Hobbit 1. Tilda Learns Something Unexpected

**Notes: I didn't plan this and I made myself sad**

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Tilda wasn't quite as unused to being called a princess as Sigrid, but she knew that her sister was three times the political force she was. So when they all made ready for visiting the Halls of Erebor for something or other that was supposed to strengthen their relations, though they already were brilliant what with her Da slaying the dragon and such (she didn't like to think of the rest) she couldn't help but flutter around with nerves.

It wasn't special, it wasn't unusual, they'd been there, they'd talked to the dwarves, they'd celebrated merry feasts that ended with her falling asleep on the table (Bain still teased her), but still.

Tilda knew she was growing up and she wanted to take at least the slightest bit of responsibility on her shoulders like Da and Sigrid, because she knew how hard they had worked while bringing Bain and her up, or at least she thought she knew. Sigrid had been younger than Tilda was now when their Ma had died and Sigrid had been in charge of taking care of her baby sister, which was really incredible because Tilda didn't feel like she could take care of a baby any time soon. Thinking that taking some of the responsibilities from her sister's shoulders would be a good idea, Tilda had decided to learn how she did it.

So when they arrived she made sure to observe what her big sister was doing all the time. How she greeted one dwarf and then the other with respect and a smile, how she talked diplomatically but still very firmly and the dwarves listened, how she laughed at something or other… Tilda frowned. That last bit wasn't exactly right.

Sigrid had never been very quick to laugh, much like Da, always too busy and practical for much distraction, but today there was something different about her sister. After a few minutes of observing, she noted the slight downturn of Sigrid's shoulders and the tiny crease between her eyebrows, how she always seemed to need a moment more to summon a smile. Sigrid looked tired and…and sad. Tilda wasn't sure if anyone else noticed, though, the wine making everyone vivid and instruments being pulled out.

When the music and dancing was in full swing, she saw her sister quietly leaving through a side door Tilda hadn't even noticed. Worry and a not so small bit of curiosity had her warring with the part of her that told her she was just imagining things for a split second, then she got up as unnoticeable as possible.

When she opened the door and slipped into the corridor lighted with the glass baubles the dwarves used for decorative lights, she saw Sigrid's skirts swishing just around a corner. Her instincts as the youngest child who snuck up to the older ones on regular basis taking over, Tilda followed as quickly as she could without making noise.

After just a short while she found herself panting. Wherever Sigrid was going, she obviously didn't want anyone to notice she was gone for long, which only spurred Tilda's imagination into summoning the wildest ideas.

After quite a few corners and stairs, all of them leading downwards, Tilda nearly ran into Sigrid's back when she rounded the corner, not expecting her to have stopped. Her usually perceptive sister didn't seem to notice however, too busy staring at a giant double-winged door with runes and ornaments carved into them. From her vantage point Tilda could just make out the stern face of a warrior etched into the stone before glancing back to Sigrid. She was showing signs of feeling nervous, wringing her hands and looking up to the doors and down on her feet in a way Tilda had only ever seen her react to one of the rare times Da's scolding was directed towards her. Only this was worse, with Sigrid also breathing rather noisily, Tilda thought. Her sister seemed to think so too, because she drew in a sharp breath and squared shoulders like she always did when there was a task to tackle and then opened one half of the door with a mighty push.

Waiting for a few seconds after Sigrid had gone into the mysterious room, Tilda slowly stood in front of the closed part of the door and peeked in. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust, as it was slightly lighter in there, with light from the outside streaming in from a high window like a golden waterfall and torches flickering over stone statues sat upon large cubes.

She found Sigrid's form kneeling in front of one nearly in the middle, just below the light stream. Her sister gentle hand reached out and placed a small sprig of lavender and other summer flowers on the cube's mantle.

"I brought you flowers," she said softly, looking up at the statue sitting on the cube, "You said you liked lavender because it kept the bugs at bay." A strangled laugh that sounded like a sob came from her and Tilda's stomach clenched with the realisation of the room's purpose. This was a tomb.

"You also said that flowers are the most precious thing you could ever have given me, because they rarely grow in the mountains, and so your kin holds them in high regard when- when it comes to courting presents." Tilda's eyes widened, her mind racing with the implications of what she heard. She had never known Sigrid had been courted at some point, much less by a dwarf! When could this have happened?

Another strangled sound ripped from her sister's throat. "But it was too cold for flowers already so I suggested compromising on thistles. You told me I was stupid. Then you kissed me." Laugh after laugh wrecked through Sigrid, slowly turning to full sobs.

Her entire body trembling with the force of emotions too great for Tilda too fully comprehend, Sigrid reached out a hand and hit a fist against the stone. "You idiot! You complete and utter-" She hit again. "You just had to go and fight-" Her head sagged against where her hand had hit.

Tilda wasn't sure she could breathe anymore. Seeing her sister, her big sister who always knew what to do when there was a scraped knee or when Bain wouldn't stop being a tease shaking like that was something Tilda couldn't have imagined in her worst nightmare.

"You had to go," Sigrid continued, much quietly, "Of course you had to. To protect your brother, because that's what we do, isn't it? Protecting them, at all costs. I just wish it hadn't cost so much. I wish you would've come back, Fíli, even- even alone." Her hands covered her face helplessly. "I'm selfish, I know, but I just- I miss you more than I can say." Her voice broke off with another sob, making her sister behind her wince.

Fíli, she knew that name. Tilda would never forget how the company of dwarves and a hobbit had come out of their toilet, how Kíli had told her stories and made her laugh despite the fact that he was badly hurt and how she had cried when she found out her new friend had died, valiantly in battle, but died nonetheless. She had never known that his older brother and Sigrid had been so connected, so in love even, that it made her sister lose all her strength. Her chest clenched with sadness and she breathed out sharply with her eyes burning.

At the sound, Sigrid whirled around.

"Tilda! What are you doing here?"

"I, I followed you." At the quickly darkening look on Sigrid's face, she hastened to explain, "I was worried."

"You- You shouldn't have come." Sigrid quickly wiped away the tears on her cheeks without looking at her sister.

"But you shouldn't be alone." Tilda whispered, afraid she might start to cry herself.

"No, I shouldn't," Sigrid said with a voice completely foreign to Tilda, her usually bright blue eyes dimly looking at the stone face before her.

This was it, Tilda realised. This was the same weight that her father had carried for so long it was a part of him, now on her sister's young shoulders. She couldn't take that weight from her. She couldn't make anything easier. But she could offer her shoulders to share. So she sat down beside her sister as close as possible, taking her weight as she slightly sagged towards her after a moment's hesitation and listened while her sister, her brave, strong Sigrid, cried for an equally brave and strong man gone.

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**Notes: In LOTR, the grave shown in Moria is actually very simple, but I thought that the dwarves wouldn't make stone graves a simple affair. Their craftsmanship would be a way to honour the dead and remember them.**

**Also the timeline for this one would be not even a few years after BoFA, with Tilda only just starting to grow up. Sigrid would have been so busy with fighting for her people's survival and building up a city at her father's side that she barely ever let herself think of the past, no to mention grieve. Just burying herself in work and responsibilities, much like her father… Ok, ok, I'm stopping, I'm just making myself sadder and sadder**


	2. In which Fíli Is Smug

**Note: I hope this makes up for any emotional scarring caused by the last chapter. Though ye might get cavities, ye be warned!**

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_**In which Fíli Is Smug**_

Warm, golden flickers of flames in a fireplace. Incredibly soft sheets surrounding her. Sigrid smiled to herself as she slowly opened her eyes. Waking up in a bed like this was better than any dream. It felt like lying on a cloud. After rubbing her eyes, she contentedly looked around the room instead of getting up. A high ceiling of light stone was illuminated by candles flickering in tinted glass lanterns, lending a cosy atmosphere to Sigrid's lazy morning. Two ridiculously soft cushioned chairs were placed around a carved table holding crystal glasses, a carafe and a plate with fruits and sweet cakes.

Feeling very hungry all of the sudden, Sigrid reluctantly crawled out of the covers, shivering slightly as her body got used to the slightly cooler air. Although it really couldn't be said that it was cold, Sigrid thought appreciatively, the fire was still giving off heat, somehow. She would have to ask how they did that.

Popping a few grapes in her mouth, she decided to wash since she already was up. Opening the door to the adjoining bathroom, she couldn't help but smile and shake her head a little. An entire room just for washing.

In Laketown, they had had a toilet and a drain for the used water, but washing was still done out of a jug and a bowl. Here, a large basin that could be filled with water dominated the room. Colourful flasks were lined in a shelf together with soft towels, and there were even dried flowers that gave off a nice fragrance.

It was as close to decadent as Sigrid had been her entire life. To her own surprise, she didn't feel bad about it in the slightest. It was all already here, and she had _expressively_ been told that it was there for her use. Sigrid felt very blessed and she took a moment to thank the Valar from the bottom of her heart.

Something like this had never happened in even her wildest dreams, where Da had finally gotten the recognition he deserved, and maybe even a woman he could smile at again, and they had all had enough food, even growing Bain, enough to even have leftovers… And here she was, using soap that smelt of summer meadow and something more rich and elegant that made Sigrid feel very distinguished.

She snorted.

Getting used to being called a Lady was still something she battled with, in her own mind she was still very much the bargeman's daughter. But in here, with all this surrounding her in a way that felt almost natural, because it was meant for her, and no one else was going to use it, she almost felt like she could be a real Lady. That she was.

According to a certain someone she had been even when her ancestor's title and city had still been lost.

Sigrid smiled at the thought of how his blue eyes had shone with sincerity when he had said that. That was what she was most grateful for. That this man with blue eyes and easy smile, with his roaring heart and strength and nobility would look at her and see a Lady. See someone worth of giving his heart to.

Happiness rushed through her and she couldn't stop smiling as she wrapped herself in a towel and went back to the bedroom, looking for something to wear. In a heavy wardrobe carved in a way complementing the rest of the furniture, she found her usual dresses joined by some new ones. Raising her eyebrows, Sigrid carefully let the material slip through her fingers. It was milky and shimmery and felt like water softly running down one's skin on a spring day.

It was a ridiculous waste of money, her dresses would still be perfectly wearable for years. But she knew that the second she brought it up to the culprit, he would just get that look that said he hoped he had gotten her taste right, and when she tried to protest, albeit weakly because she couldn't resist that look and he knew it, he would drag her to the treasure chambers and tell her to not be so stubborn. He could afford a few knick-knacks without endangering the wealth of his people.

With a fond smile and a bit of an eye roll she took out one of the first dresses she had gotten after the rebuilding of Dale had started. Her father had given it to her on her birthday, something special he had always wanted to give her, and she liked thinking of laughing and dancing in it until she was out of breath.

Sigrid slipped into the soft fabric and the daily battle with the laces began. Her simpler dresses had buttons at the front, but the fact that someone had thought it a good idea to invent dresses with laces at the back was something she struggled with.

"And what do you think you're doing?" She looked over her shoulder and smiled at the tousled blonde head peeking out from the covers. A blush spread over her face as she remembered that she'd had quite her part in the tousling.

"Getting ready for the day."

Her fingers finally found the laces and she began to pull them up.

"Here, let me help you with that." His voice was still dark from sleep, but she found she didn't mind a bit. Warm, rough fingers gently pushed hers aside to pull at the thin material. Sigrid found her face getting even warmer at the intimacy and smiled. She could get used to that. Except he was pulling in the wrong direction.

"Fíli, wait! You're opening it."

"I know," his voice was entirely unapologetic and way too smug for her liking.

"What?" She jerked away and turned around, but he was still holding the laces in his hand. "I'm trying to get dressed, in case you didn't notice."

"And I'm trying to prevent that." His smile was roguish as he winked. Sigrid narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well, I'm not walking around naked."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind," his eyes were positively gleaming. The fact that he was lazily sitting on the bed did make very clear how much exactly he wouldn't. She had the urge to smack him and fought against a horrid blush at the same time.

"Maybe you wouldn't but I'm sure other people might object."

"Other people?" The look of genuine confusion on his face made him look every bit like Kíli's brother, despite all their outer differences. Funny that even with piercing blue eyes a puppy look was entirely possible, Sigrid mused.

"We're not seeing other people, Sigrid."

"Apart from the people who, oh, I don't know, make up the entire population of Erebor?" she gesticulated to the door. Much to her surprise and even a bit wounded pride, the blonde dwarf began to laugh. After a few moments he caught the look on Sigrid's face though and stopped abruptly.

"Oh no, please, I don't mean any harm, my sweetheart." Fíli said softly, his lips still quirked up. "It's just- we're on our Mithrilian Fortnight."

"So I was told. A period of time for the couple to get used to living with each other after the wedding," she recited, with just hint of sharpness in her voice. Sigrid had the nearly infinite amount of patience that came with being an older sister with responsibilities, but she did not take it very well when she was laughed at for no reason. "Sometimes a travel might be involved, but given your duties as Crown Prince that would have been unrealistic, so we stayed in Erebor, in case you were needed."

Fíli just looked at her for a few moments, then some kind of epiphany seemed to hit him.

"They didn't tell you."

While whatever Sigrid had been neglected to be told seemed to amuse him to no end, if the quivering of his moustache was any indication, it also sent a deep blush over his face. Sigrid felt slightly vindicated that she wasn't the only one who had been embarrassed and uncrossed her arms. "And what, exactly, did they not tell me?" she inquired with raised eyebrows.

"Ah, well," he cleared his throat and sat up with as much dignity a dwarf in only his night pants could muster. Sigrid found herself momentarily distracted by how the light in the room cast shadows over him in a way that accented his clear-cut muscles very well. One lamp in particular reflected on his shoulder, giving his skin a warm glow and highlighting the golden hair on his chest that led downwards to his stomach muscles and the sharp hip bones and–

She snapped her eyes up, hoping he hadn't noticed. The amused and decidedly proud look he gave her indicated otherwise. In a show of uncharacteristic wisdom Fíli however didn't tease the already irritated woman, though he seemed strangely fond of doing so on other occasions. Instead, he set to explain what had caused her to become irritated in the first place (no thanks to him).

"The Mithrilian Fortnight is not just to get used to each other as a married couple. I mean we have years of a day-to-day-life to do that." He smiled softly at her. "Can't wait for that, actually."

Feeling her irritation melt at that, Sigrid found herself smiling back. An idiot he might be, but he was very much her idiot and he made sure to remember her at every occasion.

"But the Mithrilian Fortnight is actually called that because it is a time of focusing entirely on the couple, no routine, no duties, if possible. As far as everyone outside that door is concerned, we don't exist."

Sigrid tilted her head in thought. "That's an interesting tradition, Odd, but interesting." Her brows furrowed after a moment. "Why is it called Mithril, though? I mean, we're not exactly being productive while we're here?" One of the first things she had learnt about dwarven culture was the high regard they had for hard work. Everyone who didn't flinch away from getting their hands dirty had it quite a bit easier at winning their respect. So being inactive and likening it to the most precious metal known to, well, everyone, was a bit confusing.

"Who said we're not?" That roguish smile was back on Fíli's face and Sigrid felt her stomach lurch. "You know that finding love is considered the highest gift, even above jewels and precious metals, right?" He paused until she nodded. "So we celebrate it as good as we can."

"I noticed," she said dryly, "I'm still surprised Bilbo kept up with all of your brother's drinking for three days straight."

He slipped closer to the edge of the bed on his knees, eye to eye with her. "So the wedding celebration already was quite long for human standards, at least the one's of Laketown. And our courting period of three years and three days was long, too."

"Very long," she agreed softly, not looking away from his warm smile. "I'm glad you agree," he grinned. His hands slipped under hers, drawing lazy circles on her skin.

"So, with everything being drawn out and celebrated as much as possible, wouldn't it make sense to," he cleared his throat, "Wouldn't it make sense to draw out the time of one wedding night to a fortnight."

Sigrid blinked.

Then she blinked again.

Silence descended upon the room.

Fíli observed her carefully as he waited for her to react. And he waited. And waited.

"Sigrid?" He whispered finally, carefully poking her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head and focused on him again. "Sure. Yes. I was just…" she blushed and cleared her throat.

His eyebrows climbed so high Sigrid thought they would hit his hairline. "My, my, Princess Sigrid," he whistled. The title made her realise how very much they were in fact married, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or to smack him. She had a suspicion it wouldn't be the last time.

"Your mind wouldn't have gone wandering off to any particular _activities_?" She blushed and tried to get away from him, but he was quicker. Without any effort his arm shot out, circled her waist and he fell back on the bed with enough momentum to knock some breath out of her.

"Fíli, you-" She struggled to get away from him, but his arm didn't budge.

"Yes, I what?"

He unceremoniously chucked her off him and had her trapped under his arm in a flash, ignoring her protesting squeak.

She glared at him, still trying to get her breathing under control. "You, you-" Her train of thought was interrupted by his hand tracing her arm up to her shoulder.

"Yes?"

His rough hands held her face and slipped into her hair, tugging her closer. She looked at the way his hair sprawled over his broad shoulders, how his lips curled into an infuriatingly smug grin, how his eyes glinted when they dipped down to her lips-

"You 're an ass," she stated dryly, and before he could react, she kissed him.

Fíli might have been stronger, but Sigrid knew how to have the last word.

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**Notes: Personally I think Bilbo was lucky he didn't have to keep up with Dwalin or Bombur drinking. Can you imagine? Kíli is quite the light weight in my mind, though he probably wouldn't appreciate that… He won anyways, so that can't be held against me.**

**Also, the reason Sigrid didn't know that little detail didn't really fit into the story, so I'll explain here:**

**I imagined that one of the dwarven wedding preparations would have been to have a sort of "the talk" with the bride. Bard would have tried (without knowing about the Fortnight, he would find out much, much later, much to Fíli's horror and Kíli's amusement) but been cut off with an embarrassed "Seriously, Da, it's alright" because she had heard enough from all the girls in Laketown.**

**And the dwarven lady who helped her prepare for the traditional stuff might not have mentioned it because Sigrid seemed quite calm and assured about it all… Or because maybe Kíli might have said she already knew about the finer details. Maybe. He might snort into his porridge the first time he sees the happily married couple again, and everyone is left wondering why the happy new husband so clumsily dropped tea in his brother's lap… Ah yes, happy families.**


	3. Do I Know You?

**Notes: This is very short. I have ideas for lots of stuff, but I was sick the last week and needed the energy to get back into normal existence mode :D**

**A sort of Reincarnation AU drabble.**

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It's a horrid rainy day and people push past others without looking each other in the eye as people in the city are wont to do and he is nearly run over by a car that doesn't deign to turn the lights on even in this flood. He angrily thinks to himself how having a wizard to make the rain go away might actually come in handy.

"If they were useful enough for changing the weather, that is," he mutters to himself, not acknowledging the strange thought that's come out of nowhere like always. It's been like that since he can remember and the less he thinks about having strange random thoughts about wizards or adventures he never was on, the less he'll worry he's crazy.

Forcing the garish red and white umbrella his brother bought him lower to stop the water from spraying on his face, he circumvents a stream of water coming down from the marquise of a shop. He's already late for an appointment with his Uncle, he doesn't need the work he put into his hair to run down on his face in small rivulets on to his suit on top of that (also Uncle will kill him if he turns up anything less than immaculate).

An impact on his shoulders jerks him out of his thoughts. "Oh, sorry." A clear voice apologises, he can only see soft lips from under where their umbrellas are caught on each other. After a moment of struggling on both parts they spring apart and the momentum dips the umbrella far enough for him to see a fine impish nose and big eyes and hair like burnished gold before the umbrella is in place again. She throws him an apologetic look over her scarf. "Sorry again."

"It's no trouble," he says in a voice unfamiliar to his own ears and she quickly looks at him and then she starts moving again, but there's something utterly wrong about that and why is his heart racing like that-

He can't breathe. A river seems to be rushing through his ears and he can't breathe. With sheer willpower he forces himself to _function_ again and the air in his lungs leaves him abruptly.

"Sigrid."

The young woman, barely two steps past him, whirls around with wide eyes, searching frantically until she stops on him. Her disbelief is so blatant he wants to turn around and walk away and pretend he never said something he didn't know was in his head. But another part shakes him into staying, no, he is not a coward, he will stand through whatever is happening, he will not run.

"What did you just call me?" She takes a tiny step closer, just enough for him to see the agitated light in her blue eyes.

"Si- Sigrid." The name stumbles out of his mouth this time, he has to physically force himself to say it, this is crazy, what is he even doing-

"There's only one person who's ever called me that." Her voice is shaky in a manner that he just knows is all sorts of wrong. It should be clear and confident, not shaky, not fragile like that. A line is wedged between her delicate eyebrows now, darkening the frantic light in her eyes for a moment. "Do you know who that person is?" she demands to know of him and he's quite sure he would laugh if there wasn't that strange squeeze in his chest, because no one, no one ever just demands something from a Donarson. "No," he admits with a tightening of the squeezing, not being able to look away from her eyes, those sea on a stormy day eyes.

She sighs, "Me neither. I always wake up before I see…" They don't move, just gazing at each other in search of something that has to be there, an explanation for that strange understanding he can see reflected in her eyes and-

"Victoria!"

She flinches, he takes a step back, it's broken, this, that moment or whatever they just had. There's a tall woman beside her suddenly, shaking her red-haired head. "Vic, where were you? I- Oh!" She looks between them, a small smile appearing on her lips. "And who is that?" Her tone and arched eyebrows clearly implicate there's teasing to come for the shorter woman, if the blush blossoming on her cheeks isn't enough indication. He's not sure why that makes a warm feeling emerge in his chest.

"I don't believe we've met." The light tone slightly shakes him out of his stupor, but not enough to answer quickly.

"Fíli."

His attention snaps back to her.

"His name's Fíli." She looks surprised at herself, like someone who just remembered something very important and isn't quite sure how they forgot something important like that in the first place. Her eyes don't look like stormy sea, he realises, it's sun on a lake. He opens his mouth to correct her, that's not actually his name, but, _but _he called her Sigrid earlier and it's just so right on his tongue and he can feel something actually shift in himself and snap back into place even though he never knew it was askew in the first place. "Yes," he finds himself saying in astonishment to Sigrid, "I am Fíli."

The other woman says something about an event at the place they both work at and he finds himself invited and agreeing to it but he doesn't look away from that blue gaze, a deep lake reflecting a majestic mountain and as they walk away he clings to the odd feeling of his heart thundering like rocks crashing against each other in a fight of stone giants.

That night, he dreams of swords and forges and the sun rising over the top of a snow-gilded mountain and wakes with the taste of hope on his lips.

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**Notes:**

**Sigrid comes from Old Icelandic/Norse, apparently (I found both and have no idea what the difference might be linguistically, so sorry if it's wrong ^^°). According to Wiki: Sigrid = _Sigr_ (victory) + _fríðr_ (beautiful)**

**Also, the name „Durin" (and „Thorin") are very similar to the many variations of Thor/Tor/Dunar/Donner/Donar, who is the god with the hammer, hence Fíli's name . A bit cheesy maybe, but I think it fits.**

**Question: What kind of AUs do you get excited about? Sci-fi, college, coffee shop, bookstore, western, super spy, steampunk,…?**


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