As the days leading up to the wedding began slipping by at an alarming rate, I found myself feeling inexplicably anxious, and, though I knew my time was precious, I often had to sit down with a cup of tea and some hard biscuits in order to settle my tumultuous stomach.

My normal work duties had been suspended in order for me to attend to all the important tasks a bride usually would see to - though sometimes I found myself rather at a loss as to what that actually entailed. One morning, however, I was sent a summons from Méra. Curious as to how my dress was doing, I eagerly made my way to her quarters.

Inside I found a flurry of fabrics, lacing, thread and a rather frazzled looking young dwarrowdam who looked like she might be in need of a good meal and a night's rest.

"I've got the bones of the dress finished." She stated, blowing her hair out of her face and pushing up her sleeves.

"Méra…" I ducked under an unravelled roll of heavy fabric that looked to have been flung in frustration towards a now thankfully unlit chandelier, "...how long have you been working on this dress?" The dwarrowdam grinned a grin that seemed stretched too thin, almost manic in nature, but at least she wasn't frustrated with me like she was the last time I had seen her.

"The real question is, how many hours does it take to make a perfect dress?" She beckoned me over and began to help me undress down to my underclothes. "A year isn't uncommon for dwarven courtship. Do we think we can fit a year's worth of work into two weeks?"

"Honestly, I'd have been happy even just modifying one of my old dresses." I responded, running my hand along a few swaths of silk that she held up to compare against my skin tone. "You don't need to put in so much effort."

Méra snorted and assured me that she would rather sacrifice the sleep than have me presented in a reused gown. Since many of the dwarrowdams knew I was wearing her fashions, she didn't want to risk her reputation as a budding, self-taught seamstress.

"Oh, do you think you'll want to become the mountain's next resident tailoress?" I questioned, unsure that she would be able to abandon her royal duties to pursue a more lowly career.

"By Durin, no!" she scoffed, wrinkling her nose. "I would rather be dead than commit myself to such a feminine occupation! My parents do enough of that as it is trying to force me into being a princess."

I spent the next hour wearing parts of the dress in their current, unfinished state, while Méra set about fine-tuning all the measurements to make sure the dress, in all its finished glory, would fit perfectly. After that, she showed me more of the fabrics she had chosen for approval (she displayed the same talent with this as she had in all my prior dresses), and then I settled down to help her with the sewing. After what felt like just a few minutes, however, I heard a grunt from behind my shoulder and looked to see the young dwarf giving my stitching the most peeved expression.

"What?" I snapped, feeling somewhat defensive - I thought my needlework was looking rather tidy.

Méra, to her credit, had the grace to stop gawking. "Ah, why don't we have you cutting out some patterns instead." She suggested politely, though I could tell she was struggling to hide her dismay. "I'll have to get Dori to help me finish that part. He never shuts up, but his needlework is immaculate."

Truthfully I was glad to be relieved of my prior duty. My wounded pride, as it turns out, hurt much less than the half dozen jabs I had already given myself with the sewing needle.

Three hours of piecework and fittings later, with breaks few and far between, Méra finally deemed that I had fulfilled my obligation as a dwarven bride-to-be by making, or at least helping to make, my own dress. By the end of all the work, I felt satisfied that the day had seen some real progress, and so after a quick bite to eat I retired to my chambers to relax and ended up sleeping the remainder of the afternoon away.

I picked up an early supper after waking from my nap and cleaning myself up, and was happy to run into Bofur shortly afterwards on an stroll through the mountain's main concourse. With wedding preparations well underway, we were seeing little of one another, and so we took the opportunity to simply enjoy each other's company.

We spoke of little things, the earliest inklings of a spring thaw, the new spices showing up in meals of late, how the repairs to the walkways seemed flawless, almost perfect enough to forget we once trod over their rubble after the wroth of Smaug. Such topics led to dark thoughts though, and we both seemed keen to shy away from them, changing subjects to keep our hearts light.

I noticed while we were talking that Bofur still donned the braid I had placed in his hair before leaving to Dale. He had taken to wearing his hair loose, with a couple larger braids adorned with metal clasps, but with the majority of it falling in the long brown waves I had grown fond of. Every so often, when his head would tilt a certain way, I caught a glimpse of the blonde hair shining out from within his own dark locks - the memento from my own that I had woven into his as a courting braid of my own fashion.

Absently I raised my hand to my own hair and touched the courting braid Bofur had redone after Méra had stripped out the dark colouring. Bofur noticed and smiled, but continued to tell me of a wild boar hunt he and Bombur had attempted in his 'youth,' as he had put it, that had somehow led to them having to wait for three days for aid as they had managed to end up stuck in a bog of quicksand, divested of most of their clothing, though he wouldn't tell me how.

"Bifur was the first to arrive at the site of the accident, but the silly bloke went and tripped right into the quicksand with us when he arrived." Bofur explained after I dropped the subject of their missing clothes. "Luckily I managed to clamber up and over him to get free, and was able to pull him out after me. Poor Bombur needed to wait another whole day before we could arrange for a team of oxen to come fetch him out. He weighed even more back then, believe it or not - it's one of the reasons we talked him into coming along to Erebor in the first place, needed to get him back into the prime physical condition he's in now…"

He trailed off as we picked up on a commotion near the back of the entrance hall.

Slap clap...slap slap clap...slap slap slap slap….

At first we had a hard time distinguishing the sound - it was sporadic, and it echoed strangely off the walls.

"If I didn't know better," Bofur mused, "I'd say there was a hobbit running amok in the mountain."

It wasn't until it drew closer that we learned how close he was to being right. The chamber was sparsely populated, so it would have been hard to miss the tall, pale man that was suddenly careening his way towards the exit, running shirtless, bare feet smacking the floor somewhat erratically as a host of semi-armoured dwarves tried to close in behind him.

Something about the stature of the man made me take a few quick steps closer to get a better look, or perhaps it was the mere appearance of another human in Erebor, such an oddity as it was, that drew my complete attention.

I winced in surprise as suddenly a dwarven guard that had been posted in the hall itself suddenly side-tackled the man roughly to the ground. "Oh COME ON!" I heard the man yelp in dismay. The other pursuers quickly caught up and soon he was wrestled to his feet, held securely in place with dwarves grasping his arms and shoulders.

Ignoring Bofur's beckoning and sloughing him off as he attempted to take my hand, I rushed forward, suddenly recognizing the man.

"Hall?!" I shouted over the raucous, barging my way through the closest group of onlookers. I yelled his name again as I came up short in front of the guards holding him captive.

Hall gawped up at me, his struggling momentarily halted as he regarded me with a look of puzzled confusion.

It suddenly dawned on me how truly terrible he looked. His once blonde hair was dank and slicked with grime and grease. In fact his whole body was mottled and greyed with what looked like old soot. His ribs were clearly visible and his stomach had a sunken appearance to it. Though I had not seen Hall topless before, I suspected that the bulk of the winterwear I was used to seeing him in had been supported by a muscular, healthy frame.

The guards took the advantage of his hesitation to immobilize him completely, and then began to wrench him towards a small service corridor. Even with the dwarves forcing him roughly onwards, he managed to twist to look back at me once more before being hauled from site.

Bofur caught up to me, and I spun to him with desperation on my face.

"Bofur we need to help him!"

"Wasn't that the idiot from the bar?" He asked incredulously, looking from me to the hallway where sounds of commotion were fading away.

"He is my friend!" I insisted, raising my voice so that the few other dwarves in the entrance hall began to listen in.

Bofur shook his head with a frown, turning to take my arms and speaking with a more hushed tone. "Even if I knew why he was being held, I don't have the authority to question it, let alone release him."

I scowled and tried to tug myself free, hoping to follow the guards, but Bofur held me in place.

"Lass," he hissed, pulling me further to the side and away from some of the wayward eyes that were still fixed on us. "You can't go meddlin' in every odd thing that happens here, questioning authority and the like, especially so close to the wedding."

"No, but listen-" I tried to explain, but Bofur immediately interrupted.

"No. You listen." he demanded, somewhat more roughly than I was used to. "Balin had to do a good deal of appealing on our behalf to get Dain to even agree to us marrying, let alone holding the ceremony here in Erebor. We're all out of favours, love, likely angering a goodly amount of dwarves, too. The last thing we need is to cause more trouble."

I looked helplessly in the direction that Hall had been taken, but Bofur was right. There wasn't much chance of me helping him now, but maybe if I knew more…

"I just need to talk to him." I pleaded. "Find out where they are taking him. Follow them-" He opened his mouth to object, but I pressed the matter. "Follow them or I will. Bofur, if I get lost, there won't be a wedding."

He still seemed unconvinced.

"Alright, I'm leaving then." I threatened, pulling out of his arms and lunging towards the corridor. "I can probably still catch them."

"Alright, alright, just wait." Bofur headed me off, giving me a glare that seemed only half serious. "You can be a right pain in the arse you know."

I beamed at him and whispered a quick 'I love you,' before he tipped his hat and sauntered nonchalantly into the hallway after the guards. I returned to my rooms to wait, my mind tumultuous and weighed down by a whole new problem to solve in the ever shortening time before the wedding.

Bofur walked through the weaving maze of semi-lit corridors, his mood as wavering as the candlelight that sputtered at certain intervals as he descended deeper into the mountain.

He wondered why his beloved seemed unable to refrain herself from irrevocably tangling herself in complicated webs of problems that he himself would have been content to stay well away from. He desperately wished for a time when they could live a simple life together, with simple pleasures, and unfettered by the dramas and troubles of the nobler folks. He was, after all, a simple miner.

Yet perhaps that was part of her draw. After everything he had been through - all they had been through together - perhaps an obscure part of himself also craved the excitement. Why else was he sneaking after the royal armament of Erebor to gain intelligence on a strange man that was clearly imprisoned in one of the mountain's more secure dungeon holdings?

Who was that man? And more importantly, who was he to her? Bofur had never considered himself the jealous type, yet he felt a trickle of hot anger start to flow through his veins at the thought of him. He remembered meeting the man at the tavern, and how he had felt peculiarly threatened by the tall, well-dressed bloke that seemed awfully keen on defending his betrothed. He'd felt even more deflated when she had defended him. He knew it had been a harebrained scheme to send her to Dale in the first place; dangers aside, it was too soon after requesting her hand to be parted in such a way. He had worried she would start to question her decision, that the people and lifestyle of Dale would cause her to doubt her future with him in Erebor. The strain and stress of the whole fiasco had caused her to drift from him, and it felt that everything he did just made it worse. He had felt so helpless at times.

Which led him here, trying to please her despite his better judgement, trudging quietly through the empty, gloomy corridors until he could determine exactly where the great dunce was being kept. He didn't want to risk further damage to his relationship with her, not when she was mere days away from becoming his wife.

He had never told her that, in allowing her advances in Laketown, and leading her to bed, he had already made up his mind. Old dwarven culture dictated that a physical coupling was as official an admission into betrothal as was a drawn up contract of intent. Of course, his people, nobility especially, now mostly frowned upon the former method and instead favoured using the marital contract with sums of gold or other valuables paid in order to signify the official start of an engagement. This practice then led to a slightly newer manifest of traditions that encouraged strict chaste behaviour to be practiced until the actual marriage ceremony was complete - thus ensuring that more dwarrowdam families got their hands on a generous endowment in exchange for their daughter's hand. Bofur found he wasn't quite a fan of the new ideals.

He was aware that human traditions and values would be different than his own, and he acknowledged that her opinions on marriage might be tainted by bad experiences in her past. Still, after the night with her in Laketown, he knew in his heart that something significant had changed in his relationship with her and decided then that, if she was willing, he would wed her, no matter what the costs. Thorin had, after all, given him leave to be with her that night, knowing full well the implications of what that meant. He had believed then that, once Thorin took the throne, they could be married under his reign without much objection. Things hadn't quite worked out as he had planned. After divesting much of their private relations to Balin in a plea for help, the new king under the mountain had eventually been persuaded to let old traditions stand, and break some others in the process.

His introspection was cut short as he began to hear voices echoing off the stone walls. He came to a stop, took his bearings, and after making a mental note of where exactly in the mountain he was, he quietly turned and retraced his footsteps back through the long dark of Erebor.

It had taken Bofur well over an hour to track the guards to where they were keeping Hall, and by the time he arrived back at my room I was already contemplating venturing out on my own. As it was I nearly pounced on him when he stepped inside, so eager that I was for information.

"Well? What happened?" I asked in a rush.

"I know where they are keeping him." Bofur assured, making his way to my fire to warm his hands.

"Oh good." I exclaimed in relief. "Tell me, I'll go down now and see what I can find out. I'm sure this is all a big misunderstanding." I began bustling around looking for my overcoat. I stopped when Bofur remained quiet. "What is it?"

"You do realize I'm not just going to jot down a map and send you on this fool's errand alone, don't you? Your sense of direction is terrible you know. Even if you were to find the place, what would you tell the guards?"

I mulled this over for a moment.

"Look, I'll try to bring you down tomorrow." Bofur offered, taking a seat and pulling off his hat. Clearly he didn't feel even a fraction of the urgency that was nearly emanating from my pores.

I chewed on my lip, unsure how to proceed. Truthfully I had anticipated going alone to confront Hall. Bofur had rather quelled my plans, however, by bringing up the valid point that I really didn't have a plan at all. Yet I knew it would be a confusing enough encounter as it was; I would have a lot to explain, likely in a short amount of time, and I also needed to discover exactly why he was being held prisoner in Erebor. Having Bofur with me would only… complicate matters. I also very clearly remembered their rather contentious first encounter at the tavern and worried that those initial feelings would resurface and befuddle the situation even more.

"Well… I had hoped to go tonight." I declared, trying to make my voice sound gentle yet decided. "I'm sure I'll be fine on my own."

Bofur studied me for a long moment, and though I firmly held his gaze at first, something in his expression caused me to eventually look away while feeling inexplicably guilty. He then got to his feet and suddenly I felt my coat being pressed into my hands.

"Fine. We'll go now."

I followed Bofur out, feeling somewhat chided, but satisfied enough to be going at all that I decided to accept Bofur as my guide without further complaint.

"We'll need to make a quick stop first." He said, and before I could ask where, we were already halted in front of the door of a nearby room. Bofur knocked and after a few moments it swung open to reveal Dwalin. He looked at us in confusion. I smiled and was about to greet him when Bofur cut me off.

"Wait here." He commanded, before taking Dwalin by the arm and leading them both inside. The door swung resolutely shut and I was left, rather disgruntled, waiting alone in the hallway. It was just when I was getting seriously annoyed by the amount of time that had passed that Bofur stepped back out of Dwalin's quarters.

"What the-" I began to ask, tapping the front of the armoured chest plate he now wore under his coat. He hushed me and led me further down the hall. He was also carrying a metal helmet and I realized it was the same as those worn by the guards. Suddenly I understood.

"Dwalin's sworn his service to Dain?" I asked quietly as we quickly proceeded towards a stairwell that would begin taking us to the lower levels.

"Aye, he's the new captain of the king's vanguard. And he was none too pleased about me asking to borrow his gear without too many questions asked. Had to do some tricky bartering, and even still he'll probably be breathing down our necks to try and figure out what we needed it for."

I looked back over my shoulder towards Dwalin's door, only now starting to truly realize the burden I had placed upon Bofur. "Will he get in very much trouble if we get caught?"

Bofur guided me onward, not looking back. "If we're caught, then it will be charges of treason for the lot of us, mind, Dwalin may be able to claim I stole the gear and face lesser charges. I wager he'd kill us both first in any case, so at least we won't have to worry about facing Dain…"

Eventually we made it to a secluded area where Bofur instructed me to tread more lightly, and we carried on at a slower and more silenced pace. At one point Bofur held out his arm to stop me and then pointed to a narrow, off-shooting passageway. We tiptoed a ways down it and then Bofur took off his coat and handed it to me.

"Now stay here, and I mean it." He whispered. "I'll come get you if I can convince the guards to leave their posts."

I nodded and watched as Bofur pulled the helmet over his head and wandered back up the tunnel to the main corridor we had been following.

After another nail-bitingly long wait, Bofur finally returned. I hadn't realized how shallowly I had been breathing and took some deep, refreshing breaths as I watched him approach.

I had been starting to envision scenarios where he had been instantly found out and tossed into the cell with Hall, leaving me in a state of limbo waiting for him to return, or having to face unfair treasonous charges if I dared to venture forth to reveal myself. I shifted my weight from foot to foot as he removed his helmet and he must have read the anxiousness in my stance as he instantly explained what had happened.

"Well, that was easier than expected." He said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "I found the two guards in the middle of a heated argument about who's beard was most stylish, and all the while that mad bugger of a prisoner was egging them on. I think they'd have broke out into a brawl if I hadn't chanced upon them. Even without the captain's livery, I doubt they'd have given me much trouble if I'd suggested they take their business elsewhere."

He beckoned me down the direction he had come from, but before we got too far he stopped and turned me to face him. "Be careful love." He warned. "I hate to admit it, but that prisoner is clearly all manner of clever to have nearly escaped at least twice. I know you say he is your friend, but just don't let him convince you to do anything… stupid."

I pursed my lips at him, but nodded. "I will be careful." I promised. I worried that he would press the matter further, but my level headed response and the lack of any retort seemed to convince him that I was being genuine.

Entering the cell block brought up memories of being prisoners of Thranduil. The long weeks behind iron doors. I thought back on it almost wistfully, remembering that Fili was locked in our cell, and Thorin just beside. Several unsuccessful escape attempts, Dori's mournful singing filling the grand halls, the rush of the waterfalls, Tauriel's visits to Kili… these were the dark thoughts Bofur and I had tried too hard to avoid just hours ago, but there was a task at hand, and those thoughts would need to be buried a while longer.

Apart from the heavy iron gates, the similarity between this dwarvish prison and the elvish one I was familiar with ended. Where the woodland realm was well-lit and airy, with smooth lines and flowing architecture, this area of Erebor was stagnant and dark. The holding cells were low and confined, rough-hewn blocks carved out of the stone, with clearly no thought of grandeur or even comfort in mind.

I grabbed one of the few torches off its sconce and looked to Bofur who indicated towards the cell that held Hall.

"Just, let me talk to him for a few minutes?" I requested quietly. Bofur nodded and thankfully he held back as I ventured forward to peer past the bars of the door.

Hall was sitting on the ground with his back leaning on the far wall. He looked up at me, his eyes seeming to take a moment to focus.

"This is the best hallucination I've had yet." He said with a half-grin. "You know, I would kill for a cider right about now."

I gawked at him for a moment and stepped closer, placing my free hand around a cold black iron bar.

"Hall? What happened?" I questioned gently. "Why are you in here?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "The question is, why are you in here?" He shifted as if he were about to get up, but then seemed to think better of it.

"You know, I thought I had recognized you earlier, but your hair threw me off." He rubbed his fingers along the short patchy beard that now covered his jawline before continuing. "It shouldn't have, really, there were times, when it was snowing, it would leave dark marks along the side of your face. Didn't say anything, didn't want to be rude, ungentlemanly… blonde suits you. You know what they say about blondes..."

His rambling was beginning to confuse me and seemed to also be wearing on him. He blew out an exhausted breath; whatever adrenalin had fueled his earlier flight through the mountain had clearly long worn off. I rushed to collect my scattered thoughts and knelt down, tired of stooping to see to the back of his cell.

"Hall, please, I can help you get out of here, but I need to know what they think you did!" I urged loudly.

Pushing himself onto his knees as well, Hall shuffled forward and grabbed hold of the gate with both hands, I suspected more to steady himself than anything.

"Eleanor, who the hell are you anyways?" He suddenly demanded, his voice taking on an icy edge. I jerked slightly back away from him, momentarily startled by his outburst.

I felt Bofur sidle up behind me, placing a protective hand on my shoulder, and watched as Hall's gaze shifted upwards, his expression growing even more confused.

"Him? Now I know I must be dreaming."

"Then it's a bad dream, isn't it, sunshine?" Bofur chided lazily from above me.

I frowned at Bofur's most unhelpful comment. "Hall, this is my…"

I was about to answer him, to try to explain everything, when my eyes focused on his hand that he had wrapped around the iron bar of his cell door. My stomach reeled as I understood what I was seeing.

"Hall… your hand…" I clamped my own hand over my mouth and swallowed hard as bile crept up my esophagus. Two of his fingernails had been torn off. Perhaps ripped out accidentally from his attempts to escape, or maybe, and my mind had a hard time accepting the possibility that the dwarves could be so masochistic, maybe they were pulled out intentionally. Either way I began to feel grossly warm, and leaned back against Bofur's legs. Missing fingernails paled in comparison to some of the gore I had witnessed during the past year, but for some reason I was nearly swooning at the sight of Hall's injuries. Bofur, sensing something was wrong, hauled me up to my feet.

I took a few steadying breaths and fanned my face before glancing back at Hall. He had pulled his hands back in and was inspecting them thoughtfully.

"What, this?" He asked, his voice returning to its normal cajoling quality. "I've had worse. I was always bad at remembering to cut my nails anyway. It's going to make it a lot harder to pick my nose though..."

Bofur and I both must have been giving him the same dumbfounded look, his unexpected remark catching us both off guard.

"What?!" Hall demanded, and then continued "All men do it..."

A distant sound drew our attention, and I felt Bofur tense up behind me.

Footsteps.

"Sounds like we're about to have company." Hall remarked. "Do you want to make a wager that they won't make it through to their shift change either? Your king seriously needs to make some inquiries into his staff, there seems to be some under qualified-"

"Hush!" Bofur admonished in a loud whisper.

"Hall, quick, what did they think you did?" I asked again, my hands gripping the bars once more.

"Apparently…" Hall answered only paying me half his attention, "...and keep in mind they haven't actually read me any formal charges so this is just a guess, but owning a building in which a crime is committed automatically makes you a criminal mastermind. Who knew! I'll have to add that to my job description..."

The sound of footfall could be heard through the halls once more, this time much closer.

Bofur placed his hand on my back to guide me away. "Amrâlimê, we have to go. Now."

At this, Hall lurched to his feet and flung his arms through the gaps in the bars, grabbing hold of me before I could step away. His hands, though trembling and mangled, still bore great strength as they gripped my forearms. He was a shamble, a ghost of his former self, but his eyes were sharp, clearer and more serious than I had ever seen them.

"If I don't get out of here, tell my family I love them."

Torchlight at the far end of the hallway.

"Go." he hissed, more to Bofur than to me. "Get her out of here!"

Bofur wrapped his arms around my waist and hauled me from the dungeons.

The haunting image of Hall in his cell, his grotesque injuries, and his unexpected and hopeless plea replayed in my mind over and over on the long walk back to our living quarters. Bofur made me swear to stay in my rooms for the night, and I begrudgingly agreed. He eventually bade me goodnight, leaving Dwalin's armour behind as I offered to return it personally the following day. Left alone, I paced back and forth, frustrated with the situation I was now in. I needed to help, yet knew I could not risk raising the ire of the king by waking him and demanding recourse, nor would I subject Dwalin or Bofur to Dain's wrath because of me.

Bofur had thought that some time and a good sleep would help me to cool my temper.

Bofur was wrong. And sleep was not forthcoming.

How long had Hall been in there? Since the explosion?

Had the dwarves been torturing him while I sewed my dress and sipped my tea and talked of such trivial things as dried flower decor and seating arrangements?

Was that why everyone had been so tight-lipped about the whole venture? Who else knew he had been captured? Did Dwalin know!?

Worst of all, could I have saved him from all the agony he was now going through if I hadn't let Dwalin force me from the city? If I had kept closer to him that night? If I had been a better friend?

Such was the tumultuous nature of my thoughts.

Sleep was not an option, and come morning my temper was far from quelled.

I waited the night, as I promised I would. I even slammed back a few cups of tea and a light breakfast after dawn broke. Yet when Bofur failed to appear by mid-morning, I decided I could wait no longer and all but stomped to Balin's rooms, not bothering to knock. Fortunately he was absent, and better still, his private rooms were unlocked. My heightened temper allowed me to abandon all sense of propriety and I simply let myself in and marched right through to the entrance of the passageway I knew led directly to the king's quarters.

I burst out of the secret tunnel full of a fire and flurry that I imagined had not been seen in these halls since the dragon had been vanquished. I started to speak before even coming into view of the king, and yet as soon as I entered Dain's meeting chamber, all my bluster left me mid-sentence.

"Your Grace, you have a man wrongly imprison- oh..."

"Oh come on!" The king exclaimed before I had even registered the situation, rolling his eyes as he looked up from his chair full of exasperation.

"First, my guards start complaining about a posh tit of a prisoner haverin' their ears off night and day. D'yeh know I had a torturer quit after just two days with him?! Next I get this grim bastard here to plead his case..." He gestured across the table, where I noticed both Bard and Hall sitting with looks of puzzlement on their faces.

"...and now you, which means the whole of Oakenshield's company will be behind you. Pull off my beard, who else in this forsaken land knows you, boy? Should I expect that willow-waisted elvish tart of a king to come plead your case? Or mayhap the bonnie steward of Gondor!?"

The last two were clearly rhetorical; a final bluster in a frustrated outburst that I sensed had been building for some time now.

"Actually, Turgon would probably be happy to have me set free." Hall chimed in nonchalantly, only to notice both Dain and Bard glowering in his direction.

"What? He would." Hall insisted, for all the world still the innocent, odd man I had met in Dale, and yet his reference to the Steward of Gondor on a first name basis stood out to me as more than just a quirky remark. Could it be that he actually did know such a powerful person?

I looked at Hall critically, noticing his overall condition had improved somewhat since our last encounter. At the very least he had been given clean clothes, it seemed, and perhaps a bite to eat, but beneath the clothes he was still woefully skinny, and the cheerful demeanor did little to hide the now bandaged bruises and cuts on his face and arms. Despite all this, he seemed back in the same good spirits as he always was in Dale.

Before Dain could rally from his last outburst, Hall piped up.

"Eleanor, I thought you would have had your fill of dwarves after that one got handsy with you at the tavern - and now here I find you gracing the private chambers of Ironfoot himself! What would granny think?"

"SHE WAS A SPY YOU DAMNED GIT!" Dain exploded, while Bard squeezed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Hall waited for the commotion to die down, and then piped up again.

"No… I'm pretty sure I'm the spy. Bard, didn't you tell me not too long ago to find those Easterners that were slinking around?"

Bard nodded slowly. "As I was trying to explain, my agent and his family have been leading the Easterners on for weeks now. His sister's ties to the group's lead man, the warehouse, all of it was arranged. If your dwarves hadn't intervened, there may have been no explosion at all the night of the festival." He cast a pointed look in my direction, but I was still looking at Hall, and he at me.

"Full disclosure," Hall admitted to me as casually as if we were chatting back in Dale "I was pretty sure you were up to something when I found you dressed in men's clothing… that or you were one of those men born with the wrong equipment - if you know what I mean." He looked to Dain for acknowledgment, but was met with a blank stare from the king.

"Is that why you had your sisters buy me a dress?" I asked lamely, my mind struggling to cling to any topic of relevance in a conversation that was so clearly not one I belonged in.

"Oh no, they just liked you, and granny thought you looked too poor to buy a new dress. It was just happy coincidence that you didn't have boy parts between your legs - or, well I assume you don't. If you do, then I'm sure you've made a lot of men question their morals." Hall's lack of social grace earned a groan from both Dain and Bard.

"Enough!" Dain pleaded, clearly at wits end after no amount of physical, verbal or mental abuse could break his prisoner. "By Durin, I would rather have my beard ripped out one hair at a time than have to listen to this one prattle on. Take him! I've had enough of this cloak and dagger schist to last a thousand lifetimes."

"On one condition." Bard insisted, standing up from his seat with such purpose that, on thinking back on it, I almost suspected he had planned this whole thing from the beginning. "From now on, we work together. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"Done." Dain agreed without hesitation.

Hall was formally released in short order, and promptly following that we were ejected from Dain's office with all the haste of a dwarf who had had more than enough of humans for one day, which left the three of us standing awkwardly in the hallway waiting for the page that was to escort Bard and Hall to the mountain's entrance.

I looked down and shuffled my feet.

Bard cleared his throat.

From the corner of my eye I was pretty sure I spotted Hall trying to nonchalantly pick his nose, only to remember his hand was bandaged.

After a long uncomfortable silence Hall piped up. "Well, I, for one, am looking forward to a hot bath and a shave."

I turned to him and, though I had so much I wanted to say, to explain, Bard's unexpected presence made me feel timid. I didn't know what he now thought of me after being informed that I had been a mole in his city, under his very nose, without his knowledge.

"Were you down there this whole time?" I finally asked Hall.

He nodded, and then addressed Bard. "How did you find out they had me?"

Bard glanced at me. "I suppose I have you to thank? I received word from a runner well before sunrise."

I shook my head, confused. "No, I didn't send anything."

I realized suddenly that it must have been Bofur, and felt a surge of fondness towards my dwarf. I also felt a flush of humiliation for not thinking of doing so myself - it was a much more logical solution than barging in on the king in a fit of rage and risking the consequences for breaking his laws in the first place.

"We had feared the worst," Bard continued by way of explanation. "We couldn't find your body, but some thought because you were so close to the apex of the explosion…"

"That I was nothing more than a pile of ash?" Hall offered.

Bard didn't respond, but his grim scowl deepened.

"Ah well, water under the bridge. I'll be right as rain in no time." Hall smiled encouragingly at the both of us, but the fatigue and neglect etched into his face turned his hopeful expression into something more heart-wrenching.

At that point the page arrived and bid them to follow. I tagged along, hoping to speak with Hall a little longer.

"Your family, is everyone alright?" I asked quietly as I fell in step beside them.

"Yes, I believe so." He glanced at Bard who nodded in assurance. "Oh good. I never made it home after the festival - a few of your dwarven friends jumped me when I stopped by your house to make sure you made it home alright. Snuck up on me, the cowards… mind you I was deaf and half blind at the time, otherwise I could have taken them."

The page cast Hall a reprehensible glance.

"And your children, Bard?" I asked, hoping no harm had come to them either.

"They're all well." He replied, sparing me a quick look. "Sigrid has asked after you a few times - in truth we were all starting to wonder how you fared. If I was more attentive I suppose I could have seen for myself... I'm not as observant as I give myself credit for."

I bit my lip but refrained from replying. Hall looked between us and then commented to Bard, "So you do know Eleanor after all."

"Eleanor? From the tavern?" Bard repeated quizzically, looking at me for clarification.

"Oh, Hall, no, that's not-"

I was beginning to feel as if I was fated to being interrupted in the middle of important confessions, as at that moment we were noticed approaching the gates by some of Bard's men - apparently an early spring storm was blowing in, not enough to strand them, but enough to make their journey a great deal less pleasant.

We said our hasty goodbyes and promised to get together soon to explain ourselves better - our current conversation had been less than satisfying, after all. I waved to them as they departed. It was only then that I realized just how famished I was, and so without delay I went off to find something to eat.

It was mid-afternoon by the time that I returned to my rooms, and with Bofur still nowhere to be found I decided to return Dwalin's armour, hoping he hadn't been caught without it in the time that it had been in my possession. I hefted up his heavy chestplate and helm into my arms and made my way to his door. Unable to effectively shuffle the armour in order to knock, I just gave it a few light kicks, hoping the noise didn't sound too impolite.

When Dwalin opened the door, he quickly divested me of his heavy gear and bade me inside. Without a word to me, he put in the effort to return his armour to its stand and inspected it thoroughly. After making me wait an uncomfortably long time, he finally turned and folded his arms, studying me with a rather stern countenance.

"Thank you." I offered somewhat lamely, gesturing to the soldier's equipment.

Dwalin inclined his head somewhat but his expression seemed to darken even further. I was about to try to change the subject when he finally spoke.

"I wish I knew what you two were up to, lass. Tell me, do you purposely seek out risky situations, or is it just bad luck that you always find yourself on the wrong end of trouble?"

I was about to retort, to assure him that, in this instance at least, there had been little risk of actual danger, but he continued before I had a chance.

"I take my duties seriously. Oaths have been sworn to our new king." He uncrossed his arms and took a few steps towards me. "If it's found out that I've been accessory to subterfuge, I would lose my position, and would never again be allowed to take up arms in the name of the king. For that sort of treachery, death would be a kindness, but exile more likely. I would have nothing left."

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again, blinking dumfoundedly at him. I didn't have a sensible retort. I knew I had been selfish, and had risked the livelihood of others with my actions.

"I know." I said after a moment, smoothing down the front of my dress. "I'm sorry. I asked too much. For what it's worth, I would never let it come to that. Everything is… sorted. No one will need to know your part in all this."

I looked up to see that Dwalin's expression had softened just slightly. He took a few more steps closer until he was standing just before me. He was among the tallest of dwarves I had met, being just below my eye level. I did not have to tilt my head down to look at him, and, given his daunting stature, I had always felt somewhat intimidated by him, even when I knew his true nature to be that of kindness and loyalty.

"You know, Bofur offered me payment." His tone had changed, his gravelly voice taking on a curious edge.

"Yes, of course." I nodded; unsure what else he wanted me to say. I truly didn't much care what Bofur had bargained in order to obtain the armour. Dwalin's eyes bore into mine, clearly expecting something of me, so eventually I added, "What did he offer?"

Dwalin chuckled, a deep, slow, predatory sound, and took another step closer, almost closing the distance between us. He then reached out unexpectedly and placed a heavy hand about my waist. "A taste of your sweetness."

I was too shocked to move and momentarily too surprised to even speak. Dwalin's other hand came up and he swiped a few rough fingers against my cheek.

"Really?" I managed to stammer, still too alarmed to form a sentence of more coherence. My mind struggled to ever imagine a world in which Bofur would offer me as collateral.

Dwalin dropped his hand from my face and he shook his head slightly with another, more scornful laugh. "No, lass." he murmured. It was then that I smelt the alcohol on his breath. "I was teasin' you… Bofur wouldn't have it in him."

I started to relax until I realized that Dwalin's other hand was still resting atop my hip.

"Still," he mused, his voice dropping low and rough around the edges and his grip on me tightening, "I'd like to see what all the fuss is about."

I searched his eyes for meaning, and before I could object, he leaned in abruptly and pressed his lips firmly against my own.

I could hear the blood rushing through my veins and the flow of time slowed to a near halt. I was petrified, and in that moment all my thoughts swirled together.

It was Dwalin. I wanted him to be happy, and a part of me rationalized that maybe he needed something from me… maybe I could help him. The fact that I cared for him was the only thing that kept me rooted to the spot, despite every cell in my body screaming at me to shove him away and scurry for the door.

The seconds sludged by.

He wasn't unattractive as far as dwarves went, and, though mortified by the thought of my betrayal and the overall wrongness of what I was doing, my lips eventually softened against his. He must have sensed my body responding as I felt his hand make his way to my hair, bunching in it as he attempted to pull me closer, trying to deepen the kiss. At this point I resisted. I slid my hands up to his chest and slowly, but firmly, pushed against him until he broke away.

"Dwalin, you've been drinking." I whispered, meeting his eyes as he lessened his hold on me. I didn't immediately tug out of his grasp, not wanting to cause him any hurt or distress, instead I let his hands fall off of me at his own accord.

"Aye." He confessed, gazing into my eyes long and hard before he broke away. "And yet, I am clear-headed enough to see that your heart is bound to another… as it should be."

I nodded and couldn't help the single tear that snuck its way out of my eye and down my cheek. A part of me felt a sense of overwhelming guilt - this would hurt Bofur if he ever found out. I also felt that Dwalin had betrayed the trust I had for him; he had no right to force me into such a compromising situation, let alone days before my wedding. Finally, a tiny part of myself lamented the fact that I could not be his comfort. If things had been different, perhaps he could have found solace in my arms. Perhaps I could have helped heal him after the trauma of losing his kinsmen.

"Madtithbirzul... you are sweet indeed." Dwalin muttered, almost more to himself. He tenderly brushed the tear from my cheek.

After a moment I stepped away from him. "I'm sorry." I said quietly, turning to make for the room's exit. He headed me off, placing one hand on the door to prevent me opening it.

"Forgive me…" he begged, desperately searching my face for any sign that his request would be granted.

"I will…" I promised. "In time."

It was enough. His hand slipped from the door and his gaze fell away. I was free to return to my rooms, though now I felt so much more burdened than before.