Betta and Kili sat inside the hollow of the standing stone, shivering and blowing on their hands. The land around them felt ominous, but no more than always had. They had wood, but not enough to keep a fire going all through the day and night, and Kili insisted that they save enough to cook whatever mountain of meat Fili was bringing back to them.

Betta was doubtful, but there was no reason to argue and dampen his hopes. She reasoned, more rationally, that they would need the fire to keep them warm though the night more than they needed it during the day when the sun gave a little heat to the land.

And so, they sat, wrapped up in blankets and watching the little threads of smoke rise up from the covered embers. At first, Kili had been determined to keep a watch upon the ridge and look out for his brother, but the cold had driven him back to the stone. The rock seemed to have absorbed the heat of their night's fire and the chill was not so bad inside.

He marveled at the stone for a while, wondering what manner of rock it was, but although he had tapped and scratched at it with his flint, the make and manner of its cutting proved beyond his knowledge.

What with the warmth of the stone and the ground under them that was free from snow and dry, they were comfortable – but the white breath on his lips reminded Kili that their idea of comfort here in the wild had been greatly changed from what it once had been.

He looked at the woman across from him and reminded himself that for him, at least, it had changed. Betta had told them what her life was like for two years before this journey. She had never before experienced a fierce winter, but she had made the long and lonely journey through Enedwaith and other lands. She was used to the empty spaces, and to being hungry. Unlike the dwarves, she carried no recent memory of feasts and safe walls, of having her family near her to give her strength in bad times.

Not for the first time was Kili reminded to be grateful that he had his brother and his uncle still with him. He sighed and felt Fili's absence more keenly even than when his brother had gone out into the blizzard in search of their lost guide near Emyn Uial. Then, they had been near to habitable lands where there was hope of finding help should they need it. In this forsaken land, they had only themselves to rely on.

Betta sat quietly, her brow pinched in thought. Her gaze was on the glowing embers and now and again, Kili thought that he heard through the many layers of her winter clothing the low rumble of her empty stomach. Of course, it may only have been his own hunger growling. He had done all that he could to distract himself from it; he had checked his arrows, tightening the threads around the fletching of each and making sure that the tips were sharp and straight; he had combed his beard and brushed his coat, patched the holes in his pack. He wanted to go and fetch more wood but had promised Fili that he would not leave Betta or the stone. He had run out of things that needed doing and all that was left was to sit and wait for his brother.

Betta, too, had finished her chores, mending every tear in her cloak and hood and sharpening the blade of her small knife. She examined every inch of her bow, tightened the string and performed the same maintenance on her arrows as Kili had. Three hours since Fili had left them, and they were sitting, bored and silent, anxiously awaiting the coming of night.

"We might have a tale," Betta said, breaking the silence that had grown too loud in her ears. She did not like the dark thoughts that continued to push their way into her head. "Or a song, perhaps?" she suggested. "It has been long since this place heard song, I think."

Kili agreed, but as hard as he tried, he could think of no song to sing. His thoughts were on his brother. He shook his head. "I have not Fili's talent for singing," he admitted, "and even if I had, my tongue is too cold for it. But I would gladly listen to any tale you have to tell. You must have heard many on your long journey?"

Betta looked out of the hollow at the hill covered in bright, sun-lit snow. "I have heard many things," she said, "but today my thoughts are of hunger and cold. Only one story is in my head, and it is not a tale for the place that we are in. This danger that we are in…"

"I care nothing for danger," Kili said with forced cheer. "Is your story one of the wars of the south? Or, do you speak of Tharbad and the crossing there…?" He frowned. "No, I would not hear any ghost stories today, if that is what you mean."

She smiled. "No, not of ghosts. The tale I know is of hunger and cold, of winter dangers and a war seemingly without end…" she sighed and her brow was again knit with deep thought. The story she remembered now did not belong to her own people, and she had never given much thought to it. Kili was always eager to hear talk of battle, but war had taken much from Betta and to her there was only grief, not glory, in it.

She pulled at the loose braids of her hair, burying her hand in the mass of knots that Fili had tied for her. Most of the braids had been tied off with string, but at the end of one, her fingers found something round and hard. She pulled the braid forward and saw that there was a little, golden bead threaded through the end. It was not anything of hers, and she did not recognize it, but knew that dwarves often wore such beads and embellishments in their hair and beards.

Kili had been watching her, waiting for her to begin her tale, and he saw the bead. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, but smiled to himself and said nothing.

Betta stared at it, rolling the bauble between her bare fingers and her face was troubled. After a moment, she shook her head and pushed the braid back over her shoulder. She saw Kili watching her and began her story before he could speak or ask questions.

"It is a tale that I heard while I lived in Rohan," she began, "and I remember it now because we sit in here in hunger, besieged by wind and cold, waiting to die…"

"We are waiting for Fili," Kili interrupted her.

She shrugged. "Every living thing waits to die, whether it has meat or not. Do you wish to hear my tale?"

"Yes," he said. "Go on."

She began again. "I do not know the whole story, for the Rohirrm tell that only to themselves, and only in their own language, of which I know very little. I have heard them singing the verses in their halls on feast days, and it is very beautiful, but I had a friend who was stablemaid to one of the Marshals, and she translated a part of it for me.

"Long ago, but not so very long, perhaps two hundred years, the King of Rohan was called Helm Hammerhand, and the enemy of his people was the same is it is now, the Dunlendings and the wild men of the hills. These were the peoples that were displaced in ages past when Gondor gave to the Northmen the land between Anduin and Isen which had been only sparsely populated, wild and untamed.

"Helm ruled for many years and was a great King, powerful and strong, but one day there came before his throne an important lord of the Dunlendings who gave to the King a great insult. I do not know what it was, but it was grave indeed, for Helm killed the man with a single blow of his great fist. The family of the Dunlending was angry and after a handful of years, they came down with great force upon Rohan, and it was led by the son of the man that Helm had killed.

"Since the beginning, there has always been agreement between Rohan and Gondor that each would send aid when the other was in need, but at that time, Gondor was itself under siege and at war with the peoples of the south. They could not send aid. The Dunlendings were joined by the Hillmen and other renegade peoples who hated the greatness of Rohan. They overwhelmed the King's house and drove his people into the mountains. Outnumbered, the Rohirrm took refuge in a deep cleft of Ered Nimrais near the Gap where there was a great fortress.

"There Helm and his people took shelter and were besieged behind stone walls, and there they suffered, for in that year there came a great winter, the worst that the southern lands have ever seen. There was snow and bitter cold for months in places that were accustomed to having none all the year. Both besieged and besiegers endured great hardship, and many died, but though he was starved until his body was thin and gaunt, until his hunger made him fierce as a ravenous wolf in the wild, still Helm would go forth in secret to stalk the camps of his enemies, and he killed all that he found. He bore no weapon but his bare hands, believing that in this way no weapon would cut him, and so it proved true. He was never hurt nor harmed."

Kili sat staring at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed like a child. His brother had little interest in the stories of Men, but Kili's ears had always been open to any tale of glory in battle, and he found Men's wars no less exciting than those of the Dwarves. Betta smiled at his rapt attention, and she was glad to distract him from his hunger.

"What I have told you thus far, I learned from the Rohirrm," she said, "but you know that I also wandered for a time through Dunland. I had less conversation with that people, for they are more dangerous to strangers, but I heard some of their tales.

"The old men of Dunland still sit beside their fires in the cold of the night and whisper of the devil of Rohan who stalked their villages during the Long Winter. They say that he was like to a snow-troll, for he went about clad in white and wore a cloak sewn with the fur of white wolves. They say that he killed men with his bare hands, tearing them asunder and biting into their flesh with teeth that were like the sharp teeth of the bear. They say even that he ate the flesh of his enemies and so kept his strength while other men starved.

"These are stories told to frighten children, of course, and exaggerated by the passage of many years, but there is no doubt that Helm killed many men, and that he was fierce in his anger. In Rohan, they say that his great war-horn could be heard rolling like thunder through the valley each night before he went out to hunt, and at the sound, his enemies would tremble."

Betta sighed. "Yet what is story and what is fact? The true King, Helm Hammerhand, was a noble man, and the Rohirrm honor him with many songs. He defended his people to his last breath and could not be defeated by mere men. On a cold night near to the end of winter, his horn was heard blowing upon the hill, but he did not return. When morning came, his men found him standing beneath the great gates of the Hornburg, still as carved stone, grim as cold steel; he looked out upon the valley where his enemies were camped.

"He stood upon his feet and his knees were unbent, but he was dead. None of the Dunlendings or Hillmen dared to come near and deface the corpse; their fear of him was too great.

"Not long after, the Long Winter broke, and Gondor was able to send aid to their friends. The two armies combined succeeded in driving back the enemies of Rohan and driving them from the land. There has been watchful peace ever since, and the great fortress is now called Helm's Deep, in memory of their King. To this day, they say, his horn can be sometimes heard sounding in the Deep, and they say also that no man will ever take that fortress so long as even one man of Rohan holds the wall."

Her tale was told, and Betta bowed her head. There was silence for many minutes while Kili stared at her, absorbing all he had heard. He would have been better satisfied if there had been more details of the fight, who swung what sword, whose hand had killed which great captain of the enemy, but still he found the foreign lands fascinating and with each tale that Betta told them on the journey, his desire only increased to one day see these places for himself.

"I wish that I had seen such lands as you have seen, and you are so very young," he said.

She laughed and shook her head. "I am not young, and I would gladly trade all my years of wandering for one of your years staying at home. I am jealous of you, Kili," she said. "You have your family with you, and all that I have are empty tales that give me no comfort."

"I think that you shall take more than tales from the journey you are on today," he said.

"Gold may give comfort to a dwarf, but I am not…"

"I did not mean the gold."

She smiled at him. "Certainly I am glad to have the friendship of you and your brother, but you must know that we are soon to part. When our quest is over, you shall return to your home and I shall go… somewhere…"

But Kili shook his head. "I do not mean our friendship, either, though that is given and you shall have it all your life wherever you may go. No, it is something else, something that I have seen glittering in your hair and in your eyes. I had hoped against it, but what I see now makes me glad, and I wish my brother all the happiness in the world."

"I do not understand you. What do you see?"

"I have always known my brother's heart, but only now do I understand yours, and I see what it is that my Fili sees in you. He is brave and strong when it is needed, but he has never delighted in battle or in adventure for its own sake. He is here for our uncle, and he will go to Erebor for that reason also, but in his heart, he seeks the same treasure that you wish to find: a home and a family, a place to live in peace. You are both restless and searching for a place to rest. I see why Fili would be in love with you."

Kili smiled, but Betta looked at him in dismay. "He is not in love," she protested. "I know that he is not."

"Has he told you so?"

She opened her mouth to say that he had, but then she closed it again. He had not said so. She had not allowed him to speak last night. "He did not need to say it. I heard with my own ears when he told you that he does not love me and that he could not. Your uncle would not allow it. I am not one of your kind."

"No, you are not," Kili agreed, and he sighed. "And that is the worst part of it. You may have heard my brother's words, but you did not see his face as he said them. I know my brother's heart, and I tell you just as I told him: he does not love you yet. Not yet, but I believe that by this journey's end, he will love you, and I do not envy him the choice that he will have to make. He must choose between his love and his kin. That is a hard thing for any dwarf."

Betta turned her face away and stared out into the snow. The more that Kili talked, the more she felt trapped by winter and her own troubled heart. If it were not for the cold weather, she might have packed her things and left the dwarves. She might have saved herself and Fili all the pain that the future held. Did she love him?

"It does not matter," she muttered to herself. Kili heard her and he looked up. "It does not matter," she repeated to him. "Your brother may fall in love, or you may fall in love. It does not matter. If we survive this quest and all three return safe and well to Ered Luin, then I must part with you both forever… in friendship, I hope. If not in friendship, then still I must go, and Fili will be free to find some dwarf-woman to love in my place. He need not make any choice."

She nodded, but Kili shook his head. "You do not know our race if you think that will satisfy my brother. When once a dwarf falls in love, truly in love, then he will love no other in his lifetime. Once he has given his heart, it is given; we have no second heart to give to another. We are too fond of our rights and too greedy in our possessions."

"You are wrong," she said. "No man could be so romantic as to love only once, and you live so many years."

Kili shrugged. "Perhaps no Man could," he said. "I will not argue with you over that. If you cannot love my brother, then I hope that I am wrong in saying how he feels for you; but, if you do love him, and your mind is set on giving him up for another, then I ask only that you do not tell him that you love. Let him believe that you are indifferent. It will be kinder for him to think that you do not love him than that you have scorned him for his race."

Betta stared at him and could find no words to say. How was it that she had suddenly become the one accused of prejudice when Fili had spent the whole beginning of their journey hating her for being human? But Kili was looking hard at her, and he would not let her be silent.

"Well, do you love my brother?" he demanded.

She looked into the embers of the fire. "I do not know. This was not what I came here to find…"

She might have said more, but at that moment, Kili frowned and looked up suddenly. He had heard something outside their stone, a low voice on the wind. A thick cloud had passed over the sun, and the world was dark under its shadow. Betta saw him sit up straight and tense, and she looked around.

"What…?"

He motioned for her to be silent, and she bit her tongue.

They sat, listening intently, and Kili's face was a mask of concentration. The wind was loud, but he thought he heard something else, like the cracking of frozen trees in the night or the heavy thump of snow falling upon snow. It was a strange sound and seemed purposeful.

Motioning for Betta to remain where she was, Kili rose and crawled slowly to the mouth of the hollow. He crouched with his back pressed against the wall for some time, and then slowly he stretched out his neck and looked around the rim of the stone. Betta held her breath, waiting anxiously, but when Kili pulled his head back again, his expression was confused and he shook his head.

"There is nothing there," he said. The sun had come out again and the hills once more reflected bright white. He returned to his seat. "Nothing there but the wind and snow." He saw that she was still worried, and he forced himself to laugh. "Perhaps it was one of your snow-trolls," he said. "Do they come this far north?"

She shook her head. "They are only a legend of Ered Nimrais, like the White Men of the mountains. There is no such thing."

"A legend has to begin somewhere," Kili said. He meant it as a joke, but when their eyes met, they were both thinking of Fili, alone on the wide, open plain. All that they had been speaking of before was forgotten and their minds were filled with the fear that, even if they were alone upon this hill, might there not be some creature lurking down there among the trees?

If Fili had not exacted the promise from his brother, Kili would have been running down the hill then and there to find him. But Kili had promised, and so all that he could do was sit and wait and worry, hoping that his brother was safe.