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Thorin liked to think he was somewhat aware of his own flaws.

Now, partly this was because many people had recounted them before, often and at length, but that was beside the point. The point being, Thorin knew perfectly well that there were certain things he could not count among his strengths, and others that could be called weaknesses of his character, flaws even. One of these was a thick skull, both literally and metaphorically. Not that there was anything wrong with the literal side of things, dwarven skulls were designed to be hardy to withstand damage after all, but many a time he had been told that his less pliable nature was not exactly what most would call an asset.

Therefore, all things considered, it was probably hypocritical of him to be amused when he found his cousin after a lengthy search through the seemingly endless corridors of the Halls of Waiting, hard at work trying to literally break down a wall by hitting his head on it, from what Thorin could tell. Hypocritical, but inevitable, really.

Hey, he did have his flaws.

"I would ask what you are doing, but I'm not entirely sure I wish to know." Thorin lifted an eyebrow at Dáin's antics. "Has the wall given you some personal insult?"

"Piss off, Thorin." Dáin sounded almost amiable, considering he was clearly not in the best of moods. Thorin considered this a sign it was safe enough to approach.

"Now, now. I haven't seen you this worked up since the day you arrived. Not that it wasn't amusing to see you trying to swing an axe that you'd left behind in the land of the living, but it was quite the show to be sure, and now it seems you're out of sorts again." After thinking about it for a second, he bet on Dáin's apparent amiability and stepped closer, setting a hand on his cousin's arm. "Care to tell me what bothers you so?"

"You wouldn't want to hear it either way." Dáin actually sounded like he believed that. Well, wasn't that interesting.

"And why would I not want to know?" Thorin tilted his head in question. "You're agitated, cousin, enough so to take your anger out on walls. Either something has happened here, or something that Dwalin told us upset you. Whichever one is the case, I would like to hear it."

"Trust me, you don't." Dáin sighed. "And I've no grudge against the wall as such, except that I would much like to go through it."

"Through it where?" Now, wasn't this curious. "These are the farthest parts we've found yet. What could possibly be on the other side that would call to you?"

"Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure. So do me a favour and sod off."

"No." Hey, he could be just as stubborn as Dáin if he wished. "Tell me."

Dáin eyed him darkly for a moment, then sighed. "Fine, then. But remember, you're the one who asked."

"That I did." He nudged Dáin's arm, trying to draw him away from the wall. Dáin seemed to notice this, banging his head against said wall one last time just to make a point before he agreed to follow Thorin.

They didn't wander far, finding a bench nearby where they could sit down. Thorin dug out his pipe, starting to pack it while he waited for Dáin to start speaking. There were few things that he would have called needs here in the Halls, but that didn't mean they couldn't occasionally enjoy some of the comforts of the living.

"You know I took the throne after you." Well. That was one way to start, to be sure. "Never wanted to, mind, should have been Fíli and never me, but then those things rarely ask us what we want. I took the throne, and I did my best to bring Erebor back to its old glory."

"Aye, and from what I hear, you've done an excellent job." He'd heard many things of Dáin's accomplishments, particularly toward the end of his reign. When he had heard of Dáin standing firm against the messengers of Sauron rather than give them any information about a certain hobbit, well, Thorin hadn't known it was possible for the dead to feel weak, but he had been close to fainting outright at that. "Surely things haven't changed on that end?"

"No, that's not it." Dáin ran a hand over his hair, the proud crest on top of his head as full and bright in colour as it had been in his prime. They were all made to their best, here in the Halls. "You see, in dealing with the kingdom I had to sometimes deal with people who weren't, strictly speaking, of my kingdom. Such as those elves right next to us."

"Right." Thorin frowned down at his pipe. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it surely couldn't be anything good.

"And, well, Thranduil really hasn't been as bad since the battle, you know? He personally made sure all the weapons were returned, and rather than try to claim Orcrist because it was of elven make he set it on your tomb. Said something about how there could be no one better to wield it, too. We had a good relationship with Mirkwood during my reign, believe it or not, good trade and all. Visited them a few times myself, I did, and was always treated well. No dungeons anymore, that's for sure."

"That hardly surprises me." Thorin snorted. "Of course he would be more careful when you have more power. Thranduil has ever been a coward."

"I'm not denying that he treated you wrong, just saying that he's not all bad."

"Dáin." Thorin turned to look at his cousin, trying to fight the horrific thought that was slowly starting to dawn on him. "Please tell me you don't mean to say what I think you are."

"Have you ever tried to braid the hair of an elf?" Oh, Mahal. He was saying precisely that. "There's nothing quite like it, really. All soft and silky and slides through your fingers like the finest thread. Such smooth braids you can make, too, even with hands as clumsy as mine."

"Please tell me you didn't have an affair with an elf." Dáin said nothing. "Please, for the sake of all that's good and golden, tell me you didn't have an affair with Thranduil of all people!"

"I told you, he's not always that bad." That was it. Thorin was officially done with the world. Sure, he'd already been dead for close to two centuries by now, but now he was absolutely done with even this part of the world.

"I can't believe you!" Thorin stared at his cousin. "Thranduil! Really, Dáin? Of all the peoples in all of Middle Earth, you had to go for an elf and Thranduil on top of that! What, would you have taken Azog to bed if he'd still been alive?"

"Oh, just shut your trap, Thorin." Dáin almost sounded fond, which was obviously wrong in every way. There was nothing in this situation that called for fondness. "Nobody got hurt, I'll have you know, with his wife long dead and me unmarried. Rather, I'd say there was a lot of pleasure to be had."

"Just because you carved your son from stone doesn't mean you should then try and get between the thighs of an elf!"

"And just because your tastes run short and stout doesn't mean we all have to think the same."

"I have no idea what you mean." Not that denying it did any good, when even his parents and grandparents now knew of his affection for Bilbo. Then, he supposed he hadn't been very subtle in his wailing, the first few days after his arrival. Or months. Or years.

"Oh, please. I'm pretty sure even Durin has heard of your little love, what with the way gossip runs around here."

"So you had a thing with Thranduil." Right. He could accept that. It made him shiver with distaste and disgust, sure, but he could accept that, if only just. "So what is it that Dwalin told you that had you trying to bash your skull open?"

"Oh, you know." Dáin shrugged. "He said that Thranduil had sailed west at last."

"Right. And what of that? I mean, it can't possibly be that he's now out of your reach, you've kind of been dead for close to a century."

"Why, thank you. I almost forgot." Dáin snorted. "No, nothing that foolish. Rather, I think he might now be closer to my reach."

"And how is that?" Well. He supposed that if Dáin came to the right conclusions himself, it wasn't too wrong to then let him know that others might agree.

"Well, I've heard their Undying Lands aren't that far from the Halls." And there. "Seems to me, if I can break through the wall, I'll have a chance at seeing him again, now that he's sailed."

"Well, that makes sense. Except for the part where you're trying to use something as dull as your head to break through the wall." Thorin finally managed to actually light his pipe, taking a deep puff of it.

"Oi. I'm not going to give up that easily just because you're content sitting on your hairy arse and dreaming of your little hobbit."

"Oh, cousin, how little faith you have in me." Thorin sighed and stood up. "Well. I rather feel like a criminal, encouraging you in such unnatural pursuits, but I suppose I have little enough choice, particularly if you've already made up your mind. Come, let's go for a walk."

"And what's this about?" Dáin sounded suspicious, though Thorin supposed he couldn't really blame him. "Thorin. What's going on here?"

"Just walk with me a while." They weren't too far, anyway. After all, these were the farthest parts of the halls. Dáin hadn't been that far off in his stubborn attempts, even though Thorin rather suspected his method had consisted of walking as far as he could get until he found a suitable dead end without an obvious room on the other side of the wall.

Dáin frowned and reached to steal his pipe, but followed him anyway. They walked side by side for a bit, trading the pipe back and forth, until Thorin brought them to a closed door. It was relatively new, in as much as anything in the Halls ever looked new. It had seemed weathered the moment they'd put it in place, even though they'd built it from new boards.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere you might be interested in seeing." Thorin lifted his hand, the one that wasn't holding the pipe that he currently had in his possession, and knocked. There was a moment's silence before a voice told them to enter. Thorin pushed the door open and stepped inside, Dáin following at his heels.

The workshop looked much the same as the previous time Thorin had been here, which hadn't been too long ago. One end was taken up by the mouth of a tunnel carved into solid rock, meticulously planned and dug out like only dwarves knew how, while practically every other surface was covered with various drawings and scribbles. Papers, parchments, and even chalk marks on the wall itself surrounded them in every direction. In the middle of all this stood a dwarf, studying a diagram with critical eyes.

"Thorin! And friend." Narvi's eyes narrowed a touch. "You didn't mention you were bringing anyone."

"This was something of a whim of the moment." Thorin shook his head. "Dáin, this is Narvi, I'm sure you have heard of him. Narvi, this is my cousin Dáin Ironfoot, once King Under the Mountain."

"Yes, yes. We've got plenty of those, don't we? Starting to outnumber Durin the Deathless, even, and we've plenty of them running around by now. Did you only bring him by to introduce us? Because if so, go away, I'm busy."

"Actually, I think Dáin might have some interest in our little project."

"Really?" All of a sudden Narvi's full attention was on them, sharp eyes flitting between Thorin and Dáin. "And on what evidence do you base this assumption?"

"I found him trying to break the wall with his skull so he could get to his beloved elf." He even managed not to curse, or to make the word elf sound like a swear. This was clearly tremendous progress.

"Oi. At least I'm trying to do something instead of just sitting around moping."

"Excuse me? I'll have you know I've taken quite the active interest in the matter." Thorin smirked, walking to a drawing that took up almost an entire wall, an intricate network of lines and larger areas, marking out the web of connections that formed the Halls of Waiting. "You think all this was easy to get together?"

"That would be easier to answer if I knew what exactly you are doing here."

"Why, that ought to be obvious." Obvious perhaps to Narvi, but then he often forgot not everyone saw things with his eyes. "We're building an exit."

"An exit?" Dáin's eyebrows flew up high. "From the Halls?"

"From where else? Yes, the Halls, obviously. We've mapped all of the Halls that we have access to, and from what we can tell, this is the outmost point in the entire network. Hence, we're digging from here. With actual plans and tools, mind," Narvi added, giving Dáin a sharp glance. "Would be such a pity to cause a collapse halfway through and ruin all that hard work, don't you think?"

"You're trying to get out." Dáin blinked. "But — why? No, don't answer, even I have heard the tales. Narvi and Celebrimbor, wasn't it?"

"Why, it's good to see not all of you young ones are entirely clueless." Narvi snorted. "Indeed. I have rather the vested interest in reaching the Undying Lands, myself."

"And you, Thorin?" Dáin looked to him, now. "I hardly think you'd be helping with this for the sake of reuniting someone with their elf lover."

"Not quite." Thorin shook his head, unable to fight a little smirk. "However, from what little we can tell, it seems reasonable to think that the hobbit equivalent of the Halls is somewhere nearby as well. So, as you can see, I have in fact not been sitting on my arse all this time, as you so eloquently put it."

"Right. You're digging your way out to your hobbit." Dáin blinked. "That's… actually awfully sensible of you, cousin."

"And you'll note that I favour the pickax over my skull." Because clearly he was the smarter cousin, here. Also because his skull was not nearly as well suited for such activities as Dáin's, no matter what anyone might have said.

"Aye, well, if you want to do it the easy way." And yet Dáin was heading into their little start of a tunnel, taking up one of the pickaxes leaning against the wall. "So, where should I start digging?"

Well. Perhaps it was a good thing they were both of equally stubborn stock.

After all, the work would proceed much faster with three people working on it than just the two.

*

Something was going on with Kíli.

Of course, it was somewhat ironic that Thorin would even be thinking of this, considering that he was involved in a very much secret plan to tunnel his way out of the Halls of Waiting, but that was neither here nor there. Not that it would remain secret for very long in any case, with the way Dáin kept grumbling about prissy little woodland sprites who didn't even have the decency to die properly and instead forced him to dig his way out of a mountain for their sake. Even Thrór was starting to ask furtive questions about whether Dáin had hit his head one time too many, and he was generally rather oblivious to the goings-on of the rest of his line, being too busy making up to his wife for all the time he had spent in the depths of gold-madness.

Thorin wished Thrór luck on that particular venture. He wasn't sure he could ever make up to Bilbo his mistreatment, and he hadn't wronged him for nearly as long as Thrór had his long-suffering wife.

The point being, something was wrong with Kíli. He'd never called much attention to himself, not here in the Halls, preferring to stick to Fíli's company past the first few months or so when he had been lying around moping about his she-elf. What the others of his line seemed to find so attractive in elves, Thorin couldn't imagine, but Kíli had been quite inconsolable for a time. His sorrow had seemed to fade in time, though they had worried about his silence for a time, well knowing his usual habit of being noticed no matter where and when he made himself known. However, perhaps the Halls had calmed him down, because he seemed to take the lack of attention with a kind of silent contentment, not even associating with the multitudes of dwarves from generations past in favour of sticking close to his immediate family or making do with his own company.

This, however, wasn't just being quiet or even withdrawing to himself. This was Kíli sneaking about, quite clearly. More than once Thorin had seen him wandering about while glancing over his shoulder as though afraid someone might spot him, clearly startled the one time he did notice Thorin looking at him. Whatever it was he was hiding, well, Thorin was rather determined to find out. It was ridiculous that one of his heirs would be keeping some kind of a secret from him, never mind that the throne they had been heirs to had long since passed on to others. Clearly he needed to have a good, long talk with the lad and find out what was going on with him.

Except that meant he would need to find Kíli, first.

Dís had told him Kíli was at the forges, which in itself was no big wonder. Kíli hadn't had much of a mind for smithing back when they were alive, but had taken it up during their rest in the Halls, and was becoming rather handy with it even though it was clear this would never be his most beloved craft. However, when he went to the forges, looking for the lad, nobody could tell him where Kíli had gone, not even those near the one little smithy their family from Thrór on had claimed as their own. Frerin was there, working on yet another helmet to add to the dozens and dozens he had already made. What he thought to do with them when they were all already dead, Thorin didn't know, but then many dwarves seemed quite happy to take them off his hands for the sake of decoration only.

A part of Thorin suspected that it might have had to do with Frerin's own death, even the stubborn Durin skull caved in under a heavy orc club, but it wasn't like he was going to start a conversation about that.

"No, haven't seen Kíli all day, and I've been here the whole time." Frerin frowned, wiping some sweat off his forehead. "Why, did you need him for something?"

"I was hoping to talk with him about something, yes, except I can't find him anywhere." Thorin sighed. "Dís said he'd be here, but clearly he lied to his mother, too."

"Or just changed his mind. Don't always think the worst of us younger princes, Thorin." Frerin grinned, the sweet, easy grin that he'd always worn when he was teasing his older brother, the same one that had welcomed Thorin into the Halls of Waiting. Everything seemed a little easier when Frerin was grinning like that, or so Thorin liked to think.

"Perhaps so. He can be a little whimsical, after all." Thorin shook his head. "Oh, well. I guess I'll try and find Fíli instead. If anyone knows where to find Kíli, it'll be him."

"Sounds like a plan. You always were the best at digging me out of whatever hole I'd hid myself in." Frerin's grin got a bit wider. "When you find him, ask him if he liked the helmet I made. I've got another design in mind that I think he'd like."

"Right. I'll ask." Not that he'd seen Kíli wearing one, he'd never been much of a fan. Said they obstructed his vision too much, even the most open designs. Though then, knowing Kíli he might well have asked Frerin for one just to set it on a training dummy, and Frerin would have been happy to make him one, too. The two got along almost worryingly well, a fact that Thorin chose to attribute to their similar position as the younger prince. That, and the similar age and personality helped to be sure.

He didn't dare contemplate the trouble they all would be in if the two ever teamed up for the sake of any significant manner of mischief. Goodness knew what kind of trouble they'd get into, working together.

"Thanks. Are you sure you don't want one, too? I've got this great design in mind I'm sure would fit you really well."

"Thanks, but I'll pass for now. I'm sure there are others who'd appreciate it more, anyway."

"Remember, the offer stands!" Frerin called after him as he left the smithy. Persistent little thing, he had always been.

Finding Fíli was somewhat easier. He rarely wandered far from their family's quarters except to the forges, and when he did it was usually to meet with one of his friends. This time Thorin found him by following the sound of a fiddle carrying down the corridor. A part of him almost hoped it might be Kíli, for a moment, but when Kíli played it was always either sad laments to lost love or a cheery tune together with his brother. This, though, this was a love ballad with a happy end, and in these parts only Fíli played those on his fiddle.

Really, it was no wonder at all that he found Ori sitting in the same room, smiling as he drew something in yet another journal while Fíli played. Where Ori got the ideas for all the journals he filled with words and drawings, Thorin wasn't sure, but then it wasn't his place to ask. Perhaps it was the same force that drove Frerin to craft an endless variety of helmets of all shapes and sizes, or Nori to work on weaving a seemingly endless tapestry when he wasn't too busy moaning about how Dwalin wasn't here yet or, now that Dwalin was, pestering him about one thing or another.

Thorin hadn't found the same drive yet, no matter how long he spent at the smithy, no matter the years he had spent in the Halls. All he could find it in himself to pursue with a similar fervour and dedication was their tunnel plan. Though then, he supposed it was all a matter of where he found his passion.

"Don't let me interrupt anything." Not that it seemed they were doing anything to interrupt, yet both managed to seem startled when Thorin walked in. Please. Ori had been here for well over a century by now, and before that Thorin had watched Fíli moping for over five decades, yet they still seemed to think nobody knew of their fondness for each other.

"Thorin!" Fíli paused in his playing, lowering his bow. "Did you need something?"

"I was looking for your brother, actually. You have any idea where he went?"

Fíli and Ori glanced at each other, and that, Thorin knew that gaze. That was the "we know something we don't want to tell you" gaze, no doubt about it. You'd have thought they would know by now not to give themselves away like that, but then, they were young.

They would always be young.

"Out with it." He crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing the two of them with some suspicion. "Clearly there's something going on with him, and just as clearly you know what it is."

"What makes you think there's something going on?" And yet, Fíli tried. Thorin had to admire his loyalty if nothing else.

"How about the way he's been sneaking about for weeks now?" Thorin shook his head. "I'd almost think it's something to do with Dáin's grumbles, Kíli seems to share his unfortunate opinion on elves after all, but if that were the case he'd have approached Dáin and then we would all know about it, knowing my cousin's lack of discretion. Something is distracting him, though, that much is clear even to me, and now I can't find him anywhere."

"He probably just went for a walk," offered Ori, and at least he didn't look like he was actively lying. Or perhaps he was just better at it than Fíli. He was Nori's brother, after all, it was hardly unthinkable that he would have picked up a thing or two.

"Which is why he told his mother he'd be at the forges, but Frerin hasn't seen him all day." Thorin lifted his eyebrows. "Come on. How bad can it be?" Seriously. It could hardly be any worse than Thorin's own little project, not that the boys knew about that. After all, he was rather better at this whole being discreet business than Dáin, however similar they might have been in other respects.

"Uh." Fíli set down his fiddle entirely now, drawing a deep breath and straightening himself as though preparing for a battle. Very bad, then. "What if we told you it hasn't been weeks?"

"Longer, then?" Thorin frowned. "I haven't noticed anything amiss with him before that, though. He's been acting much the same ever since his first few months." As Fíli only looked at him, steady as ever, Thorin found his eyes widening. "Wait. You can't mean…"

"Yes, I do." Fíli sighed. "Thorin, the sneaking about isn't a sign that something's amiss with him. Everything about the last century and a half is."

"So the reason he calmed down in the first place was because he came up with this little secret of his?" Fíli nodded, not that Thorin really needed the confirmation. It would make sense, really, given that they had never quite figured out what had contributed to his calming down from what had appeared to be inconsolable grief. Everyone had attributed it to the vague sense of peace in the Halls finally breaking through to him, but apparently that hadn't been the case. "And are you going to tell me what it is?"

Again, the two glanced at each other. "You're going to be mad," Fíli said, and, really. Still trying to shield his brother.

"That's all the more reason for you to tell me, though." Not that he supposed Fíli saw it that way, though the statement made perfect sense to Thorin at least.

"I already said you'll get mad."

"I'm going to find out one way or another, Fíli. I promise you, I'll be a lot less mad with you both if you just come out and tell me whatever it is you're hiding."

"I'm not so sure." Fíli took on a stubborn look, the one Thorin imagined would have been rather at home on his own face, and oh, this might turn out to be quite the lengthy confrontation.

"He thought of it first." Ori cut in, looking a bit startled to realise he had spoken, especially at the betrayed look from Fíli. "Dáin's idea, that is. That there might be a connection between the Halls and the lands of the elves."

"He… did?" Well. It wasn't that unreasonable, really. After all, Narvi, Thorin, and Dáin had all come to the same conclusion on their own, and, well. Kíli certainly had been pining after his elf a lot, still got a wistful look in his eyes if someone made the mistake of referencing her.

"Aye. Except, instead of just finding the nearest wall and starting to dig, he took a more… direct approach. Or indirect, depending on how you look at it."

"And what would that mean?" He wasn't going to like this, not at all. Whatever this was, he was going to hate it, Thorin was sure.

"He went to ask Mahal." Fíli sighed as he saw Thorin's shocked expression. "Oh, I know. I told him not to, but he wouldn't leave it alone. I think he went more than once, too, after Mahal told him not to think of such things."

"He went to Mahal." Thorin somehow managed to stagger to the closest seat before collapsing. Oh, he was aware that Mahal could be found in the deepest halls, they all knew that, had even heard his hammer on occasion, but at no point had he thought of actually going to bother their Maker like that. And Kíli had simply walked up to him, just like that? And asked for a way to his elf?

Of course he had. This was Kíli, after all.

"Aye. It's — it was about something he remembered, from what he knew about the Valar."

"And do I want to know what that is?"

"Mahal is married to Lady Yavanna." Ori's voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the pages of his journal. "Kíli figured that, since she is nowhere in the Halls, there must be some way out of here, or a way from elsewhere to come here, because surely Mahal wouldn't be apart from her for all time."

"And did Mahal tell him of such a way?" Surely not. That would be utterly absurd, after all. The secret paths of the Valar weren't there for young dwarves to traipse along just to visit their lovers.

"After enough pestering? Apparently." Fíli sighed. "I don't know where it is, Kíli said he had to swear to keep it secret. But I know he was told, and, well. He's been using it."

"So there is a way out, and he found it?" That was… well. He expected to be angry, that Kíli would have kept such a secret for so long, especially when others were despairing under the same burden of separation, but at the same time he felt nothing as much as relieved. This meant their venture wasn't in vain, there was a way out, there was a chance he might see Bilbo again, yet.

"Aye. It's why he's been so happy, because he can visit Tauriel whenever he gets away from here."

"Well. That certainly explains why he would keep to himself so much." Clearly Kíli hadn't just been hiding away in some out of the way chamber, though. "And is that why he's been acting oddly lately? Dáin's grumbles made him think someone might discover his secret?"

"Honestly, I kind of think he wants to be found out." Fíli shook his head. "I mean, it's the only explanation I can think of. Kíli knows well enough how to get somewhere without being noticed, he's been doing it all this time, after all, and none of you ever caught on. I know what you mean, I've noticed it too, how he acts like a dwarfling trying to sneak to the cookie jar sometimes. He definitely never lied about where he's going, before. The only way I can explain it is that he might hope someone spots him and follows him, so Dáin could find that way without Kíli having to actually break his word and reveal it."

"He would do that, wouldn't he." All this time. All this time and he could have just asked, if only he'd known to do so. "Oh, Kíli. Only he could manage something like this."

"He's special, that's for sure." Fíli gave him a wan smile, then turned serious. "Ah. Are you mad?"

"Somewhat, but not for the reasons you might think." Thorin shook his head. "I'm not mad because he's been sneaking off to see an elf, I've had plenty of time to understand that he truly loved her, for what little time they had together. I may not like it, and I might not trust her, but I know far too well that we don't get to choose who we give our hearts to." After all, it would have been so much easier for him to love another dwarf, someone who could have joined him in the Halls to begin with.

"Why are you, then? If not for that reason." Fíli hesitated. "Is it because he didn't tell Dáin?"

"That in part, yes." Also for his own sake, and Narvi's, but there was no need for Fíli to know that just yet. "Though I suppose I can't fault him for it, if he truly gave his word to Mahal of all things. That's not a promise one might break easily, and if he's even kept the location secret from you, then clearly he takes his oath seriously."

"Kíli's loyal above all else, you know that." Fíli paused for a moment. "Are you going to tell our parents?"

"It's not my place, not really. Kíli should tell them himself, and I'll tell him so. And believe me, Dís will be much more angry than I am, and for different reason again."

"You mean, because he didn't tell her that she has a daughter-in-law."

"That would be the main gist of it, yes." Thorin nodded. "She'll probably want to meet her, too. Not because she's an elf, but because she's seeing her baby boy."

Fíli snorted, perhaps recovering a little from the worst of his worry. "Can't blame her. Makes me wonder, too, how hard Tauriel would have hit her head to take up with Kíli like that."

"I'd say that's not what I meant, but really, it's probably what Dís would ask first of all, knowing her." Thorin shook his head. "So does anyone else know about this besides the two of you?"

"Uncle Frerin, I think. You know Kíli confided in him a lot when we first arrived." That, Thorin did remember. It made sense, really, given that Frerin was close in age to the lads, and similar in personality as well, which would make him easier for Kíli to approach than the relatives he had known in his life. "I'm pretty sure he's the one who first gave Kíli the idea of pestering Mahal for answers."

"Of course he was." Thorin wasn't surprised, not really. He rather wished he had been, but he knew his brother better than that. "Which rather seems to confirm your theory that Kíli is trying to get caught. After all, he could have had Frerin lie for him if indeed he's aware of the secret."

Ori nodded. "Kíli hasn't had any problem keeping it secret all this time. It would be very strange for him to suddenly get so bad at it, even if he's unsettled about Dáin's grumbles."

"That explains something Frerin said, anyway." As Fíli and Ori both looked at him in question, Thorin lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He told me to ask if Kíli liked the helmet he made. Except you know as well as I do that Kíli never wears helmets if he can help it, and it's not like he needs to ask Frerin for one to spare his feelings, there's plenty of takers for the ones he makes. But if the helmet was for his elf, well, then it would make sense I wouldn't have seen it."

"Right. That." And now they were looking at each other again. Honestly. How many layers could there be to this one secret? "Ah. It's… not for Tauriel, precisely."

"Out with it." He was done with playing games, here.

"Ah." Ori bit his lip. "You're really going to be mad about this."

"Aye. And mother, too. Probably father as well." Fíli looked genuinely worried again, though he'd already started to relax for a bit earlier.

"I already know he whined at Mahal until the Maker himself gave up and has been sneaking out to see his elf lover for a couple of centuries or so. How much worse can this get?"

"Well. They're married, for one thing, in the elven way at least."

"I'd damn well expect so." Thorin snorted. "I've heard enough of Dáin's grumbles to know they sometimes do that simply by sharing a bed, which seems terribly inconvenient to me, if one isn't of a mind to marry so soon. If Kíli had managed to keep seeing her for so long without ever once making his way into her bed, I would have to sit him down for a serious talk, and I already did that once for both of you."

"I — I think it's best to show you, really." Ori gave Fíli a questioning glance, and, at his nod, set his journal and pen aside and reached for the bag he had lying on the floor at his feet. Thorin half expected him to take out another journal, with a portrait of some sort perhaps hidden in its depths. Instead, what was brought out was what seemed to be an ordinary knitting project.

"And what's that?" Thorin frowned. Something about the garment on the needles, half-finished though it was, didn't seem quite right to him.

"It's a gift, or it's going to be." Ori drew a deep breath, spreading the garment in his lap. Thorin stood up from his seat for a closer look, but halted after only a step or two.

It was a cardigan, or half of one; he'd seen enough in his time to know the shape of the back of a garment. Add the front panels and sleeves, and you'd have a finished piece. Only, this wasn't so small only because it was unfinished, or only one part of the garment.

There was no way something of this size would fit a grown dwarf, or an elf for that matter.

There were a lot of things Thorin had done in his life, and almost as many he had done after his death. There were certain things he'd thought lost to him forever since his arrival in the Halls, though. He hadn't known hunger since coming here, nor thirst or any other such needs, save for the simple desire of enjoying something pleasant. He was also confident he would not face war again, for all that he sometimes took to a lively spar to pass the time or to empty his mind when his dreams of Bilbo grew particularly heavy to bear.

He hadn't known it was still possible for the dead to faint.

He supposed it was about time he learnt better, anyway.

*

Thorin could do subtle. Really, he could.

He knew there were those who doubted his ability, but clearly they just hadn't noticed his true skill, which only proved how very good he was at it. He had been raised as a prince and an heir, after all, taught from his childhood to deal with politics. If he hadn't been able to be subtle, his old teachers would have risen from their tombs to swat him around the ears. And, considering some of them now only lived a couple of hallways down from him, he wasn't about to let them down.

As a result of this, Thorin was perfectly capable of walking down a hallway without gathering unnecessary attention. Trying to be stealthy was almost as bad as being too obvious in his intentions, as evidenced by the fact that he had actually spotted Kíli's poor attempts at such. A simple stroll down the corridor, though, nodding at the lad, and turning a corner only to remain still right after to listen for Kíli's footsteps, that was much better than peeking around every corner after him.

What Thorin didn't understand was how terribly bad Dáin was at the subtlety thing. He'd been King Under the Mountain as well, hadn't he? And raised from his birth to be Lord of Iron Hills? Just because he had been thrust into his position too early wasn't any excuse for this horrible attempt at stealth. Dáin was even more obvious than Kíli, turning to look over his shoulder every couple of steps with the most exaggerated look of wariness Thorin had ever seen.

Well. Nobody had ever blamed Dáin for being hard to notice.

"This isn't working." Narvi sighed as they watched Kíli turn almost the entire way around for the third time after Dáin made himself too obvious. Perhaps Kíli was trying to get caught, perhaps not, but Thorin would have been quite shocked if he'd allowed himself to get caught so easily. The lad did have some pride left, after all. "How about we just go and ask him?"

"Wouldn't he have told Dáin already if he was going to do that, though?" Thorin ran a hand over his hair, sighing. "It's not like he's been quiet about his plans to dig his way to Thranduil."

"I see no fault in speaking my heart loud and plain." Dáin puffed his chest as though he was proud of this. Which, well, he probably was. Dáin would not have seen any problem with declaring his love or at least desire for an elf right in the middle of the Halls of Waiting if he'd thought that might win him a quicker passage to Thranduil's side.

Right. Getting used to that would take some doing.

"Are you even sure Thranduil will be happy to see you?" It was a cruel question, but Thorin had to ask it either way. "He was married before you, after all. Maybe you were just a little diversion to him. It's not like he gave you any oaths or anything, did he?"

"Are you sure your hobbit will be happy to see you? You did try to cast him from the battlements, after all." And that, that was a low blow, yet not one Thorin could deny, not in any honesty. "You know the answer as well as I do, cousin. I don't know my welcome, but I do know that I have to try."

"Things aren't that simple."

"I'm a dwarf, we are simple creatures. And even when dealing with elves, things are certainly simpler if you keep them plain and clear."

"I have no desire to deal with elves." Except he would have to, if what Ori and Fíli had told him was true. There was no way he could ignore something like that.

He hoped it wasn't true. Dís would probably end up murdering Kíli all over again, never mind that they were supposed to be beyond death already.

"Well, I do, and I'm not made for all this sneaking about." Before either Thorin or Narvi could stop him, Dáin stepped out into the main corridor, calling out. "Oi, Kíli! Come here for a word!"

Thorin sighed, stepping out after Dáin. Clearly this was the way they were doing this, then.

Kíli spun around at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he saw at first Dáin, then Thorin and Narvi all appearing in the corridor. "Uh. Hi?"

Thorin strode forward, taking Kíli by the arm. "We need to talk. Somewhere out of the public hallway, if you'd please."

"Ah. Can it wait?" Kíli was starting to look almost panicked now, his eyes darting between Thorin and the other two. "It's just, I really should be getting somewhere right now, I'm already late, and —"

"Yes, yes, you can blame Dáin for hounding you too clearly." Thorin lifted his eyebrows. "Or if you'd prefer, we could walk with you. Keep you company, as it happens." They weren't too far from a door, and Thorin took advantage of the fact, pulling Kíli to the direction of it. Given the choice that really wasn't one, Kíli stepped through into the empty storage room beyond, Thorin and the others following him. "So. Perhaps you would like to enlighten us to the purpose of your little adventures, now that we are less likely to be overheard?"

"No." The word was a frightened little sound more than anything, and oh, Thorin's heart almost shattered at that. Kíli had never sounded so afraid, not of him, not even during his deepest madness.

"We already know, Kíli." Narvi stepped forward now, his tone curt but not hostile. "That you've been seeing your elf."

"That's — how?" Well, at least he didn't try to deny it. "I mean, I know I've been perhaps too obvious lately, but that doesn't mean —" He paused, his eyes widening. "Someone told you?"

"You can blame me." Thorin shook his head. "I wouldn't let Fíli and Ori be before they spoke. For the record, they very much defended your choices, and tried to resist me to the last. You have no reason to be angry at them."

"I never wanted you to find out." And now Kíli wouldn't even look at him.

"Oh? You would tell my brother but not me?"

"It's not the same thing and you know it." Kíli shrank back for a moment, but then he straightened and stepped away, a newly sparked fire in his eyes. "I don't care what you think, or what you think you're going to tell me. I love Tauriel, and she loves me, and whatever prejudices you hold aren't going to stop me from loving her. She never hurt any of us of her own will, she never would have, and it's because of her that I ever lived long enough to see Erebor before my death."

"Peace, lad," Dáin grumbled, stepping closer. "Your defence gives you credit, but it's not necessary in this case. We're not here to stop or rebuke you, none of us."

"Really?" Now, he looked startled. "None of you?"

"None of us." Thorin nodded. "If indeed you have been seeing her all this time, it's clear enough that she makes you happy. As long as that is true, I am not cruel enough to part you from her, nor will I allow any other to do so if I have any say in the matter. I might not much like it, but then it seems others share your predilection, so if you have lost your mind at least your madness is not singular." He nodded toward Dáin and Narvi. Perhaps he had wished for something else for his nephew, a less painful love or at least a less troublesome one, but Narvi had long since convinced him that a dwarf could love an elf and Dáin seemed to have it in his head that this love might be returned even by one as haughty as Thranduil was. It was not Thorin's place to deny Kíli the happiness he wished, for all that a small part inside him was screaming at the indignity of his nephew claiming the love of one of the Mirkwood Guard.

The part where the parts on the outside wanted to scream he'd taken care of earlier in his own rooms. Well. At least he had growled and cursed and possibly put a foot through a rather sturdy chair, but that was still better than having people run in to question the reason of his cries.

Deep breaths, Thorin. You've already decided to allow Kíli this, not that it ever was your place to deny it.

"Then what did you want to speak about?"

"Isn't it clear?" Narvi snorted. "We want you to tell us where the entrance is."

There was a moment's silence, just a heartbeat or two, before Kíli spoke. "No, I won't."

"We wish no harm, lad." Dáin shook his head. "I know Thorin here isn't a great friend of elves, but we all have a wish to leave the Halls for the sake of love. Surely you won't deny us the chance, when you've been granted the same?"

"I won't tell you." Kíli was pale, now, his lips a thin line, but he refused to back down. "I can't tell you. I gave my word."

"So that is it, then?" Narvi's tone was sharp as he spoke. "You know the pain of being separated from the one you love, yet you would deny us the same relief?"

"I can't! I promised Mahal not to tell anyone. He might deny me access if I told, and I can't stand that." He turned his eyes to Thorin, and while his expression was still determined, there was panic and pain in his eyes that tore at Thorin's heart. "You can't make me, Uncle. I refuse."

"So your happiness is worth more than all three of ours? When you've already enjoyed it for so long, yet we have had nothing but longing?" Dáin seemed about to get into a lengthy rant about this, but Thorin lifted his hand to silence him. This wasn't the time for that.

"That's not all there is, is it, Kíli?" He kept his voice quiet. "That's why you will not tell us. It's not the same for you."

Kíli flinched, only barely visible, but then Thorin had known him from the cradle. "You know."

"I was told." Thorin shook his head, still keeping his voice low. "I have told none else, not even these two. I rather think you should be telling others, your parents for one, but none will hear it from me without you leave." That much, at least, he owed the lad. After all, it was because of his foolish quest that he'd never had the chance for this same happiness in his life.

"Right." Kíli hesitated for another moment, crossing his arms over his chest as though to shield himself from their disapproval. Then, with a deep breath, he spoke. "I have children."

"What?" Dáin blinked in shock, and Narvi took half a step back as though he'd been struck. "What did you say, laddie?"

"I have children." Kíli's voice was more confident now, his posture even straighter. This was a prince of Durin's line, confident and proud, not a mischievous dwarfling hiding after a misdeed. "Three of them, with Tauriel. And I'm sorry, but I will not risk never seeing them again, not for anything."

"And we wouldn't ask you to do so." Thorin certainly wouldn't, couldn't. No matter how much he missed Bilbo.

"You knew about this, Thorin." Narvi was glaring at him, now. "You must have known he would not take the risk. Why would you even try?"

"For the record, I'm not the one who chose to speak directly with him." Thorin glanced at Dáin, then turned back to Kíli. "There's something I meant to ask instead, if you'd answer."

"I can't promise an answer, but I will give it if I can." Poor Kíli looked pained now, and Thorin suspected part of that was for thinking that he was denying them the happiness he knew himself. He'd always been a kind soul, for all his mischief.

"What exactly is it that you promised Mahal? Exact words, lad, if you can remember."

"Ah." Kíli blinked. "I, ah, I'm not sure I can remember the exact words. It has been a while, after all. But I did promise that I would not tell anyone in these Halls the location of the door, not even my own family." He definitely looked apologetic now, looking at Thorin.

"I see." Thorin nodded. Rather as he had suspected, then, and now he almost wondered if this was by design by Mahal. Certainly their Maker would be at least as crafty as any of his children. "And he never said anything about whether you're allowed to tell about it to others?"

Kíli paused, then blinked. "Ah. I don't think so, no."

"Then there is our solution." Thorin grinned. "He never asked you for that promise, no doubt he never thought anyone from outside would wish to come to the Halls. But if you could take the word, or have someone pass it along, perhaps we could have visitors to these halls in turn."

"You don't think that would be disruptive?" Narvi lifted his eyebrows. "Elves and hobbits and all and sundry traipsing all around our corridors."

"Well, if it gets disruptive, then clearly Mahal would rather tell us how to leave than have them come here all the time." Never let it be said he couldn't be devious as well. "Can you do that, lad? Try to get word to others, to Thranduil and Celebrimbor and Bilbo? If indeed the hobbits are here, anywhere, though I don't know that for certain."

"I… I think I can, yes." Kíli nodded. "And finding Bilbo will not be a problem, that much I can promise at least."

"Oh?" Thorin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, uh." Kíli scratched the back of his head. "You know that he sailed to the Undying Lands, right?"

"Aye, I know. I heard of it from Glóin." And it made him ache, thinking of Bilbo making such a long journey with the last of his strength, only to come to a foreign land where he was the only one of his kind.

"Well, I, ah. I kind of found him pretty soon after that. Tauriel doesn't live too near most of the other elves, easier for us to stay hidden like that, but she does hear the gossip well enough, so of course we had to go looking as soon as we heard of the hobbit that had crossed over." Kíli looked almost sheepish, now. "And, well, one thing led to another, and Bilbo kind of has a house next to Tauriel's now? He lives there with two other hobbits, those who also crossed over."

"Bilbo is there." Bilbo. His Bilbo, his hobbit. "And you knew? All this time?"

"I'd promised not to tell!" And oh, there was such pain in Kíli's voice that he could not be as angry as he might have been. "And besides, you just seemed determined instead of upset, I figured you'd go to Mahal sooner or later yourself!"

"Oh, no. That wasn't my plan at all." Thorin shook his head. "What if I told you that by the time Dáin had his brilliant idea, Narvi and I already had a tunnel well underway?"

Kíli paused, then all of a sudden grinned. "I'd say I'm sure you'd get through a lot faster if you had more help there."

"Yes, because that won't attract attention at all." Narvi didn't exactly sound impressed with Kíli's suggestion.

"Well, Uncle did say Mahal might grant permission to tell you about the door just to keep all the non-dwarves out of the mountain. Who's to say he wouldn't give permission for a little back door, you know, just so his wife's so-called secret entrance could go back to being for his wife alone?"

There was a moment's silence as they all looked at Kíli. The one who broke it was Dáin, along with a sage nod. "I like how the lad thinks, Thorin. He's got a good head on his shoulders, this one."

"Yes, well, he hasn't been bashing his head against walls recently." Then, completely ignoring Dáin's indignant response, Thorin turned to Kíli. "Either way, we must start with you passing along the word. But even before that, there is something you must do."

Kíli blinked. "And what is that?"

"Bring your children to meet your parents unless you want your mother to find out from someone else and invent a way to kill a dead dwarf."

Kíli swallowed, but nodded, because clearly he was indeed a very clever young dwarf.

Somehow, this would all work out all right.

*

Kíli further demonstrated his good sense by actually telling Dís before he showed up with his family.

Not that this was going to make much of a difference to her reaction, really, but at least she got the shouting out of the way, and the tugging at braids, and all the rest of that. It would probably have been quite startling for a little dwarfling to see their father handled like that, so it was better for everyone's sake that this was out of the way already.

Though Thorin had to admit, he was growing rather impatient waiting for the arrival of the first guests.

He knew better than to say so, of course, or to give any indication that he had known anything about the matter. Everyone seemed to be of a similar mind, with Ori, Fíli, and Frerin wisely staying out of the discussion lest they draw her ire. Dís had always had a temper, and she wasn't afraid to show it.

It wasn't until a long while later that Dís seemed to decide Kíli had been suitable chastised, drawing a deep breath as though to shout at him again, only to huff and set her hands on her hips.

"So, when are they coming over here?" And that, apparently, was that, which everyone else took as permission to finally approach Kíli with their congratulations.

"I have to say, I'm rather surprised that this is even possible," Thorin admitted once the worst of the chaos had died down. "That a dwarf and an elf might have children, or a dead dwarf at that. Don't look at me like that!" he hurried to say when Kíli turned a sharp gaze in his direction. "I'm not implying a thing, if that's what you think! If indeed your elf loves you as you claim she does, then I know she wouldn't be unfaithful to you. It's a blessing, not a cause for suspicion."

"Good, because I would defend her honour even against you. I feel guilty enough that she sailed right after the battle to find peace from my passing; I won't have any suggest that she then forgot that love." All of a sudden, Kíli's face lit into a grin. "Oh, I think you'll be quite surprised to see the kids!"

"Oh?" Thorin lifted his eyebrows. "Why me especially?"

"You'll see when they get here." And this was apparently all Kíli was willing to say on the matter, throwing Thorin a mischievous wink as Dís dragged him off to answer all manner of questions about his secret little family.

Which was, apparently, how Thorin ended up sitting to the side while half the Company and a few generations of Durin's line fawned over three children that were, well, familiar. Not familiar in that he had ever seen them before, as he had not, or even in that he could see some of Kíli's features in them, though that was certainly true. No, the problem was that he wasn't seeing dwarflings, like some part of him had expected, but something else entirely.

Really, he should have only expected things to be different. After all, their mother was an elf; it would have been strange indeed for the children to look like nothing but dwarves. However, the exact blend of these features was what gave him pause.

They were all still young, the oldest only just turned fifty if Kíli was to be believed. They'd been rather surprised when he'd decided to inform them of his arrival, apparently, as after more than a century or so of secret trysts and a secret life they'd long since resigned themselves to the impossibility of it. The oldest son had a promise of height, already reaching his father's shoulder and looking much like he would grow even more, which made sense as one looked at his mother. However, his younger siblings were much smaller, not yet grown even nearly to their full measure, and their short stature made the strange resemblance even more obvious.

They were soft in shape, more so than even the youngest dwarven children, with smooth faces and round cheeks and pudgy little fingers as they tugged at beards and grasped at toys, chattering happily the whole time, apparently content to be the centre of attention for so many dwarves at once. They were slimmer than a dwarven child of their height might have been, yet stouter than Thorin imagined young elves to be, a sturdy frame that yet held some softness to the edges. Their ears, though broad like those of a dwarf, ended in small points, and somehow the fine hair of Tauriel and the gentle wave of Kíli's coarser hair had combined to form fine strands that curled in wild circlets about their little heads.

One of them, the very youngest who could barely walk on her own yet, was wearing a tiny little helmet that was the perfect match to her head, small and delicate, an ornament more than anything. Well, he supposed he knew what Frerin had been speaking of.

"It's quite remarkable, isn't it?" Someone sat down next to him, and Thorin looked up, startled. Bilbo smiled at him, looking not a day older than when Thorin had last seen him, a lifetime and a half ago. Bilbo himself claimed he'd grown old at some point, only to wake up young one morning, presenting this as proof that he had, indeed, died in the Undying Lands and simply continued his existence on Yavanna's pastures afterwards. Thorin found himself doubtful. Certainly nothing could have ever touched this beauty.

"You mean the children." He hesitated, wanting to reach for Bilbo's hand, but wasn't sure if he had the right. "Aye, it is. Kíli told me I'd like to see them, but I had no idea he meant something like this."

"You know, nobody truly knows where hobbits got their start." Bilbo leaned back, shifting a bit closer to Thorin, and Mahal, his patience was being tried. "Some say that we are descended from Men, but there are many things that aren't quite explained by that particular theory. Such as our ears, among other things." He shook his head. "I'd always wondered if there was another explanation, but from the moment I saw their first little one, I was quite sure in my own theories."

"They'll be taller than hobbits, though. And live longer, I would imagine." As much as they would ever be touched by age, bearing half elven blood as they did.

"Oh, to be sure. But who's to say what the first hobbits were like? Indeed, our race is growing shorter, still, it seems clear some of us might have been much taller back in the day. Indeed, there's a tale that old Bullroarer Took was tall enough to ride a proper horse, and we might well have forgotten some even taller than him." Bilbo chuckled a bit. "Do you know where we come from, originally?"

"You mean you haven't always been in the Shire?"

"Oh, no. We only settled the Shire after some time in exile. Of course, by now we've been there for generations, but our earliest stories speak of another place." Bilbo's lips curled into a grin. "There's a little valley, you know, right between Greenwood and Misty Mountains, where the earliest hobbits were said to have lived. Except I don't know if there ever were any settlements of Men there, for us to have descended from them."

"But instead it was flanked by a kingdom of dwarves and another of elves." Well. That was… an intriguing thought, to be sure. "You know, we could probably ask around. After all, all the dwarves who ever lived are somewhere in these Halls. Some of them must remember something."

"Mmm, perhaps we should." Bilbo leaned closer still. "It certainly would be interesting to find out. And imagine the face Thranduil would make if he heard that we little hobbits are descended from his high and mighty race."

"I don't think he'd hear it any time soon, anyway." Thorin made a face. He hadn't truly expected Thranduil to show up, though Kíli had assured him he had taken the message to the Elvenking as well. However, not only had Thranduil made an appearance, sweeping into the Halls of Waiting as though it were his own palace and the dwarves the intruders, but he had very quickly disappeared into Dáin's chambers. Last Thorin had walked by, it seemed they were very determined to test just how well sound might carry through thick stone walls. The stones were losing the battle to Dáin's lungs.

"Oh, hush." Bilbo elbowed him, and somehow even that felt like a gentle reminder more than anything. "Thranduil isn't that bad, you know. Rather convinced of his own importance, of course, but then I could name several others with the same flaw."

"I do hope you're not speaking about me." Thorin wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I refuse to believe I bear any similarity to that creature."

"You do have one similarity, at least." Bilbo grinned. "You both seem to have a taste for someone shorter than yourself."

Thorin flinched. This was not how he wished to have this conversation. "Bilbo…"

"Oh, please." Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Eighty years and more, Thorin. Eighty years I waited on Middle Earth, and almost a hundred more in the Undying Lands, all because you had to be a fool and get yourself killed before we could settle things between us to some satisfaction. I'm rather too old to be coy about much of anything anymore, and I'd think you're past any such nonsense by now."

Thorin frowned. "What do you mean?" He wasn't quite sure how to take Bilbo's words, now, and he wasn't about to start guessing, not in such a matter.

"I mean," Bilbo's voice dropped low, now, too low for anyone but Thorin to hear as he leaned in close enough that his breath brushed against Thorin's ear, "that if you don't take me to your chambers at the earliest convenience and make me scream even louder than your cousin, I will be extremely disappointed, Thorin Oakenshield. Why, I might even grow suspicious of your ability, if that didn't happen."

"But — we haven't even courted yet!" Thorin's cheeks flushed, even more so as he realised that while Bilbo had kept his voice low, Thorin's own outburst had been very loud indeed. It seemed every pair of eyes in the room was locked on him now, three innocent pairs from the children and far too many knowing ones from the rest of those gathered. There were even leers. Thorin had never, not once in his life or his death, wished to see Frerin of all people leer at him.

"You think I care about such things now?" Bilbo got up to his feet, now, and tugged at Thorin's arm, giving the others a cheery wave as Thorin stumbled to follow him. They left the room to a chorus of chuckles and whistles, Bilbo striding along with far more purpose than should have been reasonable for such short legs.

"Bilbo!" Thorin hissed. "They're all going to know, now!" He flushed at the thought. Oh, he really wasn't prepared for this sort of thing. The teasing afterwards would be his death, he was sure of that.

"And? It's what they would have assumed either way the moment the two of us left the room together. Better be open about it. Or are you perhaps ashamed of me?"

"Never." That much, at least, he could promise. "It's just — it's not that simple, Bilbo. I can't just take you to bed without any courting or wooing, that wouldn't be right!"

"You gave me a mithril shirt, did you not?" Bilbo squeezed his arm. "That shirt saved my nephew's life, you know, when he went on a quest of his own. Never mind how much coin it might have fetched if I'd ever been foolish to try to part from it in such a way, that right there is the most precious gift anyone could have hoped to give me in all my years. Please tell me you don't need me to find more reason to declare our courtship over and done with already, because I will, if that's what it takes."

"I only want to do right by you, Bilbo." Though he did feel warm at the thought that his gift to Bilbo had saved someone dear to him. Bilbo's nephew, even, when Thorin had been unable to shield his own from their fate.

"Well, you ought to have thought of that before you died, hmm?" As Thorin flinched at that, Bilbo sighed. "Come on, Thorin. I promise I'll let you court and woo me all you wish afterwards, as long as you come with me now. I've spent far too long wishing I'd been brave back then and just crawled to your bedroll or whatever. I wasn't, though, and you never made a move, and now I'd rather like to catch up on all the time we wasted."

"Right." It wasn't that he didn't want to, oh no. He just didn't want to treat Bilbo like some cheap trinket, something to be used just like that.

"You gave me a gift, Thorin, and told me how well you think of me. In the Shire that's more than reason enough for a roll in the bedsheets, if you find the other one agreeable. And do you really think I'd follow just anyone into the lair of a dragon?"

"Ah." Thorin blinked. He'd never truly thought of it like that. "I don't suppose you would, no."

"I most definitely would not." Bilbo shook his head. "Now, come on. Tauriel has told me many an intriguing tale about dwarven stamina, and unless you show me how much truth there is to them, I might be forced to share some of them with you."

Thorin paused. Clearly, there was only one source of such stories that Tauriel would have had to draw from, unless Thranduil had grown chatty in his ever advancing age, and hearing about Kíli's exploits in the bedroom was very near the bottom of the list of things Thorin ever wanted to do in his life or his death, roughly half a step above having a tea party with Azog the Defiler. Half of a very, very small step.

"You are a devious little thing, Master Hobbit." Devious, and terrible, and somehow convincing enough that they were very nearly at the door of Thorin's bedchamber already even though he hadn't even realised he was leading them there.

"Oh, I know I am. Did you know I outwitted a dragon once?" Bilbo grinned, and it was a grin so full of happiness and warmth and promise all that Thorin couldn't help but shiver. "So. Are you truly going to lose to Thranduil, or show him how much better dwarves are at satisfying their loved ones?"

At such a blatant taunt, Thorin couldn't help but growl and pick Bilbo up from the floor. Bilbo, being Bilbo, didn't seem to mind this much at all, giving an almost delighted sound as he wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck.

He'd be damned if he lost to Thranduil in anything, certainly not such a challenge, even if the elf had an unfair advantage in making use of Dáin's already rather impressive voice. If his hobbit wanted to be made to scream, then Thorin could only oblige, and do it with all his pent-up passion and desire. After all, it hadn't only been Bilbo who had waited so long, and Thorin had plenty of ideas on how to make the most of their shared pleasure.

For all that he had his flaws, in this, he counted himself rather blessed.

(The stony skulls of Durin's line were of use, too, when a particularly enthusiastic manoeuvre ended with the bed cracking right down the middle with Thorin only barely managing to turn them around so that he took the brunt of the impact in the fall. It was worth it, anyway, given that the rest all agreed this was clear indication of his victory over Thranduil. For once, Bilbo didn't protest at his competition with the elf, and indeed suggested a rematch some time in the very near future.

Some things, Thorin mused as he sat together with Bilbo in front of the fireplace, sharing a quiet moment after all the excitement, were more than worth the effort of digging right through a mountain.

Even though he still was certain his plan had been better than Dáin's.)

*

"Are you comfortable, my love?"

"Aye, comfortable enough." Gimli grunted where he was hiding from the wind behind the side of the small ship, cloak drawn tightly around himself. "Will be more so when we make land, for all that I fear I'll feel the ground swaying under my feet for ages after."

"We'll be there soon enough, I promise." He certainly hoped so. Gimli's strength had already been waning when they started their journey, an old dwarf as he was, and the long time out at sea had not done him any good. Dwarves were meant for solid ground, Legolas knew as much, and Gimli hadn't felt any for far too long a while, now.

Legolas was starting to fear he might not the make the journey, if their ship was not swift enough.

"You've been saying that for a long while, now." Gimli sounded amused, just a little, but also resigned. It made Legolas' heart ache to see his brave dwarven warrior so reduced.

"I mean it even more this time." Legolas settled down next to Gimli, leaning against his side. "A few days at most, if even that. I can feel the call so strongly now, Gimli, it's making my blood sing like never before. We must be close, for it to affect me so."

"I'm glad, then, that you will soon find the end to your search." Gimli offered him a smile, tired but genuine, and Legolas could not help but lean closer to press a kiss on his temple. His hair was white like snow, now, the auburn and flame of their earlier days lost to age and time, but while his eyes were dimmed by his years there was still a shine in them as he turned to look at Legolas.

"I already found what I sought, many years ago." Legolas smiled, a hand touching the side of Gimli's face. "And it still seems as brilliant as ever in my eyes."

"You talk so sweetly, my elf, I might soon think you're trying to woo me into something." Gimli chuckled, and seemed about to say something else, but then his eyes fixed on something behind Legolas' shoulder. "What's that?"

Legolas turned to look, gasping as he saw the small shadow against the blue sky. "A bird! And it's not a gull, either. We can't be far from the shore, Gimli my love, that's a raven I see!"

"A raven?" He might have said that Gimli got to his feet all of a sudden, but there was very little Gimli did suddenly these days. He did stand up as quickly as he could, though, peering up at the bird he could surely only barely see against the blue. "Oi! Come here, my friend!"

Legolas watched in fascination as Gimli beckoned the bird closer and it came, answering his call like a pet and coming to rest on his arms. Legolas had heard of the special connection between the dwarves of Durin's line and ravens, had seen Gimli make use of the gift his blood allowed him for all that he was somewhat distant from the current royal line. It always fascinated him, seeing Gimli speak with birds in a language he could not understand and could not learn for all his attempts.

Then, Gimli paled, staring at the bird in shock. After what sounded like a hurried demand for clarification and the bird's response to such, Gimli turned to look at Legolas.

"Turn the boat around, elf."

"What?" Legolas frowned. "Certainly not, we're almost there."

"Indeed, there is little time left. Turn it around, now, while we still can! Better I die at sea than reach the shore."

"Don't speak so, Gimli!" Legolas quickly got up to his feet, setting his hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Why, what frightens you so, my friend? Are you unsure of your welcome? Be not so, you know the Lady Galadriel has already guaranteed it."

"Were that my only worry, I would stand ready to fight for my right to remain by your side." Gimli shook his head. "No, you're right, we ought to finish what we have started. I only fear to think of what awaits both you and me at the end of this."

"Why so?" Legolas frowned. "What did your bird friend tell you?"

"We're expected." Gimli sighed. "Your father, among others, is already at the shore, looking for our arrival on the horizon."

"Oh?" Legolas' heart skipped a beat. It had been decades since his father had set sail, and longer yet since they had last met for any significant amount of time. He knew Gimli's relationship with Thranduil had always been somewhat tense, but he had always hoped it might be repaired with enough time.

Not that he held much hope, mind, not when he rather suspected his father's distaste was born from the memory of seeing another dwarf of a steady heart and red hair sealed into the tombs of Erebor.

"Aye. And it seems he is not alone." Legolas was not sure how to interpret that, but before he could ask, Gimli sighed again and sat down once more. "No matter, I hardly believe what I heard, myself. We'll see soon enough how much of the news was true." The raven squawked indignantly, as though insulted that its integrity might be questioned, causing Gimli to murmur to it in soothing tones. The raven then flew over to the side of the boat, perching there no doubt to rest its wings for a while.

Legolas stood next to Gimli, keeping his eyes on the horizon. He could already see the shoreline, if he tried hard enough.

They had good wind, and were indeed close to the shore; it seemed no time at all that they were close enough to make out the people gathered at the small dock that awaited their ship. Legolas found his father easily enough, tall and pale and elegant even when surrounded by others of their race, felt his heart skip again as he saw what he imagined to be Tauriel, lost to him long ago as she sailed West to rest her grieving heart. Then, however, he noticed the other figures around them. The shorter ones.

"Is that…" He frowned, squinting at the image they were approaching at good speed. There was something familiar about many of the shorter figures, particularly the one standing very close to his father, short but broad but with a crest of hair. "Are those dwarves?"

"Aye." Gimli sighed. "The bird tells me they've found a way between the Halls of Waiting and the Undying Lands, and while most of both my race and yours are quite happy to pretend no such way exists, there are some who are quite happy to traverse the path. So when Lady Galadriel made a prediction that we would soon be arriving, well, they all decided to come welcome us."

"Dwarves on the shore." That was… that was unthinkable. "But how is that possible? No dwarf has ever set foot in Valinor, none before you!"

"No living dwarf, no." Gimli shook his head, his lips twitching. "Seems we might have had an easier time of it if you'd only allowed me to die, you silly elf."

"Never." Legolas took on a fierce tone, wanting to convince Gimli of the strength and depth of his love. "Even had I known as a certainty that we could be reunited, without any doubt in my mind that it would happen, that would still not have been worth the grief of seeing you sealed in a tomb and sailing West on my own."

"A good answer, I suppose." Gimli got up to his feet at last, coming to stand next to Legolas. His arm reached around Legolas' waist, not as strong as it had been in his prime but still as warm as ever. They stood side by side, watching the growing figures at the shore as the wind brought them ever closer to their destination.

"That's your mother and father, isn't it?" Legolas recognised more faces as they drew even closer, ones he hadn't seen in decades but remembered well enough. It had been a dreadful enough experience, meeting the parents of his beloved, that he would not soon forget it. "And — oh, Valar, that seems to be most of the Company of Thorin, if I'm not mistaken."

"I still say we should turn back," Gimli murmured. "We could do it. Let us choose peace over certainty."

"Sadly, the wind brings us ever closer, and I wouldn't well put it past them to set sail to chase us down." Legolas carded his hand through snow-white hair. "No, love, I say we stand our ground. If we faced all the armies of Mordor and did not flee, how could we turn from this?"

"Oh, but the worst we could expect from Mordor's folk was a death, and death brings peace. I say to you, lad, if we step foot on that shore, we will never feel moment's peace again."

"You forget, my love, where you would end up upon your death." Legolas shook his head. "Is it not better that we face this together?"

Gimli thought of this for a moment, no doubt turning it over in his head. "Fine," he grunted at last. "But if your father says one snide word to me, I swear I'll tell him about the time I swallowed you down on his own damn throne."

Legolas chuckled. "You have a deal, my love." He felt oddly light, standing here, watching the faces of their family and friends grow clearer by every passing moment. It was not what he had expected, not by a long shot, yet for the first time in decades, since the first time he saw a strand of white in Gimli's hair, his heart was entirely free of fear.

That freedom, this sudden certainty that he might stand beside his dwarf for countless years yet to come, was certainly worth the trouble of dealing with anything the world or, indeed, a full company of dwarves and elves could throw at them.

Perhaps, though, he might want to recall a filthy story or two of his own, just in case.