Hullo everyone. I'm sorry this chapter is coming late and that you're only getting one this week - there are a couple of reasons. The main one is that I've been ill with what I thought at first was a cold. But that cold came with a stowaway in it's viral luggage, and even though I elected to get the vaccine, I somehow contracted Covid, and am under a forced two-week quarantine. My energy and spirits have been low, and it's only in the last day or so I've really felt like doing anything.

The other reason is that, after a whirlwind writing binge in which I wrote seven complete chapters in only a week, my Muse has fled Middle-earth again. I don't know why, when things were going so very well, but seeing as it will be another week until I can go back to work, i'll try to get her back there. There are three more complete chapters to share with you, including this one you're about to read, so I may only share one a week over the next couple of weeks, unless I get the verve to write again.

Much thanks, as always for everyone who comes by to read, especially these rockstar reviewers: Robinbird79, Sparky She-Demon, jubes-zcg, Celebrisilweth, SpringViolets, Ever Play, Jessa, djhay4, and Jordache.

91. The Missing Princess

Kíli and Balin were just passing the tree in the courtyard before the Citadel when alarm bells began to ring down on one of the lower levels.

"I wonder what that's all about?" he mused aloud.

"Who knows, lad," the elder dwarf replied with a shrug.

In only minutes they traversed the long-familiar path through the Steward of Gondor's home to the guest wing where Tilda and her family were quartered. Kíli briefly wondered where Carr, whom he knew to be Lucanío's guardian, was when they approached and the younger man's familiar face wasn't among those standing watch.

In fact, Tormen wasn't there, either, and if his over-large ears did not deceive, Kíli was certain he heard raised voices on the other side of the door.

He frowned as Balin offered greetings to Magnus and Ellairë; Bard's guardian turned and made his customary double-knock before wordlessly opening the door to let them in. The two dwarves found themselves walking in on an argument between Dale's king and queen, who didn't seem to realize they now had witnesses.

"I'm extremely disappointed in you, Tauriel," Bard was saying. "I thought you, of all people, would have taken the matter more seriously."

Tauriel's brow was furrowed in anger, her arms crossed beneath her bosom and her hip cocked as she stood in a defensive pose before her husband. "Do not dare intimate that I do not take the safety of my family seriously, Your Majesty. She went with two soldiers that I trained personally—"

"Wait, Tilda's not here?" Kíli said as he looked between them.

Bard and Tauriel both started. "Master Kíli, Lord Counselor. When did you get here?" Bard asked.

"Just now, my Lord," Balin replied.

Kíli stepped forward. "Where's Tilda?"

Bard cast a withering glance at his wife. "Her Majesty gave her leave to go to the market, even though I had expressly forbid Tilda to go anywhere until it was time to leave."

Tilda was gone. An alarm had rung as they reached the Citadel courtyard.

No, Kíli thought, even as fear and alarm began to tingle along his spine.

"Lad, try to remain calm," he heard Balin's voice say. "Let us not jump to conclusions."

Kíli looked to him. "Balin, the bells…"

"What bells?" said Tauriel. "Do you mean those that rang a moment ago?"

Balin nodded. "We heard what sounded like alarm bells as we came into the courtyard," he replied. "I am sure the princess' outing and the alarm are unrelated."

His words did not reassure Kíli in the least; he noted a measure of fear now settling in Tauriel's eyes.

"Bard, I'm so sorry! I should never have let her go."

He looked to her, and though clearly he was still angry, her expression softened the hard lines of his countenance and he moved to take her in his arms. "I'm sorry, too. Let us hope that Balin is right and that no harm has befallen our daughter."

"Is there no way of reaching out to Lord Turgon to find out what's happened?" asked Balin then. "Perhaps he can send some soldiers in search of the princess."

"A capital suggestion, Lord Counselor," said Bard, who then moved away from his wife to a strip of cloth by the door that hung from the ceiling, which he tugged sharply two times. Some minutes later, Magnus opened the door and announced a page; Bard directed the young man to deliver his request for an audience with the Steward.

"Tell him it is most urgent that I speak with him," he added, before sending the page away.

The response that came about half an hour later was delivered by Turgon himself, who led in a despondent-looking Erina.

Kíli recognized her as Tilda's maid.

Gondor's Steward directed the woman who walked beside her, her arm around her shoulders, to take the maid to her room, and when they had gone, he approached Bard with a grave expression.

"Your Majesty, I… I do not know how to tell you," he stuttered.

"Has something happened to my daughter?" Bard demanded. "Where are her guards?"

Turgon drew a breath. "Your guardsmen are dead, and a dwarrow merchant grievously injured. Princess Tilda is missing—witnesses have said that the soldiers were attacked by two men and the princess taken by a third. The merchant was stabbed trying to stop the kidnapping, and is now fighting for his life in the Halls of Healing."

"Nienna protect her!" cried Tauriel softly as she turned tearfully into her husband's embrace.

Kíli hardly registered Bard's asking what steps had been taken to track the kidnappers down. Momentarily blinded by a rage greater than any he had ever known before, it was all he could do not to scream his fury.

I will kill every last one of them, he swore to himself.

"I have ordered my men to begin scouring every level of the city," Turgon was saying. "I am so terribly sorry, King Bard. I… I can hardly believe such a thing has happened."

"Túrelië, come back!"

Lucanío's voice startled them all; Kíli blinked at last, looking over as the boy chased his younger sister into the parlor much as he had done the day they had met. Once again, the little she-elf stopped before him, though now she did not crash so much as push at his knees.

"You go! Go save Tilly now!"

Túrelië then turned to her father. "Da, you go!"

"What is she talking about?" asked Lucanío. "Has something happened to Tilda?"

Tauriel was turning to answer her son as the nursemaid came into the room. "I am so sorry, Your Majesties. I was in Princess Tilda's room helping tend Erina when the little ones got away."

"It's all right, Dagmar," Tauriel managed.

At the same moment, Túrelië released a child-like groan of frustration and walked over to Bard. She reached up to grab his hand and tugged him toward Kíli, whose hand she also took hold of.

"Go. Save Tilly."

Kíli looked up at Bard. A moment passed between them, and then they nodded in unison.

"Half an hour, Master Dwarf. Meet me at the royal stables," Bard said.

Kíli nodded again, then looked to Balin. "Stay with the queen. Guard her and the children."

"With my life, my prince," said Balin solemnly.

Kíli turned his gaze to Tauriel and bowed his head, then looked down at Túrelië. "I will find her, little one. Tilly will come home safe."

The girl smiled. "I know."

Her innocent, pure belief in that gave him hope as Kíli turned and darted out the door. She'd said he would save Tilda, and save her he would.

Kíli ran all the way through the Citadel and across the courtyard, all but flying down the stairwell to the sixth level. People moved quickly from his path as he made for the inn, and those who didn't were pushed aside or bowled over. His bow and arrows were packed; he had a feeling he would need them. From there he raced to the stable for his pony.

Bard, clad in the plain clothes of an average citizen, was just arriving and calling for his horse to be saddled when he reached the royal stables. Kíli was momentarily surprised to note that Magnus was not with him, and though he did not comment on the soldier's absence, Dale's king said, "I've ordered Magnus to stay with my wife and our children. You and I will search the city alone."

"We'll find her," Kíli said determinedly.

"Túrelië's firm belief that Tilda will be saved is the only thing that brings me any comfort," said Bard as the great white stallion, Huron, was brought to him. He climbed into the saddle quickly and without another word, the two set off.

Both of them grew increasingly worried and frustrated as the hours passed and there was no sign of Tilda or the kidnappers. They searched homes, businesses, spoke to guardsmen also searching—they spoke to witnesses to the attack, and even spent time in the Halls of Healing speaking to Borr, the dwarf who had tried to save Tilda. His hearty constitution (and multiple layers of leather and fat) had actually prevented his injuries from being truly life threatening, though he had suffered several stab wounds and a blow to the head.

Bard assured him that he was grateful for his intervention even if he'd not been successful, and told him that all his care would be covered. When they made to go, Borr grabbed Kíli's hand and pressed something into it. He looked down to find himself holding a small silver hair clasp with two gemstones.

Their cornflower blue color was a bittersweet reminder of Tilda's eyes.

"I suspect that was for you," said Borr with a knowing gaze. "The princess said she wanted a gift for someone close to her heart. I asked if her lad was a dwarf, and now here you are. She dropped it when they took her."

Kíli's heart increased its pace on hearing that he was someone close to Tilda's heart; he certainly hoped it was he that she'd meant.

"Go now, and find your One."

He nodded to Borr as his fingers closed around the clasp, then turned away and walked with Bard out of the Hall. When they were outside again, he noted that twilight was descending.

"It's been hours, and we've discovered nothing," Kíli spat bitterly as they once more mounted their steeds. "I begin to suspect the scum took her out of the city."

Bard nodded. "Aye, I've been thinking the same. They've certainly had plenty of time to do it."

Worry for Tilda and hatred for the men who'd stolen his One burned a hole in Kíli's gut as he and Bard made their way back down to the ground level. Not knowing where she was, whether or not she had been injured…whether she was frightened. He longed to find her, to exact vengeance on those who had dared to take what was his.

Dwalin, Fíli, Thorin… They had each of them claimed that it was the first kiss which assured them that the smoldering flame was in fact the eternal fire of destiny. Kíli had yet to properly kiss Tilda, but he didn't need to. Being honest with himself, he'd known from the moment he'd looked into her eyes again after nearly two years apart that she was his One. He'd told Balin that the need for her couldn't be ignored, though he had tried. Alone at night, as he lay in his bed at the inn, he couldn't help thinking her an odd choice—she was still so young, she was the stepdaughter of a female he had once loved—but all it took was a look from her, a smile, an innocent touch, and Kíli knew there was simply no denying that the Maker had chosen this exceptional girl for him.

What better match could I choose for a soul in need of healing than the soul of a healer? Mahal had said.

He could wait the year until she reached her majority to be with her. It would be difficult, and he would no doubt spend a lot of time alone in his wetroom—with the door locked—but he would endure it. Tilda was worth the wait.

Neither he nor Bard spoke until they had passed through the city gate, when they paused on the road leading away from Minas Tirith.

"Which way?" Dale's king mused aloud. "I don't bloody know which way to go now."

Kíli closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Mahal, please, he prayed. Guide me to her.

Whether it was the Maker or pure instinct, he found himself compelled to go right, and so turned Narag toward the foothills that lay in the direction of Dwarrowvale. Bard followed without protest or query, and night had long fallen before the thickness of the trees forced them to accept they could go no further without light.

Reluctantly, the two stopped and tethered their mounts to a tree. A small fire was lit by Bard, after which he reached into the pack he'd carried and pulled out a small pouch. From it he took two thick strips of dried meat, one of which he held out to Kíli.

He shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Neither am I, but eat we must to keep our strength—we've neither of us had a morsel since breaking our fast, I imagine," Bard said.

Kíli snatched the meat with a grunt and took a bite, chewing without caring what it was as he stared sullenly into the fire. He could feel Bard's eyes on him, but he would not give the man the satisfaction of knowing his scrutiny unnerved him.

"Kíli, might I ask you a question?"

"I certainly can't stop you."

Bard snorted softly, then said, "I heard Borr tell you to 'find your One'. What did he mean by that?"

A sigh escaped him, then Kíli replied, "Do you recall that first night Balin and I shared dinner with your family? When we talked of Thorin and the others, and what we said about how our people believe that Mahal chooses a perfect mate for each of us?"

Disbelief was evident in his companion's voice as Bard replied, "And you think yours is Tilda?"

Kíli looked up. "I know she is."

Bard shook his head. "Even if it's true that a Valar chooses your 'perfect' mate for you, why would he choose a daughter of Men?"

"Why did he choose a Hobbit for Dwalin? Why did he choose a Dúnedain for Fíli? Why a dam for Thorin?" asked Kíli with a shrug. "I don't know, and I don't care. It doesn't matter to me what race she is."

"It matters to me! She's my daughter!"

Kíli tilted his head, studied the man across from him. "Why do you object to the idea so much?"

"She's only seventeen," said Bard after a time, completely ignoring the question he'd asked. "She's not ready to be married."

Kíli snorted. "You didn't seem to care about that when you were pushing her at that brat Denethor."

"I did not push her at him!" Bard exclaimed indignantly. "Dale is still a young country, Master Dwarf, and we are in need of strong ties to those with whom we have allegiance. Marriage between noble houses has strengthened such ties in ages past. All I did when Lord Turgon suggested that a union between Denethor and Tilda could forever unite us was ask her to consider it."

Kíli looked up then. "I am born of a noble house. Why may Tilda not consider me? Would not a union with the House of Durin be as strong a tie between our nations?"

Bard scoffed. "You're old enough to be my father!"

"And Tauriel is old enough to be your grandmother at least ten times over, yet you do not object to her," Kíli retorted. "In comparison between dwarves and Men, I'm in my twenties. Most of my kin still consider me a young lad—I'm only over my own majority by nine years. Be ten years in a week's time when I turn eighty."

Bard had no immediate response, so Kíli turned his gaze back to the flickering flames.

It was an effort to contain his irritation, but Kíli forcefully reminded himself that Bard was a friend. He was a father with a daughter who was missing, enduring who knew what at the hands of her abductors. He hoped that the man's concern for Tilda was the only thing fueling his argument, and that he truly did not object to the possibility of her marrying a dwarf.

"My Lord, Tilda is almost a woman grown," he said. "Even I know that she is at an age where she will soon make her choice."

"Then let her choose," Bard said. "Do not tell her of this One business of yours—at least not anymore than you've already done. If what you say is true, and you are 'meant' to be together, then let her come to you of her own free will."

"Did you give Tauriel the same freedom to choose?"

Bard sighed. "My feelings for her developed long before hers grew for me. And even when she accepted that there was a connection between us, she hesitated. That she loved me when she had already loved you confused her, as her people only love once in their lifetimes—or so she told me. Then she ran from me, knowing that the agony of losing me to the Gift of Men would break her spirit irreparably."

"But she came back to you," Kíli pressed. "Tauriel told me you saved her, Bard. It was your friendship, your love—and the love of your children—that brought her back to the light. I've no doubt that love also led her home to you, where she belonged. And it was Tilda who once said that perhaps Tauriel loved me just enough to learn to love someone else—that maybe I loved her just enough to learn to love someone else."

The man's expression showed his surprise. Kíli shook his head. "It took me a long time to accept it, but I know now that while Tauriel and I loved one another, we weren't meant to be together. We were each meant for someone else. You know, I used to wonder why we came back when we did—why Sulladad took four years from us. But I begin to see now that the reason is because our mates weren't ready for us. Neither were we ready for them, I imagine. For one reason or another, there was something that made the year of the battle the wrong time to come back."

He drew a breath then and sighed. "I'm sorry, Bard, that it troubles you so—the idea that Tilda's match is a dwarf. I know I'm not perfect, but who is? All I can tell you is that I believe Mahal does not make mistakes, and I believe he has chosen your daughter for me. She will be loved and cherished beyond measure."

Bard only stared silently back at him, so after finishing off the strip of dried meat, Kíli turned and laid down with his head resting on his pack. He shifted a time or two trying to get comfortable, and listened as Bard did the same.

Several minutes passed with the only sounds he heard the crackling of the fire and the occasional movement of nocturnal beasts somewhere in the dark beyond their campsite. Then the king said,

"I don't object to you because you're a dwarf. I don't object to you personally, either."

Kíli turned his head toward him. "Then why do you object at all?"

Bard sighed, and kept his gaze on the leafy branches above their heads as he replied, "Tilda is so young and impetuous and brazen and…and so much like a bloody dwarf it's frightening at times. Bain and I long ago recognized her dwarfishness, but even then I… I think I always knew this day would come. I just hadn't expected it to be so soon. I thought she would be older. I know that Tilda is grown enough to decide if she's ready for marriage, but she'll always be my little girl. I'm not… I'm not quite ready to let her go."

"Were you ready to let Sigrid go?" Kíli asked.

His companion snorted. "I'm still not fully resigned to the idea of her being a married woman, and she's already borne a son with Téomas. They expect another child this autumn, did we tell you that?"

"I don't recall it being mentioned. Congratulations—I hope you'll pass on my best wishes to her family."

"I will." At last, Bard turned his head and their gazes met. "I don't object, Kíli, but I would still have the choice be hers. Let Tilda give her heart to you in her own time, at her own pace. You can't even marry her for another year by our customs—can you wait that long?"

"For my One, I would wait forever," Kíli replied.

-…-

Tilda was unceremoniously awakened from her abrupt descent into unconsciousness by the sensation of her head smacking against…something. As her stomach twisted and her head buzzed, she became aware that her mouth was gagged and her whole body covered by what looked to be a blanket or other sheet of cloth. She also realized she was on her side in the back of a wagon or cart, with her hands bound behind her back and her ankles also tied together.

How she had ended up in her current predicament came flooding back to her, and her eyes filled with tears as she recalled seeing Carr fall to the ground, his throat cut open. The tears fell and she suppressed a whimper as she remembered watching Tormen, her bodyguard of five years, get stabbed in the back.

She allowed herself only a moment to grieve—the soldiers could be mourned when she'd gotten out of this mess. Now was the time to think, to assess. Her unbelievably gifted baby sister had said Kíli would save her, and the remembrance of that prediction gave her comfort. However, it didn't mean she could not take measures to help him. Being tied as she was, she could do nothing physically, but she could listen to what was going on around her and gather information.

Tilda recalled seeing two men, and knew she'd been grabbed by at least one more. So no less than three were involved. The only voices she could hear were those of the people they passed—it sounded as though they were still on the market level, but she could not tell in which direction the wagon traveled. Briefly she contemplated whether she ought to try some sudden movement, or as much of a scream as she might get out through the cloth tied around her head, but a sound near her told Tilda she was not alone in the back of the cart—probably best to remain silent and let them think her still unconscious for now.

The dim light that filtered through the cloth over her made it difficult to tell how much time had passed—could have been minutes, could have been hours. The movement of the cart was mostly smooth for several minutes, telling her they were on a structured road, so she was not remiss to when they moved off of it onto less level terrain. Dear Valar, they've left the city! she thought, fighting the sudden rise of her panic. Where were they taking her? For that matter, why had they taken her? Did they intend to demand a ransom? Her father would surely pay any sum for her return, but…would they return her? Would she be unharmed when, and if, they did?

Panic clawed at her mind again and she once more struggled to breathe evenly. Kiwi come back. He save you. Túrelië's words played over and over in her mind, and she grasped desperately for the comfort the assurance those words had brought her before.

"Oi! We need to stop—I've got to take a shite!"

"Can't you wait? We've got to get farther from the city before they realize the girl's no longer in it."

The speakers were above her head; Tilda surmised they rode on a seat at the front of the cart; the third man, who was beside her, remained silent.

"Fine! But let us get to them woods quick, before my arse is ready to burst."

Tilda stifled a groan at the vulgar language; clearly these men weren't from any good family. But then, what man from a good family would resort to kidnapping?

What man from a good family would have another arrested for assault, when that person had done him no harm?

A chill settled into her chest to think that Denethor might be behind her abduction. Tilda could hardly believe it of him—he was arrogant, sure. Self-centered, absolutely. But had his pride truly been so wounded by her rejection, by having his ridiculous plan to get back at Kíli backfire, that he would stoop so low? What boy his age could even conceive of such a plan?

If indeed he was behind it, what were his intentions? Did he think spending a few days as a victim of kidnapping would bring her to her senses? Was his plan to rescue her himself, in the hope that she'd be so grateful she'd change her mind and accept his proposal? Not a chance, she thought bitterly. Within moments of meeting the future Steward, Tilda had known he could never make her happy and that she was the last woman in the world who could make him so. He was too full of himself and his own self-importance, too wrapped up in the prestige of his position in Gondor society, and too infatuated with the idea of marrying a princess to care about her as a person.

And he wasn't Kíli. The attraction she'd felt for that dwarf upon his return had never really gone away—she'd simply denied its existence. In the last nine days, however, she'd come to realize that every man, dwarf, or elf she had met before or since his rebirth had been compared to him…and found wanting.