As soon as Saeril watched her youngest godson leave the living room, she quickly looked herself in a mirror nearby, and gazed upon her reflection. Ever since Thorin Oakenshield stepped a foot into her sights, the she-elf felt a wave of nostalgia start crashing back to her as she looked upon her own reflection: the battle of Moria...Azog...Smaug...the screams...Gandalf...Fili....Kili. The warping sounds were all coming so fast, out of nowhere, she suddenly punched the glass. Even after she did, Saeril gasped at the damage of such action, looking at the shattered remnants in horror. It was eating at her; the past darkness inside of her. 

Fili honestly figured that Kili was still with their godmother, even when his uncle asked him. He didn't immediately answer, and a little bit of hesitation did bite him. He knew Thorin's disgust for elves, and entirely reserved and devoted he was, he didn't want Delva to face such humiliation. She was to be welcomed warmly acceptable. Before he even could follow his uncle, he felt the hand of his brother stop him from moving. "What about Delva? What's wrong?", he asked him, clearly worried for her.