Helo, dearest readers, here we are again after weeks of traveling and visiting relatives I didn't see in decades. It was awesome, to say the least! Thank you for waiting.
The good news is that I had a notebook and did some writing, so some chapters ahead of this one are granted.
R&R, I miss you!

=^.^=

The remaining of the day was spent riding at a good pace, putting as much distance between them and New Lake Town as possible. Short gallops allowed Broda to spend his stamina, yet the rohirrim stallion cut them shorter than needed to wait for Kíli's pony, who followed him restless and proud. Stretches of slower pace granted them all time to rest while still traveling, and the dwarf and the woman used that time to talk, sharing stories from those ten years apart.

"Da has always been a leader of sorts, even if he didn't pursue it. That's why the former major didn't like him. He always questioned things and fought for what was right, so people sought him to help with disputes and quarrels with the major. He never told us about our forefathers having being kings of Dale! We only found out when you party came and was brought before the major for your invasion of the town's armoury."

"It was entirely my fault. That we were caught in the armoury, I mean, not that your father never said anything."

Tilda giggled.

"I imagined as much, Kíli!"

"I shouldn't have gone to the… invasion, as you put it. My leg was a mess and my stubbornness almost cost us the quest."

"You were trying to do your best. I think we all do stupid things when trying to impress our parents, or, in your case, your uncle."

"Thank you for the compliment! It's been a while since I was called stupid last time…"

"No! It's not like…" She tried to apologize.

"I know, I know, I'm just teasing. It was stupid enough, I must reckon."

"Right!" She laughed. "I threw a plate to that orc before Sigrid pulled me under the table, as if it would do anything but enrage it. It was more than stupid, I think."

"No, no way, Tilda! It was… brave. Very brave, indeed."

"Do you think so?" She was dubious about his statement. "I was just a brat acting out of fear, and impulse. I don't see any bravery in it."

"No?" He questioned, looking at her with more attention. "Fear freezes people, just like a rabbit or a deer freeze at the sight of a predator. That orc was definitely a predator. Even if you and your sister were not its primary target, you would be a collateral it would enjoy to kill, in the best case scenario. You didn't freeze. You reacted. Of course you were afraid, but fear wasn't your main drive. It was courage."

The woman silenced after what he said, lost for a while in what it could mean. She spent the last several years hearing now and then that it was a stupid thing she did, throwing a plate at an orc, being even used as example of what should not be done in certain circumstances. Like in her training as a healer: if someone is bleeding, don't throw a plate at an orc, just stanch the haemorrhage.

"I… I don't know if it was really courage. People tend to say it was just stupid. But then…" Tilda looked at the dwarf riding beside her, someone she acknowledged as a weathered warrior and, as such, his opinion was important to her. "Do you really believe it was courage?"

Kíli considered her for more than she questioned. What little he knew of her from ten years before, mostly during his long recovery from the battle, and now, in the not-quite one day long of talking, sharing stories of their lives. Strange, he deemed, it was like they'd never been apart, yet this adult Tilda was so much more than he would expect any person to be. She was the same spirited being he knew then, now seasoned with experience and persistence in pursuing her goals. She had told him how her training as a healer had been, starting in the aftermath form the battle even if only because more experienced hands were tending to more serious wounds. But after that the adults were driven to the rebuilding of Dale and Erebor, yet diseases and minor accidents continued to happen as always, and not so many hands were willing to help Óin amongst the dwarves and Hilda amongst Men. So Tilda helped them both, learning the hard way, following her heart.

"Tilda, do you know what the word courage means?"

"To be brave?" She tried. "To be daring, audacious? Nothing of this seems to apply to me, really."

"I'm not daring, says the woman who fled from a forced marriage in the middle of the night galloping a rohirrim stallion to cross Mirkwood alone." Kíli shook his head, incredulous, and Tilda laughed at his description of her recent affairs. He waited until she recovered from the laughing fit to resume. "Tilda, courage means… to act with your heart. If you ain't someone who follows your heart, I don't know who else could wear this title."

"I… Thank you."

She dropped her gaze at the compliment, embarrassed. Acting according to her heart had led her to multiple troubles all life long, and now having Kíli praise exactly this pattern of action was confusing, to say the least.

On his side of the following silence, Kíli considered his last words, and found himself a liar. He knew to whom else he could bestow the title of courageous without a blink of his eyes, but the memory hurt too much. If Tauriel didn't act with her heart that day, at Ravenhill, she would be alive, and he would not be tormented by guilt.

-xxx-

Making camp was fast and easy, both knowing what the other was expected to do to settle for the night. Unsaddling the horses, preparing the terrain, collecting firewood, roasting a rabbit Kíli managed to hunt whilst riding, brewing some tea to break the chill of the night… No fight about who would take first watch this time. Tilda dived into her sleeping roll and soon sleep claimed her.

Kíli stuffed his pipe and lightened it, the sweet smell of Longbottom leaf spreading around their little camp. The stars of the last summer nights shone bright, reminding him once more of the elf who told him with great excitement about how the stars were memory, pure and precious. They would always be memory to him, pure and precious memory of his One. It didn't matter if they didn't have time to follow courting protocols and proper wedding rites. They said their vows to each other in the short moments of break Legolas granted them, between Tauriel being stabbed and her death, whilst the elf prince fought the orc Bolg. Regardless of those few and ragged words, albeit true, he knew she was his One since Mirkwood, even if she didn't have a clue. He knew, his heart knew, and this knowledge was enough for him to claim Tauriel's love, the light of his fire, with all of his soul. That knowledge was also what kept him going on despite her absence, because no good was ever achieved by those who sought death before their due time. To fall in battle was one thing, to fall defending his people, or any defenceless person, was deemed right in the beliefs of his people; yet, none should shatter what was forged by Mahal, none had the right to melt his own stone and steel. It was the only thing that kept him from pursuing his own end.

The embers of his pipe were long dead, sparks of their little fire competing with some late fireflies, when he noticed Tilda tossing in her sleeping roll. Before Kíli decided if it was a good idea to wake her, she settled down again, mumbling something incomprehensible. He kept observing her, just in case – he knew what a nightmare could do, and would help her out of it if he could.

Moments later she sat up with a heart-freezing scream.

-xxx-

It was night in Lake Town and Tilda was worried. Sigrid was away in Gondor and Bain was helping Bard to kill a dragon. She was alone in their little house and she couldn't find her ragdoll. Could it be lost, tucked inside a pocket of the clothes they lent to the dwarves? She sought in all places she used to forget the doll, but all she could find were dried herbs. The door creaked as someone opened it and stepped inside.

"Time to go, Tilda. You're mine now."

"No!" She shouted at the stranger. "I'm not! Da would never…"

"But he did." The old man interrupted her, silhouetted against the door frame, dragon fire behind him obscuring his features. He stepped inside the house, aided by a heavy staff. "I'm the only one who can protect Dale from the orcs. He sold you for weapons."

"It can't be true…" She stepped back, away from the old man, disgusted at his presence. Then something, or, better saying, someone on the table caught her attention and she felt relieved at once, strong enough to challenge the old man. "You are wrong. The dwarves are with us. We are safe. I am safe."

Even with her bold words, Tilda stepped back once more, just enough to touch the table. Fast as a snake, she took a plate and threw it at the man, who disappeared with a flash of dragon fire. Relieved, she turned to the dwarf on the table, assessing his wound. The leg was swollen, and he shivered in fever. She cleansed his forehead with a damp cloth and tried to assure him.

"The elf healer is coming. Hold on!"

Kíli grabbed her hand with his trembling one and looked at her as if wanting to say something. She waited, but he said nothing more.

"Kíli?"

Apprehension filled her healer senses and she moved closer to look into his eyes. They were glazed, and the hand in hers trembled no more. Reality hit her. Kíli was dead. Kíli was dead. Tilda cried with all her soul.

"No! No! Not Kíli, no! No!"

-xxx-

"Tilda. Tilda. Calm down. It's all right… It's all right…"

Tilda trembled in his arms, tears flowing free on her cheeks. One of Kíli's hands drew soothing circles on her back, whilst the other carded her hair, like his mother did to him when he was a wee dwarfling. He missed it, because nightmares were his dutiful companions since the Battle of Five, but he was no dwarfling anymore and grown-up dwarves didn't have nightmares, for all he knew, nor did they seek for comfort when afraid of the dark. He knew other races had bad dreams even as adults, and comforting Tilda was not a problem for him. After all, she was a child not that long ago.

His deep and calming voice finally made effect, and her breathing became lass ragged. Soon the woman was not trembling anymore, and wiped her eyes and face with the sleeve of her gown, trying to gather some resemblance of normalcy.

"Do you feel better?" Kíli wiped a strand of hair from her blue eyes. "How can I help you?"

"I… I'm better now, thank you." She rested her forehead on his shoulder, taking deep breaths to even the last of her discomfort. "I… I had a very bad dream, that's all."

"It is all right now, Tilda. I… I just wish I could make you feel better."

And he really meant it. It was not only because little Tilda eased his recovery days while he healed from the wounds the Battle of Five granted him. It was because this grown up Tilda he got to know was a precious being, in manners he was not quite able to explain yet.

"Thank you, Kíli. You do. You really do."

"What happened?"

He simply quoted what Dís used to ask him when he was distressed, knowing how much it helped him to vent out what he felt. If it would work with nightmares, was yet to be seen.

But it did.

"I… I dreamed of the… the man I was supposed to marry. It was not… not quite pleasant."

To talk about the obscure figure that appeared in that doorframe was one thing; to tell Kíli she screamed in her nightmare when she saw him dead was completely another one, and he wouldn't know about it, not form her lips at least.

Kíli considered what she said, and what it was like to wake up to his own nightmares, and tightened his embrace.

"You're safe now. He… he won't find you, I promise."

Tilda felt her body melt into his at those words, feeling beyond reason that she was secure and safe in his arms. Nothing in her life prior to fleeing Dale ever gave her any promise, any sureness of anything. Even her Da becoming king didn't mean any certainty, only that their challenges would be different. Now, for once, someone promised her she would be safe.

As a reward, Tilda felt he deserved some explanation, or at least some description of what thunderstorm her dream unleashed on her.

"I couldn't see his face. I was at home in Lake Town, where… you know, our little house." She tried to explain, waving her hands to describe the small dwelling. "He… he demanded me to follow him… he… he said I was his, that Da sold me to him… I…"

Tilda swallowed her anguish, and Kíli tried to comfort her again.

"Hush, calm down…"

She felt she owed him some explanation.

"I don't know who he is, aye? But I know he is so old he could barely reach Dale. I can't – I can't! - marry him. I can't…"

Kíli frowned at the dubious description of the offending man.

"Maybe you should have tried to know who he is. Some races of Man are long lived, like the Dúnedain."

"But why would Da wish for an allegiance with the Dúnedain? They're such a forlorn people, wandering all of Arnor, with no place to rest…" Kíli frowned, but she took no notice, face buried in his chest. "I know not having a town to call a homeland doesn't mean a people isn't reliable and trustworthy, you know, most people of Lake Town were descendants from old Dale, but… it just doesn't make sense. The Dúnedain wouldn't seek for an alliance with Dale, it wouldn't bring them any advantage, considering how sparse and far apart are their dealings in Rhovanion."

Tilda shook her head and Kíli thought about the long years of wandering of his people and knew that aye, it was true, no sensible people would be eager to seek allegiance with Durin's people during their wandering days. Why would Dale seek allegiance with the Dúnedain or any other wandering people?

"So, all you know is that he is far older…"

"He is almost ninety!"

"Almost ninety and barely reached Dale. Not information enough to find out who the guy might be, I'd wager."

"I don't want to know who he might be. I just want to be away from him."

Kíli pondered about the whoever dwarrowdam could be the one Thorin and his thrice-damned Council chose for him to marry. He, too, wasn't keen to know who his pseudo-intended could be.

"Sounds like we both are under a similar curse. I simply don't want anyone beside me after I lost Tauriel, whom I loved, and you don't want to be beside someone you don't know beforehand and didn't choose."

Tilda fidgeted the rim of her dress, downcast eyes.

"It is not simply someone I didn't chose, Kíli. It is a very old man I didn't choose, it's someone who could be my great-grandfather, and it just doesn't…" She blinked, and wiped a stubborn tear from her cheek. "It is not as if I am a stupid romantic that fancies a charming prince, I know my sister married to reinforce alliances between Dale and Rohan, but her husband in only ten years older than Sigrid, they… they have things in common to talk about; he is younger than Da, at least. What would my life be, with someone who reached old age with… without even having had a wife once? Doesn't it sound strange? If he never got a wife there must be something very wrong with that man. What if he hates women and this marriage is just… just to produce an heir?" Tilda's voice lowered to a bare whisper at the idea that scared her. "Would he… would he take me with uncaring hands and… do things… to make an heir… even if I didn't want to? Would he… would he force me and…"

Her hands hid her sobbing face and Kíli couldn't help but to embrace her again and let her tears wash freely on his shoulder. He caressed Tilda's hair, trying to find self-control not to go back to Dale and punch Bard in the face for subjecting his daughter to such an ordeal. No dwarf would ever decide on a maiden's choice, and it included the choice to say no.

"Tilda, I… I hope we'll never see the Lonely Mountain again after we escape from its sight, but… but if ever you are forced to marry this man, or any other, this I promise you: if your husband ever forces you to do anything – and I mean anything – apart from what you're willing to do, I, Kíli son of Dís, will personally kill this man. Come to me with a single bruise and he'll find his doom at my hands. This I promise by Durin's beard, and may Mahal's anvil shatter before this promise is broken."