You and the other dwarves continued to search the halls of Erebor for the Arkenstone to no effect. Either the Heart of the Mountain had been found already, or it would never be found again. Still, Thorin insisted on a brutal schedule that included searching for the stone and blocking the entrance to Erebor, all the while growing madder than ever over his treasure hoard. He guarded the gold zealously with eyes glazed by dragon sickness. He occasionally raved about betrayal after hours of fruitless searching through the piles, most frequently accusing you of finding the Arkenstone and keeping it for yourself. The only ones brave enough to speak to him still were Balin, Bilbo, Dwalin, and Fili, and only they could talk him out of killing you for betrayal on the spot.

You avoided the king at all costs.

Ori grew fonder and fonder of the Rhosgobels, and always offered to keep an eye on them while you were on your shift in the great hall. The other dwarves seemed to like the rabbits more as they grew used to them. Even Kili occasionally greeted them with friendly pats on the head if he came upon you with them in the kitchen.

The longer you spent with the dwarves, the more you liked them. They were so different from Gandalf or Radagast, with their raucous manner and rough demeanors. You learned that they were a proud bunch, prouder even than elves, with a rich heritage, which they were more than glad to share with you for hours and hours on end. You learned a great deal about the famed Durin, and how Erebor came to be, and even some of the company's favorite historic battles. The dwarves were overjoyed by your fascination with their culture, but sometimes they took it a little too far, and you would find yourself falling asleep in the middle of their tales out of sheer exhaustion. They were gracious about those occasions, laughing at their own folly and shooing you off to bed with good-natured smiles.

But you did not see much of Fili. He seemed vastly busy with the search for the Arkenstone, and with the duties his uncle placed upon him as heir to the throne of Erebor. He would smile at you as you passed in the halls, or he would work alongside you during your shift, but other than that, he was otherwise engaged. You tried not to feel neglected, but you missed his presence and conversation. Though dwarf history was fascinating, you could use an occasional change in topic.

Sometimes, if you found you could not sleep, you would take one of the Rhosgobels for an exploratory walk through the maze-like halls of Erebor. It was on one of these midnight walks that you found your way to a richly-decorated wing, with torches blazing in the gilded sconces that lined the walls. Cedar, the rabbit accompanying you on that night's wanderings, hopped ahead of you into the light, then froze, ears swiveling nervously. You stilled and followed suit, listening hard for what had startled your Rhosgobel. "What is it, Cedar?" You whispered. Your words echoed in the hall, making the skin on the back of your neck crawl. You did not expect the answer you received.

"The rabbit hears a friend." A voice croaked in Ravenstongue from somewhere over your head, the source hidden in the shadows that the light from torches could not reach. You shuddered. Cedar thumped his foot on the stone floor, his ears stilling at the sound of the grating voice.

Could it be? You had heard the stories of the raven chiefs of Erebor, messengers and servants of the King Under the Mountain, but you had not believed them to still be alive, or to have found their way back to Erebor with the rest of the ravens.

"Is the rabbit-friend also a friend of mine?" You asked the voice in the same language.

A long pause, then a croaking reply, "If she is a friend of Erebor, she shall be my friend, too."

Before you could respond, the soft flutter of wings warned you as the raven swooped down from above and landed on the ground before you, sending Cedar scuttling to the wall. He was an old, decrepit thing. His feathers were graying around his beak, and he had bald patches on his chest and back. A scar crossed one wing, making it unshapely. Yet he bore himself with the pride equal to the dwarven king's as he studied you with one beady black eye. "How did she come to speak Ravenstongue?" The raven asked as you knelt to reassure Cedar.

"My guardian is fond of birds," you replied.

A cawing sound from the raven. "She answers in riddles, this friend. Will she speak plainly?"

You smiled. "I grew up under the care of Radagast the Brown. He taught me the ways of many creatures, and among my learning was the language of your kind."

"Ah, Radagast!" The raven flapped his wings. "Our brown friend taught her well! And is she a wizard herself?"

You laughed. "Goodness, no. I have no capacity for magic."

The raven made a scarping sound in his throat that could have passed as a laugh. "All have capacity. Few have ability."

You refrained from rolling your eyes at the old bird.

Before you could continue speaking with the raven, heavy steps echoed in the hall behind you, and Thorin shouted, "Roäc!" You shot to the edge of the hall, much like Cedar had earlier. The king spoke again in Ravenstongue, "Leave the foolish girl alone and come here! I have an errand for you."

Thorin drew closer, and Roäc landed on the king's shoulder with a quick sweep of his wings. The king stopped and fixed his maddened gaze on you. "And Y/N! What are you doing in the royal wing?" He hissed, this time in Westron. "Have you come to steal what is rightfully mine?"

You started. "No! I was exploring and I, uh, I guess I got lost." You finished in a whisper, cowering back as Thorin stepped forward menacingly, his hands clenching to fists at his side.

"Do not hurt rabbit-friend!" The bird croaked in the king's ear. "Leave her and tell Roäc this errand."

You looked down as Thorin hesitated, then skulked away. Had he heard you speaking with the raven? You hoped not. For some reason, you felt that the less Thorin knew of you, the safer you were in his mountain. These were dangerous times, and you wondered if Thorin was not the most dangerous of all. You shuddered and left the wing, heading in the opposite direction Thorin had. You made your way toward your room, but you could hear the dwarves' nervous chatter from the direction of Erebor's entrance. You lifted Cedar into your arms, his head bobbing over your shoulder like a child's, and made your way to the rampart over the entrance, where the company was clustered.

Pink and orange graced the winter clouds as night began its transformation to day. You smiled at the sight, glad night was over, but it was not the sunrise that the dwarves were murmuring about. You followed their worried gestures to the army of elves that approached Dale, led by a tall figure on an elk.

"This cannot be good," you muttered. Balin, who stood next to you, heard you and turned.

"I fear it isn't, lass. Those elves will be the start of something I fear we may not be equipped for. They'll have a request or two for our king, which will not be granted, unless Thorin's mood has greatly improved."

You winced, remembering your encounter not long ago. "I don't think it has," you said, glancing to the far side of the rampart. Thorin launched Roäc into the air from his forearm, and you watched the bird sail into the horizon.

"Y/N!" Fili noticed your presence on the wall. "What are you doing here? Get back inside!" His eyes darted between you, the rider on the horizon, and his uncle, worry lining his brow. He took you by the upper arm and turned you back toward the mountain.

"Fili, what's going on?" You asked, resisting his grip only slightly.

"It's not safe for you here." He led you inside and down the stairs to the dim entryway before he set a firm hand on your shoulder. "My uncle is unstable, and I need to know you won't be hurt if he loses his temper. "

"I'll be fine, I just want to know--"

He squeezed your shoulder gently, his blue eyes softening. "It is King Thranduil and the elves of Mirkwood. He wants something from this mountain as much as the people of Laketown need the treasure to rebuild. Allied, they will fear Thorin less. They will send someone with a request."

Your eyes widened. "And Thorin will deny them," you whispered.

Fili nodded his head. "He will be dangerous now, even more than he has been." He stroked Cedar's head as the rabbit moved in your arms, watching you steadily. "Stay here, at least, until we know more."

You wanted to say something, anything, to reassure him, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you nodded and reached out to squeeze his free hand with your own. He returned the squeeze with a grim smile and returned to the rampart.

This would be an eventful day.

A/N: Phew. This chapter is longer, and it took a lot of editing. Glad I made it through! Information time: Westron is the common language of Middle Earth, and canonically Roäc speaks Westron. However, it's a little cooler for this story's purpose to have the ravens speak another language entirely that only the royal family of dwarves know (and you, of course). This little detail will come up again, and will help build something I've got planned for later, so bear with me.

Real question: did you guys like the Fili POV thing? I'm writing a few chapters right now that I'm considering doing from his perspective again, and I know you guys aren't big on comments, but please let me know on this one?

As always, I look forward to reading your comments, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, please give it a vote! Thank you so much for reading. Be looking forward to some really good Fili action next chapter!
--RA