Archive of Our Own ^beta

“But surely there’s not such a rush, is there? We’ve only been back in Erebor for five years, we’re still rebuilding. There is plenty of time…”

“That is what Frerin thought, and your father,” Thorin reminded him, low and quiet. “None of us is given a guarantee, Fili. I nearly lost both you and your brother, and I would not have survived but for you two. That is why it’s important to plan for the future, and ensuring the line of Durin is part of that plan. You have a duty—to Erebor and to your family.”

“And it’s one I’ll be happy to fulfill, but I can’t do it alone, you know.” Fili paused for a moment, then added, “And I’d like something more than duty to factor into it. Is it too much to hope for love?”

Thorin’s face softened. “No, it’s not. I know I ask a great deal of you, and I always have. Just…consider some possibilities. Dain’s wife has twin nieces that are unpromised, and either of them would be a good match--close kin but not too close…”

“Darinda’s nieces?” Dis’ eyebrows shot up when Fili related this conversation to her that evening. “I won’t allow that to happen to my future grandchild. And just because Thorin has the romantic instincts of a sock doesn’t mean the rest of us do. You have my word that you will never be made to give your hand where your heart will not follow, not even by my granite-headed brother. As…determined as Thrain could be, he did not try to push your uncles or me into alliances. Well, at least not more than once…” The evil sparkle in his mother’s eyes had Fili making a mental note to ask about that story later – he was sure it was a good one.

“I’d just like the chance to find my One, if she’s out there.”

“She is – I can feel it,” Dis said. “Do as your uncle asked and leave yourself open to possibilities, but look for a wife, not a future queen. That part will take care of itself in good time.”

Fili thought about his mother’s advice often during the next few days. Those days were taken up with meetings, supervising builders, endless amounts of paperwork, border patrols, and all the myriad duties of a member of the ruling family. Nights sent him to bed exhausted, and if ‘possibilities’ existed, he was beginning to feel that he might not live long enough to find them.

Fate smiled in his direction one late spring day when Thorin sent him to Dale. The official reason was to supervise the delivery of tools and machined parts to merchants in the town. This could have been done by anyone, so Fili suspected the real reason was because Dis had badgered her brother into giving his heir a rest. He didn’t like his mother fighting his battles for him, but was more than happy to let it slide this once. Besides, he had some shopping to do – Kili’s name-day was approaching, and he’d had no time to seek out a gift. A walk through the market after the meeting would be just the thing to revitalize him.

It was a perfect day – warm enough to leave his outer coat behind, cool enough for the new cloak Dis had made for him. He fancied that he cut a rather dashing figure as he trotted toward Dale on his sleek pony, royal blue cloak spread out behind him, and the hood back to allow the bright warmth to glance off his golden hair… Then his mind snapped back to reality and he laughed at his own pretension. He was a Dwarf in charge of a load of metal today, nothing more. Best to get the job done and enjoy the remainder of this glorious day, and forget about making impressions on people.

Business was concluded in short order-–the merchants’ guild was efficient and he had little more to do than stand aside and let them unload the carts, scrawling his initials at the bottom of some forms when they were finished. The wagons went back to Erebor, and Fili left his pony at a stable and wandered down into the market.

It was past midday, so Fili stopped by a food cart for a meat pie and tankard of ale, enjoying the bustle of life around him. Two children flashed past him, and a third mumbled an apology after nearly colliding with Fili while in hot pursuit. The air smelled of fresh bread, spices, flowers, and roasted meats, and rang with shouts, laughter, and the occasional curse.

He leaned against a tree to finish his meal and surveyed the square, seeking ideas for Kili’s gift. What did one give the Dwarf who had everything? The smokeshop? No, with the regular shipments of Old Toby from Bilbo, there was little need of their wares. A new shirt, perhaps? Perhaps, since he had taken to paying more attention to his appearance of late, but there had to be something better… A leather shop! Just the thing–-Kili’s quiver had seen hard service in Ered Luin, on the road to Erebor, and bore scars from the great battle, the same as Kili and he did. It was time it was retired with honor; perhaps the shop would have a worthy replacement.

The bell above the shop door chimed as Fili entered, and a dwarrowdam of middle years looked up from some paperwork. “Good day to you, sir! How may I help you today?”

“Good day, mistress. I’m looking for a new quiver for my brother; would you have any in stock?”

“We have a few over here.” She led him to a corner of the shop and he inspected the selection. They were well made, but not quite what he was looking for. “If none of these suit, and you have the time, Khajima can make one to your specifications. Custom work is more expensive, though.”

“Well, his name-day isn’t until next week, so I do have some time. And price isn’t really an issue.”

“You must like your brother very much.” The voice came from the doorway to the back of the shop. The speaker was a Dwarf maid, small and dark. Black eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement, though her face remained neutral. Fili felt his lips twitch upward into an answering smile.

“Well, he’s sometimes an idiot, but yes, I do like him very much.”

“Brothers are often idiots—I don’t believe they can help it, they seem to be born that way.”

“Really?” Fili quirked an eyebrow. “And sisters don’t have the same failings, I take it?”

“So I’ve been told. Of course, since I haven’t one of my own, I can’t say with certainty, but I can speak to the occasional idiocy of brothers. I’m sure there are times when yours would agree.”

Fili bit back a laugh. “You’re very likely right, Mistress…”

“Khajima.”

“Mistress Khajima. I take it you are the one that crafted these?” Fili indicated the quivers and belt pouches on the wall.

“Most of them—my mother did the rest.”

“And is this your mother?” Fili asked, with a half-bow toward Mirrim.

Khajima laughed. “No, Mirrim is my friend, but sometimes she acts like my mother. Amaddoesn’t come to the shop very often; she prefers to work at home. She taught me my trade.”

“And she did it well—these are fine work, some of the best I’ve ever seen.” This was no idle compliment—the craftsmanship really was first rate, pride and skill holding equal places in the work.

“Thank you.” A full smile this time. “But not quite what you were looking for, I gather?”

It took Fili a moment to answer—her smile took him by surprise, bright and transforming against the deep chestnut softness of her beard, making her ebony eyes dance. “Uh…no, not quite,” he finally managed, hoping he didn’t sound like a stammering wreck. “I think I might need something a bit…bigger? And perhaps a different color? If you’ve the time, that is.”

“Well, you did say your brother’s name day isn’t until next week—I believe I can squeeze in a commission. Do you have an idea of what you’d like?” Khajima pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil.

“I’ve not much talent for drawing, I’m afraid, at least not things like this.”

“Let me worry about that. Tell me a bit about your brother, I want an idea who I’m making this for.”

Golden head bent with dark—Fili talked and Khajima’s pencil sketched out ideas that his inner vision tweaked. The end result was a work of art and rather more intricate than he’d planned. “Will you have time to complete this? It’s going to be a lot of work.”

“It will indeed, but I have never missed a deadline. And I enjoy a challenge. Never fear, we will not disappoint your brother, Master…?”

“Khedrin,” Fili said after a slight hesitation. He used his father’s name when away from Erebor—Dwalin had insisted that, since he refused a proper guard, he must at least keep a low profile, and his own name was far from common.

“Master Khedrin. Very well – shall we talk price?”

For the first time in his life, Fili actually enjoyed the traditional haggling over the cost. He watched the crafter’s animated face--the way her eyes met his fully, the small smile that hovered around her mouth, and the set of her shoulders as she argued her points. She might have been delicate looking by Dwarf standards, but he had the impression that no one bested her in a deal.

A price was agreed on, and final touches made to the drawing. “It should be ready this time next week. Will you be sending someone to pick it up, or shall I have it delivered?” Khajima asked, filling out a bill.

“I believe I’ll come get it myself, if that’s all right with you, Mistress.” How exactly he’d manage it with his schedule, Fili had no idea, but he would come back if he had to sneak out in a delivery wagon.

She handed him a copy of the bill and smiled again, and once again it hit him like sunshine cutting through an overcast sky. He fumbled the deposit out of his coin pouch, nearly dropping it, and was glad his hair was long enough to conceal the flaming of his ears. And was it his imagination, or did her hand touch his just a fraction longer than necessary when he handed the coins over?

“I will look forward to seeing you again, Master Khedrin.” Onyx eyes challenged, and sapphire ones lost the battle, looking away first. Fili murmured something meaningless and probably unintelligible, and held firmly to his dignity until he was clear of the shop. Then he all but ran for the stable, claimed his pony, flung the fee at the stablehand, and made for home as quickly as his mount could carry him. All the way back he alternated between cursing himself for being five kinds of fool, and wanting to burst into song. If this was what finding your One felt like, he thought, he wondered how anyone survived it with their sanity intact…

-----

“So that’s what I have so far…unless you’d like to know what size her smallclothes are.”

Nori’s offhand comment, delivered from a lounging position with boots up on the table, was timed to perfectly coincide with Fili’s sip from his mug of ale. If the grin on his face was any indication, he wasn’t disappointed by the spluttering reaction from the heir, nor by the hoot of laughter from the other prince. “No, on second thought, there really are some things you need to find out for yourself.”

“Thank Mahal for small favors,” Fili choked out, wiping dribbled ale from his face. He had known he was going to give Nori a great deal of potential blackmail material (or as Nori called it, persuasion points) when he made the request, but the former thief turned royal spymaster was the only person he knew that could find out what he needed to know without anyone the wiser. So he’d sent him on a mission to Dale to gather information on the leather crafter who’d captured his heart. As for Kili’s presence, there was no keeping a secret from him, and he’d sworn he wouldn’t tell anyone else on pain of, well, serious pain. “And you’re sure there’s no one else?” he asked when he was able to draw a full breath.

Nori rolled his eyes toward Kili. “Would you listen to him? He’s not smitten, he’s decapitated! Gonna put me off my food entirely if he keeps this up.” Speaking in the calm, sensible voice usually reserved for fractious children and incompetent armed thugs, he said, “For the third time, unless my sources are lying to me, and they all know better, she’s free as a bird.” Nori leaned back in his chair and resumed cleaning his nails with the tip of a lethal-looking dagger. “Anything else you want to know, you can ask her yourself. And I’d suggest you do it sooner rather than later. Unattached females don’t stay that way long unless they want to be. I’d give her a tumble myself, but she’s not really my type.”

“And what type might that be, Master Nori?” Laughter laced the soft voice coming from the doorway. Fili whipped around, cursing the fact that he’d left the door to his chambers wide open. Nori’s feet hit the floor with a thump and the dagger slid into the sheath on his belt, with a murmured, “Beg pardon, m’lady.”

“Do continue,” Dis said as she arranged herself in the chair Kili had vacated. Her expression was bland, but her eyes twinkled with merriment. “Tell me what sort of maid my son has taken a fancy to.”

Fili’s glare could have turned both Nori and Kili to ash. “It wasn’t me!” Nori protested, shrinking back in his chair. “Kili, what did you say to her?”

“Me? I swear, not one word!”

“All of you calm down,” Dis interrupted. “No one had to say anything. When Nori goes sneaking into Dale on some secret mission, and Kili spends most of his days grinning ear to ear, and Fili has his head in the clouds, it’s fairly obvious that love is in the air. Especially to someone who’s been through it herself. I wish you’d been around back then, Nori–I had to do the digging all by myself, and keep Khedrin thinking I wasn’t interested.”

“I’ll wager you’d have put me to shame, Lady Dis.” Fili bit back a smile at the gallantry in Nori’s tone—Dis was the only person who merited it. He even twitted Thorin on a regular basis, despite his deep respect for his king, always seeming to know where the line was and never quite crossing it.

“Yes, I think I might have,” Dis agreed. “I managed to keep it quiet even from Thorin at the time. He seemed surprised when we came for his blessing.”

Oh, Mahal. He’d forgotten about his uncle. “Thorin hasn’t…said anything, has he?”

“Your uncle has enough on his plate right now that he’s not even noticed. So you’re safe for the time being, but Nori’s advice seems very sound. When do you plan to see her again?”

“Tomorrow—I’m going to pick up Kili’s name-day gift…oh, schist! I’m sorry, nadadith—I’ve given the surprise away, haven’t I?”

“Only a little,” Kili said, laughing. “I still don’t know exactly what it is, and under the circumstances you’re forgiven.”

“So that’s how you met her?” Dis asked. “Tell me of her—is she of good family?”

“Her people aren’t royal or noble, if that’s what you mean…”

“Neither was your father, and he was one of the best Dwarves I ever met. Even Thorin said so, but if you asked him he’d deny it. Nobility is in the heart, not in a passed-down title. Let’s start with her name.”

Fili smiled. “Her name is Khajima, and she and her mother came to Dale about six months ago from Ered Mithrin. Her brother stayed behind with his family. Her father went back to the stone last year, and he’d spoken of coming here, as skilled crafters of all kinds were needed for the rebuilding. Khajima and her mother honored his wishes and set up shop in Dale. She apprenticed with her mother.” The blue eyes were shining. “Wait until you see her work, Amad. I think she could even put Hodr to shame, and he was her mother’s mentor.”

“Good family indeed,” Dis said, stifling a smile. The Dwarf whose name Fili had just invoked was legendary for his skill in leathercraft. “And does she seem to return your regard? I realize you’ve only met once, but you can tell such things even on so short an acquaintance.”

“I—think so; she seemed to like talking to me, more than she would to an ordinary customer. But maybe she’s like that with everybody…”

“Ah, there you’re wrong,” Nori broke in. “I watched her for a while—pleasant, professional, but that was it. And I even went in and gave her my very best flirt. Cut me off at the b…at the knees, she did.”

Dis watched as Fili’s face lit up—Nori, for reasons best known to the female population, was much sought-after, with a long string of conquests both Dwarven and human. If this maid was immune to his charms, she must be very special indeed. “Very promising. One last question: does she know who you are?”

“To her I’m just Khedrin, as far as I know. I know I have to tell her, but—“

“There are no ‘buts’, ghivasha. It’s different than it was when your father courted me. He knew I was the King’s sister, but when the King has no throne, it doesn’t mean much. She deserves the truth, and all that entails.”

Fili nodded. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“Good.” Dis rose to leave, and the other three rose with her. “I look forward to hearing the outcome of tomorrow’s visit. I have a good feeling about this.” She touched foreheads with both her sons, acknowledged Nori’s bow, and swept out of the room.

“Well, if you’ll both excuse me, I need to see a man about a bet—and if he knows what’s good for him he’ll pay up.” Nori drained the last of his ale. “Best of luck tomorrow, and get your beauty sleep—you’ll need it.” He sauntered out the door, laughter floating in his wake.

“He’s right; you are looking a bit peaked these days.” Kili laughed as he batted aside the cushion his brother launched at him. “I wish I could come with you tomorrow, but Thorin’s got me supervising that restoration in the east wing.”

“That’s what you get for having been so clever with building blocks as a child.”

“True enough—my castles always did look better than yours. It’s probably just as well I can’t go—you’re already nervous enough; having someone looking over your shoulder will just make it worse.” Fili groaned. “Plus it would completely spoil my name-day surprise.” Kili placed his hands on Fili’s shoulders, and Fili could feel the tension drain out of him under the affectionate touch. “It was easier when being a prince didn’t really matter, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Fili sighed.

Dark forehead touched fair and held there for a moment. “If she has any sense at all, she’ll see the Dwarf and not just the Prince. If all she sees is the crown, for good or ill, then perhaps she’s not the One after all.”

Fili smiled in spite of himself. “When did you get so wise, nadadith?”

“It’s not wisdom, it’s truth. A maid could do far worse than to link her life with yours.” Kili broke the embrace and headed for the door. “And just remember—if she turns you down, there’s always Darinda’s nieces.”

“Yeah, one for each of us…Mahal help us both.” Kili shut the door behind him, and Fili readied himself for bed. Sleep was long in coming that night, and carried with it visions of dark eyes and bright smiles.

-----

The shop was busy when Fili entered the next day. A fine mist had prompted him to pull up the hood on his cloak during the trip in. He left it up, enjoying the anonymity it provided as he waited his turn. Khajima and the dwarrowdam waited on one customer after another, and to Fili’s secret delight he found Nori had not been exaggerating. Her manner was brisk, cheerful, and egalitarian; there was nothing in it to mark any customer as favored over the others. Then she spotted him, and the smile…that smile…blossomed on her face. Hope sparked in his heart, and he prayed to any deity who might be listening that what he needed to tell her would not quench it.

“Good day, Mistress Khajima,” Fili said, sliding his hood back. It took two tries and a throat clearing to get that out.

“Master Khedrin! It’s good to see you again. I have your order here; I hope you’ll be pleased,” she said as she pulled a paper wrapped parcel from under the counter. Fili folded the paper back and picked up the quiver. Spacious, sturdy, and elegant, it was a deep green dappled with hints of gold, like sunshine through the trees in a summer forest. It was even more beautiful than the intricate drawing Khajima had made. Braiding that denoted both huntsman and warrior embellished the strap, and a stag’s head was embossed on either side amid tooled patterns of leaves. “I’m rather proud of it.”

“As you should be; this is magnificent,” Fili murmured, tracing light fingers over the detail work. “Ki—my brother may be speechless for the first time in his life.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that additional service.”

“There are days when I would gladly pay it,” he replied with a laugh. He pulled out his money pouch and laid several coins on the counter. “I believe that should cover the remainder of your fee.”

Khajima counted the coins and shook her head. “You’ve given me far too much, Master Khedrin.”

“Please take it as a tribute to your artistry,” he insisted. “This is a quiver worthy of a prince at least.” He picked the coins up and laid them in her hand, folding her fingers around them. After a moment she smiled and dropped the coins into the cashbox.

“Well, I wish the one that I heard was in Dale some days back thought so highly of my work.” Fili’s eyebrows shot up, as did his pulse, as she continued. “I didn’t see him, nor did Mirrim, but the tale is that the crown prince himself was in the market last week. A royal visitation would have done wonders for business.”

“I’ll wager it would.” He would never know just how he managed to keep his hands steady as he smoothed the paper back around the quiver, nor how his voice stayed even as he asked, “Mistress Khajima, might I speak with you alone for a moment?”

“Certainly. Mirrim, watch the shop, please?”

“Not too long, mind—you know what your mother would say,” the dwarrowdam said, shooting Fili a warning glower.

Khajima just smiled and shook her head. “Come in back with me.” She led the way through a crowded work/stock room to a quiet area with a table and two chairs. It looked to be a spot for having a meal or a bit of a rest when the shop was not busy, if the mug and plate that sat on it were any indication. She waved Fili to one chair, took the other herself, and said, “You’re looking very serious all of a sudden. What is it?”

Fili took a deep breath, determined to get it out in one go, or he knew he’d never be able to finish. “I have—a confession of sorts. You did have a royal visit last week. My name isn’t really Khedrin…it’s Fili, sister-son of King Thorin. It’s important that you know the truth if I am to have the honor of paying you court.” There, he’d said it.

There was a long pause, then Khajima smiled again, though uncertainty lurked in the black eyes. “Master Khedrin, if this is a jest, or you are trying to impress me, I assure you—“

“If I were trying to impress you, believe me, there are many other things about me that I would far rather you knew. I am in deadly earnest.”

Her eyes searched his face, finding no lie in it. “You are truly the Prince,” she finally acknowledged, the smile fading from her face. Work-roughened hands twisted together, and Fili felt his heart fall to his boots.

There followed a silence that seemed to stretch forever, but likely only lasted seconds. Then came a whispered, “Your Highness—“

“Just Fili, please,” Fili begged, aching to reach out and take her hand, knowing he did not dare. The normally animated face was a pale mask, the only life snapping behind confused eyes. She was a sword blade improperly tempered, ready to shatter at the wrong touch.

“Your Highness,” Khajima repeated, not meeting his gaze, “you have your truth, and I have mine. Mine is this shop, not the halls of a grand kingdom. My hands are accustomed to leather and dyes and needles and hard work, not furs and gems and tapestries. I have no name, no family of note. You cannot court such a one.”

“I can and I will, if you allow it. We are not so much different, you and I. You may know I am the Prince now, but you do not know of the years of wandering, of cold winters and empty bellies, when there were no great halls, when a roof over my head was a luxury. There is no shame in hard work; I’ve done it all my life.” With a courage far greater than any he’d drawn on in battle, he reached across the table and gently turned her hands palm up, covering them with his own. “And hands that can create beauty are not to be scorned—they are to be treasured.”

This nearly solicited another smile from her, but it died stillborn. “You may see little difference, but others will. Including his Majesty the King. His heir choosing a mere crafter—“

“There is nothing ‘mere’ about you or your craft,” Fili interrupted, the heat in his tone bringing her gaze up to meet his. “I told you I had never seen work like yours, and I meant it. As for whom I choose, Thorin will have little to say in the end. My heart has spoken, and he will respect that.” Hopefully before he disowns me.

Their hands remained joined for a few moments, neither saying a word. When she finally spoke, her words were quiet and sad: “You are the Prince of Erebor, heir to the King. Your life is not your own, and if I permit your suit, my life will no longer be mine, either. It is not much by the standards of a Prince, but I have fought for it, much as you fought for your kingdom.” She withdrew her hands and tucked him into her lap, her gaze dropping along with them. “I will not lose all I have gained with that hard work you value so.”

”Do you think I would ask you to give up your gift? It would be like asking my brother to give up his bow, or asking my friend Ori to abandon his quills and parchment. It is a part of who you are, a part of what you live for. I craft weapons of war, and my skill is in fighting, in destruction. Yours is in creation, and I envy you that, more than you can know.

“I wish I could promise you that your life would not change, but I can’t. Mine turned upside down the day we took possession of the Mountain. So many times I’ve wished I had been born other than I was, but it is my fate. If you allow my suit, and choose to join your life with mine, you take the warrior, the prince, and one day--Mahal willing many years from now--the king. Change will come, but you will not face it alone.”

Fili smiled, his voice soft. “My family knows a great deal about the power of hope. Thorin led our people for over a century with little more than hope to offer them. Hope gave thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit the courage to face a dragon and reclaim a kingdom. Hope sent a raven to the Iron Hills and summoned an army. And hope brings me here today. I will walk away and never speak of this again…if you can look me in the eyes and tell me I have no hope here.”

He watched her eyes come up and meet his fully. Her mouth opened, and for an awful moment the world stopped, the only sound that of the blood pounding in his ears. Then she let out a sigh and time resumed its course. The fingers of one small hand reached out and touched his, the merest brush, and his heart soared.

“Khedrin…I mean, Fili—“ Khajima began.

“Let me remain Khedrin for a while longer. I don’t know how I’ve escaped detection all this time, and it will be over soon enough. Allow me to enjoy it while I still can.”

“Khedrin, then,” she agreed, and there was a hint of the smile again as she stood and offered her hand. He rose and took it both of his. “I cannot give you an answer, not right now. I hope you know this.”

Fili nodded. “You have given me a chance to lay your fears to rest, and to work to win your heart.” He laughed. “As I told you before, I am no stranger to hard work.” He raised her hand to his lips.

“I need to go back to the shop before Mirrim comes back here looking for me,” Khajima said, sliding her hand from between his with what to Fili seemed like reluctance.

“And I should go before my uncle thinks I’ve been abducted. Believe me, you don’t want Dwalin tearing Dale apart trying to find me.”

“I’ve heard tales of the fearsomeness of the King’s General; I think Mirrim could match him.” Khajima’s smile, a full one this time, dispelled the last of the clouds over Fili’s heart.

“Best not to give them a chance to meet, then.” They walked back out to the shop, and Fili made sure to keep a respectful distance between himself and Khajima. He picked up the quiver. “Thank you again for this, Mistress.”

“You will let me know what your brother thinks of it, won’t you?” Khajima asked, a twinkle in the ebony eyes.

“You may depend on it,” Fili said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Until the next time, mistresses, good day to you both.” Fili bowed slightly and left the shop. The earlier mist had deepened to a light rain, and he tucked the package under his cloak to protect it. Pulling his hood forward he made his way to the stable, whistling something as happy as it was tuneless. He remembered Thorin’s words before the great battle: “Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.” This battle would be hard fought on several fronts, but a prize that was too easily gained was rarely worth having.

-----

“This is almost too beautiful to use!” Kili marveled. “Not that I’ll let that stop me, of course.” He handed the quiver to Thorin for inspection and beamed at Fili. “Thank you, Fee.”

“It was time and past you had a new one; it’s got enough room in it that you won’t run out of arrows.” Fili added, a teasing twinkle in his eyes, “No matter how many times you miss.” The glare Kili shot back at him was only for show, with no heat behind it. The family was gathered in Kili’s chamber for the presentation of their gifts. There would be a proper celebration that evening, but this time was just for the four of them. Thorin had given him a handcarved pipe covered in delicate scrollwork, and many a candle had guttered to provide the light Dis had needed for the embroidery on the teal tunic she’d gifted her son.

“Excellent work,” Thorin agreed, casting a critical eye over the detail. “Dwarven make, of course.”

“Would I trust Kili’s name-day gift to any other hands? The design is mine, though.”

“Well, the two of you crafted a masterpiece. This is very fine,” Dis said. “I believe I might see Hodr’s influence here, but the crafter truly has a unique gift for this work.” Fili bit the inside of his cheek to stifle the smile that was fighting to come out, both in response to his mother’s praise, and because of her sly play on the meaning of Khajima’s name. “Treat this with the respect it deserves, Kili,” she admonished her son as she passed the gift back to him.

“I will.”

“Well, as little as I want to leave, I am afraid I must,” Thorin sighed, rising from his chair. “I have things to see to before Bard’s people arrive with the new trade agreement, and my daily headache won’t be far behind, I’m sure.” He smiled and pressed his forehead gently to Kili’s. “Blessed name-day, nephew, and may Mahal grant many more to you.” He straightened and included both brothers in his gaze. “I will need you both at the negotiating table. I am aware that is a terrible thing to do to you today of all days, Kili, but Horgen will not deal unless you are there. Only right, since you hammered out most of the details the last time. And it seems that Drax insists that Fili be there to—how did he put it?—‘lend his calm and reasoned voice to the proceedings.’”

“That might be because you threatened to drive his head through the table the last time,” Fili pointed out.

“I did no such thing—I merely mused aloud which was harder, the table or his head, and thought a practical comparison might be in order.”

“Well, if my presence will stop another war with the Men, I’m more than willing. We will be there,” Fili assured him.

Thorin left the chamber, and as soon as the door was shut behind him, Dis said, “We only have a few minutes. Fili, did you tell her yesterday? How did she take it?”

“She didn’t want to believe it, and I don’t blame her. Being a prince was hard for me to take in once it was a reality, and I had time to get used to it. She’s afraid of how much her life will change.”

“And she is wise to be worried, but she did not say no. Her heart is willing to be persuaded of your sincerity. So how do you plan to go about it?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. I want to give her something, but it needs to be special, something that no one else would come up with, and something that is just for her. I thought about one of Bifur’s clockwork birds—he’s got a beauty made of onyx, sapphires and emeralds—but she might think that was too much. And I’d like it to come from me, something I’ve had a hand in. Like the song Adad wrote for you.”

Dis smiled—Khedrin was a musician and instrument maker, and had done his own research into her interests. His ballad, sung in a sweet clear tenor under an amber harvest moon, demolished defenses that were already crumbling and won him the hand of a princess in exile. The song had been their sons’ first lullaby and a lasting link to the father long gone in body but never in spirit.

Fili picked up the quiver again, turning it over in his hands and studying the detail. Interspersed here and there amid the embossed leaves, he could pick out delicate flower detail, and there were more entwined around the stag’s antlers and dotting the strap. Now that he thought about it, there were flower motifs on a number of the items in her shop, unusual for a Dwarven crafter. “Flowers,” he murmured, “she likes flowers. But I don’t know anything about them, what kind would be the best.”

Kili grinned. “No, but we know someone who does.”

____

“Lord Roac.”

“Prince,” the great raven croaked in reply. He sat in his place of honor in the aviary on Ravenhill. The site had recovered from the horror of battle and the desolation wrought by the dragon; fresh grass and wildflowers covered the scars. The great aviary had been refurbished as befitted the messengers of Erebor. “What brings you here today?”

“I bring you a gift, and I seek a favor.” The ravens were a proud folk; they did not serve the Dwarves except by choice, and Fili needed their assistance now. He unhooked a brace of freshly killed fat rabbits from his pony’s saddle and laid them near the perch. “I need to send a message, and it must travel a great distance at great speed.”

“The last time you asked for such haste, it was to summon an army. Do you think to go to battle again?”

Fili smiled. “This is a battle, yes, but not in the way you mean. I hope to conquer a heart.”

The raven tilted his head. “So the fledgling seeks a mate. They can be hard to win, and harder to keep, Prince.”

“Are we worthy of having them if we don’t earn them? I expect yours led you a merry chase.”

“She did, and only the choicest kills will do for Eena. She has taught our daughters well.” The raven let out a harsh sound that could only be interpreted as a laugh. “Where must your message go?”

“To Bilbo Baggins, in the Shire.”

“A great distance indeed. Perhaps one of the chicks will take it.” A series of sharp caws rang out, and after a moment a young raven glided in, glistening blue-black in the sun. “Prince Fili, this is my daughter’s daughter, Kara.”

“Lady Kara.”

“Greetings, Prince. What would you have of me?” Kara had the same imperious air as her grandsire, and Fili bit back a smile.

“I need to get a message to Hobbiton, in the Shire, and I need an answer back as quickly as you can bring it. You will need to use the harness and message tube. Are you willing? It is a long way.”

“Will I be fed when I get there?”

“Like the grand lady you are—Master Baggins keeps a well-stocked larder. I will send a note to tell him you are to have the best he can provide.”

“That is well. I will take your message, Prince. Write the note.”

Fili took out the letter to Bilbo and went to the table in a corner of the aviary where quills and ink were kept. He added a postscript to the letter, rolled it tightly and inserted it into the message tube of the harness. When he came back, Kara was ripping into one of the rabbits, and there was a fond look in Roac’s eye as he watched her.

“Good,” she pronounced when she was finished. “Plump, not all skin and bone. You hunt well, Prince.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it. Are you ready?” She nodded, and Fili fitted the harness on her back, taking care not to bend any feathers. “Comfortable? Then fly, my lady, and I await your return.”

With an echoing cry, Kara took to the air, and Fili watched as she disappeared in the distance. Now there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that a Hobbit could solve a Dwarven dilemma.

_____

Time passed in its usual whirl as he waited. He’d had no further opportunity to visit Dale, but contented himself with writing the promised note conveying Kili’s thanks and praise for the quiver, and passed on such news as he thought might interest her. Bombur’s wife was pregnant again--the elder siblings were all delighted, with the exception of little Idris, who pouted because he would no longer be the baby of the family. There was to be an archery tournament for the midsummer festivities this year, and King Bard had graciously accepted the invitation, along with Prince Legolas, Captain Tauriel and archers from Rivendell and the Iron Hills. Nori was already taking bets on the outcome. The battle rams were particularly frisky this year, and a small group of young ones had taken to harassing the ravens, one going so far as to eat Roac’s perch the day after Fili visited him. Thorin might never hear the end of that one.

He had ended the missive with the hope that he might have the pleasure of seeing her again soon, but did not press his suit any further – that would wait until he heard back from Bilbo. Nori took the letter to Dale, and Fili’s delight was almost palpable when he learned that Khajima had asked Nori to stay long enough for her to write an answer.

“Decapitated,” Nori sighed, shaking his head as he watched his prince tear the reply open. “Mahal’s hairy arse, it’s embarrassing.”

Fili paid no attention to the other Dwarf’s griping, his grin spreading wider as he read the letter:

Dear Khedrin,

I am very glad your brother liked the quiver, and I hope it will aid him in the upcoming contest. King Bard is a formidable opponent, and I have heard tales of the skill of the Elves and Lord Dain’s folk—it will be no easy victory for whoever wins.

Please tell Idris that my own brother was much the same when I was born, I’m told, but our mother finally convinced him that ‘big brother’ was much more impressive than ‘baby’.

And thank you for the story of the young rams and the ravens! I haven’t laughed so in a very long time. The poor raven-lord must be very put out, indeed—not to mention his Majesty the King!

I too hope we shall see each other again soon, but I know your duties may not permit. Tell your friend he is welcome any time, Mirrim enjoyed having someone to gossip with. And if he should happen to bring another letter with him…

Khajima

“Yeah, the old dragon’s not so bad once you get her talking,” Nori confirmed when Fili relayed the invitation to him. “And what she doesn’t know about the folk in Dale isn’t worth knowing. I’m adding her to my informant list. I’ll take the letters, because the sooner you get this sorted, the sooner my stomach will settle.”

“Thank you, Nori—I mean it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nori waved him off. “Seriously, don’t mention it—to anyone. People would think I’m going soft, and that’s bad for business.”

“Not a word,” Fili assured him.

He was working his way through a stack of reports a few days later, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. Who knew that ruling would create quite this much paperwork? Or that so much of it would be so dull? Forge and mining equipment specifications, yields from the various shafts sunk deep into the mountain, lists of items traded with the Men and Elves—now he understood why Thorin could be so gruff sometimes. The stack on the King’s desk had to be twice this size, and likely twice as mind-numbing. So far no hapless messenger had met with an unfortunate accident, either from being chucked headfirst down the stairs or on the point of Orcrist, but Fili was certain it was only a matter of time.

Mahal must have heard his prayers for respite because he was interrupted by a peremptory caw and a flutter of feathers. “Prince. I am returned.”

“Lady Kara!” Fili couldn’t keep the delight out of his voice. “You made good time, my lady.”

The raven glided through the window and landed on the table, dislodging a pile of papers. One of them landed a little too close to the fireplace and singed a corner before Fili could retrieve it. It was missing some words at the bottom, but Fili couldn’t bring himself to care about it in the least. Maybe it would even be interesting now.
“You said to fly quickly. I did.” Kara gave an irritated shake and fixed him with a hard stare. “Take this off me, Prince. It annoys me.”

Fili eased the harness off the raven’s back. She spent several moments fluffing and picking at her feathers, then attacked the crusty roll Fili had gotten himself as a snack. Fili left her to it and opened the message tube, gently spreading the three sheets of fragile paper out on the table. Two were covered in close, neat writing and small illustrations, and the third was a letter. He felt a smile stretch across his face as he began reading, hearing Bilbo’s voice in his mind:

Dear Fili,

It’s wonderful to hear from you, as always. Your messenger arrived today, most out of sorts from the trip, but I followed your instructions and fed her well. She has quite the taste for roast mutton, and nearly as much of a sweet tooth (beak?) as Dwalin! She’s working through my stock of scones as I write this. She’s going to rest for a while before she starts back, and it will give me a chance to do a bit of research. I will finish this in a bit…

On to business. I’m honored that you came to me for help in this matter. I consulted Hamfast Gamgee, who knows more about flowers than anyone in the Shire, and he gave me a list of the blooms you will need. I know my drawing isn’t up to Ori’s standards, but I hope my pictures will aid you in identifying the different flowers. Some might be hard to come by, but I know if they can be had, you will get them—Durins are nothing if not thorough and determined.

May Mahal and Yavanna smile upon you, though I don’t think you’ll need their help--I have no doubt that you will win your maid’s hand. Say hello to everyone for me, and I miss all of you. And I expect an invitation to the wedding!

All my best,
Bilbo

“If this works, my friend, I will hand-deliver the invitation…ouch!” Fili glared at the raven as he sucked at the puncture made in his hand by a sharp beak. “What was that about?”

“Still hungry. I need more,” Kara snapped back.

“You could have asked.”

“I just did.”

Fili opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again. She had come a very long way in a very short time, and it had been at his behest. He took a deep breath and nodded. “So you did, my lady. What would you like?”

“Where is your food place? I will get my own. You will tell them. Write it, I will carry it in my beak.”

Fili took a scrap of paper and penned instructions as ordered. He rolled the scrap tightly and held it out, making sure that his fingers stayed away from that lethal beak as he gave her directions to the kitchen.

Kara eyed the note. “Will there be mutton?”

“If there is, you shall have it, as much as you want of it. Thank you for your help, Lady Kara, I hope we may work together again.”

“You may call on me,” the raven said, and Fili felt a mixed flash of pride in winning her grudging approval, and amusement in himself that it mattered so much to him. “Good hunting, Prince—provide well for your mate.” She took the note in her beak, nodded once and took off, knocking more papers to the floor. These at least escaped the fire, so Fili scooped them up and put them back in order. He looked at the list of flowers, sighed, and set it to one side. Work first—and perhaps a trip to the kitchen himself for another snack…

_____

The search for flowers began the next day. In Thror’s time there had been a garden on a lower terrace, designed as a wedding gift for his queen. She had come from a place that had boasted meadows as well as mines and had missed the flowers of her youth. Thror, ever the doting husband, worked with folk from her homeland, and the result was a riot of color and scent every spring and summer. The garden had somehow survived the dragon fire, but over the succeeding decades it had fallen into chaos, overgrown and untended.

Dis’ arrival had changed that. She had heard the stories of the green and growing paradise and wanted to restore it in her grandmother’s memory. She had brought Men from Dale (over Thorin’s strenuous but futile objections) to reclaim, replant, and renew the space, and they in turn taught the Dwarves that were interested how to care for the garden. Though they took pride in their work, carefully tending the bushes and beds, none of them knew the meanings of the different flowers, and until now Fili hadn’t cared to find out, either. He’d not been up there more than a handful of times in the past five years.

Now, with Bilbo’s list in hand, he made his way to the terrace. At first he thought he was alone, but he spotted a familiar figure in one corner, sketchbook open in his lap. Ori’s auburn hair was caught in a utilitarian braid down his back—he’d finally summoned up the courage to forbid Dori to ever cut it again, and his eldest brother had seemed rather proud of him for it. Pencil flew across the paper, and a contented smile graced his face.

He didn’t notice Fili until a shadow fell across his page. “Oh, hello! Don’t tell anyone—I’m supposed to be recopying some more of the archival scrolls, but I had a sneezing fit from the dust and came up here for some air. I love working in the library, don’t get me wrong, but—“

“You don’t have to justify anything to me, Ori. It is beautiful up here, isn’t it? I’ve never really taken the time to notice.” Fili lowered himself to the bench next to his friend.

“It really is—Lady Dis has done an amazing job with it. And old Frer has been teaching me about a lot of the plants in my free time. I think I can name just about all of them now. Bilbo would be proud,” Ori said, grinning.

“Maybe you can help me out. I need to find these flowers if they’re here.”

Ori put down the sketchpad and took the sheets Fili held out. “Yes, I think most of the ones on this list are here. The roses are against the wall, different colors; cyclamen is in that corner; the fuchsia is the one that clashes with itself over there in the basket…” He took Fili around the garden, pointing out the various flowers. By the time they were done only a few were unaccounted for. “You might have to go to Dale for the rest, but this is a good start,” Ori said, handing the list back. “Why the sudden interest in flowers?”

“Just a thought I had, a little something for Amad…” Fili began. Ori’s eyebrows went up in a perfect nonverbal ‘oh, really?’, and the blond shook his head. He never had been any good at lying, even as a child. “All right. You’ve probably already heard about some of this from Nori—“

“You know Nori; even when he’s drunk you can’t get anything out of him he doesn’t want you to know. So no, I haven’t heard anything, and if you don’t want to tell me, that’s all right. But I’ll help if I can, and I’m pretty good with secrets, too.”

“Well…there’s a dwarrowmaid in Dale; her name is Khajima…”

Ori was spellbound through the whole of the tale, and he heaved a huge sigh at the end. “This is wonderful, I’m so happy for you! Of course I’ll help. This is going to be the best courting gift ever seen!”

So it was that another Ri brother made his way to Dale. It took a few days to get the items he’d asked for, and Fili chafed at the delay, but finally, the delivery arrived. Some of the recommended flowers simply could not be had, but there were enough for his purposes. Thanks to Nori, the prince now knew every private way in and out of the Mountain, so the covered cart attracted no undue attention. The gardeners were enjoying a special meal prepared for them at Dis’ orders (“for service above and beyond the call”), where the ale would be flowing freely. So no one but old Frer, who had been taken into his Prince’s confidence, saw the contents of the cart being unloaded and taken to the terrace garden. Kili was stationed as lookout to keep anyone from strolling in.

Frer’s skilled hands selected and snipped the best blooms, and Ori, with an artist’s eye for color and composition, directed the arrangement of the flowers, supplementing the ones from the garden with those purchased in Dale. The result was a wonder to behold—every color in the rainbow surrounded by glossy foliage. “If this don’t win her, m’lord, there’s just no pleasin’ her,” Frer pronounced around the stem of a well-earned pipe of Old Toby as the basket was loaded into the cart for transport.

“I hope you’re right,” Fili sighed, fiddling with the edges of the letter that would be sent with the basket. He’d spent hours agonizing over the wording the night before, and the fire in his chamber had been fuelled by unsatisfactory drafts. Was he saying too much? Not enough? It was very late when he shook sand over the final revision, folding and sealing it before he could do it any further damage. He’d enclosed a freshly-transcribed copy of Bilbo’s list, with bright new illustrations from Ori, so it was as ready to go as it ever would be.

He tucked the letter in, helped Kili fasten the cover over the cart bed, then turned to Ori. “Thank you for your help with this—I could never have done it without you.”

“My pleasure,” the scribe said, beaming. “I’d wish you luck, but Nori’s always said we make our own luck.”

“And considering some of the trouble he’s gotten into and out of, he should know,” Kili laughed. He gathered his brother in for a hug. “Go make your luck, nadad.”

Fili pulled back, squared his shoulders, and climbed onto the cart. He still felt a bit cowardly about leaving his offering on Khajima’s doorstep, but after much debate with both Kili and Ori he had decided this was the best course of action. The flowers could be taken in, or left to rot as she saw fit, and there would be no hovering presence to put pressure on her. He would pull the back door bell and trust to the eloquence of the flowers’ language.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak, uncomfortably warm in the sun but necessary, chucked the reins, and the pony started forward. He was glad his hands were occupied with guiding the pony, or he’d have been pulling at his moustache, as was his habit when he was nervous. He was setting the wheels in motion—once the delivery was made, all he could do was wait, and hope.

____

“Not expecting a delivery, are you?” Mirrim asked as the bell to the back door tinkled.

“I don’t think so—the new shipment shouldn’t be here until next week.” Khajima made her way to the back of the shop, opened the door and stood frozen. There on the step was a large basket of the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen. She looked both ways down the alley behind the shop, but it seemed to have materialized out of thin air. She never saw a blue-cloaked figure watching with anxious eyes from a shadowed doorway across the lane, pony and cart tucked safely out of sight.

She picked up the basket, set it on the table and shut the door as Mirrim came back. “So what was it…oh my! Where in Mahal’s name did that come from? And what does that letter say?”

It was only then that Khajima saw the letter peeking out from the flowers. Confusion and astonishment clouding the dark eyes, she broke the seal and opened it. The perplexed look gave way to wonder as she read:

My lady,

I have no skill with words—as I confessed to you before, my talents do not lie in the softer arts. But your smile kindled something in me that needs such words. I hope that this gift will say them for me, more eloquently than my poor tongue can.

Consider this a token of intent. The iris speaks of a message, and the roses of love. Like the white rose, my heart has been unacquainted with love until now, when it was awakened by your unconscious beauty, dark and fragile as the burgundy rose.

The cyclamen is my timid hope that my suit finds favor in your eyes. I also hope that I may have the chance to surround your heart with fidelity, the way the ivy surrounds the basket. My humble love, vibrant as the fuchsia, is yours, now and always, constant as the brightness of the bluebell.

You are wary of what the future holds. I can promise only that I would not change you, my lady—as the daphne says, I would not have you other than you are. Whatever I am, or will be in the future, you may be assured of that.

If this does not please you, one word from you will silence me forever. My heart tells me that you are my One, but I may not be yours. I will regret that my love was not returned, but not that I have loved, and will continue to love. That is a precious gift, and I thank you for giving it to me. Whatever you choose, like the cosmos I wish you joy in life and love.

With the hope that I will be allowed to share both with you one day, I remain always

Your Khedrin

“It’s that lad, isn’t it? The one that bought the quiver, and sent you that letter.” Mirrim frowned. “You know what your mother will say about this—that you’re too young to think about courting yet, you’re both too young. And you barely know him.”

Oh, I know far more than you think. “Isn’t that what courtship is for, Mirrim? So two people can get to know each other better?” Her fingers touched the flowers, whisper-soft, as if afraid to damage them. So beautiful—how did he know? She carefully detached a rose and buried her nose in its sweet scent, and gazed on the bluebell, no less brilliant than the eyes of her would-be suitor. The suitor who will one day be king, a treacherous voice hissed in the back of her mind. The colors shimmered and suddenly blurred as her own eyes filled with tears. Her heart swelled, and her stomach clenched at the same time, and she felt herself go pale as the flower fell from her fingers.

“Khajima, are you feeling well?” Mirrim’s voice cut through the fog surrounding her.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be all right. Close the shop and go home, Mirrim—I need to be by myself for a while.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know. I need to think. Tell Amad I will be home later, and do not tell her about this. Promise me.” Dark eyes blazed in the pale face. “Whatever I decide, it must come from me.”

“Very well, but don’t wait too long. And go home as soon as you may, you know she’ll worry.”

Khajima felt a reluctant smile begin to form. “Amad knows me, this won’t be the first night I’ve spent in the shop, and it likely won’t be the last. Just tell her I’m working on something—it won’t be a lie.”

Mirrim huffed and rolled her eyes, but did as she had been asked, going out to lock the front door and set all to rights. When she was gone, Khajima settled at the table, read the carefully-prepared list of flowers and meanings one more time, matching each to the corresponding bloom in the basket. Daylight faded and a lamp was lit, and still she stayed, rereading the letter until every stroke was burned into her memory. And the lamp stayed lit far into the night, only going out when dawn tinged the sky the next morning.

_____

That same dawn crept through the window of a Prince who rose with gritty eyes and a fogged brain to face the day. He’d spent the previous afternoon and evening doing anything and everything he could think of to keep his mind off Khajima’s possible reaction to his gift. A sparring session with Dwalin had left him with bruised ribs—the warrior had chided him: “Your head’s in the clouds, lad; an Orc would’ve run you through twice by now!” He’d pitched in with the workers in the east wing, helping clear debris from the renovation, and nearly got his fingers crushed due to his own inattention. And a late-night drinking session with Kili, Bofur, and Nori had failed its intended purpose of numbing his brain enough to get some sleep. For the first time he cursed his granite-hard head for alcohol, a legacy from his mother. At least he had known there would be no hangover in the morning; he supposed he should be grateful. He dozed in fits and starts for what remained of the night, but there was no real rest to be had. Only the knowledge that there were Things To Be Done put his feet on the floor and his body in motion.

He splashed cold water on his face, the shock making him gasp but lifting the haze just a bit. A hot bath woke him the rest of the way—thank Mahal for Dwarven plumbing and heating systems and a nearly unlimited supply of hot water tapped from deep underground. He dried, brushed, and rebraided his hair, making himself as presentable as possible considering the dark smudges under his eyes.

He was fastening the ties on his tunic when a quiet knock sounded at the door. “A package for you, Your Highness, just brought up from the gate.” Fili opened the door, accepted the package and the sketched bow from the elderly Dwarf, and opened it with hands that had begun to tremble.

The paper fell away to reveal a belt, butter-soft and supple in tawny golds. The fastening was studded and decorated with a brass lion’s head, the workmanship was breathtaking, and the braiding…Fili barely repressed a whoop of joy when he read the message contained in the intricate pattern. Dimples deep and smile wide, he looped it around his waist, where it glowed against the dark blue of his shirt. All trace of weariness was forgotten and he bounded down the stairs toward the family dining room.

“Not so loud, Fee, please,” Kili groaned at his brother’s bright greeting, pushing his breakfast around his plate with no enthusiasm. “This is your fault, you know—I’d planned to make an early night of it, but no, you needed a drink, or three, or five.”

“I’m sorry, Kee,” Fili apologized, lowering the volume. “But you were the one that decided you had to open that bottle of Dorwinion wine Tauriel sent you for your name-day.”

“It was a matter of honor,” Kili mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. “Tauriel bet me that I couldn’t handle the stuff. How was I supposed to let that slide? Won’t have it said that an Elf could outdrink a Dwarf, no matter who she is.”

“Well, you’re still an idiot, but you’re right, that couldn’t go unchallenged.” Fili began to fill his own plate—his stomach was fine and demanding to be fed.

Kili fixed his brother with a jaundiced stare. “You’re in a disgustingly cheerful mood this morning. Have you decided to stop worrying about that basket?”

Fili grinned, and turned toward his brother, the hand not holding his plate brushing the roaring lion at his waist. “You could say that.”

Kili blinked and squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus. “That’s new, isn’t it? Very nice…wait a minute, come closer so I can see that.” Fili complied, and Kili peered at the belt. “Is that—it is! That’s a courting braid! She said yes!” Kili’s exuberant shout was followed by a curse in Khuzdul as it jarred through his head. Once he got the pounding back under control he turned a weak but heartfelt smile on his brother. “Congratulations, Fee. I knew it would be all right.”

Fili set his plate on the table and took a seat on the bench opposite his brother. “Well, she’s given me formal permission to court, so it’s a start, but there’s a long way to go yet. And I still haven’t told Thorin.”

“You’ll find he knows more than you realize.” Both brothers’ heads snapped around at the sound of the deep voice coming from the doorway. “Contrary to your mother’s opinion, I am not totally oblivious, especially when it comes to my family’s happiness.”

“How did you—“

“Nori is good, but he’s not my only set of extra eyes and ears. And no, I have not been spying on you, but I do worry when you take such great pains to sneak out, and enlist others to help you do it. So please, let’s have no more of that.” Thorin poured tea from a pot on the sideboard and took a seat next to his nephew. “When were you planning on telling me?”

Fili had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed. “Today—I wanted to wait for her answer to my courting gift.” He filled his uncle in on the full story, trying to keep the recitation matter-of-fact, but there was no hiding the happiness in his heart. “And this belt arrived this morning. She must have been up all night making it.”

“It’s excellent work. And you say you’ve told her who you are.”

“Yes, and she’s a little…daunted by it all, I think.”

“She has every right to be.” The side of Thorin’s mouth quirked up. “But if she’s brave enough to even consider one day marrying into this family, she will face the future with head held high, I have no doubt. Your father did. When do you plan to see her again?”

“I had hoped to go today, but there is that meeting this afternoon—“

“I will have Balin reschedule it; this is far more important.”

It took real physical effort not to allow his jaw to drop at this statement, but Fili managed. “Thank you, Uncle.” A pause, then, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was so sure you wouldn’t approve.”

Thorin sighed. “There was a time when the King and his Heir were expected to choose from the nobility of the seven Houses. Thror was fortunate, and so was Thrain—duty and love walked hand in hand. My forebears were not always so blessed. But this isn’t Thror’s time, or Thrain’s, or even mine and your mother’s. It is yours, and I will not deny you your heart.” Thorin leaned forward to press his forehead against his nephew’s, then sat back with a smile. “Go, see your maid, and tell her to come here tomorrow so the rest of us can meet her.”

“I will invite her to come here tomorrow,” Fili corrected with a small answering smile.

One regal eyebrow went up, then Thorin nodded his acknowledgement. “Hopefully she will be as curious about us as we are about her.” He drained the rest of his tea and rose, looking down at his younger nephew. “Dorwinion wine? Heady stuff from what I hear. How much did you drink?”

A mischievous grin flashed across Kili’s face. “Whole bottle down and still standing,” he stated with pardonable pride.

“I doubt Thranduil himself could say that. Good lad. Breakfast, then see your mother for some willow bark tea—it’s horrible but you’ll feel better.”

“I think I’d rather have the hangover,” Kili said, grimacing.

“Suit yourself. But you know that head isn’t going to excuse you from going over those treaties with Balin.” Thorin chuckled and left the dining room, snagging a honey roll on the way past the sideboard. Dwalin wasn’t the only one in Durin’s line with a sweet tooth.

Fili grinned and dug into his breakfast, polishing off two platefuls and three mugs of tea. He eased his new belt out a notch and made his way to the stable, sneaking his bay mare an apple to munch as he saddled her. She shone like the topaz she was named for as they rode out into the summer sun, heading toward Dale and what Fili fervently hoped was the first day of his future.

_____

“The King can’t have me executed if he doesn’t like me, can he?”

Khajima’s tone was light, but the treacherous quaver told Fili how worried she really was. He took her hands in his, noting the tremble, and smiled into the ebony eyes that begged for reassurance all the while a smile hovered around her lips.

“No, he can’t, and he wouldn’t get the chance to if he could.”

“Would you defend me?”

Fili laughed. “I wouldn’t need to—my mother would take his liver and fry it for breakfast before I could move a muscle.”

“If that was meant to reassure me I’m not sure it worked. Now I have the image of a rampaging Lady Dis in my head.”

“There’s a reason her sigil is the wolf. She is fierce indeed, and never more so than when she is assuring the wellbeing of her children. Their happiness means everything to her, so you are safe in her hands.”

Khajima took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, and Fili kept hold of her hands, offering silent support. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and the eyes that looked back into his were bright once again. “I’m better now. Let’s do this.” The small hand on his arm was warm and tremor-free as they proceeded down the hall to Dis’ chambers.

Dis’ sitting room was bright and cheerful. During the wandering years, her skill with loom and needle had been used to mend, make, and make over; now she could indulge her taste for beauty with it. Soft hangings in jewel tones covered the walls, and rugs warmed the chill of the stone floor. Carved chairs bore plump cushions embroidered with bold geometrics and delicate scrolls.

Floor to ceiling windows were opened to the warm summer breeze, and Thorin was standing at one of these when the door opened. His uncle’s eyes were kind and welcoming as he came forward to meet them.

“Thorin, Amad, may I present Khajima, daughter of Ulfr of Ered Mithrin,” Fili said as the leather crafter bobbed a curtsey.

“I am honored to meet you, Your Majesty, and you, my lady.”

“The honor is ours, Mistress Khajima, and thank you for accepting our invitation to visit.” Fili bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face at his uncle’s words. And if it had been any Dwarf other than Thorin, Fili would have been certain there had been the briefest of winks when their eyes met. Probably a trick of the light.

“Come, sit and rest, Mistress Khajima,” Dis began, gesturing to the chair opposite her. “It must have been a warm ride up from Dale.”

“It was, my lady, and I’m afraid I misjudged the heat when choosing a gown,” Khajima said, settling into the chair with back ramrod straight. Fili knew that she would die rather than admit how much she’d fretted that the green dress was not grand enough to meet royalty, but it was the only ‘good’ one she owned. He was proud of his mother and uncle for keeping their own attire simple for this visit. “This room is so lovely and cool, though,” she added as Fili slipped into the seat next to her.

“One of the advantages of stone walls in the summer,” Thorin said, settling in next to Dis. “And with the heat from the forges channeled to the upper floors in the winter it stays comfortable. Our grandfather had quite the talent for engineering. I understand your father was a gifted stonemason.”

“Yes, Your Majesty—“

“’Sir’ will do well enough, lass. No need for ceremony here.”

“Thank you, sir. Yes, Adad had wanted to come to Erebor when he heard of the victory—he knew his skills would be needed here and in Dale. Mahal saw fit to call him back to the stone before he could make it happen. There was an accident, the injury became infected, and he was no longer young.”

“So you and your mother came in his name. I know he is proud of you,” Dis said.

“I hope so, my lady. We were a bit worried about making such a journey, but the folk of Dale and Erebor have been good to us, and we’re very happy here.”

“And we’re happy you came,” Fili said, reaching over and covering her hand with his for a moment. She smiled and his heart skipped a beat. He wondered if that would ever get old, and fervently hoped it would not. “Where’s Kili?” he asked his mother. “I was sure he’d want to be the first one to greet Khajima—he’s done little else but talk about that quiver since he got it.”

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure where he is, but then I seldom am.”

Khajima laughed. “That sounds like the mother of a younger child—Amad was forever asking me where I’d gotten off to when I was small. I think my brother spent a good part of his life chasing me down—or at least he felt he did.”

“Yes, being the elder can be very trying at times,” Thorin drawled, with a pointed glance at his sister, who rolled her eyes in reply. “He should be along shortly; he said he had an errand to take care of.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and Kili breezed in, holding one hand behind his back. “Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late. No, don’t get up,” he said as Khajima started to rise. “I’m Kili, and I’m so glad I finally get the chance to tell you how wonderful your work is. I hope this might say it better than my words can.” He brought the hand from behind his back, revealing a small vase sculpted from rose quartz, smooth planes and angles polished to a high gloss. “It’s not as detailed as I’d have liked, but I was working against time. I thought this might be nice for your work space, maybe keep a flower or two from that basket Fili sent where you can see them.”

The brown eyes were sparkling as they met his brother’s blue ones, and Fili’s heart felt ready to burst with pride for his family. He watched the tension leave Khajima’s shoulders as her fingers traced over the lines of the vase, a smile playing on her lips. He nodded his thanks to his brother over her head—Kili must have been up a good bit of the night to finish the gift.

“It’s beautiful, and a perfect size. Thank you, my lord…”

“Kili.”

“Kili. But you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“It’s never trouble if it makes a lovely maid smile.”

Fili laughed as a blush rose in Khajima’s cheeks. “Enough of that, nadadith, or you’re going to have her wondering who’s actually courting her. He’s always been the one with the mithril tongue,” he added to the leather crafter. “Mine is pure brass most days.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it seems to have worked quite nicely so far.” Now it was Fili’s turn to blush as she slipped the vase into her belt pouch for safekeeping.

“Indeed,” Dis said, a laugh quivering on the edge of the word. “Kili, would you pull the bell for tea? I’m sure our guest could use some refreshment.”

Kili yanked the embroidered bell pull, and the sound echoed faintly through the walls. Within moments there was the sound of another bell, and Kili opened a richly-carved panel to reveal a dumbwaiter laden with a tea service. He carried this to the table set between Dis and Khajima, and took his own seat on the other side of his brother.

“What a lovely service! Is this one of Adjani’s sets?” Khajima asked, holding a delicate porcelain cup up to inspect it.

“It is. It was a name-day gift to me last year from our friend Dori. He’s quite the connoisseur. I seldom get to use it, so I have another reason for being glad that you visited.” Dis passed around cups of fragrant tea and tiny plates of decorated cakes. Fili held his carefully, feeling as if he’d grown two more fingers. Judging by Kili’s stricken look, he wasn’t feeling any more at ease with the fragile cup than Fili was. And Thorin—well, Thorin was being majestic as always, curse him. “Do you know Adjani’s work well?”

“I’ve admired it for years; I don’t know how she gets them egg-shell thin and so sturdy. Hers is the sort of quality I aspire to—practical and beautiful. My mother’s mentor always felt one should not be sacrificed for the other, and she passed that on to me. I found one of her tea cups in a second hand shop some years ago, and I keep it in my work room as inspiration.” Khajima grimaced as she turned to Fili. “And I thought Mirrim would never let me hear the end of it. ‘Sinful waste of good coin, child—you could have gotten a whole set of proper dishes for that. And not even a saucer with it? What were you thinking? You go get your money back this instant! They should be ashamed!’”

Fili threw back his head and laughed. “That is Mirrim to the life! But don’t tell her I said that—I’d like to live a while longer.”

“This Mirrim sounds quite formidable,” Dis said.

“Oh, she is, Amad. And no dragon ever guarded its hoard more jealously than she guards Khajima’s virtue. Not that she has to around me,” he hastened to assure his mother.

“I should hope not—I know I raised you better than that.”

“Even if you hadn’t, my lady, I assure you I’m quite capable of protecting it myself. My father and brother saw to that.” The leather crafter’s expression went from fierce to soft. “But it makes my mother feel better that Mirrim is watching out for me in the shop. I’ve often wondered if all late-life children feel a bit…smothered at times. She never fussed so over Efrin, but there were many years between his birth and mine.”

“And you are a female child, which made you doubly precious to her,” Dis pointed out, and Khajima nodded at the truth of that. “My parents both hovered over me for the same reason. I didn’t think they’d ever let me train with an axe. I think Adad finally gave in because he was tired of Thorin complaining about my asking him.”

“Whining at me, more like,” her brother corrected around a sip of tea, and Kili choked on an inhaled cake crumb. Fili’s thumping of his brother’s back covered his own stifled laughter.

Dis ignored them all, keeping her attention on Khajima. “They fret because they love us, although it’s difficult to take sometimes. So continue to be the dutiful daughter that I’m sure you are, but don’t let her stop you from being your own person.”

“I won’t, my lady. And I think she’d be disappointed in me if I let that happen.”

More tea and cakes, and more conversation, and the afternoon waned pleasantly. Fili spent much of the time observing quietly, as was his wont. Khajima was bright and animated, all nerves forgotten, dark eyes sparkling. There was a good deal of silent communication between his mother and uncle, and once Thorin caught his eye, giving him an approving nod. The last weight left his shoulders and he slid a hand into his pocket, fingers closing over the contents. It was time.

“Amad, if I might interrupt for a moment?” He turned to Khajima and opened his hand. In his palm was a bead of polished silver dotted with pinpricks of jet as dark as the eyes that looked into his. “Now that you have met my family—and have not run off screaming--” This produced a smile that nearly robbed him of words, but he took a deep breath and carried on. “The time has come to ask your official permission, in front of witnesses. Will you, Khajima, daughter of Ulfr, accept this bead and wear it in your hair so that the world may know you are being courted by one who hopes one day to become your husband? Knowing what that may one day mean?”

She nodded once, face solemn, and trembling fingers plaited a slim braid at her left temple, clamping the bead at the end to hold it. “Thank you,” he whispered as he lifted her hand to kiss it. Dis beamed, Kili was nearly vibrating with excitement, and Thorin was looking as pleased as if it had all been his doing.

Dis came forward, both hands outstretched, and touched her forehead to Khajima’s. “Welcome, my child. It will not be an easy road, but I expect you will travel it well.”

“It’s as I once told your son; I enjoy a challenge,” Khajima said, gazing into sapphire eyes framed by burnished gold. “And I will not travel that road alone.”

“No, you will not,” Thorin said, coming forward to bestow his own forehead touch. “Welcome.”

“You know you can still change your mind,” Kili murmured as his forehead brushed hers. “He snores.”

“So do I,” she confided. “We’ll likely keep each other awake.”

Kili laughed and kissed her cheek. “You’ll do. Welcome, Khajima. Are you giving Fili a bead, too?”

“He will have to wait for his until this evening. It must be given in the presence of my family.”

“Yes, Khajima’s mother has…requested that I join them tonight for supper,” Fili said, swallowing hard. He was fairly sure the knot already forming in his stomach would prevent him from eating a bite, and knew it would be an insult if he didn’t clean his plate.

“I see,” Dis nodded, face placid but blue eyes dancing. “Well, perhaps we might have the pleasure of your company for supper here tomorrow night?”

“The pleasure would be mine, my lady.”

“And perhaps you would be so good as to extend the invitation to your esteemed mother and Mistress Mirrim. I’d like very much to meet them both—I believe we’re all going to become very great friends.”

And Fili, the Lion of Durin, Heir to the throne Under the Mountain, felt every drop of blood drain from his face. Mahal take me now…