"He shot you down, didn't he?"

Bard glared at the Dwarf, who looked back at him without any apology whatsoever. Beside her, Thranduil looked irritatingly smug. They made such an odd sight. She was less than half his height and was far rougher looking than the polished Elf King. They both had blonde hair, but his was far lighter and silkier than Ovila's wavy, dark blonde braids of hair that jangled lightly with every movement of her head. She hated him and, for some reason, he had taken to making snide comments that seemed to be thrown out for the sole purpose of irritating her. She couldn't seem to shake him off, no matter how hard she tried, and that resulted in both of them being present when Bard returned from his attempts to reason with the gold fevered Thorin.

"We have to wait for Bilbo," Ovila sighed with exasperation and rolled her eyes. "I told you that."

"And I said that it was foolishness to attempt to reason with the stubbornness of Dwarves," Thranduil pointed out mildly. That earned him a hateful glower from the female beside him. He ignored her. "We need to get them out of that mountain and claim what is rightfully ours."

"Bard holds a claim to some of what's in that mountain, but you do not," Ovila argued immediately, voice harsh and barking in comparison to his smooth tones.

They didn't even notice when Bard slipped away with a tired sigh to find his children, who were watching Kilin once more. Vaguely, he heard them follow him, still throwing biting remarks at one another. He was a little proud that Ovila had yet to brandish one of her axes threateningly, or toss one at his head. She'd done so to Alfred for much less, but that had been quite amusing in all honesty. Bard didn't think for a second that Thranduil would cower and scurry away like a rat beneath her furious threats and disgusted glares. She'd more than likely end up dead when his subjects stuck her full of arrows. Bard could only hope she knew that and would curb the worst of her temper.

The trio (Bard felt like a third wheel in complete honesty – the duo didn't even acknowledge him, unless it was to gain his opinion to gain the upper hand) entered the current residence of the town folk. Immediately, Tilda called her father and Ovila over. Ovila went without so much of a word of farewell to Thranduil and gathered her daughter into her arms. Kilin gurgled happily, cooing into her mother's hair, and a smile finally softened Ovila's usually hard face. She gave a soft laugh when the baby grabbed at her silver and pearl necklace, allowing the tiny hand to tug and pull on the rather stained metal.

"Ah, so that is the gremlin."

"Why you –!" Ovila cut herself off, slamming her teeth together audibly, and glared at Thranduil's icy mask. "Kilin is no gremlin," she forced out through gritted teeth and adjusted her daughter in her arms. "Pointy eared tree shagger," she muttered under her breath, forgetting the sharp hearing of Elves.

"Are you quite certain you are not part Hobbit, Ovila Warg Slayer?" Thranduil asked innocently. Ovila looked ready to stab him in the eye, preferably with something small, blunt, and possibly rusty. "I was under the impression that even the females of your kind had beards," he mused absently and tilted his head to the side to peer down at her curiously.

"Shut up," Ovila snapped, rubbing her naked jaw self-consciously. "I'm a Dwarf and nothing else."

"Can you two stop bickering?" Bard scowled irritably. "We have more important things to be considering than your deep seated hatred of one another."

"She is hardly important enough to garner my hatred," Thranduil dismissed. Ovila twitched and Bard had the feeling she hadn't hit the Elf king yet because she was holding Kilin. "I shall instruct my soldiers to perform a patrol," Thranduil decided. "The death of the dragon will have reached far by now and vultures will soon begin circling the mountain."

Ovila just looked at him pointedly with a raised eyebrow and he ignored her. He glided away and left Ovila to whisper words of hatred of the Elves into her daughter's hair. Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda all laughed quietly, until their father shot them a scolding look. Their laughter swiftly morphed into coughs and Ovila sent them an amused look. She adjusted Kilin in her arms and decided to sit outside in the sunshine. She just wanted to keep an eye on Erebor. She kept hoping to see Kili approaching Dale, but her hopes kept being dashed. It was foolishness, she knew, because Bilbo might not have deemed it safe to tell Kili of her presence. That would be best. She prayed to Mahal that that was why Kili hadn't come to find her, or sent word with their burglar.

Hurt hung heavy in Ovila's bones as she lowered herself onto the broken stone steps leading into the building. She watched the people of Laketown bustling about and trying to find weapons, as though preparing for war. It made her heart sink. Was there truly going to be war over a mountain that, by rights, belonged to Thorin? It didn't matter how sick he was. He was the only King Under the Mountain. He was the true heir to Durin the Deathless. The gold and jewels in the mountain belonged to him and he should be able to do with them what he wished, but he had promised Bard payment for his help. The people of Laketown needed that gold to rebuild a home for themselves. Thorin was just sick. He would get better and things would be fine. She needed to believe that.

"Who is in charge here?!"

She knew that voice. Her head snapped up and Gandalf the Grey was shoving his way through the courtyard, bellowing demands. "Gandalf?" she spluttered in disbelief, standing. "Why aren't you with the others?"

Gandalf blinked at her, as though his eyes were deceiving him, and his eyes bulged when he noticed Kilin in her arms. "Ovila? What are you doing here? It's far too dangerous, especially with that child," he scolded, striding over to her.

"No!" Alfred's voice abruptly protested. "No! We have enough trouble without vagabonds! Now, bugger off!" he commanded and stomped over, scowling all over his scruffy face.

"Alfred," Ovila snarled and drew a dagger. He swiftly turned and marched off, muttering something about finding Bard. She sheathed the dagger and glared up at Gandalf. "Thorin's been taken by the gold sickness – Bilbo told me to stay here until it's safe for us to get into the mountain," she explained with a sigh and looked down at Kilin, who was sucking on her own fingers happily. "They don't know about Kilin," Ovila murmured and stroked her fingers down her daughter's cheek.

"We will fix this," Gandalf promised and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Now, who's in charge here?"

"That'd be Bard," Ovila replied. "He killed Smaug."

"Did he indeed?" Gandalf asked, surprised, and raised his bushy eyebrows. "Take me to him."

"And Thranduil is here," Ovila added bitterly, spotting Bard striding over to them quickly. "To take what is his, or something," she sneered and rolled her eyes. "I try not to listen when he talks, to be honest."

Gandalf chuckled and Bard reached them. "I hear we have plans to make," Gandalf said to the dark haired man. Bard just stared at him suspiciously. "I am Gandalf the Grey and I hope I can help."

"Just listen to the old coot," Ovila sighed. "I'll put Kilin down for a nap and join you and I guess I'll find the pointy eared tree shagger too."

"Ovila!" Gandalf and Bard scolded.

With a roll of her eyes, Ovila marched away to find Sigrid to watch Kilin for a while. No doubt this meeting would take a while with opposing opinions and arguments, especially with Thranduil involved. She hated that stupid Elf. Just the thought of him made her scowl and Sigrid looked at her warily, but took Kilin with a smile and promised to put the baby down for a nap. Ovila pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and jogged off to find the others, before they decided to storm Erebor and kill everyone inside. That would probably be Thranduil's first suggestion after all.

The first thing Bilbo heard were bellows. He recognised one voice, but not the second. He edged closer to the tent made of heavy fabric and peeked inside, only to stop stare in utter shock at the sight of Ovila and the Elf king shouting at each other. She was gesticulating wildly and slipped into her native tongue. Just from her tone, it was clear that she was insulting him. Unfortunately, Thranduil seemed to understand every word and snarled back in the same, guttural language. Whatever he said only made her shriek louder and gesticulate in jerkier, more violent gestures. Bilbo noticed Bard inch her axe away from its place on the table in front of her. The Man shifted it just out of her easy reach and tried to calm her down with a gentle hand on her shoulder and a firm word, but she shrugged him off and jabbed a finger into Thranduil's chest. Thranduil's nostrils flared and he slapped her small, calloused hand away.

"Um, hello."

Everyone in the tent jerked around at Bilbo's meek voice and he felt so guilty at the hope that flared in Ovila's eyes, but that hope disappeared at the way he swiftly avoided her eyes. She lowered her head and looked away from the group. Even Thranduil let her take the moment to regain her composure. She shook herself and refocused. She shot Thranduil a glare on principal and then fixed Bilbo with a demanding look. He gulped and shuffled towards her, fingers clutching something inside his jacket. Her brows furrowed into a confused frown and her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line, but he hoped that was simply because of Thranduil's close proximity.

Her frown melted into pure shock when Bilbo withdrew the Arkenstone and held it out to her. "Here," he said quietly and tried to press it into her hands, but she withdrew as though she'd been burned. "I thought you could use it to get into Erebor."

"No, Bilbo," Ovila denied with a shake of her head. "If I take that, I'll take it straight back to Thorin and lose any advantage we might have."

"But, if you give it to Thorin, then he'll –"

"Name me a thief and throw me to the wolves," Ovila finished. "I've grown up on stories of the gold sickness, Bilbo, and he'll find a way to make me into the villain in this story for having the Arkenstone."

"But – but if you say it was stolen, then maybe he'll accept you for returning it," Bilbo protested desperately, eyes wide and earnest. "You can find a way into Erebor and back to Kili!"

"Bilbo, enough," Ovila snapped, voice almost cracking. "Don't you think that if I thought this would work I would take the opportunity immediately?" she demanded. Her eyes fixed on Bilbo's and gleamed with tears that stunned him to silence. "I want to be with Kili more than anything, but I can't, because Thorin's not in his right state of mind and there is nothing I can do unless I want to be thrown into a cell at the bottom of Erebor's dungeons," she snarled. "So, don't you think if I thought that taking that Arkenstone would get me to my family I would take it?! Now, you take that thing and you give it to Gandalf!"

Bilbo obeyed hastily and Ovila blinked back tears swiftly. "Sorry," he mumbled and eyed her warily. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Ovila growled. "I'm fine with the fact that Kili doesn't know that we have a child! I'm fine with the fact that my king thinks that I'm an enemy! I'm fine! I'm just bloody fine!"

"Okay," Bilbo squeaked and shuffled slightly behind Bard, who shifted Ovila's axe a little further out of her reach. "I believe you."

Ovila sent him a furious, tearful glower and swiped a hand over her eyes. Her gaze lingered on the Arkenstone that Gandalf slipped to Bard and, in a tight, angry voice, she began to ramble out a plan. She knew the Dwarves in that mountain. She knew how to get her own way. She knew what to do to get their attention. If Bard and Thranduil wanted things from inside that mountain, then they'd have to make a trade and there was nothing that Thorin wanted more than the Arkenstone and they had that. She could see it and it was beautiful and it took her breath away. It shone bright and white and gleamed with an unearthly light that made her breath catch in her throat. She was glad when Bard tucked it away out of sight. She didn't want to be dragged into its beauty and turn into someone struck by the gold sickness, just like Thorin.

Briefly, her eyes fell closed as she listened to the others make their plans. She sank into a chair and left them to it. She'd done all she was willing to do and just felt exhausted and like a traitor. She gave them the tools to manipulate her brethren. She just handed them over and gave them a basis for their plots. At that moment, she didn't even feel as though she deserved to step foot in Erebor. How could she do that to them? To Thorin? To Kili? To Fili? To Ori? They were friends – her family – and Thorin was her king. She should follow them to the ends of the earth and stand by them loyally. Was this really going to help Thorin? She looked up at Gandalf and wasn't bolstered by the uncertain wariness in his blue eyes.

The pony was impatient and irritable, much like its rider. It tossed its head and snorted agitatedly and stomped its hooves. On its back sat Ovila with a deep scowl on her face and her eyes narrowed on the mountain. She could see multiple, stunned faces staring down at her from the wall and then one furious face that belonged to Thorin Oakenshield. She was honestly surprised he hadn't shot her through with an arrow from the bow he clutched. She was sat between Thranduil and Bard, after all. She looked like the traitor she felt like. Her pony shifted and gave another snort, eyeing the two horses either side of it with deep seated dislike. She distracted herself by patting the pony's neck in an attempt to soothe him. It didn't work. The pony was just as agitated as she was.

"Ovila!"

That voice made her heart leap and her head snap upwards to meet wide, amazed brown eyes that brought a smile to her face. "Kili," she breathed. He was whole and safe and alive. He grinned down at her and she grinned back at him. Then, his grinning face disappeared and she could just about make out his head as he raced down the length of the wall and threw a rope over the edge. He clambered down and almost landed on his face, but managed to stumble up to his feet and he ran towards her. "What are you doing?" she asked with a laugh, even as she dismounted from the pony that attempted to bite her hair.

Lean arms wrapped around her, lifting her from her feet, and warm, chapped lips pressed against her own. She giggled against his mouth and sunk her hands into his hair, kissing him back firmly. Both of them were grinning, completely unconcerned with the army stood behind them and the Dwarves cheering on the wall, and laughter came bubbling out of her. Joy sang in her blood and she finally felt truly complete with his arms around her and his lips on hers and his scent in her nose. Stubble gently scratched her skin, more than she remembered, but she didn't particularly care. All she cared about was him and how he made her heart feel as though it were going to burst. She kissed him harder and giggled when he swung her in a circle, their foreheads pressing together.

"Mahal," Kili rasped. "I've missed you."

"Yeah," Ovila murmured and gently laid her lips on his once more. "I missed you too," she smiled and felt her feet touch the floor once more. "I need to tell you something."

"I've got so much to tell you too," Kili grinned and smoothed her hair out of her face, thumb rubbing over her cheekbone. "But, I want to know what you're doing here," he stated. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Kili, really, this is serious," Ovila argued, but his grin never faded and he kissed her again firmly. "Stop distracting me," she mumbled against his lips.

"Why didn't you come to Erebor? I could've shown you the gold, or did you just get here?" Kili asked between kisses. "I've missed you so much."

"Kili, I had a baby," Ovila whispered sharply. He tensed and drew his head back, staring down at her in utter disbelief. "We have a baby," she said in a low, urgent voice and threw a wary glance up at Thorin. That arrow was trained on her. He was aiming an arrow directly at her head. "It's a girl," she spoke hurriedly and Kili just stared at her, slack jawed. "I named her Kilin and she looks just like –" she was cut off by a fierce kiss that left her weak kneed and breathless.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "Where's our daughter?"

Relief flooded through her veins and her arms were thrown around his neck to wrench him into a tight hug. Tears filled her eyes and she closed her eyes, turning her face into his neck. His arms coiled around her waist and she felt him press his face into her hair. He wasn't mad at her. He wasn't disgusted. He still loved her and wanted her and wanted their baby. She was in his arms and he was whispering that he loved her and things were going to be okay. Finally, things were going to be okay. She'd spent so long being scared. Kilin alleviated that fear sometimes, but Kili finally chased away the last vestiges of her fear. Nothing else mattered. He was all that mattered. He and Kilin were the only ones in the whole world that mattered and would ever matter.

"What does she look like? I bet she looks like you and I want her to have your eyes, because I love your eyes and I can just see a baby with your eyes," Kili rambled out, eyes shining.

"No, she looks like you," Ovila chuckled. "She's got your hair and your eyes and your mouth and even your chin, but she's got my nose."

"Poor kid," Kili grinned. "Who would your nose?"

Ovila punched him in the arm and laughed when he dragged her back in for another kiss. "My nose is amazing," she protested and he kissed the tip of her nose.

"I love your nose," he promised. "I'm sure it looks adorable on our sprog."

"It does," Ovila assured. "She's perfect."

"Where is she?"

"Dale, with Bard's children, just for the time being," Ovila replied with another, uncertain glance thrown up at Thorin. The bowstring was pulled taut and Dwalin was hissing urgently to their king. "Kili, you should get back to Thorin," she suggested quietly.

Confusion flooded Kili's face, but he followed her gaze and his eyes widened at the arrow fixed on his betrothed. "Thorin!" he protested, eyes wide in horror, and his arms tightened around Ovila.

Hatred twisted Thorin's face.

The arrow flew.