198A/N: Hey, it's been a while. I've been busy with important and also non-important things. I'd explain but there's too much and you don't care. Let's just say I've taken a management position at work but I'm also on season 7 of Friends. Among many other reasons and excuses.
It's been so long that I feel a recap is in order so you don't have to start completely over in order to remember what's going on. You can skip ahead to the chapter if you remember/don't care. Basically, Fíli got poisoned and it was really bad. Investigation into who was responsible began. Then Nála accidentally re-poisoned him, because it turns out that the poison was mad honey, which can cause stomach pain, vomiting, tingling in the extremities, tremors, convulsions, coma, and death. Well, Fíli got all but the last two, and the seizure took a lot out of him. He's a little messed up right now. But the good news is, they figured out who gave him the mad honey—it was in a gift basket from Beren, young Denethor's advisor (Denethor isn't a jerk yet) to Kíli, actually, but they traded and Fíli has a sweet tooth so that was a problem. So Beren has been arrested and Fíli and Kíli decided the safest thing to do would be to execute him.
Okay, now you're caught up. Read my monster chapter.
Denethor's face was pale.
"Execution?" he said in a hushed tone. "That is what they have decided?"
"Aye, my lord," said Balin, taking care to look appropriately remorseful. "But if you wish to appeal their decision, Erebor will consider the alternative you offer. Beren is a Man of Gondor, and we will, of course, honor your input."
Denethor considered this. Balin gave him time; he knew that he agreed with Fili and Kili's judgment, but Denethor had said he had known Beren since he was a lad. It would not be easy for him to condemn a beloved friend and mentor to death.
Finally, Denethor took a deep breath and looked back to Balin with shining eyes.
"What if I could convince him to renounce his alliance with Sauron?" he said. "He would still pay a penalty for his crime, of course, but perhaps his life could be spared."
Balin pursed his lips. He doubted that was possible.
"Just let me speak to him," Denethor pleaded. "I have to try—I cannot let him die without offering him this chance."
"Very well," said Balin. "But we cannot allow him many days to turn. Fíli and Kíli believe that if he is allowed to live, he will gain followers, and none of us want that. If he will renounce his loyalty, he must do it now. He has one chance, and if he refuses, we follow through with our original plan. Agreed?"
Denethor took a deep breath and nodded.
"Follow me, then," Balin said, and he turned to exit the room. Denethor followed him silently down, far down into the mountain, where prisoners were kept away from the light and far from the gates. The stone turned from the elegant, smooth green marble of the upper halls into unassuming dark rock that glistened with moisture; an underground waterway could be heard distantly through the icy stone. A smell of mildew and a long history of wet surrounded them, and there was no warmth in the air. The torches were few and far between, giving just enough light to get from one to the other. Eventually the torches grew in frequency again, and they finally reached the prison cells. The guards let them in, and Balin turned to Denethor.
"You are sure you want to speak to him?" he asked.
Denethor nodded and swallowed, his eyes wide. Balin led him the rest of the way through the shadows. He stopped before a cell delved into the rock. A single torch outside illuminated the small space, and a pair of fine boots were barely visible in the far corner.
"Go ahead, my lord," Balin said, gesturing forward. "Take as much time as you need." He instantly regretted those words. Denethor was likely to try to reason with Beren until a Fourth Age came upon Middle-earth.
Denethor nodded and stepped forward cautiously.
"Beren?" he called in a small voice.
The pair of boots moved. The legs unfolded, and slowly, Beren emerged into the torchlight. A white bandage stained with red glowed around his head. He took hold of the bars, seemingly in an attempt to steady himself. His expression, however, was placid. The corners of his lips turned up mirthlessly.
"Denethor," he said. "I have been waiting for you all day—or, what I think is a day. I cannot tell down here."
"H-how do you feel?" Denethor asked.
Beren shifted, and his visage hardened. "Like someone hit me over the head with a chair and then had me locked in a cold, damp cell for a day."
Denethor took a deep breath. Beren grinned wickedly.
"Feeling remorse?" he asked. "You probably should. After all I've done for you—"
"You poisoned the Crown Prince of Erebor and admitted to serving the Dark Lord," Denethor interrupted, his voice harsh. "Do not act like what you did was of no consequence."
"I was merely showing the might of my master," Beren replied coolly. "Surely you can see that it was in the name of the greater good."
"The greater good?" Denethor said incredulously. "You are the one who taught me the history of the Second Age, Beren! You know the damage he caused, the lives that were lost, the kings and lords who were destroyed before him!"
"Yes, I do," replied Beren with a gleam in his eye. "I also know how he was defeated—through a great alliance, the like of which will never again be seen in this world. Tell me, how do you expect to stand against him this time?"
Denethor recoiled from the cell. "This is madness," he said. "You have gone mad."
"I am perfectly within my wits," Beren hissed, pressing his face into the bars. "It is you who is mad, clinging to your foolishness. I am the same man you have always known! Can you not see that?"
"The man I knew was a lie!" Denethor shouted. "A filthy lie! You were never more than a—than a wolf in sheep's clothing!"
"Not a wolf, but not a sheep either," said Beren, leaning back and holding on to the bars. "Just a man of practicality."
Balin looked between Beren and Denethor warily. Should he step in? He supposed he owed Denethor this chance, but he was beginning to fear that it was Beren who was getting his chance, instead.
"You know this will end with tears and bloodshed if we oppose the Dark Lord," Beren continued. Denethor stared at him, wide-eyed. "Spare the people of Gondor such a fate. Join with Sauron now."
"And enslave Men to his will?" Denethor retorted. "Do you not see how far you have fallen, how deceived you are? What you believe to be wisdom is folly!"
"No, you are the fool, Denethor," Beren snarled, hitting the bars of his cell. Denethor jumped. "You are not a king, not a prince, not a great man—just the son of a Steward. A lesser Man! Sauron does not fear people like you or me. He crushes us. You are weak, Denethor. Too weak to be a threat."
Denethor had stepped far away from the cell at this point. Even in the low light, tears were visible trailing down his cheeks; his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Balin stepped forward nervously. Perhaps he should intervene…
Beren's voice softened, and he looked at Denethor entreatingly.
"But in your position," he said, "you could be an asset—if only you turn now."
Denethor continued to stare at Beren wordlessly. A pang of fear went through Balin's heart. He had let it go too far, and now Denethor was seriously considering his offer. What would he tell Thorin? What would he tell Gondor?
"My lord," Balin said nervously, "do not listen to him. Nothing good will ever come of it."
Denethor seemed not to hear his words. His gaze was fixed on Beren.
"You have one chance to renounce your alliance with the Dark Lord," he said, his voice steady. "This is your one and only chance. I will not listen to this folly, but I will grant you mercy—if you repent now."
Beren smirked. "Granting such things is the domain of your father, not you."
"I have the right to act in my father's name, unless you have forgotten," Denethor retorted, his voice growing in strength.
"With my counsel, unless you have forgotten," said Beren. "Do you think your father would trust you to make such decisions on your own? Please, Denethor. He would not want you to make such a choice without him, since you will not trust my wise counsel. I will not apologize for making the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth east of the Misty Mountains see the truth about the Dark Lord. They must turn. We all must turn or we will die."
Denethor stepped back and pulled himself to his full height. Beren smiled, clearly thinking he had been victorious. His fingers drummed against the bars of his cell.
"I see there is no reasoning with you," Denethor said coldly. "Very well; the Dwarves will dispose of you in whatever way they see fit."
Beren's face instantly melted from victory into abject horror.
"But, my lord," he said, "surely you will want to—Lord Ecthelion would—you cannot—"
"Goodbye, Beren," Denethor said shakily. He turned abruptly and began to walk away; after a glance at Beren, Balin followed.
"Denethor, wait!" came Beren's voice from behind them, but Denethor did not turn. Beren called again, but his every cry fell on deaf ears; they continued to walk away, neither one speaking, and finally Beren's desperate cries faded from their hearing.
"Why would you not tell me this?"
Fíli opened his eyes and lifted his head. Nála was looking at him, her green eyes shining. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. He had already said so much. What else could he say?
"Don't you trust me?" she asked, looking at him beseechingly. "Did you not know that I would not forsake you for such a thing?"
Fíli looked down, chagrined. He swallowed.
"I…" he started, but his voice caught in his throat. His face felt warm. Nála's fingers brushed his throat softly. "I was ashamed. You've known me my whole life, Nála. I always wanted to look strong and brave for you, and knowing that I couldn't always… be that…"
"No one is always strong or always brave, Fíli," said Nála, pulling up his chin and searching his eyes. "We all have our weaknesses and our fears. That is why we have each other." Her hand rested on his chest and she smiled softly. "Let someone else be your lionheart every now and then."
Fíli huffed. He was not sure how much he agreed with that.
"I would rather be strong myself than rely on another," he said. "Even if that other is you."
Nála scowled. "Do you not trust me, then?" she asked. "Do you think that I cannot be strong as a woman—as your wife?"
"I—I didn't say that," Fíli said, flushing. "I simply meant that—"
"That as a prince of the line of Durin, you have to be the one with all the answers, perfectly in control of yourself and your situation at all times?" said Nála, raising an eyebrow.
Fíli furrowed his brow. "I am not Thorin," he said.
Nála seemed unperturbed by his displeasure. "And yet you are so much like him," she said. "So determined to be a perfect Dwarf, a perfect leader…"
Fíli pressed his lips together and tried to think of a way to refute that, but he couldn't.
"I cannot expect you to be strong for me," he said finally.
Nála considered this and nodded.
"But you do not always have to be strong, either," she said.
Fíli blinked. "But—"
Nála put her fingers over his lips and smiled. "I do not love you for your strength and brave deeds, Fíli," she said. "I admire you for that, certainly, but that is not why I love you. I love you for you."
Fíli simply stared at her, uncomprehending. What was he if not a great warrior, a noble prince, a loyal son and nephew, a proud heir of Durin? What did she love him for? She was looking at him strangely, but he did not know what to say. Moments of silence passed between them, and she searched his eyes, that strange look never leaving her face.
Finally, she smiled and took his hands in hers.
"I love the sleepy look on your face when you are still trying to wake up in the morning," she said quietly, studying his hands as she locked her fingers in his. "I love that you can never resist a sweet that is offered to you. I love the way your nose crinkles when you smile. I love how you can never say no to another new knife or axe even though you already have so many, how you stick out your tongue when you're playing something complicated on the fiddle, how you squint when you are confused… I love the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you are just… you." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, and then she looked up at his face, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Fíli continued to stare.
"But that's just me," he said. "That's not… anything I've done."
Nála threw her head back and laughed suddenly and loudly, and Fíli jumped and cocked his head to one side, perplexed. She looked back at him and kissed him on the cheek, throwing her arms around his neck.
"Exactly, you numpty," she said. "Don't you see? Yes, you have been hurt, scarred, even, in more ways than one. But your feats in battle, though great—don't look at me like that, you are a great warrior—are not what made me love you, Fíli. You are what made me love you. Just as you are. You don't need to pretend to be anything else. I will love you just the same."
Fíli did not quite know how to respond to that, but he could feel tears building in his eyes. He leaned forward and buried his face into Nála's hair, wrapping his arms around her waist. She chuckled and hugged him tightly.
"So do you trust me?" she whispered in his ear.
Fíli shifted so that he was resting against her and kissed her jaw gently.
"Look at me, Fíli," she said. He looked up into her serious face. "Do you trust me to love you, no matter what?"
Of course he did. He did, didn't he? She said that she loved him, even after all that had happened. She had seen him weak and sick, unable to walk, barely able to talk, in tears, terrified and traumatized. He had told her all that had happened to him, all that he suffered, and yet here she was, asking if he trusted her. How could he not after all this? And yet still he wavered. Self-hatred and horror rolled through him forcefully. He closed his eyes.
Then, suddenly, Nála's lips were on his.
At first he froze, surprised; he had expected her to be disappointed, dismayed—but no, instead, she was kissing him. Passionately. Even after all this, she did not draw away, did not leave him, but she was here beside him. He pulled his mind away from everything, from his pain and his heartache, and melted into the kiss, focusing on her—her lips upon his, her left hand resting upon his cheek, her right hand against the back of his neck, the places where their legs touched, where their bodies were pressed together. Each place where he felt her warmth and her touch was a testimony that she loved him, that she would always love him, that she would never leave him. He had told her about his weakness, his vulnerability, his failures and shortcomings, and still she loved him. It was one thing to know and another to know in his heart. He was loved, and nothing could ever take that away from him.
He was loved.
Nála pulled back and pressed her forehead against his. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in the smell of mountain pines and ink and paper, feeling where their heads met, where her fingers traced his jaw.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Do you trust me?" she asked again, slipping her hands to the back of his neck and massaging it gently. He was silent for a few moments longer, and her grip tightened.
"I trust you," he said. "I do. I will."
Nála pulled his head into her shoulder and hugged him tightly. He rested in her embrace, keeping his eyes closed. I trust her. I choose to trust her. He had been a fool. No battle, no fears, no man or orc could come between them. He would not allow it. Not anymore.
"So death it is, then," said Thorin.
"Aye," said Balin, walking quickly with him back to the royal wing. "He refused to repent… seemed to think he would be brought back to Gondor. I believe he was confident that his high standing with Lord Ecthelion would grant him immunity from Dwarven justice."
Thorin smiled grimly. "Men are fools," he said. "It is a pity they do not live long enough to gain wisdom."
"But may I ask, Thorin, why are we going to retrieve Fíli?" Balin asked. "He has been through so much just in the past day… do you really want to make him stand before Men and Elves? We should give him some time to rest, regain his strength. Regain himself."
"Fíli would not want us to think of him so," Thorin replied. "I have misgivings, too. But I am sure he wants to appear as strong as he can before them. We should give him the chance to decide for himself."
"Nála has been a great strength to him," said Balin. "I know she is not his wife yet, but perhaps he will wish for her to accompany him…"
"We will leave that to Fíli as well," said Thorin. "Let us just hope at the moment that we find them in a less… compromising position… than Kíli did earlier."
Balin made a disgruntled sound, and Thorin smiled. Balin was one of the most proper Dwarves he had ever known, and to Balin, Fíli and Nála's behavior was a constant headache. He always seemed to be concerned about their image—as though people did not know that the two were in love. As for Thorin, such overt displays of affection had always made him uncomfortable and even a little baffled. Why were such things necessary? He had never felt the desire to behave so himself and had never understood how others did. Watching his sister with Jóli had always been strange; he was glad their love had brought forth Fíli and Kíli, but the connection they had was foreign to him. And now Fíli was the same with Nála. He avoided catching them in one of their moods of passion as much as necessary, but the two young fools were head over heels, and one never knew if they would turn a corner and find them doing something usually reserved for a more private setting. It had quickly become a great nuisance.
Fortunately, when Balin and Thorin entered the parlor, Fíli and Nála were acting properly, simply sitting together on the couch and holding hands. Fíli was saying something quietly, and Nála was smiling; she looked up as he entered the room and nodded in greeting. Fíli turned to see who she was looking at.
"Uncle," he said. "Balin. What did Denethor say?"
"He will allow us to execute the Man," Balin replied. "He even gave him a chance to repent, but Beren refused. He seemed to think he would be granted more mercy than he actually got."
"For a councillor, he seems quite the fool," said Nála.
"He'll be a dead fool soon," said Thorin. "Fíli, I have called together the other dignitaries to tell them what our decision is and what comes next. Will you come?"
"What does come next?" Fíli asked.
"Finding out who else is a traitor," Thorin growled. "Those Men had a spy right under our nose—"
"Eh, well, I don't know if that's the best course of action, Thorin," Balin interrupted hastily.
Thorin wheeled on Balin. "What?" he demanded, glaring down at his old friend.
Balin hesitated a moment before speaking again. "Thorin, we must remember that the reason we are gathered here is to create and maintain alliances, not shatter them. By continuing to suspect our guests, we will only strain friendships that are already weak or just beginning."
"But we cannot leave spies in our midst!" said Thorin incredulously. He gestured to Fíli. "Look what they have done! Would you let this happen again?"
"I understand, Uncle," said Fíli slowly. Thorin turned to look at him; Fíli looked thoughtful, but cautious. He looked his uncle in the eye. "What has happened to me I never want to happen again. But we cannot allow diplomatic ties to be cut over this."
Thorin furrowed his brow and looked from Fíli to Balin and back.
"Do you not understand that there are traitors among us?" he asked them both. "I cannot make alliances with Men who are advised by servants of the Dark Lord! Beren said he was not working alone…"
"But perhaps he was," said Balin, taking a step forward. "We cannot know that he was telling the truth. I believe that he was one servant of evil among us, bent on dividing us and raising suspicion. Do you want to give him what he seeks?"
"You cannot know that for sure," Thorin argued. "I will not treat with such Men—"
"Then you have doomed us, Thorin," said Balin sharply. "We Dwarves are a great people, and we have a great and fortified kingdom, but we cannot stand alone against the will of Sauron. Yesterday was confirmation that he is already moving. Would you keep us isolated and unprotected?"
"We are protected by our own," Thorin retorted. "And isolation seems to work for some."
"I never thought I would see the day that you would model your behavior after Thranduil, Uncle," said Fíli hotly.
That caught Thorin off-guard. He stammered for a moment, looking at the hard face of his nephew. Fíli stared back.
"This is not just your kingdom," Fíli said. "One day I will be King Under the Mountain, and when that day comes, I would like to have the goodwill of all the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. You cannot destroy that for me; I will not let you. Not even in the interest of protecting me. And especially not in the interest of avenging me."
Thorin looked curiously at Fíli, their eyes locked. When had his nephew gotten this perceptive? Had he always been able to see right through him? His face held the same determined look that it had the day Thorin had left his nephews behind in Lake-town, or the day when the armies of Moria and Gundabad had attacked and he in his madness had kept holed up in a ruined Erebor, sitting atop a mountain of gold with no thought to the lives of the slain. Suddenly the years stretched out before him, and he looked upon his own life, his own decisions, from the day Erebor had been attacked by the dragon to now. He saw the bitterness and anger that had consumed him, driven him, kept him blind to the qualities of a great king. He looked in the eyes of Fíli and saw none of those vices. Fíli was selfless, wise, unbroken by the cares of this world. All things Thorin had never been.
You're not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thráin?
Thorin passed a hand over his eyes. He still thought that there was a chance that Beren was not working alone, but Fíli and Balin were right—they could not sever ties with other kingdoms because of one man. It was folly. He turned to Balin.
"Very well," he said. "We will abandon the search for now and return to negotiations. But there should be some way to set precautions for the future…"
"I am sure the other dignitaries are looking hard at their own people already," said Balin, "but perhaps we can warn them. Perhaps Denethor will wish to. The poor lad is in quite a state."
"He has cooperated with us so far," said Thorin thoughtfully. "Fíli, are you in agreement with this plan?"
"As long as we maintain friendship, I am fine with it," Fíli replied.
"Nála, you may come if you wish as well," Thorin said.
"It is not customary for a fiancée to accompany the prince on state matters, but if Fíli wants me to come, then I will," she replied, looking to him.
Fíli shook his head. "Let's not change any customs at the moment," he said. His gaze settled on Balin and Thorin, and he grinned wickedly. "Though I am surprised two such sticklers for the rules would allow such a thing…"
"Watch who you are sticking barbs in, dear prince," said Thorin, though he smiled ruefully. "Do not forget who gives blessing to your marriage."
Fíli opened his mouth, but then swallowed down whatever retort he was about to give. He licked his lips and pressed them together, and Nála looked up at the ceiling, clearly holding in laughter. Thorin shook his head and chuckled.
"Well, the others are probably gathering," said Balin. "We should get on our way."
Fíli turned to Nála and gave her a soft kiss; she whispered something in his ear, and he smiled and nodded, squeezing her hand. Then he rose and looked at Thorin and Balin expectantly, settling himself on his feet.
"All right, let's go," he said.
Balin led the way. Soon enough they were in the meeting chambers; already present were Kíli, Denethor and Thorongil, all standing and waiting for the others to arrive. Fíli looked to Thorin curiously.
"Where are the rest of the people?" he asked.
"We thought to keep this meeting small to limit questions," Thorin replied. And to make sure you were not overwhelmed. He would not tell Fíli that. Any concern for Fíli's well-being, however kindly meant, was met with resistance; the lad hated being the cause of anyone's worry at all. Thorin was still amazed that he had actually asked for Nála the day before. It just showed how poorly he had felt. He met eyes with Kíli, who immediately looked pointedly from him to Fíli, silently asking if he was to keep close. Thorin shook his head slightly, and Kíli furrowed his brow, but stayed put, and Thorin turned his gaze to the others in the room.
"Thorongil," Thorin said, nodding to the Ranger in greeting. "Have you seen Bard or Thranduil?"
"I am sure they are on their way," said Thorongil. "It took some work, but we did convince the Elvenking not to abandon us."
Thorin heard Balin sigh in relief next to him. He could not say that he was happy, himself, but it was a relief to know that there was still a chance that Thranduil would come to their aid in a tough spot. Not a guarantee, but a chance.
"Thank you, Thorongil," he said. "I greatly appreciate your help in this matter."
"Of course, my lord," said Thorongil, touching one hand to his chest and bowing his head. An Elven gesture. Thorin tried not to show his annoyance.
"And how do you fare, Lord Denethor?" asked Fíli, turning to him.
"As well as can be, all things considered," Denethor replied hoarsely. He met Fíli's gaze for only a moment before casting his red-rimmed eyes to the ground. There was a moment of silence.
"I am sorry this happened to you, my lord," Fíli continued. "Such a betrayal must be very hard to bear."
Denethor's head shot up, his eyes wide.
"No, Prince Fíli, it is I who should apologize," he said. "I brought Beren here—I trusted him, and he caused you great suffering. He is my responsibility."
"Still, such a loss is difficult," said Fíli. "You were close to him. I know it is nowhere near an even exchange for a life, but if we can send you home with a gift of some kind, I would gladly arrange it."
Thorin stared at Fíli incredulously. Never would he have apologized for executing a traitor, let alone send the one who brought him into their midst home with a gift. Where had Fíli gotten such great humility and grace? Surely not from the stubborn line of Durin. Perhaps whatever Jóli had managed to pass on to his son in seven short years had been enough.
One thing was for sure: Fíli would be a better king than Thorin had ever been or ever would be.
"Thank you for your great generosity, Your Highness," said Denethor, bowing his head. "But it feels uncouth to request such a thing now."
"I insist," said Fíli. "Talk to me later."
Denethor simply nodded, looking uncomfortable. Fíli found himself a seat near Kíli and sat down; Thorin spied him fixing his sleeves. A nervous habit. He resisted the urge to go over and rest a hand on his nephew's shoulder. Kíli sat down beside him and said something inaudible, and Fíli nodded.
The sound of footsteps came from behind, and Thorin turned. Thranduil flowed into the room, keeping his gaze far above the Dwarves' heads, and Bard followed, looking slightly disgruntled.
"Thank you for joining us," Thorin said quickly, before the Elvenking could make some sort of derisive remark. "Please have a seat; we have been awaiting your arrival."
"Thank you for your patience, my lord," said Bard, taking a seat and glancing warily at Thranduil, who sat silently, his nose held high. Thorin shifted his jaw. This Elf was insufferable.
No sooner had they sat down than a Dwarf entered the room—one of the messengers. Whichever twin it was, he did not know.
"Falur," said Fíli. "This is a private meeting. Is something amiss?"
"Aye, my lord," said Falur, panting and bowing deeply. "Forgive my intrusion, please, but I have received very important news from down below."
"Can it wait?" asked Balin.
"I believe it is relevant, sir," Falur replied nervously. "It has to do with the Gondorian prisoner…"
"He has been given his chance to repent, and he refused," said Denethor. "I am not interested in his begging any longer."
"I don't think he'll be asking for anything like that, my lord," said Falur. He looked to Thorin. "My instructions were to inform you privately."
"This meeting is about the very man," said Thorin. "You may tell us all at once. It will save us time."
"He is dead, my king," Falur said breathlessly.
Complete silence followed Falur's statement. Thorin stared at the messenger, blinked, and furrowed his brow.
"Come again?" he said.
"Beren is dead," Falur repeated.
"But we haven't killed him yet," said Kíli.
Thorin covered his eyes and shook his head. Thank you, Kíli.
"How is he dead?" he said, lifting his eyes to Falur. "No one was to do anything yet. Who is responsible for this?"
"He—he ended his own life, it seems," said Falur. "Used his belt and the bars of his cell and strangled himself."
"Blimey," said Kíli.
"Coward," said Thranduil. "I assume you called us here to inform us that you meant to execute him. It seems he cannot even face the consequences for what he has done."
Thorin sat silently, brooding. Denethor was staring out into nothing, paler than pale; when he blinked, a single tear trailed down his cheek. Thorin looked away. The traitor had stolen from them the chance to have justice done. At least Thorin had been able to personally dispose of Azog for the harm he had done to the Line of Durin. Now he was robbed even of that.
"Perhaps this will work in our favor," said Fíli. "A cowardly suicide holds less power than an execution, don't you think? You can't really martyr yourself…"
"But we cannot make an example of him, either," said Kíli, voicing Thorin's thoughts.
"Then what remains to be done?" asked Bard.
There was silence around the room. Thorin surveyed the others, none of whom seemed ready to volunteer an answer.
"Thank you, Falur," he said. "You are dismissed."
Falur bowed and departed, and still the others did not speak. They all appeared deep in thought—well, all save for Thranduil, whose expression always seemed to be the same.
Suddenly, Fíli spoke. "Let me appear before the people and tell them what has happened," he said.
Thorin shook his head. "No, Fíli, that is not necessary," he said. "I can do that."
Fíli shot him a withering look. "But if they see me alive and well," he said, "and there are others like him in our midst, they will see that his plan completely failed. They will see that I am well enough to carry on as before, that Beren was a coward who could not even face the consequences for what he so deeply believed in, and that we"—he gestured to the group around the table—"still stand together, that we will not be torn apart by one servant of evil. The enemy is not that strong. We cannot allow such a foothold to be gained."
"I think that would work very well," said Denethor, stroking his chin.
"It would help to discourage others in our midst," added Bard.
"If such people exist," said Balin. "Beren could have been lying. It would suit his purpose to say he was not alone, whether or not it is true."
"I believe it is a good move," said Thranduil.
It took all Thorin had within him not to let his jaw drop as he gawked at the Elf. Thranduil had actually complimented Fíli's idea. Perhaps there was greater hope of true alliance between the Elves of the Woodland Realm and the Dwarves of Erebor in the future than Thorin had hoped. Thranduil would never have offered such a compliment to Thorin himself, no matter how great the idea.
Fíli looked almost as surprised as Thorin felt. "Well, er," he said, "when should we announce it?"
"The sooner the better, I think," ventured Thorongil. "When the security of the mountain is no longer in question, we can return to talks of how to stop the enemy from here. In the face of such an assault upon one of us, the need to have a plan becomes all the more important. We must get back to our original intentions for being here."
"I agree," said Denethor. "I would like to go home with some good news for my father."
"Then it is settled?" asked Thorin, standing. "We will call together an assembly of the delegates and Fíli will inform them of the goings-on of the past day and a half. Afterward we will continue on as planned with talks of the future."
"And if there are questions?" asked Balin.
Thorin paused and looked at Fíli, who looked back at him with nervous eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. He nodded back to him.
"I will answer questions, and I think Lord Denethor should join me," he said. "If that is all right with you, my lord."
"It is the least I can do," Denethor replied gloomily.
"Very well, then," said Thorin. "All in agreement, say aye."
Every voice called aye around the table. Thorin smiled at Fíli proudly.
"I think that went well."
"I agree, Kíli," said Dís. "Everyone was very cooperative. We accomplished great things today."
Fíli smiled and linked his arm with his mother's as they all walked together back to the royal wing—Kíli, Dís, Thorin, and himself. They had indeed accomplished much. Fíli had shared his story with all, but he was grateful that Thorin and Denethor had been there to answer questions, for there had been so many that eventually Thorin had to cut them off. Fíli had already been exhausted by that point, and then there were the meetings that had been the whole point of this great gathering. Even Thranduil had actively participated, giving ideas and suggestions that were much appreciated by those among him who were far younger and far less experienced in matters of war. The Men of Dale had pledged to bring troops to Erebor, should an attack ever come, and the Dwarves of Erebor had pledged the same. Furthermore, all parties had promised to investigate thoroughly among their own people for traitors. It gave Fíli hope.
"And you did very well today, too, Fíli," said Thorin, peering over at him. "I am impressed with how well you handled everything."
Fíli frowned, and Dís pulled him closer.
"He means your political work, my love," she said. "Though you did well, all things considered, too."
"Thank you," Fíli said quietly. Truth be told, he was ready to sit somewhere quiet for a good, long while. He had a feeling that the others were only walking with him to make sure he was fine getting back, and irritation niggled at his insides. He hated that they fretted over him. And yet, he also knew that they were his best anchor into the here and now. The flashes of memory were still coming at him, but they seemed to have less power now than before he had told Nála. That showed him something. He knew his family was right; he could not seclude himself when he was having difficulty and try to deal with it on his own. He had even admitted that they were right in the past, but today had shown him that if he wanted to overcome instead of to cope, he had to act like they were right.
"You all right, Fee?" asked Kíli, pulling him from his thoughts.
Fíli swallowed down his irritation and nodded. "I'll be fine."
Dís cast him a sideways glance. "Well, I particularly liked that dam from the Iron Hills," she said. "Elís, was it? She was at you lads' table at dinner yesterday, wasn't she? Very sensible, I think. What did you think of her, Kíli?"
Kíli shot their mother a look of such vehemence that Fíli let out a snort and then covered his mouth. The glare found its way to him next, and he bit his lip and looked away.
"In fact," Dís continued, undaunted, "I believe she said she liked it here and would like to return some time."
"Great," Kíli muttered to the floor. Dís caught Fíli's eye and winked, and he struggled to keep his composure. Even Thorin seemed to be fighting a smile.
They had reached the royal wing now. Fíli stopped, and the others stopped with him.
"I think I would like to retire to the parlor," he said. "I have been around quite a lot of people today, and I would like some quiet."
Dís and Thorin exchanged glances, and Fíli let out a sigh. They both looked back to him.
"Of course," said Thorin as Dís let go of his arm. "I will make sure you are not disturbed."
Fíli bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Uncle."
Dís kissed him on the cheek and took his hand. "Would Nála be a disturbance?" she whispered.
Fíli shook his head and smiled up at her. Her eyes softened, and she kissed him again on the forehead. He felt a bit like a child again, but he allowed her the act; he had been through quite a bit, and he knew she was just glad to see him on his feet, especially so soon.
"Good night, Fíli," said Thorin, taking a step away. Dís let go of his hand and walked off with Thorin, leaving Fíli and Kíli alone. Kíli wavered for a moment, clearly wishing to say something, but staring at the floor instead.
"Kíli?" said Fíli.
His brother looked back up. He still looked unsure, so Fíli waited; after a few moments, all Kíli did was sigh and then move in to hug him tightly.
"Love you, brother," he mumbled in Fíli's ear. Then he stepped back and made his way down the corridor without another glance back.
Bemused, Fíli stepped into the parlor and settled down on the couch. The fire was burning merrily, and he watched the flames flicker and dance, trying to think of nothing at all. He had had enough thinking for the day; now it was time to relax.
How long he stared into the fire, he did not know, but suddenly he became aware that someone had just sat beside him. He pulled himself out of his reverie and looked; it was Nála. She said nothing, only smiled, and then she drew up her knees and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple softly. She closed her eyes.
Perfect. This was perfect. Fíli turned his gaze back to the fire in the hearth and let the evening pass him by.
And once again, we meet the end of a fic.
If you were one of those who was like HEY WAIT YOU NEVER SAID WHAT HAPPENED TO FILI, it's because you didn't read Ice and Fire (oneshot) and The Ghost of Erebor (9 chapters). So yes I did say but you didn't read it, and honestly I think they're a couple of the best things I've written so please enjoy them.
Oh! So I finally found some actresses who make good faces for a couple ladies here and honestly I can't believe I didn't see Nála before. Eleanor Tomlinson has a perfect Nála face. And for Elís, I picked Laura Donnelly, who has the face AND the perfect voice. Perfect.
There is a poll on my profile asking what you'd like to see once I finish Lost in the Dark. Yes, that is next! I haven't forgotten about it. But after that, I have a few ideas, so you should check out that little poll up at the top when you look at my page and cast your vote.
Oh and I got tumblr again. I may not follow you (I'm trying to severely limit my time there) but please don't be afraid to interact with me. My url is now italian-hobbit because someone took mistergandalf even though they don't use it. But it's whatever.
Other than that, please do review! Reviews are lifeblood. Plus they give me ideas for the future! ;)