A/N: Hey everyone! I'll spare you another enormous author's note and just say a massive thank you to all my readers for your wonderful response to Chapter Fifteen. This chapter was a bit of an uphill battle, but I want to thank Italian Hobbit for giving me some pointers and helping drag me from the mire of writer's block. Now it's time for a healthy dose of angst and some obligatory tea-drinking…

Fíli came to a stop when he reached the door to Thrór's bedchamber. His heartbeat thudding in his ears, he quickly peered up and down the corridor, but it was dark and silent. He thought he had heard his mother stir when he passed her room, but her door was yet to creak. Kíli hadn't woken as he pulled on his boots and crept out of the room as stealthily as one could on crutches. For once, sleep had eluded Fíli and he had been left watching the candle on his bedside table steadily collapse under the weight of the orange flame, the soft wax folding in on itself. Yet his thoughts couldn't be focused on the candle; he barely saw its flame as his mind was filled with images of Thranduil, and he heard the cold wind mingled with the few words the Elvenking had spoken that day.

Fíli stared at the heavy oak-wood door in front of him, and the door only seemed to stare back, aware of the challenge it was presenting. Preemptively gritting his teeth, Fíli slowly lowered his right foot onto the floor. Óin had told him the day after Dís' arrival that he should be able to start putting weight on his foot, but Fíli had remained reluctant and stubborn. He was now far more adept at walking on one leg than two, and his snail's pace when attempting to move both feet with the aid of his crutches made him cringe. Yet, to open a door, he needed a free hand… and so standing on two feet was preferable. Wincing as a sharp pain shot up his right leg, Fíli persevered and slipped a crutch into the crook of his arm, so that he could reach out and carefully twist the cold metal door-handle. The door to Thrór's bedchamber swung open with an eerie creak that bordered on a whine, and Fíli tensed. A hasty glance behind confirmed that the corridor was still empty, and so he lifted his right foot again and moved into the room.

His eyes darted to the large four-poster bed that dominated the room… but it was empty. In a split-second, breathless moment, Fíli had expected to see Thorin still lying there, but all that remained was a thick, grey fur blanket, folded at the bottom of the bed. The high-backed wooden chair was keeping up its vigil at the bedside, and Fíli remembered sitting there for the first time… grasping Thorin's cold hand and sobbing into the bed sheets. A lump rose in his throat like the ghost of a cry, and he tore his eyes from the bed, his gaze jumping to the single candle burning on top of the elaborately carved chest of drawers against the opposite wall. It was a noticeably large candle, stout like the trunk of a young tree, and it was obviously chosen to provide light in this dark place. Fíli suspected Kíli was the keeper of this candle, and every so often he would disappear, only briefly, into Thrór's chamber to check the candle was still burning.

The candle cast a yellow pool of light on the floor that spread across the stone like molten gold, just reaching the corner of the room where Thorin's belongings lay. The pack he had carried on their quest rested against the wall and its contents were neatly arranged in front of it. Fíli's eyes flitted from the folded undershirts, to the spare pair of leather boots, to Thràin's glinting silver key. His stomach twisted painfully and his heart began crashing against his ribs… And then his gaze came to rest on the reason for his coming. The oak shield.

It lay in front of Thorin's boots, its gnarled bark flickering black and gold in the candlelight, and there was a heavy presence in the room, as if the shield had been waiting for him all along. Fíli returned his right foot to the floor and slowly edged forward. His leg ached with every step, but he ignored it. The soft clatter of his crutches and the shuffle of his unsteady footsteps was drowned out by his heartbeat booming in his ears as he approached this holiest of relics. Stopping only a foot from the shield, Fíli stared down at it and had to close his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. Behind his closed lids, his mind carried him back to the battlefield… He could feel Azog's foul breath, hot against his neck, and he saw himself swinging around and smashing the oak shield against the Pale Orc's skull… "You remember this, don't you, Azog?"

Fíli opened his eyes and the world was blurred. Blinking away the hot tears, he fixed his gaze once again on the shield. It had been Azog the Defiler's downfall in the end; more than a century after it had first saved Thorin's life, it had saved it again, one final time. Estel had taught Fíli that. And it had been his uncle's dying wish that his nephew carry it after him, that it not be sealed in a dark tomb at the heart of the Mountain. "The shield… Don't let them bury me with it… It's yours now…" Fíli had heard Thorin's words echoing endlessly around his mind, both in his waking hours and in his dreams, and he had been running from them. But now he was done running.

With tears beginning to slide down his burning cheeks, Fíli bent his knees ever so slightly, and dropped his right crutch to the floor at his side. Any noise it made was lost on him as he focused solely on what he was about to do, and the reason he was here. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Fíli reached out his right hand and slowly lowered himself towards the floor. He moved his left crutch out to the side as he bent his knees, dropping into a half crouch. His back was burning and his right leg felt as if it had been plunged into the fires of the forge… but then his hand closed around the protruding branch of the oak shield.

The fire was no longer consuming him; he was revelling in the fire. He felt the strength of the flames stoked within him, and he rose up from the floor, his chest heaving. The jerkiness of the movement made him stagger back, but he steadied himself, keeping a firm grip on his left crutch, and his fingers tightening around the shield. It was somehow lighter than he remembered, and all he could do was look down to where it hovered in his hand, parallel to his thigh. And then he heard the door creak behind him.

His feet firmly planted to the floor, and his body rigid, Fíli twisted only his head to follow the sound… and found his mother staring at him. Dís was standing in the doorway, her long nightgown covering her feet, and she was wearing the strangest expression, as if for a moment she thought he were someone else. They stared at each other for a long time, and Fíli's chest rose and fell rapidly, his silvery breath hanging in the cold air between them.

Finally, Dís spoke: "After all these years, I still wake up when I know one of my boys is out of bed."

Her voice was quiet and gentle, but Fíli didn't miss the hint of wariness in it. When he didn't reply, she turned and carefully shut the door behind her with a soft clunk. He wanted to go to her, but he was rooted to the spot, unsure of what really held him there. Dís seemed to sense this, and so she came to him. She moved in front of Fíli, standing in the space between her son and her brother's belongings, and her dark blue eyes moved slowly over his face.

"Fíli?" she whispered.

Fíli felt himself beginning to shake and his whole body was numb… with the exception of his fingers wrapped around the oak shield; the bark was rough against his palm, like one of Thorin's calloused hands.

"I… I don't know… if I can do this… Mama," he gasped out, the tears streaming silently down his face, as the fire within him wavered.

Dís unexpectedly took her son's face in her hands, and his tears slipped down between her fingers. "Fíli, listen to me," she said, her blue eyes blazing. "This is who you were born to be… And you can do this… You are a king, and you have been a king for quite some time."

Fíli studied his mother through his tears. This was the first time she had referred to him as a king since her arrival, and the flint and iron of her eyes told him she meant it… she meant every single word. Months flashed in front of his eyes in seconds as the entire quest unfolded before him, and he heard Estel's voice in his head, harmonising with his mother's: "You become a king when you start acting like one, and you have been a king ever since you arrived in Rivendell." His heart pounding against his chest, his eyes dropped down to the oak shield clutched in his hand.

"Sweetheart, look at me," Dís said softly, drawing Fíli's gaze back to her. "It will not be a burden to you… It will give you strength, it will give you courage."

Fíli tightened his grip on the shield, the cry getting stuck in his throat. He thought of the fire that had filled him out on the battlefield when he had taken up the shield; how it had fuelled his rage and his determination to wipe Azog off the face of Middle Earth… The same fire had returned only moments ago when he lifted the shield for a second time.

"The day your uncle first seized that shield, he became a king," Dís continued, tears shining in her blue eyes. "And so it was with you."

Fíli nodded, his chest tightening as he realised his mother was right. The day he had first grasped the oak shield had been the day Thorin died. The day the crown, and the shield, had been passed to him.

"I won't let him down," Fíli said, his voice filled with determination, and then he thought of Kíli, and the company, and those of the Iron Hills; all in the Mountain who were his people. "I won't let any of you down."

Dís smiled up at him, gently pulling their foreheads together. "You will never be able to let me down," she said firmly. "And I have never been more proud of you than I am at this very moment."

With a choked breath, Fíli dropped his left crutch to the floor so that he could wrap his arm around Dís. His balance faltered, but she held him close to steady him. And so, standing on his own two feet, Fíli embraced his mother, his right hand still tightly grasping the oak shield.

Bilbo watched Dís and Gandalf talking from a relatively safe distance across the fire. Thorin's sister and the wizard were sitting outside one of the company's tents, speaking quietly, with seemingly long pauses between utterances. Bilbo tried to remain inconspicuous as he hunched next to Bombur, but he couldn't take his eyes off Dís. She had barely spoken to him since her arrival, and part of Bilbo was glad of it. He sensed his heart couldn't take any form of prolonged conversation… because Lady Dís was so remarkably like her brother.

It wasn't just the cautious blue eyes or the dark hair streaked with silver. Many of her mannerisms were also Thorin's, as was the way she held herself. One smile he had witnessed had been particularly painful. She was her own person, of course, but as Bilbo had only known her all of six days, he saw Thorin in every move she made. When he thought of his final exchange with Thorin before the battle, his heart ached, and he couldn't bear to look at Dís any longer.

His attentions turned to Lady Arwen, Bifur, and Bofur. It seemed the daughter of Elrond had inherited her father's affinity for languages and she was listening intently as Bifur and Bofur taught her the basics of Inglishmek, a kind of Dwarven sign language. Bifur would make a hand gesture, usually with a rumble of Ancient Dwarvish, and Bofur would translate it into Westron. Arwen then replicated Bifur's gesture and repeated the word.

The frostiness between the company and the Elvish visitors, caused by Thranduil's faux-pas, had melted away with the news of Fíli taking up Thorin's oak shield the day before yesterday. It was felt that Thranduil had in fact done them a service by giving Fíli a nudge in the right direction, and so it now seemed far less likely that Dwalin would take a swipe at Legolas with his axe when nobody was looking. The elves also appeared to have grown on Dís in the short time she had been in Erebor. Although at times she remained wary, she had joined various members of the company in scolding Elladan and Elrohir for their general domestic ineptness and laughed with everyone else when Legolas fell prey to another initiatory prank. She had also suggested the hunting trip to her sons that afternoon, and so Fíli and Kíli, along with the ever faithful Dwalin, had ridden off with Estel, Legolas, and the twins in search of game for the company's fire.

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo's eyes darted to the right and he found Bombur studying him.

"You were miles away, lad," the rotund dwarf commented, as he removed the copper kettle from the fire. "Tea's ready."

Bilbo had made the wonderful discovery of a tin of West Shire tealeaves that had slipped inside the lining of his pack, and so their first pot of tea in over two months had been put on to brew.

Bombur poured the steaming, sweet-smelling tea into one of the mismatched mugs and handed it to Bilbo. "For Lady Dís," he murmured, nodding over to where she sat, still deep in conversation with Gandalf.

Bilbo's heart jolted as he followed Bombur's gaze, and he swallowed to try and relieve the sickness in his stomach. His reaction went unnoticed by Bombur, who thrust the mug closer to him until he took it. Giving a meek nod, Bilbo held the mug between two hands and slowly approached Dís and Gandalf.

He gave a soft cough. "T-Tea for you, my lady," he stammered, as dark blue eyes turned to him.

"Thank you, Mister Baggins," Dís replied, with a grateful smile, accepting the mug of hot tea.

Bilbo nodded, and was turning to leave, when Gandalf said: "Why don't you join us, Bilbo?"

"Oh, I… er, I wouldn't want to interrupt," Bilbo said, as politely as he could, aware that his voice was shaking.

"Nonsense." Gandalf patted a wooden stool at his side. Bilbo reluctantly took a seat, feeling Dís' eyes on him as she blew on her tea to cool it. "I was just telling Lady Dís about our stay in Rivendell, and Fíli's expert role as negotiator."

Bilbo managed a smile. Fíli had shown wisdom well beyond his years when he persuaded Lord Elrond to let the company stay after Thorin, in a state of wounded delirium, had struck Lady Arwen in the sickroom.

"Fíli took good care of us all during our stay," Bilbo agreed, his eyes flitting to Dís, then back to his feet. "He made sure we never wanted for anything."

"And I hear you are also quite the negotiator."

Bilbo looked up to find Dís studying him with an unfathomable expression. Her words cut right through him, though he guessed they weren't intended to burn as much as they did. His thoughts returned to the Arkenstone. He knew this was the negotiating she was referring to. When Kíli passed on Thorin's final word of apology, told to him by Fíli, Bilbo had felt relief and it had pulled him from his self-imposed solitary confinement… but an ache still lingered. The pain spiked as he looked at Dís now and saw Thorin staring back at him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, my lady," he whispered, his eyes beginning to sting. "And I'm… I really am sorry."

Anyone else may have been confused by the change of subject, but the look in Dís' eyes told Bilbo she had made the leap. She knew he was apologising for betraying her brother.

"Mister Baggins, I'm sure you're aware of how stubborn my brother was and just how capable he was of holding a grudge," Dís said carefully. "'Sorry' was a word very seldom on his lips… But I gather that, before he died, he asked Fíli to pass on his apologies."

Bilbo stared at Dís, his mouth slightly agape, only vaguely aware that he was nodding.

"Then I ask that you stop your fretting," she continued, and her voice was unbelievably gentle, full of the maternal warmth he had heard her use with Kíli. "My brother forgave you – an incredibly rare occurrence, I might add – and I'm sure he would hate to see you still worrying about this misunderstanding."

Dís gave him a soft, sad smile, which was so reminiscent of Thorin that Bilbo felt the burden slowly lifted from his back. Thorin's death would always pain him, but now he felt he could continue, knowing that he had truly been granted forgiveness. In apologising to Dís, he sensed he had atoned in the best way possible.

"Thank you, my lady," Bilbo murmured, hastily reaching up to wipe his eyes.

He wondered if she had any more to say on the matter, but then Balin appeared from the tent to their left, and Dís was suddenly on her feet.

"Time for another council meeting, Balin?" she asked casually, setting down the untouched mug of tea on the bench behind her.

"Aye, my lady," Balin replied, his tone careful.

"Excellent," Dís said, and now there was a definite edge in her voice. "I think I'll join you. I have a few matters for 'Any Other Business'."

Balin stared at Dís and Bilbo saw the moment when realisation dawned in his brown eyes. "Kíli said he hadn't told you anything." It seemed news of the council's antics over the past few months had reached Dís.

"Kíli hasn't told me anything," Dís said evenly. "Thresi, on the other hand, had quite a lot to say."

"Thresi?" Bilbo whispered to Gandalf.

"Dàin's wife," Gandalf murmured in reply. "She arrived with the caravan of women from the Iron Hills."

Bilbo watched as Balin's eyes grew wider. "You sent the boys away on purpose?" he asked, with a sigh.

"Yes," Dís answered. "On principle I don't fight my boys' battles for them, but this has gone beyond that… And it would upset them to know their mother is about to make quite a scene."

Thresi, wife of Dàin and Lady of the Iron Hills, was an incredibly quiet and reserved dwarrowdam. She usually avoided meddling in other people's affairs, but it didn't mean she wasn't astutely aware of all that was going on around her. She was an observer. One of the sharpest and most perceptive dwarves Dís had ever met… and her husband was driving her to distraction. Thresi had arrived with the convoy of dwarrowdams and their children from the Iron Hills, and was the group's de facto leader, but she had made her presence known to few in the Mountain. She hadn't introduced herself to Fíli and Kíli, as she knew the tensions present between the heirs and her husband's council, but had followed their progress from a distance, which only made her despair of Dàin all the more. Dís hadn't seen Thresi since her wedding, but she still recognised her immediately when Thresi made herself known the day after the party's arrival from the Blue Mountains, and the whole sorry mess had been related.

Dís didn't begrudge Fíli and Kíli's silence on the situation with Dàin's council. She even suspected Kíli hadn't filled his brother in on some of the major details. But enough was enough. "My husband is a fool," Thresi had said. "But I am the only one allowed to make a fool out of him." For once she had involved herself in her husband's affairs, but her various reproaches, aimed at both Dàin and his councillors, had fallen on deaf ears. Dís concluded this was because Thresi hadn't spoken with enough gravitas. No, this matter would require the temper and presence only an heir of Durin could possess.

Half-way to the council chamber, Dís decided exactly how she wanted things to unfold and turned to Balin, walking dutifully at her side, but looking paler than ever before. "There is no need to look so mortified, Balin," she said quietly. "I shan't be staying long."

They arrived at the room selected as a make-shift council chamber, and Dís raised an eyebrow. It was fitting, she supposed. A cacophony of voices could be heard coming from the other side of the doors, but Dís already knew they were late. It was Balin's last show of defiance, and he had been late to the past four council meetings. Dís gave him a nod and an encouraging smile. She suspected he would have returned a withering look if he hadn't thought it out of turn.

Balin slowly opened the door and showed her in. Dís strode into the room and the silence was slow in coming. Dàin was sitting looking miserable at the head of the long wooden table, watching his councillors immersed in their bickering. One by one, the councillors noticed her presence, and then the hush came, and then they all jumped to their feet like startled rabbits and began a range of comedic bows.

"Enough," Dís said, and the one word was like a thunderclap. The councillors froze, the colour draining from their faces. "You have shown my sons no respect; I don't see why I should warrant any."

The councillors all crept back into their chairs. Dàin was staring at her with a look of pure terror.

"But my lady –" a grey-haired councillor began.

"I am not finished," Dís cut across him, her voice dangerously quiet. "No, I am far from finished with you all."

Thorin would have shouted until he was hoarse and probably split the wooden table in two. Dís had been known to drown out her brother's voice in an argument, but she chose a different tactic. She would remain calm and watch the councillors sweat.

"Don't think I can't see you reaching into your coats for pictures of your daughters and marriage contracts," Dís said, her glare moving from one councillor to another as their hands froze at their pockets. "And I tell you now: my sons will marry into your families over my dead body."

"My lady," the councillor sitting next to Dàin spoke up. "There are many great matches to be made here, and Fíli will need an heir."

Dís fixed the councillor with a black stare. Were Dàin's council really going to be this slow on the uptake? The expression on Dàin's face told her he knew he was surrounded by cretins.

"Do you know what this room was used for before you unceremoniously commandeered my grandfather's dining table?" Dís asked, changing tact.

The councillors all looked at each other with confusion, thrown by the question.

"You are currently sitting in Erebor's finest slaughterhouse, hence the grooves in the floor and the hooks still suspended from the ceiling."

Every councillor's eyes jumped from the stone floor to the vicious looking metal hooks hanging above them. A few councillors turned a garish shade of green.

"I suppose the smell in here has been masked by your own pungent odour," Dís said carefully. She took a step closer to the table. "I believe many of you weren't listening before, so listen now, and listen well. If any of you ever dare approach my sons with proposals of marriage, I will personally string you up on one of those hooks and bleed you like the carcasses of old… Have I made myself clear?"

There was a moment of horrified silence, followed by a lot of vigorous nodding.

"Do not think I have forgotten that the Iron Hills refused to join my brother in his quest," Dís continued, her voice cold, with more edge than an axe. "And now you have spent the past three months trying to reap the benefits of his efforts."

Most of the councillors seemed to know they were beaten, and like children all they could do was remain silent and accept their reprimanding… but then a young, red-haired councillor spoke up: "I think you'll find, my lady, the battle before the Front Gate was won by us. Had we not come to Thorin's aid, Erebor would have been lost."

Dís' lips twisted down into a grimace and the older councillors on either side of their brash crony shifted away from him, as if they expected her to breathe fire.

"I have been reliably informed that there are only two dwarves in this room who actually took part in that battle," Dís said, her voice dripping with venom as she stared down the young councillor. Her eyes then moved from Balin to Dàin. "Whereas the rest of you were holed up in your tents, waiting to see who would emerge as victor. And it appears you backed the wrong horse."

Her icy blue gaze fell on Dàin. She had many things to say to her cousin, and he had made several mistakes in the past year. But this didn't quell the pity she felt for him. Thresi had told her that Dàin gave his councillors too much power, but he had never personally acted with malicious intent towards Fíli and Kíli. He had even tried to reach out to Kíli and apologise for his council's behaviour. And now he sat before her, utterly dejected… and there was a definite look of contrition in his eyes when they met her own.

"A word of advice, Dàin," Dís said slowly. "Choose your councillors more carefully next time, and never fail to remind them that you are their Lord and they answer to you, not the other way around."

All eyes darted to Dàin for his reaction. He only lowered his head in assent and said nothing.

"Now I am finished," Dís whispered. "I will leave you to your meeting, but I trust that as you were all so competent in hastening my brother's funeral, you will be equally competent in hastening my son's coronation. Good day to you all."

And with that, Dís strode out of the room, leaving a table of gaping mouths in her wake. She had done it her way, not her brother's, but still she hoped he would be proud of her.

Fíli's fingers curled around the pommel of Estel's saddle as their horse sped up to a gallop on reaching flatter terrain. Estel rode with Fíli seated in front of him, the young dwarf's crutches strapped across his lap. The horses fanned out into a uniform line as they raced across the snowy plains that grew out of the desolated environs of Erebor. Elladan rode on their right with Kíli mounted comfortably behind him, and to their right was Legolas. Elrohir stayed to Fíli and Estel's left, sharing his horse with a less-than-comfortable Dwalin, who, despite his hatred of horses and fast riding, had insisted the heirs not leave without him.

The wind blew Fíli's hair from his face, sending a moustache braid slapping against each cheek, and it felt completely refreshing. He wasn't sure he had ever moved so fast in his life and it sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Gulping in the free air, his blue eyes searched the white horizon until he spotted their destination: a cluster of black trees lining the western perimeter of the bleached plain.

Elladan called to Estel in Sindarin, and Fíli heard Elrohir burst out laughing on his left.

"What did he say?" Fíli asked, glancing behind at Estel.

"He told me to watch out for low-hanging branches," Estel grinned, and Fíli grinned too.

Then it was Legolas' turn to goad Estel and the blonde elf's white horse, bearing only one rider, easily broke from the ranks, charging forward.

"Hold on," Estel whispered, the amusement in his voice telling Fíli a challenge had been accepted.

Fíli did as instructed and suddenly their mount lurched forward.

"If he falls off that horse, you won't live to tell the tale!" Dwalin growled at Estel, as they left Elrohir and Elladan behind.

Fíli stifled a chuckle; he knew Dwalin was uneasy enough being so far off the ground and surrounded by elves without Estel's boyish streak resurfacing. They drew level with Legolas and both turned to him with identically provocative expressions. The elf's bright blue eyes stayed focused on the clump of trees they were fast approaching. Estel began to murmur to his horse in melodic yet urgent Sindarin, and the horse heeded its rider's words, moving into the lead with a snort, and Fíli felt its muscles trembling beneath him. Try as he might, Legolas couldn't convince his horse to match their pace, and so Fíli and Estel reached the trees before him. Estel reached out to tap the first tree they passed as a sign of their victory.

They were soon joined by Legolas, and then Elladan and Elrohir, and there was a quick-fire exchange in Sindarin which was lost on Fíli. Legolas dismounted first, and then Elladan slipped from his horse, graciously helping Kíli drop to the forest floor. Elrohir had a little more trouble coaxing Dwalin down from his mount, but eventually the older dwarf's boots hit the ground with a thud. Estel dismounted and, stroking his horse's soft mane, whispered something inaudible. Suddenly the horse dropped down onto its front knees in a strange bow. Fíli's heart jolted at the movement and he almost fell from the horse, but he didn't tell Estel that warning him first might have been more sensible. He slowly swung his right leg over the saddle and eased his feet onto the floor. Stabbing his crutches firmly into the ground, he pulled himself upright.

The hunting party left their horses tied to the outer trees and moved carefully into the forest. One by one, Kíli, Legolas, and the twins pulled an arrow from their quivers and held their bows out warily, not yet looking to aim. There were few animals that dared venture out in the winter, but the last time Kíli had ridden out they had come upon a few pheasants and a couple of confused rabbits. Though Fíli knew this was less about food, and more about archery, and ever since his hand had healed, Kíli had been itching to use his bow again. Their mother had also been strangely insistent about the trip, suggesting that Fíli accompany them as the fresh air would do him good, and he wasn't about to complain.

Moving behind the archers, Fíli kept his right foot off the ground, knowing he could be far quicker and quieter if he walked on one leg. His mother could scold him all she wanted later, but he didn't want to scare away their quarry with his shuffling. Dwalin stayed close to his side, armed to the teeth, and Estel was also shadowing his movements. When they reached a clearing, everyone came to a stop. In the silence that descended over them, Estel slowly reached down and picked up a small stone. The archers aimed at the trees, their eyes narrowed, and their fingers flexing around the fletching of their arrows. And then Estel threw the stone into the bushes. A flock of birds rose up with deafeningly frantic squawks and all arrows were released, whistling through the air, and they cut through the birds like a knife through butter.

Once the surviving birds had scattered to safety, the archers rushed forward to the bushes to claim their prizes with laughs and playful shoves. Kíli was the first to recover his target. He held up the skewered, feathery mess and waggled it at Fíli with a grin. Fíli smiled back, but then something caught his eye in the trees behind his brother. He heard the distant snap of twigs and saw a four-legged shadow moving around the edge of the clearing. Seeing his brother's wide eyes, Kíli pulled another arrow from his quiver and swung around in one fluid movement. In a flash, Legolas and the twins had followed suit. They heard the soft rustle of fallen leaves… and then an enormous black stag appeared in their midst.

"Don't shoot," Fíli breathed, his eyes locked on the animal.

He wasn't sure what made him say it, but no arrows were loosened. The strange creature came to a stop some way off from Fíli. He had never seen a stag with such a dark coat before and the ebony hair was flecked with silver. It stared at Fíli with an unnervingly intelligent look in its eyes. Barely daring to breathe, he watched as it slowly lowered its antlered head, as if it were bowing. He wanted to approach the beast, he even sensed an urge to speak to it, but then, all of a sudden, Fíli blinked… and the stag was gone.

A/N: The little incident between Thorin and Arwen in the sickroom can be found at the end of Chapter Four of my fic, 'Family Tree'. The next update will in fact be the penultimate chapter, but please do let me know your thoughts on this one in the meantime!