Their energies were renewed by the hot mugs of tea and scraps of good food, and Fili and Kili were no longer fighting off sleep in the presence of Bard and his children. The Lord of Dale bid them a civil good-night and retreated up the stairs; Bain followed soon after him. Sigrid turned to the three of them –"You're all comfortable?" she asked most hospitably, in such a warm voice that made Fili's face burn against his mug as he nodded with his companions. She smiled a little, satisfied with her service, and stepped back to the stairs. "Tilda, off to bed."
And the youngest trailed up behind her without a word –but returned to the great hall within minutes, a large thin book and stout charcoal pencils in her hands. "I thought I'd keep you company; I wasn't tired, anyway." She said it like a naughty child up past her bedtime, and the youthfulness of her spirit warmed them to her like mittens on their shivering hearts.
They talked a while, but Fili's mind was otherwise engaged in such a way that his input dwindled until the conversation was carried between the other three. He thought still (with something akin to guilty reverence) of Sigrid: of her pleasant nature, smooth voice, modest grace moving up and down the stairs. He'd never been so enraptured by any being of this earth before and it terrified and excited him relentlessly.
Through his thoughts –entirely coincidence or fate's way of taunting him— he made out that the conversation had moved to the topic of the anticipated union of the lovebirds present. Tilda giggled gleefully at the thought of a wedding and asked if she might be invited, to which she'd received a quick and mutual assent, to which the elder prince smiled absently.
"And when I get married," the young maiden promised, "I will get word to the two of you quick as a date can be set."
Fili's thoughts briefly turned to the statement, thinking it over. Tilda was young yet –from what he could guess, no more than fourteen years— but her bright eyes, bubbly personality, eager service and noble blood to boot would likely draw at least a few prospective suitors (all of whom would be flatly dismissed by Bard for their age so contrasting the child's youth). Still, he wondered if anyone had tried –"Do you know yet to whose wedding you'd be inviting us?"
She smiled. "My own, of course. But if you mean a potential husband, then no. There was this one boy who rather fancied me, but only one –I turned him away, gently as I could, but he did not impress me as a lover so much as a friend." It was so odd to hear the word come from the mouth of such a sweet young girl. "He died in the fire."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know to whom –Tilda, the boy, his family (all of them, he supposed)— or what exactly he was apologizing for. Maybe because when Smaug attacked, they'd tried to get away. He hadn't tried to help anyone, none of them had. He worried the poor boy had been snuffed out of the world within view of their escaping boat, but turned his mind away from such thoughts.
It was, oddly, Kili who asked the question he'd been too afraid to ask himself –Kili did not have to feel the burning embarrassment of making the inquiry regarding a young woman he had not been wondering after since the odd reunion. "And what about Sigrid? Is she marrying soon?"
Tilda answered in a hushed, smiling voice. "There are many men who throw themselves at her feet, but none are worthy. Too many are crusty and hungry for the nobility marriage to Sig could award them, like she is some prize for any old hack to take. But our father will not have it, and should any con get past his guard, well –Sigrid is too bright for their charms. She would not give into any man who would use her like they all seek."
"If there was one…" Fili's voice was so soft it almost passed his lips unnoticed. "If there was one who would not use his charms –had he any— to wicked ends; if he had no need for a title given by a union with the suitable young woman –what would be the verdict made upon him?"
The question stunned the others into silence; Tilda fumbled for an answer. "If his motives were pure and loving, our father could have no objections, if it would make her happy. The decision would ultimately be her own –I guess, but I don't know."
In the morning the Crown Prince had two thoughts in mind. The first, he remembered his purpose in their coming to Dale: to renew a peace and hopefully build reciprocal relations with its people. The second, as his accursed mind had fled to that night in both alert and dreaming hours, were of the Lord's eldest daughter. He felt some sickness rise in his throat and washed it down with a few swigs of water from the well outside. It was then that he was summoned to meet with the head of the city.
It made the prince quiver to talk politics with Bard when he'd thought of little last night but his most grown child. The knowledge of the inappropriateness, even possible depravity, of his enraptured state was difficult to manage through, but as they spoke of peace, Bard did seem a good deal satisfied.
"There's been bad blood between the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor in recent decades; it likely reached its peak with King Thorin, but there has been no word of the King in quite some time, and I appreciate that I may speak openly of peace with his heir. I… sense no falseness in the way you speak of restoring good will, and it is a refreshing thing to hear." He offered him a cup of tea, which Fili used to swallow the troublesome lump in his throat, gulping until it ebbed somewhat. "I wish nothing ill upon Thorin, but when I am gone he will be approaching the same. I'd fear my son's struggles to deal with an elderly but potentially bitter old king –if you'll permit me; but we have not had much reason to instill any more trust in him." (It had been under Fili's rule that the treasure promised to Laketown had been delivered, and it had been declared they were as well as even.) "But what worried me more was that he may yet deal with an even more hostile King after him. It is a relief to know that he'd be left to delegate with a much more sensible and, dare I say, kind-hearted future king."
Some of the words he used were painful to bear –Fili's loyalty to Thorin was unrelenting, and if he were too naïve to acknowledge how his uncle had done wrong, he might abandon thoughts of negotiation here. Instead, he spoke with cordial calm. "Thorin had relinquished his kingship in the interest of happier times for our people." He hesitated to speak of Thorin with any weakness, but it spoke to his redemption of character more than his diminished confidence. "He is in the Shire with his ailing consort, and when he returns, it will be to arrange for my coronation. I am not yet king, but I'm the closest to the position there is now. And this is the first time I've admitted it to myself –I received the news just two days past, but had the heavy feeling of the decision in my gut long before it had been received. I will be King Under the Mountain, and would renew the good relations with the City of Dale as had been kept in generations past. A dragon had come between our peoples –the dragon is dead three years now, by your hand; let us here together kill the grudge that had come between them."
The idea, and the way Fili had expressed it, seemed almost to impress the Lord of Dale. Bard himself had had much the same mindset coming into his homely office today. "I'd see it done. But what do you ask of us?"
"Alliance," he answered plainly. "Should another threat plague our much shared land, let us take up arms together, each in defense of the other. I can promise the willful strength of my people, and shelter to those of yours who cannot fight. The women and children –your daughters, my lord— may seek refuge in our fortress of a city; they may hide in the deep recesses away from harm, safe from war."
Bard bit the inside of his cheek, watching a fly skitter across his desk, lost in consideration. The deal was more than fair, offering something that his city could not provide in the shelter the kind new king promised. "Can I trust your word more than I can trust Thorin's?"
"I owe something to you –I think you remember— worth more to me than can be repaid."
It was then that Bard felt assured in the trust he could place in him. "Alright." He offered a small smile that was returned twofold. "But I must assure the fortitude of your caverns in which more than half my people would be led. I cannot leave the city myself even a day –but I have someone who can."