A/N: This chapter isn't yet the meeting between Bilbo and Thorin many of you have been looking forward to, but that *should* be in the next chapter. Hopefully you're not too disappointed.

WARNING: This chapter contains (brief) mentions of a death of a minor character.


Day Six

Bofur

Bofur sat by Bilbo's bed, wiping his friend's face with a cool cloth as requested by Oin. They were trying to bring down Bilbo's high fever, had been doing so for the past four hours. Aware of the modesty of hobbits, Oin had allowed Bilbo to keep his small clothes on, but Bilbo's trousers and the thick winter coat as well as the shirts underneath had been taken off. The mithrill shirt had been treated with all the respect it deserved and it now laid, folded, on Bilbo's bedside table next to a bowl of water, as white and shining and perfect as ever.

Sighing to himself, Bofur dampened the cloth in the bowl of cold water. He then leant down to whisper in Bilbo's ear, just as he had done countless of times in the course of the past few hours.

"Bilbo," he called his friend's name. "Bilbo, you need to fight the fever. You need to come back to us. Come back to us, Bilbo, you hear me."


Bilbo

Gandalf was in the kitchen talking with mother and father. Bilbo could hear plates clattering, his parents were singing the washing song while doing the dishes and even Gandalf joined in the joyful chorus. Bilbo, hiding behind the plush sofa, wanted desperately to call out to them, but he couldn't because Smaug was sleeping right there in the living room, blocking Bilbo's way to the doorway, his scaled flanks expanding and contracting in the rhythm of his steady breathing, and Bilbo didn't dare make a sound in the fear of waking the dragon up again.

Smaug's breathing was hot and Bilbo felt like suffocating in his cramped hiding place. He was wet with sweat and yet it felt like his skin was in flames, so scorching it was. The living room window was open and Bilbo would have climbed out into the cool night, but just as he was about to leave his hiding place in order to do so, Dain peeked inside and Bilbo jerked back in terror, startled by the dwarf's sudden appearance.

"Bilbo!" Dain called his name. He was waving his black, horrible axe about in a nonchalant manner, giving it occasional twirls. "Bilbo, can you hear me? Bilbo?"

Bilbo hugged his knees to his chest and tried to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. The sofa hid him from Dain's gaze for now, but Bilbo feared what would happen if Dain decided to climb inside. Would he find Bilbo from behind the sofa? Would he wake Smaug? Would Smaug destroy Bag End like he had destroyed Lake-town?

Mother and father were still washing the dishes and singing joyfully with Gandalf, all three of them oblivious of the danger so close to them. Bilbo tried desperately to come up with a way to warn them but his mind draw blank time after time again, he couldn't think of one single plan of action, it was too hot and suffocating to properly focus.

"Come back to us, Bilbo," Dain's words echoed in the night. "Come back to us. You need to fight this and come back to us. It can't end like this, not like this..."

Bilbo certainly wasn't foolish enough to simply go back to the dwarves, thank you very much. No, he was going to stay exactly where he was until either Dain went away and Bilbo could climb out of the window, or until Gandalf came to his aid and saved the day with his considerable powers. Or until the heat became simply too much for Bilbo to bear. It really was quite hot, wasn't it.

Silently, Bilbo opened the buttons of his waistcoat, while his parents still sang in the kitchen and Dain continued calling his name.


Bofur

Holding his breath, Bofur waited for a few hopeful moments, but Bilbo gave no signs of having heard him. The hobbit's breathing was heavy and laborious and every now and then he whimpered in his sleep. Bofur sighed in sympathy and resumed wiping Bilbo's face with the cool cloth.

Oin had placed cool bandages on Bilbo's bare body and was currently rubbing white salve on the flushed skin. The scent of the salve reminded Bofur of the peppermint cakes Bombur always baked for the Yule feast which in turn reminded him of his family which in turn made him wonder in a quite wistful manner how his little nieces and nephews were doing back in Ered Luin.

Before they had left for the Quest, Bofur and Bifur had made a bag full of toys for the little ones. Udrin, in her usual enterprising manner, had promised to give every child one new toy every first day of every one of those months Bofur and Bifur weren't there to do it themselves. When the days had grown hard and gloomy on the Quest, Bofur had closed his eyes and imagined the children receiving their presents, their various new toys – colourful building blocks, dolls, spinning tops, musical boxes, jigsaws, wooden animals, miniature dwarves and elves, skipping ropes, furry oliphants... The joyful giggles and the delighted laughter of his brother-children had never once failed to make him feel better.

Now, though, Bofur didn't close his eyes nor did he try to imagine the laughter of his nieces and nephews. It would have felt wrong to try and be cheerful when Bilbo was in such a poor way; Bofur's first priority was currently to try and make Bilbo feel better, not himself.

Besides, ever since the day Thorin had threatened to throw Bilbo off the gate, everything had felt... dimmer, somehow, and Bofur's desire to laugh had fully disappeared at some point during the battle.

As usual, Bofur shivered when he thought of the battle. It had been such slaughter, such chaos, broken bodies, bloody iron and cries of pain everywhere, and no matter where he had looked, there had always been someone getting killed in a gruesome, merciless manner. There had been a twinkle-eyed lad there at some point, one who had introduced himself to Bofur as "Midil, the third son of Grun, at your service," after using his thorny club to mash a face of an orc that had been but moments from cutting Bofur's throat. In the midst of all that death and suffering, Midil had simply winked and grinned and said something witty and Bofur had tried to answer in kind, and when he had turned to look at Midil the next time, the lad no longer had had a head.

Bifur and Bombur both insisted that he was in shock, that the numb feeling in Bofur's very soul would eventually go away. Bofur didn't know if he believed them, he just knew that he hadn't felt the urge to sing or laugh in several days, something that had never really happened before.

Even if Bofur himself would never again be able to feel joy, it didn't mean that he wanted the same fate to fall to others. If he could help it, no-one else would have to feel as numb as he now did. If he could help it, Bilbo, at least, would get better. The Company owed the hobbit so much, and if it wasn't for the dwarves, Bilbo would still live contentedly in his comfortable smial surrounded by the green, green rolling hills.

In the distance, a bell rang signaling the beginning of the second hour after midnight. Balin and Dwalin had taken Thorin back to his own tent a few hours earlier after Thorin had fainted with a pained grunt, and soon after that Oin had sent Ori to sit with Fili and Kili just in case one of the lads woke up. Oin had naturally appointed one of his healers to Fili and Kili's tent as well, but it didn't hurt to have a familiar, friendly face around when one came to, did it.


Balin

As soon as the tent flaps fell closed behind Dain, Thorin doubled up and let out several pained grunts, accompanied by breathless gasps that might have been originally intended as curse words. Balin swallowed hard and hurried to steady his cousin, rubbing soothing circles on Thorin's heaving back. The situation had to be very shocking to Thorin, it was a wonder how the dwarf was still even conscious after all the agitation and distress that he had been exposed to in the recent hours.

Much to Balin's bewilderment, occasional frustration and secret amusement, Dwalin could be surprisingly squeamish about certain matters, especially for such a hardened warrior. One of the things that made Dwalin particularly squeamish was vomit and Dwalin's face had indeed turned green the moment Thorin had began to throw up. Dwalin was still gagging and holding his nostrils closed, and the moment he met Balin's gaze, he mumbled something about fetching a draught to ease Thorin's pain (and water to get Thorin cleaned up), before scrambling hurriedly up to his feet and staggering out of the tent. His retching outside the tent was clearly audible to anyone in close proximity.

"This has been quite a night, hasn't it," sighed Balin, patting Thorin in the back. "Take deep breaths, laddie, deep breaths..."

Balin's voice was admittedly a bit unsteady, but neither one of them made any mentions of that, too upset as both of them appeared to be. In the course of their long lives, they had seen each other angry in several occasions, but Balin had been quite taken aback by the intensity of the rage he had seen in Thorin's eyes when Thorin had confronted Dain. Such rage had truly been unsettling to witness and the hair in the back of Balin's neck was still standing up - not because he was scared of his cousin, no, no, certainly not, but because an enraged Thorin usually meant that there was danger nearby, that Thorin could smell elves or orcs, and that was naturally more than enough to put Balin on edge, to unsettle him, to make him cautious, even if Thorin's rage was this once caused by kin instead of foe.

In all truthfulness, Balin had several reasons to be distressed. He was under quite a lot of pressure with all the more or less necessary things that he should have been currently organizing and delegating, and no matter how justified the act of cutting Dain's braids off had been, Balin could already anticipate all the political repercussions it would have, a fact that weighed heavily on his mind. In the addition of all that, Balin's hands would shake every once in awhile, so worried he was for Thorin, for Fili and Kili, for Bilbo, as well as for Dwalin who seemed quite exhausted. They all looked so ill and pale, so unlike their usual selves. Mahal, surely they would survive these ordeals now that they all were in Oin's care? Surely? There had been enough death already, far too many prematurely lost souls.

"Now then, laddie," Balin cleared his throat and took charge of the situation, pulling himself forcefully together, "let us get you back on the bed."

"No!" Thorin's voice was thin and full of pain between the grunts and gasps, but his manner remained so determined and unrelenting that Balin had to sigh, even though he had expected no less of his stubborn kin. "Not onto the bed, Balin – help me to back to Bilbo's tent instead. I need to be there when he wakes up, I need to- I need to explain everything to him immediately – he thinks me mad still, he thinks that I'm after his blood, after his life, that I have send my warriors after him. I have to put his mind at ease! I have to go and explain everything to him."

Balin pressed his lips tightly together to keep himself from cursing Dain out loud. For purely political reasons, for the sake of Thorin's rule, he might have kept Dwalin and Thorin from causing the lord any grave bodily harm but that didn't mean that he was even close to forgiving the fool who had almost slaughtered someone Balin had come to consider a friend, someone the dwarves of Erebor owed a debt so great that it could never be paid in gold only. Now it also seemed that not only had Dain driven Bilbo close to death, but he had also caused Thorin such distress by doing so that it looked like Thorin's condition was rapidly deteriorating, if Thorin's ghastly pallor and the pained gasps and soft grunts that kept escaping his lips were anything to go by.

"You are in no condition to go anywhere but back to bed," said Balin sternly, "and, in any case, I don't think it would be good for Bilbo to see you in his current state. Your presence could be quite distressing to him, laddie, and becoming even more distressed could currently have horrible, potentially fatal consequences to him, surely you must understand that. You should wait until Bilbo is strong enough to face you before you go and visit him again."

The words – however true they rang – were cruel in their frankness, but as the truth in the words could well keep Thorin from straining himself any further, Balin didn't allow himself to feel guilty for the way Thorin's form slumped, for the way Thorin seemed to shrink in on himself. Indeed, simply the possibility that he might unintentionally cause Bilbo further harm was more than enough to silence Thorin. He immediately stopped insisting that Balin was to take him to Bilbo's tent and seemed instead rather compliant to Balin's advice, looking exhausted and beaten and just as pained as he had to feel.

Balin grimaced as he made to lift Thorin up from the ground. His back didn't appreciate the strain, but as he was almost as stubborn as Thorin and far more persistent than both Dwalin and Thorin put together, he ignored the protests of his body and helped Thorin up from the ground, taking most of his cousin's weight as he guided him back onto the bed.

Dwalin soon re-entered the tent with a bottle of draught for the pain and a bowl of water, having fetched them from Fili and Kili's tent. The sons of Fundin quickly proceeded to clean their cousin up, and even though Dwalin had to run out of the tent three times when the smell and sight of vomit became too much for him to bear, they managed to wash Thorin as well as it simply was possible in such inconvenient conditions.

Once they were finished and Thorin was clean and tucked comfortably in the bed, Dwalin and Balin exchanged a knowing, foreboding look. As one, they knelt slowly by the bed (avoiding the remaining pool of vomit quite carefully) and bowed their heads. Dwalin unsheathed his dagger, while Thorin turned his heavy gaze on them.

"My lord," spoke Balin, clearing his throat. "We have told you of our actions in the recent days – even though our motives welled from love and concern for you, we did lie to you and keep information from you intentionally. It has now come our time, as well, to face the consequences of our actions and we submit to whatever punishment you deem suitable."

"Which one of our braids do we ought to cut off?" asked Dwalin bluntly, clenching the dagger in his fist.

It took Thorin such a long time to answer that Balin eventually looked up to see whether the cousin had fallen asleep. It turned out that Thorin was still wide awake and was currently studying the two kneeling dwarves by his bed with an unreadable look on his face.

"You two never need to kneel before me," Thorin finally said in a hoarse voice. "And you need not lose any of your braids. I do understand why you did what you did – you are hereby pardoned and forgiven. I still trust you and our friendship remains strong."

Dwalin's shoulders slumped in visible relief and Balin released the breath he had been holding. His heart felt lighter than it had been just a few moments earlier, despite of his pressing duties and the gnawing worry he felt for all his injured friends.


Dain

Dain felt humiliated beyond belief. Not only had he been made march across the clearing to Thorin's tent half-naked wearing nothing but his boots and night clothes, but he had also just lost three of his precious braids, which in itself was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him.

The braid of a Trusted One. The braid of a Protector. The braid of a Deliberating One.

It was foolish and sentimental, but Dain couldn't help but run his hand through his hair again and again to try and feel the missing braids. By cutting those three particular braids off, Thorin had declared Dain An Unreliable One, A Negligent One and A Precipitous One and the fact that his hair had been cut off as a punishment by none else but the highly regarded Thorin Oakenshield himself would taint Dain's reputation, most likely beyond repair. It would take decades at the very least before dwarves would look at him with the respect he was due after word of this shame spread, it would take even longer than that before people would look first in his eyes and only then at the spot where his braids were supposed to be.

Moving his hand to his throat to put pressure on the shallow cut on his skin, Dain grumbled to himself, becoming angrier by the moment. What had his cousin been thinking! If anyone deserved to get their braid of a Deliberating One cut off, it was Thorin for the rash, inconsiderate way he had treated Dain this very night. Dain couldn't believe that his cousin had done something like this to him. It was understandable that Thorin's painful injuries were making the dwarf irritable, but there was no reason for him to take his irritation out on Dain. What had Dain ever done to him, after all!

Yes, yes, Dain had misunderstood Thorin's words and startled the halfling, but that was Thorin's fault even more so than it was Dain's: how had he been supposed to know that Thorin had pardoned the halfling during the battle? One moment Thorin had hated the hobbit with passion, the next he had asked Dain to dedicate time and effort in caring for the strange little thing – any way one put it, it still didn't sound believable, nor did it make any sense. And to lose one's braids because of an odd creature like Bilbo Baggins, it was just adding insult to injury. (Not that any of this was the hobbit's fault, of course, no, no. Dain didn't blame Bilbo Baggins in the slightest, he had always had a soft spot for simpletons, after all. There was something endearing – and entertaining – about them, and when it came down to it, they couldn't help the way they were, could they.)

In any case, if Thorin had wanted Dain to look after the hobbit, he should have said it in a clearer manner. Eru, if Thorin couldn't be clear enough with his orders, he was the one that didn't deserve to have the right to carry out punishments. When it came down to it, Dain thought bitterly, Thorin could be such a hypocrite.

And what did Thorin even know about carrying out punishments anyway, let alone about ruling? Nothing compared to Dain, that was for certain! While Thorin had been working in the villages of men for a few silly coins, Dain had ruled over the Iron Hills. When one really thought about it, it was easy to see which one of them was more of a ruler, birthright or not - under Dain's rule the Iron Hills had become more prosperous each year and for decades Dain had been quite a lot wealthier than Thorin. Which of course raised yet another concern: Now that Thorin had managed to reclaim Erebor and had become rich overnight, Dain feared that his cousin, so used to poverty and simple life, would not be able to handle money in a sensible manner. Thorin would need guidance when it came to financial matters – not that Dain would help him with that after the way he had lost his braids, his good reputation because of Thorin's whims.

Dain considered his punishment far too harsh. He had made one mistake – one, just one, for Eru's sake – and he had already apologized for that and shown remorse. The halfling hadn't even died, so there really was no reason for Thorin to be this exasperated. Dain had only agreed to endure his punishments, had only allowed Thorin to cut the braids off for the exact same reason he had answered Thorin's call in the first place and brought his army here: because he wanted to get a share of Erebor's considerable wealth and only by obeying Thorin would he get what he was after.

Still, walking towards his own tent through the snow, Dain couldn't help but think of all the ways Thorin had wronged him over the years. Bitterly, he recalled the time when Thorin had refused to send one of his two heirs to live in the Iron Hills, even though Dain had promised him two chests full of gold in exchange of the younger heir, a price so high that it had to have been more than what Thorin had owned at the time. Dain was unable to sire children, he couldn't produce an heir due to an unfortunate ailment, and it all just went to show how selfish Thorin could be that he wouldn't give one of his heirs to Dain. It wasn't like Thorin needed two heirs at once, after all, and if something had happened to the older heir, Dain would have naturally given the younger heir back to Thorin (in exchange of some compensation). Had the situation been reversed – had Dain had more than one heir while Thorin had none – he would have allowed Thorin to even take his pick, so generous he was!

Dain didn't consider himself petty, but it had been nice to retaliate by denying Thorin the one thing he had ever asked of Dain. (Though had Dain known that Thorin would go on the Quest even without an army from the Iron Hills, he would have given the request more consideration, as he did care about his cousin, even after everything and despite of all of Thorin's shortcomings. Still, it had been undeniably nice to have a bit of power over Thorin for once.)

Letting out a deep sigh, Dain entered his tent, waving the servants away. As if it hadn't been humiliating enough to lose his braids and the right to carry out executions, he now had to write Thorin a list of all the punishments he had given in Thorin's absence as if he was a dwarfling whose schoolwork needed to be reviewed. Grumbling to himself, Dain bandaged his throat and changed into a tunic and long trousers before he sat at his desk, placed two empty parchments on the desk in front of him and opened the bottle of ink.

Just as he was about to dip his quill in the ink, an idea hit Dain. The idea was actually rather good in all of its opportunism. No, it was more than good, it was excellent, really, and Dain had to congratulate himself for coming up with it: to get his share of the gold, he actually didn't need to endure any further punishments to appease Thorin, he didn't need to write any lists or wait for Bilbo Baggins to have his say on the matter. No, all Dain had to do was to get one member of Thorin's Company to join His Household and the gold of that dwarf's would then be his to control. Even better than that, if Dain managed to convince Thorin's younger nephew - the one that had already regained consciousness - to come to live in the Iron Hills with him, he would get both an heir and his share of the gold, both at once.

Under usual circumstances it probably would have been impossible to try and convince one of Thorin's nephews to leave Thorin considering how loyal the young princes were to their uncle, but the younger prince – Kifi? Fiki? Liki? – was still injured and most likely quite confused due to all the healing potions he had been made to drink after he had woken up the previous afternoon, and so it was possible indeed that he would agree to join Dain's Household if only Dain was cunning enough. All Dain would have to do was to get the younger prince to sign an agreement and the boy - of age as he was - would then become legally a part of Dain's household. There would be nothing anyone could do about a legal contract signed by two adults.

Dain smirked to himself and dipped the quill in the ink, not to write any a list but to draw a contract. If he had his way (as he usually did), he would have an heir as well as his share of Erebor's gold before dawn and then he could simply go back home and leave his advisers to deal with the aftermath. Back home, he would then care for his gold and heir in equal measures, and the fact that his heir would be one of Thorin Oakenshield's nephews would be a nice compensation for the braids he had lost by Thorin's hand.


Kili

There were small holes in the ceiling of the tent which made the blue canvas look almost like a starry sky, even though the holes didn't form any constellations Kili could have recognized. Gazing at the tiny, star-like holes with concentration, Kili thought of the real night sky, the one he couldn't see through the ceiling, and wondered what true starlight would now seem like to his eye. Would he consider it beautiful, or would he see it even colder than before now that the red-haired Maiden of Starlight had left this world, now that she no longer walked under the starry sky?

"You're thinking of that elf again, aren't you," noted Ori who was sitting in the chair between Fili and Kili's bed doing his best to braid his short hair with his one uninjured hand. "Would your uncle not disapprove if he knew where your thoughts have so often lain as of late?"

"Thorin doesn't need to know of these thoughts," said Kili evasively. "And don't call her 'that elf', Ori – her name was Tauriel. She shouldn't be remembered as an "elf" but as the brave and beautiful being that she was. I think she was quite dwarvish."

Ori blushed beat red and casted a hasty glance about to make sure that no-one had heard Kili's shocking words. In the addition of Fili, Kili and Ori himself, there was only one other person in the tent, a middle-aged healer who seemed to be quite focused on washing blood off the used bandages in the far end of the tent.

"You shouldn't say things like that, Kili," Ori said quietly, tilting his head towards the healer in a rather pointed manner. "Someone might overhear."

"I don't care!" declared Kili a tad more fiercely than he had originally intended. "I really don't. And, in fact, I think that everyone should hear! Everyone should hear how brave Tauriel was, elf or not. She deserves to have her name in songs and written in the walls of the grandest of halls. I will ask my uncle to name the highest of watchtowers in her honour."

"You think that Thorin would agree to that?" Ori's voice was doubtful.

"I don't know," Kili admitted with a deep sigh, rubbing his face. "Perhaps, considering everything she did for us. She was... she was...

Words failed Kili for once in his life, and so he simply sighed and resumed looking at the holes in the ceiling.

In this moment, Kili longed for his brother, mother and uncle quite desperately, he wanted to have his family close, wanted to see that they were all still alive. He wished that Fili was awake. Fili always knew what to say, he always had solutions for everything, and even though Oin had assured Kili and Thorin that Fili was doing quite well especially under the circumstances, Kili would have prefered to have Oin's words confirmed by Fili himself. How much longer would Fili still remain unconscious? Why hadn't he yet come to?

What would Mother say if she knew that her family had survived the encounter with Smaug but had then been gravely injured by orcs and goblins? Kili bit his lip, missing his mother with all his heart. He knew that Mother had wanted to come with them, but seeing as she wasn't able to move around without the help of her wheelchair, she simply couldn't have done so. Kili had never been thankful of the mining accident that had claimed his father and disabled his mother, but during the battle he had been glad that his mother had been unable to follow Uncle in all that bloodshed, a fierce warrior though she may have been in her time. Now she was safe at the Fundins, much to Kili's peace of heart.

Who knows how long Kili might have stared at the ceiling in his more or less sad and dark thoughts hadn't Lord Dain of the Iron Hills unexpectedly entered the tent with an air of importance. Kili didn't know Lord Dain well at all, but they had been introduced some decades ago when Lord Dain had visited Ered Luin and the two of them had even exchanged a few words during the battle, so he immediately did recognize the bulky figure, though why the lord would want to visit him in the middle of the night that Kili couldn't guess. Whatever the reason, it couldn't be anything good, and suddenly Kili felt a lump of worry in his throat - surely nothing had happened to Thorin?

"Lord Dain," Kili hastened to greet Dain and tried to push himself up into a sitting position, anxious to hear whatever it was that Dain had deemed so important to tell him that it couldn't have waited till the morning.

While Ori stood up and gave Lord Dain a stiff bow, Kili had to give up trying to sit up, for he was still far too weak to do much else but to lie still and so he eventually settled for gazing at the lord of the Iron Hills from his horizontal position. Lord Dain didn't seem to mind Kili's position at all and instead gave him a deep bow.

Unlike during the battle when he had been wearing his practical armor, Lord Dain now looked quite pompous in his brightly coloured clothes, with some kind of an expensive-looking, gleaming black fabric wrapped around his head to work as a peculiar, interesting hat. Kili couldn't see Lord Dain's hair from the black fabric, but several silver beads glimmered in the midst of the dark grey beard by the candlelight.

"Your Highness," said Lord Dain, his gaze flickering from Kili and Ori to an unconscious Fili, even as he waved off the middle-aged healer who had come to greet him. With a respectful bow, the healer went back to the far end of the tent and resumed washing bandages. "I had hoped to speak with you about certain matters and it is a pleasant surprise to see that you are still awake."

"C-can't these 'matters' not w-wait until the m-morning, Your Lordship?" stuttered Ori nervously but in such a cold, sharp voice that Kili was momentarily quite taken aback.

It was startling in itself that Ori – their shy, obedient, easily embarrassed Ori – would dare to speak up in the presence of such a high-ranking, unfamiliar dwarf like Lord Dain, but that he would use a tone of voice like that when addressing anyone... it was simply unheard of. Curious, Kili wondered what Lord Dain had done to cause Ori's ire and made a firm decision to ask about it later.

"Prince Kili s-should not be s-strained in any way," continued Ori, glaring at Lord Dain. "He w-was just about to f-fall asleep when you startled him a-awake with your loud entry."

"My apologies," said Lord Dain, looking Ori assessingly up and down, before focusing his gaze on Kili. "I would be delighted if you could spare me a moment of your time, Prince Kili. It would only take a few moments and then you could resume resting."

"W-What kind of a matter could be of such i-importance, my lord," said Ori, stepping boldly between Kili and Lord Dain much to Kili's astonishment, "that it would r-require you to come visit an injured Prince Kili in the middle of the n-night when you could go s-speak with his uncle or Master Balin instead? I hope this isn't any k-kind of a 'misunderstanding' again?"

To Kili's further astonishment, Lord Dain actually flushed and looked quite uncomfortable, and Kili was instantly intrigued. Misunderstanding? "Again?" By Mahal, what had Dain done to make Ori this feisty? Kili casted Fili a quick look, it was truly a great pity that Fili was missing this exchange, that Fili was missing the way Ori – their Ori – was pretty much reprimanding the lord of the Iron Hills – Fili would never believe this when he came to!

"I have some parchments for His Highness to sign," said Dain to Ori in a rather dismissive manner and, indeed, Kili now noticed that he did have a few parchments with him, as well as a quill and a bottle of ink.

Relieved for the way it appeared that Lord Dain hadn't come to tell him ill news after all, Kili allowed himself to breathe more easily. If something had happened to Uncle, surely Lord Dain would have already said so.

"I would have presented them to you in the morning, my prince," continued Lord Dain in a slightly apologetic tone, "but now that you happen to be awake, I would prefer it if you were to sing them tonight, so that I can... move on to other things."

"Sure," sighed Kili, gesturing for Dain to come closer. "It's not like I have much else to occupy my time with and sleep seems to be evading me."

As Lord Dain stepped pass Ori, presenting Kili with a few parchments, Ori watched on with visible suspicion. Kili tried to calm his friend by giving him a wink, but this didn't seem to sooth Ori in the least.

"These matters are private," Lord Dain said to Ori over his shoulder when Ori made no movement to leave the two alone.

"It's fine," said Kili, rolling his eyes and waving Lord Dain's concerns off. "Ori is trusted by the line of Durin. You can speak freely in his presence. I vouch for him."

Despite of Kili's words, Lord Dain seemed to hesitate for a moment while Ori raised his chin in a mutinous manner, but then he gave a curt nod.

"Very well," he said. "As you wish, Prince- uh... my prince."

Satisfied with the answer, Kili began to read the topmost parchment, oblivious of the way Ori and Lord Dain were glaring at each other.

"You needn't strain your eyes so," said Lord Dain abruptly, opening the bottle of ink with a pop and dipping the quill in the blue substance, breaking Kili's concentration before he had managed to read put a few sentences. "Just sign the parchments and the matter shall be cleared."

"I've been taught that I should familiarize myself with the content of the text before signing anything," said Kili with a frown, even though Lord Dain was already putting the quill in his hand. "I don't yet even know what these parchments are about."

"Oh, they're just a simple contract between close kin," said Lord Dain with a kind smile, leaning down to guide the quill in Kili's hand to the empty line on the bottom of the contract. "It's just a formality, you understand. Nothing to be concerned about. By signing, you entitle yourself to use the royal chambers and the practise fields in the Iron Hills whenever you so wish. To give but an example."

"Oh," said Kili, brightening at the mention of the Iron Hill's practise fields - he had heard much praise about them and even Mister Dwalin had admitted to considering them rather good. "That's very generous of you, Lord Dain. I've heard that you have at least thirty separate areas for target practise in the Iron Hills. If that is true, then it would definitely be a privilege to get to inspect the fields in person some day."

Lord Dain's smile widened and he gestured towards the parchment.

"Just sign," he said, "and then the practise fields will be ready for your use at all times - the Iron Hills will feel like a home to you.

Later, when questioned by his uncle, Kili insisted that he really would have read the contract before even considering signing it and that the spot of ink on the empty line at the bottom of the parchment had dropped there by accident. As it now happened though, Kili never had the chance to decide for himself whether or not to sign the contract, for the parchments were unexpectedly snatched from his lap.

"Give those back, boy!" cried Lord Dain, glowering at Ori who was now standing on the other side of Kili's bed, opposite of Dain, having withdrawn there with the contract he had snatched from Kili.

"I'm a r-royal s-scribe, my l-lord!" Ori said, visibly nervous about his bold, blunt deed, although his eyes were already sweeping over the parchments. "I know quite a bit about c-contracts and legal agreements, and now that P-Prince Kili is tired and under the influence of several healing potions, it shouldn't hurt to have me to r-read this contract on his b-behalf to prevent any f-future 'misunderstandings', especially if the contract is just a 'formality' as you claimed, Lord Dain. The line of Durin t-trusts me and it is an honour to l-look after them and t-their interests!"


A/N: Hmm, that was quite desperate of Dain. I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing with all the various POVs and that no-one was too out of character. Talking of being out of character, a reader called Panic pointed out that Balin could have had more character in the 10th chapter and I happened to agree, so I rewrote some bits of chapter 10 - thanks for Panic for pointing that out!

And thank you for all the other reviewers as well! This fic is for you, you lovely little bottlenose dolphins.