us dwarves was not a good one. There was little chance and little wish to reconcile and harsh looks were exchanged. It seemed our little party had split, between those loyal still to Thorin and his whims (Dwalin, Balin, perhaps the hobbit) and those who would sooner save their bacon (Dori, Gloin, and myself, I have to admit). And between these opposites, the others stood, all uncertain where their loyalties remained.

Wishing to be left alone for a time, I turned inwards. We had not arranged guard duty and I did not want to wait around long enough to be assigned a post. I was rather hoping to find a quiet little corner in which I could settle down and sleep my troubles away.

If only I could have been so lucky.

I had barely made it out of the entrance hall, when Oakenshield was shouting for us all to gather again. It seemed that if we were to be heading to war, we needed to be suited and booted for it.

The armoury that Kili had found a few days ago was well stocked, but not well stocked enough. Most of the goods lay under thick covers of dust and the metal beneath it was in need of a good clean and then a good deal of sharpening. 

The forge was lit, as were the braziers. Cloth was found, as was oil, and we set about restoring the armour of the old in the hope that it would protect the new.

I found a decent enough sword within the room, although it was nowhere near as pretty as the one the elves had taken from me. The style of it was dwarven and reminded me of Fili's swords. The balance felt off in my hands and it took me a few practice swings before I could feel comfortable with it. 

The shields were likewise stylised and not like the old round, battered one that had once belonged to my father. They were made of metal, by the smiths of the mountain, and were as weighty and cumbersome as the sword. 

I raised the shield up, holding it over me, pretending an elf loomed over. I swung around, my imaginary assailant now at my back, and drew my sword. 

"Du bekar," I whispered, before jumping forward and striking my invisible assailant through the middle. 

"Not bad." It seemed that I had attracted an audience.

"Just practicing," I grumbled, my cheeks flushing. I straightened myself up and lowered my weapon, any thought of further practice having long since passed. "Found anything?"

"Not as good as my old ones," Fili said, holding out a similar-looking sword to my own. "But it'll do." He said that to me from somewhere beneath a large helmet. As he gestured with his sword, his helmet rolled forward and he was temporarily blinded. He pushed the large and well-decorated thing hastily back, but it seemed that I was not the only one left red-faced by our encounter.

"You may need a smaller helmet," I said, trying my hardest not to laugh. "Or a bigger head."

Quicker than I would have liked, Fili had pulled his helmet off and had shoved it onto my own head, back-to-front of course, just to be petty. I had by this point lost my resolve and my laughter was echoing around my armoured head.

I sensed him about to hit the helmet as if to clang a bell, but I blindly launched myself at him, laughing all the while, trying to wrestle his armoured arms down. He must have been laughing himself, but, under the helmet, the noise was only muffled, hidden under my own.

A strong hand grasped me by the shoulder and the helmet was pulled off in one move. Dwalin frowned down at me and held the offending helmet in his hands. Fili had long since stopped laughing. Recalling their fight only moments before, he stared up at the older dwarf grimly.

"This is not the time for fooling around," Dwalin snarled, before turning the helmet around in his hands and then slamming it - and in no way gently - back down onto my head. "Suit yourself up and be quick about it. Or you'll face Thranduil on the walls in your tunic and breeches."

I pulled myself away from the older dwarf and, once free of his grip, was not too scared to scowl at him myself. Dwalin seemed unfazed at my anger, but rather pushed me aside and went back to his own acquisitions. 

The fun had been fleeting and was gone as quickly as it came. Fili went back to going through a stack of swords and I went back to looking through plates of recently polished armour.

The process was long, but in time we found ourselves dressed, if not ready, for battle. The dwarf armour, plate upon plate upon plate, all long cast, was heavy and cumbersome. Beneath the various plated parts, I wore a shirt of maille that only seemed to further weigh me down.

I was no warrior and would never prove to be much of one at this rate. A strong gust of wind would likely have sent me crashing to the ground, but that mattered not. In all of this, no elven sword or arrow could surely pierce me. I just had to find the strength to remain upright.

"My warriors," Oakenshield all but crowed as we stepped out of the armoury in line. Beside him, the hobbit stared ashen-faced at us, from beneath a shirt of mithril. "You will make your ancestors proud this day."

My ancestors may have been proud at the sight of me struggling under the weight of all of their armour, but my descendants were more crucially at risk. 

A guard duty had been arranged, if only for the remainder of that day and night, and, having not been around to have my say, I had been nominated for the first shift. Struggling to walk and struggling to keep my eyes open, I could only scowl (not that it proved effective beneath my giant helmet) and make my way up to the ramparts in silence.

The day was long and the enemy did not prove very exciting. I watched, wearily, as hours passed and the elven army settled into Dale. My eyes strained to make out exactly what they were doing in the weak sunlight, but it looked like they were setting up tents and practicing drills. At least when my death would come it would come in an orderly fashion.

Bofur's arrival signalled the end of my shift and I returned to the store room to find that Bombur had made yet more watery stew. I had not eaten in over a day and my rumbling stomach had kept me company throughout my watch, but, with the first bite, I felt my appetite fade away. All I could think of was the elves at our gates, the reflection of their armour in the weak winter sunlight. My stomach flipped.

I made it out of the storeroom and to a balcony overlooking the stairs in time, but I needn't have worried. There was nothing to bring up, despite my nerves trying. I took a couple of deep breaths, removed my helmet, and took myself down the stairs.

I had hoped to find some solitude down in the depths of the mountain, but I was proved wrong. I could hear mumbling ahead, whispers and snarls, and footsteps echoing.

Before I could make a hasty retreat, Oakenshield appeared at the bottom of the stairs, in the midst of a frantic and whispered conversation with himself. He seemed as taken aback as I was to bump into him.

"Nithi?" he said, almost sounding like his former self, shocked seemingly at my appearance in full armour. "What are you doing here?"

Before I could come up with an excuse, his face suddenly changed, twisting almost into a snarl.

"THIEF!" he shouted, at the top of his lungs. "THIEF!"

If ever there was a signal to beat a hasty retreat, that was it. I turned quickly and went to make my way back up the stairs, but I lost my balance under the weight of all of the armour. Tumbling forward, I fell to my knees, sliding down the remaining stairs in a sequence of painful crashes and landed in a crumpled heap at Oakenshield's feet. My helmet fell out of my arms and rolled away.

"I should have known all along," he hissed down at me, as I lay winded before him. I struggled to get up, but there was little point in me doing so. His shouts had reached the others and already I could hear the others rushing down the stairs.

"What is it, Thorin?" As my luck would have it, it was Dwalin who reached Oakenshield first. The older dwarf was breathless from his run, but not as breathless as I was, still clutching at my sore chest.

"I have found the thief," Oakenshield said. I waited for him to grab me, to kick me, to hit me, but no blows came. It seemed as if I was so far beneath him to be worth hurting.

I managed to drag myself, one-handed, up into a sitting position. My brains felt like they had been tossed about like a barrel in a river and I could only clutch my head queasily and look up at Dwalin with a pitiful expression.

To give credit where credit was due, Dwalin seemed hesitant to believe Oakenshield's proclamation. He looked grimly between me and his king.

"What has been stolen?"

"I wondered why it was taking so long for us to find the Arkenstone," Oakenshield said. "And then I began to ponder... what if there is one among us who would not wish the Arkenstone to be found? One devious and troublesome enough to take the stone for herself, perhaps even to sell to those who it does not belong to."

"I didn't take the stone," I snapped, having since caught my breath. I looked past Dwalin to where the others, all except for Bofur, still on guard at the wall, had gathered on the stairs. At the very top of the stairs, Fili looked down on the scene with a grim expression. Would he believe his uncle?

"Liar," Oakenshield hissed, and rounded back onto me. "Do you deny being a thief?"

"No." I could not deny that. Oakenshield may not have known about me pinching Fili's bead, but he knew of my past, knew of my capabilities. "I didn't steal your stone though!"

"Lies. Where is it?"

"Where's what?" My head did not feel too good.

"The stone. The Arkenstone. My stone."

"I haven't got your bloody stone!"

"Where is it?"

"Beats me."

"Where?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" 

"Liar."

"Fool."

And, with that, Oakenshield launched himself at me, his sword suddenly in his hand. 

I had been expecting my end to come at the hands of an elf, perhaps even an angry former resident of Laketown, but I had not imagined that it would come at the hands of my gold-sick king. It was fortunate for me that Dwalin was standing where he was at the time and that he, unlike me, could keep his balance in his armour.

"Thorin!" he cried, jumping between me and Oakenshield and grabbing the king's sword arm, all the while I could only scuttle backwards out of Oakenshield's reach. "What are you doing?"

"Liar!" Oakenshield roared. "Thief!"

"I didn't steal it!" I shouted, scrambling back up to my feet and backing away.

"Take her!" Oakenshield continued to shout, making himself go red in the face, as Dwalin and then Kili struggled to restrain him.

The shock of his outburst was beginning to fade away, replaced with a sudden white burst of anger.

"You want some truths?" I snarled, taking a step forward and only causing Oakenshield to strain harder against the other two dwarves. "I'll give you some truths. You have lost your mind!"

"Nithi." Balin was suddenly at my side and he stood between Oakenshield and me. "Don't."

"I'm only saying what we've all been thinking!" 

"Nithi."

"Don't 'Nithi' me. He should hear this." 

"Take her," Oakenshield continued to roar. "Search her. Find the stone and bring it to me. Throw her from the ramparts when you're done." 

That was enough to silence me.

"No!" I cried. "No, don't throw me. Please."

Balin looked from me to Oakenshield and then back to me. He sighed.

"Fili, grab her," he said.

"What?" It was my time to roar. I had not noticed Fili make his way down the stairs, but suddenly he was at my back and was pulling my arms behind me. "Get off of me!" I screamed, as he pulled me back. "Get away from me! No! I didn't do it, I swear."

"Take her somewhere to quieten down," Balin said, softly, barely loud enough for me to hear, before saying in a louder voice. "Take her away and search her. As the king orders."

Thinking I had misheard Balin's first statement, I continued to fight back. 

"You can't do this!" I shouted, before turning to look at the others still watching the scene, wordlessly, on the stairs. "Don't let them do this to me."

"Stop it, Nithi," Fili whispered, into my ear, but I was beyond caring. I went to boot him in his shins, but his own armour took the brunt of it. With me still struggling, he pulled me back, away from his uncle and away from the others.

To my relief, it was not to the ramparts that he took me, but rather deeper into the mountain. I wasn't sure exactly where we were going - I was still upset and still fighting him - until we reached the corridor that led to the armoury. I recognised that bit, even if I did not recognise the small and dark chamber off of it where Fili eventually released me.

Once free, I spun and went to make a break for it, but Fili had anticipated that and caught me easily around the middle.

"Let me go!" I continued to shout, even if only into his breastplate. "Let me out of here."

"No," Fili grunted. Even with his own strength, he was struggling to hold me back. "Not until you calm down."

"Let me at him!"

"And watch you get thrown off of the ramparts? No."

That stopped me in my tracks. I stopped fighting and pulled myself back, looking up at him.

"You believe me, don't you? I didn't steal the Arkenstone."

Fili paused at that, for an uncomfortably long moment. 

"Yes," he said, finally. "I believe you."

I couldn't really explain how much of a relief that was. I was still in denial of my feelings and still in denial about just how important Fili's opinion was to me. Yet I was still angry and, here in the depths of the mountain, the only one around for a tongue-lashing was unfortunately Fili.

"Then go and tell your uncle that!"

"And be thrown off of the ramparts after you? No."

I snorted at that, incredulous. 

"Coward," I spat.

"Nithi." His tone was low; I was on dangerous ground.

"You know as well as I do, as well as any of us, that Thorin has gone mad. That he will see us all put to the sword before he would even dare let a coin be lost from this mountain. And yet you do nothing about it."

It was Fili's turn to round on me.

"What can I do about it?!" he roared, and his sudden burst of anger was enough to shock me into silence. "He is my uncle! He is my king!"

"He'd kill you if he knew you broke his orders about me." The steely edge to Fili's expression reminded me of something - it was a look I had seen before, only days before. It had been when the dragon was loose and heading for Laketown; when he had offered to stay with his brother, even with the oncoming threat of a fiery death, so that the rest of us could escape. "You know that though," I added. "You'd die for him. You'd let him kill you."

The truth hung over us like a heavy fog. Fili could not deny it, nor could he hold my gaze. He went to turn away.

"But you wouldn't let him kill Kili, would you?" That stopped him in his tracks. 

"No," he whispered, his back still to me.

"You self-sacrificing bastard," I spat. "You'd happily die and..." I had to stop myself then. The shock of it all, the rush of emotion, was bringing a familiar heat to my eyes. "And I don't want you to," I said, and, to my utter mortification, my voice broke. 

He turned then, the shock evident on his face.

"What did you say?"

Maker's breath, he wanted me to repeat myself.

"I don't want you to die!" I snapped, angry tears pricking at my eyes. "I don't want you to die, Fili! Not for Kili. Especially not for Oakenshield. Not for anyone. I just want you to be... alive. To survive this."

"You feel like that?"

"Yes."

"How long?" Maker's breath, more questions.

"Awhile," I snapped, not that I knew the answer myself. Somewhere along the line, the pieces had fitted together. 

He reached out then and rubbed a tear away with a coarse thumb.

"You're telling me this now?" he said, with a low chuckle, as if he hardly dared to believe it. "With an army at our gates?"

I let out a shaky laugh myself.

"Yeah, I know my timing's off." His palm remained pressed to my cheek and my own hand rose to stroke it. Perhaps he thought I meant to push it away as he stiffened, but rather I held it there. His hand fitted perfectly over my cheek.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," he said, and, despite his smile, beneath his own tears, the steel blazed still in his eyes. "Whatever happens, if it comes to it, I will die. For my family."

I went to pull away, but he was quicker: grabbing my other cheek if only to hold me in place, if only to hold my gaze.

"And you'll let me."

"I won't," I spat.

"And you'll live," he said.

Years of self-preservation had brought me this far, but I was beginning to see that tomorrow promised little beyond it. Perhaps, rather than seeking, as ever, to live a little longer, I'd have to live for then.

"How?"

"We'll find a way."

"We won't."

"Nithi, please."

"No," I said, firmly, and I firmly pushed him away from me. "If you can choose when to die and what to die for, then I can make that decision for myself."

"Nithi..." He went to touch me again, but I wouldn't allow it, smacking his hand away.

"Don't 'Nithi' me!" The tears sure were flowing at this point, for the both of us. It was hard to tell who was more embarrassed.

"Let me get you out of here."

"How?"

"There must be a way. We'll find a way."

"You keep saying that! But there isn't a way. There's only one way out of this mountain and that is against a whole army!"

He did not have an answer to that.

"If I'm going to die, I want it to be on my terms," I continued, fiercely. "Not yours. Not your uncle's. I'll die tomorrow too, but I won't die for this..." I gestured to the room. "This mountain. I won't die for my ancestors' memory. I'm not going to die for my father's memory - Maker's breath! I barely knew the dwarf. I'm not going to die for the gold and I am certainly not going to die for your uncle, even if I hold him personally responsible for my death!" I was ranting on. "No, tomorrow, I'll die for you! And you, alone."

"Nithi..." Fili took a step forward, but I wasn't having it.

"Stop."

"Nithi." And, before I could stop him, he had crossed the short distance between us and was pulling me to him, kissing me with such a fury I thought he meant to consume me whole. I panicked and reacted and bit down hard on his lip.

"Fili," I managed, through a mouthful of his blood. "I-"

"I'm sorry," he said, having quickly pulled himself away. He clutched at his bloody bottom lip. "I thought-"

"You thought right." It was my turn to take him, to hold him. His lips were warm and salty, metallic with blood, but soft, almost unbelievably soft. His moustache braids tickled my chin, but I refused to part from him, only deepening the kiss further. By the time we both broke away, we were both breathless and clearly hungry for more.

"It's tomorrow, isn't it?" I asked. Without him, my own lips tingled. I wanted him.

"Yes." We did not need to be specific. At best, we only had hours left. All that time we had before - wasted. 

"Stay with me," I whispered, and I was not entirely sure if I meant for that night or for the morning.

"I will," he said, firmly.

"I want you."

"I want you too."

"Then have me." And he