A/N: Helo, wonderful readers, thank you so much for bearing with me, all the follows and favorites since last chapter made me smile from ear to ear! Sorry if I didn't answer the reviews yet, life is more hetic than it should, but here we go...

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Bard massaged his temples, trying to ban a migraine that insisted in follow him all day long. Maybe not actually all day, just right after Dorwinion's embassy left the King's Halls. Which was the first meeting in the morning. And now the sun had already set.

The tiny bits of bread decorated with cream cheese and tomato, or with salami slices and olive served as refreshment mid-afternoon did little to settle his stomach. The bowman tried to remember what he had for lunch, until reaching the conclusion he didn't lunch at all. New Esgaroth guild of merchants had an appointment with him and Dorwinion crew took their time.

At least his own people's demands had been lighter on his head; the usual decisions on next patch to repair, reports on patrols, complains about noisy neighbours, authorization for new stalls at the market, reports on harvest and stocking for winter and…

"Da? Are you all right?"

Bain's voice brought him back to real world.

"Wha… Ah, son, sometimes I miss being a bargeman, I swear the oar weighs less than the crown!"

With these words he stood up, only to be overcome by a wave of dizziness.

"Da!"

The young man ran to his father's side, steading him with strong arms. Bard sighed.

"Just a hollow stomach and a clogged mind, son."

"Nothing a good meal won't cure, huh?"

"Exactly!"

"That's a good thing. Our Rohirrim fellows hunted a couple of deer and are roasting them as they use in their land. Dunwine asked why you weren't enjoying the barbecue, so I came to fetch you."

"Ah, that's a good lad." Bard ruffled Bain's hair as they left King's Halls. "Both of you, actually."

"By the way, he mentioned Sigrid's horse is missing. I told him we'll be searching for it first thing in the morning."

"You did well. I'm sorry for the beast, but there's not much one can do when their horses don't stand to be stabled."

"Aye, spoiled little brats, those beasts." Bain laughed.

"True!"

Bard's headache subsided with meat and mead, indeed, and laugher on top. The bowman felt good that most of his responsibilities went to a corner of his mind for a time out, and he could almost feel like a bargeman once again. Almost.

It was close to midnight when one of his main responsibilities came to Bard's mind.

"Tilda!" I forgot to talk to Tilda!"

"What?" Asked the nearest Rohirrim, confused.

"My daughter. Sigrid's sister, I mean. I had to have a conversation with her, but…"

"She must be sleeping by now, Da. Not a good thing you didn't talk to her today, but stirring her sleep won't mend it."

Bard shook his head at his own distraction, but agreed to his son. Mental note: At first light in the morning, tell Tilda about the wedding arrangement. He loathed the political aspect of the union, but level-headed Tilda would agree it was for the best. Besides, he turned down at least half a dozen delegations asking her favour for some distant, irrelevant and/or greedy suitor. Prince Kíli (and, if Thorin King Under the Mountain kept his promise, Kíli King Under the Blue Mountains) lived quite a distance away, but on the civilized part of the world. The friendship and solid relations between Erebor and Dale was to be taken in account and made stronger. And if the dwarf prince was even younger than Fíli, whose bearing made more than one Dale citizen look twice and sigh, the better for Tilda, young and full of life as she was. Yes, it was a good match and she would be happy.

-xxx-

Tilda was happy.

Not the laughingly kind of happy, not the happiness that makes you want to jump and dance. It was more the happiness that makes you smile a secret smile of victory. She had outsmarted an ignominious plan to bind her to a walking museum and now she was free. With a lot of help from her sister, but it didn't matter. She was free, and so, she was happy.

Impossible to know for how long her escapade would go unnoticed, so her main goal was to go as far away from Dale as she was able before anyone found it out. And, obviously, no one finding out she escaped Dale would know how much she was happy.

"Good Broda, good friend Broda…"

The horse neighed in response.

Felling the miles sweeping behind her at the sure galloping of her sister's horse, Tilda began to relax. Whoever found out her runaway, none would know for sure her direction. She made Broda to circle a wide range before turning to her real goal. She hoped it would be deception enough.

Now, south-west to the eaves of Mirkwood, beyond which a new life would be. A simple life, an honest life, dealing with fishes from the Anduin, as fishery was something she knew how to do. And healing, of course. That was something she had to thank for being a noble, the time to study things she liked and not only the ones she needed to survive. But fishing was good, you didn't need sick or hurt people to be able to work. Better for everyone if she could earn her living from fishing instead of from healing. Actually, much better than to deal with court gossip and stiff-necked ambassadors. No more suffocating corsets for Tilda the Free!

-xxx-

"Where is my headstrong younger son?" Dís asked Fíli a short while after starting lunch. "I didn't see your brother at breakfast, but that's not unusual, considering you younglings agenda. Or the lack of it, more precisely."

Dís was in a marvellous state of humour, having met Kíli after a year away from the Blue Mountains, and Bilbo after even more time. She had no idea Thorin had been that fast in revealing his disastrous decision. Or even aware of his disastrous decision.

Fíli eyed his mother from the other side of the table, reaching for a second serving of venison to complete his plate.

"Didn't see him all morning long, Amad. Probably at the forges, pouring anger on a poor piece of steel."

"Anger?" The dwarrowdam questioned, uplifting one eyebrow.

"Anger."

Fíli offered no further explanation, mouth full of mashed potatoes keeping him too busy to develop.

"And what, in Durin's name, might have angered my son enough for him to hide in the forges, I wonder?"

Thorin mumbled something inaudible, eyes on his plate.

"What?"

Now he mumbled a little louder, still not daring to glance at his sister.

"Thorin son of Thrain, do you have any say in my son's anger?"

Her voice was rising as her suspicion grew, and what Fíli said next only contributed for Dís to fume.

"Of course he has. Who else imposed on Kíli a political marriage?"

"What? Thorin, what did we talk on this matter?"

"Uncle wants Kíli married in a fortnight, but probably forgot to inform you. As if the loss of Tauriel meant nothing."

Thorin swallowed as fast as he could without choking and pointed his fork at Fíli.

"First, it's not me, it's the Council; second, I never disrespected Tauriel's memory, she was granted…"

"…a tomb along our ancestors, aye, but Kíli's widower's state…"

"Kíli's not a widower, they didn't marry at all!"

"Not in dwarven fashion, but…"

"And in what fashion a Durin's heir is supposed to marry?"

Both dwarrow were standing now, Fíli using his fist to point things out by hitting the table and Thorin with his fork at close range to his nephew's nose.

"Shazara!" The dwrrowdam shouted both quiet, losing her temper at last. "Fíli, my brother might be stubborn, stupid and clueless, but he's still your uncle and king and deserves your respect as such." The prince bowed low and gestured a deep apology to said king, sitting again to hear the conversation in silence. If his mother was taking the fight for herself, he would be glad to be only a spectator and not at the wrong side of her wrath. Dís turned to said brother, who was confused as to what she considered he was clueless, which made him more clueless than before. "And you, Thorin, remind yourself you are the king and that the council advises, doesn't rule."

"But…"

"No 'buts', brother, no Council forced you to marry and no Council will force my son to marry. Moreover if he considers himself a widower, dwarrow rites or not!"

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down, breathing deep. When he opened his eyes the resemblance of calm was back to him. Tatics applied.

"Díssy…"

"Don't 'Díssy' me, Thorin! Not this time!"

Tatics failed.

"Dís, please. It's not as if Tauriel were Kíli's One. She was not even a dwarrowdam, you know it, her soul could not have come from the same forge as Kíli's."

"Thorin, the lad is not past the pain of losing her. You know it. You can't make him love…"

"Dís, it's not about love, it's about moving on!"

To these words the dwarrowdam stood up again and faced her brother and king (in this order) from the top of her four feet, three inches stature, voice low and dangerous.

"His father died seventy-five years ago and I didn't move on, Thorin. How can we ask this from him?"

"But he was your One, Dís. That's different." He wet his lips, considering how to approach the next subject as she nodded slightly, agreeing partially at least. "Also, the marriage we considered…"

"We, who?"

"Me and our neighbor king."

"Humpf."

"The Council is pressing for a marriage, but I didn't let them have their say on who he shall marry!" Thorin defended himself, but Dís' expression was still doubtful. "The Blue Mountains are far, Dís. More than traveling goods, it will be good to have cause for Kíli to travel here more often, and his consort queen's family being our neighbor will be a fuel."

"Humpf. That might be." She conceded. "Although a humanling is hardly the matter to wed a dwarf. Most of them are insipid and frail, from my experience."

"Could you suggest any better match, by the way?"

Dís pondered his last words and the whole situation before answering.

"I'd not make him marry if not out of his own free will, if I had my way. But I concede state matters matter, and being a son of Durin bears responsibilities heavier than one's own desires. Yet," And here she used her knife to point at her brother. "It would only be fair, logical and comely to ask him first about his wishes, ask his opinion on the matter, – Mahal, it's about who he's to spend the rest of his life along! – maybe point out options and listing advantages and disadvantages of each choice, but never, mind you, never decide for him, making the choice in his stead like he were a dwarfling lacking logical reasoning! He's been a fine ruler at Ered Luin for the last ten years, does it account for nothing?"

Thorin bowed his head, unable to disagree. When the issue arose, when the Council pressed, and when him and Bard envisioned that solution, it all seemed so right. But now…

"I'll talk to the lad. My decision was hasty and didn't take in account his own opinion on the matter. Thank you, Dís."

He rose from the lunch table and bowed to his sister, who eyed him suspiciously.

"Thank me exactly for what, may I ask?"

"For pointing out the obvious, obviously."

With this he left them, both gladly surprised by his change of mind. Maybe, just maybe, a bit of good sense could be infused in that thick head of his.