Chapter One: Stubborn as Stone

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Dwarves are a bearded people with physical builds that speak of their mountain origins. Crafted from rock and stone, they are sturdy and stubborn folk. They are crafters and warriors, miners and blacksmiths, merchants and poets.

But above all else, they are a race that endures.

Since the moment Aule crafted his people, they have been given a harsh life. Iluvatar ordered their destruction and Aule accepted Iluvatar's demand. Their Maker lifted his hammer to strike them down but they shrank back in fear. Iluvatar had gifted them some of the secret flame, free will, in turn for Aule's obedience. They became the adopted children of Iluvatar—unplanned and, many believe, unwanted. The song that made up the world was changed to allow their existence but that existence has been filled with strife and want.

Nearly every ancestral home has been claimed by the darkness of the world. The Firstborn, elves, fell into century old conflict with them. Whole clans have been wiped out as they struggled to find a place in the world. The loss of any one mountain hall has led to more death than any race should have to endure.

When the great fire-breathing drake, Smaug, came from the north and lay claim to Erebor, many of the Longbeards were left with no home. The other dwarven houses had little room to offer the stranded Durin's folk. The clans of Erebor were forced to wander in poverty for years within Dunland.

Eventually, after working for pennies amongst Men and years of war with orcs residing within the Misty Mountains, the Longbeards turned W vest. Their heir and prince guided them to Ered Luin.

And, as the ravens tell it, the Durin's folk of Erebor have stayed in the Blue Mountains tolling for scraps since. Their prince guided them into building a simple hall within the depleted and dusty mountains. Children slowly appeared amongst their people once more and the dwarven clans became settled, though not happily wealthy beyond imagination nor living with plenty.

That is until a chance meeting between the grey pilgrim and Durin's heir occurred. After that chance meeting, and with the prompting of said wizard, the prince was convinced to take up a quest. Thorin Oakenshield brought together a company of thirteen loyal dwarrow to travel to Erebor and steal away the Arkenstone with the help of said wizard and his chosen burglar.

That burglar ended up being a hobbit. Weak and small in appearance, Bilbo Baggins aided the dwarven company survive troll, warg, and elf alike as they traveled the old path to Erebor. And, through the blessing of Aule, Smaug was vanquished by the very mountain itself.

The hobbit burglar found the Arkenstone but before he could offer it up to the rightful king, the true colors of the wizard came to light as he stole both hobbit and stone from the safe haven of Erebor and handed them over to an invading elven army that had come to lay claim to the mountain's treasures.

Battle broke out between elf and dwarf; Dáin Ironfoot of the Iron Hills joined in battle to aid his cousins. But all was for not as an army of orcs swept through the field and claimed the Lonely Mountain. The mountain shook in despair but none of the dwarven army could stop the orcs as elves continued to attack them and force them into retreat.

Erebor was lost to darkness once more. The small port town of Esgaroth was left to waste. The elves of Mirkwood fled back to their forest kingdom. But the Durin's heir survived to return once more and reclaim his gold.

Thorin Oakenshield and his company of dwarves fled with Dáin Ironfoot to the Iron Hills. And it is there that they still stay, planning to lay waste to the orcs who dare take another of their ancestral homes.

At least, as the ravens tell it.

What can be said for certain, is that one part of that tale is true. What was left of the company of Thorin Oakenshield left East to the Iron Hills. It is there, in the depth of the deep gray rock, within the healing halls of their cousins, the line of Durin lay.

Fíli, one of Thorin Oakenshield's sister's sons and heir, spent the entirety of winter stuck in bed. He survived the battle wounded but whole, having broken most of his ribs and somehow avoided being hit in any vital areas by no less than five arrows—more than one being elvish in design. A fever took to him during his recovery and some of the recently healed ribs re-broke as he had attempted to cough up a lung (according to Oin, the company's healer).

The prince has had the pleasure of his brother's company all winter long. Only his brother's company. Everyone else was too busy or had their own rooms to be locked in bed in.

He could have done with less of Kíli's company. They weren't little children finding comfort from each other's presence. A simple confirmation that he was alive and recovering would have worked just as well. (That wasn't true but after being locked up together for so long it was as good as true.)

Fíli sighed as he shifted in bed, pleased when no pain stabbed across his chest. He was healed, had been for some time now, and yet he was stuck in bed. The prince glanced over at his brother. Kíli appeared to be asleep. So Fíli pulled out a leather thong from under his shirt.

Light glinted off silver, highlighting the careful carvings. The runes for unity, for One, and his family's mark gleamed in the torch light. He had even included roses, geometric in shape and often associated with the females of Durin's line but flowers nonetheless.

"You'll braid it into her hair."

Fíli didn't bother to glance up. He'd recognize his brother anywhere (not that he'd been anywhere but here, stuck in bed across the room similar to his own predicament). His statement was old hat by now, anyway. There was only so many things to talk about while they had been stuck in the healing halls.

Fíli dropped his hand over his chest. His ribs were healed. There was no stabbing pain and yet, until recently, there had been this phantom pain radiating out from his chest and head. Fíli couldn't explain it, didn't really want to even try, but the pain wasn't his (he wasn't even in pain when feeling it which was so very strange). He knew it was Llorabell's. He knew she was alive and that she was in the West.

Where in the West was the question.

The dwarf prince fisted the silver bead and turned from where his thoughts were straying. Again.

"We'll find the Little Bunny and I'll tie her up so you can finally braid that into her hair properly," Kíli stated cheerfully from across the hall.

Fíli couldn't stop the flicker of a grin at that name. He stamped it down as he said with as sharp a tone as he could, "Give it a rest."

"Gah, you're as walnut-headed as ever."

The blond flushed as the insult reminded him of the first time he had been called that. Llorabell had tried to beat the insult into him as she had exclaimed over their stupidity with the dragon. His frown returned at the thought. He couldn't remember ever getting a chance to complain about her own foolishness.

A pillow smacked him in the head. Fíli grabbed it and threw it back at his brother. Kíli caught it with a grin. His blanket slide off the bed as the younger dwarf dodged the pillow at the same time as catching it. Bandages wrapped around Kíli's leg reminded Fíli of the battle once more. At least the bruising, that had covered his brother's face from a broken nose, had faded to nothing.

The dwarf rubbed his chest as memories forced themselves forward. His heart sped up at the thought of the battle. The carnage, blood, death...the chaos...it had been terrifying but he had been trained his entire life to handle some level of the horror of a battlefield. Nothing could have prepared him for the terror that gripped him at seeing Llorabell being attacked by Bolg.

Fíli now understood his uncle's hatred for Thranduil. The elf king had tossed his wife to an orc, had just handed her over without thought or care. His fingers dug into his shirt as the memory filled his mind. He recalled pain that wasn't his stab through his chest when she had been smacked with the mace, the sudden gut wrenching terror as Bolg moved to kill her, and the relief when Bifur saved her. He hadn't been able to get there in time but someone had been.

Self disgust flickered in the back of his mind as he recalled his relief. Bifur had saved her with his life. He shouldn't feel so relieved and yet no matter how many times those moments replayed in his mind, he couldn't stop that feeling.

He would forever be in debt to the Ur clan. He would never be able to repay the clan for their head's actions.

A bitter smile flickered across his face. Life was funny sometimes. It was just his luck that it was that moment he realized what Llorabell was. (But that wasn't quite right. It was really the moment he let himself consider it.) He still hadn't said it out loud to anyone. It didn't feel right saying it to anyone but Llor. Fíli flopped his head back against the wall behind him.

Llorabell Baggins of Bag End and the Shire, Uslukh'omrid, buhâ'oDurinur und Erebor was his One.

By Hobbit tradition she was already his wife.

And she was somewhere in the West, far, far away from here.

The same dull grey pillow smacked his face. The blond glared up at his unrelenting brother. The brunet glared back.

"Stop acting like uncle. Stop looking like him," said Kíli slowly and deliberately. "Just stop."

"Laddie's got a point," added Balin as the older dwarf stepped into the room. "Brooding always brought out the family resemblance."

Fíli switched his glare to the acting advisor of the company. Balin smiled in amusement, one of his gloved hands moved up to pull through his snow white beard. The prince's glare faded as Balin's hand dropped from the unconscious action.

The older dwarf's beard had been partly pulled out during the battle. The rest had been chopped in half when an orc had tried to slice Balin open across his gut. The scholar had a new scar to prove it, even. At least that's what Dwalin had claimed after Fíli had first seen Balin with his uneven and much shorter beard.

They all had been far luckier than seemed possible.

Dwalin had a few new scars, nothing major. Glóin had had a goblin tear a chunk out of one of his ears. Bombur's beard had been cut in half and he had lost a pinky. Bofur had a nasty bite scar across his side from a warg.—He had been stuck in bed nearly as long as he and Kíli.—Óin had apparently only lost his hearing trumpet but it's loss was leading to the hearing loss of the rest of the dwarrow in the healing halls, Fíli included.

Ori had been stabbed in the shoulder and might never have full movement in the arm again. Dori had gotten a scar down across one side of his nose that curved to the bottom of one of his ears. Nori apparently had a temporary limp but Fíli didn't know if that wasn't simply Bofur's exaggeration. He hadn't actually seen hide nor hair of the thief. According to Óin, while Nori's limping would be temporary, Kíli's likely would not be.

Thorin was in much the same state as Fíli with multiple broken ribs and an infection fought off through the winter. Fíli hadn't seen Thorin yet but he was likely busy with Dáin and political things.

And Bifur now resided in the Halls waiting for them all.

Fíli rubbed his chest again. No one knew exactly how Llorabell was. Dwalin had admitted to knocking her out when she had started screaming her head off. He had then secured her on the back of bear-Beorn. Óin was certain, from hearing of the blow to the chest and Fíli's descriptions of what he knew, that Llorabell had at least broken a few ribs. She was alive, though. That was all that mattered in the end.

"There's a meeting I need you to attend," Balin said after a moment of silence. He dropped a stack of folded clothing. Fíli recognized only his furred coat.

"Bed rest is over, then?" asked Fíli as he threw his blankets to the side and stood up.

Balin answered as he picked up the forgotten pillow, "For you." The white haired dwarf threw the pillow at Kíli who had moved to leave his own bed. "But not you."

"What! Bu–"

Balin flashed a flat look at Kíli. "But nothing. You almost lost a leg which means you're stuck in that bed till Óin, and only Óin, tells you to leave."

Kíli scowled and folded his arms. "So why's he allowed out?" The brunet asked, nodding his chin at his half dressed brother.

Fíli looked up from pulling his boots on in time to see Balin grimace. Fíli frowned in response. "What is this meeting about?"

Balin answered with a sigh, "Dáin's council wants to talk to Thorin about taking back Erebor from the orcs. They're tired of waiting."

"And uncle cannot go talk to them because?" Fíli asked slowly. A hint of dread fluttered in his gut.

The scholar answered quickly, "Because he is still healing. Óin was going to let you out of bed within the next day either way so I informed them that you'd be able to meet with them." Balin turned fully toward Fíli. "I am not sure how this is going to go, Fíli. We don't have the Arkenstone so the likelihood of them actually agreeing to aid us because of their allegiance is...suspect."

Balin's hand rose to stroke his missing beard once more. The dwarf paused to frown and drop his hand, his eyes staring at it for a moment before turning back to add, "Dáin lost many good dwarrow when he came to aid us. Nori has informed me that most here seem to blame us for those deaths just like with the last battle for Moria. Our welcome is stretching thin, according to him."

"Well..." Kíli paused to glance between Balin and Fíli. "Well, better you than me, then," He finally said with fake cheer and a weak grin.

Fíli pulled the tunic out from the pile and stared at the deep blue, Durin's blue. It was uncle's tunic. "So, uncle is still recovering–" Fíli glanced over at Balin to see the scholar stiffen. "–from broken ribs and fever...Just like I had."

"That's right..." muttered Kíli. Worry flood the younger prince's voice. "Balin?"

"Thorin isn't in any condition to meet with anyone, Fíli," Balin stated, "He's having a time of it recovering from...from the fever."

"Right." Fíli tightened his belt around the deep blue tunic and stomped over to Kíli with a comb. His younger brother made quick work of Fíli's braids. Unlike his usual two beside each ear, Kíli added a few more before combining the braids into a more complicated design.

If he was to represent the Durin royal line, he would need all the correct braids and beads. Balin silently handed over a few more beads.—Ones that likely represented the quest to reclaim Erebor and the battle Fíli had survived.—Fíli braided his mustache before rubbing the beard that had grown long across his jaw and cheeks.

He hadn't had a chance to trim his beard since before the battle. He preferred to keep his beard short. Of course, it was also expected of him since Thorin's beard was short. It wouldn't do for the heir to have a longer beard than the king. Fíli didn't think he'd bother growing it out either way, though. He liked his beard short. And he liked his mustache, no matter how much amad shook her head at him for the braids.

His wistful smile at the thoughts of his amad's nagging faded as Balin interrupted, "Alright laddie, let's be off."

Fíli heaved another sigh as he stood. This was going to be a long day, even though he finally got to leave the healing hall. Balin led Fíli through the dark grey halls. Torchlight flickered every few feet and reflected off geometric designs highlighted in gleaming black wrought iron.

Blue eyes ran over the designs; he spotted the markings for the Longbeards, Blacklocks, and Stonefoots Clans. The Iron Hills was the foothold of Durin's folk in the East. It was the gateway to where four of the seven great Clans resided.

Erebor had once been that gateway where East met West.

The Iron Hills never reached the position Erebor had held. It was too far North, and it had too little resources beyond iron ore. Of course, the best weapons and armor needed iron ore.

Of the four clans, the Blacklocks and Stonefoots were the two to interact with the Longbeards. The Ironfists held a centuries old grudge against Durin's folk and the Stiffbeards allied with them. But those clans lived East of Rhun and without the Arkenstone they would never come West.

The blond prince had never understood why those two eastern houses had sworn on the Arkenstone. At least, not until he had seen it himself. There was power within that glowing stone.

Or, well, there had been.

Fíli frowned as he recalled the stone's destruction. He hadn't seen it but only a fool would have missed the very earth shaking and the screaming and...and the feeling of loss when it had been destroyed.

What power did the stone possess? Had possessed?

"Fíli… Laddie," Balin spoke up, his voice a low rumble as he tried to keep his voice from traveling, "Don't promise anything. They'll try to get you to promise something for their aid." Balin looked up at him with a grim barring. "They've always tried to force promises for something. Sometimes you have to agree to it but not in this case. Erebor is Thorin's and your's. They have no right nor claim to any of it. Don't promise them such."

The dwarven prince stared for a second. Balin's advice rang in his mind and all Fíli could think was one thing. The flutter of nerves entered his gut as he stated, "You're not coming in."

"No," Balin agreed.

They turned the corner, revealing a large open courtyard. The walls gave way to sturdy stone balusters with wrought iron decorating them and creating hand rails as the metal rose up the columns. Llorabell would be pleased, if Kíli was telling the truth.

A huge set of stone steps with dwarves rushing up and down them scaled down forty feet until reaching the courtyard's floor. Every eight feet or so the stair's opened on either side, the step elongated into a landing, and a hall, much like the one Fíli and Balin had traveled down, branched off into other parts of the mountain.

It was impressive. It had nothing against the might of Erebor, though.

Fíli followed Balin down the steps as his thoughts traveled back to the matter at hand. He mulled over the reasons for Balin's absence for a few moments as they pushed their way through the crowds. Finally, when none came to mind, he asked, "Why?"

Balin scowled, causing Fíli to pause in surprise. "Technically, my family's lordship resides within Erebor." Balin looked at Fíli. "With Erebor gone I have no such position. I have always been considered simply a scholar. Nothing more."

"That's why you never bore any beads," Fíli breathed out in realization.

The older dwarf shook his head. "No, no Laddie. I do not bear beads nor braid both because I have no right to claim my lordship, as all lords of Erebor should do if they have any hint of honor, but also because my king waits to wear his own beads," Balin added sharply, "No lord worth his loyalty would bear his position's beads until their king was reestablished proper."

"I could wear my craftsmen and family beads but I swore to Thorin that I would not. Not until King Thrain or he were returned to their rightful place and position. Until the other houses treat our king properly, I will not wear any."

Fíli shook his head as he remarked quietly, "You didn't swear on regaining Erebor in all that."

Balin looked hard at the prince as he answered, "Erebor is only a place. Yes it is our home and a place of safety we have not had in years nor you have ever experienced but it is only a place, a single mountain. There are more important things than a mountain."

The scholar turned away from Fíli and nodded down the hall. "Here we are."

Double doors of wrought iron and sentries in full plate gleaned from vibrant fire pits on each of its side. The doors stood closed. Fíli pressed his lips together as he wondered if he should take it as a slight or not.

"I'll speak with you after," Fíli said.

"I'll be waiting out here," Balin answered.

The blond prince looked over at his advisor, teacher, and friend. "I'll speak with you and Thorin."

Balin stiffened. "Laddie–"

Fíli didn't wait to hear Balin's excuse. He turned and strolled down to the closed doors, back straight. The nerves fluttered louder in his gut. He could feel his heart pound as he walked to his first council meeting with foreign dwarrow. It would be his first with no true ally, too.

The stark feeling of loss hit him as one of the sentries opened the door and the sound of foreign accents filter out. He missed how simple life had been before Tharkûn had found his uncle.

"Ah, Prince Fíli," greeted a dwarf in deep red velvet, "Please have a seat."

Fíli raised an eyebrow as he glanced over the ostentatiously dress dwarrow. Beards of red, brown, and black were decorated with fine beads and braids. More than one dwarf present had once been an Erebor noble. They were the dwarrow who had the connections in place to keep their obscenely rich living standards, though it was at the cost of whole families they had been charged to care for and watch over.

Dáin grinned cheerfully in the middle of the first line of nobles, his seat possessing a higher back to indicate his position. In an auditorium style, two more rows of nobles sat behind the Iron Hill lord. The dwarrow in the first row were likely Dáin's advisors and close allies.

All the political training he had half forgot forced its way to the forefront of his mind as he turned to the single chair facing the crowd. It was similarly styled to Dáin's, so no one was making an obviously rude gesture but it's position alone spoke of the tone this meeting was going to have.

It was him against the Iron Hills.

Fíli paused before his seat. While the chair had the same substantial presence of Dáin's, the nobles would all be looking down on him. Fíli pivoted around and settled his feet in a slightly spread stance. He folded his arms behind his back and Fíli looked directly at Dáin, silently reminding himself not to tilt his head up. He shouldn't give any sign of having to look up to the lord, no matter the dwarf's familial position as some form of cousin.

He was a prince of Durin. Dáin was a simple lord.

"Shall we begin?" ask Fíli.

Dáin's grin widened. Most of his advisor's scowled. Fíli couldn't help but wish he had paid more mind to Thorin's opinions on their Iron Hill cousin. He could have used a hint of what Dáin's position might be. All Fíli knew was Dáin refused to aid in taking back Erebor from the dragon but came to keep it from being claimed by elves and had given what aid his smaller kingdom could to the Erborian refugees. (Most of the dwarrow he could take were the nobles with connections and the more skilled artisans, causing more difficulties for the rest of them during the wandering days.)

All that meant was Dáin was neither stupid nor desperate. His position in the Iron Hills was secure. And he would not take his loyal warriors to their almost guaranteed deaths. Dáin considered his people over gold and glory. But he was as prejudiced as most towards elves.

Fíli couldn't really blame him for that last one. The blond wouldn't have called Thranduil a forest pixie, though. That was too nice.

One of the advisors leaned forward. "Erebor must be reclaimed from the orcs."

Fíli opened his mouth to respond but another lord spat out, "We've lost too many of our people for that mountain, for Durin's folk." Fíli snapped his gaze over to the lord. He had a thick black beard. Vibrant jewels and colored velvets contrasted nicely with his dark bronze skin. All indicators of being a Blacklock but not definitive answers as the Eastern Clans intermixed as much as the Western.

Fíli's own coloring was more indicative of his father's Firebeard heritage than his mother's Longbeard. Even his slighter height compared to Kíli and Thorin were indicative of his father. And yet he was the heir to the Longbeard Clan. The prince shook himself from his contemplation as the room filled with chatter.

More lords jumped in by the minute, each soon shouting to make themselves heard. Fíli tilted his head in thought as he listened to the arguments. They all were either for or against the idea of reclaiming Erebor. None had actually said anything about putting dwarrow towards the effort.

Fíli met Dáin's stare. The Iron Hill Lord hadn't joined in. Fíli frowned and Dáin gained a pleased look behind his manic grin. Finally, a lord shouted out the reason Fíli had been asked in front of them.

"What would Erebor give for our aid? What compensation will we receive for our dead? For the dead if we aid you more?"

Though those questions were directed at Fíli, the room of nobles jumped in to say their piece. They all had an opinion on what they deserved to receive. None of the ideas were even slightly reasonable.

Fíli had a feeling he should have taken the offered chair.

The day stretched long as Fíli had feared. The arguments grew to near blows more than once. And yet neither Fíli nor Dáin spoke up. Eventually the council was interrupted for the midday meal. Fíli silently thanked the maid for the respite of his aching feet.

A lord, one with deep red hair, which indicated Firebeard ancestry but was likely more closely tied to the Stonefoot clan if his large decorative plate boots were any indication, appeared at his side. Fíli glanced at the dwarf before continuing to leave the room.

"Prince Fíli," the lord said cheerfully, "Quite a coal mine your company has dug up for us."

Fíli hummed in response as he looked around the hall for Balin.

"We all, of course, wish the return of Erebor and the once great presence of our eldest Clan in the East," the lord rambled on as Fíli paid him little mind, "But it is a give and take matter, you must understand. We cannot simply give and give and never receive compensation when compensation is due."

The lord followed at Fíli's side through the crowd. None seemed to pay any mind and after a moment Fíli realized that they were the only nobles in the area, the council had all gone down the other direction. The communal hall likely resided that way. Fíli frowned as he stepped to the side and continued his search for Balin.

The lord continued to ramble at him, "I, for one, could be persuaded to convince fellows of the council that compensation is due at the time of delivery and no later, as is only right with these matters. After all, one cannot expect such an effort to be rewarded before the time of achievement and, of course, a certain amount of recovery time to take stalk of all resources, finalizing the cost of the endeavors that led to the common goal, living situations, certain important personages regaining placements of old, reviewing of documents of import, and return of various parts of clans."

Balin finally appeared from one of the halls branching off the large staircase. Fíli moved to meet him when the lord grabbed his arm and successfully forced Fíli's attention on him. The dwarf didn't seem to realize that the prince hadn't been paying any mind to the conversation.

"–give and take has to be given proper due and a simple promise of payment would not be acceptable on these matters. Instead, I do believe a contractual agreement between parties would be a sufficient matter to convince all parties of the endeavors to keep to honored words."

Fíli frowned at the lord as his mind caught on to the general point of the dwarf's ramblings. "Contract?" he asked as he wondered if he really wanted to know.

A pleased looked answered Fíli's question as the dwarf answered, "Of course I would need a contractual agreement succulently acceptable for my efforts before we can work with the entire council on the contract between Erebor and the Iron Hills."

"What?"

The lord cheerfully rambled on, not paying any mind to Fíli's confusion, "I could have my legal team script up the contract and bring it to your suite. You'd have to give your guard permission to allow me entry. And I'd need to bring at least two of my team in case there is any negotiation when going over the contract, not that I'd expect such–"

"What are you going on about?" Fíli interrupted even as Balin reached him.

The dwarf lord blinked, surprised. "Why, the marriage contract, of course!"

"Marriage contract?" asked Balin.

"Between my daughter and Prince Fíli," expanded the lord before leaning in and whispering loudly, "Connections must be made to have any chance in reaching a favorable conclusion on the matter of Erebor's reclamation from the orc army. I was just discussing the matter with his Highness–"

"I'm afraid you'll have to continue this conversation with Prince Fíli another time. His brother is asking for him," Balin interrupted, grabbing Fíli's arm and hastily dragging the blond away.

Fíli put up no fight as he focused on the dwarf lords words. A marriage contract? Fíli had never heard of that happening when the pair were not Ones.

"Didn't I tell you not to promise anything!" snapped out Balin once they reached an empty hallway.

"I–"

"Of all the irresponsible, foolhardy things to agree to! A marriage is to be expected eventually but to agree to something without even taking the time to meet the girl and mother...And what would Dís say on the matter? Or your father."

"Adad–"

"Thorin will be outraged. That wasn't even a high ranking advisor for Dáin. It's just a waste to go through such a contract," Balin ranted out.

"What are you–"

"–should have never agreed to such without proper consideration of all the various lords' daughters that are of age. A good stock for bearing children should be considered and there is the fact that there have never been any Stiffbeard or Ironfoot blood entered into the direct line before. Never expected that to change, let alone when I still lived."

"Balin!"

The scholar finally paused in his rant to scowl over at the younger dwarf. Fíli glared back both affronted and frustrated. "First," hissed out the prince, "I have not agreed to any contract with anyone."

Balin's scowl faded.

"Second, what in the Maker are you ranting about? Why would I marry some female that isn't my One? Why would any of you—Amad, Adad, uncle, you—have any say in who I marry? And why in Mordor would I marry for any reason beyond wanting to marry her?"

The scholar stared for a second before sighing. Balin looked away from Fíli as he remarked, "Sometimes I forget how much you've been sheltered growing up away from the other clans."

Frustration grew at the lack of answers. "Balin?"

He waved his hand about for a second. "You're ignorant if you think our Ones' have any meaning to nobles more concerned with power, politics, and gold." Balin looked hard at Fíli. "It's rare when a noble has the opportunity to marry their One. How'd you think the Ri family came into being?"

Balin shook his head. "Your father demanded that you and Kíli wouldn't be forced into any marriage contract without your full consent and after you were of age. It was his one demand to allow Thorin to claim you both as his heirs."

"If Thorin hadn't agreed, you both would be considered Firebeards instead of Longbeards. You'd be your father's common born heirs and Ones would mean something. But you aren't. You are Durin's heir. You'll be Erebor's king and you'll need an heir of your own once we've reclaimed the mountain once more."

Balin nodded to himself. "This was going to occur eventually, especially with Erebor so close at hand. Other lords will be confronting you, hoping to wed their daughter and make them queens. Once you're married they'll turn to Kíli. Of course, as I said, you have a say in the matter."

The scholar looked hard at Fíli. "So no agreeing to anything until you've taken the time to learn of all your options."

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