The healer Tilda knew Tilda the patient should sleep, but it wasn't possible. Tilda the enamoured girl clashed with Tilda the rational woman. She had to think, she had to figure out how things would work – or not! - between her and Kíli, now that they were both bound to go back to their families, towns and kingdoms.
People around them didn't help much, to say the least. If they had scarcely five minutes together, unwatched, at any stop of the way back to Dale and Erebor, she accounted it as a miracle. How to talk to Kíli about what they would do next?
If... if he really wanted anything to happen next between them.
He should have made up the numbers by now.
He would outlast her.
He was a dwarf, she was not.
He was a warrior, she was not.
If some orc pack decided to attack their camp that night, it would be her to die.
If not that night, any moment from then on. Always before him. Years before him. Decades from now, now that they escaped the fortress, if the Powers were kind. But he would outlast her. That was the reality of their races. And she would die, and he would be left behind, heart broken as he was when Tauriel died.
And while she were alive she would grow old, and wrinkled and weak and spent, and he would have to endure the decay of her youth and her death, while in his full prime.
It was not fair.
Whatever lady Dís proclaimed, it would not be fair if she and Kíli... She would die first. He would be left alone. She wasn't enough stuff for a dwarf prince.

"[We'll take a straight path from our next stop to our home. If you feel well enough to ride harder, that is.]"
Legolas would be surprised by Thranduil mentioning the woodrealm fortress as home instead of palace if he weren't more surprised by the clause his father stated for changing their route. He was used to the king deciding and that was it, none would be foolish enough to question the king's veredict.
The seed of curiosity set in the soul of every elf by the same Song that created them sprouted a leaf of boldness.
Time to test boundaries...
"[I feel better, Father.]" It was true. After the antidote was ministered several times, every time the lack of spider venom brought his body to seizures, the symptoms were slackening. The wounds where the chelicerae punctured his skin were almost closed, the sheer nature of elven constitution taking care of it now that Legolas wasn't famished, parched and drugged any more, and proper ointments and dressings covered the offended patches. "[But it is not time for me to head home. Not yet.]"
Thranduil made an effort not to squeeze his eyes and shake his head. Of course. Of course his son would find something to prevent him going home. So it had been from the cradle on, and the Valar would grant it to be so to the rest of his life, no matter how long that would be.
"[And why would that be, pray?]"
"[I have a duty.]"
"[So it seems, being crown prince.]"
"[A personal duty.]" The younger elf clarified, ignoring the part that there was no other prince or princess to make him anything different from crown prince, spare prince and every function someone could fancy a prince to have. Sometimes being an only child was boring.
"[Oh. Enlighten me?]"
"[I volunteered as chaperone to our neighbours' offsprings.]"
"[What?]"
"[I must grant prince Kíli and princess Tilda don't have a minute of alone time with each other until they wed.]" A bit more explanation seemed in place. "[For the sake of property.]"
Thranduil sent a discreet glance at each mentioned mortal. Such barbaric observances...
"[I won't allow you to set alone to Erebor. Not in your health condition.]"
"[I won't be alone. I'll be surrounded by dwarrow and men, you know.]"
Somehow, the elven king managed to roll his eyes under closed eyelids, which made him look stern even when his thoughts led to collapsing laughter inside.
Which was not the case.
"[That's what bothers me.]"
"[They always treat me accordingly to my status, father.]"
Which was a lie.
People of Dale and Erebor treated him better than if he were just a prince of Greenwood. The remembered what he did in the Battle of Five, and were thankful. Even if most people didn't know the details, the fact that he provided Thorin the sword that killed Azog didn't go unnoticed. As to why he was in possession of the sword Thorin retrieved from the troll hoard... if anyone knew it, it was just ignored. Legolas had his place in the hearts of those mortals, and he knew it.
Resignation, a rare trait in Thranduil's life, showed it's peculiar face.
"[How long is it expected for you to waste your time as official eavesdropper of those foreign wooers? You've been away from home long enough, in my personal opinion.]"
"[Oh, this I cannot tell. It seems the current rites of courtship between royals are not being observed, with all political implications possible. That's why my steady chaperoneing is of fundamental importance, else people of any of the two kingdoms directly involved may find fault in their union and it all will lead to disaster. You know how mortals are dramatic.]"
The elven king pondered it for a little while and made his decision, with a wry smile.
"[At least it is about kingdoms of mortal beings. If it were between our race, it could take ages, literally. Let us head to Erebor and see what happens. I'm more than entitled to a light-hearted vacation.]"

Dwarrow and man alike were glad for the company of elves on the road (or lack or road, mostly) through the forest. Not that most dwarrow acknowledged it openly, but there was less complaints on how weird the trees acted than when they came.
Kings Thorin and Bard used the time they weren't soothing heirs' anguishes to talk and figure out how to make things work their way, without any council of lords to pester them. Their real councillors, the ones who mattered, where there with them, under the names of family and close friends. Some didn't clutch to a list of forefathers that served as councillors to the kings that came before, but were held close by the current kings for their loyalty, honour, and willing heart - which were the things that really mattered.
It was clear to Bard that his daughter hadn't been kidnapped by orcs from their home, even if she had been from some other place, afterwards. Most probably, Sigrid would have things to clarify when they got home, but for now her husband swore on the very hammer of Helm that he had no knowledge of any misdoings of hers, and that finding Broda carrying camp equipment that was clearly Sigrid's was as a surprise to him as it was to anyone. If he were to cover up anything his wife did, he would not even have stopped the horse, nor allowed anyone of his éored to acknowledge Broda was one of theirs.
Things had been this kind of soft for a significant part of the journey back. Until Bard came to the point that he believed he was being fair to Tilda. Because, in his mind, since the rescue, he didn't question her reasons for leaving. And one evening he made it clear that he granted her that whatever made her flee, he would not allow to happen.
"Da. You cannot." Tilda grabbed his hands in hers, watery eyes turned up to him. "You swore to serve the united kingdom of Dale and Esgaroth as their king. If what made me flee was something that... that would serve the kingdom better than... than what would make me happy... you cannot promise me it will not happen."
The bowman released one of his hands from her grasp and used it to dry a fugitive tear from her cheek.
"Tilda, listen to me. Long before I swore to serve Dale and Esgaroth, I swore to care for my family. My beloved wife, your mother, and our offspring: you, your brother and your sister. And any grandchildren me and your Ma would have to joy to meet. To me, your nephew Sigwine comes before Dale and Esgaroth, and he is not even someone who knows what he wants beside milk and dry swaddlings. Why would I not put you before any demand Dale and Esgaroth could fancy?"
"Because you did."
Her hurt eyes stared up at him, merciless.
"What?"
"You did. You promised me to an old decrepit nobleman just to reinforce alliances. You didn't even ask me what I thought of it."
The content of her words was hard and true, mostly. He didn't ask. But, in his mind, he didn't ask because there was the risk that Kíli would not be able to reach Erebor before Durin's Day. And when it came true... then she wasn't there to be asked, she had been kidnapped and all his focus was on rescuing her, and, and...
"That was not... He is not... Tilda, daughter, I..." Bard sighed as he sought mercy in the stars the heavy eaves of Mirkwood didn't allow him to reach. "How on Middle-earth can I explain that you are wrong in such a way you'll understand and not blame me?"
The woman crossed her arms around her legs, resting her brow on her knees. She didn't want to look at her father, and didn't want him to see her hurt expression. Aye, she was thankful for having being rescued, but even that... It had been she herself and the lads who had escaped the sacrifice rite, all alone, bleeding, hallucinating, dying. As much as she was aware, they had brought them out of Dol Guldur after even the orcs had left. So much of a rescue.
"You can't." Her eyes were dry by now.
"Tilda, I..."
"When I must cut off the leg of an unconscious miner who has been caught in a cave-in to save his life, I can at least give him the explanation that it was necessary to save his life. And that I could not ask him before I did it because he was unconscious. What excuse do you have?"
"Tilda..."
"Leave me alone. Please."

Yep, halfway through Mirkwood already...
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