A/N: Here it is—the final calm before the storm with wings! This is where things come to a head with the intrigue of Erebor before the actual disaster. Please enjoy, and feel free to leave a review!

He heard them in the night. Dulcet whispers carrying into the cavernous spaces above and into his ears as he lay in the dark. They warmed him with their honeyed murmurings until he could not stay away.

That is how he came here tonight. Gleaming around him in the torchlight, Thror's handmade treasure, his ultimate love, reached out to him. Their whispers penetrated his every thought, until he could think of nothing else, and could see nothing except through their veil of gold.

He did not need sleep—his treasure kept him conscious. He did not need food—the treasure fed him, though his appetite could not be satiated. He did not need other dwarves—he had his true offspring, his life's essence, to keep him company.

The only dark cloud on the edge of the haze was his family—flesh and blood, of course. In fact, there was one now.

Thror could see him, lingering in the shadows. Likely thinking him mad. Mad! Mad for what? Securing his prosperity? Gathering and gathering until his family and his kingdom were finally outside of fear of poverty?

He scoffed at that. The only madness was not being grateful for this work that he had done for them!

But there was something in his eyes—his grandson's. Something tugged at the back of Thror's mind. It felt important. It didn't have a name, or else he had long forgotten it. But as he watched his grandson, his heir, back away into the dark, so the thought retreated, and his mind sank back into the glistening gold.

"Are you certain?"

"You didn't see him, Dis! He isn't our grandfather anymore!"

Gathered in Thorin's chambers, Dis could not believe what Thorin was saying. No, she could. She may have been young, but she was not blind. She knew that her grandfather's gold sickness was growing worse. But the trouble was with wanting to believe it.

"You can't say that!" she cried, "He's in there somewhere, I know it!"

From his seat on Thorin's bed, Frerin signed, "Perhaps he is. But how do we know for sure?"

"We talk to him, that's what we do!"

"Dis!"

Both Frerin and Dis looked up at Thorin. There was an unexplainable emotion sparking behind his icy blue eyes. He sagged against his desk, his head down, his voice barely audible.

"You can't…you can't talk to a madman, and expect him to understand. There is certain madness that you just can't…"

Thorin broke off, losing his fight with his thoughts.

Quietly, Frerin stood and moved towards his brother. He came up beside Thorin and asked him, his hands fluidly forming his sentences, "Are you all right, brother?"

Thorin looked at his brother. Patiently, he signed and spoke aloud, "I'd like to be alone, please."

"But, Thorin—" Dis exclaimed.

"Please, Dis."

Frustrated, Dis threw her hands in the air and left through the door. Frerin, a bit more reluctant to leave, patted Thorin on the back and followed his sister.

"Something has to be done, Frerin! If he won't talk to us, he needs to talk to someone!" Dis signed furiously.

Frerin replied, "He just wants to be left alone right now, Dis. It's no crime."

"Perhaps not. But be honest, Frerin. You saw something in his eyes, didn't you?"

Frerin hesitated, unsure how to answer. After a moment, he signed, "What do you propose we do?"

Dis gave a little huff, and answered, "Well, if he won't talk with us, I know someone he will talk to."

The monologue running in Thorin's head was nonstop. His thoughts could not stop speaking.

What if that is me? Is that what I am to be? What will happen to me? Will I be that dwarf I saw, will I—

A knock on his door.

Sighing, as he walked toward the door, he raised his voice to say, "I told you, Dis, I want to be left alone—"

He opened the door, and was surprised by a familiar face.

"Hello, dear."

Áre was the last person that he had expected to see that night, but he was not necessarily upset.

"Good," she continued, "You're not undressed. Come with me."

She grabbed his hand and began to pull him towards the door that led out of the royal quarters.

"Why? Where are we going?" Thorin asked.

She looked back at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "You'll see."

With that, he relented to follow, closing the door to his chamber behind him.

Down into the outer halls they went, turning once, then twice, then again. A sense of understanding dawned on Thorin as they neared their destination. He knew exactly where they were going.

Sure enough, they came to the alcove. Áre opened the small door and entered, Thorin following after her.

"It's one of the last nights of summer, you know," she explained matter-of-factly. "They'll be gone soon."

Thorin followed her onto the small balcony, and he was taken aback by the fresh air as the sky opened up in front of them. From here, he could see the River Running, glinting in the moonlight as it ran into Mirkwood. The forest spread out like a deep green rug at the feet of the mountain, rolling out to the city of Dale, the lights of candles and torches shining likes stars.

But above his head, the best stars glowed, gathering in the ceiling. Fireflies. Surely, the reason Áre brought him here.

"Have a seat, Thorin," she said, gesturing to the floor.

"Áre—"

"Please, Thorin. Humor me."

Thorin conceded, and seated himself on the ground.

Áre knelt next to him and tugged on one of his braids. "How long have these been in, Thorin?"

Thorin thought for a moment, then replied, "A while, I suppose."

A little sound from the back of her throat, and Thorin felt her take off the clasp of the braid she was holding.

"What are you doing?"

"These must be giving you a headache. By Mahal, how tightly did you do them?"

Thorin chuckled. It felt like goodness. All of it—the night breeze, the crickets singing in the night, the fireflies above their heads—but mostly, having her there to enjoy it with him. The first braid came undone, and Áre ran her fingers through the newly-unbound locks. Thorin's eyes closed as he reveled in her touch.

"Now," she said, moving to another plait, "Talk to me."

"Talk?"

"Well, your sister wouldn't have come and gotten me if everything was all right. What happened?"

And he found himself spilling everything. The sight of his grandfather, madly wandering through the treasure; the feeling of losing him completely, and the foreboding that filled him, was almost unbearable. So as the braids came undone, Thorin's thoughts all became unbound.

"What if I fall as he has, azyungal? What shall become of me, of you?"

He reached up to her hand as it kept working on a braid, and took it. "The last thing that I want is to hurt you, and that is sure to happen should I… I am afraid, my dear. How can I promise you that I will always be of sound judgement? That I will not forget you, as my grandfather has forgotten us?"

Áre kept his hand in hers as she moved in front of him. "Look at me, Thorin."

His eyes met hers, and she was struck by the hopelessness there.

"It sounds as though you are worrying about tomorrow, when tomorrow does not even know what it is yet. It is true that you have the potential for greed. But so do many. I know you, Thorin. I know your thoughts, and your intentions. You are not your grandfather, nor your father. You are…yourself. And should the dragon sickness raise its head, you will not react as your father or grandfather, but as yourself. And, if I know you right," she moved toward the braid she was untangling, "I know that you will stand, and you will defeat it."

"How can you be certain?"

"I've told you," Áre said, tipping his face towards hers once again, "It's because I know you."

Thorin, bewildered, looked up at this woman; this woman, who had such faith in him, this woman, whom he had given his heart—this woman, who would soon become his wife.

Áre smiled, and Thorin brought his mouth to hers. Thoughtfully, reverently, he kissed her, and she received it wholeheartedly, repeating his movements in perfect harmony.

When they parted, Áre looked above their heads and said, "Do you remember when you first showed me this place?"

Thorin nodded. Of course he remembered. "How could I not?"

Áre laughed. "Thatrû-khazâd, you called them."

"Dwarvish stars," Thorin recalled.

"You told me that since you were a dwarfling, you thought they were stars you could touch. I remember that night, when we lay here, and watched them dance."

She brushed the loosened hair from Thorin's face. "What I wouldn't give to take you back to that night."

In response, Thorin lay back on the ground, his hair splayed behind his head. "There," he said to her, "We're halfway to recreating it."

Thorin's smile grew as she down lay next to him and laced her fingers with his.

A/N: So there you have it—the night before Smaug. The calm before the storm. Please forgive me for updating late! I have set up a schedule so that I update every Sunday night. Tune in Sunday for the arrival of Smaug the Terrible! (Also, please please please if you have a comment leave it in the review section!)