Dis glowered at her eldest. She'd been rudely awakened, as had most of the royal wing, when Fili, who should have been asleep in his room had suddenly called out an alert and request for aid.
Not, mind you, because someone was trying to kill him in his bed, where he should have been, but because he was outside, without an escort, without having told anyone…FIGHTING. BLOODY. ORCS.
Dis had tried to be calm. She really had. After hearing her idiot son had returned she'd ordered him to her room and then taken her time getting dressed in an attempt to settle her anger.
It hadn't helped. The second Fili had walked through the door she'd lit into him, fear giving fire to her anger. She'd lost her grandfather, her father and her brother. In the past five years alone she'd nearly lost Fili to assassination three times; Kili twice. Even Thorin had survived an attempt making for a total of six in five years. The constant fear of one of them not surviving the next attempt, and there was no doubt there would be a next attempt, ate at her. Now, as if it wasn't bad enough that death sought him, he had to go looking for it?
"You," she said now, her voice cold and nearly hoarse from yelling, "are a Crown Prince, not a member of the guard! What were you thinking?"
Her son remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on the large couch that dominated her sitting room. He'd long given up trying to defend himself and had gone into the "bear it until it's over" state that she despised. Dis had always struggled with her eldest, in spite of how responsible and well behaved he generally was. Most of the time she couldn't read him at all, even with the soul bond. Her youngest, though generally more reckless, was easier. Kili wore his emotions on his sleeve. They reverberated up and down the soul bond they shared, vibrated along the mental link when they spoke. As a small child if the boy so much as stubbed his toe the entire mountain rang with the force of his cries.
Fili was the complete opposite. He had always been quiet, introspective, his emotions and feelings hidden carefully away. He took his role of older brother seriously believing, wrongly, he needed to present an image of absolute strength to his little brother at all times. She could still remember an incident when they had both been children and a training session had gone wrong. She'd barely felt the slightest flicker in their bond but, coming from Fili, it might as well have been a scream. She'd gone running to find Kili in near hysterics while Fili had tried desperately to comfort him, even as his arm hung at an unnatural angle at his side.
Dis sighed at the memory, a rush of love and affection at last replacing some of her anger. She stepped forward and grabbed him, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing tight enough to hurt.
He flinched in surprise but then she felt him respond, his arms going around her easily to return the hug.
She pulled away after a moment and stepped back to sit on the couch, Fili still standing in front of her.
Fili shifted, moving from the rigid at attention stance his father had taught him to a more relaxed one, legs slightly apart and hands clutched behind his back. "I'm sorry," he said finally, and for about the twentieth time before he'd given up, "It wasn't my intent to upset you."
Dis gave him a wry look. "Sometimes I just want to lock you and your brother up and call it a day. At least then I'd know you were safe."
The edges of Fili's mouth twitched and he ducked his head. "Probably wouldn't work. You know how Kili and I get when we're bored."
"True," Dis agreed. "It'd probably end up making things worse." She leaned back, dropping her head against the back of the couch. Idly she opened her mental link to her husband and swore at him for not being there to help berate their eldest. After marrying, Vili had insisted on remaining a part of the guard which meant he was currently on shift.
His response came a moment later, laughter followed by Sorry, Love, but I'd rather take on a cave troll than be present in a battle of will between you and Fili. I'll handle Kili the next time he does something idiotic.
Of course he would, Dis thought sourly. Kili couldn't handle parental disapproval, particularly from his father. One sharp look and he folded like a cheap deck of playing cards. It didn't stop him from immediately doing something else idiotic of course but it at least made reining him in somewhat easier.
Fili, on the other hand…
The couch dipped and she lifted her head as Fili settled next to her. He leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on his knees. For a split second she saw her husband instead of her son and wondered when in the world he'd gone and grown up. Fili had cleaned up as best he could before responding to her summons but hadn't changed his clothing. His shirt was torn and she resisted the urge to jerk it aside and check him for injuries like she'd used to do when he was a child.
"It was much easier when you were a child," she said out loud.
Fili snorted. "Comparatively speaking. I can remember some pretty bad scrapes Kili and I got into." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't planning to get into a fight, Amad." His eyes flickered toward a corner of the room and away again. "Bilba didn't react well to waking up and Syrath took her on a ride to help her calm down. I asked to go too. When we saw the caravan…" He shrugged, "there was no time to wait for help. They were being slaughtered, women and children. I couldn't just watch."
"No," Dis said dully, "you never could." She pressed her thumbs into her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.
Someone cleared their throat and Dis suppressed a groan. She'd spent so long yelling at her son for endangering himself, deservedly so, and had gotten so caught up in finding out what insanity had overtaken him she'd completely forgotten they weren't alone in the room.
She sat up. The girl, Bilba; and Dwalin were both leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, each with one foot braced against it, wearing nearly identical expressions of extreme boredom. The only difference between the two was that Dwalin had his arms crossed over his chest while the girl idly toyed with a simple gold ring on her finger.
She hadn't met the girl yet. She'd heard of her certainly and seen her unconscious in the Healing Wards but this was the first time Dis had laid eyes on her awake.
She pushed to her feet and approached. After hearing Fili of all people, and not Kili as she would expect, had been out in the middle of the night fighting orcs with his new ride partner she'd asked to see them both.
Bilba studied her as Dis approached. Dis had worried that, given the girl's apparent recklessness; she would be rebellious or ill-mannered and had been prepared to put her in her place at once if she tried to mouth off. There was no sign of defiance in her eyes, however, and her body language was relatively relaxed, not the ridiculous posturing she'd seen in some of the children of the other nobles.
She reached out mentally and requested a link with the girl.
The girl accepted it. I told him to stay on Syrath.
Dis raised an eyebrow. Excuse me?
Bilba shot an irritated look in Fili's direction. I told him to stay on Syrath. He had no armor or weapons. He doesn't listen.
She sounded personally offended and Dis surprised herself by laughing, drawing a raised eyebrow from Dwalin but no comment. I'm well aware of that, believe me. She studied the young woman, assessing. You had no armor or weapon either.
She shrugged. They needed help.
Dis frowned. On first impression, the girl was not what she had expected.
How do you reach the knife?
What? Dis asked in response. How do I reach what knife?
Bilba nodded toward Dis' leg. The one strapped to your leg. How do you reach it with that heavy dress on?
Dis' eyes narrowed. What makes you think I'm wearing a knife?
The way you hold yourself, came the immediate response. You keep your leg angled toward me no matter how you move. She shrugged. I assumed you must have a weapon of some sort and a knife makes the most sense.
She seemed utterly nonplussed by the notion that Dis might see her as a threat, even unconsciously.
Dis hesitated and then reached a hand down to the thick, emerald green fabric of her dress.
The dress has hidden pockets, she explained. I have a hole in the bottom of one.
She slid her hand in the pocket and came out a second later holding a wicked looking dagger.
Bilba's eyes widened and she straightened off the wall, her eyes fixed on the weapon.
Dis slid her hand under the hilt, laid the blade across her palm and held it out toward her.
Dwalin promptly made a strangled sound but Dis rolled her eyes. They couldn't just tiptoe around the girl forever. If they wanted to find out if she was trustworthy the best way was to start trusting her.
Not only that but she'd be cursed if she was going to allow any kind of breach to open between her and her son. If Bilba was trustworthy then Dis would have a new friend. If she proved not to be then Dis would be close to her and, hopefully, able to protect her son.
Bilba's eyes widened in awe as she took the weapon almost reverently. The hilt was carved from wrapped bands of silver and gold. The blade itself had been etched with flowing vines and flowers and a flawless, smooth emerald was embedded at the top.
Fili stood up from the couch and strode over to stand behind Dis, watching Bilba study the dagger.
Finally she looked up, her eyes huge. This is gorgeous, she said, and perfectly balanced. It's a masterpiece.
Dis smiled. "Thank you," she said, speaking out loud for Fili's benefit. "It was a birthday gift from my sons."
Really? Bilba looked startled. Where did they get it?
"They made it," Dis replied. "They are both master craftsmen."
The look Bilba gave Fili very nearly had Dis laughing out loud again. If she had to put a name on it she'd probably say the girl was impressed and outraged at the same time, or possibly outraged at being impressed.
Fili gave a tentative smile. He didn't know exactly what had been said but got the gist from his mother's words and from the way Bilba was clearly fawning over the weapon. "Kili did the hilt and I created the blade."
Bilba swallowed, her eyes studying Fili. A second later Dis suddenly saw her son's eyes widen with pleasure and he ducked his head.
So, the girl could be gracious and offer praise when deserved even when she wasn't entirely thrilled about the person deserving it. Dis felt something inside begin to settle.
Bilba flipped the dagger easily on her hands and presented the hilt back toward Dis. She in turn replaced the knife in its sheath strapped to her thigh.
Do you think that trick would work with trousers?
Dis gave a short nod. "I don't see why not."
The girl looked delighted and Dis decided that, on first impressions at least, she quite liked her.
This whole situation might well end up not being near as dire as she'd first feared.
Bilba had been quite surprised to learn that the Princeling's mother was a warrior. The woman dressed as well as any noblewoman, with a heavy dress of velvet trimmed with fur and a matching cloak trimmed in gems. Even so late at night she'd worn jewelry and her hair had been done up in a mithril net studded with diamonds.
She hadn't expected her to be anything different than the majority of the noblewomen she saw in Gondor.
There was only one exception she'd ever seen and that was Aragorn's fiancé, Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.
It would appear she may have found a second exception.
Her mind went to the dagger again. She could appreciate beauty in useful objects. The things Primula always sat on her shelf served no purpose, they just gathered dust and took up space. Daggers, however, served a very real purpose and the fact one could be made both practical and beautiful was impressive. She'd been more than surprised to find out that Princeling and his brother had made it. Princeling could fight, he could create incredible weaponry, his body was unmarked and he was a Crown Prince surrounded by people who loved him.
Rather than prove he was useless he was fast demonstrating there was little he couldn't do.
A bone deep despondency coupled with resignation settled over her at the thought of how poorly she was measuring up to him after having barely met him.
She's really been hoping he'd be a pompous, egocentric, useless noble.
She'd known she couldn't measure up to his rank or status, that she couldn't offer Syrath even a fraction of what he could.
So she'd hoped perhaps, just perhaps, he'd prove so useless overall that Syrath would want nothing to do with him.
Instead he was turning out to be almost obscenely flawless.
Bastard.
She couldn't even fake being better than him because she'd babbled while sick and no doubt already reveled the truth.
A fresh wave of mortification rose up making her wish dearly she could vanish right through the floor. She wished she knew what she'd said but the only way to find out was to ask him and, to be perfectly honest, she'd rather have to deal with Syrath when he was sick than do that.
Syrath was a terrible patient.
Still, no one had asked her to leave yet and Syrath was treating her no differently than he ever had. She'd been unconscious for over a week, plenty of time for Princeling to bond with Syrath and for the two of them to shut her out...but they hadn't.
Maybe they didn't plan to.
The thought was an odd one. The orcs had been very clear on what her worth was. Her mother had believed differently but then she had died and all there had been were the orcs…until Primula.
Primula had been like her mother and, for a time, Bilba had actually believed her. But then the orcs had come as they always seemed to come and that had ended. There had been a few since then who seemed to accept her, the elves and Aragorn chief amongst them, but she never stayed long enough for them to tire of her and, always, the belief she'd carried with her from the mines held firm in the back of her mind. In many ways she was little different from the slave girl who'd expected to die, alone and unmourned, in the Arena.
She treated those who rejected her as the norm and those who accepted her as the exceptions.
Except now…now those who accepted her, or at least appeared to, were starting to outnumber those who did not.
What if it was real? What if Sryath really did plan to stay with her, regardless of how poorly she measured up to his other rider? What if Princeling really did intend to let her stay?
What if it was real?
Bilba groaned and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, allowing her body to sag into the thick rug of the room she'd been assigned. After she'd returned the dagger Dis had ended the meeting. Princeling had escorted her to her door, since Bilba had no idea how to get there from inside the mountain, and had left for his own room. She had no idea, or care, about where the Chief Bastard had gone.
She sighed and dropped her arms to her sides, going limp and staring blankly up at the dark ceiling overhead.
Life was so much simpler when it was just her and Syrath and orcs. Kill the orcs, don't die, repeat.
She'd tried something else once, just once, in the Shire, and look how that had turned out.
What if it happened again? What if she stayed and the orcs came?
Erebor was vastly different than the Shire, her mind reasoned. The dwarves were warriors inside a kingdom well-fortified against attack. If her presence brought orcs they would be able to defend against them.
But wouldn't that be her fault? If the orcs followed her like they had in the Shire? Wouldn't bringing them down on an unsuspecting kingdom make her no better than the person the orcs always insisted she was?
What if she stayed and it all went wrong?
What if she stayed and it went right?
Fear churned in her gut, though of what she wasn't sure. With an almost angry movement, she pushed to her feet, shooting a glare at the bed as she did. Not only was it too soft but she wasn't tired anyway. Slaves weren't exactly allowed to sleep for long periods in the mines and she'd found the routine hard to break once she'd escaped. Because of that she only slept a fraction of the time most people did.
Syrath needed his sleep so she couldn't call him. Out in the wild, and the Shire before that, she'd usually spend the hours when everyone else slept walking or training. Since the dwarves had taken her weapons, and she'd stupidly lost her sword; that took out training.
The thought of her sword gave her a brief pang. She'd had it since Moria. It was the sword she'd carried from the mines and it had seen her through many adventures and dangers since then.
And she'd dropped it.
She shook her head in disgust and then again as she tried to dislodge the whirlpool of thoughts and fears swirling about her head. She would drive herself insane if she stayed in her room trying to think out every single possible outcome and road she could take and all the possible ramifications. Instead she strode to the door and pulled it open to reveal the quiet hall outside. As she stepped out her eyes took in the narrow stone walls and low ceiling. The sight made her gut churn and a light shiver started up on her arms. Maybe she could find out how to get out of the mountain and explore outside.
She wandered down the halls, idly running her hands along the stonework. Unlike Moria, it was clean here, free of debris, orc filth and blood. There was no screaming from orcs or otherwise and the air wasn't heavy and foul.
Hallway after hallway she walked, until she was well and truly lost. Every so often she'd pass others who were awake, most of them guards but a handful who, like her, simply weren't sleeping for whatever reason. Most of them nodded to her and she acknowledged them with a simple nod in return.
She assumed that, like Moria, the exit was probably much further down, away from where the royal quarters were located, so she followed the halls and corridors that had a downward slope. She eventually ran into a set of ornately carved doors guarded by two imposing dwarves in full armor. They allowed her to pass without question and she continued her trek.
The level she entered after that was simpler though no less opulent by any standard. She soon found another set of doors and, again, was allowed through.
It continued, each level getting more and more simple in design, the doors leading to dwellings becoming closer and closer as the homes within grew smaller.
Finally she went through a set of doors and paused as she found an entirely different scene laid out below her. The mountain opened into a massive area. Many levels over her head she could see bridges leading into the center where a large circle of stone hung suspended. Ringing it on all sides were buildings, most of which she'd probably walked behind on her way down.
The area where she stood was the beginning of a path that trailed lazily down to what looked like a large marketplace, set up with booths of varying shapes and sizes. Off to one side she could see a great chasm with stairs leading into it, no doubt going to the mines under the mountain, while the other side of the market led to massive gates. There was a gap between the top of the gate and the rest of the mountain and, through it; she could see the dark sky beyond. Guards were stationed on the walkway up there, marching back and forth as they kept watch.
She started down the path, meandering slowly until she reached the silent market. Most of the stalls were open but she could see locked trunks and boxes behind them that held the goods they sold during the day. With the guards so close it was probably one of the safest places to be.
As she passed by one booth the hair on the back of her neck prickled and she stopped, one hand resting lightly on the wooden counter.
It was at times like these she really missed the ability to speak.
"Sorry," a voice said. "It wasn't my intent to startle you."
No, Bilba thought, it was his intent to keep following her without her knowing. She reached out to touch his mind but felt nothing in return. He wasn't a rider so she couldn't form a mental link with him.
She turned as she heard him approach.
The dwarf coming from around the corner of a stall was about average height and weight and wore simple, non-descript brown clothing. As he drew closer she saw he was older than her, probably the same age as the Chief Bastard. He wore his hair in an odd star shaped pattern and his beard was braided elaborately.
As he drew to stop in front of her, he swept into an exaggerated bow. "Nori, my Lady, at your service." He straightened. "And you must be Orcrist, or Bilba to those who know you well."
Which he did not, Bilba thought sourly. She leaned against the stall and crossed her arms over her torso, leveling a disbelieving look on him. She wasn't an idiot. He didn't happen to know who she was and accidentally ran into her in the middle of the night in the marketplace and she wasn't buying his carefree attitude.
He had straightened and looked around the market. "I have to say this place is much more interesting during the day, when it's open."
Bilba shrugged. Personally, it was probably better as it was. She wasn't a fan of crowds. They tended to unnerve her so she generally avoided them at all costs.
He was studying her, a calculating look in his eyes. "Not buying it in the slightest are you?"
Bilba gave a shake of her head and he grinned.
"Alright." He bowed again. "In that case, allow me to properly introduce myself. Nori, official Spymaster to the King."
Bilba wasn't surprised to find she was being watched. She would watch her too. She was always watched at Gondor as well, though she wasn't entirely sure Aragorn knew of it. A number of the nobles in Gondor felt they were far more important than they were and took it upon themselves to send their own people to watch her as though it was their personal duty to see to it that she wasn't doing anything wrong while there. Though, more likely, they hoped she would do something wrong so they could have her accused and thrown out from Gondor entirely.
It was the second time she'd heard his name and, as it permeated, a memory sparked and she frowned at him. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. She hesitated and then raised her hands, struggling to remember the Iglishmek Bofur and the rider before him had so painstakingly tried to teach her. She was ashamed to find that, after having not used it in five years; she'd forgotten almost all of it.
Met…dwarf…named…
She frowned, struggling to remember the letters she'd learned. She'd barely managed to remember the finger placement for the letter "D" and "O" when Nori broke in with, "Dori?"
Bilba nodded and the other dwarf grinned. "My brother. You must have met him near Rivendell I take it?"
She nodded again and something in his face relaxed. "I thank you for the news. I hadn't heard from them in quite some time. My little brother was with him. Did you happen to see him?"
Bilba remembered the young dwarf who'd wanted her signature. She didn't remember if she'd been told his name but seemed to recall Dori identifying him as a brother.
She gave the sign for yes and Nori grinned broadly. "He must have been thrilled to meet you. He's a pretty big fan. He'll be excited when he returns to find you here."
Bilba frowned. Why? He'd already gotten her signature. What else could he want?
"Would you be at all interested in learning more Ighlishmek?" Nori asked suddenly. "It must be annoying to only be able to speak to other riders not to mention tiring having to constantly open and close links. I usually skirt the issue by keeping a rider with me at all times who can receive and send out reports for me but you probably don't have the same luxury, unless of course you use the Crown Prince for the job." He gave an odd smile she couldn't interpret. "I imagine he'd probably be quite happy to fulfill the task if requested."
Bilba shrugged. It was annoying and frustrating sometimes when trying to speak to more than one person, when she'd either end up repeating the exact same thing over multiple links or be forced to rely on someone else to relay the information, but it was what it was. There was little she could do about it.
She most certainly wouldn't be using the Princeling for anything if she could help it.
Nori indicated for her to follow him. "Come on, then. I'll show you the library."
Bilba brightened at that news. Erebor had a library? There had been one at Bag End and often, when she wasn't at the garrison or on an escort mission; she could be found curled up in there with a book. She'd grown much more confident in her reading, and writing, skills over that year as well as discovering a near voracious appetite for the written word. A few times she'd even gone so far as to pack a book with her on her escort missions out from the Shire. Aeran had used to tease her about it in fact on some of the trips they'd gone on together.
He started off and she hurried after him, keeping pace easily in spite of the soreness and stiffness still evident in her leg.
He led her back up several levels and then through a small door she hadn't paid much attention to when she'd first passed it. It opened onto a long, narrow hall that had her tensing as old memories crowded in. She gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into fists, digging the nails into her palms to ground herself.
They reached a massive set of carved doors; the dwarves seemed to have an obsession with them, that Nori calmly threw open before stepping back and ushering her forward.
Bilba stepped through, and stopped dead in awe.
The library was…it was…honestly she couldn't think of a word that would do it justice.
The cavern it was in stretched as far back as the eye could see and so high it vanished into shadow overhead.
Stone bookcases in neat rows marched across the entire room, there must have been hundreds upon hundreds of them, all filled to bursting with books. More shelves had been carved into the walls and were equally filled.
Large fireplaces had been built at various locations and plush looking tables and chairs had been arranged around them creating cozy spots to read or work. All of them were lit as, even that late, there were a handful of people browsing the shelves or curled up in chairs reading.
Nori's chuckle snapped her attention back and she tried to blank out her expression, though she imagined it was already far too late to hide it from the dwarf.
"Wait here just a second," he said and hurried off, vanishing into the stacks of books. He was back only a few moments later, a heavy book in his hand. He gave it to her, the weight of it unexpected and forcing her to adjust quickly to avoid dropping it. The book was bound in leather, the pages a thick vellum. It must have been expensive to produce, for that matter the books in the room together must represent an absolute fortune in production cost.
The cover of the book was stamped with hand signals, ones that looked familiar in fact.
"This is a good one to start," Nori explained, "and I can help you with more in the future if you want."
Bilba looked at him, suddenly shy, and gave a short nod. She knew she should give it back; it was far too nice, what if she damaged it?
She should give it back but, instead, found herself wrapping both arms around it and clutching it too her chest. She would be careful, she promised herself, really careful.
Nori looked amused. "Would you like to read it here or in your room? I can escort you back if you like. You probably won't be able to get back onto the royal wing otherwise. We'll need to get you a pass. You've been here so short a time I doubt all the guards know you and it'll get you back through in case of a shift change while you're gone."
Bilba was barely paying attention, her eyes turned toward an empty chair near a fireplace.
Nori followed her gaze. "I guess that answers that question." He gave her a low bow. "I'll take my leave then so you can get to your reading. Feel free to look at any book you wish. If you decide you want to go back to your room you can always wake up the Prince and have him show you up. I'm sure he won't mind."
Bilba bowed back politely, trying to push away the instinctive gut churning feeling at the thought of owing him for his kindness. Primula had worked hard to teach her that sometimes people were kind with no expectations in return and she shouldn't always look for an ulterior motive. Primula had been big on trying to convince Bilba it was alright to trust, sometimes. She'd trusted Primula because the woman reminded her so much of her own mother. Trusting others, however, hadn't come nearly as easily.
She tried though. She really did try.
Nori left and Bilba went to sit in the chair, finding it was as plush and comfortable as it appeared to be. Settling the book on her lap she opened it to the first page and started to study the images. She recognized many of them and, the more she read, the more of what Bofur had taught her came back.
She wasn't aware of the passage of time, easily losing herself in the book, to the point where she flinched in surprise at the feel of the Princeling trying to speak to her through her link.
Bilba? Are you there?
She looked up, her mind sluggish as she dragged it back to reality. Around her the room was more populated than it had been before, several people in loose, beige colored robes moving about the stacks and sitting at small desks.
What time was it?
She responded. What do you want?
Where are you?
In the library, Bilba replied.
Hold on, Princeling replied. I'll come to you. They want you to go talk to Syrath.
Syrath? Bilba tried to call him but all she got back was Syrath's version of an aggrieved sigh. She bit back a grin as it washed over her. He didn't like it when he got upset and she laughed at him over it.
Princeling appeared in the doorway a short time later and headed toward her. Several of the dwarves started bowing and scraping toward him but he didn't seem to notice.
Bilba didn't know if she was expected to bow to him but, since he hadn't demanded it, decided to just continue not doing it.
Princeling's face was pinched as he reached her. They're worried Syrath might be sick. He won't talk to them though, or me, so they're hoping he might respond to you.
He's not sick, Bilba replied dryly. And he's probably not speaking to you for fear you'll just laugh at him. He assumes I know better. She carefully closed the book and placed it on the table. Princeling held out a hand to help her up and she frowned at him.
Is that like the hand shaking thing?
He blinked in confusion. "The what?"
Hand shaking thing, she repeated, where everyone always wants to shake your hand for some reason when you meet. You keep wanting to help me up, which makes about as much sense. My legs aren't broken.
To prove the point she stood, forcing back a wince as her injured leg revealed it had betrayed her by stiffening up while she sat.
If Princeling noticed he pretended not to. "Your legs aren't broken but you are hurt," he replied, "I was just being polite."
Bilba glowered at him, challenging him to suggest she couldn't stand up again. He wisely chose the better course and raised his hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright, I concede." Stepping back, he proceeded to sweep into an elaborate bow. "I beg your pardon for assuming you might not be able to get up easily on a burned leg." He straightened again, eyes shining with amusement. "I promise not to do it again."
Bilba could feel the corners of her lips twitching and struggled to keep them in line.
You're acting like Syrath.
He looked positively delighted. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She'd meant it as one but that didn't mean she had to admit it. The last thing she needed was Princeling with a giant ego.
They headed out together, through twists and turns that very quickly got her lost once again.
It's to show you come in peace.
Bilba dragged her eyes from studying the wall carvings as they walked and frowned at Princeling. What?
Handshakes, he said, it's supposed to show you come in peace. Most people are right handed. You both shake with the right hand, showing you aren't carrying a weapon.
What if you're left handed? Bilba asked. Or you can fight with both hands? Or you're just flat out lying?
He looked stumped for a minute before he shrugged. I never said it was a good custom.
They rounded a corner and entered a colossal cavern. Notches had been cut deep into the rock at various intervals and several tunnels had daylight at the end of them, suggesting they were very close to the outer wall of the mountain.
There were a number of drakes lounging about in the area, some she'd seen before and others she hadn't.
Syrath was sprawled over a ledge some yards away, blocking the path for any dwarves who wanted to get further into the lair. He looked like he'd just collapsed in place, his wings spread out and his tail hanging over the edge of the ledge. Xalanth was standing over him, rumbling deep in his throat, but Syrath had his head turned away, ignoring him.
Bilba strode toward them. She had no issue with the black and gold dragon, it wasn't his fault his rider was a bastard.
Do you think he's alright? Princeling's voice sounded in her head, taking on a worried tone now that he was actually seeing Syrath. Maybe he was hurt last night and we didn't see it?
He's fine. Bilba replied. He's pouting.
He's what?
Bilba knelt down in front of Syrath. He gave her a sidelong look, huffed and looked away again.
Really? Bilba asked. You're worrying your father.
And the Princeling but, whatever. She still didn't like him, at all, really…even if he did make amazing weaponry…and fought well…and had a sense of humor like Syrath did…and somehow distracted her when he didn't have his shirt entirely on.
Seriously, they didn't need him and she definitely did not like him.
At all.
Bastard.
Syrath heaved a long suffering sigh. I am being mistreated.
Are you now? Bilba replied, amused. In what way?
He glared at her, refusing to be baited. You're not taking me seriously. I'm not going to talk to you if you aren't going to take me seriously.
With that he pushed to his feet and picked her up in one clawed hand, before turning and grabbing Princeling in the other. He looked startled but didn't react. Syrath then whirled and stomped toward one of the tunnels leading outside, leaving a surprised Xalanth following behind. Holding her in one hand and Princeling in the other meant he had to do it quite awkwardly but he was nothing if not committed.
They exited the mountain and she threw a hand up for a moment to block out the early morning sun as it stung her eyes. When her vision had adjusted she reopened them, just as he set her and Princeling down carefully.
They'd come out on the back of the mountain, overlooking a valley that stretched away below them until it reached the borders of Mirkwood in the far off distance.
There were two adult drakes lightly dozing in the sun. One was the gold colored drake she remembered the other Princeling riding. The second was an onyx drake she hadn't seen before.
In addition to them there were seven other dragons in the valley. One or two were the same size as Syrath while the rest were smaller. All of them were…frolicking, running to and fro, chasing one another and generally having a good time.
What's wrong? Bilba asked in confusion.
Syrath gave her a disgusted look. They want me to go join them.
Bilba shrugged. So why don't you?
He growled in annoyance. Do I look like a child? When Bilba simply raised an eyebrow he huffed in annoyance. Don't answer that.
Princeling was taking in the scene beside her. "What's wrong?"
He wants to play but doesn't want to admit it. Bilba reached out to lay a hand on Syrath's side, patting him lightly.
Ah, Fil - Princeling's voice floated through her head, the perils of being old enough to want to be treated like an adult but young enough to still want to play. He gave Syrath a considering look. Though, with him, it's more like being young enough he should want to play but he's behaved like an adult so long it's hard to find his footing.
There was no censure in his tone, nothing directed at her, just observation. Bilba frowned, watching the younger dragons. She didn't understand the concept, but Syrath had always seemed to be happy when running around with Primrose.
The thought of the small dragon gave her pause. She hadn't kept in touch with the Shire after leaving, feeling the farther away she stayed the safer they were. She wondered, though, what had become of Syrath's little friend, or of Primula or Bofur or any of the others she'd come to care about. Did they remember her well or had they since come to curse the day she'd first set foot in Hobbiton?
She'd left them before they could leave her. She'd seen the censure in the eyes of some of the hobbits and had assumed if she kept in contact she would eventually see it in Primula and Bofur's eyes. She limited her visits to Rivendell and Gondor for the same reason.
Primula had wanted her to trust and she thought she'd been trying.
What if she hadn't though? What if the way the things the orcs had told her she was, things her mother had insisted were all lies, had still been controlling her even years after she'd left Moria?
What if...
She shoved Syrath, not that it actually moved him. Go play.
He'd been watching the other dragons, clear longing in his eyes, but now he turned to glare at her some more. I don't want to.
I don't care. Bilba shot back. Go do it. You can tell them I made you.
That thought had clearly not occurred to him. He gave her a considering look then a sidelong glance at Princeling. He, in turn, got that far off look riders always got when speaking to dragons. He snorted after a second, breaking into a grin that did inexplicable things to her stomach, that or she had food poisoning, and gave her an amused look.
Syrath leapt off the ledge, his wings snapping open to allow him to glide over to where the group was.
"Syrath is quite put out by your insistence he play with the other dragons," Princeling said mildly; "I told him he could pretend they were fighting orcs. It seemed to make him happier."
You may regret suggesting that to him, Bilba said.
In the field Syrath had already taken charge and was lining up the other dragons in regimented rows, much to the consternation of the two adults.
Princeling shook his head and smiled. "Come on, the others are waiting for us at breakfast."
Others? Breakfast?
He started off and, having nothing else to do, she followed him, back up the tunnel into the lairs and through various halls and narrow corridors.
Eventually they reached a set of open doors. As they walked in she saw a large room with a long, wide stone carved table dominating it. Tapestries and sculptures decorated the walls and corners, nearly hiding the guards stationed throughout the room.
The dwarf king was already there, as was Dis, the other prince, and a blonde dwarf who looked quite a bit like Princeling. To her surprise, Chief Bastard was also there as well as the human she'd met in the goblin tunnels.
He stood up as she entered and approached her. "Ah, my dear Bilba, I haven't had a chance to properly thank you for your aid." At her confused look, he chuckled. "I am afraid I have not had the pleasure of personally meeting you before but tales of you and your deeds have gone far and wide."
Bilba rolled her eyes and made a mental note to tell the elves to knock it off with the storytelling.
"I am Gandalf the Gray," the human continued with a slight bow of his head, "at your service."
Bilba noticed he was carrying a staff and raised her hands to awkwardly sign, Wizard? Like Saruman?
"Ah," Gandalf said, a knowing look in his eyes. "I see you have met one of my order before. I hope I can make a better impression than he probably did."
It was certainly possible. The wizard in the tower was something of a pompous ass. She generally went out of her way to avoid going anywhere near his dwelling.
Bilba nodded awkwardly to the wizard and started to move past him. She never knew how to respond to the people who insisted on thanking her, it was why she always left as soon as possible after aiding them.
Most of the rest of the people in the room were already seated. The dark haired prince was giving her a vaguely hostile look that immediately made her relax.
She had always valued honesty.
You can sit anywhere you want, Princeling's voice sounded in her head.
Bilba gave a short nod and proceeded to sit next to the dark haired Prince. He gave her a startled look and then frowned at Princeling, who looked equally confused.
Bilba ignored them both. The seat put her across from Dis and also as far from Chief Bastard as possible. Princeling sat on her other side, which was acceptable, she supposed.
Why couldn't he just be accommodating and behave like an ass so she could feel better about disliking him? If he kept behaving like this she might end up actually thinking he was nice.
She was starting to think he was.
She'd assumed he wanted to take Syrath from her and, after that, had assumed he was no better than the worst examples of nobility she'd met in Gondor. Nobles who were masks and hid behind masks and veneers of civility.
But she knew that untrue. There were members of the nobility, Aragorn chief amongst them but also Arwen and Elrond.
And what of the rider? The dwarf king had claimed that dwarf as his brother meaning the one responsible for her freedom had been a noble himself, prince no less, and uncle to the Princeling.
Princeling. The word had already lost the heat she'd given it when first meeting him, when she'd been convinced he was the embodiment of all her worst fears.
She'd prejudiced herself against him, to the point all she'd seen was who she'd already decided he was.
But he hadn't rejected her. He'd come after her when she'd run off, promised not to take Syrath. He'd stayed with her when she was sick and even protected her in spite of barely knowing her and her not exactly treating him with kindness.
Her mother would not have been happy with her. She had been like Primula.
She'd wanted Bilba to trust.
Bilba suppressed a sigh. Why couldn't things just be simple?
It was simple being Orcrist.
Being Bilba was anything but.
At the opposite end of the room a smaller set of doors opened and servers began to walk in, carting enormous platters and bowls, piled high with food. As they began to lay them out on the table, conversation started to flow amongst those seated there.
Bilba had no idea what most of the stuff that had been put down was or if she was allowed to eat any of it. She ended up staring at her plate for about ten seconds or so before Princeling, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, began recommending things to her. He even offered to get servings for her, saying she was probably still recovering and not up to lifting heavy bowls or ladles.
She couldn't help herself. As he grabbed a pot of stew and filled a bowl for her she shot him a glare and thought. Stop being so nice!
He frowned. Why?
Because I like disliking you. She shot back. It was easier to dislike him.
She could never be rejected, or hurt, if she rejected him first.
But, even as she thought it, her mother and Primula's faces flashed through her mind. She didn't have to ask what they would want her to do.
She already knew.
Fil – Princeling gave her a decidedly amused look and didn't answer, simply sliding a now loaded bowl of food in front of her. Bilba told him a stiff thank you and got a half smile in return that caused her stomach to give an odd jump before he was distracted by the other blond dwarf, who apparently was his father, and turned his attention away.
Bilba scowled again, on principle's sake, and started eating. It had always been a little difficult to eat without her tongue, forcing her to take smaller bites and angle her head back further to get the food toward her throat. She ate tensely for a few moments, waiting for the disparaging looks she'd often received in Gondor before she started insisting on eating in her room or, better yet, not visiting at all, but no seemed to even notice.
Relaxing minutely, Bilba began to study the people at the table. The family that Princeling belonged to was quite animated when they talked. At the head of the table the king was speaking to Gandalf, their heads bowed close.
As they did some of the king's hair fell over his face, casting him in partial shadow and, with a start, she suddenly realized why he'd felt familiar before.
She must have been staring because the dark head suddenly lifted and she had piercing blue eyes locked on her.
"Is there a problem?"
He had a deep, vibrating baritone and she tensed immediately at the authority in it. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, all hand signs suddenly gone entirely from her mind.
"She can't speak, Thorin," Dis broke in suddenly, "or had you forgotten?"
The dwarf king, Thorin scowled at his sister, or maybe it was his natural look. "I am aware."
He looked back to Bilba and suddenly she felt the light brush against her mind that signified someone requesting a mental link.
A mental link.
The king of dwarves wanted a mental link.
With her.
She accepted hesitantly and heard his voice immediately vibrating through her head. Was there something you wished to speak to me about?
I'm sorry, Bilba replied. I had thought you were familiar when I saw you earlier and finally realized where I'd seen you before. It was at Moria, when you fought Azog.
His eyes widened, startled. "You witnessed the battle?"
Suddenly she had the eyes of the entire table on her and she shrank slightly, trying to make herself smaller. It was difficult, even years later, to break the habits of Moria where gaining attention could, and had, landed her in the Arena.
I did, she said. Were you the one who chopped off Azog's arm? It was greatly hoped among the slaves that he would die from the wound.
He grimaced. "I was and I can assure you my hope was the same. It's an oversight I plan to fix the next time we meet." He hesitated for a moment in the way someone might before asking a question they aren't sure they want the answer to. "I wondered if you might be willing to tell me of my brother and Quenth, our dragon. How they were captured and how…" He swallowed, one hand curling into a fist. "I would ask if you would tell me of my brother."
Bilba did; starting from the moment the dragon had been dragged in with her rider, Frerin she knew now, screaming alongside her. The others couldn't hear what she was saying but stayed silent as though they could, their eyes fixed on Thorin's face, watching the play of emotions as Bilba recounted the story - pain at the description of Quenth and Frerin's suffering, pride at their defiance, anger at what Azog had done to them, grief at the last moments of his dragon's life.
When she had finished he was silent, his head down.
My brother, she heard finally, he was alive when you last saw him?
He was, Bilba affirmed. If I had been able to get the key to his chains I would have saved him, even if it meant sending him out with Syrath and staying behind myself.
It was the truth. It had been the truth then and remained it still. Frerin had been kind to her, the first kindness she'd received since her mother had died. He'd given her a reason to look forward to getting up every day. He'd needed her like no one ever had, had reminded her she was a person and not just a tool to be used and discarded when broken.
And then he'd given her Syrath.
In return, in spite of how short a time she'd known him, he possessed her loyalty in a way that no one ever would. She would have died for him and been glad for it.
She realized Thorin was staring at her, his gaze intense.
I believe you. He sighed, his eyes flickering to Dis for a moment. Do you think it's possible he still lives?
No, Bilba responded honestly. Azog only wanted him for the dragon. Without her there was no further use for him. Not only that but Azog would have been enraged at the loss of the dragon and the baby.
So Azog killed him?
If he was lucky.
And if not?
He was sent to the Arena.
Thorin frowned. You survived the Arena. He said it as a statement, leaving Bilba to wonder how he was so sure she'd been an Arena fighter.
She shrugged. I was an exception.
He could have been as well.
Anything is possible, Bilba agreed, but not probable. Azog would not have wanted him to live.
Thorin's face tightened but Bilba didn't back down. It did no good to give him false hope. She could imagine the rage Azog would have had. He'd had his arm cut off, lost his prize fighting slave, a dragon and the dragon's young. He would have taken it out on the nearest target and that would have been Frerin. She could not imagine any scenario in which he survived. It grieved her as much as the losses she'd suffered in the Shire but it didn't change the truth.
She saw Thorin's eyes go back to Dis again and guessed he was passing on the information. Bilba sighed and focused back on her plate again.
A maudlin hush settled over the table, broken only by the clinking of utensils on silver etched plates.
Beside her, Fil - Princeling cleared his throat and addressed Gandalf. "Where do you plan to head after you leave the mountain?"
"Rohan," the wizard replied. "Hobbits once lived in that area. It will be a somewhat safer search for the lost key I believe."
"The lost key?" Kili said in surprise. "What's that?"
Bilba was wondering that herself but was glad the younger prince had said something first.
Across the table, Dis rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I can see you paid close attention in your history lessons."
Kili gave an unapologetic grin. "History never was my favorite subject. I always preferred weapons training."
At the end of the table, Dwalin snorted. "If that's the case I'd have thought you'd have been better at it."
Kili looked suitably outraged, while Princeling starting laughing in the middle of eating and nearly choked.
Gandalf merely waited them both out, amused, before continuing. "I assume you at least know the story of how the races and their dragons were created?"
Bilba perked up at that. She knew that one. Her mother had told it to her. Eru had created the elves and humans and their dragons while two of the Valar, Mahal and Yavanna, had created the dwarves and hobbits and their dragons respectively. Melkor, another child of Eru, had grown jealous and requested the right to create his own children and dragons. He'd been given permission but, unwilling to do the work, had instead stolen hobbits, men and dwarves and their dragons and corrupted them, twisting them into something tortured and hideous.
These he had presented as his children; orcs, and their dragons. Eru, according to her mother, had been so horrified by his child's actions he had banished Melkor to Middle Earth, hoping as he did that the experience would lead to Melkor developing compassion for the races that lived there.
Her mother had never told her much about what had reportedly happened after that. Bilba couldn't remember why.
"I know enough," Kili groused. "Melkor was banished to Middle Earth where he grew embittered and angry at the Valar and Eru. One day he came across a clutch of orphaned firedrakes in the wild. He took them and used them to form an entirely new creature."
"Sauron," Fili took over, his voice taking on a monotone that suggested he was reciting something. "The greatest and deadliest drake the world has ever known. It's said his fire burned stronger than the hottest forges of Moria."
Kili's eyes lit up as recognition flooded him. "Oh, I remember now! His teeth and talons were more unbreakable than mithril and his roar was so loud it vibrated the very earth when he unleashed it."
Fili grinned, clearly getting into it now. "He was so large that when he flew he blotted out the sun and when he landed on a mountain he left it a pile of rubble when he left."
That seems a little ridiculous, Bilba broke in.
Fili shrugged. It's a legend; they get a little blown out of proportion as time passes. Makes for interesting bedtime stories though.
Bedtime stories? Bilba asked. Why would you have stories told to you only at bed?
Fili had no chance to respond to that as Gandalf broke in from across the table, easily cutting off Kili's current extolling of the size of Sauron's urine stream, much to the exasperation of his parents.
"Yes," he said dryly, "I'm happy to hear you've regained your memories, Your Highness. As you no doubt also recall the destruction Sauron caused was so great that the Valar themselves were forced to intervene, lest all of Middle Earth be laid waste."
"The War of Wrath," Thorin broke in. "A war so devastating it almost destroyed the very land they fought to save."
Gandalf agreed, his face grim. "When Sauron was finally cast down he destroyed much of the Iron Mountains, splitting the Red and Blue mountain ranges from one another forever."
Thorin grimaced. "It took centuries for the dwarves to recover. Some would argue we never did."
"After Sauron's defeat," Gandalf continued on, "Melkor, now called Morgoth, the dark enemy; was captured but, as he was a Valar, could not be killed. As the Valar exist in spirit form it was decided he would be imprisoned in the corpse of his most corrupted creation and then sealed away for eternity in a location now lost to us."
Bilba raised an eyebrow. You'd think that'd be a place they would want to remember.
You would think, Fili, no wait, Princeling, Princeling agreed. But the world was in turmoil after Morgoth fell. Kingdoms were being overthrown all over the place. It was hundreds of years before things settled down and, by that time, much history had been lost or outright destroyed. We're lucky to have what we still do.
"Four keys were created to his cage." Gandalf was clearly getting into his role of storyteller, leaning forward in his chair, his plate utterly forgotten. "Each with a different shape, presented to each of the four races of Arda, Men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits."
"If you believe that," Thorin cut in. "Many say only three were created as the Hobbits were considered unable to protect a key and that possessing one would merely serve to make them a target of orcs seeking to release their master."
Where are the keys now? Bilba asked Fil – Prince – oh, sod it, she might as well start thinking of the him by his name. It wasn't as though she had to tell him she now thought of him as Fili instead of Princeling.
She had a reputation to maintain after all.
The dwarven one is here in Erebor, Fili explained. We're the only true dwarven kingdom left so it has to be here. The human one is either in Gondor or Rohan and the elven one is either in Mirkwood or Rivendell. The Hobbit one, if it existed, has been lost for centuries. The story, again if true, is that the caretaker went insane, becoming increasingly paranoid and convinced enemies were surrounding him. He eventually disappeared, fleeing into the Wild with the key never to be seen again.
And they aren't actually keys?
They serve the function of a key, somehow, Fili explained, but, no, they don't look like keys. It's another way of keeping them safe. No one but their keeper knows what they look like or where they are and all of them are needed.
And then you'd have to find out where this Sauron is.
Exactly. The odds of someone being able to find the cage, and get all four keys is absurd.
What would they even do if they did find them?
Fili crossed his arms across his chest, watching Gandalf as he answered questions Kili was currently throwing at him. Some legends suggest the keys can be used to control Sauron, or Morgoth I guess trapped in Sauron's corpse, and use him to take over the world. Others suggest the keys do no such thing and Morgoth will simply slaughter you as an expression of his gratitude. I personally lean toward the latter.
Bilba thought that made the most sense as well. It always served better to err on the side of caution, particularly when dealing with something that could kill you with extreme prejudice.
"I still question why you suddenly care about the lost key now," Thorin said, "to the extent you would follow rumors of it into the midst of the goblins."
"As I said, Your Majesty," Gandalf said, "It is merely suspicion, rumor as you say."
"That someone is searching for them?" Thorin asked. "Someone is always searching for them. Fools and the insane, chasing after legend. No one has ever gotten control of even one, and no one ever will."
Gandalf inclined his head respectfully. "Then we'll simply leave it at the whim of an old man who doesn't like leaving objects of power unprotected and finally has found some time to deal with it."
Thorin didn't look entirely convinced but shrugged. "As you wish, wizard. We will see to it that you are properly outfitted before you leave."
"I thank you;" Gandalf said politely, "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated."
After breakfast, Fili walked out alongside her. He planned to go see the wizard off but Bilba had expressed interest in rejoining Syrath and he'd offered to escort her. Bilba walked alongside him in silence. Now that she no longer had the wizard to distract her, her thoughts had returned to their previous course.
Why did interacting with, and trusting, others have to be so cursed hard?
Finally she stopped dead in the center of the hall. Fili continued a few feet before noticing. He turned to face her. "What's wrong?"
How much did you hear?
How much did I hear when? He asked in confusion.
Bilba took a deep breath, her gut churning. When I was unconscious and delirious. How much did you hear? There was a shield around me when I woke up. That was you.
He nodded. It was. Your shields were weak. I can help you learn to strengthen them so that sort of thing won't happen again but, at the time, of course there was no way to do that. I did what I could to protect your privacy. His jaw tightened. That being said, I didn't realize it was happening at first and, by the time I did, some damage had already been done. The halls outside the Healing Wards cleared almost immediately but many had no idea what was going on and inadvertently heard some of what you were broadcasting.
Bilba nodded, swallowing hard. She'd already guessed that. What's done was done. She couldn't do anything about it now and, as embarrassing as it was, there was no blame to be assigned. She'd simply have to deal with it.
Fili had indeed done her a great service, however. He'd basically placed the mental equivalent of a bubble around her mind. Anything that leaked out would have impacted that bubble, bouncing off his shields and vibrating along them.
I didn't hear as much as you may think, Fili said suddenly. If I had to describe it I would say it was as if you were at the bottom of a deep well, or the end of a very long hall. All I could hear were faint, reverberating echoes, snatches of feelings and words. His face grew serious, his eyes intense. You seemed to relive the same moment over and over, the loss of someone important to you. That was all.
She could well imagine what specific moment she'd been reliving.
And, given what you heard, what do you think of me? she asked, trying desperately to calm her nerves which were currently trying to vibrate right out of her skin.
She tensed, waiting for the disgust or, even worse, the pity.
She hated pity.
Fili never hesitated, not even for an instant. That you are strong, my Lady, stronger than anyone I have ever known and that it is a profound honor to have one like you as my ride partner.
Bilba was literally struck speechless, her mouth gaping slightly.
She stared at him, her mind so stunned it had apparently shut down entirely.
Time stretched, so long in fact that Fili's face changed to one of concern and he moved until he was standing in front of her.
"Bilba?" He reached out and, as gently as possible, placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Are you okay? Bilba?"
I'll attract orcs, Bilba said, her tone almost frantic, they'll come after me.
I would imagine so, Fili said, but they would come anyway. My uncle isn't exactly on their favorites list. My entire bloodline isn't. We'll be ready, as we always are.
He was right. She hadn't thought of that.
I'll put you in danger.
His eyes narrowed as he seemed to realize she was desperately trying to convince herself of something.
Crown Prince he said with a shrug, being in danger kind of comes with the title. If anything you'll be in danger just from associating with me.
I can handle myself, Bilba said.
Fili grinned. Tell you what. You kill my enemies and I'll kill yours and we'll call it even. How's that?
Bilba studied him for several minutes, searching for any hint that he was false.
She found nothing.
You, she said, finally. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, grounding herself. When she opened them again they were sharp once more. She stepped back, away from Fili, but reached up a hand and very deliberately pointed a finger at him.
If, she said, and that is a very big if, she paused, took another deep breath to calm her nerves, and tried again, if I start liking you, you better promise me you won't die because if you do I swear to Mahal or whatever Valar you pray to I will hunt you down in the afterlife and personally kick your ass, do you understand me?
It was Fili's turn to look dumbstruck. I'll do my best.
Bilba gave him a calculating look. You won't promise?
I never make a promise unless I know for sure I can keep it, Fili answered. So all I can honestly say is I will do my best.
Good, Bilba put her finger down and stepped away. They were near the tunnel she remembered that led to the lairs and she started toward it, planning to go join up with Syrath. I appreciate honesty.
She started down the hallway only to stop a few feet in and pivot to face him again.
Thank you, she said sincerely,for watching over me when I was ill.
You're welcome, he replied at once.
Bilba hoped her mother was watching, wherever she was.
She was trying.
She stepped forward suddenly and raised a hand.
Fili snorted, amused, and took it, clasping it in a firm handshake.
Bilba felt an odd feeling in her stomach again
She definitely must have eaten something at breakfast that didn't agree with her.
Hopefully, if she actually had food poisoning, it would stay mild.
No one liked food poisoning.
Fili wasn't sure how long he stood there after she had left before he finally headed off to see Gandalf on his journey.
He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened but was choosing to see it as a good thing, a step forward in his quest to get Bilba to possibly accept him, if not outright like him.
Fili saw the wizard off at the front gates with a horse and plenty of supplies and then headed back inside. The market was just beginning to show signs of life, merchants setting up their wares and preparing for the day. They greeted him as he passed and Fili nodded back.
He hoped Bilba was calming down Syrath but was a little afraid to check. The last he'd heard the dragon had taken the suggestion about training the others far too seriously and was actually trying to lead them out to go hunt down orcs, much to the horror of the adults. Fili was fairly sure Bilba had gone to personally stop them but, from what he already knew of her, it was just as likely she'd gone to lead them.
He really, really hoped she'd gone to stop them.
He would have gone with her except Uncle had informed him that he'd already missed far too many council meetings while taking care of Bilba when she was ill and now that she was up and about it was high time for him to take back the responsibility.
Kili, who'd been forced to attend the meetings in Fili's absence, wholeheartedly agreed.
Realizing he was running late, Fili sped up, jogging lightly through the halls. His personal guard, that he had picked up the second he set foot into the market, fell into an easy pace behind him, their eyes searching for any sign of an attack. There hadn't been any in months but, given the regularity and apparent commitment of whoever had been trying to wipe out the Durin bloodline the last five years, no one believed the attacks had stopped entirely. Someone very much wanted them dead, someone with the money and resources to continually send assassins and with the intelligence to use intermediaries who themselves had never seen their employer's face and had only heard his voice disguised thus making it, so far, impossible for even Nori to track down.
A feat the other dwarf was both impressed by, and took personal insult at, at the same time.
As he rounded the last corner to the Council Chambers, Fili spotted Nar heading in. The other dwarf stopped and waited as Fili approached, a broad smile on his face as he bowed low.
"Your Highness, it's good to see you back."
"Thank you," Fili said. "How have things been for you, Nar?"
"Oh, fantastic." Nar clapped his hands together, his face animated. "I've just received word by raven from my dear Beryl. She's already left Rivendell and is on her way home."
"That's good," Fili lied, suppressing a shudder at the thought of the woman returning. It had been such a quiet and peaceful few months without her there trying to gain his favor by passing on gossip he either already knew or didn't care to know. "Did she find what she was looking for?"
Nar stumbled, his eyes widening in surprise. "I'm sorry, my Lord?"
Fili frowned. "No offense intended, but your daughter is not exactly one I would have expected to see going off on a months long journey through the Wild. I assumed she had a specific reason in mind for going."
"Ah, yes," Nar turned as he spoke, lifting a hand to indicate the chambers and Fili politely fell in alongside him as they entered. "You know my daughter, gets her head full of ideas and dreams and such. I believe she heard tale that the Crown Prince of Gondor often frequented Rivendell and hoped to meet him." Nar hesitated. "Not that she has in any way lost interest in you of course, Your Highness."
"Of course not," Fili muttered. "Isn't Aragorn engaged, though? To Lord Elrond's daughter?"
"I am not sure," Nar said. "I just know Beryl wished to go and I indulged her. As I understand it the Prince was not in residence when she arrived so she mentioned she might visit Gondor on her way home."
They had reached Nar's chair now and Fili raised an eyebrow in surprise. "She's planning to turn the entire convoy that far out of their way?"
Nar was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Thorin who took his seat and indicated for Fili to come stand beside him.
Fili obeyed but idly studied Nar as he did. Aragorn would be at his coming of age celebration in a few weeks time, meaning there was no reason for Beryl to go so far to try and meet him. All she'd have had to do was wait for his birthday. As a member of the council Nar would have known the guest list but had apparently forgotten, or perhaps hoped Fili would.
Regardless, Nar had lied to him.
The question was why. What purpose could Beryl have had to go to Rivendell that Nar would not want him to know about?
He made a mental note to bring it up to Nori later. If Nar was up to something the spymaster would find out.