so crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down, i'll never wear your broken crown. i can take the road, and i can fuck it all away—but in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.
-Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons
The commotion on the rampart grows louder as you rush up the stairs, going as fast as your diminished stamina lets you. You arrive at the top with a gasping breath, seeing Thorin already holding Bilbo atop the wall, staring down at Gandalf approaching from the gathered troops.
"If you don't like my burglar, please, don't damage him!" he booms. "Return him to me."
God bless that wizard, you think to yourself. God bless that fucking wizard and his timing.
"You're not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?" Gandalf observes.
Thorin looks at him for another moment before letting Bilbo slip from his grasp. Balin and Fíli help him to his feet. The hobbit flings a rope over the wall, Bofur pushing him forward urgently, and scurries down.
"Never again will I have dealings with wizards," Thorin shouts. "Or Shire-rats!"
You flinch at the venom in his words. Thorin's eyes find you lurking by the wall. "What?" he demands, storming forward. "Do you have something to say?"
He's nose-to-nose with you, daring you to defy him. You search his face, hardly recognizing the dwarf who who begrudgingly accepted you into his Company, who shielded you from fire and wargs, who welcomed you into his family.
"This is wrong," you whisper. "This isn't you."
Thorin is silent for a moment. "Then go," he spits. "Go join your kin amongst Men. You are no Durin."
Though you know his mind is twisted by the dragon-sickness, it doesn't soften the blow against your heart. The other dwarves look at you in dismay.
After a moment, your face hardens, and you stand tall, standing exactly level with Thorin. "Fuck this," you say quietly, pushing past him, rougher than necessary, towards the rope. "I'm not dying over a fucking rock."
He sneers at you and turns on his heel to storm back into the keep. The dwarves pat your arm firmly as they pass, Balin squeezing your shoulders. "Be careful," he murmurs.
Fíli and Kíli stay put, looking at you helplessly. Kíli grips Fíli's arm. "Fíli…" he trails off.
Fíli turns to his brother. They stare at one another wordlessly, then he grabs Kíli's hair and pulls their foreheads together, whispering something in Khuzdûl.
Kíli nods, pulls back, and wraps you in a tight hug. "Be safe, little sister." He withdraws and starts down the stairs, turning back one last time before vanishing.
It's just you and Fíli on the wall now, watching the backs of Thranduil and Bard's troops as they make for their camp. Tiny flakes of snow speckle Fíli's armor, and his breath billows out in frosty clouds.
"Now what?" he asks.
Your mind whirls. In the book, the Durin clan dies standing together. In the movies, they die standing alone. I don't know if I can save them all, you think, but I know can save one.
"Come with me," you urge, grabbing Fíli's arm.
He tenses. "Y/N, I… I can't just leave him… I'm his heir, the crown prince—it'd be the highest betrayal!"
You lean in close. "He'll forgive you for leaving," you whisper in his ear, voice trembling. "But I won't forgive you for staying."
"He's family," Fíli pleads.
Your heart twists in your chest, but you know you need to hit him where it hurts. You seize his hand and put it to your belly. "We are family too," you insist. "Please, don't leave me to raise our baby alone."
Still, he hesitates.
One final weapon. "Fíli. If you stay, you die."
Fíli's eyes widen. "You said you'd never tell us our fates—you wouldn't change the story!"
Your hold on his wrist tightens to a death grip. "I'm tired of pretending like I'm not part of this world," you hiss. "I'm done acting like I'm not part of the story. I'm not going to let you die here, Fee."
A look of anguish crosses his face. Your vision starts to swim with tears as Fíli looks from you, to the rope, to the doorway Thorin had stormed through, to your stomach. The anguish hardens to resolve, and he nods slowly. "Alright," he says with a deep, shuddering breath. "Alright." He shifts his belt so his sword is along his back and wraps an arm tightly around your waist, hoisting you onto his hip. "Hold on tight," he grunts.
You cling to his neck and he grabs the rope, throwing a leg over the wall and slowly belaying down. Heights don't normally bother you, but you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to look at the ground far beneath you. Your bag sways and bumps against your back with each of Fíli's bounces downward. The descent lasts far too long, but at last you feel solid earth beneath your feet.
No sooner than you land does a hand seize your collar and pull you into the shadow of the wall. "What are you doing out here?" a voice hisses in your ear.
Tauriel! "I thought you were dead!" you choke out.
She releases you and Fíli, who grabs your upper arm tightly, ready to flee. Tauriel looks down at you grimly. "It will take more than dragon-fire to put an elf of Mirkwood down." Her eyes shift to Fíli. "So, you abandon your kin, dorn?" [dwarf]
Fíli bristles, but you place a hand on his chest and push him behind you gently. "We need to get somewhere safe. Can you help us?"
Tauriel regards the pair of you with a measured gaze. "Is Kí—is your brother safe?"
Fíli nods, and Tauriel visibly relaxes. She looks back up at Erebor, then across the field in the distance where the white top of Thranduil's tent is just barely visible in the quickly fading light. "Follow me. Quietly now, and swiftly."
You make your way across the frozen ground until you come to a halt in front of a pair of elven guards. They seem astonished to find Tauriel standing before them, intact, if a bit charred. Nevertheless, they cross their spears to block your path. "Daro!" they cry in unison. [Stop!]
"We seek an audience with the king," Tauriel explains.
"The king has no interest in communing with traitors," one snaps. "Perhaps the gornoth will take pity on your plight." [dwarves (derogatory)]
"Please," you beg, stepping forward. "At least let us talk to Bard, or–"
"My goodness, could that be the voice of Lady Y/N that I hear?" A wizened hand sweeps open the tent flap and Gandalf steps out, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.
"Gandalf!" You duck under the spears and rush forward, throwing your arms around him in sheer relief.
Gandalf seems mildly surprised by the gesture and pats your back. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he notices Fíli, and pushes you back gently by your shoulder. "Does Thorin send you to parley?"
"No, we come of our own accord. To seek refuge," Fíli adds, indicating your belly. He swallows. You know how hard this must be for the proud dwarf prince.
But as you await Gandalf's response, it occurs to you now that he has no knowledge of you and Fíli's relationship, and certainly not of your pregnancy. You hold your breath.
The wizard looks down at you, then back to Fíli with a frown. "Come in from the cold and we shall discuss this… development." He ushers you inside, where Bard, Thranduil, and Bilbo sit at a small table.
The elven king is on his feet immediately. "Why have you brought a–" but his demand ends in a sputter when Tauriel enters behind you.
She meets the king's eyes steadily and dips her head. "Your highness."
A small smirk crosses Fíli's lips at Thranduil's stunned face.
Gandalf brings forward a small chair, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do so with a grateful smile. Fíli moves behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You take one with a squeeze.
Gandalf sits as well, leaning forward with his hands folded. "Am I correct in assuming that…?" he waves a hand in Fíli's general direction.
You swallow hard and nod. "Things… things happened."
"And what of Thorin and Company?"
"We can reason with him," Fíli cuts in. "Now that you have the stone, there's some bargaining power, surely!"
"It's dragon-sickness, Fee, there's no reasoning with dragon-sickness!" you snap.
"Y/N?" It's Bilbo. "Do you know what comes next?"
You frown and dig in your bag for The Hobbit. Thranduil and Tauriel exchange looks of confusion.
"It's a… power of prophecy, of a sort," you mumble, thumbing through the pages. "We're only a few pages into chapter seventeen…" you trail off as a dark word consumes your mind. "Orcs!"
Thranduil leans forward. "What?"
"Orcs. That's—that's it, that's all I can think about—fuck!" You bury your face in your hands. "I can't see it. I've changed the story." You take a deep breath. "Orcs are coming. I don't know when, I don't know how many, but they're coming."
Gandalf rises swiftly, retrieving his staff from the corner of the tent. "Then we must be ready. Is there any possibility of reasoning with Thorin?"
You rub your temples. "I can't be sure. I think he recovers—maybe Fíli leaving will speed it up?"
Fíli flinches slightly.
The wizard nods. "Ready your troops. Be prepared for battle by dawn. We will not be caught unawares."
Thranduil and Bard offer their agreement, Bard standing to leave for his own lodgings. He pauses, glancing at you and Fíli with a curt nod. "Congratulations." With that, the archer is gone. Thranduil is swift to leave as well, Tauriel falling easily into place behind him.
"Someone needs to warn Thorin," Fíli says. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and makes for the exit, but you snag his wrist. He twists against your grasp, and you hold tight, fingers digging into his skin.
"You're staying here," you insist.
"I'll go," Bilbo says quietly.
Fíli scoffs. "They'd skewer you with an arrow as soon as you're within sight of the gates."
"Well, I did manage to sneak in and out of Erebor without a terrible dragon noticing," Bilbo points out. "I think I can get past a few dwarves."
The dwarf just snorts in response.
Gandalf regards the hobbit curiously, watching Bilbo's fingers fidget in his pocket. "Very well then, Bilbo. As for the pair of you," he raises an eyebrow in your direction, "I was just about to put on a pot of tea, and I believe Lady Y/N and her little one are sorely in need of some proper nourishment." He dips his head and ducks out of the tent.
A long, shaking sigh escapes you. You lean against the back of the chair, weariness plaguing your bones. Fili returns to your side and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then, he separates out a thin section of your hair, carefully beginning to weave it into a braid.
You let out a small gasp, covering his hand with your own. "Fíli? Now?"
He smiles, gently pushing your hand aside and continuing. "If I'm to go into battle at dawn, I want everything to be proper." The braid complete, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, wooden bead with delicate etchings.
You take it from his outstretched hand. The wood is rough and unsanded, but you can make out a crude attempt at your and Fíli's initials in English, as well as runes you vaguely recognize as Khuzdûl. You blush, not thinking your brief alphabet lesson ages ago had taken hold.
"I may have nicked your book to practice," Fíli says with a wink. "Took me ages to get your silly runes right." He folds your fingers around the bead and sinks to one knee in front of you—you didn't think your human courtship lessons had taken hold either. His eyes sparkle as he gazes up at you. "Will you marry me?"
Your eyes fill with tears. "Yes," you whisper.
Fíli grins and takes the bead back, securing it in your hair and kissing it gently. You yank him in by the collar and press your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in your loose hair.
Applause from the corner makes you pull back with a jump. You had forgotten Bilbo was still in the tent. With a lopsided smile you stand and push the hobbit out towards Gandalf and the fire. "Give us some privacy!" you chide good-naturedly.
Fíli chuckles and rises as well, pulling you close. He kneels back down, lifting your tunic and kissing your stomach, making you flush even more. "You take care of your amad," he whispers to the unborn dwarfling. "Adad's got to go scout out the perfect place for our wedding." He grins, and you grunt, when the baby kicks against your stomach.
You sigh again and kneel with him, leaning into his arms. You've changed the story so much, the future is dark to you now—all that is left is to place your faith in the strength of the dwarves.