31: Never Letting Go (Hold Onto Me)

Following Faredir through the streets of Dale was a profoundly different experience than being led by Thranduil. For one, the crowds did not part for him on sight, and they had to carefully pick their way through particularly crowded areas more than once. Also, whereas Thranduil had barely spared her a glance until they were alone on the rooftop, confident that she would follow wherever he went, Faredir kept shooting curious looks at her, as if she were a puzzle he could not quite figure out. Well, as long as he did not ask the things he was so obviously wondering about, she would not speak of them. After all, she was more than familiar with the swift workings of the rumor mill which the Mirkwood guard could turn into on occasion.

When they finally reached yet another Elven tent, Tauriel felt like she had just finished a strenuous hike when in fact she could barely have walked a distance of more than a couple hundred steps. Traveling with a Dwarven army had been noisy, and cramped, and, more often than not, appallingly unsanitary, yet still the atmosphere inside the ruined city was putting a strain on her which her time with Dáin's men never had. People here were lost, and restless, and were quickly growing frustrated with their miserable situation. The air constantly seemed to tether on that split second of water just before its boiling point and it was making it difficult to breathe.

The quiet inside the tent Faredir showed her to was like balm on her frayed nerves. With a row of several washbasins set up on one side of the square space and workbenches with an eclectic selection of healing herbs, soaps, wash cloths, and spare clothes on the other, the tent was easily large enough to fit a whole unit of soldiers at once. Which was in all likelihood exactly what it had been intended for, making Tauriel wonder if she was being kept away from her former comrades on purpose. She wasn't about to protest the chance at a bit of privacy, but it was something to keep in mind as she tried to determine her king's true intentions.

Faredir, too, seemed intent on leaving her as soon as she had stepped fully inside the tent. Perhaps his silence on their way here had not been out of his respect for her personal life, then, but a matter of following orders which he had been given. Well, if he had been ordered to silence, Tauriel was about to make following that order a little more difficult. Here was one chance to voice the question she had not dared ask the King and yet desperately needed an answer to. She was not about to let that chance pass her by.

"Wait." Faredir had already lifted the flap of the tent to step through, but stopped at her exclamation, louder than was strictly necessary, perhaps. One of his dark brows arched in question as he turned to look at her, but he did not speak. So she pressed on. "Prince Legolas—was he, too, among the party that came to Dale?"

Is he here, somewhere? This was the question she really wanted to ask, but was simultaneously afraid to know the answer to. What if he was?

"No." Faredir's dispassionate answer came as both a relief and a disappointment.

"He stayed at the palace, then?"

For a moment she thought Faredir would not answer her, but after studying her for a long, excruciating moment, he seemed to take pity on her. Which should not have been too hard. Not only was she more than a little disheveled and tired. She was so overcome by the mere thought that the one person her sudden disappearance would have caused even more consternation than her king might be right on the other side of those flimsy fabric walls that she experienced an almost overwhelming urge to sit down.

Faredir turned more fully towards her and took a step further into the tent, letting the flap fall shut behind him. The fact that he lowered his voice confirmed Tauriel's suspicion that he had orders not to speak to her. "Prince Legolas left in pursuit of a band of Orcs that trespassed onto our land. This was a short while before the king set out for Dale."

Tauriel did not even know where to begin. A band of Orcs? Inside the borders? And, even more importantly: "He went all by himself? That is incredibly dangerous. Why would the King permit such a thing?"

Faredir leveled her with a flat stare. "I do not think Prince Legolas waited for his father's permission before he left."

Oh. Oh no. This did not sound like something Legolas would do at all. No—it sounded. . . it sounded like something she would do. Had she really managed to drive Legolas to do this with her own, foolish recklessness?

She closed her eyes and forced her breath out through her nose in an attempt to stop her thoughts from spinning out of control. When she opened them again, Faredir was looking at her as if he might be afraid she was losing her mind.

"And no one has heard from him?" Her voice sounded strange, far away, over the loud pounding of her blood in her veins.

"He was seen at Lake-town, if rumors are to be believed."

"Before or after the dragon woke?"

Faredir looked uncomfortable under her piercing stare. "Before. But the Prince is a formidable fighter. If anyone can survive dragonfire—"

"Then where is he?" For a moment, Tauriel watched Faredir flounder as he tried to come up with an answer, but then immediately took pity on him. It was not Faredir's fault that her life had become such a big, tangled mess. She sighed as she ran her hand through her hair, then froze when her thoughts tripped on one part of this story. "What would a band of Orcs even want in Lake-town? Mirkwood I can understand, but I never knew them to be particularly fond of water."

"They were following a party of Dwarves," Faredir supplied, looking almost relieved that this was a question he could answer. "The party of Thorin Oakenshield, to be exact. This was also what brought them to our lands—the Dwarves were imprisoned in our dungeons, at the time."

Tauriel blinked. "The King had Oakenshield locked up in his dungeons? Oakenshield, who, by rights, is a king himself?"

Faredir gave a helpless shrug. "Well, the Dwarves did escape, in the end, so. . ."

He trailed off and now Tauriel did let herself sink onto a nearby stool as she stared into nothingness.

"Thank you. I—this clears some things up, at least."

She was conscious of Faredir's eyes on her, but did not look up as he murmured a quiet farewell and left the tent. Heavens. This was all even more complicated than she had thought. Her King, his history with Oakenshield, Legolas' absence, her own responsibility for his actions. . . all this on top of the threat which they still faced and which they did not even know how to confront. It was too much.

Resting her elbows on her knees, Tauriel let her head fall forward into her waiting palms. She could not stay long, needed to get back and make sure that Thranduil saw reason when it came to the Dwarves, even if his most recent experiences with them combined with the indirect role they had played in his son's disappearance might make him even more disinclined to do so than she had anticipated. And Kíli. . . She really needed to return to his side and let him know some of the things she had just uncovered. Should never have left him in the first place, probably, but it was too late for that now.

Just a minute or two. She would allow herself just the briefest of moments where, unobserved, she could be weak, could let her shoulders slump instead of standing straight under every new weight which was piled upon them. Just a minute. . .

When she came to her senses again, she knew immediately that more than a minute or two had passed. Her cheeks were suspiciously wet and her knees ached from where they had hit the ground after she had slid from her seat. Also, her face was pressed against a warm, solid chest, the pattern of a familiar heartbeat the thing which had pulled her back from the edge.

"I know you don't need me for that sort of thing," Kíli murmured against the top of her head, "but if there is anyone whom you would like me to give a good beating for this, just say the word. I have no qualms about going up against royalty, even."

Tauriel smiled weakly into his chest, her breath hitching in her throat in the most pathetic manner. "Because you are of royal blood yourself?"

Kíli's chuckle was a low rumble against her ear. "Some royalty I am. But no—anyone who makes you feel like this, deserves to have their arse handed to them. On a silver platter, if need be."

"No silver platters around here, I'm afraid."

"Mhm, I would not be so sure about that. That king of yours seems to have brought a lot more from home than just an army." With gentle fingers he grasped her shoulders and pulled her back far enough to be able to look at her face, which had to be a puffy, red mess. "Are you alright?"

Just that question and the concern in his warm eyes brought back the sting of tears. "As alright as any of us." She reached up to clasp one of the hands resting on her shoulders and brought it to her lips. "I'm glad you found me, though. I should—I should never have left you. Not when some of the truths you learned today must be so very hard to bear."

The change in his expression was minuscule, nothing but a slight tightening of the line of his mouth to betray his distress. "It's fine. Or—it isn't, obviously, but I have to believe that it still can be. Right?"

She nodded—a little too quickly, too eagerly, perhaps. "Right. There are no armies here, yet. There is still time for your uncle and brother to see reason."

He probably knew she was merely telling him what he wanted to hear, but seemed grateful for it nonetheless. His hand slipped out of hers to cup her jaw and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips. Alone for the first time after so many days of the sort of restraint that came with traveling alongside a Dwarven army, it took almost all of Tauriel's willpower to not lose herself completely in the feeling of his lips on hers, his taste on her tongue. This—this was what made it all worth it, what made it all bearable after all.

When they pulled apart, Kíli rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed. "Are you ready to head back, then?"

He sounded as if he had as little desire to do so as she did. "That depends—will you really start a fight with my king if we do? Absent silver platters notwithstanding?"

The corner of his shapely mouth lifted in a wry smile. "You know even I could not be that reckless." He finally opened his eyes, their soft brown tinged with worry. "But I would like to know what he said that gave you so much pain. If you'll tell me, that is."

She sighed. "It is more what he did not say. But yes, I will tell you. On our way back. I have a feeling that Dáin and Thranduil will not succeed at keeping things civil between them for awfully long."

"Now that is a fight I'd pay to watch." At her raised eyebrow, Kíli shrugged. "As if you wouldn't. But sure, let's head back. They might be wondering where I went anyway. I sort of. . . left in a bit of a hurry."

He looked a bit sheepish at that and Tauriel's heart filled to the brink with affection for this young Dwarf, who had, despite his own, not insubstantial worries, apparently rushed to find her the minute he so much as suspected that anything might be wrong. She let him pull her to her feet, but stayed close, leaning into his space once she was upright to steal another kiss from his lips.

"I will tell you about the things that trouble me, but you know you can always speak to me about your worries as well, do you not? I find that having a bit of a breakdown, while embarrassing, will at least leave the mind in a somewhat clearer state."

He patted her hand where it rested against his chest before taking it in his own. "Perhaps I'll have mine later on, then." He brought down their joined hands between their bodies and gave a gentle tug towards the tent's exit. "Ready?"

"Ready."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She followed Kíli back out into the streets of Dale, which were still unfailingly busy despite the fact that the sky was slowly beginning to darken. The mood seemed to have changed, though. Where before the occupants of the city had been busy moving their sparse belongings into the less ruined houses as well as distributing food, their movements were now accompanied by the clatter of weapons. They were gearing up for war. Against whom, though? The enemy they should be fighting or the small group of Dwarves Thranduil wanted them to fight?

Unease prickling at the back of her neck, Tauriel kept her arm linked with Kíli's, keeping him close while she filled him in on the things she had learned from Thranduil and, more relevantly, Faredir. As always when she spoke of Legolas, Kíli's jaw clenched and his eyes darkened with an emotion that stirred something low in Tauriel's belly. Still, she pressed on. This was not the time for jealousy—not that there was any reason for it, in the first place. At the same time she could not fault Kíli for reacting that way. She would likely have felt the same, had there been a Dwarven princess in his past who still held such power over him as her friendship with Legolas held over her.

A reason for jealousy or not, the news about Legolas she had received was crucial, after all, because it linked the recent history of the Dwarves of Erebor with her homeland, made it easier to understand the complex dynamic between Thranduil and Thorin. While she brought Kíli up to speed, she wondered what would have happened had neither of them managed to get themselves captured. Would they have met anyway? As enemies rather than allies? Imagining herself anywhere else but on Kíli's side was barely possible, yet her new knowledge of the Dwarves' captivity in her king's dungeons seemed to suggest that this would have been the case. Strange, those intricate workings of fate.

The sky went from a murky gray to almost black with alarming speed, and Tauriel wondered if this rapid nightfall was in any way foreshadowing the darkness which might await them in the near future. By the time she and Kíli reached Thranduil's tent, all available fires and torches in the city had been lit.

Inside the tent, the Elvenking and Dáin Ironfoot were locked in what appeared to be a silent battle of wills, each glaring at the other from his own side of the table which had been put up in the middle of the tent. Gandalf and Bard were nowhere to be seen and even though she barely knew them, Tauriel wished fervently to be with them rather than here. Whatever it was they were doing, surely it could not be as awkward as this.

"There you are." Thranduil's eyes landed on her the moment she stepped into the circle of light emanating from the lantern hung under the roof of the tent. His left eyebrow arched as he took in her appearance and Tauriel realized that, if anything, she had to look worse than when he had left her to get cleaned up, her hair flattened to the side of her head from where it had been pressed against Kíli's chest and her eyes red-rimmed. Well, there was nothing to be done about that now. And either way, she was here for a war council and not a royal dinner.

"What is happening?" she asked, too exhausted to do anything other than get straight to the point. "Where is Bard? And Gandalf?"

"You never know with those wizards. Hopefully he has left to meddle in someone else's business rather than mine." Thranduil's voice was studiously cold. A clear sign that the wizard had been starting to get under his skin with his warnings. "As for the Bowman—he went to see to it that his men get ready to fight. Just in case."

"In case of what?" This was Kíli, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"In case the Elves still decide to move against Thorin at dawn." Dáin had not moved an inch since they had entered the tent, his beady eyes still fixed on Thranduil. "But he had better give that a very thorough consideration. Because Thorin and the Mountain won't stand undefended. Not anymore."

"I—what?" Kíli lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he gave a low groan. Tauriel could sympathize with him—she, too, was beginning to experience a pulsing headache. "Dáin, I thought we were in agreement that there are bigger threats looming on the horizon. Threats we should all be worried about." He shot Thranduil a pointed look at that last bit.

"And I'll fight whatever armies of fell creatures might descend upon us," Dáin vowed solemnly and then promptly proceeded to point a finger at Thranduil. "If the Elf fights them as well!"

"I will," the Elf in question returned coolly. "As soon as Oakenshield stops hiding inside that mountain of his and returns what is rightfully ours to my people. Or did you think I would spill just one drop of Elven blood for him while he sits gleefully on his stolen treasure?"

"No, you would rather spill that blood in a senseless battle of wills so that our true enemies will find us at our weakest when they eventually attack," Kíli murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. He turned a beseeching look on Dáin. "Cousin, this is madness."

Dáin did not deny it, merely turned up his palms in a gesture of acceptance. "It is what it is."

"Then it all hinges on Thorin seeing reason." Tauriel stepped forward to rest her hand on Kíli's shoulder, not caring how her king's attentive gaze latched onto the innocuous touch. "There must be a way to achieve that."

Kíli's eyebrows were pulled together in thought as he looked up at her. Before his lips could form an answer, a gust of cold air caused the lantern above their heads to flicker as the flap at the entrance to the tent was thrown back to admit three figures.

"I might be able to help with that."

The voice that cut through the silence belonged neither to Gandalf nor Bard, but to a third person who had entered the tent behind them.

"Bilbo!"

Kíli stepped forward to embrace the Halfling Tauriel only knew from narration, nearly knocking him off his hairy, improbably large feet with his enthusiasm.

The Hobbit chuckled. "Kíli. I cannot tell you how good it is to see you so. . . well, alive, I suppose."

"That sums it up nicely." Kíli's laughter was bright despite the grave nature of their earlier discussion. Not for the first time Tauriel envied him a bit for how he could do that, how those he cared about could always expect a genuine smile and some heartfelt words from him, no matter how dire the situation. Even Kíli could not stay lighthearted for long, though. Not today. His eyes grew dark and serious as his hands grasped Bilbo's shoulders. "What are you doing here? These are both dangerous times and lands to go for a walk after nightfall."

Bilbo winced, but was cut off by Thranduil before he could answer.

"If I'm not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards."

The Hobbit's face did something funny under the Elvenking's piercing stare. "Yes," he managed eventually and cleared his throat. "Sorry about that."

Quickly, perhaps to intercept any reply Thranduil might have given, Bilbo stepped forward to put a fist-sized bundle of dirty cloth on the table. He pulled back the layers of fabric with nimble fingers to reveal an object shining with a light unlike any Tauriel had ever seen. No sun, moon, star, or flame gleamed like that."I came to give you this."

A gasp cut through the silence, issued by Dáin. He started forward, but was held back by Kíli with an arm thrown across his chest. It wasn't either of the Dwarves, though, who spoke first, but Thranduil.

"The heart of the mountain. The King's Jewel."

He, too, was on his feet now, slack-jawed with wonder as he stared at the stone on the table. The light emanating from it danced as colorful shadows across his regal features, lending him an altogether otherworldly appearance. For the second time that day, Tauriel witnessed a look on him she had never seen before. Rapture. Pure and simple. And for once, she could understand it. Not because of the stone's beauty, for that was of a kind that inspired unease rather than admiration, but for what it stood for. Power, in endless supplies.

A few months ago, the Arkenstone would not have called forth many associations in Tauriel's mind. A relic of old times, lost with the fall of the kingdom of Erebor. After having witnessed the shudder pass through Kíli's entire body as he relayed the significance of the stone to his bloodline, though, she knew that it was so much more than just a costly artifact. Which was why the words which Bard spoke as he, too, leaned over the jewel mirrored her own thoughts precisely.

"And worth a king's ransom. How is this yours to give?"

"I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure." Bilbo squared his shoulders as he met Bard's gaze head-on, not flinching as the Lake-man's keen eyes searched his in an effort to determine the truth of that statement. Tauriel had the distinct impression that this was not the first time those two crossed paths. She knew by now that Oakenshield and his party had come through Lake-town and wondered what had transpired there to make Bard acknowledge Bilbo's claim with a sort of resigned exasperation.

Before their exchange could continue, however, the sound of tearing fabric ripped through the terse silence inside the tent. While heads were still being whipped frantically around in an attempt to locate the source of the sound, a cloaked figure came barrelling out of the shadows outside the ring of light cast by the lantern and the stone on the table. With impressive speed, the figure tackled Bilbo, knocking the stunned Hobbit clean off his feet and onto the ground.

"Liar! You are a filthy thief, and you know it! You took the most valuable heirloom of my people to—what? Pawn it for freedom? For asylum with these traitors?"

"I—what—no—Fíli—"

Bilbo struggled desperately yet ineffectively against the hold in which his attacker—Fíli—had him, his protests turning into gasps as strong fingers closed around his throat.

Out of the six other occupants of the tent, four sprang into action. Dáin and Kíli darted forward to grasp one of Fíli's arms each and dragged him off the Hobbit, his feet kicking at the empty air as he growled in protest. Tauriel plucked Bilbo off the ground and quickly ushered him to the far side of the table while Bard took up a protective stance in front of them, facing the three Dwarves on the other side of the tent.

With one eye on the struggle that was taking place between the Dwarves, Tauriel knelt down beside the visibly shaken Halfling. "Are you hurt?"

He lifted a trembling hand to his neck, the skin of which was mottled red from the attempted strangling. "I—no, I'm fine, thank you." His eyes darted to hers, and she could tell that the pain he suffered was not of the physical kind. He looked. . . heartbroken.

A large hand settled on Bilbo's shoulder and Tauriel found herself gazing up at Gandalf.

"Perhaps we should step outside for a moment, Bilbo. Just until things. . . quiet down."

Bilbo, too, craned his neck to look at the wizard. "No," he said. "This is my mess—partly at least. I shall not walk away from it."

Gandalf gave a low sigh, but seemed willing to respect Bilbo's wish. He did step forward, though, to wrap up the King's Jewel once more and handed it back to Bilbo. A wise decision, probably, for Tauriel did not have to turn to look at her king to know that his eyes had barely left the stone throughout all that ruckus.

All of this she noticed only on the periphery of her consciousness. Most of her attention had already returned to Kíli and Dáin, who were still fighting to keep the older of Thorin Oakenshield's nephews constrained. Kíli had managed to twist one of Fíli's arms behind his back and kept his right shoulder pressed firmly into his brother's back, using all of his weight to keep the struggling Dwarf flat on his stomach. Daín, meanwhile, was straddling Fílis legs and was fighting for his balance as the younger Dwarf bucked his hips repeatedly in an effort to throw him off.

Tauriel felt torn. On the one hand, her instincts screamed at her to aid Kíli and Dáin in their struggle. Together, subduing Fíli would have been a much easier feat. At the same time, she felt quite certain that another pair of hands—those of an Elf, no less—would enrage Fíli even further.

And so she dithered on her spot beside Bilbo, holding herself ready to spring forward should things get truly out of control. Bard appeared to suffer a similar conflict, one of his hands outstretched towards the Dwarves in a manner one might use to calm a wild animal on the verge of attacking while keeping a safe distance.

"For Mahal's sake, stop it! Fíli, it's me. Just me. Just—calm down, and we'll talk about it. Please."

Kíli was pale, loose strands of hair hanging into his face and getting caught in the corners of his mouth as he panted out his plea to his brother. A brother who currently seemed beyond all reasoning, his face contorted with venomous anger as he thrashed about in Kíli's grip.

"There is nothing to talk about, you fool. The little vermin has robbed us. Probably planned to, all along. When I saw him sneak out the gates, I knew he was up to something and now I have my proof that he is an enemy of our people. If you can't see it for what it is, you're as bad as them." Crazed, bloodshot eyes roamed across the tent and the various onlookers therein. Fíli lifted his head far enough off the ground to spit on it. "Traitors. Thieves. Cowards."

His face contorted with shock at hearing his brother talk like that, Kíli dug his elbow deeper into Fíli's back. "Stop it. That—that is not you, Fíli. You don't—you can't mean that."

Fíli appeared to sense the pain, the uncertainty in Kíli's voice and latched onto it immediately. "Oh, but it is me, little brother. It took me a while, but I've come to understand the truth about a lot of things. And I'll show you, too, if you just. Let. Me. Go."

His last words were punctuated by forceful bucks of his hips that had Dáin fight for balance once again. Kíli's grip onto his brother was firm as iron, though.

"No."

"I mean it, Kíli." Though it should have been impossible, Fíli's face darkened even further when he realized that Kíli would not be gauded quite so easily. Shadows appeared to contort his expression, lending it a skull-like appearance. "Let me go. Now."

"No. Never."

At that, Fíli began to struggle in earnest, his smooth, regular features stretched into a mask of fury as he tried to fight off Kíli and Dáin with a strength that even with his muscular form seemed almost unnatural. Kíli managed to stay mostly on top of his flailing brother, but Tauriel could see clearly now that he was handing on by a thread, beads of sweat forming on his pinched, ashen brow. His eyes met hers and the raw need in them made her decision to throw all caution to the wind an easy one.

In a few short strides, she crossed over to the three Dwarves and knelt down behind Kíli, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. The weight of the gazes of the remaining occupants of the tent burned heavily on her back, but she did her best to ignore them as she increased the pressure of her touch, hoping to lend Kíli strength with her mere presence. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment, his shoulders lifting under her touch as he drew a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again his gaze was made of steel, determination radiating off every inch of him.

"No," he said again, his fists tightening where they clutched portions of Fíli's cloak. "When I was five years old, I almost fell down a bloody cliff because I wanted to be one of the big lads and would not listen when I was told that going too far out would be too hard for my useless, chubby legs. You caught me at the last second and even though you dislocated your shoulder in the process and it must have hurt like hell, you held on tight. You did not let me go."

Fíli gave a strangled growl, his eyes rolling back in their sockets as he threw his head back in an attempt to make Kíli release him. Kíli pressed down harder into his brother's back.

"When I was twenty-seven, and we were out in the woods, hunting, I tried to shoot a doe, but I missed it and I scared it so much that it ran straight into the river. It was—the poor thing was drowning, and wailing so pitifully, and I went in after it because no creature should have to die like that. But the current was powerful that day and I could barely stay afloat. I didn't get to the doe. But you got to me, and you dragged me out, half drowned already, and you did not let go."

Kíli's shoulders were trembling, but whether that was from the effort of holding Fíli down or reliving those memories he had of his brother, Tauriel could not tell. A bit of both, most likely. For even though Fíli's vocal protests had subsided, he was still pushing against Kíli's hold with all his might.

By now, Kíli was lying mostly on top of Fíli, using the weight of his body to make up for his fading strength. Tauriel's hand had slipped from his shoulder to a spot on the center of his back and she kept it there, exerting gentle pressure. I'm here, Kíli, she thought. Wherever this leads, I'm here for it.

"And just last year," Kíli went on, "we got drunk with those Iron Hill merchants at Bree and they put the idea in my head that we should accompany them on some idiotic treasure hunt. For a treasure which probably didn't even exist. You insisted we should not go because there were Orc packs rumored to be about. Also it was in the middle of the night with a storm brewing on the horizon and we were utterly wasted. We got into a horrible fight over it, I fucking punched you in my intoxicated belligerence, but still you wouldn't let me go, hauled me off to my bed instead and held me there until I finally passed out for the night. The merchants were found dead the next morning, just a few miles north. Slaughtered." He heaved a trembling breath. Tauriel couldn't see his face from this angle, but felt certain that a tear or two must have dripped onto the back of Fíli's neck where Kíli's face was pressed into it. "You saved me from myself, again, and again, and again. So, no. I am not letting you go."

Some time during Kíli's speech, Fíli's struggling had eased until the only motion from him were large, gulping breaths that shook his whole body. Much like a man who was finally able to draw air again after being forced to do without it for too long. Kíli stayed in his position, his arms and legs locked around Fíli on the ground, but he turned his head to glance at Tauriel, a question in his eyes. She tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but it felt faint on her lips.

A minute passed in tense silence, then Fíli's breathing became more regular again and he struggled to lift his head off the ground, his eyes darting around to look at the occupants of the tent. Eyes that were, Tauriel noticed even in the dim light issued by the single lantern, much clearer than they had been before.

"I—What's—Kíli? What's going on, in Mahal's name?"

Kíli's shoulders sagged in relief as he slid off his brother's back. Behind him, Dáin did the same, his brow pinched in a tight frown as he kept his eyes on Fíli. Tauriel could not fault him for it. She, too, drew back, but held herself poised to spring into action at even the slightest sign that this was a trick manufactured by whatever malevolent influence had befallen Fíli's spirit.

"What do you remember? Do you know where you are?"

The hesitant hope in Kíli's voice tugged at Tauriel's heartstrings, but this time she refrained from reaching out to him. If Fíli really had come to his senses, this was between the brothers now.

"I don't—I was—" Rolling onto his back and pushing himself up onto his elbows, Fíli cast another look around the tent and the terse expressions of those looking back at him. "We're—we're at Dale, aren't we? I came here because I was—because I thought—" His eyes landed on Bilbo and he sat up more fully, his eyes wide. "Bilbo. You're alright—thank the heavens. I never meant to—or, I did, but I should never have. . ."

"It's fine, Fíli." Bilbo took a step forward, shrugging off Gandalf's hand on his shoulder. "It is not as if my actions are entirely without fault either. And you, I believe, weren't thinking clearly. Do you feel better now, though?"

Fíli looked from Bilbo and Gandalf to Kíli kneeling beside him, to Thranduil still perched on his makeshift throne, to Tauriel, Bard, and Dáin watching his every move with eyes like hawkes.

"I—I do, I suppose. It is strange; I can remember things that happened to me, but it's as if they happened to someone else and I was just there to. . . to watch. And I was angry." He frowned, visibly puzzled. "Why was I so angry?"

"Because of this, I suppose." Bilbo motioned towards the bundle Gandalf still held clutched in one hand. The Arkenstone.

Fíli's throat moved convulsively as he swallowed. He looked faintly sick. "Right."

Thranduil used the ensuing pause to push out of his seat with a sigh. "Not that all this was not rather heartwarming," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity, "but perhaps we can now move on to discuss things of greater importance. Such as what we are going to do with the advantage over Oakenshield which we were just handed on a silver platter."

This suggestion went promptly ignored by Kíli. In fact, Tauriel wasn't even sure he had heard her king, for his eyes were still fixed on Fíli, like he couldn't really believe what he was seeing.

"What happened to you? And is it—is it really gone? For good?"

Fíli pulled his knees towards himself as his gaze turned distant. "It was. . . quite strange. When I finally came to Erebor and found Thorin there, wandering those endless halls piled with even more endless amounts of gold, it felt as if. . . as if I was losing a little bit more of myself every hour I spent down there with him, looking for that blasted stone. . ."

His eyes wandered back to the Arkenstone, now placed back on the table, but still wrapped up in cloth.

Bilbo winced. "I'm sorry. I thought about giving it to Thorin countless times, but the things he said to me. . . they made me think that with the stone in his possession, he would have gotten worse rather than better."

Fíli shook his head. "No, you were right. You've just seen what the stone was capable of making me do. For Thorin, it would have been so much worse, I think. . ."

He trailed off, staring at his hands where they were wrapped around his hands, his shoulders hunched in palpable shame.

Kíli seemed to only have followed the exchange between Bilbo and Fíli with half an ear and was frowning at his brother. "I don't understand—Thorin was at Erebor before you were? That means you weren't even with Thorin and the others when they opened up the Mountain. But then where were you?"

"Looking for you, of course, you bloody idiot." Fíli's smile when he directed it at his younger brother was rather tearful.

Tauriel looked away. For Kíli's sake, she wished that there was time for them to do this with some amount of privacy and not in front of a whole crowd of curious eyes. But they were still on the verge of a battle, weren't they? And either way, Fíli seemed unperturbed by any onlookers, his eyes solely fixed on Kíli.

"I left the company right after we lost you. No one knew what had happened, exactly, but from the few traces we found, it was clear that there had been some kind of struggle."

Taken aback, Kíli sank back on his heels. "You were out there looking for me this whole time?"

"Well, I wish I had been as industrious as you make that sound." Fíli's smile turned wry. "I picked up a trail around the northern border of Mirkwood soon enough, but I kept running into trouble. That forest. . ."

His eyes flickered to Tauriel and she wondered if he correctly placed her as a Mirkwood Elf and, if so, what he made of her presence at Kíli's side. Not much, judging by the small, puzzled frown which graced his features as she met his gaze. He cleared his throat. "Anyway. By the time I had followed the trail to the eastern border of the forest, Durin's Day was already close. I ran into some traders coming up from Lake Esgaroth, who told me about a group of Dwarves the Master of Lake-town had caught sneaking into his city. I thought Thorin and the others would need my help getting out of whatever mess they had made for themselves in order to reach Erebor in time, but by the time I got there, they had already left after striking some sort of questionable deal with the Master. He got very suspicious that another relative of Thorin showed up within such a short amount of time, thought it would be a good idea to detain me for a bit as a way of making sure that Thorin would stay true to his word once he was King. And then. . . well. Then the dragon came."

"You were at Lake-town when Smaug attacked?"

Kíli's tone was horrified, his eyes immediately scanning Fíli for any signs of injury. Aside from the fact that he looked like he had not gotten any proper sleep in a while, he seemed unharmed, though, from what Tauriel could see.

"Aye," Fíli said, his eyes distant. "It wasn't pretty, I can tell you that. But I got out in the end, made my way to Erebor half expecting to find everyone dead once I got there."

"Hold on." This was Bard, who had, so far, followed the exchange with crossed arms and a frown of concentration on his forehead. Now he took a step forward, his face animated with an emotion Tauriel could not quite identify. "You were at Lake-town when the dragon unleashed his wrath upon it? Then you must also have been the one to—"

He never got to finish his sentence, for this was the moment Thranduil's patience ran out, apparently. He put the goblet of wine he had just filled down on the table with enough force to cause some of its contents to splash over the rim, staining portions of the map laid out on it a deep, blood red.

"Enough. None of this has any impact on the fact that Oakenshield is holed up in that mountain of his, laughing at us, taunting us."

"For what it's worth, there is not much laughter echoing through the halls of Erebor these days." Fíli's eyes were narrowed as he beheld the Elvenking. It was too early during their acquaintance for Tauriel to form an educated opinion about the similarities between him and Kíli. In one respect they clearly resembled each other, though: their ability to remain remarkably unfazed by Thranduil's ire. That, and a tendency to stoke the fire even further.

Now, the haughty king stared down his nose at the young Dwarf where he was still squatting on the ground, strands of golden hair hanging into his face as he looked back in defiance. Kíli's hand was on his brother's shoulder, his expression mostly mirroring Fíli's, but with a touch of hesitation added to it. That hesitation, Tauriel ventured a guess, was probably on her behalf.

"Still that does not change the fact that your uncle fancies himself the puppeteer while he makes us dance for him in front of his doorstep, making fools of ourselves while we grovel for his charity," Thranduil spat.

"But are we not making puppets of ourselves if we allow this strife to pitch us against one another on the battlefield? To pay with sweat and blood for the sins of the past? Would we not be better off if we refused to play this game, no matter what cards have been dealt to us, and stand together instead?"

Only when several pairs of eyes turned towards her did Tauriel realize that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. The stare of her king was the hardest to bear, his pale blue eyes cold as ice and piercing like a freshly sharpened blade. Still, she managed to pull back her shoulders and raise her chin. She was only speaking the truth, after all.

"I have a better idea," Thranduil drawled, his tone sending shivers up her spine as he stalked across the tent in the manner of a predator preparing to strike. "We will take the King's Jewel down to the gates of Erebor and demonstrate to Oakenshield once and for all who holds the upper hand in this 'game', as you so carelessly call it."

"And what do you think will be achieved by dangling the thing he wants most in front of his face?" Dáin had retreated mostly into the shadows once Fíli had stopped struggling. Now he was shaking his head, his arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. "No. Thorin may have lost sight of the right path, but he is still my kin. I will have no part in taunting him needlessly."

"With the stone, we will be able to draw him out of the mountain. I have been told that is the only course of action that may resolve the impasse at which we have found ourselves." Thranduil shot a sly look in Tauriel's direction. Sly because he was right, of course. Those had been her words, more or less. "Also," he went on, "if not for this very purpose, why else would the Halfling have brought the stone to us?"

Across the tent, Bilbo pressed the thumb and middle finger on his right hand against his closed eyelids. Tauriel felt oddly charmed by his general air of exasperation. He might be smaller of stature than all of them, but that did not mean that he was easily intimidated. "The Halfling is right here, thank you. Also, I did not, strictly speaking, bring the stone to you—" he indicated the whole of their mismatched group with a sweep of his hand, "—but to Kíli, rather."

"To me?" Kíli's head had shot up in surprise at the mention of his name.

"I—yes. When I saw you down there, before the gate, I had hope for the first time that if I left Thorin's side it would not mean turning against him. I knew that with you here, there would be someone who understood that the Dwarf inside that mountain is not the same we set out on this journey with. That whatever it is that has befallen him, needs to be done away with, one way or the other. " Bilbo turned to the group at large. "I know that Dwarves can be obstinate. And pigheaded. And difficult. And suspicious. Secretive. With the worst manners you can possibly imagine. But they are also brave, and kind, and loyal to a fault. I've grown very fond of them. And I would save them, if I can. Now, Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return I believe he will indeed give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war."

The three Dwarves currently present had all bristled at Bilbo's not entirely flattering description of their race, but now that he was done speaking, they all stood together, their faces solemn.

Bard was glancing between the different parties, a deep frown etched onto his forehead. "So we are taking the stone to Thorin after all?"

Kíli replied before Thranduil, who had already made to speak. "We are, but not as a means of provocation. We will offer the stone to him, and hopefully this will make him realize that we are not his enemies."

"Speak for yourselves," Thranduil muttered, the triumphant smile that had appeared at Bard's question already slipping.

Gandalf bestowed a reprimanding glance on the Elvenking. "That is a great risk," he said, turning to Bilbo and the Dwarves. "If handing the stone over to Thorin was not safe before all this, what makes you think having it now will not have the same, detrimental effects on his sanity?"

The question had been directed at Bilbo, mostly, but it was Fíli who answered, his mouth a hard line on his pale face. "Because I will be there to make sure it doesn't. To make sure he finally sees sense."

Next to him, Kíli had gone rigid. His eyes met Tauriel's for a split second before he closed them as he exhaled a slow breath. She knew what he was about to say—had to say—but that did not change the fact that his words felt like a knife being plunged between her ribs.

"I'll go with you, then. To Erebor."

A/N: Again, any bits of dialogue that sound familiar were borrowed from The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies.