My thanks to roses0002 and Alfirineth for their reviews on the last chapter!

Chapter 8

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
Lao Tzu

oOoOoOo

October 12th, T.A. 2941

The house was grand and spacious. Tall windows had been dusted off by a caring hand, allowing the morning light to illuminate what remained of the tapestries. Moldy carpets had been evacuated, the floors washed and scraped clean. Someone in the family had taken a liking to their new home, it seemed.

The guards led her to the former living room, which stood nearly empty save for a spotless wooden table and its chairs. None of them wished her a pleasant day.

"Are you hungry?" Bard asked as he entered. His dark hair was tied up again, showing the greying strands at the temples. He'd had time to dress in his usual worn-out coat and boots. "I am." He eyed the empty table and smirked. "So… No breakfast, I assume?"

Brea pondered that at any other given moment she would've been thrilled to find herself alone with him. Yet now all she could think of was Fíli, slowly declining in a bed above Agnessa's home. She recalled the feeling of his skin under her hands, and the way his lips parted when he smiled. How that ridiculous mustache of his swayed when he moved.

"Believe me, you're better off without my cooking."

"I see." He lowered himself into a chair. "I have the feeling I won't like this conversation."

"You know me too well." Brea considered sitting down as well, but decided against it. She wrapped her arms around herself, her hand moved to her mouth of its own volition. What she'd say, and the way she'd say it, would decide Fíli's fate. She tasted blood as she pulled too hard on a bit of skin.

"Bard, I am sorry, you'll be upset. Angry even. But please," she pleaded, "Please hear me out. Last night…" She paused. "There are dwarves in Dale. One of them needs help – your help."

He scowled. "The nerve of that little bugger. Brea, I am done with dwarves, I thought I'd made that clear."

"You did."

But I had no choice, she'd wanted to add, only to realize that was a lie. She'd chosen knowing full well what the consequences could be. Only the alternative was such that Brea had refused to consider it. Words poured out of her mouth. "He's dying, Bard. He's suffering, he's bleeding, he can't breathe, and I won't stand by and watch. I refuse to." She realized that she was crying. "I can't help him, I know I can't. And neither can anyone else here. Anyone but you."

"But what would you have me do?" Bard recoiled. "If you can't think of a way…"

"I know a way." She wiped her eyes with the back of her bleeding hand. "There are people who can save him. And I need you to ask them to."

She proceeded to explain. Her plan was simple, so simple that it could work brilliantly or fail just as fast. From the look on Bard's face Brea could see that he didn't like her idea. His whole body told her likewise as he crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Brea," he spoke carefully, "I've nothing but respect for you and your skill. You've helped birth my children, you've helped our people. So I'm telling you this: it won't work." He stood and paced. "Thranduil owes me nothing. Why would he listen to our pleas for help when he has his own people to think of?"

"You're right, he doesn't have to." Brea whispered. "To me he won't listen, but to you he might. From one king to another, he may grant you this favor. Besides," she added, "He might consider helping the future ruler of Erebor. Fíli is the heir of Thorin Oakenshield, the last descendant of the line of Durin."

"Of all the dwarves…" Bard cursed "Oakenshield would've let us starve if not for the hobbit. He was ready to wage war against us. And you hope this will sway king Thranduil?"

"Hope is all Fíli has," Brea answered. "He's running out of time." She pulled herself upright and stared him in the eye. "With or without you I'm going, Bard. But I'll be easier with you by my side."

"What do you owe him?" he muttered. "Why is he so important to you?"

Before Brea could answer a quiet voice said, "He's important to me."

Sigrid was standing in the doorway, regal and composed, as was fit for the daughter of a king. She was dressed unpretentiously, her hair tied in a simple bun. Brea guessed that she was the caring spirit who'd restored the house to its former beauty.

"He's important to me, because he saved my life." Sigrid walked up to her father and reached out to touch his arm. "Da, he defended us when the orcs came to our home. He cared for his brother when Kíli was wounded. He helped us all escape the city when the dragon attacked." Her hand moved to caress his cheek. "I don't know who Thorin Oakenshield was, but I know Fíli. He's a kind man, a brave man. Please, Da, save him if you can."

oOoOoOo

The elven camp lay at the foot of the mountain, nestled within a crook of its arm. High tents of green and silver stood in perfect order around the king's pavilion. From afar, the encampment resembled a tidy garden in springtime. But this garden was well protected: heavily armed sentinels stood watch at the perimeter, each one as unmoving as a statue.

They raised their halberds before Bard and his retinue. "Your Majesty Bard, king of Dale," one of them announced in a melodious voice. We were not expecting you."

Bard glowered at the sound of his title. "I am here to see king Thranduil," he replied, "I must speak to him urgently."

"Please come forth," the guard allowed. "His Majesty will be expecting you."

As they rode past the guards, Bard gave Brea a sharp look. "The Elvenking wields a form of magic," he whispered. "Beware of what you say."

She fidgeted in her saddle. Her nervousness about the upcoming meeting added up to her unease on horseback. Brea had learned to swim when she was five, but she'd never ridden before and it showed. Her sweet-tempered mare ignored the jerk on the reins and followed Bard's steed into the camp.

The encampment was as disciplined from up close as it looked from afar. Neat alleys divided groups of tents, and colored banners indicated their purpose. White-colored flags floated above the soldiers' housings. Green flags indicated supplies, silver for the armory. But everywhere Brea looked, the blue of the infirmaries dominated in number. Bard had been right, she mused. The elves too had their share of wounded.

They rode up to the king's pavilion, a magnificent construction of green and gold. Bard dismounted and held the reins of Brea's mare while she struggled with her skirts, dropping to the ground as gracefully as she could.

"Come in," the guards said, "His Majesty will see you now."

The magnificence of the king's tent shamed Bard's house, and even the palace of Dale seemed like a shabby ruin in comparison. Lush carpets covered the ground, tables of pale carven wood were loaded with scrolls, bottles and delicate goblets. In the middle of the room, on a sculptured throne, sat the Elvenking.

His appearance was that of a young man of cold and unblemished beauty. Long silver hair framed his face, beneath a crown of golden twigs and thorns. His eyes, however, were without age, and full of ancient sorrow.

"Your Majesty," Bard greeted him. He nudged Brea and she lowered into the first curtsy of her life.

"King Bard." The Elvenking's voice was cool and even, like a deep river in wintertime. The surface may have been frozen, but strong currents ran beneath. "What do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I have come to ask a favor," Bard said, "From one king to another."

"And what would that favor be?" the king wondered. "Have you come to reconsider your share of the treasure?"

"No, your Majesty. The fourteenth part was agreed on, we need not more. My request is of another nature." He gestured for Brea to step forth.

She gulped, trying to remember the words she'd so carefully prepared during the ride. They all seemed to slip away under the king's unwavering gaze. "Your Majesty," she began, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. "I have pleaded with Bard to come before you, to ask for a favor only you can grant."

"And he agreed." The Elvenking raised an eyebrow. "I am intrigued." He leaned forward in his seat. "My powers are great and my riches vast, which one of these do you covet, I wonder?"

"None," she said. "I need you to save someone's life."

"Hmm." He cocked his head to the side, studying her. "Some lives are worth more than others, surely you know that."

"It's not for me to decide. I just want him to live."

Thranduil's face was impassible, but his voice was soft when he said, "You care for him very much."

Brea wondered if he was reading her mind. "His name is Fíli. If one of your healers could…"

"A dwarf." he interrupted her, his mouth twisting into a grimace of utter contempt. "You've come seeking my help for a dwarf, and the offspring of the wretched line of Durin at that."

"Durin's heir lies dying," Brea acquiesced. She stepped forward, reminding herself of why she came. "I know elves are blessed with magic that can heal even the gravest of wounds. The chance to save him lies in your hands. Should you succeed, the king of Erebor will be forever in your debt. If you refuse, his brother will ascend to the throne. And he is not like to forget your choice."

"What care I for the displeasure of dwarves," Thranduil announced, but he seemed to consider her words. An uneasy silence set in before he spoke again. "I will make you an offer," he said. "The same offer I made Thorin Oakenshield, and one he so imprudently refused." He gestured for wine and a servant hurried forward, bearing a silver goblet. "The white gems of Lasgalen still lie within the mountain. Bring them to me, and you will have your life."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Bard began but she interrupted him.

"Your Majesty, there is no time," she pleaded. "Fíli is dying as we speak. I promise I'll do anything in my power to bring you those gems, but please, help him!"

"What a pity." The Elvenking seemed amused. "As I said, I care not for one more dwarf, however ancient is his blood. None of my healers will help you before my rightful property has been restored to me."

"But he will die!" Brea shouted. She felt Bard pull her back and struggled against his grip. "Haven't enough perished already?"

"Brea, enough!" Bard hissed, pulling her away. The king's guards had advanced, weapons at the ready.

"Your powers are vast, but they're useless," she whispered. "There's no compassion in you, only greed."

oOoOoOo

"That went well."

Bard's voice was as somber as his face as they robe back, the disapproving stares of the elven sentinels boring into their backs.

"Tell me, what that your plan? To antagonize the Elvenking and have us killed?" he seethed, but Brea would not answer.

Nothing she would say would change what had happened, or improve the outcome of the discussion. She had failed to convince the Elvenking, or perhaps she'd been foolish to think he could be swayed by logic or prayer. And now Bard was angry with her as well. She'd infuriated two kings in one day, which had to be some sort of record.

In any case, there was little Brea could do now. Choices were scarce, each one grimmer than the other. She could return to Fíli's side and face his brother, whom she had so painstakingly convinced to trust her plan. She could also attempt to save him herself, praying that she wouldn't kill him in the process, and beg Kíli to retrieve the gems the Elvenking wanted, so that Fíli's chances were not ruined by her temper.

When Brea had understood that the offer, however fair it seemed, was only an illusion, she'd been devastated. It was a farce destined to show generosity when there was none, a winning situation for the Elvenking whatever happened. Thranduil cared little if Fíli died - perhaps it would even suit him.

Brea didn't understand what enmities opposed the two races, didn't know the history of the elves and dwarves' squabbles. She cared little for the future of either of the two, except for the one dwarf she'd come to know a little better. Whenever she thought of dwarves she thought of Fíli first: of his easy smile, his extravagant appearance and the gentleness he carried in his heart.

"Wait!"

The voice calling them was soft and harmonious, and Brea didn't have to turn around to know it came from an elf. Bard halted and Brea's mare stopped as well, pulling the reins from her hands to munch on the green grass of the valley.

The elf was a woman, dressed in the blue apron of the healers. Her blond hair was braided away from her face in intricate tresses. "Here," she said, proffering a small vial to Brea. "This should help your friend." She glanced towards the camp in unease. "It will stop the bleeding for a time, and accelerate the mending of the body, but it may not suffice. I suggest you hurry to retrieve the gems his Majesty desires, or it will be for naught."

"Why are you doing this?" Bard asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The woman smiled sadly. "I too have loved once, and tasted the bitterness of being powerless. As did our king. It is no good reason for any more to die because he chose to forget it."