The courtroom was stuffed with people, both sitting on the benches and standing by the walls. They were mostly locals, a mix of Dwarves and Men, but in the farthest corner stood a small group of newcomers, silently observing everything that happened. Thorin could clearly make out from his place in the front of the hall, facing the crowds, the hatred in their eyes when looking upon one of his people. He'd much like to pay them the same disrespect, but he had to keep his temper as the court proceedings were read aloud by Thaemir, the Human town master of Ewardor.

Thorin barely listened. His head was throbbing with tire. But he was focused, only not on Thaemir's words. He was trying to wrap his head around that Bofur, who he was here to represent and defend, was sitting in the chair as a suspect of having started a bar fight. Thorin had known Bofur and his brothers all their lives. They used to babysit his nephews and still took them out to hunt from time to time. Bofur was not someone who'd throw a punch without a very good reason. That, and the fact that Bofur was pretty beaten up while the newcomer who he was supposed to have fought hadn't a scratch on him, had Thorin convinced there was something off about the whole thing.

Next to Bofur sat Dwalin and looked up at his king. He caught Thorin's eye and confirmed wordlessly that they shared the same suspicions. Thorin had not yet been briefed on exactly what had happened last night. He had been home trying to talk to Kíli after the youngest Durin had marched through the door at midnight without as much as an explanation to where he'd been and why he looked like he'd seen a ghost. So many things seemed to be going on in the city right now, and Thorin felt that his presence was needed everywhere. He wanted to make sure Kíli was okay, but this was more urgent at the moment.

Darird gave his statement on what had happened at the Red Ranger Inn the night before, and he wasn't late on naming witnesses, all of which were newcomers, who could confirm that all guilt fall on the dwarf-scum as he so coldly named Bofur. The middle-aged Dwarf only looked at the Man, shaking his head in shocked disagreement. Darird spoke as if re-telling a story, not the events of a fight while affected by alcohol. Bofur's version of the story, only confirmed by Dwalin who had been there to pull the younger Dwarf from Darird's choke hold, was more true to reality. Both he and Darird had had too much to drink, and when accidentally bumping into the newcomer while on his way out, Bofur had been thrown halfway across the room by the bulky Man and then attacked. He'd tried to defend himself but more people joined in and eventually Bofur had found himself on the floor with Darird's hands around his throat.

Darird interrupted Bofur in mid-sentence, standing up and pointing a finger at the Dwarf. "You speak only lies, you insolent…!"

Thaemir signaled to his Men to keep Darird down, and the newcomer sat down again, muttering something about getting revenge. Dwalin needed but a hand on Bofur's shoulder to make the Dwarf relax and remain quiet.

"You have done nothing wrong, Bofur," said the older Dwarf reassuringly. "We'll see this through-"

Suddenly, the doors to the court hall flew open with a loud bang and everybody silenced at once. A helmeted Dwarf rider astride a sweaty, dirty pony rode straight through room and stopped in front of a very surprised Thaemir. The puffing Dwarf removed his helmet, letting out a soaked load of thin braids the same ashen color as the braided beard, and bowed to each of the court members, and just slightly deeper for his king, Thorin.

"What's this?" asked Thaemir, annoyed at having his court meeting be interrupted. "Who are you?"

Thorin recognized the face of his kin at first sight. "This is Híri," he introduced the Dwarf while Híri still tried to catch his breath. "He's of the Durin's Folk, a swords-master in the service of Drebur in Narendor."

"Oh," said Thaemir softly and gave Híri a nod. "And what may a swords-master from Narendor find so important he must march into the court unexpected?"

"I'm-" Híri took a deep breath to be able to speak up. "I bring an urgent message from the Durin's Folk representative of Narendor for Thorin Oakenshield." Then he turned his full attention to Thorin, giving him a very distressed look. "A very urgent message."

Thorin frowned. Then he turned to meet Thaemir's light brown gaze and asked for permission to let the court rest for just a few minutes. Thaemir was not pleased, but granted the request with a nod of his head. Thorin turned to Híri. "Go on."

"I am to inform the king of our people that a total number of eighteen members of the Durin's Folk have gone missing over the past few days from within Narendor's borders. My lord Drebur has requested your presence and your help."

A shadow moved in the darkness outside the stable doors, revealing to the brothers that their uncle was still within hearing range. Fíli shot Kíli a worried look. Thorin had barely spoken a word after telling his family about Híri's message, a constant frown upon his face. Fíli and Kíli knew that he was troubled, and wanted to disturb him as little as they could while still being helpful.

Kíli took the reins from his brother and led the brown pony outside to where Thorin was waiting. The older Dwarf tightened his chest belt from which his sword hung heavy. From the waist belt hung a small dagger. Although there wasn't much light, the hilt of an axe could be seen behind Thorin's coat. Kíli eyed this piece of weaponry, worry in the younger's thoughts. These disappearances were disturbing enough without his uncle needing this many weapons for a simple search and rescue. There was something that Thorin was not telling them, of that he was sure.

"I do not know how long I'll be gone," said Thorin matter-of-factly. He took the reins that Kíli held out and briefly inspected his nephews' work before mounting. Minty remained calm and still, completely used to Thorin's weight on her back. "I will send a message when I find Ori, I promise."

They said goodbye and Kíli walked back towards the stable. He looked back questioningly when Fíli did not follow him, but when neither his brother nor uncle said anything, Kíli frowned just slightly and vanished into the stable.

"Are you sure you won't need me, uncle?" asked Fíli gravely when sure that Kíli could no longer hear him. He tried not to sound pleading, for he knew that this mission would need grown and able Dwarves, not younglings eager to prove themselves. He did not know which of these Thorin considered him, or Kíli, to be.

"Just stay here and keep an eye on your mother and Kíli for me. Keep him away from those newcomers. There's something not right about them. I will not have either of you getting into a fight with them like Bofur did, understood?"

Fíli buried his disappointment, but shouldered the responsibility put on him with pride. "Understood."

With that, Thorin rode off towards the city to join with Dwalin and his party. Fíli looked at his disappearing silhouette for just a moment before he walked back into the stable, unaware that his little brother had heard every single word they'd spoken from inside.

They finished up cleaning the stable and Minty's box in silence. Kíli shot angry glances at his brother when the elder's back was turned. He felt betrayed. How could their uncle have asked Fíli to keep an eye on him like as if he was some worthless Dwarfling who could not take care of himself?

"He doesn't have the right to tell me who I can and can't meet," Kíli thought furiously. "He is not my father!"

He hated himself for thinking like that, but for the moment he was just too upset not to. Not only had his uncle said those things - his own brother had agreed to them. They did everything together, never hid anything from one another. Yet now Fíli was standing there rinsing Minty's water bucket without saying anything of what Thorin had told him.

Kíli put away the pitchfork he'd used to bring hay to the other ponies and stormed out the stable as calmly as he could manage. "I'll be right back," he lied when Fíli asked where he was going. Actually he planned to let Fíli finish the stable chores by himself since he thought Kíli couldn't handle himself anyway.

It was quite warm out tonight - even the winds were warm. No cool breeze to help calm Kíli down, no Thorin to play mature and deliberate in front of, no Fíli to express his feelings to. He could let his emotions out with some archery, but then he'd have to fetch his bow and arrows inside, and he'd have to lie to his mother when she asked if they were done in the stable. He would not let his annoyance go out on her.

Something behind him caught his attention. He stopped in mid-pace, startled by the sound that had been almost like a whisper. He spun around, searching for the source of it.

"Kíli."

Louder this time, he could make out the voice. It came from the road, but he couldn't see anyone. He knew he'd heard that voice somewhere before.

"Kíli!"

Dariah.

Almost as if she knew he'd guessed it was her, Dariah came out from behind the tree where she had been hidden. She was wearing a dark cape that made her almost invisible against the dark surroundings, and underneath it a masculine rider's outfit almost entirely made of leather. Her eyes stood out brightly now that he knew it was her, blue like an ocean in a shadowed face.

The sound of Fíli working in the stable awakened Kíli from the shock of Dariah's sudden appearance, but they were too far away for Fíli to hear them whispering.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, smiling as he was happy to see her.

Dariah looked suspiciously towards the stable for a short moment, then turned back to Kíli and held out her gloved hand to the surprised Dwarf. "Come with me. I must show you something."

Kíli's heart skipped a beat and his youthful curiosity set in. For the briefest of moments he hesitated, knowing that him disappearing this late at night would worry his mother. If Thorin wasn't on his way to Narendor at the moment, he'd definitely disapprove. But Kíli was still enraged by what they had said about him. He could very well take care of himself. Dariah was not a bad person, she was kind and friendly. She was nothing like the newcomers who had attacked Bofur. She wouldn't go uninvited into a garden in the middle of the night. She wasn't Beidon.

He looked at her outstretched hand, considered the offering. She smiled so kindly, her eyes glistening with excitement and reflecting his own curiosity. She seemed to read him again, willing him to come with her.

He suddenly realized that he liked this woman.

He stepped forward and took her hand. She pulled him onto the road and headed away from Ewardor and the Durin home, Kíli following her as best as he could. He felt a rush of adrenalin in his veins, his heart beating faster. His dark clothes and raven hair gave him cover in the darkness the same way Dariah's cloak concealed her. They were but shadows running down the path, passed houses and gardens. Kíli wondered if he'd made the right choice, remembering what his uncle had told him about the newcomers, but seeing Dariah - tall, beautiful and so enchanting - he just felt so happy. He couldn't wrap his head around when he'd started longing for her company so much - they'd barely known each other for two days. There was just something about her that pulled him in. She was…

… choking him?

"What is happening!? Dariah!"

He was thinking those desperate calls, but no sound could escape his throat. The scene had changed so fast he could barely make out where he was anymore. The ground had been swept away from underneath his feet, all air forced out of his lungs. It burned his chest to try and breath and it was hopeless. It felt like he was flying, but at the same time his torso was being crushed like as if caught underneath a landslide. He tried to get free, but his arms were stuck to his sides. His forehead hurt, the scalp feeling like it was being pulled off his scull. Sight was a matter of definition - he could see, but what he saw was only darkness and dim light in a spinning blur.

"I'm being attacked. Held up in the air. Dariah. Is she okay? Are they hurting her!?"

He fought harder, only to be crushed even more by whoever the strong arms that held him up belonged to. All of a sudden, his mouth and throat were forced wide open. He pulled a rasping breath, filling his lungs with much-needed air. The relief was brief, though. Something was poured down his throat, and it burned. Oh, it burned so bad, like liquid fire streaming slowly over his tongue and down into his chest. The pain was white hot, blinding him with excruciating pain. He wanted to scream but his vocal cords had caught fire.

"Make it stop! Please, Mahal, make it stop!" he pleaded voicelessly.

Something or someone headed his prayers. In a flash, all pain numbed away and he felt for a second's eternity that he was falling before everything went black.