Stepping Stones: Flood

by Amber815

Second story in my Stepping Stones Series. Sigrid has a bout of bad luck and Fíli is forced to confront one of his worst nightmares. Fíli/Sigrid established. Drama, Family, and Romance, with a bit of Hurt/Comfort. Rated T.

A/N: Here's another story set after the events of "The Gift" and "192 Days Without My Brother" but before "Ripples". It's a Figrid story that got sort of out of control (hence the length…). Can be read without knowledge of my other stories, I suppose. Hope you enjoy!

Genre: Romance, Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Fíli/Sigrid (established)

Rating: T

Stepping Stones – Flood

She had never spent much time contemplating her own death. And not just because she was so very young still, although one could only hope that she had many years of a full life to look forward to. No—death, it had always struck her as something inevitable, the point where all roads, no matter how steep, how irregular, how winding they might be, converged. An end to everyone's beginning. Why fret about it when you knew it was coming anyway and ought rather spend your energy on making the time until then count?

When she had thought of death, though—and she had seen enough of it to make avoiding such thoughts altogether impossible—she had always likened the moment in which a soul relinquished its tethers to the realm of the living to something light floating away, the constraints and hardships of life no longer applicable. Release. Serenity. Peacefulness.

There was, however, nothing even remotely serene or peaceful about this, and the further she sank into her cold, wet prison, the less likely it became that she would ever be released from it. Everything felt heavy, dragging her further down, and the pressure on her eyes, her ears, her lungs was becoming unbearable. And she was afraid, so very afraid. Didn't they always say that you stopped feeling fear once the end was nigh, the great sleep only a breath away?

I don't want this, she thought with a sluggish brain as her knees hit sandy ground, the jagged edges of stones tearing her clothing, scraping her skin. I don't want to be down here—I want to be up there, with you. I don't want to sink—I want to soar.

Her last thought before everything went black was of blue eyes and golden hair.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

He was beginning to think that it would never stop. Rain, pouring down relentlessly on his kingdom and the lands surrounding it. It was easy to forget about such trivial things as the weather when one spent as much time in an underground city as he did, but even if there hadn't been one particular reason—hazel-eyed, honey-haired, and able to give any dwarf a run for his money in terms of both courage and stubbornness—to keep a considerable portion of his attention fixed on the outside world, this bout of extremely foul weather, this seemingly endless deluge, could hardly have escaped Fíli's notice.

"If things continue like this, we will lose an entire harvest," Balin had prophesied during their most recent council meeting.

"If things do indeed continue like this," Dwalin had growled, "we will lose much more than just one harvest. Our lands will be washed away from right under our arses."

"He's right," Dori had commented. "I was down at the fields with Ori today, and we were scarcely able to find proper footing. The mountainside is well on its way to becoming one giant mudslide."

Murmurs had arisen across the room at this piece of information, their hum resonating somewhere deep inside Fíli's knotted stomach. Dwarves could, when the occasion demanded it, be rather prone to superstition and he could already imagine the whispers that would be spreading through the mountain before too long. A great flood as punishment for past (or present) wrongdoings was precisely the kind of thing that would resonate with the worldview of most of his kinsmen and kinswomen. And as to the nature of said wrongdoings… well, it was safe to say that they would not need to look far. A king who was willing to break with all traditions, who gave away jewels to Elves and who took a daughter of Men as his bride… there was bound to be some sort of debt to be paid for such extravagances, wasn't there?

It was not as if Fíli himself believed in such quid pro quo workings of fate, nor was he particularly disturbed by the thought of having his decisions questioned. Still, the prospect of civil unrest on top of the rapidly deteriorating situation beyond the walls of his kingdom rested heavily upon his soul. He couldn't do much about the latter, except hope that the clouds would eventually show some mercy and cease what he was beginning to think of an attempt to flush them out of their holes like a mischief of rats. It was to the former—or its prevention, rather—that he thus addressed his primary efforts.

"Go through those chronicles down in the library with a fine comb," he thus instructed Balin at the end of their daily conference. "There must be a precedent for such a situation. If we can find it, maybe some of those irrational fools will see that what we really need right now is solidarity and not doom-mongering."

"I am not sure if a couple of old scrolls will suffice to achieve such a change of heart as you are hoping for," Balin returned with a grimace, the direness of their predicament not lost on him. "But you are right, of course. There is not much else that we can do, is there? I'll get right to it."

Fíli reached out then, grasping his most trusted advisor's shoulder. Balin looked up in surprise, his eyes weary, their blue duller than normally. "No, get some rest first," Fíli said, tightening his fingers in a companionable squeeze. "I hope I'm not lying when I say that the world will still be here come tomorrow. We are all worried—that does not mean that we ought to stop taking care of ourselves."

After a brief moment of deliberation, Balin nodded his assent. He reached up to pat Fíli's hand with his own, his eyes regaining some of their usual sharpness "That goes for you as well, laddie."

Fíli ducked his head a little to hide the wry smile that twisted his lips. "You know me too well, my friend."

"Every king needs someone to watch out for him in the same way that he watches out for his people. To share some of his burdens."

"And not a day passes where that goes unnoticed."

Balin inclined his head in acceptance of his king's praise of his services. "We will speak more in the morning, then."

After the older dwarf had closed the door to Fíli's private quarters behind himself, Fíli remained in his spot and listened to the sound of Balin's receding footsteps. He counted to ten before sticking his head out the door. "I believe your quarters are the other way," he called out, causing Balin to flinch and direct a guilty look at Fíli over his shoulder. He retraced his steps with a look of contrition that reminded Fíli distinctly of a cat caught with its paw in the fishpond.

"You're quite right," Balin remarked with poorly feigned innocence as he passed him by. As he hurried off with a tint of pink on his bearded cheeks, Fíli heard him mumble some excuse about old age messing with his sense of direction.

Fíli snorted. Even in his slightly more advanced age, Balin was the sharpest among them all and he could not imagine for that to ever change. It felt good, though, to have someone on his side who would be willing to work through yet another night with complete disregard for their own needs. He did not think it necessary in this particular instance, but still it warmed a remote spot in his heart to know he had friends like this. Also, the notion that he owed it to Balin to stay true to his word was what made him retire right after they had parted ways instead of staying up to go over his notes once again.

He donned his nightwear for the first time in several days, the only sleep he had gotten lately having consisted of a few stolen hours here and there in one of his armchairs or with his forehead resting on his desk, drooling onto the official papers it was habitually buried in. Now, the soft sheets against his skin and the firm mattress under his back were enough to coax a long sigh from his lips and he buried his face in the fluffy pillows, promising his exhausted body that it would not be dragged from this cozy haven for a few hours at the very least. The only thing that would have made the experience even more gratifying, would have been if his fiancée had been there to share it with him, but, alas, he supposed that one couldn't have everything. Not even if one was a king.

When he woke, it was already light outside—or what passed for daylight with the sky being hung by dark clouds day in and day out. For a moment, he thought that the earth might be shaking and wondered what he and his people had done to deserve so much ill fortune. As he pushed himself off his mattress, though, he realized that it was him who was trembling, his nightshirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest. His heart hammered in his chest—he must have had a nightmare, but what could possibly terrify him in this manner was beyond him. Especially since he was, initially, unable to recall the contents of his dream.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed and made to rise but failed to gain his footing. Instead of cold, hard stone, the floor seemed to be made of quicksand, and he struggled to maintain his balance. Cold crept up his legs, his torso, and then it was as if he was being swallowed whole, waves crashing above his head. He tried to scream, but water flooded his lungs and he panicked, flailing about wildly as blackness began to encroach upon his vision. Then all was dark, silent.

He came to himself kneeling on the floor beside his bed, panting heavily. Sitting back on his heels, he patted himself down, half expecting to find his clothing completely drenched. It wasn't, and aside from the sheen of sweat still clinging to the skin on his back and chest, he was completely dry.

What on earth…?

He hefted himself back up and sat on the edge of his mattress while he tried to work out what had just happened to him. An instance of dreaming with his eyes already open—that had to be it, right? It had been a while since his dreams had given him trouble, but this degree of vividness was not entirely foreign to him, not since those days after the great battle. It wasn't a happy thought, that those dreams might be returning to haunt him again, but it ought to have given him some peace of mind that there was a perfectly rational explanation for the events of the last few minutes. However, his unease remained with him when he eventually rose to get dressed, clinging to him like an unpleasant itch at the back of his mind, as if there was something he was supposed to be doing but had forgotten.

At breakfast, he poked listlessly at his eggs, a tight knot sitting where his stomach was supposed to be and making it impossible to ingest any food whatsoever. Maybe he was coming down with something.

"I believe you are too old for me to remind you to eat your food," a voice interrupted his glum thoughts, and he looked up to find Dís smiling down at him. She pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. "You are however not too old yet for me to ask you what it is that is troubling you."

He put down his fork and ran his hand over his forehead and eyes, trying to clear both his mind and his vision. "I just didn't sleep that well. Nothing to worry about."

Technically, this was not true. He had slept quite well, up until that moment when he had awoken from one nightmare just to literally plunge into another. If his mother sensed his lie, she did not let it on.

"It is only natural to feel a little on edge. We all do," she said instead, her tone kind, but carefully neutral. "This is a very extraordinary situation, after all."

Fíli made a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and continued to stare at the mauled remains of his breakfast as if they might be able to tell him what exactly it was that was bothering him. As might have been expected, they weren't capable of doing any such thing. Dís, on the other hand, was.

"Go," she said after studying him in silence for some time.

He blinked at her. "Go where?"

"To Dale, of course." When he continued to look puzzled, she reached across the table and wrapped her hand around his, squeezing gently. "I know that look on your face. If you are worried about your bride, you should pay her a visit and convince yourself that all is well on that end. Trust me, it will be much easier to face the days ahead of you if you do so with a clear mind and an unburdened heart."

The instant his mother spoke those words, Fíli knew that the dream which had still held him in its grasp upon waking had revolved around Sigrid. He still couldn't remember what had happened in it exactly, but was able to recall the sensation of suffocating, of panic constricting his chest painfully. The impression that he had taken with him from this dream was one of a vague, looming danger and now that he had acknowledged that Sigrid had somehow been a part of his nightly terrors, he knew that there was no way for him to rest his mind before he had convinced himself with his own eyes that she was unharmed.

"I am expected to lead the council meeting in just a little over an hour," he said to Dís, frowning at the fact that his duties kept clashing with the desires of his heart.

Dís shook her head. "Go anyway. I'll join the meeting and keep them busy until you return. In this weather, no one is going to suspect you of venturing outside for your own enjoyment, so don't worry about giving the wrong impression."

He nodded and pushed away from the table. He stood, but then leaned down again to press a kiss to his mother's cheek. "Thank you. I don't know how I would get by without you."

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "I'd say you did quite well while I was still hiding out at Ered Luin. But it is good to hear that you haven't entirely outgrown your need for my advice just yet."

With a fond smile, he squeezed her hand before releasing it from his grasp. "I will be back as soon as I can."

"Be careful out there," Dís advised before he could turn to leave. "I just overheard some talk that the roads have become rather difficult to navigate, both on foot and on horseback."

"Arran will get me there and back again safely," Fíli assured her, receiving a tight-lipped smile in response.

Outside, the sky was still weeping. But not in the feminine, romantic way in which a poet's fancy might paint a beautiful maiden who mourns the absence of her knight. No—it was having a proper and thoroughly unattractive meltdown, including buckets of snot and a torrent of big, salty tears.

Fíli drew his hood as far into his face as it would go while he led Arran out of the stables and prepared to mount. "Forgive me for dragging out here in this weather. If all goes well, we should be back soon and then I'll see to it that you get an extra load of nice, fresh hay and those green apples you like best."

The pony gave a soft neigh and stamped its hoof once, apparently agreeing to the deal Fíli had proposed. Chuckling, he swung a leg over Arran's broad back and took up the reins, pressing his heels into the animal's flanks. By the time they had made it out of the yard connected to the stables, Fíli was already soaked. Rivulets of water trickled from the edge of his hood, making it almost impossible to see. He had to rely on Arran's knowledge of the terrain in order to keep to the road and although his faithful friend was clearly doing his very best, their progress towards Dale was excruciatingly slow and his chest was beginning to feel knotted with impatience and that vague sense of dread that had driven him out here in the first place.

They had to be close to the city by now, but still Fíli could not see it, couldn't tell if the vague shapes looming up into the sky in front of him were walls, clouds, or merely wishful thinking. Somewhere ahead of them, at the edge of what was left of the road, he could discern a strangely shaped lump and he searched his memory for a landmark of the same proportions on the way to Dale to give him any indication of his progress. His search came up blank, and as he drew closer, he realized that the shape was moving.

He quickened their pace, careful not to gain too much momentum on the slippery ground. Straining his eyes, he realized that the shape he had seen was a wagon that toppled onto its side at the edge of the road and through the dense curtains of rain, he could now see a handful of figures moving around the vehicle in futile attempts to get it back on the road.

He waited until he was very close, then slid out of the saddle. "Are you in need of assistance?"

He'd all but shouted the words, but still they barely carried over the drum of the rain. One of the cloaked figures whipped their head around, lifting the hood from their face to gaze at Fíli with an expression of grateful surprise. They were men from Dale, a circumstance for which Fíli was thankful, for it lowered the chances of them recognizing him without his crown and wasting valuable time on a discussion whether it would be appropriate for the king of Erebor to drag a cart out of the mud or not. As it was, the men stepped aside without protest as Fíli led Arran forward and positioned him beside the rather scrawny donkey tied to the front of the wagon. Arran gave him a look of barely concealed disgust as Fíli transferred the donkey's harness onto his pony's much more muscular body, causing Fíli to suspect that he had just indebted himself by another sack of apples and a copious amount of carrots.

He patted Arran's drenched neck and then moved around the cart to where the men had already taken up position with their shoulders against the side of the vehicle. A signal to Arran and then they were all leaning against the wagon with their whole weight, pushing as hard as their unsteady footing on the muddy ground allowed. The cart did not move.

"Again!" Fíli yelled over a particularly fierce gust of wind that nearly left him sputtering from the sheer amount of rain blown into his face. Was it possible to drown with both feet planted firmly on the earth below him?

Arran pulled and they pushed, not stopping even as some of them were forced to their knees, mud and rain splattering everywhere. Then, finally, there was movement, and once they had made it through the first few inches of mud, the cart slid back onto the road with relative ease, leaving them all panting heavily and filthy from head to toe.

Fíli wiped his sleeve across his face to clear his sight, although the soggy state of his coat did not allow for much improvement in that regard. He went to unfasten the harness from Arran's neck. "Will you be alright from here?" he asked the man who appeared to be in charge. "I've somewhere to be and should not linger, I'm afraid."

The man stepped forward and held out his hand. "Please, don't let us keep you any longer, your majesty. We are very much indebted to you for your help."

Fíli smiled a little self-consciously as he returned the handshake. It appeared that the days where he could pass as 'just' a dwarf were long gone. Still, he appreciated the fact that the merchants had not indulged in unnecessary humbleness and had accepted his help without hesitation.

"Don't worry about it," he called over his shoulder, already swinging a leg over Arran's back. "Get home to your families. No one should be out in this weather."

And yet here you are, drenched to the bone, and all because of a proverbial itch at the back of your neck, a voice inside his head mocked him. He shushed it. He was where he was supposed to be, of that he was certain—or he would be, soon, if he ever found the city gates in this infernal downpour.

He did find them, eventually, although it took him a little longer still than he had hoped after abandoning the pitiful group of merchants. A guard made to move towards him as he slipped through the gates—in the literal sense, regretfully, since it was all but impossible to walk on the sodden ground with dignity—but Fíli quickly lifted his hood to reveal his identity and spare the poor man an excursion from the relative comfort of his guardhouse. A flash of surprise was visible on the guard's face before he lowered his head in greeting. Fíli wasted no time and led Arran towards the small wooden shelter just inside the city walls. It had a roof and there was even a bit of hay left in a basket tied to one of the posts—not much, but still better than having to leave the pony out in the rain.

"I'm afraid this will have to do for now, my friend," Fíli muttered as he patted down the side of Arran's neck with his sleeve, trying and failing to wipe some of the water off the thick fur. The pony gave a small huff and nudged him with his large head, clearly telling him to get on with his business now that they had finally reached their destination. Fíli chuckled and moved away, jerking his dripping hood back over his head as he headed back out into the rain.

The streets of Dale were deserted as he moved through them, bags filled with rice and sand protecting the doorways from the steady flow of water that kept gushing down the cobbled alleyways, turning sets of stairs into small cascading waterfalls. Fíli's feet found their path without any conscious effort on his part—many times he had visited the house where Bard lived with his children, though he had never been as wet when doing so as he was today.

Now that he was mere minutes away from assuring himself of Sigrid's well-being with his own eyes, the tightness in his chest was gradually lifting, and he amused himself with conjectures of what his fiancée would have to say about the puddle he would surely leave on her doorstep. There was a smile on his lips as he lifted his hand to knock on the wooden front door and with his mind elsewhere, he was startled to find it yanked open from the inside when his knuckles had scarcely grazed the rough surface.

He found himself face to face with Alva, Bard's housekeeper, and in the few seconds that they stood there, staring at each other, he observed a variety of emotions flash across her broad, gentle face. Surprise—that was to be expected, really, seeing that he usually did not call unannounced and given that no one in their right mind would venture outside in this weather unless they absolutely had to. Quickly, though, surprise turned into what Fíli quickly identified as fear and then, most worryingly, guilt.

Something cold and heavy settled in his stomach and when he made to speak his mouth felt stuffed with cotton, the words awkward on his suddenly sluggish tongue. "Sigrid—I... Can I see her?"

Alva's brown eyes widened, and Fíli knew with dreadful certainty what she was going to say even before the words left her lips. "She—she's not here. We tried to stop her, but she wouldn't... With a child's life in danger, she said, she could not just stay here and do nothing."

Fíli looked past Alva into the house illuminated by candles to balance out the lack of daylight entering from outside. A boy whom he had never seen before sat on one of the stools at the long table in the center of the room, his scrawny body wrapped in thick blankets, a cup of steaming liquid before him. Little Tilda stood behind his stool, her small hands twisting inside the fabric of her apron. Her face was pale and her eyes even bigger than usual when she raised them to meet Fíli's horrified gaze. "She's been gone for nearly a whole hour. Shouldn't she be back by now?"

The tremor in the girl's voice resonated with the unsteady feeling that had taken up residence in Fíli's limbs and he reached out a hand to steady himself against the door frame, his worst nightmare materializing around him like a creature of the night that had escaped its bindings and was now set on devouring everything within its reach. A dripping sound registered somewhere at the back of his mind and he glanced down at his feet. There was indeed a puddle forming under him. And Sigrid wasn't even here to tease him about it.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

There was a distinct possibility that coming out here all by herself had not been the most prudent choice she had ever made. Sigrid found herself forced to admit that much as she struggled to assess the situation before her—a feat made very difficult by both the rain that kept pouring from the heavens above and the wind which tugged at her hair, persistently whipping her wet locks about her face and obscuring her sight. She leaned forward in her saddle, gripping the reins of her mare tightly as she strained her eyes. It couldn't be much further now, but aside from some very vague shapes she was hardly able to see anything at all.

Luckily, the boy had been rather precise in his description, and she had immediately known what spot he meant when he had come to their house, shaking with fear and exhaustion, and had begged for their help. His mother, nearly nine months pregnant, had gone into labor on their way up from a small settlement on the shores of Lake Esgaroth, the conditions down south having become too precarious after weeks of rain for the family to stay and have the baby there. Sigrid had been on her feet in an instant, her knitting sliding from her lap and onto the floor without her noticing. Having a baby on the side of the road was not advisable under normal circumstances and in this particularly foul weather it was unacceptable.

Tilda's fearful eyes were still etched into Sigrid's memory. "You cannot go out, not in this weather!" her younger sibling had pleaded with her while she had darted about the room, collecting the things she would need.

"It's just rain, Tilda," she had assured her sister. "Surely the safety of a baby is more important than me staying clean and dry, is it not?"

As if to spite her, a clap of thunder had torn through the air at that precise moment, making everyone except her jump.

Alva had left the boy's side then and crossed over to her. She was shorter than Sigrid, but with her hands on her broad hips and her chin thrust forward, she was a force not to be underestimated.

"If your father were here, he would be disappointed in you for putting yourself at risk like this."

Sigrid had immediately recognized the attempt at guilting her into a decision—she had used the same approach with her younger siblings many times, after all.

"Well, he's not," she had said with what, hopefully, was an air of finality. "And if he were, I'd like to think that what would really disappoint him, would be me denying help to somebody who is in great need of it."

When Alva had still stood her ground, Sigrid had relented a little, using a gentle tone rather than an authoritative one. "Alva, please. I am the best chance that this mother and her baby have. I must go."

At her mention of the mother and child, she had seen something ripple across Alva's soft features, the recent loss of her only son still an open wound. Wordlessly, the older woman had stepped aside, not looking at Sigrid as she brushed past her, heading for the front door.

Something inside Sigrid's heart had wavered at seeing the look on her housekeeper's face, old instincts screaming at her to stay put and take care of the ones she loved. But she could not. This wasn't her anymore—or at least not all there was to her.

For many months during her visits to the mountain—before she and Fíli had pledged themselves to each other and sometimes after that still—she had found herself watching the Dwarf women, envying them for their strength, their fighting skills, their courage that was apparent even in the most mundane tasks. Well, this was her strength. She might be useless with a sword (and a bow, and an axe, and those ridiculously sharp knives Fíli carried around), but her knowledge, her instinct when it came to assessing what was wrong with a person and what they needed to get better, were powerful weapons in themselves, and she owed it those in need to use them.

And so this was how she found herself out here, braving the weather that had turned against them weeks ago. She was drenched to the bone and if it hadn't been for Merrill, her steadfast mare, she would probably have lost her way and fallen into the river already.

In a sudden bout of affection for the animal, Sigrid leaned forward in her saddle and whispered a few words of endearment, regardless of whether Merrill could hear her over the sound of the storm or not. To think that she had originally tried to refuse Fíli's gift when he had brought her down to Erebor's stables to introduce her to her new horse. She had been worried that she would make a fool of herself on horseback, but Merrill had been so patient with her, so gentle, and now the mare was a constant in Sigrid's life that she would not want to miss for the world.

Fíli... her musings about Merrill inevitably led to him. Up until now, she had managed to keep him as far from her thoughts as possible. If he knew that she was out here, on her own and in this weather, he would personally drag her back to Erebor and tie her to his bed and never let her leave again. While that part about being tied to his bed did not sound too bad, Sigrid valued her freedom far too much to risk such a thing. Which meant that her mission would have to be a success, so that she might prove her competence once and for all. That she was getting a little more scared with every minute which passed without any sign of a living person in the vicinity did not matter.

She could hear the roar of the river to her right, droning out all other sounds. On this side, the riverbank fell away rather steeply from the road and she did not dare get too close to it for fear of losing her footing on the unsteady ground. If the boy's family had been traveling with a cart or wagon, though, that might be precisely what had happened to them. What if that was why she hadn't found them already? What if their bodies had long since been carried away by the vicious current?

But... hold on, what was that, over there, partly obscured by a large formation of boulders? Sigrid strained her eyes. Movement. Yes, she had definitely seen someone move over there.

Pressing her heels into Merrill's flanks, she quickened their pace as much as the rather poor condition of the ground allowed. Relief flooded her like a tidal wave when she realized that her eyes had not deceived her. Two figures were huddled on the side of the road, seeking what little shelter the rocks Sigrid had seen from a distance offered. As she prepared to dismount from Merrill's back, Sigrid also noticed a small cart and a rather bedraggled looking pony on the side of the road, momentarily abandoned by their owners.

The heads of the two people shot up in alarm when Sigrid's boots hit the muddy ground with a loud splat. The taller of the two—the father of the boy and the unborn child, Sigrid assumed—immediately moved to cover the woman crouched on the ground in what did not look like a very comfortable position.

Sigrid held up her hands as she stepped closer, hoping to convey that she was no threat. She would have called out to them, but there was no way that her voice would carry over all that noise surrounding them. And either way, to do what she had come for, she would need to get closer to the woman anyway.

The couple's eyes remained widened—his with distrust, hers with fear—but they made no move to stop her as she advanced and she lowered herself onto her knees in front of the woman, seeking eye contact.

"I am a midwife and healer from Dale," she said, "and I have come to ensure that both you and your child are safe. Your son sent me."

Technically, there were a number of half-truths hidden in that statement. First of all, she was an apprentice still, a talented and ambitious one, but an apprentice nonetheless. Secondly, people mostly thought of her as the King of Dale's daughter, a princess, and did not define her in terms of her occupation. Lastly, the boy had not really been in a state to command anyone to go anywhere—she had come of her own accord.

Despite those little white lies (or maybe because of them), she seemed to have said the right thing, for the woman immediately relaxed. It took her husband a few seconds longer, but after a pat on his arm from his wife (interesting, Sigrid observed, how often women still tended to offer comfort even in situations in which they were the ones suffering), he, too, assumed a less rigid stance and moved aside, so that Sigrid could scoot closer.

"You are having contractions?" she asked while she set down her hastily packed satchel.

The woman nodded through clenched teeth—clearly she was in the middle of one such contraction and Sigrid waited patiently for her breathing to even out, counting the seconds under her breath.

"It—it's a little early," her patient said once she could speak again. "I thought I would have another three weeks at the least."

Sigrid glanced at the rounded belly that did not strike her as that of a woman who was only eight months along. "May I?" she asked as she positioned her hands above the woman's stomach. After a quick nod from her patient, she proceeded to examine her by exerting gentle pressure with her hands, trying to determine the position and size of the unborn child. She hadn't had a chance to practice this very often, but those few times that she had, she had not found it difficult to locate the head and limbs of the baby. Now, though, everything seemed a little off and she kept changing her mind over whether what she was feeling was a tiny skull or bottom. That could only mean...

Sigrid looked up sharply. "When did you last see a midwife? Or a healer?"

The woman looked a little taken aback by the question and blushed, staring at Sigrid's hands on her swollen stomach. "I... I do not recall. In the early stages, I think. Everything seemed perfectly regular and since I'd already been through it all before..." Her eyes met Sigrid's. "Should I have gone to see someone? Is something wrong with my baby?"

Quickly, Sigrid reached out to cover her patient's hand with her own, silently berating herself for inadvertently causing the woman alarm with her blunt question. "No, everything seems to be in perfect order. Doubly so, in fact, for if I'm not mistaken, you are expecting twins."

The woman's expression went from relief to shock to utter elation as quickly as only pregnant women can progress from one extreme emotion to another. She turned her head to look at her husband. "Did you hear that, Erling? Twins! What a blessing!"

Erling swallowed. For him, shock still appeared to outweigh joy at the unexpected news. To his credit, though, he gave his wife an almost steady smile and pressed a kiss to her temple. Turning to Sigrid, he said, "Olina and I have been trying for another child for a long time. And that we are now going to have two... I can hardly believe it."

Sigrid gave him a warm smile. "Your wife is right. It is a blessing indeed. But to ensure that your children make it into this world safely, I will need to assess how far the birth has already progressed." She shifted her gaze to Olina. "Delivering one baby out here is one thing, but two... If we can, I would like to try and move you to Dale, where we have all the proper equipment in case that complications arise. Will you allow me to examine you?"

At the mention of complications, Olina's enthusiasm had received a visible dampener. Pressing her lips together, she nodded for Sigrid to proceed and leaned back against her husband.

Sigrid quickly shed her gloves, another gift from Fíli. She was grateful that she'd worn them, for otherwise her fingers would have been icy after her long ride. Pushing up Olina's skirts, she swiftly performed the necessary examination and breathed a sigh of relief. There was still time—not much, but it might just be enough.

"Olina, we need to get you onto that cart and to the city. I know that the journey will be rather uncomfortable in your condition, but trust me, if you remain here, things will only get worse."

Olina turned to look at her husband, who have a swift nod that made Sigrid's heart feel a little lighter. They trusted her, which would make the next few hours much easier for all of them. The rain seemed to be letting up a little as well. It was still falling steadily, but not pounding down on them as it had just minutes ago. Sigrid took that as a good omen for their journey.

Erling turned to her, his arm looped around Olina's shoulders. "Can you help me lift her? She shouldn't have to climb."

Rising swiftly to her feet, Sigrid nodded. "I agree. Here, let me give you a hand."

She wrapped an arm around Olina's waist and, together with Erling, managed to help the woman to her feet without much difficulty. Slowly, they walked around to the back of their small cart.

"We may have to make some room first," Erling said, eyeing the tarp which covered the items on the back of the cart with trepidation.

"It's alright," Sigrid hurried to reassure him. "We can leave some of your possessions here and come back for them once everyone has settled. In this weather, there should hardly be anybody about who might steal them."

Erling glanced at his wife, who was currently busy breathing through another contraction, and nodded to himself. Reaching up, he threw back the tarp.

Sigrid barely had a chance to get a look at the things revealed underneath before something small and furry flew towards her while emitting a rather strange sound. By reflex, Sigrid stepped back and looked on with wide eyes as a grey tabby cat landed on the ground in front of her and immediately darted off, fast as lightning.

"Binky! No, get back here!"

Erling made to go after the cat, but then changed his mind and hurried back to his wife's side instead. Olina had turned as white as a sheet and clutched her husband's sleeve in her fist. For a second, Sigrid worried that she might be having another contraction already, but then she realized that Olina was staring after the cat with tears in her eyes.

"Kiaran loves that cat," she muttered distraughtly. "We've already lost so much, first to the dragon fire, then to the flood—it will break his little heart if now Binky is gone as well."

Sigrid thought of the terrified little boy waiting in her father's house and made up her mind. She turned to Erling. "Get her on the cart and make her as comfortable as possible. Stay in the middle of the road and don't go too fast."

Erling seemed confused. "You're not coming with us, then? But why?"

Sigrid looked over her shoulder in the direction Binky had run off to, her eyes narrowed. "I will be with you shortly. But first, I have a cat to catch."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sigrid had never considered herself a cat person. Or a dog person, for that matter. Cats were convenient if you had problems with mice or rats (or wanted to forego the development of such a problem); dogs could be employed as guards or trackers. Depending on your personal situation, either animal could thus be of use to you. Whether one of the two appealed to her as a companion, as a pet, was a question which she had never had reason to dwell on. With two younger siblings to take care of, she'd had her hands full, free-time or the cultivation of her own interests not being something that she was used to.

As she scoured the path beside the riverbank for Binky, though, she was beginning to see why some people declared themselves adverse to cats in general. Whenever she caught a glimpse of the animal, it allowed her to come closer, regarding her with green, unsettlingly clever eyes. Then, once she was beginning to feel confident that this would be her chance to finally catch the little feline and carry her to safety (and, more importantly, dryness), Binky leapt away only to reappear in a different, even more precarious spot a few seconds later.

"Stop that, will you!" Sigrid cried after the cat as it once again disappeared amongst the bushes lining the riverbank. "I'm just trying to help you, can't you see that?"

She straightened up from where she had been crouching on the ground. Her feet and back ached, her whole body felt numbed by cold, and her cheeks as well as the sides of her neck stung from tiny scratches she had obtained crawling through the thorny thicket, trying to coax Binky into her waiting arms. She had half a mind to turn back, get herself to Dale and out of this miserable weather. But then she remembered the lost little boy sitting at her dining room table and his dark, sad eyes that would grow sadder still if he had to be told that his beloved cat would not be returning to him.

She clenched her teeth. Not an option. "Binky, I'm bringing you home with me, and if it's the last thing I'll ever do!"

Her words, shouted randomly into the direction of the river, were not entirely ineffective. After a couple of seconds, Binky leaped up onto a larger piece of driftwood and turned to look at her with what Sigrid viewed as a clear challenge in her eyes. Again, she set her teeth. So far, she had avoided getting too close to the river—after the long period of rain it was difficult to find a secure footing on the steep riverbank and if there was one thing that Sigrid did not fancy, then it was a bath in the muddy, tumultuous waters. If she wanted to reach that stubborn cat, though, she would need to get closer and so she began her slow descent to the water's edge.

Things went better than expected —the ground was soft and marshy under the soles of her feet, but with tiny steps she made it about two thirds down the riverbank without incident. At the back of her mind, she wondered how she would make it back up again without crawling through the mud, but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. Surely a ruined skirt was of less importance than a child's happiness.

With her arms stretched out a little awkwardly to maintain her balance on the steep slope, Sigrid stopped and looked about herself. Where had that bloody cat gone now? Ah, there she was, still climbing around on the driftwood at the water's edge. The animal had to be enjoying itself quite a bit, judging by the carefree twitching of its tail and its slow, measured movements.

Sigrid narrowed her eyes. This time, I'm going to get you.

The roar of the river, much louder than normally due to the increased amount of water gushing down its winding course, would hopefully be of advantage to her now in so far that it concealed the sound of her approach. And indeed—as she came closer, Binky showed no signs that she was aware of the young woman getting ready to grab her. With victory in such clear sight, Sigrid smiled to herself. That, of course, was when it all went wrong.

Paying more attention to the cat than to her feet, Sigrid stepped on a small rock that promptly slid away from under her heel and before she had time to realize what was happening, top became bottom, down turned into up, and all air was knocked from her lungs when she landed hard on her back. The resulting discomfort lasted only for a second, though, before it was replaced by an acute sense of panic as she realized that she was still moving, tumbling down the slope towards the river with uncontrolled speed. Her arms flailing, she tried to grasp onto something, anything, but her nails clawed furtively at the marshy ground.

The last thing she saw before she went over the edge was a pair of slanted green eyes looking at her quizzically, clearly wondering why the young human thought that going for a swim in the icy water was a good idea.

Then—only darkness.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The pounding of Fíli's pulse in his own ears was rivaled only by the thundering noise of Arran's hooves against the path alongside the riverbank as they followed the course of the river which connected Dale and Lake Esgaroth.

Too long. This was taking too bloody long. He had left Dale at a madman's pace barely an hour after Sigrid had set out in search of the boy's parents. His fiancée was getting to be a good rider, but she would never go that fast, not in this weather. He should have caught up with her by now. What little he could see of the lands surrounding him, though, was devoid of any sign of life whatsoever.

Furiously, he brushed a tangled mess of wet hair out of his face. In Mahal's name, once he got his hands onto her, he'd—

Ah, who was he kidding. He'd never lay a bloody finger on her. The only thing likely to happen once he found her, was that he'd make an absolute fool of himself just from the sheer relief of having her back with him, safe and sound.

But for that to happen, he needed to get to her and he needed to do so quickly. The rain was letting up, even if only a little, but before too long the small amount of daylight would begin to fade as well. If his worst fears were true and Sigrid had gotten lost out here, then darkness was his—and her—greatest enemy.

Just to think that she might—

No, he couldn't allow himself to go there. Couldn't. Instead, he leaned forward in his saddle, urging Arran to go even faster.

"Come on, my friend. Just a little bit further. I promise."

His words were lost among the general noise, but it didn't matter. Arran did not need to hear him to grasp the urgency of the situation and quickened his pace, hooves barely touching ground as he carried Fíli south.

At first Fíli thought he was seeing things when an odd shape appeared on the path in front of them, that maybe his desperate mind was conjuring an image to give him hope, to carry him along. But, no—as he drew closer, he saw that there really was someone else on the path ahead. His heart lurched into his throat only to plummet back into his stomach like a heavy stone when he realized that this someone wasn't Sigrid, but a man leading a skinny pony in front of a small cart.

The likeness between that man and the small boy at Bard's house was so striking that it left no room for doubt that this was the boy's father. And, judging by the low moan coming from the cart behind him, the mother wasn't far as well. Fíli should have experienced at least a small amount of relief at that fact—as it was, though, all he felt was bottomless dread.

He rode up to the man who flinched a little at the sight of the Dwarf whose outward appearance had been turned rather savage by both weather and fear.

"Sigrid, where is she?" Fíli bellowed, not allowing himself time to feel remorse about his harsh tone. Every second wasted might be one which Sigrid didn't have. "Did she not find you?"

"Sh—she did," the man stammered. "She sent us on ahead."

He said something else, but his words were swallowed by a swelling thunder. Fíli cast an exasperated glance at the heavens above. Really? More bad weather after all that... bad weather?

"How long ago?" Fíli had to raise his voice, both to make himself heard over all that background noise and to hide the tremor underlying his words.

"Not long," the man returned, his eyes widened apologetically. "A quarter of an hour, perhaps."

Fíli's breath rushed out of his lungs while he scanned the road ahead. That wasn't too bad. There was a real possibility that Sigrid simply hadn't finished whatever she had set her stubborn mind on doing and that no mishap had befallen her. Still, he needed to find her as quickly as possible.

He looked back down at the Lake-man. "Take your wife to the city. Stay on the road—your son is at King Bard's private home. You can be with him within the hour if you don't slow down."

"I won't." The man nodded earnestly and Fili knew that this stranger understood his own predicament, even though they had barely exchanged more than a few words.

Fíli, too, inclined his head, but his eyes were already on the road ahead once more. There wasn't an awful lot of daylight left, but if it had really been only minutes since Sigrid was last seen, it ought to be enough. He tightened his grip onto Arran's reigns. "Swiftly now, my boy. There is no time to lose."

The rain was gaining in strength again, and Fíli struggled to keep his eyes open against the icy sleet that stung the skin around his eyes like a thousand needles. But he couldn't allow himself to miss any details, needed to take in as much of the scene as he could.

His mind flashed back to a day last spring, when he had taken Sigrid on a ride along the river and his heart grew warm when he thought of the precious hour they had spent on the riverbank, charting the waters of a relationship that had still been so new, its terms so uncertain back then. The lands, as they were now, were barely recognizable from that beautiful day. His relationship with Sigrid, meanwhile, was in many ways still what it had been during those very early days when stolen moments had been the one thing that had kept him going, when a shy smile from her (brief and too rare, always too many people watching) had transformed a miserable day into a happy one.

Yes, their love was no longer a secret, and they were to be married soon (if her father ever came to his senses and allowed them to fix a date, that was). But when he was alone with her—and that didn't happen nearly as often as Fíli would have liked—she still made his heart race and his thought grow fuzzy around the edges, like nothing except for her truly mattered. And he'd spend hours just stealing glances at her, marveling at the fact that she was his and that she would choose him to be hers in return and... well. It was safe to say that he was a dwarf very much in love.

It was also safe to say that the object of his affections sometimes had the tendency of driving him stark mad with her bouts of obstinacy and reckless behavior.

Hear, hear, a voice at the back of his mind commented. Wasn't it you who returned to her from an excursion with Kíli a few weeks ago a whole day later than planned and sporting a rather spectacularly black eye and a dislocated shoulder?

He did not even attempt to argue with the voice in his head, for he rarely won those discussions. The incident in question had in fact been brought about by a long and complicated chain of misfortunes and coincidences, but the fact remained that Sigrid had worried herself sick over his whereabouts and had been rightfully upset when he had downplayed the whole affair as the sort of thing that just happened to him and Kíli.

Oh ye gods, if what was happening right now was in any way related to his thoughtless behavior back then... He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Sigrid.

But, no, he tried to reason with himself. This was much more complicated than an attempt to get back at him for any wrongdoings in the past (not that this was Sigrid's way of handling things to begin with). He knew she often struggled with her role, had known even before they had become lovers. And since their engagement had become official, her need to prove her worth had increased even further.

He did not feel that she had anything to prove to anyone and that whoever failed to see how brilliant, how courageous she was, deserved to rot in a dark, dank place. Still, he understood. Being the nephew of Thorin Oakenshield had never been easy, and he was well aware that there had always been and would always be evil tongues claiming that he was not worthy of his position, that it had been his uncle's deeds and not his own that had put him where he was today.

However, it was for him to choose not to listen to these voices and he hoped that in time Sigrid would be able to ignore those who accused her of ulterior motives in marrying him, who thought that she was a spoilt princess seeking the easiest way to secure a comfortable life for herself. How anyone could think that living among dwarves was particularly comfortable was beyond him, but, well, people could be idiots sometimes, he had come to be quite accepting of that fact. If, on the other hand, he ever got his hands onto those who spoke ill of his fiancée, they would find themselves wishing that they had never opened their insolent mouths once he—

His progressively violent thoughts where cut off when a flash of movement drew his eyes towards the river once more. He stopped and threw back his hood since the water cascading off its rim obstructed rather than improved his sight. Something small and grey appeared to be climbing around on a few pieces of driftwood that had accumulated at the water's edge. A... cat? Yes, it appeared to be a cat indeed that was peering into the turbulent waters, its tail twitching excitedly.

Fíli leaned forward in his saddle as he tried to determine what had caught the animal's attention. Amidst the brownish-grey flood, he discerned something else, a speck of blue color, floating on the surface for a moment only to be swallowed again by the ravenous waters.

"What on earth—" His words were cut off by the strangled gasp which surged up in his chest when he finally realized what he was seeing.

His boots had barely hit the ground when he was already sliding down the riverbank, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that it drowned out all sound, all thoughts. All except for one: Don't let it be her.

"No, no, no, no, no..." His own momentum nearly caused him to fall headfirst into the river once he reached the water's edge and he had to hold onto one of the few prickly bushes growing down here, the sturdy thorns piercing his gloves and tearing into the flesh underneath. He barely felt it.

The cat had looked up at his panicked descent and was now staring at him with expectant eyes. He had the odd impulse to yell at it to either do something more helpful or to disappear to wherever it had come from. He limited himself to a sharp hiss (which did not impress the animal at all) and edged as close to the water as he dared to, peering into its murky depths.

Nothing. Maybe what he had seen from above had merely been a reflection of some sort or a bit of flotsam carried down the river from Erebor or Dale. Maybe it hadn't been Sigid's blue coat at all, maybe...

He let his panicked gazed rove down the river. Where are you, love?

The cat, too, had left its spot on the pile of driftwood and was trotting down the riverbank, away from him. It stopped about twenty yards away and turned to stare at him with those same, penetrating eyes as before. He frowned in concentration as he studied the water once more. That was when he saw it—a hand, emerging from the floods. He only saw it for a split second before it disappeared again, but that second was enough to recognize the glove on it as the one he had bought for Sigrid at a market stall in Dale, on a cold day just a few weeks ago, when her slender fingers had felt so chilly in his.

He didn't have to think twice.

The water, when it embraced him, was icy and for a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Then his instinct for survival took over and he swam, navigating the roaring masses of water in as controlled a manner as possible. Don't fight the current—allow it to carry you, to get you faster to where you want to be.

For once, it wasn't Kíli's voice in his head, but Thorin's. Thorin teaching him how to respond should he (or Kíli, which, to be fair, was much more likely) ever fall into one of the gurgling streams surrounding their home in the Blue Mountains.

He listened to that voice now, glad for something to focus on other than the panic threatening to paralyze him. Within seconds, he passed the spot where that strange little cat still stood and stared at him. Maybe he shouldn't have gone in right away, Fíli realized, for being inside the water made it much more difficult to scan the surface of the river for any sort of movement. Fuck.

He kicked out with his legs, trying to propel himself out of the water. He did not succeed at that, but during one of his flailing attempts, his fingertips brushed against something solid beneath the surface.

He swallowed as much air as his constricting chest would allow him to and dove. He forced his eyes open—under him, there was darkness and above and around him only a muddy grey, with particles of sand and stone swirling all around him.

But there, in the murky depths, there was a shadow, he was sure of it. It might just be a log or a large branch, he told himself, not allowing hope to enter his heart just yet. He pushed forward, his arm stretched out in front of him and felt his stomach lurch when his fingers closed around a fistful of something soft.

Knowing that his air would not last him much longer, he gave a sharp tug at the same moment that he reached out with his other arm. And there she was, floating into his embrace so effortlessly as if they were dancing and not fighting for their lives.

Securing his hold onto Sigrid, Fíli gave a desperate jerk of his legs, and then another, the inside of his head starting to feel oddly soft and his lungs on fire with the need to draw a breath. The muscles in his legs screamed in protest as he forced them to keep moving, frantically pushing against the water. For a horrible second, he wondered if maybe he had lost all sense of direction and was swimming towards the riverbed instead of the surface, but then he broke through and, oh, sweet, sweet air flooded his lungs and everything became sharp and alert again, the world seeming a whole lot brighter than it had for a long time.

Sigrid was right beside him, his arm looped under hers and across her chest in a in iron grip. She hung limply in his embrace; the relieved gasp for air that had exploded from his lips the second that his head had emerged from the water had not been mirrored by her.

Fíli pulled her even tighter against himself as he whipped his head around to get his bearings. They were not too far from the riverbank, but with the force of the current it would take an enormous amount of strength to reach it. Strength Fíli wasn't sure he had left.

It could probably be attributed to the same sort of luck that had saved his and Kíli's sorry arses countless of times that just at this moment a formation of boulders appeared in his line of sight, just a few yards downstream. Had his struggle to reach the surface lasted only a few seconds longer, they would already have passed that point and who knew when and if another opportunity such as this would have presented itself.

As it was, Fíli wasted no time and used his legs to align them with the rocks, turning around so that he faced upstream. He had a couple of moments to prepare himself for the impact, but when it finally came it was much more painful than he had anticipated, a sharp pain exploding at the back of his head and in his left shoulder from the force with which the river threw him and Sigrid against the natural barrier.

He saw stars and, for a moment, felt his consciousness slipping. But now, more than ever, not even a moment could be allowed to go to waste. Hoisting Sigrid up a little further against his chest, he forced himself to breathe calmly against the pressure, against the pain, and slowly inched sidewards, each torturous movement bringing them a little closer to the riverbank. After what seemed like hours but in truth were barely more than a few seconds, his feet touched ground and he nearly sobbed as he dragged Sigrid's lifeless body out of the water and onto dry land.

The very second that he could be sure that they were beyond the reach of the deadly current, he lowered her to the ground and dropped to his knees beside her, frantic fingers tearing at the cloak that had wrapped itself around her torso like a cocoon during her involuntary swim. He avoided looking at her face, at the bluish pallor of her skin and the unnaturally dark shadows of her lashes against her cheeks.

"Come on, my love. Come on, come on, come on..."

But even now, her chest wasn't moving, her body too weakened to draw the breath it would need to survive. A numbness was beginning to spread from Fíli's core and into his limbs as he stared at the woman in his arms with bottomless despair. Before his mind could shut down entirely, he did the only thing he could think of and pressed a kiss to Sigrid's cold lips, forcing the breath she could not draw herself into her body.

Please, please, please, please, please...

It took a moment—a moment in which the coldest of dreads held his heart in a tight, tight grip—but then he felt her bottom lip twitch against his in the smallest of movements. He jerked back to stare at her, wide-eyed, as her fingers clawed at the uneven ground, her body convulsing with a series of coughs. Quickly, he tore himself out of his stupor and gathered her into his arms as she coughed up the water she had swallowed.

When she was done, she continued to draw slightly ragged, but blissfully even breaths, the color of her skin having lost most of its worryingly bluish shade. Still, she remained frightfully pale and her eyes stayed closed. She was drenched, of course—they both were, and now that his initial paralysis was beginning to wear off, Fíli grew aware of the cold seeping into his flesh, his very bones. They needed to get out of here, needed to get warm, or else the cold would claim them as its victims.

He looked around and felt his breath rush past his chilled lips in a relieved sigh when just a few yards further upstream, Arran's dark head appeared over the edge of the ravine that accommodated the river. This would make things so much easier.

Now that a way of escape was in sight, Fíli was able to gather what remaining energy he had left and hoisted Sigrid into his trembling arms to carry her up the slope. As he climbed, he thought that he felt her burrow her face against his shoulder, seeking his warmth, and that gave him more hope than anything. He could still make this right.

Once on the road, he gently lowered Sigrid onto as dry a patch of ground as he could find and divested himself of his cloak and the vest he wore underneath, keeping only his shirt on his upper body. Every item of his clothing was dripping wet and would only chill him further if he kept them on. Sigrid's coat was already gone; he thought about getting rid of her dress and taking her back to Dale in her shirt and underskirt, but then decided against it simply because of the fact that with his quivering, icy fingers it would take much too long to undo the intricate lacings on the garment.

Looking up, Fíli found Arran trotting over to them. He wasn't alone—Sigrid's mare was right behind him, looking on with fearful, dark eyes. That was one problem solved, at least, for Fíli knew that Sigrid would never forgive him if he left her horse out here to find her own way back to the city.

Fíli rose to meet his pony and quickly unfastened Arran's saddle to retrieve the saddle blanket from underneath, shaking it out to unfold it. As he had hoped, the woolen blanket was not nearly as wet as his and Sigrid's clothes. Damp, yes, but still capable of offering some amount of warmth and a protection from the elements.

"I'll borrow this, if you don't object," he muttered to Arran, who gave a somewhat impatient huff.

After he had refastened the pony's saddle, he carefully lifted Sigrid onto Arran's back and quickly climbed up behind her. Gathering her against his chest, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, creating a cocoon of fabric around them both. Immediately, the chatter of his teeth eased as his tense muscles uncoiled and he fervently hoped that for Sigrid the effect was just as beneficial, it not more so.

"Come on my boy, one last time," he instructed Arran as he took up his reins. Merrill fell into step beside them, the unresponsiveness of her owner making her visibly nervous. As they commenced their journey back to Dale, which was barely more than a vague dark smudge in the uniform grey enveloping them, Fíli turned his head to once more glance the river below. From up here it looked deceptively calm, but Fíli was now intimately acquainted with its deathly current and shuddered, this time not from the cold but the thought of what would have happened if he had gotten there just a few minutes later. Sigrid's lifeless body, carried further and further away from him, while each second without air slimmed her chances at survival...

He shook himself. There was no use dwelling on such nightmarish visions now, when she was in his arms—safe, if not yet quite sound. He tightened his hold onto her, dividing his attention between watching her carefully for any signs of discomfort and navigating the road ahead. Arran would get them safely to their goal, of that he had no doubt.

Still, when the gates of Dale finally rose up into the sky before them, Fíli exhaled sharply. Never had he been quite so glad to see the bell towers, the small buildings and the cobbled streets—not even during those visits that held the promise of a few precious hours in his love's company. Now, they rode into the city without delay, the guards on duty scrambling to let them pass once they recognized the young King of Erebor. Due to the abysmal weather, the narrow streets were more or less deserted, which made it possible to navigate them on horseback and to have Arran carry them right up to Sigrid's doorstep. Fíli wasn't sure if he could have carried her otherwise, his arms and legs still disconcertingly weak after his struggle to drag her out of the river.

As they rode, Fíli pulled Sigrid more closely against his chest and bent his head to whisper a string of sweet nonsense into her ear.

"You're home now. Do you hear me, my love? You're home. You get some rest and then you'll be up and about again in no time, looking after those who cannot or won't look after themselves. You'll see. You'll be just fine."

He tried his best to convince himself of that fact, to trust that now that they had reached their destination, the worst part was over. He should have known, of course, that what was commonly referred to as the worst part was the waiting and that of that he still had quite a bit to do.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"If you stare any more holes into me back, there soon won't be enough of me left to finish examining yer lass."

Fíli's mind was so blank with exhaustion that it took him a full minute to figure out that Óin was talking to him and it was only when the older Dwarf turned his head to glare at him over his shoulder that he managed to react.

"Sorry," he muttered and tore his eyes away from the narrow bed on which he had placed his fiancée's unconscious form the night before. He rose and crossed over to the window, leaning against it to stare out at the sky with unseeing eyes—not that there was much to see there to begin with, the world still enveloped in the same persistent grey veil as it had been for weeks.

It might have been seconds that he stood there like that or minutes. Either way, when he turned to face the room once more, he was startled to find Óin packing up his instruments. Behind him, Sigrid looked small under the furs and blankets which had been piled onto her bed, her skin almost as white as the pillow her head rested on.

"Considering the ordeal she's been through, she's doing rather well," Óin informed him.

"Then why isn't she waking up?" Fíli's voice sounded hoarse from lack of sleep and he suddenly realized how thirsty he was.

Óin hesitated. "I can only make some guesses as to why that is."

"Please do." Fíli ran a tired hand across his face. He needed something, anything, to go by. Some sort of prognosis, an estimation of what was still to come. Of what he might have to prepare himself to face.

"I find that sometimes, when a person has a rather close encounter with death, they... withdraw for a bit, after," Óin continued. "Maybe it's the body that demands this or the mind, who can say that for sure. For some it just takes a little longer to come back to themselves than for others."

Fíli exhaled slowly, mulling this over for a few moments. "So there is nothing wrong with her? Aside from the obvious, I mean."

"Well, her temperature is still below normal, but as long as she does not develop any other symptoms, that's nothing to be too worried about at the moment. Her breathing isn't labored, so I don't believe we need to fear any consequences of all that water she swallowed."

"Then all we can do is wait?"

"I'm afraid so." Óin rose, preparing to leave. Fíli remained by the window, his eyes fixed on Sigrid and the rise and fall of her chest, almost imperceptible through all those blankets. When the old healer passed him by, he stopped, reaching up to put a hand on his young king's shoulder. "She's young and strong. Give her time and she'll fight this off. Mahal knows she's too stubborn to just give up like that."

Fíli's answering laugh sounded an awful lot like a sob and he hung his head, trying to get himself together. "I hope you are right. I really hope you are."

Óin's fingers tightened on his shoulder before he dropped his hand. "Get some rest, laddie. You are neither doing her nor yourself any favors if you wait until you faint with exhaustion."

Fíli nodded, even though he had no intention whatsoever to follow Óin's advice. It wouldn't be long now before Bard returned from his trip to the Woodland Realm, word of his daughter's accident probably having reached him by now. And until he did, Fíli intended to spend every second by Sigrid's side, unchecked in his worry and affection.

For while the Bowman had come a long way since he first learned of his daughter's attachment to the young King under the Mountain, he was still rather skeptical of their impending union. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that simply blocking the whole thing out for as long as he could was the safest way of dealing with his conflicting emotions regarding the matter. Hence, time together had become an elusive good for Fíli and Sigrid, forcing them to resort to the sort of secret encounters that had defined the early days of their relationship. Always too little, always too short.

Him, sitting beside her bed, holding her hand, would have been unthinkable under different, less dramatic circumstances. Thus, he had resolved that he would not allow himself to be dragged away by something as irrelevant as his own body's need for sleep or sustenance.

And so he resumed his vigilance at his love's side while Óin slipped out into the corridor, looking forward to a bowl of the stew Alva was preparing downstairs.

Sigrid's fingers were limp in his—and cold. Much too cold. Fíli enclosed them between his palms, hoping to offer some much needed warmth. Which was a difficult undertaking, seeing as he seemed to have lost the ability to get warm. He'd stayed in his own, wet clothes for much too long after his arrival at Bard's house, and even though he was now dressed in dry—albeit rather unflattering—brown trousers and a grey shirt with sleeves that he'd had to roll up several times to be able to use his hands without too much awkwardness, he still couldn't stop the occasional shiver from shaking his frame.

Sigrid moved in her sleep, her brow furrowed and her lips mumbling words which Fíli could not quite catch. She'd done that a few times since last night, and each time Fíli had ached with the need to alleviate her obvious discomfort, but had not known how. Now, as he watched her burrow her face a little deeper into the pillows, her lips and closed eyelids still several shades bluer than they ought to be, an idea struck his tired mind. There was one thing that might prove more effective than any warm blanket, any crackling fire. Body heat.

He knew that he shouldn't, that Bard would cut off his beard (or more essential parts of him) if he learned of it, but now that the idea had formed, he found himself helplessly gravitating towards the bed and the woman in it.

"Ah, sod it all," he mumbled, and climbed onto the mattress beside her, toeing off his boots in the process. His actions earned him an indignant glare from the small grey cat that had curled up at the foot of Sigrid's bed. He made a point of ignoring the animal. I did not complain when you pranced in here last night as if you owned the place, he mentally advised the feline. Now you don't get to tell me what I should and should not do.

Lifting the blankets, he scooted closer to Sigrid and stretched out on the narrow bed, his shoulders resting against the headboard. He carefully snuck an arm around Sigrid's waist and pulled her closer by exerting the gentlest of pressures. She curled into his side as readily as if she had just been waiting for his invitation, her head coming to rest on his chest, right above his heart.

Fíli could not stop the contented sigh that escaped his lips. Yes. This was where he was supposed to be.

Sigrid remained quiet and still in his arms, but he thought that she seemed more relaxed than she had all night.

"Take your time, love," he whispered into her hair before placing a kiss on the crown of her head. "I'll be here when you are ready to wake up."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Fíli blinked, the room around him slowly coming into focus. Something warm rested heavily on his chest, but not in an oppressive way, no. It was a comfortable weight, one that made him feel more like himself than he could remember feeling in a good long while.

He inhaled his beloved's scent, familiar and yet longed for during too many sleepless nights, and allowed himself another moment of utter tranquility with his head resting against the the pillows and his eyes closed.

If only more days could begin like this.

Or, well, maybe not exactly like this, for when he next opened his eyes, it was to find Bard sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed, staring at him and Sigrid over steepled fingers.

His flinch was born of instinct and even if he hadn't been caught entirely off-guard by the Bowman, he would not have been able to repress it, not entirely. Sigrid made a low sound of protest at his sudden movement. Prepared for a physical or at the very least verbal attack, Fíli was rather surprised when Bard merely held out his hands in a placating gesture.

"No, no, stay where you are, please. I'll be gone in a moment—I just needed to see with my own eyes that she is alright."

He kept his voice low and Fíli could detect no hint of aggression in his tone. Still, his muscles remained tense even after he sank back into the pillows. His attention was diverted from the Bowman when Sigrid pressed closer to him once more, her cheek coming to rest on his shoulder.

Her skin had regained some color and she felt much warmer than she had before. Maybe a little too warm, even, but Fíli figured that might be a good sign, her body finally rebelling against the stress it had been put under. As long as she doesn't develop a serious fever, the voice in his head that always turned into something of a mother hen wherever Sigrid's well-being was concerned chimed in.

The sound of Bard clearing his throat tore him out of his contemplation of Sigrid's condition.

"From what I was able to gather of yesterday's events, I owe you my daughter's life—again."

"Mine would be forfeit if she wasn't in it. But even if I'd had to actively make that choice—I'd do it again and again. A thousand times."

Fíli's fingers had tightened around Sigrid's shoulder during his speech, and he forced himself to relax his grip. She's here and she isn't going anywhere, he reminded himself.

He looked up to find Bard looking at his daughter as well, his mouth forming a straight line as if he were slowly coming to a realization that did not entirely please him. Then the bowman gave himself a small shake and sat back in his chair, his face partly obscured in shadow.

"It was wrong of me to doubt your loyalty to Sigrid. Childish, you might even say. I knew enough of your character to be certain of your steadfastness, but still I kept looking for a reason to keep you apart, to slow down the course of things."

Surprise at the bowman's admission of his own pettiness momentarily had Fíli at a loss for words. "A father has every right to be somewhat reluctant as the time approaches when he is to part ways with his daughter," he said diplomatically, even though he really didn't know much about fatherhood at all and even less about what it meant to have a daughter.

Bard sighed and crossed his legs, staring at the gray sky outside the window. "Aye, within reason. Still, I feel that I have wronged you and hope you will accept my apology."

"That's not—" Fíli began, but then thought better of it. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. "Very well," he said instead. "I accept your apology and hope that we'll proceed without feelings of animosity between us."

The King of Dale inclined his head. "Let us begin, maybe, with an invitation to my home, whenever you feel like visiting. No more sneaking around behind my back."

That last part was said with a twinkle in the Bowman's eyes, but still Fíli cringed. Clearly, he and Sigrid had not been as stealthy as they had believed themselves to be. He ducked his head to hide the flush of embarrassment that had crept into his cheeks. "That seems... adequate."

"The next step, of course, will be to set a date for the wedding," Bard continued. "But we will get to that once Sigrid is back on her feet."

Fíli thought he detected a faint expression of horror on the bowman's face as he said those words, but wasn't sure if it was caused by the thought of making such a decision without Sigrid's approval or by the impending event in general. Be that as it may, Fíli could not stop a grin from erupting on his own face. Finally.

Quickly, he schooled his features into submission and nodded solemnly. "I believe she will be very happy to do so. As am I."

Bard gave a slightly distracted sigh and mumbled something under his breath. Fíli waited as patiently as he could, not wanting to give the Bowman any reason whatsoever to regret this unexpected move of his.

After another minute of somewhat awkward silence, Bard appeared to come to some sort of resolution and put his hands on his knees to push himself out of his seat. "I'll ask Alva to bring up some dinner later. I don't expect you ate since last night."

Fíli shot a surprised glance in the direction of the window, but found that it was impossible to tell the time from the little amount of light that made it through the clouds. It had been late morning when Óin had left. Surely he hadn't slept all day...?

He meant to ask Bard about that, but when he turned his head, the Bowman had already slipped into the corridor and was pulling the door closed behind himself. Fíli listened to the sound of his steps on the floorboards, waiting until he could be sure that he was out of earshot before he spoke.

"You can open your eyes now."

He glanced down to find Sigrid smiling rather sheepishly at him. "Please don't think badly of me for pretending," she said, her voice still a little roughened by the strain her body had been put under. "I just knew that I would be expected to answer all sorts of questions when really all I want to do is this."

She raised herself up on her elbow and pressed her lips to his. She tasted of sleep and rain and life and Fíli found himself exhaling into their kiss as his relief once again threatened to overwhelm him. He gathered her closer to himself, one hand sneaking into her hair to cup the back of her head as he deepened the kiss.

Too soon, Sigrid had to break their kiss to gulp down some air, which resulted in a series of coughs. Fíli was out of the bed and across the room to fetch her a cup of water within seconds. Handing her the cup, he sat back down on the edge of the mattress and waited patiently while she took small sips.

"Lie back down," he said once she was finished, taking the cup from her and placing it on the nightstand. "You need to rest."

Sigrid managed a weak pout. "Won't you lie down with me? You're warmer than all the hot water bottles in the world."

He smirked and then sighed. "Alright. For a little while. Once your father finds out that you are awake, I expect his tolerance for me spending time in your bed will be drastically reduced."

She grimaced at that, but then smiled sweetly as he scooted closer on the narrow bed and resumed her position with her head against his chest with a contented sigh. For a few minutes, they lay in silence, the only sound the gentle patter of rain against the windowpane.

"I was terrified," Fíli said into the silence, unable to rein in his feelings any longer. "For a moment, on that riverbank, I really thought I had lost you. And I—and I—"

He buried his face in her hair, his breath hitching in his throat with the onslaught of memories. Sigrid pressed closer to him under the covers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Sorry for giving you such pain. I was—" She sighed. "I thought I could manage it all. I thought I could be strong. I cannot believe I was so very foolish."

Fíli reached down to gently grasp her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. "Given the company I keep, that probably doesn't say much, but you are one of the least foolish people I know. And you are strong. But you're not invincible. None of us are. I just—I just couldn't imagine being here without you."

She took another shaky breath, her hand coming up to clasp his. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was firm. "I know. I thought... For a moment, I thought that I wouldn't make it. And all I could think of was that I wouldn't get to live my life by your side and that thought scared me more than anything else."

He kissed her then, gently and without pressure, before leaning his forehead against hers. "I'm not letting you go that easily," he assured her. "Still, try not to fall into any more rivers in the future."

A tearful laugh burst out of her at that. "Don't worry. I am not planning to go anywhere near any type of water unless it is absolutely necessary."

She leaned up for another kiss and then settled down again, nestled comfortably against his side. Fíli thought she had fallen asleep when she abruptly jerked upright in his arms.

"Olina! I didn't even ask about her. How could I forget?"

Fíli chuckled. "Well, you almost drowned trying to catch her son's cat, so I believe you are allowed some amount of leeway." When Sigrid shot him a glare, he laughed a little harder still and added, "Olina is fine. Óin tells me she gave birth to a girl and a boy last night. Eyia and Siri. They're a little small, as can be expected with twins, but in perfect health."

"Siri..." Sigrid muttered.

Fíli nudged her. "After you, of course. The delivery wasn't easy and who knows what would have happened if you hadn't found them on the road and sent them ahead to Dale."

When Sigrid blushed and bit her lip, he scooted down on the bed and turned on his side, so that they were facing each other. "You are brave. And more than deserving of the praise others give you. Also, if you don't slow down, all the children in Dale will soon be named after you."

The color on her face deepened, but she managed a bashful smile. "Now that would be a bit awkward indeed."

Fíli smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. It's a good name. Although I'd prefer it if I didn't have dozens of fathers glaring after me if I call out to you in the streets."

"Mmhm. Speaking of fathers..."

With an embarrassed groan, Fíli turned his face into her pillow. "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

Now it was Sigrid's turn to laugh at him. "Most of it, I'm afraid." She cupped his cheek in her palm and turned his face back towards her. "I didn't hear anything worth being embarrassed about, though. On the contrary. I—" She broke off, biting her lip. "It's just so very good to know that soon I will get to be with you day in, day out. For the rest of our lives."

"For the rest of our lives," Fíli confirmed, returning her slightly tearful smile. He gathered her into his arms then to allow them the rest they both needed after the emotional upheaval of the last twenty-four hours. Let the world outside continue without them for a little while longer. He was right where he was supposed to be.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She had never spent much time contemplating her own death. Even now that she had gazed into its face and walked away from the encounter, she could not bring herself to look fearfully into the future. The road ahead of her would surely be—from time to time, at least—a rocky one. As long as she knew who she would walk it with, though, she had nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary.

As she woke from a long and restful sleep, she found the face of the sleeping dwarf beside her illuminated by a soft, golden light. She smiled, even as her fingers itches with the urge to trace each of his features, every silvery scar on his skin, or the tiny freckles close to his hairline (he refused to hear about those, but they were there, she knew it, for she'd counted them on one of the rare occasions that he'd slept beside her). Still, she kept her hands tucked firmly under her pillow. He'd never admit to it, but he needed his rest as much as she needed hers, his days long and his nights made shorter by the many burdens he carried.

Soon, she thought. Soon I'll be by your side to help you carry the weight. As your wife.

As if he had heard her thoughts, her beloved shifted in his sleep, his lips forming words she could not quite catch. This time she could not resist and reached out to put her fingers to his lips, hoping to feel what she could not hear. She paused, though, when her hand was illuminated by the same light as his face was, reflecting off the ring he had put there months ago.

Sitting up in bed, she turned to look out her window and could not quite believe what she saw. After so many weeks of rain, the sunlight streaming through the curtains was truly a sight to behold, bathing everything it touched in hues of gold and yellow. She smiled. This particular storm had passed, it seemed, and they had braved it as they would continue to do with all that might follow.

Together.