Hello, dearest readers, one more step closer to Erebor and to the end of this (originally supposed to be a short) fic.
I thank from the bottom of my heart to the new followers knitnana62, xoulblade, Elenorhenry, Blue-Aleowyn-22-Shire, Kat272001, Zaebaebae, Kebi the cat and dallas1990.
Jillian Baade, at least not by his friends!
Faithfull Celebrililsweth, we only hope she will find out soon enough, don't we?

Telling Truths to Kings

Never a successful rescue of orc captives led to such a dreadful spirit. The ones rescued were, as expected, plenty of assorted pains, being them bodily, emotional or spiritual. Some scars would last, for sure. How long some scars would last, none was sure. Yet, how the rescued trio would react to any stimulus was a mystery even to those closely connected, and it was a trial of its own.
The route they took would never be considered by both Dale and Rohan men, and even less by dwarrow. More than one stretch they had to ride in single file, the dark eaves rustling as if with unnatural life. When Bard or Thorin had the guts to ask when they'd get out of the forest, the usual answer was soon.
Conversations were hushed, most of the time. The elven party didn't seem to favour more conversation than their king undertook. Which was close to none.

"Were you able to talk to your nephew?"
Bard's question made Thorin frown, but also informed him that he wasn't the only one feeling in trouble. The tall bowman scooped himself a ladle full of broth into his bowl, instead of being regal and demanding to being served by someone, to the despair of the Rohirrim lad second to Bombur in the kitchen duty (as it had been the last couple of weeks, but it never ceased to stun him). The camp kitchen lad rolled his eyes and resigned to the kings helping themselves, once more.
"I hate to admit, but he's in bad shape. I'd rather... no, I won't talk to him whilst he's in so much pain." The dwarrow king added a chunk of waybread to his bowl. "He'll never acknowledge it, but whatever those... (cursing in khuzdul) did to him, it was more than one person should endure."
Bard pursed his lips, hiding how much his teeth were gritted.
"At least he's a warrior."
Thorin rolled his eyes sideways, aware of where that conversation would lead.
"How fares your daughter?"
"Surviving."
It would be discourteous to part ways with plates in hand, so they complied to share the same fallen log. Bombur's broth tasted like silt to both of them.
"I know where your talk is heading to."
"So."
It was uncomfortable, to say the least. All the lies forged to disguise both their heirs' runaway had fallen to ashes.
Thorin bit some bread, surprised it didn't stick in his throat like his feelings, prepared to hear Brad's full wrath.
"Tilda having runaway doesn't make it fair for her to have been captured and tortured. It doesn't make her less respectable, or less deserving of love and compassion."
The bowman barely held his voice down, showing how much the years of concealed assemblies and under cover actions made a difference.
Now it was time for Thorin to lift his eyebrows.
"I don't recall having said the like, not me nor anyone of mine."
Bard was bitter, one just had to look at him to state it.
"No. But people will talk. You know people will talk."
It was enough for the dwarf to send to Mordor most of his caution. He'd feel the same as Bard if it were people gossiping about any of his nephews.
Thorin beckoned someone with an inconspicuous scratch at his nose. An average dwarf displaying red-brownish hair with many braids, the only notably detail being a distinct triple mohawk hairstyle, appeared out of the shadows.
The dwarrow king didn't even greet the newcomer before questioning.
"What is the mood regarding princess Tilda?"
Nori looked downward and to his left, as if recalling something, before answering. It lasted just a fraction of a moment, but it was enough for Bard to notice it. Nori might be used to spy on people, but Bard was used to being spied by people.
"Greetings, my king, king Bard." Said Nori, with a nod to the bowman. "The Rohirrim deem princess Tilda brave for having the confidence of a horse of theirs. Dale's wards would die for her, and take with them anyone who disagrees. Now, our people…"
"What is it with our people?" Thorin growled.
"Our people knows her as Óin's apprentice and is thankful for whatever skill and bandage she used to patch prince Kíli up. They're sure that, if it weren't for her, Erebor would be one heir short."
Thorin heard the report with keen eyes on Bard. His next question didn't exact a blink, and the former bargeman duly noticed it.
"So, what about her reputation?"
"Well…" A slight shuffle of one foot and a pointed look at other edge of the camp cleared even more what Nori was about to say. "Everybody knows in what high regard princess Dís takes her. And everybody knows our princess never mistook gold for pyrite, nor pyrite for gold."
The way the royal spy mentioned it got into Bard's nerves, and he showed it, rising to his feet with more energy than the situation granted.
"My daughter is no thing for her value to be gauged like a gemstone on a scale!"
"It was you who asked about how…"
The heir of Durin didn't need more than this to stand up on his own heels, used as unfortunately he was at humans shouting at him about how low his race had dwindled.
"What will people think about my daughter? What will they say?"
Nori just stepped aside and let the most furious entity he ever had opportunity to witness do their thing. Which was superb, considering the tiny vessel that carried such a fury, in his own humble opinion.
A wide outstretched hand made forceful contact with both kings' cheeks. Like their feet, hobbits' hands were disproportional to their height, meaning the slap was quite not the caress a child of that stature would bestow.
Bilbo hopped it would be enough (at least, by now) to make those two loggerheads to stop bickering and listen to the voice of reason. His voice, by the way.
"What people will say, Bard, is peoples' problem. As is Thorin's people problem what they will say about Kíli. What matters is the truth, and truth comes as light through the smallest crack: unstoppable. So, stop worrying as a bargeman about the opinion of your higher-ups as if it could decree your destiny, and that of your children. Your destiny is yours, as theirs is theirs. And no amount of gossip will change what your actions, or lack of them, bring on you;"
Thorin was mostly recovering from the shock of Bilbo's slap, feeling nice the lecture was on Bard and not understanding why he had been hit, yet thinking it was better than if it were Dís.
"Most knowing of the effects of gossip on one's life, are ya?"
Bard growled at the hobbit, a hand on his offended cheek and sliding back to peasant accent in his anger.
"Yes, I am. Because I'm a Baggins of Baggend, and Baggins were a most respectable family, never doing anything unexpected, and that was the meaning of respectable back then!"
"Back then? Back then when?" Asked Bard, confused.
Bilbo was very clear in his explanation.
"Back then before a party of dwarrow invaded my house, ravaged my pantry, turned my world upside down and hired me to burgle a stone from a dragon. You know of most of that part. What you don't know is that I left the Shire for more than a year, got back to people auctioning my every possession, demanding years to prove I was my own alive self, and facing every gossip you may imagine possible, only because I disappeared into an adventure with dwarrow and had the audacity to come back alive. That was ten years ago and people still call me Mad Baggins when I turn my back."
The king of Dale had the decency of lowering his eyes at the report, but he still had caveats.
"Do you know what it is like for a woman to have her dignity questioned? What it bespeaks for her life?"
"I know what it is like for a formerly respectable hobbit to be visited by dwarrow and be seen hand in hand with one of them, in the blissful delight of a picnic under the autumn leaves."
"Right, I see how the race mixture might upset some people but…"
"...But you have no idea what it is when the whole Shire believes Lady Dís is actually Thorin Oakenshield!"
This at last had Bard mute.
It also had said Thorin Oakenshield red as a beetroot and Nori diverting his gaze to the highest branches in view.
"People will think what they will think, Bard, and they will say what they will say. The weight it will have on you is your choice, not theirs."

Thranduil didn't let go unnoticed the slight altercation that occurred upon supper. What people of any race thought about each other was the least of his concerns, as he himself thought poorly of people of any other race than his own, but there was something about the hobbit that got into his mind recently and he was keen on finding some answers.
So, it was not hard to intersect said hobbit's path as he left the mortal kings of Rhovanion to pout to each other. Yet, he had to concede in the last few minutes it turned more to Thorin pouting and Bard hiding a giggle behind a spoon, or a chuckle behind a bowl. Or an outrageous guffaw behind a bent elbow.
But it didn't get him answers, and he expected the halfling to fulfil certain gaps.
"Master Baggins."
Uttered the elven king whilst stepping on said halfling's path.
It could have worked if Bilbo were less upset with all that stupid stuff about property and what would people say.
"Sure, what now?"
The elven king was less than pleased to be greeted with less than complete servility, but that was no surprise.
"Might we talk?"
Thranduil gestured vaguely at the surrounding darkness as an invitation to leave the small circle of camp fires and walk into the shadows the trees provided.
Bilbo felt his former words hadn't been polite as it would be expected from an exponent from the Shire, cousin to Fortinbras Took, current Thain. His manners called to stand for his people.
"Of course, of course. Dark eaves under the waxing moon are everything I ever wanted to have whilst talking to an elven king." He gestured vaguely at the darkness around them. "What… what were we about to talk, actually?"
Thranduil had to remind himself of the meaning of sovereignty as he draw in a deep breath before resuming his questioning.
"Master Baggins, we're sure it didn't go unnoticed by your person that the place from where the three captives were rescued, one of them being my son, was not any usual place. Do you agree?"
"Well, your Majesty, I must agree." Answered Bilbo, minding his manners.
"What kind of place was that, in your opinion?"
"Ah, well, a fortress? It might have been a castle sometime in the past but..."
"And as a fortress, was it fortified? I mean, not only its gates and bulwarks or crenells… Was it manned?
"About man, your Highness…"
"Manned as in there were sentient beings holding it, as much as orcs and the likes of them might be called sentient, obviously."
Bilbo shuffled his large feet, uncomfortable.
"Well… As your Highness obviously knows, there was a lot of them. Thanks goodness not enough to resist the combined forces of the dwarrow of Erebor and the man of Dale, and of Rohan, as well as the unexpected arrival of your Highness and respective forces. I really must thank you for the reinforcements in the nick of time, or, better saying, where are my manners, I should already have thanked you for…"
"Master Bilbo Baggins."
The quiet mention of his full name was enough to stop his rambling, so akin it was to how his mother addressed him when he was in trouble… Not the he would concede it, of course.
"...Y-yes?"
"What did you do to make the orcs flee from the fortress they held, master Baggins?"
"Erm, what? No, no, I… I didn't." Thranduil stared Bilbo down with no compassion, and the hobbit resisted. "I did it not. I was not me. I'm not even a warrior, what could I do to make them flee?"
A squint didn't look well on the silver-haired elf, but yet there it was, making Bilbo more anxious by the minute.
"What could you do, indeed, master Baggins?"
"Ahem, you see, I could not, but there was a lot of warriors, human warriors, dwarrow warriors and then even elven warriors when you and yours reached the skirmish, so, no surprise the orcs fled, I myself would flee if I were and orc, and…"
"The same you did to roam my castle whilst your dwarrow were held to questioning?"
"...Pardon?"
"The same you did to snatch a bunch of keys from my butler to allow them to escape?"
Bilbo held his hands up, maybe aiming to a gesture of peace, or to ask someone to calm down, but depending on who saw it, it looked more like a reaction of self-defence.
"King Thranduil, son of Oropher, I believed we were long past this kind of discussion? Since certain emerald necklace I took as a part of my one-fourteenth share has reached your hands…"
"… as a compensation for the much my pantry was raided, as I recall you mentioning..."
"...which was only due, considering how meager were the rations delivered to the dwarrow held to questioning, as your Highness prefers to put it…"
A haughty pair of eyebrows accompanied the interruption that followed Bilbo's own interruption of an interruption.
"It still doesn't answer what did you do to make the orcs flee, master Baggins. You're trying to dodge the question, yet it remains."
Bilbo's poker face remained the same.
"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe they were summoned elsewhere?"
"Were they?"
Thranduil moved swiftly, one precise step getting him into Bilbo's personal space, piercing eyes on his target. Towering over most of his subjects was easy enough, to tower on a halfling was almost ridiculous, but if it was what he needed to get his answers, he'd do it.
But Bilbo was more than used to have Thorin stepping into wherever he wasn't supposed to, his personal space the least of them. From looking up at a stubborn dwarven king's face to looking up at a pretentious elven king's face was just a matter of angle – or of viewpoint, if you'd prefer.
"How would I know?"
"How, indeed…"
"Your Highness, I love a riddle as does the hobbit next door, but it is getting late and I crave sleep just as any mortal does. So, if I may…"
The hobbit was almost back to the circle of light the bonfires shed when the last words of the elven king reached him.
"You may, master Baggins. And you also may consider that many wise ones have fallen into unspeakable depths whilst aiming at the stars. Don't let your pride keep you from seeking help when needed."
"The same to you, your Highness."