Evie took a deep breath, clenching her fists as she collected her nerves outside the tavern's door. It was sunset- all of Minas Tirith was bathed in a beautiful orange glow. The white stone of the city of men reflected the brilliant rays, creating a soft, warm haze of color and light. The sumptuous orange sky was mingled with deep, potent red and gentle, golden yellow. She appreciated the spectacle, yet it would be false to claim there were not other thoughts pressed into the foreground of her mind. How Evie had found the courage to ask Thorin to see her, she could not guess. Now that the moment had come, she felt the pressure of it building inside her and clamping down on her heart like a vice. The hobbit was surprised at her own sentiment- when had it ever mattered to her what the dwarf prince thought of her or her family? She had been indignant with him after their first meeting. Yet things had changed since then… Now everything seemed inexplicably different. They had both matured, albeit dissimilarly, since last they spoke, and it seemed wrong not to follow the strange pull that led her to him. Despite everything that had been and regardless of what could be, she realized that her feelings for him were even more complicated than she had previously thought. Whatever it was, she refused to be afraid of it. A Took didn't turn away from his or her fears, and even though she was feeling more and more like she would rather fight an orc than step through the door laid out in front of her, she knew it was the right thing for her to do. Evie followed the direction of the wind and went wherever her life took her, and if this was where she was now, she supposed by Bandobras Took it must be for a reason.

Evangeline bit her lip, trying to work up the audacity to enter the Dull Blade. Knotting her hands together in front of her and gazing helplessly out at the sunset, as if the stretch of color and space could advise her any more than her heart could, she did not notice his approach. Many nights out in the wild had taught her to save face despite a shock, and she was later pleased to reflect that she neither jumped nor made a sound despite her jarring surprise at his greeting.

"Looking for someone?"

Evie closed her eyes for a second, prying every bit of compunction she could manage out of her and casting it to the horizon line.

"Thorin."

She turned towards him, managing what she hoped was a charming smile, although she doubted its appearance despite its intent. He had changed clothing- the dwarf now wore a blue tunic which was slightly more elaborate than the other he had worn earlier in the day. The signs of his labor were gone or else obscured- he had bathed, his hair was clean and while it would be wrong to call it combed or orderly (unlike the elves, who also maintained long hair, dwarves were not known for fine grooming habits), his long, dark mane was brushed out of his face and the sight of him now appeared in stark contrast to that of the toiling blacksmith she had met earlier.

Evie nodded her head, greeting the dwarf. He stepped past her and opened the door for her, gesturing into the warm, comfortable looking interior. The sunset had brought a chill over the land, and the day's heat wore off as the winds danced through the fortress. The modest fire of the tavern was nothing like the miserable furnace of the smith, and Evie was content to find a table near the wall sharing space with the fireplace, so she could watch the flames dance if she looked over the dwarf's shoulder. It cast a cheering glow over the scene, and she enjoyed the color and the warmth. Thorin didn't even glance at the fire as they entered, and he was satisfied sitting facing away from it, as if it were a scornful thing.

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Once drinks were brought and greetings exchanged, the couple found themselves at an impasse. They stared at each other, and although the silence was unexpected it was not entirely awkward. There was something between them, something unspoken yet understood. Neither could quite fathom that they were here, in a tavern, together, but somehow it was true. Whatever strange circumstances and sentiments had brought them to this moment in time, each started to concede its reality. Evangeline Took sat across from Thorin Oakenshield in silence, her thumb drifting absentmindedly across the handle of her mug and her eyes directed at the fire beside them. She felt his gaze on her, and there was something already familiar about how he refused to look away when she did. No amount of tension could distract Thorin's unyielding gaze- he was not a dwarf to fear looking another in the eyes, for whatever reason. And so he watched her from across the table as she self-admonishingly tried to figure out why she had thought they would be able to have a conversation.

"What brings you to Gondor?"

She returned his question from earlier, feeling sheepish as she did. The hobbit knew very well why the dwarf prince was in the city of men- he had taken to blacksmithing (a sour fate for a dwarf, especially one such as Thorin, son of Thrain) in order to sustain himself and his people, as many of the dwarves of Erebor were forced to do after being cast out of their homeland. She knew their situation very well, and had always entertained an open ear whenever she heard talk of the unhappy fortunes of the dwarves. Even though the Battle of Azanulbizar and her visit to Moria became more and more distant every day, her interest in the fate of the dwarves only grew.

"I take whatever work I can, as I must."

He replied simply, and she was surprised he did not brush the question off entirely. She hazarded a glance at his face and remarkably did not regret it- there was no anger in his eyes. He was calm, much more collected than he had been earlier at the blacksmith's shop. He was expecting her queries now, he had prepared for this sort of idle talk. Why are you here? How long are you staying? Do you enjoy your work? The possibilities seemed just as vague and banal to Evie as they must have to him. So why had he come?

"Do you think you will ever go back?"

Thorin was about to take a sip of his drink but he froze in the middle of the motion. His mug was suspended just below his lips, as if he had been momentarily turned to stone. Slowly, cautiously, he set down the wooden tankard. His startlingly blue eyes searched her grey ones in a desperate attempt to understand without asking for an explanation.

"To Moria."

It was a whisper, almost lost to the din of the crowded tavern. Thorin's jaw tightened and for a moment this was her only reply. His drink finally made the journey to his lips and he took a healthy gulp of the satisfying golden liquid before setting it back down on the table with a thud. When he finally answered, he didn't look at her. It was that which caught her off guard- the dwarf always seemed to make eye contact when he spoke, as if he could read more from a facial reaction than he could from a response. But now his moody gaze was caught on another table, on a passing group of drunkards, on anything but her. She asked herself why but it was just as hopeless as asking him the same.

"No."

His reply was so curt she did not know how to react. The deep, concrete rejection made her unconsciously sit up straighter on her bench. She did not have to ask why; he answered her before she could begin the thought.

"Moria, for now, is lost. Someday it may be taken back, but not by my people. Moria, the Iron Hills… They are the strongholds of dwarves, but not of my clan. We are only visitors there. My grandfather was King Under the Mountain, of Erebor… That is our home. And until we reclaim it…"

He stopped himself, refusing to say any more on the subject. It was as if he felt he was giving too much away, revealing the secrets of his people… Evie couldn't understand it, or him. Why did everything have to be so mysterious? Hobbits were not secretive folk. They said what they meant and they rarely withheld a comment if they thought of it. Everything was free and easy in the Shire- there were no secrets confined within their hobbit holes or stuffed inside the flower beds of their sprawling hills. Everything was simple. Such things were very different elsewhere, and for other peoples. Men occasionally tried on an air of mystery, but often would reveal their plans and intentions when compelled by the pressing need to expose their own genius. Elves were a culture apart; she did not count them with all the rest, but dwarves… Dwarves, of all those she had encountered, seemed the most caught up in their own affairs and unwilling to share their burdens with any but their own kin. It seemed this was not true only of the race in general, but also of the groupings within their kind- the Iron Hills, Moria, Erebor… Each was distinct and meant to keep it that way. Durin's Folk would never be satisfied until they had their own mountain to call home.

"You intend to reclaim it."

She echoed, wondering how one could possibly undertake such an endeavor. She had never seen a dragon (there was only one, after all, and from what she had heard it rarely left the stone halls of the Lonely Mountain), but had heard many tales of Smaug's wrath and the infinite dangers he could inspire. One flick of his long tail, a single breath of flame… Her first stories were of her father's adventures, and the memories of her grandfather. Of dragons and fire and fear. She wondered if Thorin had been there, for the destruction of Erebor. She guessed, by the pain glimmering in his eyes, that he had. It was a paralyzing idea. He had seen it, watched his beloved home be desolated by the dragon's inexorable fury… And yet he would still risk his life to return and try to fight for his lost home. There was something noble in the concept. Noble, yet foolish. No one could survive a dragon. Not even the great Thorin Oakenshield.

"You were there, weren't you."

It was not a question. Thorin took a shallow breath, his mouth forming a grim line across his face. It was the only reply necessary. Evangeline could not resist the urge to reach across the table and take his hand. Her small hand closed around his fingertips, a physical sign of sentiments too complex to form into words. She had not intended for it to be like this; she had wanted their meeting to be cheerful and light hearted, a way to get to know each another… Yet they always seemed to strike right at the core of one another, no matter the circumstances. Her tears at Moria, the slow but visible breaking down of his stony temperament… She saw the cracks in his armor more now than ever before. He was a dwarf who thought ill of vulnerability, who considered emotion akin to weakness… She understood it, as much as she disagreed with it- the need for a prince to act as the leader of his people, invincible and driven. Thorin was consumed with bereavement for a wretched history he could not change and fear that his actions in the future could never remedy the mistakes of the past. He wore his mourning like a mantle, and it bore down on him with a weight which made Evie cringe with compassion. She had seen him at Moria and judged him for his stoicism, but now that she was older she understood that his life was more complicated, even, than she had thought before. The loss of Erebor clung to his every waking moment, and it was a plague, a sickness of the heart which could only be healed by one balm and one alone- a return to his mountain home.

Evie was a healer; she had a talent for recognizing the pains of others, and although she credited herself with often aiding in finding a solution to their grievances, she also acknowledged when her patient was a lost cause. She would do what she could for the dwarf prince, if there was anything that could be done, but it was obvious that his life followed only one path. It was not her business to suggest otherwise or interfere with that destiny, whatever its uncertain results.

She held his hand more tightly, wishing there was something else she could do to express her sympathy for him and the perpetuity of his heartrending loss. He would never stop fighting the past, she could see as much in his eyes. It hurt her to think of the burden he carried.

"Perhaps that is why I do not understand your adventuring."

He commented, removing his hand from hers to pick up his drink again. Evie bit her lip, leaning back and taking an uncomfortable, broken breath. Her first instinct was to look away from him and back at the fire, but she knew it would get her nowhere. She was learning to contend with him, and if she could not face him head on there was no point in defending herself at all.

"Why is that?"

She demanded, her chest tightening as she anticipated his reply.

"We are forced to wander because we have no home, and yet you have abandoned yours to go on your journeys as if such a thing is of no importance."

His words felt sharper than a dagger pressed to her heart. How was he so immediately capable of making her feel guilty and thoughtless and cruel all at once? She remembered her mother's tears, Marigold's cries as her daughter left for the first time after she had returned from Moria, of her home in the Shire and its plentiful, endless bounty… All this time she had claimed she was trying to help other people, but was she truly running from a life of peace and prosperity? What had she accomplished since she had gone?

"I- I do not doubt that my affairs must seem peculiar to you," she began, cursing herself for tripping over her words. "But perhaps that is a matter of legacy. Yours, it seems, is to reclaim the throne of your grandfather. Mine is to honor the sacrifices of my father and my own grandfather, who vowed to help others in need and devote themselves to a life far from the comforts of their homes. So perhaps… Perhaps we are not so different, after all."

Thorin's sapphire eyes widened and his dark brow furrowed. The great dwarf prince was bewildered for a moment, and then his expression slowly morphed to one of amusement and the corner of his mouth tugged up in an uncharacteristic smile. Evie was about to say something indignant in response to what seemed like mocking, when he added,

"You never cease to surprise me, Halfling."

She was used to being called such by men, but from his lips it had a different sound to it. She was not sure whether she should be offended or conciliatory.

"I meant no insult, and it appears that I have been, yet again, mistaken in my judgment."

The hobbit's mouth had been open to protest, and she closed it as he finished speaking. Taking a small sip of her mead, she fought against the frustration and confusion swelling within her. Thorin was endlessly aggravating- she never knew what he would say or how he would react. And yet Evie could not deny the way she felt when she realized that his smile was complimentary rather than derogatory, and that it was for her. She shamed herself for it, but it was becoming harder and harder for her to deny the growing authenticity of her feelings.

"Perhaps, Master Dwarf, you should not be so quick to judge."

"Perhaps so."

He conceded, still smiling. Thorin silently considered her from across the table, enjoying the way the warm glow of the fireplace illuminated her round, fair featured face. Her grey eyes were large and appraising in the pale light, and he admired the fire which rose in them whenever she thought herself to be insulted. She was rather like a dwarf, in that way (his people would not accept an insult for anything), and he respected her for it. His smile echoed on her well-shaped lips as she began to look at him more amicably once again, and he was grateful for it. The dwarf was even beginning to regret removing his hand from hers, but that was a foolish thought- he knew more than anyone that such things should not be, and delighting in her would prove a mistake. His decision to join her here had already been too great an indulgence, and yet he regretted it far less than he knew he should. The words duty and honor meant more to him than any others, but for one night he supposed he could loosen their hold on him and appreciate the company of one he knew to be a true friend to his people.

"Evangeline…" He began, and could not finish his thought when their gaze locked once more. His eyes narrowed as he searched for the correct words, if there were any for such a thing. She tilted her head, intrigued by the tone of his voice. It was much softer than usual, and it surprised her.

"Thank you."

She made a playfully dismissive face, scrunching her nose and lifting her eyebrows, a reminder (not that he needed one) that she was a hobbit and not, in fact, a dwarf (dwarves rarely made faces of any kind, let alone the wild facial expressions of Shirefolk). He caught himself chuckling, and though the deep throated sound was restrained and quiet enough that Evie barely discerned it over the crackling fire and the boisterous conversations of nearby tables, Thorin realized it was the first time he had heard the sound of his own laughter in a great while.

"For being reckless."

Now it was the hobbit's turn to smile, and she even discovered the demure civility to look down for a moment before returning his gaze. It should have been a strange thing for him to say, and an even stranger compliment, but Evie guessed that she knew exactly what he meant.

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The night wore on, and it would have been hard to establish whether the dwarf and the hobbit indulged more in their drink or in each other. It was all just as untoward as one might have feared, but neither seemed to work up enough propriety to care. They spoke of many things as the hour grew late and the fire died down, of their families and their histories and even, for a few moments, of their futures.

Thorin told her the story of the years since they had last seen each other- of his father's disappearance; how he collected Durin's Folk together after the Battle of Azanulbizar and led them from city to city, always struggling to maintain themselves and always searching for a new home… He shared with her certain parts of himself he had sworn never to expose to another- his plans, his hopes, his fears… He did not know why he felt able to speak so freely to her. Perhaps it was her nature as a hobbit, so distinct from his fellow dwarves. He could not dare to demonstrate any of the emotions he kept locked in his heart, but he was positive they would be safeguarded by the hobbit's tiny hands. And so he told her rather more than he should have, or would have on any other occasion. Something about her captivated him; he had never met anyone like her before. Why he was so sure of her discretion and sincerity, he could not guess, but Thorin knew he could trust her. He felt it deep within him like a promise.

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Evie wrapped her arm around Thorin's as he escorted her down the cobblestone streets of Minas Tirith, darkness closing in around them despite their own happy obliviousness. It was late, and he refused to allow her to walk back unaccompanied, despite her proven capability of handling herself in the wild. This is not the wild, he had argued, and a lady should not travel alone at night without an escort. She had no rebuttal for that, and proved quite content to stroll together down the poorly lit walkways towards the inn where she had taken up a room for the night.

When they finally stood outside her temporary lodgings, the dim fire of the torch placed outside the door penetrating the darkness like a beacon, Evie turned to look over the dwarf prince one last time.

"I hope this is not our final meeting, Thorin, son of Thrain."

She wished, her arm leaving his but catching his hand as she slowly spun around to face him. She was just intoxicated enough not to think about such things, and while nothing could make Thorin abandon his honor as a gentleman and his duty as a future king, he enjoyed the way her small hand fit within his and decided the action was too innocent to be damaging. He smiled at her, shaking his head.

"I do not think it will be."

Something told him there was little doubt they would find each other again, whether in two days or two decades. The possibility made his heart rise in his broad chest, but there was nothing he could do to avoid the alarming sensation. As difficult as it was to say goodbye to his spirited, rosy cheeked hobbit, he submitted to the faith that fate would bring them back together again. He was not able to do as he would like with her, not until his obligations to the dwarves of Erebor were met and their welfare secure. Yet, for now, he could savor this last moment with her and the promise that perhaps they would cross paths once again. Thoughts of her would stay with him for a great time to come, and if that was all he had to keep him warm at night, such was his burden to bear. He bitterly lamented any feelings she may have developed for him, for she had no such restraints and was not fettered to the weighty affliction of obligation, unlike the prince. He was certain, however, that she would find another companion more suited to her, one who could offer her the secure future that he could not.

"Even though you have been wrong many times before, I do hope that on this matter you are correct."

She chided him, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. Her full, warm lips met his smooth cheekbone, right above the line of his beard. Evie felt him smile and savored the sensation, the warmth of him so close... Their future was uncertain, but the healer felt she could cherish the bliss of this moment without sacrificing it to the altars of fear and hesitation they had each built for themselves.

"Goodnight, my lady."

His voice was deep but earnest, full of unusual cheerfulness. He took her hand, which remained in his, and affectionately kissed the top of it, nodding his head in a respectful salute. She returned the farewell with a graceful nod, a smile lighting up her round face.

"Goodnight, Master Thorin… Until next we meet."

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Author's Note: Hello lovelies! Sorry for the wait… This turned out to be quite a long chapter. I like to take my time in writing and editing, and classes just started up again, so please try and be patient with me. I'm having tons of fun with this while still trying to keep it a semi-realistic portrayal… In any case, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment! I've got lots more planned for Evie and Thorin, so expect another chapter soon…