All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, except for anything you don't recognise.

Fheon was reluctant to go to Thorin's quarters, thinking that perhaps it would be unspoken of for her to visit him at such a late hour. But she did not have to ponder for long, for as she had just come to her conclusion (which was to call Thorin outside), there came three loud knocks on her door, the same three knocks that had sounded on her door two nights before. She hesitated for a moment, before walking over and turning the knob to reveal no one else but Thorin.

"Good evening," he greeted, and she nodded in acknowledgement. "May I come in?"

Ever the gentleman. She stepped aside and let him walk into her room, closing the door behind him. Like before, he stood at the far end while she made her way to the bed, where she sat.

"You look better," he said, to which she replied, "I have been, thanks to your… insight about your brother. I've contemplated it and decided that Elijah indeed died a hero's death."

Thorin nodded. "His tale as well as yours will be told for the long years to come." And then he raised an eyebrow. "If you would allow it, of course."

At this, Fheon did not answer, and he walked closer to her. The intensity in his eyes had not disappeared and, at the moment, they had not yet glazed over because of the sickness. "Have you considered my offer?"

"Yes," she slowly replied, "But… I'm afraid I am yet to come to a decision."

"I understand." A glint appeared in his eyes and he smiled slightly, saying, "I've brought something for you, to help with your decision."

She frowned disapprovingly. "You've come here to bribe me? Flattering, but I won't accept more than you promised me at the beginning of this Quest."

"Will you accept less, then?"

"No."

She narrowed her eyes when his smile only widened, and a chuckle reverberated in his throat. Slowly, his hand crept into the pocket of his trousers, and he pulled out a beautiful silver necklace. Ornaments the size of her thumb dangled from the thin chain, glittering like it had been made out of pure starlight. They tinkled together and created light chiming noises, but even that sounded attractive.

Fheon stared at the necklace, which looked so fragile between the King's thick fingers, and said in a quiet voice, "Where did you come upon this?"

"The Necklace of Lasgalen," said Thorin. "This has been in the possession of my grandfather for as long as I can remember."

"And you're giving it to me?" She tore her gaze away from the necklace and scanned his face for any signs of bribery or corruption. At the moment, it seemed his affections for her were true, and it was more than she could have hoped for. Balin's words rang true in her head: "Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved."

Somewhat hesitantly, she took the necklace from Thorin and laid it upon her palm, where it considerably contrasted her copper skin tone. She ran her fingers across one of the ornaments, feeling the cool touch of the gems. "You've put me in a very compromising position, Thorin," she muttered. "How very inconsiderate of you."

Thorin flashed his teeth in a grin, but then returned to his serious state. "I want you stay with us," he said, "Very much so. I have no doubts that you would like to as well, but your duties bind you. I understand that. In the end, it is your choice."

"Yes, it will be my choice," she agreed, and then carefully set the necklace down on the bed. "I need more time to think on it. However, I wanted to talk to you about something else, Thorin."

"Oh?"

She paused for a moment, thinking her words through, before saying, "It is about the war looming over our heads."

He deflated slightly, and the sparkle left his eyes. "Ah, that."

"Can you not give Bard what he wants? It cannot be more than a few sacks full of gold. They just need enough to rebuild their lives, care for their families, perhaps to journey somewhere else where they can live."

"You were there when I told Bilbo," he retorted sharply. "The treasures here do not belong to the people of Lake-town, just as the Iron Hills do not belong to me!"

"You gave them your word. As the new king, is that not reason enough?"

"I've said it before: I will not part with a single co—"

"Fine." Quickly changing tactics, Fheon rose to her feet and advanced on him, saying, "Say we go into war with the elves and the men of Lake-town. Say your army from the Iron Hills comes. We will be defeated, Thorin. I am sure of it. And I hold nothing against your people, who are strong-willed and have grips like iron. But think about even the slightest chance that we will lose. Would you have the dwarves held against their wills by elves, the very race you've come to despise?"

A scowl crossed his face. "We would die before surrendering to elves."

"Exactly. Don't you think enough blood has been shed already? The families in Lake-town who did not survive; Elijah; your brother Frerin—"

She cut herself off when he growled. "I did not tell you his story for you to throw it about lightly," he said. "Even if I did give Bard all the gold he wants, Thranduil will not walk away."

"Why not?"

"There is a treasure here in Erebor that he too desires—not the gold, but gems."

"Then give it to him, save your kin!"

"I cannot. I will not."

"You are letting your foolishness, greed, and petty grudges cloud your judgement. It is the dragon sickness. It's gotten to you, hasn't it? I'm not the only one who has noticed, Thorin. And I will not name names, but almost half of the Company agree with me. You are not who you once were. Your decisions, which were respectable before, have become idiotic and imprudent—"

A feral shout erupted from his throat and suddenly he had his hands on her shoulders, gripping them painfully. Fheon was too surprised to do anything before he turned them around and shoved her against the wall. Her spine hit the stone first, and then pain arced up her neck from her left shoulder. She yelped at the sudden discomfort and leaned against the wall for support, watching with eyebrows furrowed as Thorin turned away from her, holding his head in his hands.

His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed heavily, like earlier that day when Bilbo had spoken to him. She thought that perhaps he was fighting against the sickness; or this was what she dared hope. She could not help but to acknowledge the fact that she had gone too far. Her reasoning had become insults, and even the Thorin she had known before the dragon-sickness would have lashed out.

Cradling her left arm, she rekindled her patience—though the anger she felt at him for pushing her remained—and said in a calmer voice, "I do not come to you as an enemy, Thorin, but as a friend. I and my brother made a promise: to protect the Company from harm and to ensure the safety of the Quest. Now the Quest is fulfilled, but the Company is facing mortal danger. All of them may fight—for you—but not all of them will survive." She paused to let her words sink in, and then asked in barely a whisper, "Since when has my council counted for so little to you?"

"Never," he replied in a hushed voice. "It's never…" He seemed to be in an ongoing internal battle. Fheon was not sure whether she should convene or not, but when she was about to, he had turned around again and was looking at her in shock. "Fheon?"

She acknowledged him with a sharp nod.

He blinked once, then twice, and then was in front of her in seconds. "It was not my intention to hurt you. I swear by my life," he said quickly.

"It's the sickness, Thorin," she explained. "It's corrupting you."

"No, I… I am stronger than Thror, stronger than this…" He shook his head. "It is not the sickness."

"Will you not listen to anyone but yourself?" Sighing, she brushed past him and came to sit on the bed once more, placing a hand over her shoulder so as to warm the bruise. She could feel it throbbing beneath her fingers and grimaced slightly.

Thorin came to sit beside her and said, "Let me see."

There was an urgent tone in his voice, perhaps because he knew that her shoulder had collided with the wall. Still, Fheon was hesitant to remove her gambeson, for she wore nothing else underneath except for her chest wrapping, and that barely covered her stomach.

She regarded the King, taking in the concern in his eyes—there was no lust—and then grudgingly undid the laces of her gambeson. Once it was finished, she slipped off the left sleeve so that he could see the reddish-purple blotch by her collarbone. It had faded slightly, but not enough for it to be considered large improvement.

She remained unmoving as Thorin's eyes bore into her shoulder. He raised his hand and touched the bruise, and though his touch was as light as a feather, it offered her great discomfort. Noticing her grimace, he pulled his hand back immediately. She started tying the laces of her gambeson together again, not meeting his eyes.

When she was halfway done, her fingers faltered in their continuous movements when Thorin placed his hand on the crook of her neck. Warmth seemed to radiate from his fingers and seep into her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to hold his gaze. The sickness had all but gone, replaced by an intensity that was familiar to Fheon. She had seen it before during their first nightly encounter, when he stood by her door and would not leave.

If possible, the passion in his eyes now surmounted what he had shown before. She tried to remember to keep breathing, but the longing for his closeness had already returned, and it was impossible not to hold her breath.

He pulled her face closer until she was craning her neck, and then slowly, ever so slowly, began drawing himself closer as well. While his gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, she remained solely aware of the brilliant orbs of blue that were before her. At the second their lips were nearly touching, neither of them offered to halt the moment like last time, though Fheon was uncertain.

Taking advantage of her indecision, Thorin closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers.

The sensation that flashed across her body was unlike anything she had ever felt before; it was stronger than pain, easily overshadowing the hollowness she felt for Elijah's passing—which had been constant. It felt like she had been struck by lightning, with the electricity still coursing through her.

His beard tickled her upper and lower lip, but the feeling was easy to ignore. His gentle grip remained on her chin and kept her there, even when he pulled away an inch. She looked at him just as he looked at her, completely aware of her heart pounding against her ribcage like Dwalin's hammer. There was a questioning look in his eyes; as an answer, she jutted her chin out the slightest bit, and his mouth was back against hers in an instant.

A sigh escaped her lips, drawing out long and slow and no doubt bathing his face with her breath. He hummed in return.

Fheon had been kissed only once before, by Hiram, but she had been so young, and it was a playful sort of kiss. He had been teasing her. She did not know whether to rejoice or not that her first real kiss was with the dwarf king. But she was proud to know that the amount of affection she felt for Thorin was not caused by hormones or desperation. She had spent an entire year with him, almost died with him many times, and shared in his grievances and his happiness. The emotions coursing through her were indescribable.

When he pulled away again, her breaths came out in pants, both because of her heart beating rapidly and the longevity of the kiss. Thorin was in the same state. He pressed his forehead against hers and their noses brushed against the other's. She realized that he held her face between his hands, now, instead of just her chin.

Still breathing heavily, he muttered something in Khuzdul, something that contained so much truth and passion that she wanted so badly to know what it meant.

Then he said, "You cannot bring yourself to return to The Shire; when you realize this, I will make you my queen. But I am afraid you cannot dissuade me from my decision considering this war. If Thranduil wants a fight, he will get it." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "But I will not let you fall, athanu men."

"Wait… what?"

It took a considerably long while for her to escape from her daze. Once she did, Thorin had already gone out the door. He did not lock her in, though. He did not have the guts to do so. Fheon shot to her feet, running for the door. She swung it open and threw her head left and right, but Thorin was quick to disappear from sight.

She cursed under her breath and, after making sure the Necklace of Lasgalen was still on her bed, closed the door and searched for Bilbo, all the while finishing tying the laces on her gambeson.

As she rushed down the hall in a quick pace, she came to the conclusion that having a deep affection for probably one of the most stubborn dwarves on the planet made her as helpless as an ant beneath a boot. After his kiss, he had her wrapped around his finger, completely at his mercy. It made her feel ashamed— having been distracted so easily and for such a long time—yet completely adrenalized and giddy at the same time.

A scowl that was both a smile appeared on her face, and she nearly tripped over her own foot.

Because it was late in the evening and the rest of the dwarves were no doubt resting for the battle tomorrow, Fheon tried to recall which room Bilbo had said he was in. She had asked him before, but because of its unimportance considering everything else that was happening, she soon forgot. Thinking quickly, she started at the direction of the throne room, walked past all the other doors, and knocked on the last one on the left.

It was a lucky guess.

"Fheon?" Bilbo blinked in surprise, though he did not look as if he had been sleeping. "What—?"

"Thorin will not listen," she quickly explained, "Not even to me. We have to find another means of stopping Thranduil from marching his troops forward."

"I only know how we could ease the anger of Bard, but not Thranduil."

"Then that will have to do." She grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "Do you have it?"

When he showed confusion, she raised her eyebrows expectantly and tilted her head, pursing her lips. "Oh!" he said, and then patted his left chest. "Yes, yes, I have it."

"You leave for the Elven encampment immediately."

"Wha—tonight?"

"You have better chances of not being caught in the dark. Didn't you know that?" He huffed, and she smiled lightly. "Besides, we can't risk waiting any longer. Thranduil wants to take the Mountain as soon as he can, which means he will probably attack at dawn. If we give it to him, there's an off chance that we could stall for time, at least until the dwarves from the Iron Hills arrive."

They walked briskly down the hallways, stopping by the storage room to get an extensive length of rope before continuing to the front gate. As they reached the overhang and Fheon threw the rope down the side of the Mountain, Bilbo expressed his concerns: "Thorin will have my head for this."

"Our heads," she corrected, fastening one end of the rope around a sharp rock jutting out from beneath the staircase.

The hobbit scoffed. "How very reassuring of you to say that."

"I'll protect you from his wrath, don't worry. I'm just hoping I won't kill him in the process… There." She gave the rope a hard tug, making sure that it held, before handing the length of it to Bilbo. He took it and positioned himself by the edge of the overhang, hands trembling slightly.

He inhaled a shaky breath and then lowered himself to start scaling down the wall.

It was not a considerably high summit, if Fheon thought it about it, and he reached the boulders below in seconds. Although, halfway down, he slipped slightly and gave a frightened yelp. A tiny rock broke away from the wall and landed in the water, and the sound of it pierced through the still night air, making Fheon flinch.

She noticed Bilbo start rushing away as soon as he was on the ground, and catcalled at him in a hushed whisper, "Oi! Wait for me!"

"I didn't know you were coming," he replied, equally quiet.

Fheon did not reply, but wrapped her hands around the rope and started scaling the wall. She was slower than Bilbo, for her shoulder offered problems she had not thought to consider. She arrived at the bottom in about a minute. She hopped onto the giant stone head which covered most of the distance of the water-filled trough, and then slid down it to take her place beside Bilbo on solid land.

Wordlessly, they started on the long jog towards Dale.

The torchlights that had been lit inside the city became brighter and brighter, until finally the two of them were standing in front of the sea of rubble that made up the once respectable walls of Dale.

Quiet as mice, Fheon and Bilbo started jumping from one piece of stone to another. Fheon made sure only to jump onto the ones that were solely on the ground, not piled on top another rock, for she did not want to tip it with her extra weight. Bilbo was lighter than her, for he wore no chainmail and was smaller than her. However, she accepted the challenge eagerly.

Once they were inside the city, she and Bilbo literally scurried through enemy lines. Despite it being late, there were still many soldiers milling about the encampment. And originally, Fheon had done her best to sneak past them unseen, but with a wrinkle of his nose and a puff of his chest, Bilbo undermined her previous plan and simply strolled through the rows of tents without fear of being seen. Both elves and men saw him, but they paid him no mind as if he was nothing more than a stray dog.

It occurred to Fheon, then, that Bilbo had remained invisible within the duration of their visit in the Halls of Thranduil, except for their escape, when he revealed himself. No one knew who he was. Fheon, however, had her face in plain sight all throughout the day they were there. Although, the guards of the palace were different from the army Thranduil had summoned. Perhaps they had never seen her face before… lest Tauriel or Thranduil's son be among their ranks, of course, which would not opt well for either Bilbo or Fheon.

Yet, seeing as neither of those two elves was in sight, she decided to take a chance. Straightening her back, she forced a confident air about herself and made herself look taller—as if she was part of the army—and then followed after Bilbo in long strides. As she had expected, the men of Lake-town threw odd glances at her way, but the elves did not, for they perceived her to be one of the survivors.

Biting back a smirk, she ventured with Bilbo deeper and deeper into the camp. To the heart, where Thranduil was sure to be.

Before they reached it, though, the familiar voice of an old man reached their ears: "You, bowman! Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of dwarves?"

It was very close as well, so Bilbo walked by a gap between two rows of tents, and sure enough, there was Gandalf, looming above the considerably tall Bard. Fheon nodded for the hobbit to keep going, and together they advanced towards the two familiar figures.

"It will not come to that," said Bard. "This is a fight they cannot win."

By then, they were merely a few feet away, at which point, Bilbo very boldy brushed past a group of elf-soldiers and scurried towards the direction of Gandalf and Bard.

"That won't stop them!" he argued. "You think the dwarves will surrender? They won't. They will fight to the death to defend their own."

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf exclaimed, "Perfect timing for a burglar. How in Middle Earth did you get out of Erebor?"

"A story for another time," Fheon explained quickly, walking up from behind Bilbo. "We have to speak with Thranduil. It is urgent."

Her arrival was met with equal surprise and glee from Gandalf, while Bard only frowned. "Ah, Fheon," said Gandalf. "Very well, I will take you to him." He strode past them, and Fheon and Bilbo were quick to follow.

Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Bard not walking with them. She motioned to him with a jut of her chin. "You'll come as well," she said in a blank tone. "We have your prize."

The crease in his eyebrow remained. "Fheon—"

She did not wait for him to finish, already having turned around and trailed after Gandalf. Bard did not continue with what he was about to say, much to her grim thankfulness.

The trip to Thranduil's tent was short; as it turned out, she and Bilbo had already passed by it once before. It looked like any other of the Elven tents, none the more regal. Yet it was only now that Fheon noticed the two elves standing guard at the entrance, and she pursed her lips.

Gandalf stepped forward and conversed with the guards in Elvish. One of them entered the tent and came out a minute later, opening the entrance flap for them. Gandalf went inside first, followed by Bard and then, more uncertainly, Bilbo and Fheon.

Within the tent were a maple desk and a chair. The area was well lit with many bulbs offering light, the likes of which Fheon remembered from the Kingdom of Mirkwood. Thranduil stood at one end of the tent, his hands clasped behind him and an unhappy look on his face.

Grudgingly, Fheon bowed, but said nothing. The Elven King frowned and turned, walking to sit on the beautifully-carved chair as he said, "If I'm not mistaken, this is the Ranger that aided in the escape of the dwarves"—he switched his gaze to Bilbo—"and the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards."

"Yes," Fheon said without reproach. Bilbo echoed her words, though with much more awkwardness. He did not look to be afraid though, only nervous.

"Sorry about that," he added, eliciting a small smile from her. Thranduil set his jaw, and she might have seen the corner of Bard's lips turn up slightly.

Thranduil looked back to Fheon and said, "And I thought we were getting along quite nicely." Fheon bit the inside of her cheek to keep from voicing out a sharp retort. The king then tilted his head, seeming to notice something. "If I may ask, where is your brother?"

At this, her eyes became hard and her hands clenched into fists behind her. From the corner of her eye, she caught Bard straighten up on his stool, and Bilbo lower his head to stare at his feet. "Yes," said Gandalf, "I would like to know that as well. Did he remain at Erebor with the dwarves?"

"No," Fheon replied, barely being able to keep her voice steady. "He would be at the bottom of the ruins of Lake-town as we speak, my lord."

Her statement was met with a stunned silence, more from Gandalf than Thranduil, who only pursed his lips and said, "Ah," though even he seemed troubled upon hearing such news.

"How?" said Gandalf. "What happened?"

Fheon was surprised that Bard hadn't already told them. "He stayed behind while we continued on to Erebor, you see," she said. "When Smaug awoke, he laid siege to Lake-town and killed more than half of its citizens, including Elijah." She stared across the room and at nothing in particular, for the ache in her chest had returned, and she was determined not to let it distract her from her task.

So, she added in a quiet voice, "I would prefer not to speak of his passing, if it be allowed."

"Given," Thranduil replied, and then cocked an eyebrow. "But if I may, you are starting to speak like him as well."

Fheon said nothing.

Bilbo, sensing the ineptness of the silence, cut into the conversation. Stepping forward and digging into the pocket of his coat, he said, "We came to give you… this." He pulled out a circular object that Fheon knew to be the Arkenstone, which could have been no larger than her hand, though it was wrapped in cloth.

He undid the fabric, however, to reveal a glowing white orb. As the cloth fell away, it seemed to shine brighter, with tendrils of each and every color Fheon could think of looking as though they were moving within the stone. For a moment, she was stunned by the dazzling beauty of the stone, but shook herself out of her stupor as Thranduil rose from his seat.

"The Heart of the Mountain," he breathed aloud."The King's Jewel."

Bard came closer to the stone as well, looking down at it not awe, but satisfaction. "And worth a king's ransom," he added, and Fheon shared a look with Bilbo, just as the bargeman turned his gaze to the hobbit. "How is this yours to give?"

"I took it as my 14th share of the treasure," said Bilbo. Fheon managed a small smile of amusement.

"Why would you do this?" Bard asked. "You owe us no loyalty."

"I'm not doing it for you." Bilbo shook his head with pursed lips, and then seemed to ponder on his next words before saying, "I know dwarves can be obstinate, and pigheaded, and… difficult. We know better than most." He gestured to Fheon, who still said nothing. "They're suspicious and secretive with the worst manners you can possibly imagine. But they are also brave, and kind, and loyal to a fault. I've grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can… Now, Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war!"

In this, Fheon broke her silence and nodded once, a glint in her eye. "Aye," she agreed. "No more blood should be spilt."

Thranduil and Bard exchanged looks, and then the Elven King glanced at her—not at her face, but at her body. She thought that perhaps she should not have worn a hauberk, lest they think that she was looking for battles, which she was not.

"Your contribution might save a lot of lives, Bilbo… Fheon," said Bard.

"We will ponder on it," added Thranduil. "Tomorrow, you will either rush outside to a serene morning, or find the ground covered in blood." His lip twitched up in a disturbing smile. "Prepare yourselves for either situation, just in case."

Ya'll better be happy that I finally let them kiss... Because let me assure you, things will be going to hell quite soon. It's only a matter of time. ;)

Don't forget to leave a review! (Seriously.)