A/N: Happy 4th July, dear readers! Here goes something from Erebor and Mirkwood to spend the holliday.
Talking about hollidays, I'm about to take a 3 week vacation and I'll probably be out of reach of any connection, so, I'm not sure I'll be able to post anything before August. Until then, good reads!
Celebrilsilweth: That's the great adavantage of writing in third person, we can see the characters and facepalm at their silliness!
pallysd'Artagnan: Dwarves are very protective, Kíli is no exception. It will take a lot of trouble until they get to know the truth!
T.O.W.G: Unfortunatley they don't have data enough to find out who their intended should be...

=^.^=

It was not a pleasure. At all. Bilbo accompanied Dís' attempts to wake Kíli, or make him answer his bedchamber door at least, because it was impossible to a living dwarf not to hear Dís' shouts and threats – and shouted threats, by the way – unless they were comatose, which was out of question. Probably. Even so, the hobbit decided he would rather be dead than comatose in the case Dís shouted at him like that. Of course, such a heinous punishment would only be due if he hid from his mom in his bedchamber for two days long, and a respectable gentlehobbit would never do such thing in sane mind. Which made Bilbo stop and consider a couple of facts:

First, Kíli was not a hobbit.

Second, he himself would feign being comatose if his mother shouted like that.

Third, Kíli's mind was probably not sane.

All things considered, all the efforts to wake the lad up, all Dís tried to make him open the door, from menaces to cajoling, all was vain. Yet, Fíli kept his peace as if nothing were happening, slouching on the sofa with a book in his hands, a slight dithering of his moustache braids the only sign he was alive at all. Like a gargoyle watching over the turrets of a temple, waiting. Waiting for what? An Armageddon that would never come, most probably. But watch had to be kept, anyway. Not for the sake of the (not)upcoming Armageddon, but for the ones who awaited for it.

Reaching such conclusion was what made Bilbo take action at last, when the mason crew was ready to put the poor door down by sheer force.

"Stop. The lad is not there."

"What?"

"But…"

"Just stop, can't you see?"

The dwarves called to open the door at any cost eyed him as if he were mad. Well, mad Baggins had been his nickname in the Shire for the last ten years, why don't put it to good use?

"How can you tell?" Was Dís' sensible question, fists at her hips and a pout worthy a whole spring in Rivendell.

"Release the masons. I'll explain, then."

The dwarrowdam looked discontent, but released the workers anyway. To counter the favourite of the King Under the Mountain could count as unwise even for the Princess Under the Mountain, and she knew it.

Which didn't prevent her from tapping the floor with an angry foot as soon as the masons left.

"So?"

Bilbo studied her for a minute, weighing how to break the news without incurring in the formidable lady's wrath.

"It's not your fault, I hope you know."

Dís' sapphire eyes softened just enough for the hobbit to know he hit the target. Bilbo took the chance and stepped forward, knowing that to look upwards to someone of dwarf height made his eyes take a puppy-like configuration that helped him to touch sensible hearts, even if said sensible hearts were buried underneath, well, tons of pride and stubbornness and low self-esteem hidden under arrogance. Well, several decades of exile explained much of it – the low self-esteem part, specially – but Bilbo knew sensible hearts were there for whom had the courage to reach for them. That he learned on the Carrok, and never forgot.

"What… What did I miss, Bilbo? When have I been less than I should be for him?"

Her voice was soft, not an ounce of how she shouted while banging at her son's bedchamber door.

"Nothing. Never. As I said, it's not your fault. Tho…"

"Thorin did it. He forced Kíli into agreeing to …"

"No, Amad, not even Thorin." Fíli had seemingly awoken form his pseudo-reading state and came to them, offering a supportive hand to their hobbit. Most of what he would say was to enlighten Bilbo, anyway. "I was angry at him, too, at first. But he tried. For what Mister Balin says, Uncle put it off with the Council for years. Then they forced it on him, threatening to withhold support like they did before the Retake, and, as Uncle buried the Arkenstone in the deepest mine shaft as a sign of redemption of the Gold Sickness, some clans think they can force their hand. I just don't know why I was never present at such meetings, if it would matter to me for a longer time than to any other lord of the Seven Kingdoms, being the crown prince of the Longbeards. Not that I care about it, anyway, or, cared, until Uncle broke the news of his retirement. I still don't know what to make out of it."

"Not one hundred yet." Dís murmured, almost to herself.

"What?" Asked Bilbo, close enough to hear her whisper.

She looked back at him, although her eyes were distant.

"Fíli is not one hundred years old yet. This means he's not allowed to take part in decisions that concern the well-being of our people for longer than a century. Even if he'll be High King of the Seven Clans in less than a moon, because it was decided by Thorin and agreed by the Council, he's not one hundred years old yet, so the old traditions command he's not a full-fledged decision maker, not for his own life decisions, nor for ones who will be under his hand. When Thorin puts the crown on his head, yes, but not yet."

" What?"

"Amad…What the…?"

It was Fíli's turn to face Dís' and seek for explanation and understanding at the same time. The dwarrowdam looked at her firstborn with a proud smile, and then turned to the hobbit at their side.

"I've told you some of this during our afternoon teas in the Shire, my dear Halfling friend. I just don't know if you understood what was being said underneath."

Bilbo then, before his unexpected journey, would have dropped his porcelain tea cup on the stone floor, but Bilbo now, ten years after, just gripped his hands tighter. Sometime later he'd find out Dís' hands were caught between his fingers, but that was another problem. She looked at her firstborn, a sad smile on her face.

"You know I was eighty-four when I knew your father. Just some years older than you were when the stupid quest almost took you, your brother and my brother away, thanks Mahal and all the Valar the Enemy didn't accomplish it. Well, back to our story. If I were any peasant, any commoner, it would be no problem, but I am of Durin's line. So, every lord and lady and rich merchant was sure to have an opinion on my life."

"But nobody would make you forsake your One!" Protested Fíli, visibly angry at the mere idea. "It would be… unthinkable, to say the least."

"And who's to say who is or isn't the One of another? You know this is a knowledge reserved only for the very souls who were forged in the same fire. Who's to say you are Nina's One but she herself, and vice-versa?"

Fíli slowly nodded, agreeing. To know the One match to a soul was a mystery not even the priests dared to explain, being far too personal, unique, and true. The realization that Nina was his One had been overwhelming, an epiphany, like finding the final piece of a puzzle he wasn't even aware was missing. And it was not even love at first sight.

Bilbo knew about the One thing amongst dwarrow, and kind of understood the underlying concept, albeit it was not considered a real thing in hobbit culture. Of course there were couples who claimed to be soul-mates, but it was exception, not rule. He himself considered it mostly romantic babbling, believing love was something built on mutual respect and admiration, cemented with tons of friendship.

Dís took in Fíli's comprehension of the matter and continued, for both his and the hobbit's enlightening.

"The point is, Thorin was ninety-eight by then. Even if he was the surrogate ruler our people for three years already, after your grand-adad Thrain had gone wandering, he wasn't allowed, by tradition, to speak for me and your father. We had to wait until he was one-hundred to start official courtship, or ten years of surrogate ruling so as to be considered the lawful ruler, whatever came first. I'm glad it was his one-hundredth."

Fíli was flabbergasted to say the least. He heard some funny stories about how his parents gave a damn on every and any tradition to be together. Some stories were not really funny, like the time the Council of Lords almost got him decapitated for breaking into Thorin's house to, supposedly, kidnap Dís, until it was clarified the house was on fire and his father actually broke in to save her from the flames.

Yet, there was something more bothering his thoughts.

"Why didn't anybody tell me about this one hundred idiocy?"

The answer was as obvious as ridiculous, and Dís gave it with a defeated sigh.

"Because you're not one hundred yet."

"This… this is nonsense!"

"This is tradition."

"Just because something is tradition doesn't imply it is right, or the best thing! This is stupid!"

"It's tradition that keeps our people alive and striving!"

"Is it? Is it?" Fíli pointed to the locked door where his brother was not behind. "Is my brother alive and striving right now? What did tradition do but to make him go away?"

"How can you be so sure he went away?" Dís was more than upset now. "Fíli, did you help him out of Erebor?"

"No." The blond dwarf conceded with a bitter laugh, yet adding his point. "But I'd rather had, if I had the chance. That he's gone away without telling me is sign enough that things are not well with him."

"This is exactly my feeling." Bilbo offered, contrite. "If this is anyone's fault, it is mine. Dwalin told me about a wedding arrangement, but he made me promise not to mention it to Kíli and try to talk it out from Thorin's head before he announced it. I just didn't count on not having the time to do so. I… I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner, Dís."

The dwarrowdam looked at the hobbit, unable to grab all that was said in his few phrases. The hands that grasped hers so strongly just minutes before were limp at his sides, not even fingering the rim of his vest pocket in his usual nervous mannerism. All she saw was a defeated being who blamed himself for what was beyond his power. Just one question remained, albeit she suspected the answer.

"Why… Why didn't you tell Kíli along the journey? It takes months on the road from the Shire hither, why didn't you…?"

He knew. He knew it would come to this, and that it would be hard to explain. He had dwelt on this same question many sleepless nights on the road, many a day he rode in silence watching the archer and asking himself why he didn't just blurt out what weighed in his heart. Dís sapphire eyes didn't help him to think straight, though, and reminded him just why he kept his silence.

"I couldn't. I… I couldn't break Thorin's trust in me. He sent Dwalin to fetch me, to fetch us, and confided in Dwalin and in me that no word would be said." He spread his hands out, trying to illustrate the dimension of what he said and felt. "I know, I know all this arrangement stuff is stupid, I'm of the same opinion as you both, none should mess with the lad's choices of the heart, but I have… I have…"

"Honor." The three looked at where the deep baritone voice came, to see Thorin framed by the door-post. "Not that I know why I deserve it directed at me, but… I'm glad to have it."

"Did you find him?"

Dís asked, anguished, but understanding in a jiffy what happened. Not even the weight of a surprise wedding would break Bilbo's loyalty to Thorin. In a way, it made her feel better.

"Not yet." He stepped into the apartment Fíli and Kíli shared. "But I have some information, at least. He asked for his pony, as well as his traveling gear and weapons, two nights ago. For once the stable's laziness in sending travellers' things to its due place did us good, as now we know his real intentions. I'm leaving in one hour with a searching party. Anyone willing is welcome to join me, even if I take full responsibility for his… escapade."

Thorin looked down when his last words left his mouth, regret and shame obvious in the stance of the proud king. But then he was more than a king – he was sibling, he was uncle, he was brother-in-arms. When he looked up again and stared at his burglar, his eyes had a strange sheen, determination the least attribute to it. His voice could have been of command, as the leader Bilbo came to know so many years before, but it was more. It was confidence. It was regret… and hope.

"Will you follow me, Bilbo Baggins… one last time?"

The hobbit pursed his lips to keep himself of punching his regal friend in the face, but answered nonetheless.

"One last time? Are you kidding me? One more time, most probably. Of an unnumbered set of times, for sure. And if I understand you asking me as considering the mere probability that I would not go, then I must be very angry at you, Thorin Oakenshield. Not as angry as Kíli surely is, but angry anyway. Let me get Sting and I'm ready."

-xxx-

In the depths of Mirkwood, in a palace of stone yet carved to resemble the entwining of tree boughs, a heated discussion took part.

"We can't just ignore their invitation. It would be undiplomatic."

"Undiplomatic, to say the least, was to invite us for a celebration when all we have to recall from that occasion was death and mourning. Gross is a better word. Insensitive. Uncouth. Tart."

"Father, we had this discussion before and…"

"Flinty. Hard-hearted. Rude. Untaught."

"They had losses too! Far more than we had!"

"It was the retake of their mountain of rubbish. To involve us in their mess was ungracious. Churlish. Gruff. Unaffable."

"This celebration doesn't mean only feasting and merrymaking. It is also tribute to the fallen in battle."

"Their petty lifespan means they'd fall sooner rather than later. If to battle, sickness or old age, is of little importance. On the other hand, our people who fell that day would have yet long centuries of a life full of purpose. They can't even grasp the concept of it in their little and primitive minds."

"Being mortals doesn't make them insensible to the hurt of losing a beloved one, father. I've seen their pain and shared in it."

Only then Thranduil conceded to look Legolas in the eye, one eyebrow uplifted in accusation.

"Don't remind me of what you shared with them. Or, as a matter of fact, who."

"You'll never learn, will you?" Now it was Legolas' turn to accuse, anger reverberating in his voice and soul. "You dub them as discourteous for not taking into account our own losses, yet you disrespect these same losses. Tauriel…"

"Tauriel was a rebel who abandoned our realm, acting against my orders, and was banished for it. Yet, you still take her side against my best judgement, even after being disowned and accepted back again. You fill me with disgust, my son."

"So be it then, my father." The last word the elven prince uttered tasted bitter in his mouth. "My presence won't be a disgust to your all-wise self anymore. If ten years are not enough for you to let go a stupid grudge on someone who is all kindness and good will, I'll pay my own respects to her myself. But I should know, shouldn't I?" He asked rhetorically from over his shoulder as he left the throne room. "Hundred and seventy weren't enough for you to let go a couple of pebbles…"

"Pebbles? As pure as the gems of Lasgalen! Mine by right! Go, go then, run to your rough and grotesque friends! It only shows how much you're alike them, you ill-mannered prat. Crass. Loutish. Uncivil. Coarse-grained."

Legolas shrugged on his way out, having heard that kind of litany times enough.

"Ragged. Indelicate. Clodish. Unparliamentary. Lumpish. Displeasing…"