41Love – A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
One Day Earlier…
Kíli slowly lowered himself down onto the bench beneath Bard the Bargeman's window, drawing in a sharp breath of air through tightly clenched teeth as he moved.
When the arrow had first pierced through Kíli's skin, the intense, burning pain of the assault had literally brought the young prince onto his knees. He had never been severely injured like this before – let alone shot – and he had not anticipated the complications that would undoubtedly follow, shortly thereafter. Despite his natural decline in health, however, Kíli began to suspect that the goblin's arrow may have caused far more devastation than he or Óin originally had suspected.
And he knew, without seeing, that the condition of his injury was undeniably worse than before.
Once Kíli had adjusted himself into a somewhat comfortable position he flicked his eyes tentatively down onto the bloodied cloth at his thigh, flinching with anticipation. With hands that quivered, he reached forward to press at the tender skin around the wound, terrified to discover that the color of his fingers had morphed into a deathly, greyish hue. And, as if this sight weren't alarming enough, Kíli began to identify a list of other disturbing changes that were shifting throughout his body; his lips were dry and cracked, his body was uncontrollably vibrating, and unprovoked sweat beads were producing along the dark hairline of his brow.
The young prince wrapped his arms protectively around himself, hoping beyond hope that none of his companions had caught wind of his worsening condition. They were so close to the end of their journey. They were so close to achieving their goal. They were so damned close to Erebor. Kíli couldn't risk the chance of halting their progression; or worse, being left behind…
As if on cue, Kíli's ears twitched in response to the sound of creaking floorboards as they shifted loudly beneath large, retreating feet.
The dwarf prince glanced up, catching a glimpse of the puzzled and disturbed look that flashed across Bard the Bargeman's face as he rushed for the door. Bard's son, Bain, ran quickly after his father, pulling the door slightly ajar while poking his unkempt head of hair through the narrowed breach with concern.
"Don't let them leave!" Bard warned in a sibilant whisper, loud enough for Kíli to gather.
"But, Da-" Bain's shaky assertion fell upon def ears, answered only by the sounds of heavy strides as Bard escaped down the stairwell. Bain discreetly re-entered the home while shutting the door quietly behind him; his adolescent face a picture of absolute confusion.
Kíli watched with amusement as Bain then studied each dwarf, in turn, clearly terrified. When the boy's sea-green eyes eventually flicked onto Kíli, the dwarf prince kindly offered him a small, reassuring smile, paired with a wink. Bain managed to smile back; though it was an awkward, uncertain kind of smile that left Kíli feeling… oddly sympathetic.
"Where has your father gone?" Inquired Thorin, drawing their attentions. Kíli flinched as his uncle shuffled aggressively forward, glaring at Bain with an adamant demand buried deep within his fierce blue eyes.
"He's… he'll return." Bain responded in a small voice, swallowing nervously as his feet shuffled backwards. As the boy recoiled, his heels buckled loudly against the base of the door and his palms flattened to brace him.
"Where has he gone?" Thorin repeated, louder.
Kíli began to stand, despite the pain that met him halfway through the motion; but it was Fíli who ultimately rushed forward to Bain's aid. The blonde-headed dwarf placed a firm hand upon Thorin's shoulder, pulling him slightly backwards while deliberately interrupting the tense interaction.
"He doesn't know, Thorin." Fíli mumbled, voice subdued and calm.
The King of Durin let out a thwarted, angry growl while shrugging Fíli's hand away. He then turned towards Balin and Dwalin with an exasperated expression, folding his arms indignantly across his broad chest, pairing the motion with a hefty sigh.
Kíli frowned, steeling a perceptive glance towards his brother. He and Fíli were well accustomed to Thorin's stern, fatherly approaches; though it never failed to unnerve them when his tempter began to rise.
As a stubborn dwarf of youth, Kíli was occasionally successful in disgruntling Thorin; whether it was a result of his smart-mouthed comments or as a consequence of his tenacious actions. And, much like clockwork, Fíli would always come to his younger brother's rescue, calming the hot-headed King of Durin down each and every time the tensions rose.
It was well-known among the Company that, of the two, Fíli had an approach with Thorin that no other dwarf could match. Kíli had deduced, over the years, that Thorin's respect for Fíli was a long-established admiration; developed sometime after Frerin's death. Frerin, who was Thorin's younger brother, had died sixty years before Fíli had been born; but Frerin and Fíli's uncanny resemblance was an unshakable view for Thorin, and a truth that often worked in the elder heir's favor.
When the tensions within the house had finally settled, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin began grumbling and bickering in hushed, secretive tones, discussing bold ploys that Kíli felt inclined to ignore. He knew, without hearing, that his uncle was attempting to devise a plan of escape; despite the dangers that they had all been cautioned about by Bard. Such was the style of Thorin Oakenshield; lead the Company into arduous situations and then devise rash, foolhardy ploys of liberation.
"Bain, isn't it?" Fíli suddenly inquired of the boy, a gentle caution held within his voice.
"Aye," the boy nodded, unmoving from his position against the door.
"Do not look so fearful. You have no enemies here, Bain." Continued Fíli with a sincerity that eased the child's rearing apprehensions.
Kíli detected a jittery movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced toward the activity to behold the Bargeman's two daughters standing nervously within the kitchen. They both appeared to be repulsed by their unexpected house guests, much like their brother. Kíli observed the way that their young eyes darted turbulently between the thirteen dwarves, and he was strangely overcome with a foreign urge to comfort them.
The dwarf prince shifted himself atop the bench, taking care to shield his bleeding wound with the cloth of his tunic, then offered the girls a small smile while leaning haltingly towards them. "What are your names?"
Two sets of sea-green eyes shot towards him warily.
The youngest child tilted her nose upward to briefly stare at her sister, querying permission. When the eldest daughter gave the child no look of opposition she glanced back down onto Kíli and spoke softly. "I'm Tilda…" she paused to hook her thumb up and over her head towards the taller sibling, "and she's Sigrid."
"Tilda and Sigrid." Kíli echoed, eyes brimming with warmth despite his chilled demeanor. He remembered a time, long ago, when he and Fíli were about their ages; only the dwarf brothers were far more inane than these two virtuous children appeared to be. "Those are lovely names. I'm Kíli…" he started, pausing for a span as the bench creaked loudly beneath him in reaction to Fíli settling in alongside him. The princes exchanged short glances of acknowledgement before Kíli continued, "and this is Fíli."
Fíli offered the sisters a cordial smile, placing his right elbow atop his knee and resting his chin within the palm of his hand. He then spared a moment to assimilate Kíli's appearance; his cool composure marginally drifting as he noticed the fading color within his brother's face. Kíli shied away from Fíli's inspection, anticipating his blonde counterpart to begin the protective-older-brother-inquiries at any moment.
"You don't look well."
Mahal…
"You don't look well." Kíli shot back, hoping that his taunting banter would quiet Fíli's growing concerns.
"Kee."
"Fee."
Fíli jerked his head up and away from his palm and inhaled slowly, drawing patience into his lungs. His sapphire colored eyes then narrowed down onto Kíli's hidden leg as his bearded jawline noticeably tightened. With a heavy respire, Fíli motioned towards the wound, demanding the inevitable, "show me your leg."
"It's fine."
"Show me."
"It's fine."
"Are you brothers?" Asked Sigrid, taking a few steps forward while ushering Tilda along.
The dwarf princes shifted their attentions onto the girls, snapping immediately out of their firm altercation, each brother finding the inquiry to be both alarming and bemusing. Was their kinship not obvious?
Bain moved to his sister's sides, placing himself firmly alongside Tilda, and Kíli examined the trio's soft, innocent features more precisely. The sibling's identical sandy-brown hair and glassy, sea-green eyes gave them all a childlike and pure semblance, igniting a pang of remorse within Kíli's conscience.
Our quest does not belong among innocent human children, he mused.
"Unfortunately for me, yes." Fíli answered Sigrid with a frown, compelling Kíli to shoot him a look of phony consternation. "He's quite clumsy."
"I may be clumsy," Kíli countered, lowering the timbre of his voice into a soft whisper, "but I'm not the one that was dropped on my head as a child."
"Pay him no mind, he's just desirous." Said Fíli. He then reached over and pat the short, dark stubble along Kíli's narrow jawline, while using his other hand to stroke down the long, blonde bristles that protruded proudly from his own chin. "Perhaps if you had been dropped on your head as a child, you would be capable of growing a divine, glorious beard as well."
The girls and Bain all giggled, which caused several other dwarves to glance upon them with suspicion.
Kíli smacked his brother's hand away with a weak, unsteady arm as he suppressed a shuttering chill, and he casually shrugged off Fíli's icy blue stare as it pressed with concern into the side of his paling face. Once the children's laughter had quieted down Kíli pointed to the left side of Tilda's head, anxious for an excuse to defer Fíli's pressing stare.
"Did you know that there's something hidden within your ear, m'lady?" Inquired Kíli, shifting ever-so-slightly away from his brother.
Tilda straightened and beamed, bringing her fingers in and around the outside of her left ear to search for the fictional object. After a span, she pressed her lips together before demanding, "where?"
"Come here, I'll fetch it." Kíli said, motioning for her to step forward.
Without hesitation, the Bargeman's youngest daughter took a large step forward as her curiosity triumphed over any of her previous apprehensions.
Once she was within arm's reach of him, Kíli slipped his hand down into the deepest corner of his pocket and shifted his mother's rune stone up into the sleeve of his tunic. He then reached his hand up towards Tilda's ear, masking the token from her inquiring eyes. Then, once Tilda appeared to be quite certain that Kíli had been terribly mistaken, the dwarf prince protruded the stone up into his hand and 'pulled' the object out of her ear, shooting her a startled look.
Tilda's eyes widened with disbelief as Sigrid and Bain beamed with amusement alongside her. Her young, innocent face lit up with wonder as she mouthed, "how…"
Kíli twisted and rolled the token in and around his fingertips, then quirked an eyebrow as he dropped the stone back into the safety of his pocket.
"Magic." Fíli answered from Kíli's side, nudging him gently.
"Are you… small wizards?" Tilda inquired while groping the skin around her ear, determined to uncover obscured holes within the side of her head. Fíli chuckled alongside Kíli, leaning his back against the wall while shaking his yellow head of hair with merriment.
"No," Kíli answered with a shrug. An image of Gandalf, the wizard who had accompanied them during most of their long and tiring journey, immediately sprang forth within his mind. "But we do know a wizard! He wears a big, pointed hat and a long grey robe."
"He carries a tall staff, too." Fíli added, now fully engrossed within the conversation.
"Does he use magic as well?" Asked Tilda, her eyes alight with awe.
"In a way." Said Kíli, crinkling his nose as he considered her inquiry. Gandalf's "magic" was more accurately described as knowledge, rather than tricks; but this knowledge had proven time and again to be the most valuable weapon that the old, wise wizard possessed.
If only Gandalf and his "magic" were here now… Kíli thought, beginning to wonder if his dire outcome would have changed if the wizard were still around. And yet, a small part of Kíli whispered, he didn't truly want a different outcome…
He swallowed thickly as an image of tender green eyes and long, crimson hair flashed across his mind, reminding him of low-lit chambers and a small prison cell.
Kíli shook his head, banishing his wandering thoughts, and glanced down towards his injured leg as it throbbed with a single shot of pain; and his stomach coiled with fear as he realized that the tunic had shifted during his short game with Tilda. The dwarf prince immediately scrambled to cover the sight of his leg before the children could view it – Mahal forbid, it might frighten them – but his efforts were ill-fated.
"Are you badly injured?" Asked Sigrid, furrowing her brow in a perturbed manner as Kíli's flustered, greying hands reached out to cover the wound.
Kíli hesitated, swallowing a lump as it gathered within his throat. His broad shoulders then heaved forward as Fíli dropped a heavy, reassuring arm across them, squeezing his younger brother into a warm and comforting embrace. They sat, unmoving and silent, as Kíli's mind began to reel with dread.
He thought of a time when he was a very young child, living beneath the protection of the Blue Mountains, and a traveling tradesman had happened upon their city seeking immediate aid. The man had been ambushed by orc's, and Kíli could remember the image of a poorly-crafted black arrow embedded deeply within the traveler's arm. To this day, Kíli could still hear the man's screams as darkness had descended, and his blood-curdling shriek of "fire in my veins" over, and over, and over, and over again, until the screaming had eventually stopped.
"Nah," Kíli encouraged them at length, chasing the memory away, "it takes a lot more than a goblin's arrow to conquer a dwarf."
Or does it?
Moments later, a rush of searing pain flowed up from the wound, coursing like a fire throughout Kíli's weakening body. The raven-haired dwarf leaned heavily against his brother's chest while stifling the urge to cry out in torment.
Fire in my veins, fire in my veins, fire in my veins…
Once the pain had subsided Kíli opened his tear-filled eyes and glanced nervously onto the children, concerned that his painful episode may have frightened them.
"Kee…" Fíli started, voice trembling with fear. Kíli's soft, brown eyes flashed up into his brother's sapphire gaze, and his heart immediately sank. He knew that look, all too well. It was a look that he had received many times throughout his life; and it was a look that only Fíli would give him. Even their mother, who constantly worried about her sons on a day-in and day-out basis, could not compete with Fíli and his protective nature over his younger brother.
"It's not fair." Said Kíli, voice shaking as he winced.
"What?" Fíli breathed, quirking an eyebrow.
Kíli released a terse breath of air while averting his eyes down onto the wooden floor. "When will I have the opportunity to worry about you?" He asked in a teasing tone; though, he truly wished that day would never come.
Present Day...
Love hurt.
Kíli understood the reality of this now, more than ever, as he sat with an unwavering devotion at Fíli's injured side.
The raven-haired prince had lost count of the amount of times that he had attempted to glance up at Fíli's sickly face – with his skin ashen and his body overspread from head-to-toe in injuries and bruises – and had been immediately overcome with a grief so unimaginable that his stomach would physically coil in pain. After a while, Kíli had resolved to keeping his gaze down while pressing his head heavily into the palms of his hands as a means to avoid such feelings.
The King's chambers within Erebor were absent of all sound, save for the crackling and popping of the blazes that danced within the fireplace and surrounding wall torches, and the calmness within that quiet had forced Kíli to acknowledge his own terrible conditions.
His throat burned. His head pounded with a dull, incessant pulse. His stomach ached from hunger and weeping. The tips of his fingers felt numb. His feet were sore and swollen. The muscles within his arms and legs were throbbing from earlier battles. Everything, he realized, was injured upon his body; either from physical thrashing or self-inflicted agony.
Is there no glory in wars?
Kíli's silent inquiry catapulted him back onto days when he and Fíli had been young and impressionable dwarves; raised and molded on the aberrant tales that their uncle Thorin would spout. They would sit atop his knees, Kíli on one side and Fíli across on the other, listening to Thorin speak about the Lonely Mountain and the illustrious halls of Erebor. The way Thorin would speak, his words dripping with passion and boundless enthusiasm, would ignite fervor and wonder within the brother's young hearts. His tales would leave the young princes desirous for the day in which they would travel among the Dwarves of Durin – their kin – and re-enter the halls of Erebor to defeat the abominable dragon, Smaug.
Reality, it would seem, was proving to be much more depressing than his childhood imaginings had dreamed.
Regardless of the promised glory, Erebor had developed a depression, of sorts; void of anything pleasant, good, or warm. Every hallway, room, crack, and crevasse within the kingdom felt cold and miserable, including the royal bed chambers that Kíli lingered within now. Despite the fire, and the beautiful golden decorations, and the lush blankets, and the elegant tapestries that hung across the tall bedposts, and the hand-carved bedframe… Kíli found it all to be a gathering of unpleasant frippery.
A loud, misplaced groan erupted from the giant golden-plated entranceway as the door heaved inward, causing Kíli's head to snap up with alarm. He swallowed dryly, hoping to relieve his tender throat, and sniffed his nose in failed attempts to compose himself in a hurry.
Mahal, I do not possess the patience for another healer visit…
Once his perception of the room had cleared, a flood of relief trickled throughout Kíli's body as he recognized the familiar and bulky outlines of Óin and his younger brother Glóin. The elder dwarves stood at the entrance of the room for a span, taking in Kíli's disheveled appearance while glancing between each other with perplexed expressions.
They each offered the young prince a warm smile before approaching him slowly. It wasn't until they were within arm's reach of him that Kíli's initial relief was replaced with annoyance as his eyes fell onto the assortment of items clutched tightly within Óin's left hand; a jar full of liquid medicine and a bundle of herbs, intended for Fíli's recovery.
At what point, Kíli internally wondered, were they going to give this up?
Kíli let out a small, frustrated groan as Óin set his items atop a small stone table that stood alongside the king's bed. Óin's eyes flicked onto Kíli and his expression hardened. They stared at one another in silence, for a moment, wherein Óin had decided to ignore Kíli's obvious dismay. He then reached across Fíli's body and lifted the blonde prince's injured arm up into is hands, twitching his nose back and forth as he examined the deep wound with keen eyes.
Kíli remained uncharacteristically quiet as the elder dwarf inspected the gash.
"No better, no worse." Óin announced, at length.
Kíli felt his composure beginning to slip as he glanced down onto his brother. "And what, exactly, does that mean?"
"He'll wake eventually. But his condition remains the same."
Kíli felt as if he were conversing with blades of grass.
With a frustrated exhale, the dwarf prince ran his hand roughly against the back of his neck as he snapped his eyes onto Óin, patience waning. "When do you suspect he will wake?"
"Perhaps soon. Perhaps later. I do not know."
Anger flared throughout Kíli's veins as he spat, "what do you know!?"
Glóin suddenly released a hearty throat-clear, drawing Kíli's attention.
"Lad," Glóin grumbled from behind Óin, stroking at his long, red beard with a sigh, "tend to yourself. We'll watch over him."
"What?" Inquired Kíli. His dark, hazel eyes bounced between Glóin and Óin for a span as he anticipated the answer to emanate from one of their tightly clamped mouths.
Óin's bushy eyebrows quirked upwards, creating a hard crease along the top of his brow, as his right hand clutched tightly onto the trumpet-horn at his ear. He eventually wet his lips and spoke matter-of-factly while actively ignoring Kíli's pressing stare, "he'll wake eventually. And when he does, we will send for you."
"But-"
"Staring at him won't speed his recovery." Glóin interrupted, placing his arms heavily down around Kíli's broad shoulders. Kíli jumped at the pressing sensation and flinched beneath the elder dwarf's touch, unaccustomed to the feeling. At this, Glóin retracted his hands and pressed his lips into a hard line, glancing at Kíli with tenderness. "Wash the filth from your body. Rest. Eat."
"I want to be here when-"
"We'll send for you." Óin repeated, also interrupting.
Kíli's ears felt hot and his head began to spin. He was the youngest dwarf that had traveled within Thorin's Company, and was undoubtedly one of the youngest dwarves currently residing within the Lonely Mountain. Being the younger brother between himself and Fíli, Thorin had always treated Kíli as more of an adolescent; often allowing the young prince to roam as freely as his heart desired. And thus, everyone's perception of him had become solidified by one steady image; young, foolhardy, cheeky, audacious little Kíli…
"No!" Kíli said defiantly, hissing through gritted teeth as he stood abruptly, glaring between the elder dwarves with rising frustration.
He knew what their eyes saw when they looked at him, standing between the glow of the low-lit torches as they flicked from unseen gusts. He knew that he was young, and foolhardy, and cheeky, and audacious, and any other words that may have been used to describe him of late… but he was not going to be coddled, not by Glóin or Óin or anyone.
Glóin sighed, plastering a stern look onto his rose-tinted face. "Respectfully, lad, we aren't asking you."
Kíli's nostrils flared as a rage billowed throughout him with extraordinary force. Dark tendrils of hair drifted from behind the nape of his ear, falling in streaks before his uncharacteristically angry eyes, but he made no move to address them.
With a terse sigh, Kíli rounded his shoulders and pronounced, with his face tight and his voice harsh, "I am not a child."
"No, you are not. You are our prince. And we are worried about you." Glóin snapped, twisting his lips as he examined Kíli's face. "You're driving yourself mad, Kíli."
Kíli glanced between them, allowing his jaw to constrict and release a series of times. He then drew his eyes onto Fíli, unable to resist the temptation of a look, and his stomach knotted instantly.
Am I …?
With a sigh, Kíli brought his hands up to his face, rubbing the heels against the lids of his eyes. He internally battled with his crumbling emotions, attempting to sway the fury as it dominated his every thought. He had never considered himself to be an emotional dwarf; he was foolish, stubborn, and loyal, certainly, but he had never described himself as a sentimental soul. But this day – this damned hellish day – had changed a great deal of things, including him. And its assaults had successfully done him in, both mentally and physically.
After a span, and feeling utterly defeated by his private torments, Kíli dropped his hands down to his sides, fully aware of the familiar burn that began to rise at the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry." The dwarf prince managed to breathe, flicking his eyes back onto Glóin while taking a stuttering step backwards.
The elder dwarf rushed forward, his stern look immediately washed away. For the second time on this terrible day, Glóin dropped his hands heavily down around Kíli's shoulders and nodded with understanding. "You need to give yourself a break, lad. Go. Your brother is safe."
Too tired to argue, Kíli leaned into the pressure of Glóin's large hands, allowing the elder dwarf to curl him into a rough embrace as he drew several stuttering breaths. The rugged nature of Glóin's abrupt hug instantly transported Kíli back into a time when Thorin would similarly grasp onto him and his brother; seizing Kíli and Fíli at the napes of their necks and pulling them into his chest, while nuzzling roughly into the tops of their color-clashing heads. Kíli had always cherished the moments wherein Thorin was soft and kindly; for they were few and far between.
With a heavy sigh the raven-haired prince untangled himself from Glóin's arms and shifted towards the doorway. His legs felt heavy and insensitive as they carried him, twitching in objection as he willed them to move, and he listened to the echoing sounds of his heels as they grazed lazily across the stone floor beneath him.
Once Kíli had reached the golden entryway he paused, his palms placed firmly against the stone door, and he glanced back onto Óin and Glóin with weary, glistening eyes. "You'll… send for me, as soon as he wakes?"
Glóin and Óin exchanged knowing looks, then turned to him and nodded in unison.
"As soon as he wakes." Óin assured with a smile.
And at that, Kíli allowed himself to exit the room, feeling lighter with each jaded step.
Erebor felt strangely suffocating when Kíli considered the wide, beautiful world beyond.
For over seventy years Kíli had lived within the borders of the Blue Mountains, having been raised to understand that a dwarf's true purpose remained in the lowest places of the earth; hidden somewhere between heavy stone, strong metal, and gloomy darkness. But Thorin Oakenshield's quest to reclaim Erebor had forced Kíli – and the rest of the Company – to travel across many of Middle Earth's wide valleys and enchanting forests, resulting in his strange new addiction to the wide, mysterious world. Kíli had spent six months sleeping beneath the stars, living among the wild, and breathing in the crisp winds of nature, all while growing largely attached to the outside lands.
It was due to this fact, and several other facts, that Kíli now found himself silently sitting beneath the glittering stars, just beyond the entrance into the Lonely Mountain, with his back firmly planted against a tall, leaning column. He was content to be alone, finding company in the wind as it rustled throughout his tangled mess of hair, allowing the peace of the night to help settle his troublesome struggles.
In one moment, not so very long ago, Kíli had been an heir of Durin and prince to a throne that had sat empty for over a century. Then, in the next moment, he had become the brother to the new King Under the Mountain. Of course, Kíli still remained a prince, that much he understood, but he was now viewed in an entirely different light; for suddenly it meant something to be a prince. It meant something to be him. And it was strange, and honorable, and empowering and…
Entirely not what he had wanted.
Once, long ago, Kíli had been contented to admire the ways that Thorin longed to reclaim the throne, and Fíli had anticipated to one day inherit the crown. The younger prince had been put at ease with the idea that Thorin would be King Under the Mountain, and then Fíli would take the roll, all the while Kíli would remain a prince of little regard, just like he had always been. He would chase after pretty maids, protect the throne with his entire being, and maintain a balanced life far below the radar of the crown.
But this was not reality. Reality, as it were, was shaping up to be much more attentive than Kíli had initially anticipated.
Every head bowed forward as he passed. Every mouth muttered "prince". Every dwarf that he had encountered, since leaving his brother's side within the royal chambers, had offered him some form of worldly comforts – whether it was food, water, clothing, or meaningful conversation – and it was all too much, too often. And the suddenness of his new role was beginning to jar Kíli in such a way that he was beginning to question Thorin's techniques in raising them. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, Thorin had spent an awful lot of time preparing Fíli for the future, and not enough time preparing the other brother for the future. The younger brother. The audacious brother.
The sudden blare of a horn sounded off in the distance, pulling Kíli back into the loneliness of his reality. He swallowed thickly as he pulled his knees up into his chest, cradling himself beneath the glow of the starlight, and he watched in stillness as the last of Thranduil's army disappeared beyond the darkening horizon. The dwarf prince wasn't entirely surprised by the abrupt, throbbing ache that surged across his heart as an image of tender green eyes and long, crimson hair flitted throughout his mind.
I can't…
The she-elf's words whispered against his cheek, twisting at his gut like a knife; soft, pained, and full of regret.
Kíli shook his head as anger warred with misery. He knew that she was gone. He knew that she was likely far, far away. He knew that she was returning to her forest and her kingdom and her home and her starlight...
Will I ever see you again?
A sudden guffaw of laughter drew the dwarf prince's straying attention, and Kíli's eyes snapped up to view Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur as they strolled gleefully past. Each dwarf within the trio was clutching a tall mug of ale while remaining completely unaware of their prince's hidden presence. The sight of them, all happy and relieved to have survived the hellish battles of the day, guiltily tugged at the sentimental strings that latched onto Kíli's soul.
I have been avoiding my kin for long enough, Kíli silently mused, despite his strong desire to remain hidden.
"Where are you off to?" The dwarf prince called out, causing them each to stop and turn in confusion.
Bofur's countenance was bright and cheery, true to his character despite the day's events, and his unbalanced hat hung lazily off to the right side of his head. When the elder dwarf's bright and sprightly eyes fell onto Kíli, who sat hunkered beneath the shadows of the pillar at his back, Bofur smiled widely. "We are just enjoying a midnight mead, and a stroll!"
Kíli brought his hands onto his knees and began to slowly stand, pausing midway through the motion to wince as his sore, aching muscles tensed and strained against him. He watched as Bifur and Bombur turned to view him as well, then he murmured lowly, "may I accompany you? I could use a… distraction."
"O'course, my prince!" Bofur answered, clearly surprised but also merrily willing to accommodate.
Bombur smiled widely while shoving a piece of bread – of which Kíli was uncertain from whence it came – deep into the darkness of his mouth, and Bifur grumbled in Khuzdul, "It is good to see you, Prince."
Kíli hesitated, inwardly reminding himself to be thankful for the diversion of his lingering thoughts, then nodded and moved to join them.
As they aimlessly traveled, sticking mainly to the outskirts of the earlier battle in attempts to avoid the war's earlier carnage, Kíli listened, somewhat inattentively, as the family of dwarves deliberated loudly amongst themselves. Bofur dominated most of the conversation, while Bombur ate and drank his ale, and Bifur mumbled occasional inputs. It wasn't until they had reached a silent hilltop, overlooking the eerie charm of the crumbling city of Dale, that Kíli finally began to assert himself.
"Well look at that." Bofur sighed with content, halting their travel. "Now there's a sight I never thought I'd get to see."
Kíli took a moment to appreciate the ancient kingdom as it sat, crumbled and battered, displaying a haunting beauty beneath the blanket of the glittering starlight. He could tell, by its sheer magnitude from where he now stood, that Dale was once a great, thriving kingdom alongside Erebor, and he found himself wondering if he would ever see a day when the two kingdoms would prosper again.
"Perhaps we can assist in the rebuilding of Dale." Kíli said, watching as the moonlight and clouds performed a dance of shadows across the kingdom's pale walls.
Bofur swayed on his feet while clasping both hands tightly around his tall mug of ale. "That's entirely up to you and the king, now."
The raven-haired prince swallowed thickly, sensing his face beginning to grow pale. Many, many decisions would have to be made by them, now; lists upon lists, he assumed. In fact, Kíli considered, it would be a much shorter list to write up of decisions that they weren't going to be making…
Bofur suddenly extended his arm, clasping the tall flagon of ale outward, warmly offering the brew to Kíli. The dwarf prince hesitantly glanced onto the mug with consideration. After a span, he snatched the drink up, rougher than he had intended, and lifted the ale up to his lips. He began to swig, discovering that he was much thirstier than he had believed, allowing the brew to fill the pit of his empty belly.
"How fares Fíli?" Bofur inquired, causing Kíli to flinch and choke on the liquid.
"He rests," said Kíli in a detached tone, slowly drawing the mug downward while wiping the back of his sleeve roughly against his lower lip. "However, Óin assures that he will wholly recover."
"And you? Will you wholly recover?" Bofur pressed, his innocent tone not going unnoticed by Kíli.
The dwarf prince shied from the question, thrusting the mug of ale back into Bofur's chest while averting his dark, tired eyes. "As well as I can, I suppo-"
Kíli's breath suddenly hitched as his fixed stare fell upon a pair of wandering elves, briskly making their way North towards the tree line with a silver horse in tow. He immediately recognized the taller elf – with his long, ivory colored hair and his sky-blue eyes darting suspiciously across the land – as the elven prince called Legolas. As for the other elf…
The raven-haired prince's stomach flipped, and the world shifted aggressively beneath his feet.
Bifur, Bofur and Bombur all glanced inquisitively in the direction of Kíli's eyes, curious as to what was causing his sudden falter.
"- that I should seek out a ranger, named Strider." Legolas could be heard saying, as the wind carried his voice up to the top of the hill where the dwarves presently stood.
Tauriel was staring softly into the side of Legolas' face with her hands busily twisting at her front, and Kíli felt himself slipping into a captivated stillness as he watched her elegantly move. Mahal, he had almost forgotten how beautiful she was to him; with her long, auburn braid cascading down past her shoulders, and her fierce green eyes twinkling magically beneath the moonlight. He wasn't sure if it was the intoxication of the ale or the drum of his heart that had caused his head to suddenly pound with incitement.
Kíli wanted to approach them; he longed to speak to Tauriel before she returned to Mirkwood and remained out of his reach forever… but something, deep inside of his head, screamed against it.
"Your father never spoke of Arathorn before this day?" Asked Tauriel, causing Kíli's heart to unexpectedly flutter. The she-elf appeared troubled, he noticed, though her tone of voice remained steadfast and sweet as she kept pace alongside the elven prince.
"No." Legolas responded, his free hand resting lazily atop the hilt of his sword as the other loosely clasped onto the leather reigns that steered the horse at his heels. "Or my mother, not since her passing. It was all very strange. I sense that he has changed, Tauriel."
Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur remained as still as statues as the elves traveled closer, holding their breaths as if they feared an unprecedented attack. Kíli glanced onto the trio out of the corner of his eye, stifling a humorous snort as he felt a mixture of amusement and relief to their unusual behavior. At least, he knew, they wouldn't be drawing any attention…
"We have all changed, mellon." Tauriel spoke matter-of-factly, frowning in a way that only she could make pretty.
"Not you." Legolas countered. "You have always yearned for the outside lands, far beyond our borders. I anticipated your liberation long ago."
Kíli watched as Tauriel's mouth formed into a small smile, her brow furrowing softly as she averted her eyes. "And yet, you were always opposed to the idea."
"I was opposed to the … naugrim." Said Legolas, voice laced with bitterness and disdain. Tauriel immediately turned to him, narrowing her eyes with clear dismay, and the elf prince continued on in Sindarin, "amin dele ten' lle."
"Uuma dela." Tauriel retorted, sharply and full of irritation.
There was a silence between them wherein Legolas grabbed Tauriel's arm, causing Kíli's hand to absentmindedly fall onto the hilt of his sword. The dwarf prince could feel Bofur's eyes as they flicked cautiously towards him, though he shrugged the elder dwarf's pressing stare away with a frown.
"Tauriel," Legolas began again, softly.
"Mani?" Tauriel hissed.
Her expression softened the moment she took in Legolas' wavering countenance; which to Kíli appeared to be a mixture of apology, exhaustion, and sadness. Still, sadness be damned, Kíli longed to slice off three feet of the elf prince's silvery hair and shove it down his sputtering throat…
"Lle sinta onalle naa lle." Legolas cooed, speaking with an unnerving passion.
Kíli felt instantly sick to his stomach as Tauriel's face shifted into a picture of concern. The she-elf then winced while respiring, "Legolas-"
"Amin detholalle…" Legolas interrupted, shaking his head with a smile. He slid his hand gently down the back of Tauriel's arm, letting the tips of his fingers linger for a moment as they journeyed down towards her wrist, then separated away from her touch.
"Amin hiraetha." Tauriel said, voice suddenly rife with regret.
Legolas opened his mouth to respond but – just as the words seemed to travel up through his throat and out onto his grimy tongue – Bifur made an irritated grumbling sound that drew both of the elves' attentions.
Kíli swallowed thickly as his eyes clashed against Legolas' narrowed gaze, sending an icy chill throughout the dwarf prince's veins.
The elf's jaw noticeably tightened before he turned his attention back onto Tauriel, offering the she-elf a sanguine smile. He then extended his arm out to her in a formal manner, bowing his head forward while murmuring, "Na lu e-govaned vin, Tauriel."
"N'i lu tol, Legolas." Tauriel responded, grabbing the elf prince's forearm and bowing.
Kíli could tell by their melancholy expressions, and what little he understood of the Sindarin language, that they were exchanging heartfelt farewells.
The elves stood in their parting embrace for a brief period of time before Legolas straightened and swung – with astonishingly effortless grace – up onto the silver horse's back, planting himself nimbly atop the thin leather saddle. The elf prince spared a moment to dip his head in Tauriel's direction, shooting her one last wistful glance, before reigning the tall beast in the direction of the dwarves.
Kíli watched with growing confusion as Legolas approached him, his blue eyes clouded over with a mixture of grief and anger, and pulled the horse into a brief stop in front of the group of puzzled dwarves. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all took hesitant steps backwards, glancing between each other with uncertainty as the silver steed between the elf's legs shook its head and snorted in protest, seeming almost as eager to flee as its rider.
"I wish you great prosperity in the coming age, Dwarf." Legolas spoke, after a silent span.
Kíli's eyes bounced from Legolas, to Tauriel, then back onto Legolas. He struggled to force a response, speaking gruffer than intended, "I wish you… a safe … journey."
Legolas narrowed his crystal eyes onto Kíli with interest, lowering his voice into a private murmur. "I sense that our paths will cross again."
Mahal, I hope not.
"Until then." Kíli mumbled, bowing his head forward while praying that his voice did not betray his internal thoughts.
"She is giving up everything for you."
What?
Kíli straightened, snapping his brown eyes quizzically up toward Legolas. But before there was any further explanation or comment Legolas squeezed his heels against the horse's rounded belly, steering the anxious steed in the direction of the forests as it strode loudly away.
Bofur cleared his throat with a nervous cough, giving life to every ounce of Kíli's silent, heavy inquiries, "he travels alone?"
"It would appear so." Kíli breathed, staring into the empty space of nothingness that Legolas and his antsy horse had once resided within.
She is giving up everything for you.
Bifur began to curse in Khuzdul, throwing around phrases like "filthy elven prince" heavily into the mixture, causing Bofur to wince. It wasn't until the elder dwarf began spewing his hatred in Tauriel's general direction that his cousin finally interjected.
"Ay now," Bofur warned, elbowing his wild-haired cousin aggressively in the ribs as a means to silence the haughty dwarf's remarks, "Tauriel saved Kíli's life!"
"Twice." Kíli added, in a mesmerized tone.
"Twice! Twice?" Bofur echoed, turning to Kíli with a raised eyebrow.
Kíli began to answer, but it was a softer, much more delicate voice that responded.
"Three times, actually." Said Tauriel, drawing all of their attentions as she approached them slowly, gliding listlessly across the quiet stretch of field between them.
The she-elf stared fervidly into Kíli's brown eyes, devoted to him for several breathless moments wherein the dwarf prince had all but forgotten how to breathe. Much like the first time he had seen her, Kíli felt utterly powerless to the allure of her deep, forest green eyes that brimmed with passion and fondness. Like most elves, Tauriel was tall and lean with hair that flowed well past her shoulders, and she had fair, silky skin that flushed beneath the light of stars, leaving Kíli desirous to reach out and touch her. Had it been merely himself and she-elf alone on the outskirts of the battlefield, without the pressing glares of his kin, Kíli may have performed something foolish...
When she had finally arrived amidst the group of dwarves Tauriel paused, shifting her weight onto her heels while placing her hands gently atop her hips. Her full lips curved up into a small, charming smile before she teased, "I can understand where you may begin to lose count, Prince."
Kíli smirked, drawing in a lengthy breath. "Ah – yes. Three times. How forgetful of me."
Bifur started to grumble again while piercing dagger-like stares into the side of Tauriel's face, but his breath abruptly squeaked, and then fell into silence, as he received a hard fist to the chest from Bofur. Tauriel shifted uncomfortably, though Kíli caught a flash of amusement as it spread across her features.
"Pay him no mind, it's the axe." Bofur glowered, pointing at his own head for emphasis. He then gestured after Legolas, in the direction of the deep, shadowed forests, and inquired of the she-elf, "shouldn't you be getting after him?"
A tension shifted across the she-elf's countenance as she glanced up into the night's sky with a wince.
"I have seen far too much of the world to return to Mirkwood. And Legolas…" Tauriel started, voice poignant and sad, "Legolas wanders his own path now. A path that I cannot exist on."
"You don't intend to return to Mirkwood, and you don't intend to follow him…" Bofur began, sloshing his ale loudly about the inside of his mug as he swung it around in animation, "then whereabouts are you intending to go?"
The raven-haired prince swallowed dryly, nervously anticipating the response that he knew would be his ruin...
Tauriel's eyes flicked onto Kíli, quickly and subtle enough to go unnoticed by any but he, before she smiled to Bofur and said, "I will remain here, in Dale."
Kíli felt his jaw drop partially open as her words struck a chord, causing his heart to tremble.
She is giving up everything for you.
A slew of negatives tumbled across Bifur's tongue, causing Bombur to choke on a swig of ale and Bofur to flush a deep shade of red. Jumping immediately into action, Bofur hooked his arms around both Bombur and Bifur's elbows while prodding them hurriedly past Tauriel and in the direction of the city. "Come along, cousin, brother; let's see if they have any more ale to spare in Dale. Ha! Ale in Dale…"
Kíli watched the three dwarves as they sauntered slowly away, waiting until they were far-and-well out of earshot, before flicking his eyes back onto Tauriel and uttering, "is this what you want? To live here? Away from everything that is familiar to you?"
This cannot be true, Kíli silently mused. He recalled their earlier exchanges, once on the beach and once on Ravenhill, where he had professed the most precious and honest declaration of his heart to Tauriel; and she had, in the kindest way possible, reminded him of their reality. I can't, she had whispered. Twice, in fact. And both times Kíli had been resolved to accept the facts of their existence, and to acknowledge the verifiable truth that they did not live within a world wherein a Silvan Elf and a dwarf prince could clandestinely fall in love.
A silence stretched between them as Tauriel glanced thoughtfully towards the city. She looked happy, though Kíli sensed a hint of sorrow as it flashed across her face. "Bard has proposed that I live among his people. I intend to aid in the rebuilding of Dale, act as a bridge between elves and men, and improve upon their defenses."
Kíli smirked before moving forward, bringing himself to stand alongside her. He privately fought against the sudden, audacious urge to gingerly grasp Tauriel's hand and pull her into the warmth of his arms, intending to do Mahal only knows what. Instead, the dwarf prince cleared his throat loudly, banning his inappropriate thoughts from advancing any further, and drew his hands into a folded position at his front. "That is… a great deal of obligations. All of which do not exactly answer my initial question."
Tauriel narrowed her eyes onto the vast city stretched out before them, pursing her lips. Kíli could tell, long before she spoke, that she was internally battling against the impulsion to indulge him with the truth or to dance her words carefully around it. "It pleases me to assist, in any way that I am capable."
"Tauriel." Kíli respired, his voice expanding with disappointment. "You may speak freely – it is only us now, after all."
The she-elf squared her shoulders as silent emotions barreled heavily between them. Kíli could see Tauriel's apprehensions as they swam across her eyes, floating just beneath the surface, and he privately wondered if her unease was composed of the same influence as his own.
Finally, she spoke, this time choosing to delve into the truth. "For many years, I had all but lost faith in this world and its people. I had grown weary to the notion that we, as elves, were barely a part of Middle Earth's destiny, fated to one day abandon it to its own provoked ruin…" Tauriel's voice trailed off as she searched the skies for an answer, and there was a moment's hesitation before her emerald gaze flicked down onto Kíli. Their eyes locked and she smiled prettily, wetting her lips before whispering, "Then our paths crossed, and you led me here. For the first time in my life I feel… alive, as you once put it."
Kíli watched as the she-elf's smile faded into a soft line, and her eyes shone with an emotion that he could not place.
She is giving up everything for you.
The dwarf prince exhaled a breath he had been unaware of holding as a pang of guilt twisted viciously at his gut, reminding him of the sacrifices that Tauriel would be making and the hardships that she would more than likely be faced with. This was what Legolas had warned him of, and Kíli would be a fool to dispute the reality of the situation.
Kíli drew upon the most princely poise that he could muster and, with a voice that trembled, he respired, "You are giving up everything, and I cannot let you go through with this in good conscience, Tauriel. I recognize that you may feel inclined to help the people of Dale, and to be-"
The dwarf prince drew in a shaky breath as Tauriel knelt beside him, silencing him with her soft, temperate stare. "It is what I want, Kíli."
He had questions – so many damned questions – but he couldn't presently bait them into words. Instead, he resolved to enjoy the silent moment in which they stared at one another; her eyes firm and his eyes gentle, and Kíli offered Tauriel a kindly smile while muttering, "then I am glad."
Tauriel remained silent as a light wintery breeze swept throughout the small space between them. Her auburn strands shifted gently against her cheeks, caressing the delicate spaces of her neck and ears that Kíli longed to reach out and feel. After a span, her emerald eyes suddenly narrowed into slits as a guilt-driven expression brushed across her lovely features, so swiftly and silently that Kíli believed the contortion to be driven entirely by the wind itself. "How is your brother?"
An image of Fíli suddenly flashed before Kíli's eyes, reminding the dwarf prince of urgent matters that he had abandoned for far too long. He flinched, internally forcing himself to reel his heart back into a place where he could control its desires. With a voice, deep and weary, he spoke, "because of you, Fíli is alive. I do not know how we– how I will ever repay you for what you have done."
Tauriel hesitated for a moment, looking as if she perched heavily upon Kíli's confession with deep consideration. Suddenly, the she-elf reached forward and gently clasped the back of the dwarf prince's wrist, tugging his hand free from its clasped position at his front. Kíli's heart began drumming loudly against his chest, pounding faintly throughout the space between his ears, and he watched as Tauriel placed something cool, smooth, and familiar within the center of his palm.
A knowing smile flashed instantly across the dwarf prince's features as his mother's rune stone settled lightly against his skin; and the small token awoke precious memories of a secretly whispered vow.
Keep it. As a promise.
"This is how I repay you? By taking back what was given as a gift?" Kíli began in a humorous tone, catching the tips of Tauriel's warm fingers before her hand could slip away. The feeling of her skin, so soft and welcoming, sent a rush of heat up into the center of his chest. And a deep, trembling desire began to form within the pit of the dwarf prince's belly as wild, extrinsic feelings trickled hungrily in. "Surely, that won't do."
Kíli watched with amusement as the she-elf's face suddenly flushed before she whispered, "stop giving me reasons to rescue you and I may consider your debts paid."
A profoundly tender, affectionate feeling wrapped its way around Kíli's heart; and somewhere, hidden deep within the mines of the dwarf prince's soul, he was aware of what was beginning to happen to him.
"Ah," he breathed, voice husky and low as he pulled Tauriel gently towards him, "but I wouldn't want to spoil our affair…"
"Prince Kíli!"
Kíli's ears twitched as an unfamiliar voice cried out; and Tauriel's fingers slipped hastily free from his grasp as they each straightened and turned. An unfamiliar dwarf, short and stubby, came barreling onto the top of hill with determined speed, and a look of relief spread across his rumpled features as he caught sight of Kíli. "Your brother has awoken!"
Kíli flew through the halls of Erebor, running as quickly as his feet would permit, twisting in and out of unrecognizable faces as they glanced to him with confusion.
Óin stood like a guardian at the entrance to the royal chambers, catching Kíli roughly by the curve of his arm before the young dwarf could hurriedly burst into the room. The raven-haired prince snapped his eyes fiercely onto the elder dwarf, clearly puzzled, before Óin spoke in a cautionary tone, "He's been asking for you. He doesn't know anything yet. We figured it may be best coming from you."
Kíli's shoulders tensed as the reality of Óin's words sank in, leaving him feeling chilled and discontented all the way down to his core. Of course, the news of Thorin's passing would be best coming from him, and he knew this to be true. Still, it wasn't a conversation that Kíli had prepared himself to have.
Óin's hand suddenly fell heavily atop Kíli's shoulder, squeezing the young prince in a reassuring notion before shifting past him to disappeared among the dark shadows of the hallway. Kíli swallowed thickly while gnawing nervously upon the inside of his cheek, mulling over his internal dread in a hurry. Eventually he felt prepared enough to enter the room, doing his best to compose his features into something akin to joy.
A torrent of emotions abruptly swept throughout the raven-haired prince as he was greeted by a flash of familiar, bright blue eyes, and he slowly began to drink in Fíli's tattered demeanor. The young king-to-be was sitting upright on the bed, looking ill and wounded as he favored his shattered arm; but he appeared to be healthful over-all, considering.
The moment Fíli's eyes recognized the face of his younger brother, who stood cautiously silent in the center of the room, his contagiously familiar smile stretched widely across his features, causing the beaded-braids of his blonde mustache to sway in comical unison.
Kíli slowly began to shift towards the edge of his brother's bed, noting how much warmer it felt within the king's chambers now. He couldn't resist himself from blurting out in a teasing tone, "you don't look well."
"You don't look well." Fíli countered, taking a page out of Kíli's own book. The blonde dwarf then attempted to chuckle but the movement of his chest proved to be severely painful, and he slouched haltingly forward as a violent fit of coughing ensued. "I can't – I can't …"
"Careful, Fee," Kíli murmured, sitting down beside his brother while pressing his hand gently against Fíli's chest, easing him back onto the cushions of the bed. "Breathe."
As soon as his coughing had eased into silence, Fíli placed his hand heavily upon Kíli's forearm and grinned. "You're alive. I had feared – ah –" he winced as an apparent wave of pain traveled throughout him, "I had feared that you… were… gone."
Kíli watched with concern as his brother rode the current of torment that ached across his body, then folded his hand softly over the top of Fíli's and sighed. "I thought you were gone."
Fíli shifted his weight on the bed, beseechingly glancing around the king's chambers as a stretch of discomfort passed in and out of his voice. "Where have you – mmph – been?"
"Ah," Kíli cleared his throat, averting his eyes with a frown, "Óin and Glóin had sent me away."
Fíli brought his attention back onto his brother, halting his inspection of the room. "Sent you away?"
"You know how I tend to act when I'm alone." Kíli started, voice drifting. "I was going mad with concern."
"Now you know how I felt last … night." Said Fíli, pointedly referring to their night spent in Lake Town, wherein Kíli had almost succumbed to the luring invitation of death. Kíli quirked an eyebrow and nodded, feeling surprised by his brother's unscathed wit. Fíli's expression suddenly shifted into one of dire concern, causing Kíli to wince uncomfortably. He knew, before hearing, what was coming next…
"Where – where is… Thorin?"
Mahal help me.
Kíli's eyes began to swell with the sting of emotion as he bowed his head slowly forward, allowing the dark tangles of his hair to shift forward and conceal his somber expression from Fíli's acute stare. He swallowed dryly, fighting down the rising quiver within his voice, "you've been asleep a long while, Fee."
Fíli's demeaner darkened, and the heavy circles beneath his bright, blue eyes trembled as he studied his brother's distressed face. Without an utterance, Fíli suddenly leaned forward, despite the obvious pains of his shifting movements, and brought his forehead down to rest gently against Kíli's. "I f-failed him…"
"No. Victory is ours." Kíli assured instantly, shaking his head. Though, it felt like a lie, despite his efforts.
"It was… not ours- mmm…" Fíli's voice trailed off as another wave of pain engulfed him. Kíli gripped Fíli's shoulders, holding him stilly in place until he had successfully navigated his way through the painful rush of tremors, and then finally continued, "it was not ours to have, Kee. Not y-yet."
A genial voice sounded off from somewhere behind Kíli, causing his ears to unexpectedly twitch. "Thorin knew that it was won. He wanted it for you, lads. For all of us."
Kíli and Fíli leaned away from each other and snapped their eyes onto Balin, who stood within the entrance of the doorway while peering at the brothers with grief-stricken eyes.
"This is not how it should end." Responded Fíli in a meager voice, catching a tear against the back of his hand as it tumbled down his ruddied cheek. Kíli pressed his lips into a hard line as he watched his brother's eyes expand with despair. He realized that it had been an age since he had last witnessed Fíli mourn, having lastly occurred on the day of their father's untimely demise.
"End?" Balin said with twinkling eyes, glancing between the young dwarves with a hopeful smile. "This is just the beginning. You have much to look forward to, yet, and there is a kingdom now counting on the both of you." Kíli and Fíli exchanged quiet glances, full of understanding, as Balin bowed his head lightly forward and slowly exited the room. "Sleep now. You will need your rest for tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Kíli's eyes hardened as he began to imagine the gathering that would take place on the following day. He knew, as well as Fíli undoubtedly knew, that the passing of a king and the crowning of a prince usually fell upon the same ceremony, as was dwarven tradition. Though, traditions be damned, Kíli found this reality to be quite the disturbing concept.
Kíli offered his brother a small, kindly smile before rolling onto his feet and standing with a light-headed rush. He took a labored step in the direction of the door, meaning to follow after Balin, but his motion was paused by a warm hand as it caught him gently above the elbow. Kíli glanced back onto Fíli, eyes brimming with confusion, but his features softened as he noticed the distressed expression plastered across his brother's pale face.
Kíli bowed his head forward, understanding the meaning within Fíli's silent glance, and rounded the large bed with heavy feet. He then crawled up onto the mattress alongside his brother, surprised by the alluring comfort that the ancient furniture managed to maintain, and slowly lowered himself down onto the lush layer of quilts beneath him. Once he was adjusted into a comfortable position Kíli's hands folded calmly against the dip of his stomach, rising and falling along with the rhythm of his tired breaths, as he stared up at the dark ceiling with viable interest. The fireplace, still ablaze with warm life at the corner of the room, cast appealing shadows across the golden carvings above them, reminding Kíli of recent nights spent beneath the glow of the glistening stars.
"Everything will… change now." Fíli muttered, breaking the contemplative silence between them.
Kíli tensed, both physically and mentally, as he resounded in a gruff voice, "we will change."
Fíli shifted loudly beside him, turning his head weakly so that he could gaze upon his younger brother. "Kee," he mumbled in a tired whisper, drawing Kíli's attention. "No matter what, I need you to – mmm – to know…" Fíli drew in a heavy breath, cringing as his injured arm strained against his rough movements, "you mean more to me than a-anything."
Kíli smiled weakly. "More than your beard?" He jested, watching with amusement as Fíli rolled his tired eyes. When Fíli refused to respond, Kíli chuckled lowly and rolled onto his side, pressing his cheek heavily against the soft surface of a rounded pillow. "I suppose that I love you, as well."
A/N: The Sindarin exchange between Legolas and Tauriel was found online and translates into:
Mellon – Friend
Naugrim – Dwarf
"Amin dele ten' lle." - "I am worried about you."
"Uuma dela." - "Do not worry."
"Mani?" - "What?"
"Lle sinta onalle naa lle." - "You know my heart is yours."
"Amin detholalle…" - "I know your choice…"
"Amin hiraetha." - "I am sorry."
"Na lu e-govaned vin, Tauriel." - "Until next we meet, Tauriel."
"N'i lu tol, Legolas." - "Until then, Legolas."