Thank you to Gefionne and Bookworm624 for beta-ing this chapter. Thank you again to my cousin for pre-read. See end chapter for more notes (if you're nerdy like me and read them). Thank you to all who left reviews or kudos! Reviews keep the authors going more than anything else! I even like them in other languages because I use google translate to read them!

Chapter 2

Fíli and Kíli. Kíli and Fíli.

Where Fíli went, Kíli naturally followed. Their mother had sworn them to be attached at the hip since the day she gave birth to her second son.

"If they didn't look so different, I'd swear they were twins." Thorin had been fond of saying that in their younger days, watching Kíli copy everything his older brother did.

There were days when their mother Dís, in a fit of temper, would mix up her own son's names while yelling at them.

"Always tie the legs together first before cleaving the head! I told you to tie up that hen's legs! Now it's done run off headless into the woods and my stew hasn't got any meat Fíli!

"Maam, I'm Kíli!"

"I know that! Don't you think I know my own sons' names?"

It had always just been he and his brother, looking out for one another. They had taken up arms together at their uncle's behest and journeyed on a quest to reclaim a kingdom with an uncertain conclusion. Combined they were a strong force, facing down trolls, rock giants, goblins, orcs, and wargs with only a small amount of fear hindering their courage.

Now, with his brother hanging in the balance between life and death - Kíli was terrified.

"What are you doing? Stop!" Kíli demanded of Gandalf, "You're hurting him!"

"Be still! He's helping your brother!"

Kíli stopped struggling in Tauriel's arms as Balin's words sunk through the terror that clawed his chest. He fell limp against her, not able to enjoy having her arms around him. He was too worried for the way Fíli's body jerked and bent as if he were a puppet on a string. Kíli shook with helplessness, torn between fury and fear for his brother.

He felt Tauriel squeeze his shoulders in support and Kíli laid his hand on her forearm in response. He had to trust Gandalf knew what he was doing. It wasn't easy to stay still when every instinct in him screamed to defend his brother, to hurl himself against Gandalf and the spell that was supposed to be healing Fíli - not twisting his brother's body unnaturally.

Gandalf was nearly shouting his spell, a ball of light flaring between his palms. Kíli squinted against the light, wanting to keep an eye on his brother. Around his shoulders, Tauriel's grip slackened and then dropped completely. He didn't spare a glance until he heard an agonized cry from behind him.

The elf was hunched over, her face was near his own; her eyes squeezed shut as if she were in pain. Her hands were over her large, pointed ears although he didn't understand why. "Tauriel! What is it?" She didn't answer him. He reached out to move her hands away from her ears and she jerked away from his touch, falling to the ground, curling into herself.

"What's happening?!" Kíli shouted his question to Balin. He knelt next to Tauriel, laying a hand on her shoulder to try to soothe her. Panic flared through him at the keening that escaped her lips at his touch. He looked back at Balin for an answer and saw that the royal advisor was staring open-mouthed at the table where Fíli was. Kíli followed his gaze, bolting upright and choking on his gasp.

Fíli was sitting up, or rather his body was. His eyes were open, his pupils dilated so that they were completely black. His mouth was open; a strange mist - darker and denser than pipe weed smoke unfurled from within.

"What is that?" Balin's face was as pale as his beard.

"What have you done to my brother?" Kíli snarled at the same time.

Gandalf shouted his final incantation and brought his palms down on Fíli's open mouth, burying the spell between his brother's lips. He stepped back from Fíli, looking at his brother expectantly. Below him, Kíli saw Tauriel relax.

Fíli's mouth fell open, that dense dark shadow pouring forth, flaring from his brother and into the tent. Tauriel screamed, shrinking in response to an unknown attack, clutching her head. Gandalf was blown off his feet, thrown backwards by the phantom. Óin jumped forward, breaking Gandalf's fall, the two sinking to the ground together.

Heart pounding, Kíli turned to check on Tauriel. Blood seeped around her fingers where she held them over her ears. Kíli let out a few, choice swear words in Khuzdul. Whatever attacked his beloved, he was positive it came from his brother. Only it wasn't his brother - it was the thing possessing him.

Screams and panicked cries filtered in from outside the tent, similar to the ones coming from Tauriel. Kíli's gut twisted, uncertain how to stop this. Fíli would know what to do; he always knew instinctively what needed to be done. If only his brother were here.

But I am here.

It was as if his brother's voice whispered into his ear, but that could not be! Kíli twisted back towards Fíli for confirmation. He had just imagined it - Fíli was still prostrate with the darkness controlling him.

And yet Kíli felt as if his brother was trying to guide his thinking, even now. No matter what possessed Fíli, Kíli knew his brother was still in there somewhere inside himself. Gandalf has said as much. So had Tauriel. The voice had said it. Kíli just had to wake his brother up. To help them all.

Tamping down his fear of the creature inside Fíli, Kíli streaked forward through the blackness, surprised when it did not attack him as it had Gandalf. He took advantage of his luck, daring to grab his brother's face between his palms. "Demup telek menu Fíli! Marnat-am! Marnat-am!"

Fíli's jaw closed with an audible snap. Just as abruptly, the misty menace dissipated all around. Between his palms, Fíli's taut body went slack and Kíli caught him before he fell backwards. He didn't know when tears had gathered in his eyes, but they loosened upon his cheeks as he gently laid his brother back on the cot.

Kíli stroked Fíli's tawny hair, examining the damage his brother - No! Not Fíli! - the damage that the thing inside Fíli had caused. The sutures on his chest would need to be resewn. The ones not already torn were straining at the seams. The splints on his arm and leg were still in place, but they would need to be tightened.

"Gandalf! Gandalf!" A familiar voice and hurried footsteps announced the arrival of the company's burglar. "Gandalf! Come quick! The elves-"

Bilbo skidded to a stop just inside the tent. He looked from Gandalf, gasping and trembling in Óin's arms, to Kíli hovered over Fíli's body. Finally his gaze landed on Tauriel, knelt on the ground, staring in shock, at the blood staining her hands. Even Balin, who usually couldn't be fazed by anything, was pale and shaken.

"Oh!" The hobbit's mouth rounded in surprise.

"What about the elves?" Óin was the only one of them to be able to address the reason for Bilbo's appearance.

"They've collapsed! All over the camp! Everyone's in a tizzy. Nobody knows what is happening to them!"

Gandalf opened his mouth as if to speak. Long, hacking coughs violently shook his frame, forcefully expelling in wrenching gasps. Óin gently rubbed the wizard's back stating, "Bilbo, find him something to drink please. Balin, find a chair for the elf-maid. Kíli, ease off your brother and give him some room to breathe lad." Quickly the healer took charge of them all.

Kíli reluctantly left Fíli's side. "He needs to be stitched again Óin."

"Yes, yes, I'll do it." Óin was helping Gandalf to a chair. Bilbo departed the tent to look for the item requested. Balin picked up the chair Óin had been using, shuffling over to Tauriel and setting it next to her.

Kíli and Balin both helped the elleth to her feet before sitting her down into the chair. Kíli's heart lurched when he saw the blood streaking her hair, from where it had leaked out of her ears. "Balin can you get me the bucket?" he glanced at his uncle's advisor who nodded once.

"Are you all right?" Kíli took her hands, lifting them to examine the blood staining her palms and fingers. It would easily wash off. "Tauriel?" He lifted his eyes to look into hers, inhaling a breath at the dazed stare she returned to him.

"Tauriel?" He shook her arms to bring her back to attention. "Are you well? Answer me!"

Bilbo ducked into the tent, a flask in his hands. He hurried over to Gandalf pressing the pilfered item into his hands. "Drink this, my friend."

"Watch him," Óin instructed Bilbo. "Not too much right away. He's had a very nasty shock to his system." The dwarf healer left Gandalf's side, moving to address Kíli's brother's wounds.

Kíli glanced over at Gandalf briefly to see the wizard's hand shaking as he lifted the skin to his lips to drink. Anxiety froze his innards. If the second most powerful wizard in Middle Earth was unglued by what happened, what could that mean for Fíli?

"Here," Balin set the bucket and rag that Óin had used for Fíli, down in front of Kíli and Tauriel. Kíli reached down to wet the cloth, wringing it out. He started with Tauriel's palms, wiping the blood away.

"Tauriel?" He tried to get her to respond as he worked, wringing out the pink tinged cloth. "What happened to you?" She was silent. "Tauriel?" He repeated her name several times with the same nonresponse.

Kíli threw the rag into the bucket. Grabbing her shoulders he shook them, pushing his face in front of hers. "Amrâlimê! Can you hear me? Tauriel!"

She blinked, once and then twice.

Relieved to see even the slightest response, Kíli let go of her shoulders. He pretended not to notice Balin staring at him in shock, no doubt in response to the Khuzdul he had used in front of his beloved. "Tauriel?" He tilted her chin to look at him.

"What happened to her?" And the other elves?" Bilbo's curly head looked back and forth between the occupants of Fíli's tent seeking an answer.

Tauriel suddenly made a strangled noise, dragging Kíli's attention back to her. Her hazel eyes wildly darted in panic, looking for an escape. Her gaze landed on Fíli and she recoiled, as if the sight of him sent a shock through her.

"No!" She cried, turning the chair over as she scrambled backwards, only the grace of the Firstborn kept her upright instead of landing head over feet.

"Tauriel! It's all right! You've nothing to fear!" Kíli grabbed for her, catching her wrists and holding them steady.

She shook her head vehemently, her scarlet curls shimmering with the movement.

"No! The sound. The sound. The song." The elleth made no sense as she tugged, trying to free herself from his grip. "The song, Kíli. The song. Wrong song. Bad notes. Hurts." Kíli's dark brows drew together in confusion. Her babbling made as much sense as when the brown wizard, Radagast, would ramble off into one of his odd monologues.

"What on Middle-earth is she talking about? What sound? What song?" Bilbo's voice broke through the repetitive murmuring of the elf-maid.

Kíli shrugged helplessly. He heard no song. Balin and Óin looked clueless as well.

"Fíli's song." Kíli felt the shudder that shook Tauriel's frame through his hold on her slender wrists.

"Fíli!?"

"What nonsense is this?" Balin cried out. "The elf lass is addled. She isn't thinking clearly."

"Or she hears something we cannot. Elves have keen ears." Trust a Baggins to have some sense.

"So does a dwarf!" Balin protested.

Kíli looked between his brother and Tauriel trying to understand what happened. He could feel the misery writ across his face as he glanced up at Tauriel, seeking answers for questions he didn't know how to ask.

She stopped trying to escape his hold. Returning his gaze, her mouth turned down, she stated plainly, "Fíli's song, it hurts."

"It was not Fíli's song." Gandalf's voice was hoarse and shaky as he finally spoke. His next words threw another layer of unease on the already tense room. "It was the melody of Morgoth, the spirit inside your brother."

"It is impossible!" Balin denied, pacing around Gandalf in agitation.

"Yes, of course it is," Gandalf agreed, his voice cracking only slightly. "Then again, it is not."

"Well, which is it?" Balin stopped in front of Gandalf, hands crooked on his hips imperiously. "Yes or no?"

"Yes?" Gandalf seemed to tell Balin what he wanted to hear, because the white bearded dwarf relaxed. "Only no."

Kíli was tired of hearing them argue back and forth. "Will you two stop!?" He could not keep the temper from his voice as he demanded, "Explain yourself Gandalf!"

"There's no need to yell, he is only trying to help."

"Not now Bilbo!" Kíli scowled at the hobbit who managed to look affronted by the dwarf prince's misplaced anger. Kíli hovered over Fíli, watching anxiously as Óin worked on repairing the sutures.

It seemed only a moment had passed since Gandalf's grim proclamation, although it was much longer than that. During that time, Óin began sewing Fíli's sutures closed again.

Kíli was torn between overseeing the work done to his brother's injuries and helping Tauriel with her wounds. Currently, the elf was using the rag and bucket to clean her ears. She hadn't spoken since the wizard's news, absently staring into the space in front of her. Kíli couldn't begin to guess what she was thinking about Gandalf's announcement.

Bilbo seemed to be the only one who didn't understand the gravity of the announcement. "Who or what is Morgoth?" he had asked.

"A great evil," replied Gandalf. "Long ago he was banished to the forgotten void, never to return to Middle-Earth."

"Oh, him." Bilbo nodded his head as if in understanding. A moment later he shook it. "No, no. Never heard of him."

"He is the creator of all that is evil," Gandalf continued. "He is the one who defied Eru Ilúvatar and corrupted the creation of all we know. When the Father of all began the Music of the Ainur to create Arda it was Morgoth who interrupted the music with his own subterfuge. He brought about the first evil to the world."

When Bilbo still looked confused, Gandalf added, "He is the father of orcs, trolls and all manner of vile, nasty creatures." Bilbo's face turned a pasty shade as understanding finally dawned.

"We all know the legends Gandalf," Balin interrupted. "Great evil poured forth from the earth, the battle was waged for dominance by the Valar and Morgoth made a second in command. He became known as Sauron, the deceiver. But how is this relevant? They were both defeated!"

"Yes," Gandalf nodded at Balin. "Morgoth fell into the void, but always he seeks a way to return to Middle Earth." The elder wizard's gaze landed on Fíli. "And now he has found it."

"That's what's in Fíli?" Bilbo cried aghast. Kíli's stomach lurched as did his heart.

"It is not possible!" Balin protested again. "No dwarf has ever been taken hold by evil. Even Sauron could not deceive us with the seven rings-"

"The ring," Gandalf said. "It is because of the seven rings that I believe this has happened."

Balin made a noise of disbelief.

"Specifically, I speak of the ring that belongs to the line of Durin." Gandalf continued speaking. "When I found Thráin in Dôl Guldur, the ring that he possessed was missing from his finger. It had been taken from him by the enemy, and used, I suspect, to do this very thing. It should be impossible, but it appears it is not."

The tent was charged with silence as the dwarves and hobbit listened to the wizard explain. "The spell I cast was meant to seek Fíli's spirit and sever the link between him and the one who latched on to him. It is the only way to begin to heal him properly. At first I could not find either, but then I found him."

Gandalf turned his gaze to Kíli. "Your brother is still in there, he said, immeasurable grief relayed in his tone. "I saw him on a vast wasteland of winter. Fíli's soul did not see me, but he is aware there is something there with him and he's fighting it. He was holding his blades, strong and true against the enemy."

Kíli, shaken by all that was revealed, brightened at that bit of news. "Aye, that's Fíli. He does not give up without a fight," Kili's said with a proud grin. Balin nodded in agreement with him. Óin humphed quietly, but even his dark eyes were hopeful at Gandalf's words.

"I was reaching out to Fíli when I saw the form of the enemy before him," Gandalf said. "A large shadow, twice as large as the tallest man or elf stood before Fíli. The shadow was surrounded by a cloak of ice and bedecked with a crown of smoke. In his clutches, he held the ring of Durin.

The Black Foe saw me and the flame of his gaze pierced right into my heart. He knew every thought I had even though I said naught. He knew I was there to remove him from Fíli, and that is when he struck me, expelling me quite forcefully."

A chill ran down Kíli's spine.

Bilbo was shaking his head, his curls bobbing madly about his face. "And how does this explain all the elves collapsing? What about the song that she speaks of?" He gestured towards Tauriel.

"The melody of Morgoth," Gandalf said to Bilbo, naming it. "The first children of Ilúvatar were the elves, and they awoke hearing the last of the symphony of the Ainur as they placed the final star in the sky of Arda. The elves can still hear the songs; they simply have not been sung in a very long time.

"The melody of Morgoth has one singular purpose; to disrupt the will of Ilúvatar and turn the creation of Arda to his own dark vision. Pain, chaos. It is the only thing he wishes for. What came out of Fíli was meant to change those who could hear it-those with the light of the Eldar. He has done it before, transforming elves into the corrupted creatures now called Orcs."

Kíli saw Tauriel flinch. Her hands were clenched around the rag, holding it to her lap. He moved away from Fíli, reaching the elf-maid's side in a few strides. He didn't care who saw him pry the rag from her hands and lace his fingers with hers. He had almost lost her too many times for petty grievances to stand in the way of comforting her.

"Is that why nobody else could hear it?" Bilbo asked.

Gandalf nodded his assent. "Morgoth is much more powerful than Sauron, even with his power diminished to the void. We are very lucky that Fíli is a strong dwarf. Had he been a man or worse an elf…" Gandalf's words trailed off and Kíli was grateful he didn't finish his thought.

Fíli would be dead.

Tamping down the morbid thought, Kíli wouldn't let himself think that way. Instead he posed the question that he had wanted to ask Gandalf since the first revelation, "What now Gandalf? What happens to my brother?"

"I wish I could give you the answer to the question Kíli. Truly I do." Gandalf heaved a quiet sigh. "But I will have to consult with those wiser than myself to figure it out. I will need to take my leave for a few days."

"You can't leave Fíli!" Kíli protested.

"Where is this council you seek?" Balin asked.

Gandalf held up a hand for silence. "Morgoth is not at his full strength or your brother would be gone already. As it is, the world is in grave danger of his return. Should others find out the threat he poses, your brother's life will be forfeit even with my help."

Kíli blanched at the thought. His grip tightened around Tauriel's hand, her own fingers squeezing his.

"Gandalf, where do you go?" Bilbo asked looking nervous at the prospect. Kíli didn't blame him. Every time the wizard had left them to their own devices, trouble seemed to follow.

"Worry not my friend," said Gandalf. "I do not journey far, only to Mirkwood Forest. I will return as soon as I can. In the meantime..." He looked to the three dwarves, his gaze landing on Kíli. "With your brother in this condition and your uncle gone, it falls to you to take charge Kíli; it is to be expected. You must negotiate with Thranduil and Bard to clear the battlefield. Help them tend to the wounded and dead. You will also prepare to bury your uncle among his forefathers. You must carry on as if nothing is amiss. Can you accomplish this, young Kíli?"

Gandalf's request settled as a yoke upon Kíli's shoulders. It weighed heavy on his mind and heart. Wearing the mantle of leadership had never been his purpose. As Thorin's heir, that was Fíli's role; to bear the responsibilities and the duties that came with the crown. And Kíli could not imagine anyone greater to do it. Definitely not himself.

"We are Durin's folk. Fíli, Kíli, you come from a long line of great kings who can hold their heads proud in the Halls of Mandos. One day, you too shall do great things for our people and you will join our fathers in the privilege of your own great deeds."

Thorin had spoken the words long ago when Kíli was barely fifteen and Fíli had been twenty-two. The boys had been sharing a quiet winter's night with their uncle; sitting in front of a fire, listening to Thorin recite the histories of their forefathers. Kíli swallowed around the lump that appeared in his throat, knowing he would never hear his uncle's voice again.

Because of his uncle's repetitive teachings, Kíli knew every deed his forefathers had accomplished. From Durin the Deathless' establishment of Khazad-dûm all the way to his great-grandfather, Thrór, who claimed Erebor after the dragons of the north, ravaged their homelands in the Misty Mountains. Thorin would be added to the tales now, his death synonymous with the reclamation of the lonely mountain and the death of Smaug.

Durin's legacy demanded Kíli contribute his own influence in their history, however small it may be.

Kíli heard himself speak as if he were standing outside of his body. "I can do it." He would. For his uncle, but mostly for his brother.

"We will help him through it," said Balin, clapping his shoulder heartily. "You're not alone in this, lad."

Gandalf chewed his lip a moment before giving a small smile at Kíli. "Then it is done."

The smile did little to comfort Kíli.

They had moved Fíli into Erebor at Gandalf's request. His brother was squirreled away in a healing room that very few people had access to. Only the company of dwarves who claimed the mountain with Thorin, along with Bilbo knew of Fíli's whereabouts. Not even Tauriel knew. Kíli would have told her, but she had requested ignorance to keep his brother safe from the outside influence of her people. What she did not know, they could not get from her. He appreciated her all the more, for protecting Fíli.

To outsiders, it was told that Crown Prince needed time to fully recover from the battle. There had been inquiries over the affliction that had struck the elves, unease over the possibility of it happening again. Gandalf had a hand in quieting the investigation by misdirecting the attention of Thranduil and Bard to the south; blaming the attack on the elves by the hand of Mordor, where Sauron had just assumed his seat of power. Bard had accepted the explanation without questions. Thranduil had remained slightly suspicious but did not pursue the matter.

That had all occurred three days ago. It had been the longest three days of Kíli's life. He was exhausted and tired from sleepless nights spent near his brother's bedside. If he did manage to catch a few minutes of sleep, his dreams were filled with nightmares involving the battle. Kíli had seen everyone he cared about die in his dreams - his uncle, his brother, Tauriel, even his mother though she'd been nowhere near the battle.

In the daylight hours he tried to focus on the tasks that Gandalf had charged him with. Clearing the battlefield was no easy feat, but it was the easiest of the tasks assigned. Any survivors who were physically able, sifted through the bodies, sorting foe from friend and wounded from the dead, the latter to receive proper death rights. Orcs, goblins, and wargs were not awarded any burial rights, simply piled as high as they could be lifted and set afire to burn.

The healing of the wounded was best left to those who had the skill. Kíli listened to daily reports of the wounded - who was healing, who had succumbed to their wounds and newly discovered survivors taken to the healing tents - all with half an ear. His first concern was his brother, although there was little that could be done with Fíli until Gandalf returned.

Preparing for his uncle's burial, was fifty times more difficult than anything Kíli had expected.

His uncle would be buried in the Hall of Ascension, where the ancestors of the Durin line dwelled in their deaths. Teams had been assigned to clearing a pathway to burial hall that would not take visitors past the tempting treasure horde that had caused the battle. Smaug's treasure room, as Kíli thought of it, was under heavy guard of Dain's best watchmen. They were there to ensure nobody was foolish enough to steal from the treasury while the rest of the kingdom was busy with other duties.

"It is a shame that neither Thrór, nor Thráin, shall be buried here," Balin's head was tilted back as he looked up at the high ceiling in the Hall of Ascension.

When they had uncovered the hall on the fourth level below the mountain, Kíli had been surprised at its grandeur. Thorin had often regaled his nephews of the splendid architecture that had been Durin's home. To see the tall, imposing columns carved with powerful Khuzdul symbols, it had awed the second prince into silence. The tombs of his ancestors were solid stone, inlaid with intricately carved metal and finely crafted jewels. Each tomb bore the name of his ancestor upon it in Khuzdul.

Kíli had been joined by Dwalin and Balin, the former directing a group of dwarves that were seeing to cleaning the dust and dirt off every crack and crevice. Smaug's decimation of the mountain had been spared in this room. The fire wyrm had not desecrated the graves of Kíli's ancestor, but the years had encrusted the room in a thick layer of grime that would require elbow grease to remove properly.

Kíli had laid a comforting hand on Balin's shoulder. The older man was shedding tears for Thrór and Thráin, both of whom Kíli regretted not knowing. Thrór had been killed in battle before Fíli or Kíli had been born and his son Thráin had been presumed dead for just as long.

"I have no doubt they have opened arms in welcome, to Thorin in Mandos, where they will be sharing a tankard of ale for his arrival." Kíli squeezed Balin's shoulder tightly as he spoke the words.

Balin smiled at Kíli through his tears. "Aye. Your grandfather knew how to drink something fierce. He gave me and my brother our first ales as young lads. Laughed himself into a fit when our insides curdled the next day from excess."

Kíli laughed. "I remember my first drink," he mused, thinking back. "Fíli and I pilfered a barrel out of Old Haskell's cellars. He must have had dozens of barrels down there, just hoarding them. We took the barrel behind the forge and drunk up half of it before Thorin caught us. He made us take it back to Haskell and we had to work for the old man an entire week to set it to rights."

Balin chuckled. "That does sound like your uncle. Before -" Balin cut off his own words, but Kíli knew what he meant.

Kíli nodded his head, his throat clogging up at the memory of his uncle's madness. "Before." Before the dragon sickness got hold of Thorin, the search for the Arkenstone twisting him. The gold lust had changed his uncle, turning him into a vain, cruel, overbearing tyrant who cared nothing about the welfare of the dwarves that helped him win back his home.

He reached up to brush away the tears that came unbidden at the last fond memory he had of his uncle. There had been that moment of clarity in the halls when his uncle had finally come back to himself, though Kíli had not yet known it as he unleashed his anger at his uncle. Thorin had smiled at him and then touched his forehead to Kíli, asking for forgiveness in that singular moment Kíli knew he would never forget as long as he lived.

"Come Balin," Kíli squeezed his shoulder once more and said, "We have much work to do for tomorrow before the burial. Thorin has been cleaned but we still need to pick out his arraignment for burial."

Balin wiped his face of tears on his sleeve. "Something trimmed in fur. He always liked his mantle trimmed in fur."

"And blue." Kíli added.

"That's your favorite color," Balin objected.

"Only because it was Thorin's," Kíli grinned, leading Balin out of the hall. "And we both look fine in such a royal color!"

Indeed it was a fitting color, Kíli thought to himself, after they had dressed his uncle's body. Thorin's fur lined cloak of blue velvet gave him the same regal bearing in death that he had possessed while alive. Under that he wore full mail and armor befitting his ending as a warrior fallen in battle. Upon his brow was the crown of Erebor.

Kíli had reservations about putting the crown on his uncle. Balin had said it was necessary, but the sight haunted the second prince, reminding him of the last time his uncle had been wearing it. When the dragon sickness had been alight in his eyes, Thorin's face hollow of all other feeling, the bold, thick golden crown sat as a sentinel upon his head. Thorin had been wandering the empty, golden floor in the Hall of Welcoming, mumbling to himself in a delirious state. It was not a pleasant memory for Kíli.

"Kíli." Balin's voice demanded his attention.

Kíli looked up from combing Thorin's beard. Balin was at Thorin's feet, the boots now polished to a beautiful shine. "We need to talk about Fíli and the throne."

Kíli's face darkened. "You know my feelings on it, Balin." The advisor had been hinting the past few days that Kíli would be needed to assume the throne on a permanent basis, not just temporarily filling in, during his brother's absence. It had become a bone of contention between the two of them.

"I know you dislike speaking of it lad, but you need to prepare yourself Kíli. I don't want Fíli to die either, but we have to plan for the possibility that you will be king, not your brother."

"If you don't want him to die, then why do you give up on Fíli so easily?" Kíli accused.

Balin shot him a hurt look. "I am not giving up on him." Kíli relaxed, only to bristle a moment later. "Yet."

"You should not give up on him at all!" Kíli thundered, glowering at the older dwarf, his hands balling into fists, knuckles pale. The tines of the comb he held bit into his palm.

"You cannot ignore the prospect of his death, Kíli!" Balin argued back. "And that may be far kinder than what will happen if that foul spirit inside him takes over!"

The wooden comb snapped in half under Kíli's grip. "We don't know for certain that will happen!"

"We don't know that it won't! You delude yourself if you think it can't happen!"

Kíli had never wanted to punch Balin, as much as he did in that moment. Trembling with fury, he flung the pieces of the comb across his uncle's body. "I know what could happen to my brother, Balin," he hissed. "I pray with every breath in my body that it does not happen. But my brother still lives and he will be king as long as he remains so!" Too upset to think straight, Kíli stomped away, his boots resounding with his anger.

He had no idea where he was going until his angry tread took him to the entrance. Kíli emerged from the mountain and blinked, the brightness of day confusing him. The halls below the mountain were lit with torches, but it always seemed to be night time in the caverns of the lower levels. It was disorienting to transition from the shadows of the mountain into the blinding illumination of sunshine, even if it was muted by wintry, gray clouds.

He rubbed his weary eyes with a sigh. Away from Balin, his temper ebbed, replaced with the fatigue that seemed to have become permanent of late. He really needed to get some sleep. He was becoming cantankerous from the lack of it.

Or, he decided, he needed to see a face that guaranteed to brighten his spirits. Tauriel. He could feel his mood lighten just thinking of her.

Shielding his hand over his brow to cut the worst of the glare while his eyes adjusted, Kíli's gaze swept the immediate landscape, seeking the familiar figure of his fire crowned she-elf. She was supposed to be assisting with the clearing of the battlefield. He knew this through his daily reports even though Kíli hadn't seen her since that night in Fíli's tent.

Kíli missed her. His heart already had a hole in it from his uncle and brother's absence but it was widened by his separation from the elf the past few days. True, they had both been busy with the aftermath of the battle. And, he had been shut away beneath the mountain where none but dwarves had been allowed thus far. But he was just making excuses and poor ones at that. He should not have let himself be so long without her radiance.

The immediate vicinity did not reveal the elf's whereabouts so Kíli set out in search of her. Smoke rose in several places, the stench of burnt flesh permeating the fields. Kíli held his sleeve over his nose as he walked. Piles of goblin and orc, some thrice as tall as Kíli, forced him to alter his path as he searched for Tauriel.

After twenty minutes of choking on the fumes of death, Kíli finally came across a dwarf he recognized. "Bifur!" He called out to the wild dwarf with the axe buried in his forehead. Kíli made his way over to him.

Bifur grunted a greeting in Khuzdul. He was loading the bodies of fallen dwarves upon a cart attached to a mulish, curly pony. Kíli's mood sobered as he moved to help fill the cart. The work was going to delay him, but every able person's help was needed.

Once the cart was at its limit, Bifur grunted thanks to him. As the toymaker headed around to lead the pony back towards the mountain, Kíli called out, "Have you seen Tauriel?" Adding, "The red haired elf guard from the dungeons at Mirkwood," a moment later after realizing Bifur may not know who she was.

Bifur nodded. Using Khuzdul and hand gestures, Kíli became aware that Bifur seemed to know exactly who she was and he learned that she was up on Raven Hill. There was another hand gesture made that Kíli was sure he mistook. Bifur's communication was stilted at times by the injury on his head.

"Thank you, Bifur." Kíli glanced at the dwarf who waved as he led the pony off. Frowning, Kíli contemplated that hand gesture. It was a signal of admiration for the elf. Kíli had thought he was the only one who respected Tauriel, even as an elf. He started off towards Raven Hill; musing on her while he walked.

No, it wasn't just respect he felt for her. He revered the way she did the right thing without having to think about it. Of all the elves in King Thranduil's palace, she had been one of the only ones who had held neither disdain nor dislike for the dwarves in her care. She had an open curiosity of them that had appealed to Kíli. He loved to share a good story, especially bragging on the deeds of dwarves - and if it was a story about himself - so much the better.

For the many weeks the company had spent languishing beneath Thranduil's halls, Kíli had shared many conversations with her. It began with inconsequential stories of battles that had eventually turned to chats about food, debates over the best brews and promises to challenge each other to archery if there came a time the company would be released.

He liked her spirit. She was not like the aloof elves that the company had met in Rivendell. Those elves had been beautiful, but cold and remote like he once imagined starlight to be. Tauriel proved his idea wrong. Her beauty did not come from just the outside, but also from the fire and vitality that shone from her. Her bright, warm starlight, as he thought of it, had called to him when he was lost in the dark shadow of the morgul poison. It beckoned him from the brink, restoring him from the threat of oblivion.

Not that Tauriel wasn't outwardly beautiful. She possessed pale skin like most elves. However, unlike most elves she had a slight shading of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. It gave Tauriel warmth - a realness- that other elves lacked to his mind. The long locks of her hair burnt like flame in the sunshine and his fingers itched to touch it as boldly as he had that night she woke after the battle. He had noticed that her eyes changed color depending upon her mood. Golden brown when she was contemplative; or a bright, light green when she was excited or angered. She was a head taller than he, but that didn't put him off in the slightest.

He grinned remembering that first sight of her. Their height difference had put her bosom within direct line of his eyesight. Unable to help himself, he'd made an off color joke to see if she would stammer and blush like some of the elf maids of Rivendell. She had returned his jest with a witty retort that had surprised and delighted him. After they had been put in their cells, Kíli had made it his mission to tease her to see her blush. To his vexation, she had proved stubbornly resistant in complying.

The outpost of Raven Hill loomed on the southwestern tip of the Lonely Mountain. Kíli approached the fortress warily, his sword held out before him. This far from the front of Erebor and Dale the disposal of bodies was less frequent, the area not yet purged of potential survivors. Prone bodies of orc and goblin filth could not be assumed dead. If Tauriel was here, Kíli feared for her safety.

There would be much burning here, only the enemy fallen. No men had ventured this way and only a handful of dwarves, one hobbit and an elf had been here. Kíli felt a certain amount of pride knowing that he, his uncle, Dwalin, Fíli and Tauriel had created most of this genocide.

And Legolas. Kíli scowled in memory of the elf prince and his fancy fighting skills. If there was one elf who liked to make a spectacle of himself in battle, it was the blonde prince of Mirkwood. Kíli hadn't missed the elf hanging upside down from a bat and then shooting an arrow through its head... who did that? "Ruddy show off," he grumbled kicking an arrow ridden goblin corpse at the entrance of the gate.

"He is quite dead." Tauriel's voice came from above him. "And were you an enemy sneaking up on me, you would have been dead too."

Kíli glanced up. Tauriel's bow was knocked, an arrow aimed at him from her position in the embrasure of the gate. Her smile and her tone belied the threat of her words.

"I assure you I am no enemy," Kíli returned her smile, bowing low. "However if your arrow is aimed at my heart, then I must confess your aim is already true. The target has been struck and defeated by your beauty Milady."

Kíli was interested to note that flowery compliments did what weeks of salacious insinuations did not. A blush sprang up on Tauriel's cheeks, his grin widening further at the sight. She relaxed her bowstring, disappearing from the crenel opening. He sheathed his sword and entered the fortress to join her.

She moved with the effortless grace of the Firstborn as she flowed down the entry stairs on silent feet. He was relieved to note she seemed in better health than when he had last seen her at Fíli's tent. He had feared that the effects of Morgoth's attack would impact her ability to heal.

Tauriel was studying him as much as he studied her. "I did not think I would see you before tomorrow, when they open the gates to the mountain," she said, softly.

The funeral.

Kíli nodded in understanding. Only dwarves had been allowed access into the mountain. Tomorrow, Erebor would receive its first visitors in years. "They are still making preparations but it should be finished by tonight. We have worked non-stop to make the caverns presentable for Thorin's burial. I needed a break and I wanted to see you."

Her eyes brightened to a light green color and he took that to mean she was happy to see him too.

A moment later she frowned. "There are dark shadows beneath your eyes Kíli, have you been sleeping?"

"Some." Kíli shrugged. "Not often. And when I do sleep, I have nightmares about Fíli." He decided to exclude the fact that she also had been in some of those same dreams.

"How is he?"

"There is no change."

Tauriel's brow knit together.

"What?" Kíli was mystified by the uncertain expression upon her face.

"I am both relieved and troubled by your words. And I do not know which is greater."

Kíli barked a laugh that was not one bit humorous. Tauriel's lips pursed in a moue at his reaction, and he hastened to correct her frown. "You're not alone in that feeling, Tauriel."

Turning away from her, Kíli paced the length of the stone entrance. "I go to see him every night and I talk to him, praying to Mahal for his life, for his soul." Kili shoulders slumped. "I love my brother. I want him to wake up, but I find myself fearing it - what if he does wake? Only it is not him, but the other. What becomes of Fíli?"

Kíli looked back at Tauriel. Her eyes had turned dark gold and her lips were pressed together. "Don't." He shook his head, unable to handle her pity and sorrow for him. Too many of the company had already heaped their grief on him as if they expected an inevitable conclusion that was not in Fíli's favor.

Tauriel swallowed. Nodding her head she uttered, "Henion. I chythem dregathar o men sui fuin drega od Anor."

Stymied by her elf language, Kíli asked, "What did you say?"

"Roughly spoken, it means "May your brother's enemy flee in the light of the sun"."

"You said that way too nicely for it to be of any rough manner. Not that elves ever have rough manners." Kíli paused and then added, "Unless you count your king."

Tauriel cracked a smile at his jest. He grinned back, feeling his spirits lift just by making her laugh. Not wishing to dull the moment again, he changed the subject by asking, "What are you doing all the way out here? I thought you were helping to clear the fields." He gestured towards Dale.

"Oh!" Tauriel's head shook as she snapped to attention as if remembering something. "I came to look for something I lost." She started past Kíli, heading up the stone steps, leaving him to follow in her wake. He climbed the staircase after her.

"What did you lose?"

"Ori's slingshot."

Kíli paused. Did he hear that right? "What?"

Tauriel continued on, not the least bit concerned by his confusion. She was already several steps ahead of him and he had to make haste to match her pace. "Your friend the scribe. His name is Ori, is it not?"

"Yes, but did you just say you lost his slingshot?"

Tauriel threw a look over her shoulder nodding at him.

"And how did you lose his weapon? Why would you have it?"

As the elf told him the story of how she came to use it, Kíli felt the tugging of his heartstrings snapping into place, cementing his feelings for her. Her thoughtful kindness for Ori's sake was a gesture he never would have expected from any elf. Except from her. Because that's who Tauriel was.

By Mahal's hammer, I love her.

He paused when Tauriel stopped at the top of a staircase. "This is where I used it." Her eyes were locked upon the ground in front of her with a frown. Kíli hurried up the last few steps to see what had her attention.

His mouth curled in distaste. Bolg's corpse was where it had been left to rot, not having seen the touch of a death pyre yet. It was too cold for insects to feast upon him, but scavenging animals had already begun feasting upon portions of his carcass. His eyes had been picked clean - probably by the ravens that the hill was famously named after.

"We'll both look for it. It will go faster," he decided. She nodded in agreement.

They stayed a careful distance from the body. Even though Bolg was dead by Kíli's own sword, the Dwarf Prince kept a careful eye on him; as if expecting the orc to rise once more, cheating death. He chided himself mentally for his foolish thought. Fíli would laugh at him for it.

It did not take long for Kíli to spot Ori's weapon by the wall, caught by the strap around a rock, the handle dangling down the cliff side. "I found it," he told Tauriel. He leaned over to pick up the slingshot, flicking wet slush off the handle. He glanced up at Tauriel to find her head was down, still searching the ground as she skirted the wall beyond Bolg's body.

"Tauriel." Her head snapped up at her name. "I found it." Kíli waved the weapon.

"Good," The elf nodded her head and then cast her eyes downward again, her eyes sharp and focused, her step slow as she rounded the dais. Kíli tilted his head watching her.

"What is it you are seeking now?"

"Your promise."

"My what?"

"The stone your mother gave you." Tauriel paused to look at him. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth for a moment, and Kíli found himself arrested by the sight. He almost groaned when she released her lip saying, "It was the only thing I had left to use against him." Her eyes flicked towards Bolg.

"Is that what hit him?" Kíli asked, incredulous. She nodded and began to search again. He remembered Bolg's blade ready to pierce his chest, his sword arm caught between himself and the giant orc. It was Bolg's head jerking back as something struck him that had freed Kíli's arm just enough he was able to drive it straight up into the orc's skull.

"Yes." Tauriel's eyes were golden with hesitation, as she glanced towards him again. "I am really sorry Kíli... I didn't mean to lose your gift."

Kíli shook his head, smiling to reassure her. "It is just a token. You saved my life and that is what my mother intended it for. We'll find it." He tucked Ori's slingshot into his belt and started to search with Tauriel. The half melted snow and ice upon the stone floor created a congealed, gray and icy slush that could easily hide the dark rune stone.

"You know technically that stone is not mine anymore." Kíli tried to make himself sound more casual than he felt as he subtly reminded her of his lakeside confession. He had given the stone to Tauriel as a symbol of his hope and feelings that he would return to her side once he and his brother had restored his uncle's kingdom under the mountain. He would have made many more promises that afternoon had they not been interrupted by Legolas. Bloody elf prince.

"Yes, I know. It belongs to me."

Kíli's heart skipped at her admission of ownership, spoken more distinctly than his own comment. He stopped searching, moving instead to intercept her own circular path with his. He took her hands, pulling her aside. She stopped, her head tilted down to look upon him, her brows lifted in question.

Kíli was either about to risk making an utter fool of himself or he was going to gain everything with his next words. "Does this mean you accept my feelings? Could you -," he hesitated a moment before finding courage to ask, "Could you love me?" His pulse pounded loudly in his ears, anxious for her answer.

For what seemed an eternity she was silent, their gazes locked upon each other. Kíli searched her eyes for a clue to her answer, but they were not green or brown, but that hazel color of between that revealed nothing to him. The longer the look lingered, he began to sweat, and worried the outcome would not be in his favor.

And then Tauriel's eyes softened, a dimple appearing in her cheek as she smiled. His pulse sped up as she removed one of her hands from his. She softly caressed his jawline, disturbing the short stubble that grew there. He nearly groaned in response, heat coursing through him at her gentle touch.

"Yes." Her voice was warm and strong as she answered his question. Kíli's heart leapt with joy, his grin threatening to split his face as he beamed at her. "Gi melin."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Kíli asked brightly. Happiness soared through his veins; lightening the gloom that had hung upon him the past few days. His entire frame felt charged with euphoria, begging to be released to the world. He wanted to run, to leap, to shout for joy. He did none of those things, but he did turn his cheek to press a kiss to the palm of her hand where it lingered at his jaw.

A blush bloomed across her features. "It think you know it does." Her eyes were sparkling light green now, the same merriment reflected in them.

Kíli finally gave in to one of his urges, letting out a whooping, jubilant shout that ended in a laugh, easing his extra energy. Tauriel's glad laughter joined his, a sound that made him beam to hear it. As his chuckles tapered off, another impulse hit him.

Feeling emboldened by her confession, Kíli lifted onto his toes; his hand going to her neck to urge her head down towards him. He was rewarded when she slanted her head, ducking lightly to meet him. He met her gaze, asking a simple question with a glance. In the warmth of her eyes, he found the permission he sought

Kíli's cupped her face in his hands, tenderly pressing his lips to hers. His eyes closed not a moment after hers shut. He could feel the warm softness of her sweet breath in the kiss. As the kiss lingered, Kíli felt Tauriel's arms wind around his neck, the pressure between their joined lips increasing slightly.

Time stalled for Kíli in that moment. He had wanted to kiss her so many times; that night they spoke of starlight and fire moon when a cell door stood between them. Then again, by the lakeside after Smaug destroyed the city, and before Gandalf had interrupted them a few nights ago. So many missed opportunities that he regretted, knowing now the pure bliss of her kiss.

The kiss was simple, innocent and engaging and Kíli wanted more of it. He pressed forward to coax at her lips with his, but it was Tauriel stepping back with a light laugh that stopped his advances. His head reeled in confusion, wondering at that laugh. Perhaps it had only been he who was enjoying the kiss?

Tauriel lifted her hand, rubbing her chin. "Your beard is tickling me."

Kíli flushed. "I'm sorry." Of course she wasn't used to the hairy roughness of dwarves. He should have thought of that.

"Don't be. It's not an unpleasant sensation, just different." She didn't seem repulsed, for which he was glad. Tauriel's lips lifted in a smile that shot warmth straight through his body. He grinned in response.

She took a step towards him, but then her head jerked up. "A rider approaches." Fleet of foot, like all her kin, Tauriel turned and raced up the stairs to the next level where one could overlook the main gate. "It is the dragon slayer," she called down to him.

"Bard? What business does he have here?" Kíli frowned. Not that the bargeman was unwelcome, but he was interrupting a moment Kíli had been enjoying.

Tauriel shook her head at him. Together they made their way to the entrance where Bard had ridden through the portcullis. He smoothly dismounted from a white horse that Kíli recognized from the time Bard had tried to reason with his uncle before the war. Bard gave the horse's neck a pat before approaching the two.

"Good afternoon Master Dwarf, Lady Elf," Bard greeted them cordially. "It is good to find you both well this day."

"Greetings, Dragon Slayer."

Bard's moustache barely twitched at the title that had been given to him in the wake of Smaug's death.

"What brings you from Dale this afternoon?" Kíli's questions was asked with far less courtesy than Tauriel's greeting had been given. From his peripheral he saw Tauriel frown at his tone.

Kíli didn't have a way to explain his mixed feelings about the bargeman. On one hand, Bard had threatened the dwarves with his longbow, smuggled them into Esgaroth for a hefty price that bled them dry, provided them with sub-par weapons and attempted to stop the entire party from reaching the mountains in time for Durin's Day. On the other hand, Bard had offered four dwarves shelter, including a sick Kíli, when the Master of Esgaroth would not. And unknowingly the dwarves' presence in the bargeman's home had attracted orc trouble which led to his home being disturbed and his children's lives in danger. And then the dragon burned said home.

"I came to speak to you, Prince Kíli." Bard glanced at Tauriel and then asked, "May we have a word privately?"

"Anything you say to me can be said in front of Tauriel."

As quickly as Kíli spoke, Tauriel lifted her hand, dismissing his words. "No, it is quite alright Kíli. I have come here with a purpose and I should keep it, before I lose the afternoon light for it. " She gave a small bow towards Bard, taking a few steps backward, turning and going back up the stairs.

Bard and Kíli both watched as she went. She glanced back at Kíli and the corner of her lips lifted, just for him, right before she disappeared around a stone wall. She's still looking for your promise. He'd make her a dozen more promises just for one of those smiles.

Kíli's pleasant thoughts about Tauriel slipped away as he turned towards Bard. Wary, he asked, "What is it you want of me?"

"I am here to speak to you of the King's funeral tomorrow."

"What of it?"

Bard hesitated a moment before reaching into the interior of his leather coat. He pulled out a white handkerchief, wrapped around an item. The bowman held it out towards Kíli with one hand. With his free hand, Bard uncovered the object within, revealing a singular, glowing gemstone.

The Arkenstone. The King's jewel.

Kíli had forgotten about it. In the tumult of the battle, the aftermath, dealing with the loss of his uncle and brother's illness; he had completely overlooked the stone. Shame burnt through Kíli over his neglect. Thorin and Fíli would not have so easily forgotten the symbol of the Durin line. Nor would they have allowed Bard to still have the jewel so long after the war was over.

Kíli's shame turned to immediate anger. Why did Bard still have the jewel? For what purpose? Did he still intend to use it to claim a ransom? If that was the case, he was in for a rude surprise. That stone belonged to his family. If not his uncle, then his brother would have it. And if not his brother, it would belong to Kíli.

Kíli looked away from the jewel, up into the bowman's brown eyes. "That stone does not belong to you." His voice was icy as he spoke, his hand finding the hilt of his sword at his belt. "It belongs to my uncle." It was only after he spoke, that he realized he talked as if Thorin was still alive. His chest tightened, his heart grieving his mistake.

"And to your uncle I would return it!" Bard interjected. He did not look away from Kíli's gaze as he said this. A long minute passed in which they stared each other down; Kíli glaring silently at Bard who did not cower. Finally it was Bard who broke their stalemate.

"I realize our last meeting about the Arkenstone was ill received. It is not my intent to repeat that mistake, Kíli."

Bard's assessment of what happened at the entrance of Erebor was a bit of an understatement. Kíli recalled quite vividly casting aspersions upon his person for the theft of the Arkenstone. He frowned at the memory as Bard continued.

"Your uncle promised to share the wealth of Erebor, in return for Esgaroth's assistance." Kíli opened his mouth to protest, but Bard made a motion for silence. "Let me finish." Kíli closed his mouth.

"I was given this stone by one of your company, so that your uncle would be forced to remember his promise and fulfill it." Bard glanced down at the jewel. "But now your uncle is dead and as it was his oath, neither you nor your brother are obligated to meet it."

"However, it is my hope that you and your brother will remember what it was like when Smaug descended upon all of us. You were there, in Esgaroth, when it went up in flames. You fled his wrath along with my children. You feared his fire, the same as my people did. You saw everything taken from us, just as it was once taken from your own. If there is any benevolence in your heart Prince Kíli, then I would ask you to remember that. To remember us."

Kíli's glower had lessened during Bard's speech. By the end, he was just frowning as he weighed the man's pleas to him.

"As your uncle gave his life, all in the name of reclaiming your home and this jewel," Bard continued, gesturing with the stone in hand, "I thought it would be only right, that the stone be buried with Thorin, under the mountain where it will always be."

Kíli looked at the Arkenstone, really looked at it. His breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the stone.

Even under the cloudy sky, there was no masking its brilliance. It glowed with a silvery sheen that reminded him of the mithril mail shirt his uncle had given to Bilbo. Beneath the silver sheen, against the dark cloth of Bard's handkerchief, the stone seemed to be lit from within by a fire. Burnt gold glimmered into electric blue, every faceted color shimmering as if they burned. The stone's ethereal glow made it seem as if it were alive.

Anger burned in Kíli. Such beauty should not be hidden in his uncle's grave. How dare Bard suggest such a thing! It was meant to shine above the King as he sat on throne of Erebor. It was the King's jewel! What did the man from the lake town know of it? He was just a thief. A foolish thief who had stolen their jewel and held it for ransom!

Long had his ancestors held ownership and Kíli would see it returned to the hand of Durin's folk, where it belonged. Bury it? HAH! The stone is mine! His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, covetous eyes contemplating the jewel and plotting the best way to remove his precious stone from Bard's filthy grasp-

Bard gently covered the stone back up, breaking Kíli's line of sight upon it.

Kíli blinked. What just happened?

He had been drowning one moment, overwhelmed in his own avarice. The next he had broken the surface, saved by an inconsequential action.

The Arkenstone. Kíli's pulse raced just thinking of the stone beneath Bard's handkerchief. He swiftly turned away, taking a breath to calm himself down. Sweet Mahal, he had been ready to challenge Bard over the jewel. To kill him if necessary.

"Bury it with Thorin!" Kíli's voice was unintentionally gruffer than he meant it to be. He was afraid of the reaction the stone had produced in him. If sight alone could create such feelings, what would have happened if he actually had touched it? What would happen to Fíli if it ever came to him? "Do as you will."

Unaware of the personal turmoil within the Dwarf Prince, Bard nodded his head. "It will be done."

Kíli turned to see him pocketing the stone in his coat. The urge to take it back soared once again within his breast, threatening to prevail. Kíli tightened his fingers on his sword, not to threaten the bowman, but as an anchor to stop his compulsion from reigning. He took another deep breath.

"As to your other request," Kíli spoke, attempting to take his mind off the item in Bard's coat. "The gold in Erebor is not mine to give. It belongs to my brother now. I will bring the matter to his attention as soon as he is well enough to hear it."

Bard inclined his head in gratitude. "I understand. How is your brother's health?"

Kíli gave him the same noncommittal explanation that everyone who was not the company or Tauriel was given about his brother. Afterwards, he and Bard exchanged information, reporting on the health progress of both of their peoples, lists of supplies needed to be addressed immediately and other immediate needs. More than once during their talk, Kíli caught himself staring at Bard's coat pocket, with desirous eyes.

Kíli felt a mixture of unease and relief later, as the bowman made his farewells and departed. He stood upon the gate of the stronghold, watching Bard's figure as it grew smaller with distance. Thoughts of the Arkenstone continued to plague him even though it retreated out of his sight, doubt lingering in its wake.

Brother, have I made the right decision?

A/N: I wanted to address the Arkenstone before it was buried with Thorin. In the books as all three males of the Durin direct line are dead, nobody objects to it being buried with Thorin. However, after watching the movie in which it was Kíli who called Bard a thief and challenged his hold on the stone, I felt it needed to be addressed. I could not imagine Kíli wanting to bury the jewel with Thorin unless he recognized that the stone affects his family in a strange way.

In regards to Tauriel's hazel eyes - most fanfictions describe her eyes as emerald green, but that is not how I feel about it. I've studied the actress Evangeline's pictures several times and determined she has hazel eyes. That is really cool because depending upon lighting or her mood, her eyes can appear brown or green. It's nice to have such variety.

Translations:

** Maam - Mother

** Demup telek menu Fíli - Honor acts through you Fíli (loosely saying we need your help Fíli)

** Marnat-am - Stop! Stop now!

** Henion - I understand

** Gi Melin - I love you.