The rescue parties and the respective rescued ones diverged at the shadow of Erebor, dwarrow to one side and New Dalers, New Laketowners and Rohirrim to the other. The elves seemed perfectly fine with staying in the middle of the field, grass as their mattresses and stars as their blankets.

Of course Dís would have none of it and demanded the whole elven party to take shelter under the Mountain (because what would people say), to what Thorin cringed and Bard took offence, stating New Dale was perfectly fit to house Thranduil and his subjects and anything less would be unacceptable.

Once again Bilbo was the sensible one and, along Fíli and Bain, negotiated that the elves could choose where to stay, if their king allowed.

Said king chose New Dale, and prince Legolas, rebel brat that he was, chose Erebor, so Thranduil's guard could chose where to stay, according to how much they were willing to upset their king. Which used to be little. Yet, rejecting Dís' offer would initiate a diplomatic disaster, so some of the younger elves accompanied Legolas into the Mountain, because sometimes subjects have to have more sense than their sovereigns.


"Tilly!"

Sigrid cried the endearment they hadn't used for more than a decade, running and catching her little sister as soon as she was released from the horse that she rode. No, Tilda didn't dismount, she was dismounted, like a doll would have been put down from a rocking horse. Her unfocused look told more to Sigrid than any report could do. It was trauma, she has seen it on several warriors who faced orc raids in the Eastmarch. And they were trained soldiers, not a barely score-aged healer.

Said young healer barely lifted her eyes to her sister and the steady presence she had always meant. There was a red rim that wasn't because of the cold or the dry wind, and a glassy nature that was never a good omen.

"I failed."

Her voice was a coarse whisper, and Sigrid couldn't help but seek their brother with her eyes to gauge a hint of what happened, or what was happening. They having silent conversations over Tilda's head was no novelty, just it never was such a huge thing as to move wards from three kingdoms. Bain mouthed in silence, well aware of who was in their surroundings.

"Da knows you had a part in…"

"And you, what part did you have?" Sigrid mouthed back, angry. "You knew Da arranged a marriage without consulting Tilda, and what did you do?"

That caught Bain off-guard, and he raised his hands in defence.

"He was about to tell her…"

"When?" Then Sigrid was walking their little sister to her own chambers, numb as a fish trapped in ice. As much as she tried to muffle it, her voice was already an angry rustle. "As if it matters. Nobody asked, nobody regarded it is her life they were negotiating."

"Do you think Da didn't consider what would be best for her? That his choice was poor?"

"Bain, do you know what?" The angry rustle raised to a fuming buzz. "His choice was not poor; poor was our mother's choice if she chose someone who doesn't even ask his daughter if she consents on a marriage!"

"Sigrid, grow up, would ya? We're not the offspring of a bargeman anymore, we have duties to our people! And these duties might implicate wedding someone you didn't expect to, because of politics, diplomatics and commercial issues, that affect our whole people!"

"Oh, really? And would you marry said noble if the council decided that in your stead?"

Bain bit his tongue, not to show his sister what ran through his mind, how much he envied their little sister for the choice the Council made for her. But that wouldn't grant Sigrid's sympathy, not for his sexual preferences nor for New Dale's politics, so he shut up.

Downward look, the crown prince to the united kingdom of Dale and Esgaroth acknowledged his defeat.

"That is yet to be seen, I regret to say, when my time comes to be delivered as a token of peace, trust or trade. But I must have faith it won't be my end."

To those words Tilda lifted her glassy eyes, letting go from Sigrid's robes and gripping his brother's shirt instead.

"That… that's what I am? A token?"

Bain held his younger sister close, pouring all his care on the one that carried the same fate as him. Not everyone had the luck of getting married to someone they wanted to, as it had been with Sigrid. Bain knew anyone chosen for him would most probably wear skirts, and that was definitely not what he was into.

"Tilda… in our society, one has to be poor as a drowned mouse to have a choice in who you wed. If one is not that poor, there'll always be something regarding who someone owes respect to, or gratitude to someone else, or expectations, or debts, or whatever it is parents believe they have right on their offspring's lives."

"But… Da and Ma loved each other so much… That's what I always heard been told…"

"Da and Ma were the poorest mice, Tilda. We are heirs to a king, we have not such freedom."

Only then did the sisters understand that Bain was not the mindless defender of their father's choices. He was someone caught in the webs of politics as much as them. Just, Sigrid had more luck, and her choice was convenient for the politics at the time. Bain and Tilda had no such luck. Or at least, Bain didn't know what it would be for him.

Sigrid's statement at their brother's quiet, yet enlightening vent, was the mantlet of comfort they all needed.

"Bain, if you ever… and I mean, ever! Feel the need to… take distance from things… that don't respect your freedom… Know that the Ridemark is wide, and the streets of Gondor are full of people, and no one has seen you."

The young crown prince of Dale looked at his sister, eyes wet with gratitude. He extended one arm to bring her into the comforting hug of siblings who knew, at last, where each one stood.

"I might visit, Siggy. When I'm overwhelmed, when things are too… But if I don't… take on what is my due… who will be there for our people? And when I say our people, I mean our neighbours, the ones we met every fair day and didn't turn up their nose at our fishes, the ones who looked after us when Da was gone working and we were too young to deal with a fever or a tummy ache, and didn't care we had no coin to pay anything. They were there for us, who would I leave in my stead if I…" Bain let the silence talk what he didn't have words to express. "Someone like the former major of Laketown? Someone like Alfrid? I would not allow it. I would not be able to… sleep with this in my mind."

Now Tilda wept openly, knowing her fate wasn't the only horrible one in the family. What Bain would be put up to, there was no cue as of yet, but if his choices (was it even a choice?) were the ones she understood…

"I'll do anything I'm able to help you, Bain, as I did to try to help Tilda. I can't promise success, of course, but you know I'll try."

"And this promise keeps me strong, my sister. Even when you are far in the Ridermark, I'll know I can count on you."

Sigrid smiled bitterly, knowing things would probably get as sour as it was going with Tilda, but if her brother felt more confident with her promises, it was something, at least. She turned to the crying thing in their arms.

"Are you hungry, Tilda? Do you wanna take a bath, wash the grime of the road? What can I provide you?"

"Nothing." She muttered. "There is nothing."

Sigrid shook her head, unable to deal with the despairing state her sister was in. To deal with trauma took time, but would there be any, before their Da, the Council and whatever politicians found it due to make Tilda face the arranged wedding that was drowning her soul?

Bain sensed the moment and took his leave.

"Sleep well, Tilly. I'll be beside you tomorrow, and whenever you need."

"You know you can't promise this."

Her monotonous voice accused him, and Bain had to reconsider.

"Whenever I'm able, then."

He placed a soft kiss to her temple, mouthed a good-night to Sigrid, and left to mourn his own future.