick smile at Sigrid, resisting the urge to reach for her, before focusing his attention on Bard once more.

The King of Dale currently sports a bright red face, his eyes flitting quickly between his daughter and the Dwarf. beside her. Eventually they come to rest on Sigrid. "What is the meaning of this? And don't start acting all innocent on me, I know you've been listening outside that door. Explain."

Sigrid ducks her head slightly, her guilty grin confirming Bard's accusation about her eavesdropping. "I thought Fíli made his meaning rather clear. He is asking me to marry him."

"And what would make him think that this is something you would ever consider doing?" The sternness of Bard's gaze would suffice to make braver men than Fíli fidget under his scrutinity, but Sigrid does not even flinch.

"Really, Da?" The hint of exasperation in her voice makes Fíli look up in surprise just in time to catch her rolling her eyes at her father. "I have been dropping hints about this to you for weeks now. Have you really not put two and two together before today?"

Shock evidently holds Bard in its grasp tightly enough to make him open and close his mouth several times without any sound escaping his lips. "Him?" he finally exclaims. "When you were going on about someone who had caught your eye, but whom I might not approve of, you were talking about him? I thought it was that stable boy you've been seeing so much of – Ulf, wasn't that his name?"

Fíli resists the jealous impulse to ask who Ulf is in favor of another, more pressing question. "You've been dropping hints about us? Are you mad?"

This time, Sigrid's eye-roll is directed at him. "Far from it. I thought that it would soften the blow a little if he began harboring some suspicions."

"If he had found out, who knows what he—"

"He didn't, though, as you have just witnessed. And either way, it doesn't make a difference now, not when he—"

"He is standing right here, in the name of the gods," Bard interrupts their bickering. They both turn to face his dangerous glare once more. "And still waiting for an explanation."

Sigrid sighs. "There is not much to explain. We love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together. No more, and no less."

Her voice has grown softer at the declaration of their mutual feelings, and this time Fíli cannot stop himself from reaching for her hand and squeezing it briefly in his. The bright smile she directs at him then momentarily has him under a spell, one which is only broken when Bard stalks back to his desk, muttering to himself under his breath. He produces a glass and a bottle from a small cabinet behind the desk and pours himself a generous measure, draining the glass with one large gulp and refilling it immediately. Fíli is not suicidal enough to ask for a drink as well, even though Mahal knows he is in dire need of one.

With his palms resting on either side of his glass, Bard lifts his head to glare at Sigrid and Fíli over the expanse of his cluttered desk. "You are quite serious about this, then? This is not some insane joke?"

"Perfectly serious," Sigrid answers.

"I would lay down my life for your daughter," Fíli adds sincerely, but considering the look from the bowman which his comment earns him, he might as well have kept silent.

Bard falls into his chair with a groan. "I do not like this. Not at all."

"You do not have to like it," Sigrid says, not taking her eyes of her father. "I'm merely asking you to accept it. For this is not something that is going to go away. Not ever."

This time it is her who reaches for Fíli, enwining her fingers with his and not letting go. They share a look of complete mutual understanding. Months apart have done no harm to their bond and Fíli is almost surprised by how easy, how natural it feels to continue right where they left off.

Bard, meanwhile, has taken to staring morosely at the contents of his glass. "It will take me some time to get used to the idea of this. A lot of time, I suspect."

"We'll get out of your way then." Sigrid gives a tug on Fíli's hand. When he hesitates to follow her, wondering if he shouldn't say something else in order to convince Bard of the sincerity of his feelings, she discreetly clears her throat and motions for him to follow her.

With Bard still glaring at his brandy with enough venom that Fíli half fears he might set the liquid on fire, they silently creep towards the door. "Trust me," Sigrid whispers as they cross the threshold, "it is better to leave him be, for a while. He will be much more easily handled once he's had time to wallow in his misery."

"I heard that!" Bard calls from his seat, but Sigrid has already pulled the door closed behind her and taken Fíli by his hand again, leading him away from her father's study and towards the stairs.

They stumble down the stairs in a bit of a hurry to get out of the house, bursting into the street below with breathless excitement fuelling their steps. They neither speak nor let go of each other as they navigate the narrow alleys, drawing but not heeding some curious looks by those whom they pass. Wild tales of what binds the King of Erebor and the Princess of Dale together (some of them not that far off their mark) will keep the city gossip busy for days after, but the subjects of those tales will be far to occupied making up for lost time to either notice or care.

Out through the city gates they go, and it is only once they have reached the illusion of privacy provided by their old meeting place that they stop to take a breath. In the shadow cast by the crumbling walls of the disused guardhouse, Sigrid throws her arms around Fíli's neck, and this time he returns her embrace without hesitition, crushing her to himself as fiercely as he can without hurting her.

For a seemingly endless sequence of nights he has dreamed of this moment when finally he will be allowed to hold his love in his arms again. And it is everything he imagined it to be and more; to feel the rapid beating of her heart where her chest is pressed against his, to inhale those sweet scents that always seem to vary depending on what she has been doing on that day but under which he catches an essence that is truly and uniquely hers, to hear her breath hitch in her throat with either a little laugh or a small sob (or both) – those are the things which his memory was unable to recreate for him during those lonely nights he's spent gazing at the stars, wondering if she, too, is lying awake and watching the constellations that populate the sky.

It is only when they break apart after several minutes that the events of the last hour finally catch up with him. "He's going to kill me, isn't he?" he groans, releasing Sigrid to rake his fingers through his hair. "He'll have me assassinated in my sleep."

Sigrid laughs softly and reaches out to still his hands, lacing her fingers through his once more. "He won't. You have heard him – he will get used to this, to us, it will merely take him some time."

When he still doesn't look convinced, she adds, "He wouldn't hurt you, simply because he knows that he would hurt me, too, if he did. He knows how I feel about you. He's seen how I've suffered, those last months, he just didn't know that you were the cause until today."

Fili grimaces. "I'm sorry the whole thing took so much longer than I thought. We kept running into trouble – goblins, trolls, more goblins, and then some truly unbelievable things happened..." He breaks off, realizing that he's started rambling. "I have so much to tell you," he concludes a bit sheepishly.

"And I you," Sigrid replies, smiling.

"Starting with who this Ulf person is?"

She laughs, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. "If you ask very nicely, perhaps. But for now, I think that there is something else you intended to ask me."

It takes him a moment to grasp her meaning, but then he grins knowingly. Ah, yes. There's that, still.

With a little more flourish than strictly necessary, he lowers himself onto one knee in front of her, and takes her hand in his. Despite his playful demeanor, his tone is quite earnest when he speaks. "Will you, Sigrid, do me the honor of becoming my wife and allow me to love, to cherish, to worship you on every day of the life that we shall share with each other?"

Her teasing smile from a few moments ago turns a little tearful at that. "Yes," she says firmly and without so much as a moment's hesitation. "A thousand times yes."

Fíli remains in his position on the ground for a little longer. "Even if your father does not stop hunting me until he finally has my head on a pike for defiling his daughter?"

Sigrid's bright laughter echoes through the quiet of the early evening. "He won't, but yes, I will love you still, even if you wind up another head shorter than me."

"And if I keep running into misfortunes? Poisonings, goblin attacks, major and minor accidents... those things appear to have become recurring themes in my life."

"Even then," Sigrid returns patiently.

"And if old age intensifies those traits my kind is so famous for? If I become a grumpy, rude, quarrelsome old Dwarf?"

"I cannot imagine that, but yes, even then." Her patience apparently running thin, Sigrid pulls him to his feet, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders as he stands before her and gazes up into her lovely, hazel eyes with nothing but love filling his heart, to the very brim. "And now, will you finally be quiet and kiss me?" she asks.

And that is precisely what he does. Over, and over, and over again.