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They aren’t even half a week out of Ered Luin’s foothills when it happens. Of course they’d be caught off-guard. No one wants to expect an attack so close to home, no matter how much a warrior they are. When the bandits fall upon them Fíli and Kíli are alone. They aren’t supposed to be, they should have met up with Glóin and Óin already in some nearby Man village, but with changes in the weather and a mudslide up on the mountain trail ahead of them, the princes had to make a detour along a rushing, swollen river.

Fíli notices them first. Ever the responsible big brother, he tugs Kíli to his feet from where he’d been resting and sharpening his dagger. They fall into position, back-to-back, with Kíli’s bow already drawn and an arrow notched, aimed at the approaching shadows. Fíli should have his twin swords at the ready too, only--
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The heat at Kíli’s back disappears, and he whirls around on instinct. In the blue light of the evening he can barely make out the figure behind his brother. Only a huge, scarred arm is visible where it holds a dagger to his brother’s throat. Kíli cries out in anger, trembling as he readies his bow again. Even in limited light he can make this shot. He can save his brother. This Man will not have him.
He never gets the chance. A boot comes out of nowhere and hits the back of Kíli’s leg and he keels over, bow straying and arrow clattering to the ground. Another Man runs to his side, grabbing his arms roughly and hauling them to his back. Kíli is pushed to his knees, gritted teeth snarling at the Man in front of him, the one who has Fíli. He, presumably the leader, laughs and steps closer, giving the young prince an eyeful of his ugly face. “What’s two lovely young things like yerselves doin’ travelin’ in these parts?” He must be twisting Fíli’s arm from how the blond winces. “These’re our roads.”
“Didn’t see your name on em,” Fíli bites out.
Another sharp twist, because the older Prince is grimacing now. “Cheeky. What should we do with such pretty trespassers, eh men?” Several voices laugh out, coming from all sides of Kíli. Shit, they’re surrounded. He keeps his eyes on the leader and tries to count out the individual voices. Five, six? Seven. Mahal. With Fíli in hand and his bow on the ground, they’re hopelessly outnumbered. Kíli can see it in Fíli’s expression. The blue eyes look at him pleadingly. ‘Give them what they want. Give them what they want and let’s get out of this alive.’
“Let us go. Take whatever you want, but let us live.” Kíli does his best to keep his voice steady. His words are met with another strong kick to his side. He would topple over, but the grip at his hands is vice-like, so he only feels the sharp pain of inertia against his wrists. The man sneers as his compatriots laugh again. He’s missing half the teeth in his mouth. “I don’t think so, pretty boy. We ain’t the kind to be satisfied with dwarven trinkets.” The knife at Fíli’s throat presses closer to flesh, skin puckering under the blade. “We want… a show.”
The Man nods his head imperceptibly and Kíli is hauled up, punched in the face and tossed to the ground. He squirms instinctively, trying to get to his feet. Two more well-placed kicks and his breath is knocked out. While he gasps and twists his head, looking for Fíli, his wrists and ankles are tightly bound with rough, scratchy rope. He is flipped onto his stomach, feeling a brief flicker of relief as he meets Fíli’s eyes again. The blue pools flash. ‘Stay strong, brother. We’ll be ok.’
“Here’s a little riddle for ya,” the man runs his tongue over his cracked lips, “What kinda poison do I got on me blade?” He punctuates the last word with a flick of the wrist and Fíli cries out. Kíli mirrors the scream, desperation and anguish steeping into his voice. No, Mahal, please! No!
But the cut isn’t on Fíli’s jugular. There is no spray of blood. Just a steady, thick trickle of it down Fíli’s neck. The Man holds him upright for a moment more, grinning down at Kíli’s rigid figure. Then, unceremoniously, he drops the blond. Fíli falls like a puppet with no strings and lays on the ground. Kíli’s eyes are already pooling with tears. Is he dead?

No, Fíli isn’t dead yet. He sits up, woozy, before coming to his senses and scrambling to Kíli’s side. Thankfully, there is no angry boot to meet them, and the Men do nothing as he holds Kíli in his arms.
“Shouldn’t be long now. Better get comfortable, brown-eyes.”
Kíli snarls at the man, attempting to further sit up in Fíli’s embrace. He turns to face his brother, to catch his eye and see what the plan is, only--

Fíli looks wrong. His brow is furrowed and his jaw is clenched in pain. He is sweating, breathing heavily. Blue eyes rake over Kíli’s face, pupils blown wide and hazy.
“Brother?” Kíli vainly shakes against his restraints, trying to jostle Fíli, get his attention. He hears jeers from the Men around him at the word. Someone whoops out a catcall on Kíli’s left.
All of a sudden, Fíli rushes forward, capturing Kíli’s mouth in a sharp, painful kiss. Kíli yelps, his cry muffled as a tongue is forced past his teeth. Fíli bites his lip hard, drawing blood. His brother’s strong hands flip him over and Kíli winces at the feeling of his wrists being crushed below his back.
“Fíli! Stop!” Kíli can smell the blood on Fíli’s neck as the blond leans over him. There is something foreign to the scent, something cloyingly sweet under the tang of metal. Poison, the Man had said. Fíli pays no mind to his brother’s struggling, pushing his tunic up and nipping indiscriminately at his chest. A hand reaches down and paws Kíli’s groin through his trousers. Kíli bites back a startled moan.
Not here. Mahal, please. Not here. Not like this.
“Kíli… Kíli,” The name sounds foreign in his brother’s mouth. Fíli’s eyes are fully glazed over now, not looking in any particular place. Kíli cannot bring himself to look away, cannot bear the thought of catching the looks of the horrible Men laughing around them. His face burns in humiliation and rage and sadness and fear, fear for Fíli, who is poisoned, who is being made to do this awful thing to him.
Kíli’s trousers are open now, and Fíli is still groping shamelessly. His motions approach frenzy as he tears the fabric down Kíli’s legs and lets it bunch around his tied ankles. Now his brother starts working on his own trousers, ripping them apart when the laces don’t yield fast enough. Kíli feels a wave of revulsion come over him-- not at the sight of Fíli’s bare groin, but at himself, for his traitorous body cannot help but react to the sight. Again he does his best to block out the Men, who have noticed his latent arousal and are remarking on it in cruel and crude ways. Kíli does not want this, but Fíli… Fíli is Fíli and Kíli cannot help how his beloved brother makes him feel.

Even when he is doing something so horrible.

Kíli lets his eyes fall shut as brother turns him over. He winces at the feeling of nails dragging over his back, fumbling at his buttocks. Let it be over. Let it be over. The pain of being entered, the subsequent thrusting, all happen dully around Kíli, as if he is off somewhere in the distance. He isn’t here. He is merely nearby, behind a rock or tree, listening.

It isn’t him.

It isn’t him being raped by his brother.

His--.

His mind conjures an image of Fíli, laughing at a silly joke he’d been told over breakfast. Then there is darkness.

----
The Ranger that found them woke Kíli first. After cutting Kíli’s bonds loose he had the decency to remove his cloak and sweep it over the young dwarf’s crumpled, half-naked form. Kíli said nothing and kept his expression steely and neutral as he scrambled under the cloth to right his clothes. He winced at the pain in his his backside and the Man looked at him in alarm.Kíli did not meet his eyes. He looked over at the pile of snaggled furs and leathers that was his brother and choked out a wet sigh. How did this look from the outside? What was this Man thinking as he beheld them? Two young dwarrow who fell asleep in the middle of an ill-timed tryst? Maybe he was going to rob them. Maybe he’d kill them. Oddly enough, with his bow on the other side of the camp, Kíli found that he didn’t mind the prospect so much. He shook the dark thought away as soon as it had arrived.The movement produced a sharp pain in his head. He lifted a sluggish hand to his dark hair only to pull it away in shock as soon as he touched his head. Something… something crusty was there, splattered across his hair and right temple. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His dwarven sensibilites and hair-pride ought to be damaged, he ought to be indignantly furious. Instead, all he can dully think is that the Men must have enjoyed their little show. Kíli could only hope that none of them chose to do what Fíli had done.“You’re hurt,” The Man’s brusque voice startled Kíli out of his morbid thoughts. He looked up at the Ranger, taking in the lined face and salt-and-pepper hair that fell past his ears. This Man was old, probably old enough to be a grandfather. Did this young brunet dwarf remind him of a son or grandson? Kíli watched as the Ranger looked beyond him to Fíli, old eyes narrowing in the beginnings of rage.No. No. Kíli would not allow it. Even if Fíli had done this, Kíli would die before he ever let another Man touch his brother. His honor needed no protecting. He had to think. To lie. He couldn’t say that they’d just been fooling around in the dark, because the Man had clearly seen the rope-burns on his wrists when he’d cut them free. No pair of young lovers would be that rough with each other in the wilderness where anything could happen. Not even Kíli was that stupid. So then…“Bandits. They… got me. They were going to… do my brother second. But,” here he swallowed thickly, for the Ranger’s face had darkened at the word ‘brother’, “A mountain lion scared them off. They must have knocked us out and left us for dead.”The Man’s expression morphed into one of pity and Kíli hated him for it. Kíli was a prince, a warrior, a son of Durin. He needed no pity. The Ranger may not know any of this but that didn’t quell the rage boiling in his gut. With his clothes now righted, he tossed the cloak back at the man and, when his legs would not let him fully stand, crawled to his brother’s side. “Please, he’s got a cut on his neck. Do you have any bandages?”The Ranger slung his pack off his shoulders and produced a roll of bandages and a tincture of something strong-smelling to prevent infection. Kíli nodded at him in thanks and set to cleaning the wound. Fíli did not stir at all in the process, which his brother was grateful for. He had no idea how Fíli would react to the events of the previous night and he really did not need his cover story to be questioned.When Fíli was bandaged and made decent with a spare trouser-lace, Kíli’s thoughts turned to the journey they were supposed to be on. Erebor. The Shire. They were meant to meet everyone else there to recruit their final member. A burglar of some sort. It wouldn’t reflect very well on the princes if they were late, no matter how horrible-- don’t think about it-- the reason. Fíli and Kíli had badgered Thorin for months to get him to let them come along. It was almost all for naught until their Mother stepped in and gave her permission. It was by her leave they’d been allowed to join.Kíli sucked in a sharp breath. Mother. Uncle. How on earth would they react when--Fíli would be shaved and cast out if he wasn’t executed on the spot.So Kíli wouldn’t tell them.Kíli wasn’t going to tell anyone.“Our ponies were stolen. Could you possibly carry us to the nearest settlement? I can pay.” Kíli tried his best to not sound desperate. Feeling for his coinpurse, his heart sank when he came up empty. Realizing that their packs were gone too, he added, “Or if I don’t have enough, I can settle up with you when we get there—”“Not necessary,” the Man cut him off, sounding very grandfatherly, “It would go against the code of the Dunedain if I did not aid you. Where do you need to go?”Kíli felt a wave of gratitude wash over him, more still when he realized that the Ranger was avoiding asking anything further about the incident. He’d take what scraps of pride he could. After his bow and what few arrows he could scrounge up from the mess in the dirt had been gathered and wrapped up in a parcel, he was placed very gingerly on the saddle of a horse, Fíli then tucked into his arms. Kíli tried not to panic at his continued unconsciousness. There would be time to fret over it when they were safely off the road. They could lick their wounds later.
Don’t think about it.
The Ranger escorted them to someplace called Michel Delving. The ride took nearly a whole day, with Kíli keeping deadly silent as he watched the Ranger walk alongside his horse, reigns in a guiding grip. It was another unspoken kindness that he wouldn’t be made to sit so closely to the Man, even if he was aiding them. Kíli never wanted to touch another Man for as long as he lived. Maybe he could convince his Uncle that they were worse than Elves, get them banned from the Mountain after it was won back.It wasn’t until after they are borne to an inn, some oddly cozy place called the Bird and Baby, that Kíli thought to ask his name. The Man merely chuckled, not insulted, and replied that it was Eadgrim. He then proceeded to hand over some silver coins to the inkeep, buying the brothers a room, a bath, and a meal without being asked. Kíli wanted to weep, to laugh. Maybe this one Man was ok.“Your companions probably left for Hobbiton via Waymeet. If you leave in the morning I’m sure you’ll meet them along the way. The Shire has few roads, well-tended they may be.”Kíli did not offer a handshake, but bowed as best he could with Fíli draped over his back, and bid farewell to their rescuer. The innkeeper, a hobbit-- an odd short creature with pointed ears-- swept him down a hall and unlatched a door. The little fellow helped Kíli lay his brother out on the bed and promised him he’d return shortly with dinner and some hot water for the bath before scurrying off. Kíli watched his large, hairy feet curiously as they stepped silently over the room’s floorboards.Nearly as soon as he’d left the innkeeper was back, bearing a large steaming ewer and a platter of smoked meats, cheeses, fried potatoes, a sliced apple, and two loaves of dark bread. “This is yours,” he said jovially as he pushed the tray into Kíli’s arms. “That Man payed for two but I figured your companion here might be out for a while. If he wakes just let me know and I’ll bring your other meal.” The hobbit shot Fíli’s sleeping form a fond look. “Reminds me of my youth. Can’t remember the last time I drank the night away. Growing old has made me far too respectable.” Kíli gave him a stilted, unsure nod. Yes. Drunk. Nevermind the bruises on his own face, the cut on his lip. Drunkeness can explain away a lot of things. Another late introduction was made-- Humbert Took-- and Kíli was finally alone.He took the bath first, scrubbing himself till his skin was pink and raw. Then the dinner was eaten, crammed down his throat while barely being tasted. Kíli chose to spare a dark loaf and a bit of cheese for his meager supplies. Then, with a sour stomach and still-wet hair, he looked over Fíli’s wounds, giving out a little hum of surprise when he found the cut on his brother’s neck to be most healed over. Whatever paste Eadgrim used, it worked wonders. Kíli hoped Óin had something like that.Sliding under the covers next to Fíli, who remained clothed save for his boots, Kíli felt the need to sleep facing away from his brother for the first time in his life. He didn’t like it. For that matter, sleep did not come to him easily, as it normally did. Too many thoughts were hanging in the air and Kíli didn’t want any of them. He willed his brain into stony silence. If bad feelings, bad thoughts started creeping in, they’d never stop and Kíli would shatter apart like a crystal goblet.So Kíli wouldn’t think.He lay there for several hours, staring at the inky night sky out of the room’s one window, watching as it lightened increment by increment. Just before the sun came up he could bear it no longer and proceeded to empty his stomach into the washbashin.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Fíli woke up about an hour after sunrise. Groggy, with hair sticking every direction, he rubbed his eyes and grumbled unintelligibly. Kíli felt a pang in his heart at the sight. Every morning they’d ever shared together had been the same-- Kíli waking up first and coaxing the non-morning-person Fíli out of bed with a joke and maybe a gentle elbow to the chest or side. But today Fíli was awake already so that wasn’t necessary, Kíli told himself. No need to get close. No need to touch.“Wh’ time’s it?”“An hour past sunrise. If you want breakfast you’d better hurry. We need to leave soon.”Fíli opened his eyes like a shot and blinked rapidly. He practically flew out of bed, spinning around and feeling for the many daggers on his person. However hidden they were, it was still a small miracle that they hadn’t been stolen while he lay unconscious. Catching sight of Kíli, he relaxed his stance and kicked away the blanket that now lay on the floor.
“Kíli?”“Yes?”“Where the hell are we?”“Uh,”“Mahal! What happened to your face?”Now wasn’t that the question of the hour? He tugged his gloves up as far as they’d go over the edge of his sleeves and asked tentatively, “What do you remember?” Better to probe first. Blond eyebrows wrinkled in concentration. “I… we were about to leave home… to go to the Shire, right?” Kíli nodded. That was a good starting point. He quirked up his mouth in an uncertain smile as he replied, “Yeah, and we did. But then you fell off a cliff.”Fíli stared at him.Kíli flailed his arms. “It’s the truth. You slid in some wet mud and went right over.” He pointed an accusatory finger in his brother’s face and continued, “And when I went down to save you like the hero I am, the ponies bolted. So I had to carry you until I found help.” Fíli crossed his arms. “You? Carry me? With your noodle arms?”“I-it’s true!”“Sure, and I’m an elf.”“If you were, you would’ve landed on your feet.”“That’s cats that do that, brother. You sure it wasn’t you who fell?” Blue eyes lingered on the purple bruise forming on Kíli's cheek. Kíli made a snorting noise and threw his hands up in the air. “Not my fault you’re ungrateful! I was being a dutiful little brother and this is the thanks I get?”This was bad. Kíli hadn’t spent long on that excuse and it was showing. No sleep and uneasy thoughts weren’t the best companions to planning. Lying to Fíli in the first place hurt like hell. But if he didn’t remember, then he’d never learn it from Kíli, Mahal willing. So he had to think on his feet. Give Fíli more to worry about, distract him a bit. As an idea came to him, he felt the barest hints of a real smile break over his face.“I hope Thorin doesn’t find out about this,” Kíli mused, trying his best to look casual as he placed a hand on his hip.Fíli whipped his head up so fast his moustache braids clacked together. “What do you mean?”Kíli crossed his arms. “I mean, we lost all our gold and supplies. If Uncle finds out he’ll think we’re useless and send us home.”Three… two… one…“R-right. Right! So we’re not gonna tell him!”Kíli nodded smugly. Fíli began to pace, running a finger through the sleep-tangles of his blond hair. He pointed at Kíli, “And! And, as far as our supplies go,” He pulled at his hair and held up the bead he’d pried loose in front of Kíli. The younger dwarf raised a brow. It was a simple silver one, bearing no great significance outside of being one of Fíli’s early smithing attempts. The value was fairly high and wouldn’t be greatly missed. It could work as payment for new packs and supplies.“And the ponies?”Fíli dismissed the question with a wave. “No one will notice. Thorin was planning to hire a bunch more when we get to Hobbiton or wherever.” He smiled crookedly at Kíli. “What’s two extra?”The distraction was successful. Fíli, quite proud of his Avoid-Being-Sent-Home plan, didn’t question his spotty memory or Kíli’s bruised face for the rest of the morning. He was so pleased that he didn’t even ask how Kíli had lost his pack if he hadn’t been the one to fall over the cliff. It was a lucky thing, really. Kíli was terrible at lying. Fíli had always been the one to talk them out of sticky situations and spanked bottoms when they were pebbles.The bead was traded in for two new packs, new bedrolls, a small handful of dried meats and fruits, and a new quiver with a few spare arrows. Anything they couldn’t replace could be excused to the others by Fíli and Kíli being a tad forgetful. Thorin would at least overlook that. He knew what they were like.The turn of good luck continued when they happened upon Óin, Glóin, and the Ur family shortly after leaving Michel Delving. The merry group had no ponies, having given them up after the mudslide jammed up the roads. Fíli and Kíli slotted themselves perfectly into the flow of conversation, sharing jokes and good-natured jibes with the other five as Hobbiton drew closer. Somehow, those few nights camped out on the road in the Shire felt almost normal, with sleep claiming Kíli before his thoughts could turn dark. Any dreams he had were vague, misshapen, and lost to his memory upon waking. He could be ok, he told himself. He would forget and everything would go back to normal.That pleasant notion, sadly, did not last. Sure, Hobbiton had been a funny little delight and their host, a fussy fellow called Bilbo Boggins, had been a pleasure to tease and rile up, but when their reluctant host had retired for the night and the mood turned somber after a few dirges in the firelit living room, Kíli grew antsy. Dodging Thorin’s questions about his bruised face was easy enough but he could not so easily escape the evening’s sleeping arrangements.He was no stranger to sharing a room with Thorin and Fíli. When business took his Uncle beyond the mountains and he saw fit for his nephews to tag along, the three would often share a single inn room in an effort to ease the strain on their wallets. It was no new experience and back then had even made the young dwarf feel very safe. No orcs, wargs, or dragons would dare harm them when they were so close together, crammed like sardines on a bumpy wooden floor.But what then, if Fíli himself was the danger? Kíli felt wrong for even thinking it. It wasn’t like Fíli intended to hurt him. Fíli would never hurt him. For Mahal’s sake, he didn’t even remember what happened!
Don’t think about it.
Kíli was being unfair. He knew all of this but when faced with the reality of a night in closed quarters next to his brother with no way out no-way-to-escape-wrists-red-and-sore-where-the-rope-cuts-into-him-Fíli-prowling-over-his-naked-back--
Don’t think about it.
Fíli would not hurt him. It became a silent chant as he tucked himself next to the brother in question, already snoozing on the trundle bed they’d pulled out from Thorin’s own. When the chant grew too rapid, falling apart into just ‘Fíli’ and ‘hurt’, Kíli opted to instead let the cold logic part of his mind take over, listing all the reasons why he was safe here, in this strange room so many miles from home:1. Fíli was mostly unarmed. Thank you, weird hobbit propriety.2. Thorin was here. Thorin could overpower him easily if it was necessary. It’d be like swatting a fly.3.Kíli was the one sleeping closest to the door. He knew his escape route.4. Fíli was deeply asleep, judging by his snoring. Kíli always was the lighter sleeper of the two.5. …6. …7. …… Fíli would not hurt him.Kíli, letting his mind linger on that thought alone, slipped into a doze.
Fíli, golden hair curtaining his grinning face, leans over Kíli. His eyes are vacant and so dark that Kíli can’t see his pupils. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Kíli cannot move, cannot even twitch his littlest finger. He screams at Fíli to get off of him but it’s no use. His words come out of his mouth as wisps of smoke, batted away by an unseen, unpleasantly warm breeze. Fíli leans down and bites him. It is painless, but the sight that greets Kíli when his brother lifts his head up again is terrifying. Fili’s lips are coated in blood, thick and dark red. He gives Kíli a toothy smile, showing a mouth full of stolen flesh and viscera. Kíli struggles in vain once again, pleading with his brother to stop, anything, just kill me and be done with it--
Kíli awoke covered in sweat and fear-dizzy, clapping a hand over his mouth to fight off the scream that wanted to escape. A dream, just a dream. Don’t think about it. Forget. He lay stiff and unmoving for a moment, noticing that he’d rolled to the very edge of the trundle in the short time he’d been unconscious. It must have been about an hour, if his dwarven internal clock was anything to go by, and it usually was. He shot Fili’s snoring face a peevish look and sighed. Sleep would not come to him again. Not here, anyway.Kíli rolled off the mattress and onto the floor as silently as he could. He stood and crept to the door in socked feet, pausing a few times when he heard his Uncle shift on the bed. Once in the hallway and home-free, he took in the rumbles of snoring that seemed to permeate the whole house. It’s a wonder the very walls weren’t shaking. Most of the noise was probably Balin. If the free peoples ever held competitions for sawing logs, the old dwarf would be the champion ten times over.He shuffled as quietly as he could down the hall, intent on slipping out the back door and into their host’s garden. Kíli'd seen the door earlier, and, well, it was as good a place to go as any. No need to worry about feeling closed in when he was outdoors.
Creak. Creak.
Freezing on the spot, Kíli looked down at his feet in confusion. That hadn’t been him. Looking back behind him, Kíli spotted the faintest hint of light trickling out from the staircase past the last bedroom. Curiosity piqued, he approached the stairs and looked down. Someone was definitely down there. Mister Boggins, maybe? Before he knew it he was descending, following that little bit of light.It led to a halfway open door with a shadow moving around beyond it. A series of surprised gasps and unintelligible mutterings reached Kíli's ears. Probably wasn’t Mr. Boggins. Who gets surprised by their own house? Or maybe it was him and he was just surprised he’d found something that hadn’t been destroyed like the plumbing or the pantry. Dwarrow were heavy-handed.Only one way to find out. He stuck his head around the corner of the doorway and whispered a rather loud “Hello?”“AH!”The undwarf-like squeak that greeted him alerted him to the identity of the room’s occupant as much as the room itself did. It was a library. Which meant…“Heya, Ori.”The scribe lowered the book he’d been wielding like a shield and glared at him. “Mahal, Kíli! You scared me half to death!”“Sorry,” he grinned, doing his best to not look sorry.“What are you doing awake?”“I could ask the same of you. Pilfering Mister Boggins’ books?”Ori gave him a sour look, absentmindedly stroking the leather surface of the volume he was holding, as if the thing had been offended by Kíli's presence. Not that Kíli would blame it. He wasn’t an active fan of libraries. Boring places, only good for hiding from angry moms and uncles. Or wayward brothers.
Don’t think about it.
“For your information, Mister Baggins gave me permission to look at his collection,” the ginger dwarf huffed, “and if I have to sneak away to do it then so be it.” Ori turned and pointed a mitten excitedly at a shelf guarded by a sheet of glass. “Look, he’s even got elvish poetry!”“What’s so great about weed-eater poetry? What do they even write about? Eating weeds? Shagging trees?”Ori tried to look admonishing even as his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Could be, for all I know. I can’t read it.”Kili’s dark brows flew to his forehead. “Really? Wow, you must have Balin fooled good! What’s your secret?”“Sindarin, Kíli,” Ori gave him a funny look. “Sindarin. I can read other languages just fine.”“Even Orcish?”“Well,”“What about Quenya?”“Alright, I can read Westron and Khuzdul just fine,” Ori flapped an arm in mock defeat. “Now did you come here to diminish my abilities or did you need something?”Kíli smiled. It had been a good three or four years since he’d said more than two words to Ori but the scribe was thankfully the same as he’d always been. To strangers and those older than him, he was shy, nervous, diffident-- but his childhood companions knew better: he was a powerhouse with a dry sense of humor and stones of brass when it counted. Growing up in Ered Luin there were very few dwarrow his age so they all seemed to gravitate toward each other. Ori had about ten years on Kíli but that hadn’t stopped their friendship. When he, Fíli, and Gimli were running from trouble, Ori was more often than not right there with them, admonishing their bad decisions as if he hadn’t actively helped plan them.Then striplinghood had set in and Ori was shepherded into an apprenticeship and Kíli found more and more of his time occupied by diplomacy lessons and weapons training. He regretted growing apart, as inevitable as it’d been. Maybe this Quest would be a chance to reconnect.“Nothing,” Kíli said after a moment. “Just couldn’t sleep.”“Oh, are you nervous about the journey? I could make you some tea if you wanted.”Kíli hummed thoughtfully and shook his head. “No thanks, I don’t think it’ll help.” He pointed at the book Ori was still holding. “What’s that? More Elvish nonsense?”Ori beamed and flipped the book open, turning it to face Kíli. Once more, the prince raised his brows in surprise. The entire left page was a full-color illustration, lovingly rendered in ink. It depicted a knight on a horse, sword lifted to the sky as a dragon flew overhead and spewed a stream of fire. The right side was equally beautiful, looping smooth text framed in a colorful border of interlocking ivy and white flowers. Ori’s brown eyes gleamed from where they peered over the book.“It’s an illuminated text! Mister Baggins owns an honest-to-Mahal illuminated text!”Kíli reached out and lightly touched the paper. “Are they rare?”“Are they rare? Are they rare? In all of Ered Luin there’s but one-- the Record of the Seven Clans,” Ori sighed wistfully, “And Master Balin says that there probably won’t be any more if Erebor remains lost. They cost far too much to produce, in terms of materials and work time.”Kíli looked at Ori with wide eyes. The scribe had turned the volume back around and was gazing at it lovingly, mouth moving silently as he poured over the words. Erebor’s libraries, if they remained untouched by Smaug’s fire, probably housed many more of these items, treasured as they were by dwarven scribes and parchment artists. He gave a hum of realization.“You want to craft one of your own, don’t you?”Ori’s eyes snapped up from the book and he blushed. Kíli continued, “Is that why you agreed to go? To make your own illuminated text?” There was no shame in that reason; a fourteenth of Erebor’s treasure would surely be more than enough for the project and Ori’s talents would no doubt yield a Masterwork.“Not entirely,” Ori clarified as he waved an erratic hand, “I also happen to believe in King Thorin’s cause.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And maybe I want to show Dori I’m not a pebble anymore.”“Aye. Getting eaten by a dragon’s a good way to do that.”Ori looked terror-stricken for a moment and set the book down. “Do you… think he lives?”Kíli snorted. “Probably not. Bet he’s long dead.” Ori’s shoulders sagged in relief. He set the illuminated text down reverently on a small table and put his hands on his hips. “So,” he chirped, all traces of fear gone, “If you’re not gonna sleep do you want to help me? Mister Baggins mentioned he had a book of old maps in here somewhere and I was looking for it.”It may not have been the safety of an open sky but the few late night hours he spent with Ori poring over their host’s book collection was a welcome distraction. They shuffled book after book on and off the old shelves, pausing in-between to share a joke or anecdote of the lives they’d had in Ered Luin after going their separate ways. Kíli was right, Ori had barely changed. He was as warm and gentle as he always was, and apparently even sharper than the prince remembered. Every so often, when Ori was going to replace a volume on the shelves he’d glance at Kíli, worry tinging his expression. The little scribe knew something was wrong but was doing him the kindness of not asking. If Kíli felt a little babied, he didn’t care. Ori’s familiarity was soothing, as was his voice. The last thing he could recall that night was the flute-like cadence of his friend’s words as he read out from some book of stories Kíli'd handed him.The sleep was mercifully dreamless and dark, like peering into a lake at night.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Something was tapping the bottom of his foot. Kíli’s shoulders jerked involuntarily as his eyes snapped open. Fíli stood in front of him, smiling down at him as he lightly kicked at Kíli’s socked sole again. “Not fair, sneaking around without me, brother,” he admonished with a chuckle, “Did I snore too loud?” Kíli tried to swallow and found his mouth very dry. He pulled his foot under him before it could get prodded a third time and rolled his shoulder, feeling a painful stiffness in his neck. Sleeping sitting up sucked. He peered up at his brother again, feeling a bit lightheaded. Fíli, with a wicked grin and braids recently redone, looked in his element this morning, and he was beautiful. Almost too beautiful for Kíli to be afraid.Kíli ignored the hand he offered him and stood on his own. Spying the glint of confusion in his brother’s eye, he stuck out an elbow and jabbed Fíli in the side. “You gave Balin a run for his money, I’ll say that much,” yawning, he looked down at the spot in-between the shelves where he’d slept. Not comfortable at all. Fíli used the opening to tug at something on Kíli’s shoulders, making the younger dwarf whirl around like he was an overgrown spinning top. “Where’d you get this? I didn’t see it in our room.”The brunet eyed the fabric in his brother’s hands. It was a small grey blanket, beautifully knit with tight, close stitches. Ori. He must’ve gone and gotten it from his room after Kíli’d fallen asleep. More babying, but Kíli couldn’t say it wasn’t appreciated. After all, Ori had run the risk of waking his older brothers with the errand. It was a sweet thing to do, and just like him.“Give it,” Kíli tugged the blanket out of Fili’s grip. He balled it up and stuck it under his arm. Making a plan to return it to Ori later, he ran a hand through his unbraided hair and groused, “Did I miss breakfast?”“Nah, there’s some porridge and eggs left. Uncle ate six, if you can believe it.”“I can,” Thorin’s love of fried eggs was legendary.“Well, you better hurry up. He said to help Bombur wash up after eating. We need to be gone before Mister Baggins wakes.”Huh? Kíli shot his brother a bemused look. Fíli shrugged. “I don’t know either. He was very insistent about it. Maybe he really hates hobbits or something.”It did not escape Kíli’s notice that the contract Balin had given their host last night remained on the table as they left and shut the door behind them. He didn’t know who put it there, but it probably wasn’t Thorin. The King was unusually agitated as they made their way down the road, barking orders left and right. Kíli was told to ‘keep up!’ or ‘hurry up!’ no less than twenty-six times on their way to the stables. It was odd. Normally Thorin stopped around ten or twelve.They’d been on the road for about ten minutes when Fíli sidled his pony up next to Kíli’s spot behind Dwalin. Kíli shot him a questioning look and Fíli responded by pointing ahead at their Uncle. “Weird, right? Not just me?” Thorin was in a shouting match with the Wizard who was no doubt insisting that they all go back for Bilbo. Kíli sighed and shook his head. “No, not just you.”“So what do you think it is?”“Does it have to be anything? Uncle being angry isn’t anything new.”Fíli pressed his lips together and stared ahead silently for a moment before replying, “You’re being weird too.” Kíli kept his eyes on Thorin as his brother continued, “And it’s not just this morning either. Ever since…the inn, you’ve been avoiding me. I know I’m not imagining it.” Grateful that Fíli knew not to say too much when Dwalin and the others were so close by, Kíli turned his head slowly and met Fili’s eyes. Today, in the late spring sunshine, they were so pale that they almost looked grey, like a pair of polished moonstones. It was hard to look away.
Don’t think about it.
Really, what kind of excuse could Kíli even give? That touching Fíli made him want to peel his skin off, that looking at him made him feel like an uprooted dandelion in a windstorm? That he couldn’t stand Fíli, hated him with a desperate passion, but needed him near, loved him with all he had, all in the same breath? It wasn’t fair. The two of them had been joined at the hip for their whole lives. Kíli hated advanced diplomacy lessons because it was the only hour in the day they were kept apart. Their mother gave Kili’s bed away to another family because Kíli never slept in it, preferring to be wrapped around his older brother. Kíli took up the fiddle because Fíli played it and he wanted to be his brother’s first choice for duet partner.The younger prince practically made ruts in the stone floors of their home from how he danced around his own latent feelings for his brother. For years he’d dreamt of stealing a kiss, imagined catching those blue eyes off-guard, wondered if he’d be scorned, turned away, or if Fíli might grab him roughly about the shoulders, pull him close and…Well, that was then. Now, now, the very first intimate act they’d ever shared was something tainted and dirty, something that morphed Fíli into a wild beast, a bad word, a dark alley: A thing to be avoided.Kíli was still fumbling for a good excuse when the calls of “Wait!” and “Stop!” reached them. He uttered a silent prayer of thanks to Mahal as he helped haul Bilbo onto a pony. From then, most of the conversations were bet-related, Nori taking center stage as he divvied out gold to the winning parties.The rest of the first day’s travel passed in a sluggish haze, the damp, fertile grasses of the Shire lulling pony and dwarf alike into a sleepy, jolly mood. The call for their first official break for camp came just after the sun had set, with Thorin leading them off the road and out to a large patch of flat land on the edge of a babbling creek. The side closest to the stream of water was raised, forming a natural low shelf. Bilbo, who’d been lagging at the end of the group, made a noise of approval as he saw the campsite Thorin had picked.As the halfling fumbled to get off of Myrtle, he explained how he recognized the area. “This is a popular spot for walking holidays! I myself have slept under the stars here a good handful of times. They call it Lover’s Leap. Not much of a fall from that small ledge though, I must say. I suppose Lover’s Hop just doesn’t sound as good!” Thorin gave a dismissive snort as he dismounted his pony and walked ahead of the others. Kíli watched him go and turned back to Bilbo, who was currently hanging off the side of his pony, large foot caught in a stirrup. “What’s a walking holiday?” he asked as he helped the hobbit untangle himself. Bilbo’s small hands dusted himself off and clapped Kíli’s arm gratefully. “Camping, mostly. Like what we’re doing now, only over a shorter distance and more leisurely.”“For fun?”“I suppose you could put it that way. Though most hobbits take them to visit relatives.”“Most? Not you?”Bilbo’s mouth folded into a tight smile. Kíli wanted to ask a follow-up question, curious if he was weird for a hobbit, or just weird in general. Alas, the stern call of his Uncle to assist with gathering water pulled him away. He shrugged apologetically at Bilbo and hurried off without another word.Avoiding Fíli was going well. The novelty of setting up camp distracted many of the company, his older brother included. They spent the hour before dinner scurrying around, delegated to menial tasks that kept them far apart. Kíli suspected this was Thorin’s (and Balin’s) attempt at preventing mischief, but whatever the reason, he was grateful.Now here he was, checking over the packs to make sure they were tightly closed and animals wouldn’t be browsing them for stray bits of cram during the night. Without Fíli. The rote feeling of tugging on buckles and knotted drawstrings settled into a rhythm, and he found his thoughts wandering, petering out, then blanking altogether. The empty theater hall inside his skull pulled up a shadow play of golden hair and beryl eyes that danced across the stages of his life:Fíli, aged twenty, standing in the dying light of a sunset on his nameday, offering to share his new wooden sword. Fíli, freshly forty-eight and helping him sneak back into their bedroom window after a night of mischief. Fíli, seventy-three and drunk off his ass, fighting a Firebeard guildmaster who’d called Kíli a ‘halfwit’ and an ‘ugly elfspawn freak’.That last memory was especially precious to him. His brother, despite receiving two black eyes and a hefty punishment from their mother, never backed down or apologized for his part in the brawl. He was glorious, even in a drunken rage. Kíli spent many a private moment in the months afterward remembering how the light in the bar reflected in his intense eyes, how the sweat clung to his neck, how the tear in his tunic exposed his curly chest hair…There was a sound ringing in his ears, freezing him in place. It was distorted and impossible to identify. The shriek of a distant owl? The thunk of a doll dropped by a careless child? The solid crunch of a porcelain teacup under a boot? Whatever it was, it reverberated everywhere in his head like an echo on top of an echo, body on top of body, then suddenly he was only his eyeballs. They popped loose from his skull and floated up, up, up, until he could see the whole of camp and the dwarrow in it, wandering and milling about like a bunch of lazy ants.And there among them was the useless, ugly body called Kíli, sitting stone-still in a sea of backpacks. He watched himself with disgusted disinterest as the horrid form twisted, distorted, became naked, then bloated with rot, then a pile of picked-over bones. He was within and without, caught in the airless slipstream behind a loosed arrow. He was hurtling, arcing, crashing, dissolving, draining, fading to grey, scattering like dust. The sound, now a distant, blurbling stream, called out to him. Promised him things:A jump off a cliff, the straight line of a knife blade, so easy. Limping off into the forest like a wounded old animal. To die and be nothing, feel no more fear, loss, claws on his back, semen on his body, no more fear of Fíli. No. More. Fíli. Forever. Whether it be from indescribable grief, or the euphoric release of tension, the wretched form listed to the left and slumped halfway over a nearby pack.And then Kíli was back. He sat up quickly and tilted his head as far down as it would go, pressing his stubbly chin into the flesh of his neck. One deep breath, two deep breaths. It felt like he’d been underwater, simultaneously trying to fight a current and being swept out by it. He shook his head, attempting to clear out the fog that had rolled in. As he grappled for purchase to sit himself upright, his hands ran over a loose bag buckle and caught on a hard bundle of leather. He followed the arc of his elbow and peered down. That was Bilbo’s pack. Bilbo. Thorin. Fíli.The strange fog was mostly gone now. And now that he was back in his own body, those erratic wisps of thought seemed ridiculous. He couldn’t just die! Nor could separate from his brother. They may not have admitted it to each other, but Kíli knew fully well that they were One, and regardless of whether he hated or loved Fíli their souls were bound together by Mahal Himself. Sorting out his feelings would be a pointless waste of time. Kíli was here. Fíli was here. They needed to be present, to prove themselves, to aid Thorin and be by his side when Erebor was reclaimed. Kíli could not spend the many months this journey would take cowering in fear. It was unworthy of a Durin. He was unworthy.Furthermore, if Fíli was already noticing the new distance between them, Thorin and the others wouldn’t be far behind. They would start asking questions, which would lead to Fíli bringing up his memory loss, which would put Kíli in a corner with no way out but admitting what happened. And he wasn’t going to do that. So he had to fix this. He needed a way to return to his usual dynamic with Fíli. He needed to prove to everyone that everything was normal and that they were okay. Something expected of them, something typical and familiar…Kíli looked down at Bilbo’s open pack and eyed the objects sticking out with renewed interest. That could work. And Fíli was easy enough to find-- the blond was milling near the ponies with the air of someone pretending to look busy. “Brother,” he whispered, keeping his voice low and level to avoid unwanted ears, “You feel like finding out what’s going on with Uncle?”“What’d you have in mind?” Fíli narrowed his eyes, lips quirking up in a way that made Kíli’s blood boil and gather in his lower stomach. Now was the time to execute his plan. Kíli gestured his dark head at Thorin. Their Uncle was near the edge of the camp, sitting on the ledge that overlooked the creek.“Uncle’s been avoiding the hobbit. But,” he whispered, “I get the feeling he really does want to talk to Bilbo and just doesn’t know how.” Kíli waited for Fíli to nod before continuing,“Mother always said he’s terrible at flirting, right? So, let’s give him this.” He pulled his prizes from earlier out of his pocket, holding one out for his brother’s inspection. Fíli scoffed and took the item. “A pipe? Uncle already has one. Where did you get this any—” He stopped mid-sentence, having noticed the flowery ‘B.B.’ carved on the bottom of the bell. Blue eyes narrowed. “I see.” Kíli nodded. That was enough. The rest of the plan formed without the need for another single word passing between them. The return to synchronicity was so easy that it hurt.“Uncle!” They approached him in a pincer formation, one on each side of Thorin. Their Uncle raised an eyebrow and grunted, pulled out of whatever deep kingly thoughts he was having. Kíli took advantage of his lowered guard and thrust the pipe under Thorin’s nose, perfectly timing it with a similar motion on Fili’s side. His brother offered pipe weed, shoving the bag so close to Thorin’s face that the dwarf king’s nose twitched at the spicy contents. Amazingly, Thorin did not smack the items away and cuff both their heads-- it was a testament to just how used to their antics he was. Instead, he flicked his sapphire blue eyes from one grinning face to the other, then sighed. “What?”Kíli’s grin grew wider, nearly splitting his face in half. “We thought you could use a breather.” Fíli nodded in agreement, gesturing at the pouch in his hands. “Yeah, Uncle, have a smoke!”Thorin, for his part, looked completely unimpressed. He snatched the bag out of Fili’s hands and rubbed at his nose. “I do not need a ‘breather’,” he grunted out, “Besides, I already have a pipe.” He took the pipe from Kíli’s hands and looked at it closely. “This one isn’t yours, where did you get this?”That was their cue. Kíli shot his brother a wink and chirped, “Fíli, I think Bombur needs help with the stew!” They scurried away before Thorin could ask any further questions.Fíli made for Bilbo’s spot near the treeline, turning back with a look that clearly indicated he expected Kíli to follow. But Kíli didn’t. There was no need, Fíli could handle the next part by himself. Instead, the younger prince made for the brightest area near the fire, stopping along the way to fetch something from his pack.“Ori.”“Hm?” The scribe peered up from his book, tongue still peeking out from between his teeth. Kíli resisted the urge to mimic the expression. “Here, I wanted to return this, and say thanks,” he said, handing over the now neatly folded bundle. Ori set aside his book and capped his inkpot, but didn’t reach up to grab the cloth. “If you’re thankful, y-you should keep it! I have no need of it.” The prince raised his eyebrows. A gift? That was awfully kind. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone outside his immediate family gave him a gift. Money was tight back in Ered Luin. “Well then, thank you, Ori.” Kíli said with a shallow bow.The scribe returned it with a nod of his head, then patted a half-formed tangle of yarn sticking out of his bag. “I’ve already started on my next project. Gotta k-keep the hands busy, you know!” Kíli made a noise of interest and sat down on the log beside him. As Ori prattled on about different types of stitches, he took the opportunity to sweep his eyes over the rest of their Company.Dori was a few feet away, taking inventory of his sewing kit and doing his best to pretend he wasn’t watching the two of them like a hawk. And he wasn’t alone in his chaperoning. Dwalin, seated next to Balin on the opposite side of the fire, was doing the same, sharpening his axes with a mulish look. Nori was a further distance, having a heated discussion with an animated Bofur and a disinterested Bombur, while Bifur sat placidly in the middle, carving away at a piece of wood. Óin and Glóin were absent, probably tasked with gathering firewood. At last, his eyes came to rest on Fíli, standing next to Bilbo in the half-shadow of a large tree. The hobbit was talking to Fíli with quick, erratic gestures. But Fíli wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at Ori, a mixture of confusion and annoyance swirling on his face.When he flicked his eyes over and caught Kíli looking at him, the blond raised an eyebrow and frowned. Kíli shrugged and twitched his head in Thorin’s direction while pointedly looking at Bilbo. Fíli rolled his eyes, getting the message. He said something Kíli couldn’t hear and, using both hands, shoved their Burglar in Thorin’s direction. Go time.Kíli watched with rapt interest as the hobbit timidly approached their Uncle and sat on the ledge next to him. Eavesdropping would be impossible at this distance. But, with the streaky gold light being thrown by the campfire, he could just make out their faces as they turned to speak to each other. Thorin was largely neutral, nodding with a distant sort of dignity each time the halfling spoke. Bilbo, for his part, seemed equal parts fascinated by the king and terrified of him. An odd sort of mixture, but not such an unusual reaction to Thorin. Kíli’s Uncle had a sort of charisma that worked well with his harsh manner. He was easy to take orders from. Easy to call King. Bilbo must’ve agreed with him on that, given how the apples of his cheeks were slowly turning pink. Kíli silently hoped that their hunch about Thorin's behavior had been right; their Uncle deserved some happiness. Now all he had to do was lean over and whisper sweet nothings into those weird pointy ears.There was a reason Kíli normally left the hatching of schemes to his brother. Whatever burgeoning rapport was building between the two got cut short, unfortunately, when Bilbo’s eyes darted to Thorin’s lap and caught sight of what he had there. The halfling jumped to his feet, narrowly avoiding slipping off the edge and into the water below. That got Thorin’s attention. He’d had a sturdy arm outstretched to pull the hobbit back should he fall over, when, all of a sudden, Bilbo started stomping his large foot and pointing an accusatory finger in Thorin’s face. The pipe and pouch had been spotted by their owner, and now he wanted them back. Thorin stood and handed them over with a perplexed, almost indignant face. Kíli bit his lip as he leaned forward. This wasn’t part of the plan. Bilbo wasn’t supposed to get angry.As the hobbit spun on his heel and sauntered away like a miffed cat, Thorin caught Kíli’s eye and squared his shoulders.Uh oh.“Fíli! Kíli!”Thorin was approaching him rapidly, looking particularly thunderous. Fíli pushed off of the tree and sprinted to join his younger brother. Thorin timed his arrival perfectly, giving them both a sound cuffing on the back of the head. “Would you two care to explain why you stole the burglar’s pipe?”“Well, you see--”“Er, it’s a funny story, actually--”Thorin didn’t find it funny. He took both princes both by the collar and dragged them away for a lecture.By the time their scolding was done, everyone else had already set up their bedrolls. Kíli grabbed his pack and scanned the ground, looking for an empty spot. There was a small space left between the Ri brothers and the log closest to the smouldering fire. Perfect. Kíli took his bedroll and stepped carefully over and around those that were already curled up on the ground. As he knelt down in the smooth dirt and began to unfasten the straps that held his thin mattress shut, he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder and gave an involuntary shudder. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Shit. What a stupid lapse in judgement. Of course Fíli would follow him. Kíli peered up at his brother’s agitated face, doing his best to look bemusedly innocent. The blond responded with a raised eyebrow and lifted his own bedroll with his free hand.“Oh,” Was all the brunet dwarf could say.“Kíli, do you not want to sleep next to me?” Fíli leaned down to whisper the question, forcing Kíli to feel the solid weight of his shifting body from where his hand still rested on his shoulder. The younger prince willed his body to keep still, to not fling the blond dwarf away. Almost halfheartedly, Fíli continued, “Would you rather…” His eyes flicked over to Ori. The scribe was turned away from them, making it impossible to know if he could hear their whispers. “I just forgot,” Kíli whispered back, “That’s all.”Biting back an irritated sigh, the younger prince tapped Ori’s back with his boot. “Sorry Ori, but could you scoot over?” This was embarrassing. How was he going to survive this Quest with Fíli hanging off of him like this? It’d be a miracle if he didn’t snap. His emotions were all over the place. Bedrolls were shuffled over with a smattering of complaints, the loudest coming from Dori, who’d already been on the verge of sleep. Kíli resumed setting his spot up, not missing Fili’s look of disbelief.So clearly, the prank didn’t work and Fíli was as suspicious as ever. Maybe even more, now that Kíli messed everything up by not setting his bedroll next to his brother’s. Mahal, he was stupid. That Firebeard was right to call him a half-wit. Amazing that it only took a little distance from Fili’s protective embrace for him to realize how much he hated himself.What kind of pathetic excuse for a dwarf was he? Kíli blinked rapidly and tilted his head away from Fíli as tears pooled in his eyes. He’d seen battle before, taken down his fair share of deadly foes. And yet, one encounter with shit-swallowing Men was enough to reduce him to this. Even now, in the quiet of the wilderness, surrounded on all sides by kinsmen he’s known for his whole life, the memories were still there, creeping just out of reach, pressing down on his naked back like a ten ton stone--Stop.
Stop.

It has to stop.
Kíli shut his eyes and concentrated on listening to the breeze that passed through the leaf-laden branches overhead, using every spare muscle in his body to press himself into the hard ground below. He is not naked, he is not bound, he is not on his stomach. He is safe. If he could just make it through this night, he’d figure something out in the morning, once he got a moment away from Fíli.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Kíli slipped back into consciousness with a telltale lack of grace, his body twitching and wriggling as he sized up his position on the ground. He felt himself relax slightly as he realized Fíli had not circled his arms around him in the night, as he was known to occasionally do. Perhaps his brother was holding back, now that there were so many others sleeping around them. He had not done it on the road to Bilbo’s house either. Kíli silently uttered a thankful prayer for his restraint.Wincing at the pop in his shoulders and joints, he sat up and carefully extracted himself from the tight row of dwarrow sleeping next to the dying campfire. With his shoes slipped on and his new blanket wrapped around his shoulders to help keep out the chill of early morning, Kíli shuffled away from the center of camp. Last night’s watch rota had been Dwalin, then Thorin, then Bifur, who was still sat awake on a rock near the drop-off. A stroke of luck, that was. The other two would be suspicious at Kíli's early rising. Bifur only nodded his head in greeting before looking back down at the block of wood he was carving. It looked like the beginnings of a bird.Kíli walked past him as casually as he could, making a beeline for the trees. If anyone else was awake, it would only appear that Kíli was going to take care of business. Nothing weird about that. Nothing weird about him.Kíli kept walking long after the smell of smoke and the glow from the fire faded, rendering him all alone in the pre-dawn darkness and not entirely sure which direction he was going. His walk turned to a jog, then a run, then a sprint, as amorphous trees and shrubs around him melded into blue-brown blurs. Leaves and stones and chunks of peaty earth were kicked up under his boots. The movement of his body felt good, almost purifying. Like he was leaving himself behind, flying away from his ground-bound form. Kíli didn’t even realize he was falling until he felt the wet, uncomfortable crunch of forest vegetation beneath his cheek. Clusters of wet leaves clung to his tunic and he rolled himself upright and scooted into the recess of a nearby tree’s gnarled roots.Huffing and sweating, he willed the shaking of his body to stop as he assessed himself for injuries. With trembling hands, Kíli wiped the dirt from his face and gave his body—ugh— a once-over. There didn’t seem to be any signs of damage, aside from a small scrape on his jittery knuckles. Kíli watched blood seep to the surface of the broken patch of skin. A flash of pain coursed through his curled fist. Kíli lifted the thumbnail he hadn’t realized he’d been pressing into the wound and stared at the trace of red along the edge.He came out here to think, didn’t he? About what to do? Kíli's eyes fluttered shut as he felt the wheels in his mind begin to turn. Take stock. Lay out your options. Think them through.1. Convince Thorin to send him home. This wouldn’t work for several reasons, the most glaring being that his mother would attempt to contact Thorin by any means necessary to find out why her youngest had returned early. She might even set out in pursuit of him herself. There was also the simple, certain fact that, if Kíli was ousted, Fíli would undoubtedly be made to go with him. Which defeats the purpose of the whole thing.2. Run away and return to Ered Luin. Same outcome as above, but the idea of having a livid Uncle on his tail as well as a livid mother was much, much worse. Furthermore, Kíli couldn’t really stomach the idea of the quest failing all because of him.3. Run away and go somewhere else. Again, this probably wouldn’t pan out very well. Kíli was an apprentice lapidary, and not an especially good one. It would be hard to make a living off of his half-baked skills, nor would he be trusted to do business in many settlements as a solo dwarf. Other races expected dwarrow to travel and trade in groups, so without a support system Kíli would be more mistrusted than he was already on the basis of his heritage alone. And if he had to live among… among Men… well, that wasn’t something Kíli even wanted to consider.4. Die.…None of those had any appeal. Kíli was stuck, and left with only one remaining choice:5. Continue the quest and try not to ruin everything.Kíli looked up at the sickly grey of the early-morning sky and sighed. The sun would be up soon and the rest of the dwarrow with it. He would need to hurry up and get back if he wanted to avoid any unnecessary questions. His path back was easy enough to follow. The dents left behind by his heavy boots were obvious markers. Kíli let his thoughts wander, just a little, as he retraced them.Don’t ruin everything. Don’t ruin everything. Don’t… huh. Wasn’t he back in square one again? No plan, no real way forward. Well, ‘not ruining everything’ would mean that Kíli acted as he always did. But last night had proven how disastrous that could be. No, he was going to have to try harder. Project a version of himself for others to see—like the shadow puppets he and Fíli would make on the walls of their room when they were little—and put his all into maintaining it. Kíli would not allow himself to slip, for even a second. He would become the laughing, carefree knucklehead they expected. These bad thoughts, the dirtiness he felt when he brushed his own bare skin, they would get shuffled into the back of his mind, far far away. The Kíli others saw wouldn’t have any need of them. He would think only good, positive, Kíli-ish things and let Fíli touch him freely, just as he used to. It was a serious commitment, and a frightening one, but a hollow self was better than none at all.The Company was packing up by the time Kíli returned. Bilbo was passing out a handheld breakfast as everyone else rolled up their bedrolls. Fíli noticed him and waved. With no hesitation, Kíli waved back, smiling as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. Pretending.Yes, he could pretend.The few weeks that saw them out of the Shire and through the copses and fields and ruins of Eriador’s wildlands passed smoothly. The days ticked on in a fashion that quickly grew normal. Thorin would lead, riding his pony just close enough to Balin as to discretely allow the older dwarf to keep them on the right path. Complaints would get tossed around, as well as songs, bets, stories, and dirty jokes. Fíli and Kíli would occasionally hunt in patches of thicker forest for any sort of game to add to the night’s rations. That wasn’t the only time alone they’d share, either. Pranks once again were the norm, with the two brothers wreaking just as much havoc as they could get away with. And it was okay. Kíli, with his mind as empty as the summer sky, no longer flinched when Fíli’s golden hair brushed his shoulder. No longer felt the urge to vomit when their hands would touch. He smiled and laughed and joked freely with everyone. He played his part perfectly.But at night, right when Fíli's breathing turned deep and slow beside him, Kíli could feel his mask slip ever so slightly. The fear and disgust that he packed away day by day would threaten to wrench free like loosened air bubbles from the black, empty lake of his heart. Kíli was grateful that the exertion of long distance travel that had become so regular and expected often left him too tired for anything but sleep. No self-reflection. No taking off the costume. Just deep sleep and the instant forgetting of any unpleasant dreams as soon as the sun was upon him.That isn’t to say that everything was perfect, though. There was an incident that threatened to, and even came within a hairs breadth of, ruining everything. It was a cloudless day (the last for a long while, as it so happened) three weeks into their endless trek. The late spring sun was beating down on their heads and toasting their beards. During a routine shuffle through the nearby trees for any nuts or berries to add to that night’s dinner, Bofur— kindly, genial, caring Bofur— found a deep enough creek for them all to bathe in, the bastard.But Kíli did not curse Bofur out, instead opting to whoop with gratitude and join Fíli in begging Thorin for a reprieve from the long road— a mere half hour to rest and relax in the crystal waters! Their Uncle made a sour face but agreed after a discreet look in the direction of the Burglar and his flagging pony. The dwarrow of the Company cheered and wasted no time dropping their clothes near the shoreline and plunging in for a refreshing dip. Kíli lingered near the end of the group with Bilbo, taking as long to strip as he felt he could get away with. Fíli went ahead of him, cannon-balling straight into the deepest section of the pool. Kíli felt his mouth go dry. Looking anywhere but at the muscular figure of his brother, he shucked his smalls off and waded in with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.Dwarrow, as a rule, love a good bit of horseplay while bathing and today was no exception. As soon as Kíli was submerged up to his chest a splash of water pulsed up and splattered on his face. Kíli shook his head, strands of wet hair curling and clinging to his jawline. He blinked droplets from his eyes and scanned for signs of the culprit. Innocent faces with damp, dark beards peered back at him. Kíli cupped his hands and slung water at Nori, who was the closest, and used the momentary blind spot to move forward and grapple him. The tussle churned the water and Fíli shouted out an encouraging cheer in favor of his little brother. Kíli nearly had the thief in a headlock before he felt an arm snake around his back and flip him over.The world went upside down as a gush of water went up his nose. Kíli came up for air sputtering and coughing. Nori slapped his back in apology, likely trying to get a little air into him. Kíli nodded and shuddered at the contact.His back.“You alright?” Nori moved away as Kíli flailed to right himself, still taking ragged breaths. Most of the company were watching them now, expressions varying from concern to anticipation for a further bit of play-fighting. Not good. Had they seen…?Kíli took a step backward, then another, until he was braced against a large rock. It was impossible that the nail marks would still be there. But Kíli could feel them. Thin lines of angry red that marked Fíli's sin against him. Despite the cool, clean water lapping at his torso, beads of sweat trickled down from his forehead to his chin.“Kíli?”A scalding hot hand alighted on his shoulder and Kíli was all instinct, reflexively bringing his elbow up in a dangerous point to collide with the soft give of flesh and the underlying density of bone. A sharp thwack and a loudly hurled curse confirmed the recipient as Dwalin, who responded in kind by shoving him away as he clutched at the quickly blossoming splotch of red on his face. “Mahal’s hairy, sweaty balls! What the hell was that for?!”Twenty-six eyes were on him and Kíli’s mind was frightfully blank. Not the blankness he’d been accustomed to, but real, awkward blankness. Shit. Bofur was the first to spring into action, wading closer to pull Dwalin over to Oin. He kept his eyes on Kíli the entire time, something shrewd in his gaze. Ori followed close after, ignoring Dori’s attempts to reign him in.The small contingent around Dwalin made for the shore, leaving the rest of the now-confused bathers behind. Kíli felt his throat bob as he swallowed. He cracked a breathy laugh and sunk down in the water until most of his chest was obscured. “...Sorry. Don’t know my own strength.” He flexed a bicep with a goofy smile and silently prayed that the joking tone of his voice was enough to smooth it all over. By some miracle, it was. Bombur chuckled, Gloin snorted, and Bifur rolled his eyes. Fíli shook his head and gave Kíli an impish grin.The rest of the bath passed quickly, with far less splashing than one might normally expect out of a group of rowdy dwarrow. Thorin glowered disapprovingly at Kíli as he dressed and went to check on Dwalin. The burly dwarf had long since been forced to dress and was now doing a very good impression of an angry tree stump near the ponies. Oin stood over him, making an equally convincing angry tree, his ear horn held aloft like a metal branch. A poultice was smeared on Dwalin’s left cheek where the brunt of Kíli's elbow had hit him. Thorin exchanged words with the two and pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to address the rest of the mostly-dressed Company.“It’s late enough in the day. We rest here, then get up early tomorrow.”Thorin’s call came with a smattering of relieved sighs. Bilbo, who hadn’t even entered the water or undressed beyond his coat in the first place, immediately hopped up from his spot on the bank and hurried to help Bombur set up the cookpot. Kíli’s frayed nerves were soothed at the sight. The past few weeks had seen their hired Burglar do everything in his power to make himself useful. He filled waterskins, gathered firewood, anything that the others deemed appropriate work for an outsider, especially one who wasn’t physically strong. With small smiles and awkward jokes, Bilbo accepted the meager responsibilities as his fair share. The hobbit was determined to make friends no matter how long it took.He was a good fellow, and Kíli truly hoped his Uncle made an effort to reach out. If Thorin showed that he trusted and accepted Bilbo, then the last wall between him and the rest of the Company would come crumbling down and they could freely interact as boon companions. And, if you asked Kíli, Thorin was taking forever on that. It was clear as day what Bilbo was to his Uncle. Why was he dragging his feet and making the hobbit endure this pointless cold shoulder? He should make his desires known and clear the air between them once and for all. Kíli’s traitorous thoughts turned to Fíli and the wedge slowly, so slowly, being driven between them. Damn. What a hypocrite he was.Approaching footsteps shook Kíli back to reality.“Kíli… is everything okay?”Bofur’s eyes held the same wary concern that Kíli'd seen earlier, but this time they were tinged with an added layer of quiet sadness. Kíli’s heartbeat quickened. Shit. What does he know? What could he know?“Your move on Dwalin back there… It was—”“I apologized! I apologized already. Damn it, I didn’t mean to hurt him. And! And to be honest, I think it speaks more to my merit in battle that I could get the drop on a warrior like Dwalin—”“Kíli, that wasn’t a sneak attack, that was a reaction. A reflex.”Kíli stiffened, which was a mistake. Bofur clearly noticed the movement. With a quick glance around to make sure no one else was paying them any mind, he tugged on the dirty scarf around his neck and turned back to Kíli. Kíli suspected he was resisting reaching into his pocket for his pipe. Bofur’s nervous habits were obvious to anyone who spent more than half an hour around the dwarf.“Has… did something…” Bofur fiddled with his clothes again. “Is something the—”“No. I’m fine.”“Easy, lad! I’m just saying, if you need to talk you can always—”“What?” Kíli cut over his words once again. The sheer aura of sympathy radiating off of the hatted dwarf was nauseating. He didn’t need it. He didn’t deserve it. Hazel eyes blinked at him. It seemed like, for once, the chatterbox dwarf couldn’t find anything to say. Bofur’s curly moustache bobbed as he took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He fixed Kíli with a sharp stare. “I said, if you ever need to talk, you can always come to me.”No more. No more of this conversation. It was impossible to keep the acidity from his voice as he grunted out a final “I’ll keep that in mind.” Kíli did an about-face and stalked away silently, leaving the miner standing alone and gobsmacked by the creek. This was all Bofur’s fault anyway. Him and his stupid creek-finding abilities.As Kíli drifted around camp that night, going through the motions of smiling and laughing and joking around with his brother, he was all too aware of the perceptive looks Bofur kept throwing his way. Damn it, at this rate it was only a matter of time before everyone found out what a fraud he was. Kíli fought the urge to grit his teeth and scream. A month of everything being okay nearly down the drain. How could he ever hope to make it to Erebor in one piece?——It was a quiet, clear night. The rains had finally passed them over, leaving the Company dry, relieved, and gratefully resting under a watchful moon. Fíli lingered near the outskirts of the group beside the path they’d diverted from to make camp. A few moments earlier Kíli had darted behind some trees to relieve himself. Fíli did not miss how his brother’s footsteps carried him further into the darkness than was necessary.Fíli wasn’t stupid. He knew there was something wrong. Something was off—and had been off— ever since the morning he woke up in that Shire inn with a startling loss of time. The story Kíli had told him, hitting his head and losing his memory, made sense in the panic-stricken moment, but the more distance Fíli put between himself and that day, the easier it was to see how obvious of a lie it was. He’d been so easily fooled. By Kíli.But why? What happened? Kíli never, ever lied. At least, not to his own brother. They were above that, beyond it. Fíli and Kíli. Two halves of a whole. Deceit between them would be as pointless as a right arm lying to a left. At least, that’s what Fíli had thought. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Something had changed. Something big.Something that led back to that stretch of time that he couldn’t recall.Mahal. What if… what if Fíli told Kíli how he felt? And Kíli took it badly? Romance between siblings, though not illegal, was uncommon among dwarrow, and, in the Menkind-mixed populations of Ered Luin, was sporadically looked upon with confused revulsion. The beliefs of Men combined with the rarity of sibling Ones made the dwarrow of the West forget that Soul Bonds are granted by Mahal himself, no matter how unpopular they seem. Perhaps Kíli felt like they did. Perhaps he’d never accept his brother as a romantic partner. Perhaps he’d known Fíli's feelings all along, and was ignoring them to avoid the confrontation and fallout that would cut between them. So when Fíli forgot everything, Kíli took it as a lucky break and was gracious enough to make up a cover story, pretend it never happened for both their sakes. To keep the status quo.But. But Kíli was his One. Fíli felt it in the very marrow of his bones. Where one flame burns the other ought to rise to meet it. That was their people’s way. Kíli should feel within himself the same undeniable longing.Maybe… he himself wasn’t Kíli's One? Would their Maker be so unkind as to yoke them unequally? Fíli’d heard stories of it happening before. In most cases the unlucky dwarf or dam, the one who’s soul was cut-off from its other half, would simply try to carry on living and eke out as much respite as they could, forced to watch from the sidelines as their true love found happiness with another. They wouldn’t ever escape it, either. The tether binding their soul in place was fixed for all eternity, like the moon to the tides of the seas below it.Some dwarrow couldn’t handle it and went mad. They lashed out, hurt, and even killed their One. A crime so grave that not even the given punishment of death would wash it away. Fíli couldn’t fathom it. He’d never hurt Kíli. Never in a million lifetimes. Ones or no Ones.The question remained: If it wasn’t him who Kíli's soul called out for, then who was it?Ori?That first night on the road out of Hobbiton had made him suspicious. Seeing Kíli drift to Ori’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world made pinpricks of fierce jealousy shoot through his heart. Ori had been a true and loyal companion to the brothers growing up— so maybe Kíli sought him out now to rekindle their friendship? Perhaps that’s all it was?Maybe. But the unease of Fíli's heart would not subside.Then there was Bofur. Fíli and Kíli had never met him or his family prior to bumping into the group on the Shire’s roads. He was kind, friendly, and given easily to jokes and conversation. And a hell of a flute player, to boot. A likeable dwarf indeed, even if he wasn’t the sort Fíli thought his brother might fancy. Truthfully, Fíli normally would not have thought him a possible rival at all… were it not for how the miner looked at Kíli. For the past week, as the rain poured down and soaked them all to the bone, Fíli’d peered out from under his cloak at the hazy shapes the ponies and their riders made in the rain, and had noticed, more times than he cared to count, how Bofur’s eyes would stray to Kíli and then linger long enough for his mount to protest beneath him. His expression was always plaintive and calculating, with dark brows furrowed and his moustache twitching as he mumbled something Fíli could not hear.“Okay, let’s go.”Kíli returned from the trees, giving Fíli a light slap on the arm before he jogged ahead to the area where the ponies were tethered. He hopped over a log and slung himself to the soft ground in front of it, leaning back against the wood with a decisive and rigid movement. Fíli sat down next to his brother. The snuffling and neighing of the nearby ponies was all that filled the air between them. No jokes, no witty observations about their Uncle’s poor attempts at wooing the hobbit. Only tense silence and the promise of a long, dull watch.Perhaps he should just ask. Maybe the simplest route was the best one. Sure, if Kíli really was just trying to spare his feelings, Fíli would be devastated, but that was almost preferable to the agonizing limbo of not knowing, not understanding what was going on between them. There was no way the brothers would last all the way to Erebor as they were now. He turned to face Kíli.The way Kíli was sitting only added fuel to the fires of agitation in Fíli's mind. Kíli was leaning against the log behind him, with his arms propped up on either side and his legs splayed out in front of him. To anyone else, he might’ve looked like a carefree youth enjoying a quiet early-summer night, but Fíli was not anyone else. He saw it in the tensing of Kíli’s jaw, the nervous twitch of his fingers, the slight push backwards he was doing… it almost seemed like Kíli was attempting a caricature of relaxation. Of what he would normally be doing in this situation.But… why?The light of the moon poured down on Kíli's features and cast a pale halo around his face. Though his brother would probably object to the notion, being the robust dwarven prince he was, Fíli thought he looked truly ethereal. His skin glowed, and the shadows of the dark forest around him outlined his unusual traits. With his thin nose and delicate cheekbones, he could almost be mistaken for an elf. A very short elf. Dwarven culture may dictate that his brother was ugly but there was no way Fíli could accept that. If only they could see what he did: the quirk of Kíli's eyebrows when he drew his bow, the way Kíli's eyes squeezed shut when he laughed, the way the wind tousled his unbraided hair… Kíli was rare. Impossible. Priceless. Like Mithril. Or better. Fíli had never seen the metal in person but he was sure Kíli outshone it in every way.He didn’t feel worthy of loving him.A cloud passed over the moon, sweeping a shadow over everything they could see. Fíli shifted his position, turning himself so he could fully face Kíli and show that he was giving his brother his utmost attention. The newer, deeper degrees of darkness around them seemed to swallow their surroundings up, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of tense reticence, suspended in an endless abyss. He had to know. He had to find out where his brother’s heart lay. Impulse, agitation, and paranoia were swirling around inside him in a vortex that picked up speed with every passing second of silence. This was it. Of his own free will he would break this odd spell over the two of them and risk the shattering of their tremulous bond. He pressed his lips together and took in a slow breath, finding his courage.But he must’ve waited too long, for the cloud vanished as soon as it’d come and left in its wake a light that felt too pale and too colorless to have been the original shade of the night. Fíli rushed after the fleeting moment, opening his mouth to pour out his feelings, but no words would come out. The deafening silence remained. Or, it would have, were it not for Kíli. His brother’s deep voice half-whispered out a question, ignorant of the atmosphere and as if it were the most normal thing in the world:“Fíli, how many ponies are there supposed to be?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Trolls. Parasites. Wizards. Orcs. Pain.The past day was little more than a blur for Kíli. In less than twelve hour’s time he’d been tossed into a burlap sack, accused of having parasites, chased halfway across Eriador by wargs, and shot in the leg by a poisoned orc arrow. Just great.The watch had been going pretty well. Boring, typical, normal. All things Kíli found himself liking more and more (crazy, isn’t it?) as the days out in the Wilds ran together. If Fíli was a bit more pensive than usual it wasn’t such a bad thing. Kíli'd come to tolerate the odd stretches of silence that passed between them when they were by themselves, even if his heart ached just a bit. The safety he found in the distance was worth it. He had to remember that.Then, damn it all, Kíli noticed the missing ponies and the huge footprints left in the mud nearby. Trolls. They must have wandered by and taken their pick while Kíli was wasting time. If only he hadn’t felt the need to make absolutely sure Fíli couldn’t see him while he was pissing.But he had, and because of his stupid mistake and Bilbo’s untimely appearance and Fíli’s bizarre plan, all fourteen of them ended up bound and within a hair’s breadth of being eaten by mountain trolls. It was only thanks to their hobbit burglar’s quick thinking that they lived long enough for dawn to save their asses.Bilbo was a lot more clever than Kíli thought. His tactic to stall for time was pretty brilliant, if a tad offensive. Dwarrow may be crass and blunt, but by Mahal no one likes to be told they stink! Stink! As if a troll knows the first thing about perfumes and good scents. The small treasure hoard they found after Gandalf dispatched their captors was a cold comfort, as it proved Kíli's point exactly. The stench was near unbearable. At least some of the others got a little gold out of it. And Thorin got a cool new sword.Then there was that nutty wizard that showed up immediately afterward. He came barreling up to the company on a sledge pulled by rabbits and a stick insect in his mouth. Gandalf, the only person he seemed interested in talking to, looked almost normal by comparison.Whatever they were talking about was unintelligible. Probably wizard business. Kíli couldn’t entirely say he wasn’t interested, but before he could engage in some tactical eavesdropping, an earshattering howl pierced the sky.Orcs.The odd wizard came in handy. He distracted the lion’s share of the vermin and led them away, allowing the dwarrow to sprint for cover among the clusters of rocks that dotted the open field. They’d been so close to escaping. The weaving pattern Gandalf led them in helped the company avoid detection from most of the stragglers, but not all of them. A single orc remained, routing them to the shadow of a boulder where they hid, crammed as close together as possible. The idea to shoot him down may have been Thorin’s, but it was Kíli's fault for going along with it. He felt dread, not fear, when he jumped out into the open with his bow at the ready.The warg-rider atop the rock was an archer as well. And he was prepared. The arrow Kíli fired struck true, but not before the orc got a shot of his own off. The pain in his leg was near unbearable, unlike anything he’d ever felt. His eyes could barely focus. The sight before him—of Dori grabbing a hammer to finished the warg and rider off— was quickly growing fuzzed over and tinged with grey. He was losing balance, unable to reply when Fíli called his name out in near hysterics.Dwalin was the one who picked him up and carried him. And Thorin… Kíli remembered his Uncle shouting for Gandalf to hurry up and show them the way to the elves. The wound must’ve looked bad for him to panic so much. From there things blurred together a bit. Just flashes of rock walls and dirt slopes. Then darkness.When he awoke again it was in the hoity-toity bowels of Rivendell with two elves hunched over him, tearing at the fabric of his trousers. He shouted and screamed, wrenching his body every which way until a phial of something bitter and minty was poured down his throat. Whatever it was, it warmed his head and relaxed his muscles and made him feel like he was floating in a sea of treacle. Recollection of what happened and where he was followed soon after.Kíli counted himself lucky that he didn’t have a full grasp on his faculties as the healers waved their hands around his lower body. There’s no way he could’ve tolerated this situation fully sober. He wasn’t off his head and loopy, thankfully, but it was a very near thing. Caught up in a groggy sort of half-awake state, he did nothing but stare at the high arches of the ceiling and let the sounds of the room around him flow into his ears like crashing waves against soft sand.“I swear on my life, if you hurt him, if you do anything unnecessary—” That was Uncle.“I assure you our healers are more than capable of removing the poison. All will be well.” An unknown voice, rich and deep in timbre. Probably an elf.“Then why is he still sweating? What are you bastards doing over there?” Dwalin.“The draught we gave your friend contains a component that raises his body temperature. It’s to help prevent infection.” The elf again.“A good idea! Thorin, I’ve seen these arrows take down bigger dwarrow than Kíli. Poison is not the only danger here. Like it or not, ye must let them work.” Óin, no doubt about it.Thorin’s audible breathing took on a slow and deliberate quality that Kíli knew very well. He’d heard it many times growing up, usually right after he and Fíli’d gotten caught doing something foolish. Like stealing sweets. Or playing acrobat too close to the forge. Or sneaking away from lessons to go make out near behind the leatherwork shop.Hm? The last one never happened, but Kíli imagined that Thorin wouldn’t have been very happy to catch them together like that. He furrowed his brows. Maybe that medicine was affecting his head more than he thought.Thorin was at the very edge of losing his temper and mere seconds away from saying something he didn’t mean. This could be bad. Kíli blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to will a little more lucidity into himself. He opened his mouth and took in a deep breath before raising his head up as high as he could. A measly half an inch, but it was enough to catch the eye of the healer on his left. The elf stopped what they were doing, both palms still hovering above Kíli's thigh. Kíli ignored the fearful instinct that surged up inside of him. “Can you prop me up a bit?” The elf looked toward the growing clamor at the front of the room and nodded jerkily at Kíli.They fumbled for a pillow and motioned for Kíli to lift his shoulders a bit. Kíli complied, wincing when the elf’s long fingers bumped his stomach. The elf also reacted strongly, pulling their hand away like they’d been burned. Startled eyes looked down at him.“What’s happening? What have you done?” That was Fíli’s voice.“Hurry up, my shoulders are going to give out.” Kíli's words jolted the elf out of their frozen state and a long arm was slid behind his neck to help his head come up a bit further. A cool pillow followed after it, the smooth texture soothing on his sweaty skin. Kíli shifted a little and used his new vantage point to finally get a look at just what was going on.The hall was just as big as its tall ceilings made it seem. Kíli was on a small bed near the middle of one of the longer walls. The brickwork was the color of honey and the tilework on the floor matched its hue. There were few windows— just a handful of long and thin ones that ran very close to the top of the room. The light from braziers dotted around the space made it impossible to tell what color the sky was outside.The front of the room was crammed with angry, antsy dwarrow. The whole Company was there, crowded around a dark-haired elf clad in shades of light brown and purple. The one with the deep voice, probably. He (Kíli assumed,) was doing a placating gesture towards Thorin, who looked nearly apopleptic. Dwalin stood next to him, hands curled into fists. The rest of them looked to be preparing for a fight, circling up into a defensive position. Bilbo, if he was present, was probably stuffed somewhere in the center of it. Kíli couldn’t see him from here.“Uncle!” Kíli called out to Thorin with a hoarser voice than he would have liked.“Kíli!” Thorin slipped past the deep-voiced elf and sprinted into the room, nearly bowling over the healer who helped him with the pillow. Thorin spilled out question after question in rapid Khuzdul, talking so quickly Kíli could barely understand him. “Goodness sake, Thorin! Let the lad speak!” Balin called out, undoubtedly nervous at Thorin’s free use of their sacred tongue in front of elves.“Uncle, calm down. I’m alright.” That was patently false, but Thorin blowing a gasket and shouting loud enough for the walls of Rivendell to come down around them wasn’t going to help anything. Thorin slipped a large hand over Kíli’s own and searched his face. “You aren’t.”Kíli tugged his clammy hand free from Thorin’s grip. “Wh-what do you mean?” Shit. Had he said something incriminating while he was half-conscious?“The elves said that the arrow nearly hit an artery.”Oh. Kíli pushed down the sigh of relief bursting to escape him. “But it didn’t. I’m hard to kill, aren’t I?” The very barest traces of a smile twitched over his Uncle’s mouth. He didn’t fight it when Thorin took his hand again. A rush of footsteps echoed through the room and Fíli materialized on the other side of the bed. “Sure are. I think it’s because Mahal knows you’re trouble so he’s making you our problem for as long as possible.” Kíli managed a smile at his brother. The healers were becoming quite crowded with these new additions at Kíli’s bedside.Kíli strained to look out the thin windows. “What time is it?”“An hour until sunset.” The deep-voiced elf said as he approached the rapidly-growing group. Thorin’s grip on Kíli tightened. “May I suggest you all retire to the dining room? We’ve prepared a meal.” He tilted his dark head toward Kíli. “You should rest quietly for now. My servants will bring you your food here, if that is acceptable.”“It isn’t.” Thorin spat. Fíli agreed heartily. “As if we’d leave him here alone!”“I assure you, you have nothing to fear. Your friend is perfectly safe within my halls.” Oh. So this fancy elf was the Lord of Rivendell? Kíli couldn’t recall what his name was supposed to be. El-something. Gandalf had said it enough times but it isn’t like being shot in the leg is conducive to remembering names.“My nephew,” Thorin replied acidly, “is grievously injured. And I know better than to trust an elf’s word. I’m not leaving him.” A chorus of agreements rang out from the rest of the Company. Kíli winced. All this constant attention on him was going to wear thin very quick. It would only be a matter of time till he snapped. He had to do something about this, and fast.“Uncle, go eat dinner. I’ll be okay.”“Nonsense. We have rations. I don’t need their food.”“You’d waste our supplies? That doesn’t make any sense, Uncle. Why not take advantage of a free meal when it’s offered?”Thorin narrowed his eyes, considering what Kíli had said. “Alright. The company can go eat. I and a few others will stay here with you. I’d feel better about it that way.”And Kíli wouldn’t feel better if that happened. Thorin was protective at the best of times, but being surrounded by elves was putting him even more on edge than normal. If he stayed here at all there was no telling what would happen. Kíli needed him gone.Alright. Time to hit him where it hurts. “You don’t want to let Bilbo wander around alone, do you?” Kíli whispered in Kuzdhul.“You know how curious he is. He’s bound to start exploring after he’s had his dinner. Will you really let him go alone? He’s so small and cute, there’s no telling what the elves might do to him.”Thorin scoffed, but sighed after a moment of silent scowling. Ha. Kíli knew that tactic would work. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, if you truly insist you’ll be alright. But I still want one of us to stay with you. Fíli can—”“Ori can stay with me.”Thorin and Fíli fixed him with twin looks of surprise. Kíli resisted the urge to roll his eyes. From his point of view, the choice was rather obvious.“Ori is strong. And the elves are sure to underestimate him. If anything happens, he’ll be able to catch them off-guard. I trust him, Uncle.”Those were the reasons Thorin would care about. And they were true. But Kíli had his own agenda in picking him. Ori was safe. In the occasional time they spent together on the road, Ori had proven that he was just the same as he’d always been. A good friend. Stable, reliable, trustworthy. He had no reason to hurt Kíli, nor did he ever attempt to pry into his head like Bofur had that day at the creek. Kíli felt no instinctive fear and self-revulsion when Ori’s knitwear-clad hands touched his shoulders or clasped his arms. The smiles he gave Kíli were both timid and bright, echoing back to the days of their shared childhood, when Ori would tag along with the two princes and join in pranks or act out legendary battles. The scribe was the last vestige of familiarity that he could safely cling to.With a hesitant nod, Thorin acquiesced. “An acceptable plan. It’s good to know your strategy lessons have stuck with you, at least somewhat.” He turned his head and relayed Kíli’s request to the group at the front with a brisk shout in more Khuzdul. Ori stuck his head out from the middle of the group and pushed to the front, eyes wide.With a final squeeze of the hand, Thorin retreated to speak with Balin. Fíli reached out to touch Kíli's shoulder but stopped at the last second, his golden brows furrowed in uncertainty. “You’ll really be okay, Kee?”“Hey, it’s me we’re talking about here.” Kíli flashed him his best reassuring smile. Fíli returned it unenthusiastically and turned to follow after Thorin.The Company, save for Ori, filed out, leaving an odd sort of quietude over the healing hall. Kíli wondered if this kind of echo-y atmosphere was normal for elves. The few mountain halls of Ered Luin were acoustic as well, but never so unsettling. They rang eternally with the sounds of hammers, picks, and the buzz of loud conversation.When the healers concluded their ministrations and left as well, the only sound that remained was the steady click-clack of Ori’s knitting needles. The scribe was sitting on a nearby bed, deftly working on a scarf made from the same grey yarn that formed the blanket he had given Kíli.Dinner was delivered by a reticent elf in a robe the color of mustard. They wheeled in a small foodcart topped with two trays. One bore a helping of some sort of layered dish stuffed with root vegetables and a thick cream sauce, accompanied by a bright green salad. The other held nothing but a bowl of thin broth and a slice of toast. Three guesses which one was meant for Kíli. He didn’t complain—he wasn’t really hungry anyway. Probably an effect of the medicine.Kíli sipped at the clear soup and watched as Ori picked at his own meal. “Still don’t like veggies, huh?”“Never.” Ori shook his head emphatically. “I don’t know why elves eat this stuff.”“Maybe it’s what keeps their hair so silky,” Kíli mused as he took a small bite of toast, “There’s no way locks like that are natural.”“Indeed. That would be rather sad. Having to rely on,” Ori pinched a dark leaf between his fingers and waggled it accusingly, “Green food to look nice sounds like a real curse. I’d rather just keep my short hair.” For emphasis, he shook his ginger head, the small plaits in front of his ears swaying from the movement.“Why do you keep letting Dori cut it like that?” Haircuts were usually a rare and gravely serious affair among dwarrow, but there were exceptions to every cultural dictation. Dwarflings and the seriously infirm were subject to occasional trims that made everyday care simpler and more easy to manage. Short hair was better than hair tangled with splatters of food and who knows what else. For Dori to cut it so regularly meant the eldest Ri still saw his little brother as a child.“He said it’s to protect me.” Ori pushed away the mangled remains of his dinner and crossed his legs under himself. “I do deliveries, back home I mean. Stuff like letters and memos for the other scribes. And, and well…” Ori blushed, “Sometimes… s-sometimes I get chatted up.”Not surprising at all. Ori was beautiful. He continued, “Once, while I was dropping off a bill of sale to a blacksmith, one of his assistants propositioned me. And, um, Dori happened to be nearby. He was purchasing some spare needles and he… overheard.”“Uh-oh,”“Yeah. Uh-oh. The assistant went home with a broken arm. And two missing teeth, I think.”Oof, Dori was scary. “So he cuts your hair like that so you’ll get less attention?” Ori nodded. Kíli frowned. Theoretically, that could work. Shorter hair gave off a childlike impression. But to some less than savory dwarrow, that contrast could just make Ori all the more tantalizing. Like a forbidden fruit. This was kind of a moot point anyway, seeing as how Ori was easily just as strong as his brother. Kíli had no doubt Ori could’ve broken that dwarf’s arm all on his own. “Doesn’t he think you can handle that kind of stuff yourself?”“Maybe it’s not about that?” Ori tapped his fuzzy chin. “I’ve always kind of suspected that he’s afraid I’ll meet my One and… and leave him behind.”From what Kíli knew of Dori and his past, that fear seemed fathomable. Their mother had a reputation for coming and going at odd hours, dropping some new relationship on her children only to turn around and start pursuing someone else. She was eternally chasing her One, nevermind that she was leaving her eldest to pick up the pieces of the shattered family left in her wake. Kíli never met her. Apparently, she died shortly after her youngest was born. Dori was the closest thing Ori had to a parent.“Do you know who your One is, Kíli?”Kíli nearly choked on the sip of soup he’d just put in his mouth. He coughed a bit and waved off Ori’s apologies. When his throat was finally clear, Kíli shifted around on the bed, suddenly unable to get comfortable. The thrum of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. “Dunno,” he said at last, “Maybe.”Ori didn’t seem to pay attention to Kíli's lackluster reaction. He had news of his own to share. “Wanna know a secret?” The words were whispered in that fake, gossipy sort of way. Ori looked around like someone might overhear them, then leaned forward so far that he was practically falling off the bed. “I have met him. My One, I mean.”Kíli blinked. “You’re kidding.”Ori’s smile grew wider until it almost seemed his face would break in half. He was not kidding. With that realization Kíli was up like a shot, wincing at the pain in his leg. “How? When? Who?”“The usual way. Recently. And not telling, if you won’t tell me who yours is.”Recently? But… Kíli's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “It’s one of the company, isn’t it?”For over the past month they had all been isolated on the road, pretty much on their own ever since they passed the borders of the Shire and the few Men towns beyond it. Ori hadn’t left his brother’s side while in Bree and certainly never spoke to anyone. And Kíli was doubtful Ori’s ‘recently’ referred to an instance with one of the Rivendell elves. No, it pretty much had to be one of their own comrades. But who, then? Ori had known pretty much everyone else prior to the start of their journey, save for the members of the Ur family. Bombur was already paired off, which left Bifur and Bofur. Kíli tried to recall if there was any shift in either of the two’s behavior after meeting Ori.Nope. Nothing he could recall. Bilbo wasn’t an option, clearly. So that left…He froze with his next bite of soup lifted halfway to his lips. “Gandalf?!” The mental image of Ori kissing the crazy old wizard was a bit horrifying.“Kíli.” Big brown eyes blinked at him. “You—” Ori pressed a hand to his mouth in a futile attempt to stop a peal of laughter. “Have you forgotten how this works?”“No?” Kíli tilted his head, frowning when a bit of his hair drooped into his spoon. “You meet a dwarf, look in their eyes, then you just know right?”“A bit more complicated than that, but the main thing you’re missing there is that both dwarrow have to be past their Coming of Age.”“And?”“Dori and I moved to Nogrod about a year before mine. For my apprenticeship, remember?”The wheels in Kíli’s mind were starting to turn. He really had forgotten about how Ones work. Or maybe he’d just never paid attention in the first place. No point, seeing as his One had been a part of his daily life from even before he could remember. Kíli wondered if there were exceptions to that rule. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like there was some deeply hidden part of him that may have always known about the bond between him and Fíli.“Oh.” He set the still half-full bowl back on its tray. What little was left of his appetite had fled him. He corralled his thoughts away from himself and back to his friend. With the addition of that little tidbit pretty much everyone was back on the table. Well. Kind of. Bilbo and Thorin were out. So were Fíli and himself. Gloin and Bombur were married. And from the way Ori had worded it, his One had to be someone he’d already known, so Bofur and Bifur were disqualified.That left… “It’s gotta be Dwalin, Balin, or Oin, then.”Sheesh. What a selection. Kíli hoped for Ori’s sake it was Dwalin, since the other two were so old that they creaked like unoiled doors whenever they moved. If Ori married one of them he’d spend the rest of his life as more of a carer than a lover. Though, the oblique thought of someone else caring for the heavy-handed Oin was so stupid that it circled around back into being sweet. In a way.Kíli gave Ori an assessing look, hunting for any possible reaction to each of the names. The scribe was as stoic as a statue, meekly pretending to be interested in the pile of dry salad in front of him. Kíli huffed. “Will you at least tell me if I’m close?”Ori pursed his lips, pushing a slice of carrot along his plate with the tip of an ink-stained finger. “Nope. Not unless you tell me who yours is.”Not happening. Kíli waved his hand in a lazy, dismissive gesture. “Eh, doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out soon enough. You’re definitely the type to make goo-goo eyes at your lover if they do so much as sneeze in your direction.”He didn’t even try to dodge the clump of lettuce leaves that hurtled toward him.After dinner the healers returned with fresh bandages and another serving of the strange medicine. Kíli was a bit reluctant to take it—he worried that any more would make him a little too loose-lipped—but Oin, who had come with the elves, took one look at Kíli's leg and insisted.Kíli agreed, but put his metaphorical foot down on changing into the frou-frou silk robes offered to him. Even in a world where he didn’t feel like dying at the thought of being naked, there was no way in hell he would ever wear that stuff. Oin, who wanted to insist on account of the risk of dirt from Kíli's tunic getting past the bandage, proposed a compromise: Kíli would divest himself of most of his outerwear and sleep in his (damaged) trousers and undershirt, which were at least a little bit cleaner. Kíli did not want to do even that, but if it kept Oin off his back he’d accept it. The three healers helped him out of his clothes and into a more comfortable sleeping position, then they were gone.Thorin and Bilbo popped into the chamber shortly after that to bid the two of them goodnight. The hobbit looked regretful and distracted, fretting over Kíli with an overeagerness that did little to mask the subtle glances he was shooting the dwarf king. Kíli wondered what his Uncle’d said to him. The fact that they were spending time together was as good a sign as any.Thorin tapped the breast pocket where his map was hidden. “We’re going to go speak with the elf lord before the hour grows too late. Ori, if anything happens alert the company immediately. Gloin is taking first watch tonight. Then Dwalin. They’ll keep an ear out.”With the last of their visitors gone Kíli and Ori turned in for the night. Kíli waited for the rhythm of Ori’s breathing to turn to deep, soft snores before he even considered shutting his own eyes. Once he did, however, it was like someone switched a light off in his head. Exhaustion came upon him with a vengeance, intensified by the one-two punch of his throbbing leg and the second dose of medicine forced upon him. He quickly slipped into the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks. And with deep sleep came dreams.
Fíli tosses the game pieces on the table and pushes his chair away. He doesn’t want to play any more. Kíli gets up and chases after him. Kíli doesn’t know why he’s so angry. The hallway is cramped and dark, but the doorway beyond it glows with afternoon light. This must be, Kíli reasons, their home in Ered Luin. But the walls feel so unfamiliar. Fíli runs out the door and disappears, leaving Kíli all alone. Kíli is still holding
his
game pieces, begging for his brother to come back, promising he can change.
H
e can be more fun to play with. He would do anything, if only Fíli would stay.
There was no sound to rouse him, but the moment he awoke was startling all the same. Kíli’s eyes snapped open. “Ori?” He called out, scanning the room for the familiar shape of his companion. Nothing. The scribe’s bed was empty. The eerie atmosphere of the healing hall, absent of all but one lit brazier, loomed over Kíli. He sat up, body aching from a combination of sudden wakefulness and the wound on his leg.Where had Ori gone? Kíli did his best to shuffle to his feet, wincing at the stabs of pain that coursed through him. It was only when he stepped away from the bed and turned to face the front of the room that he noticed his visitor.The elf stood in the doorway, moonlight streaming in behind them and leaving their body mostly in shadow. Kíli gasped and fumbled for his boots on the ground. Without taking his eyes off of that creepily tall form, he grasped the knife he kept in his left shoe and pulled it free, holding it up with one hand while the other gripped the bed for stability. Shit. He didn’t actually expect the elves to try anything!“Please, Master Dwarf, I mean you no harm!” The voice was quiet and deep, deeper than the elf lord’s had been. A male. Probably. Above a certain height everyone looked the same, damn it.“What do you want? Where’s Ori? What’ve you done with him?” A horrible image flashed unbidden through his mind: that this elf perhaps had disposed of his friend so that he might come to kill him, or perhaps worse. An elf was not necessarily any better than a Man. This was Rivendell. No one would stop him. The other elves might even be in on it, just waiting for their turn somewhere out of sight. Kíli was injured, weak, and alone. Panic gripped him and the knife in his hand shook.“I’m right here, Kíli! I’m okay!” A ginger head peeked out from behind the elf, followed by a sweatered arm that gently pushed him out of the way. The elf stepped to the side and allowed Ori to pass before following him as he made for Kíli's bed. Ori winced as he saw the shake in Kíli's injured leg. “What are you doing standing up? You’ll aggravate your wound!”Kíli sat down unsteadily.“Where’d you go? I woke up and you were gone.” The flood of panic had ebbed but adrenaline remained, coursing through his veins and making it difficult to calm down.Ori looked contrite as he helped Kíli lift his leg back into the bed. “You were crying out in your sleep and I-I couldn’t get you to wake up. I feared your injury was getting worse, so I ran to get Oin.”The elf, whom Kíli now recognized as one of the healers from earlier, the one who helped him with his pillow, spoke again. “Master Ori ran into me in the halls, instead. He told me about your troubles so I hurried to accompany him back here. I apologize for frightening you.” He took a glass phial out of his pocket and passed it to Ori. “I brought more pain medicine with me.”“It wasn’t fever. At least, I don’t think so.” Kíli shook his head, unwilling to admit to a nightmare in front of this elf he didn’t know. He eyed the clear liquid in the little bottle as Ori uncorked it. “The one from earlier was yellow. What is this?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion.The healer looked around for a moment, displaying an unusual amount of chagrin for an elf. “It is the same draught, mostly. I just wasn’t aware when you first arrived that… well…”Kíli set the knife on the small bedside table. He took the phial from Ori and gave it a hesitant sniff. It smelled mostly the same. Bitter, minty, a bit like dirt.“It’s just, the medicine we gave to you before has a little alcohol in it. To elves it is a paltry amount, but it is uncertain how that measures up for other races. I thought this one would probably be a safer choice, considering your… well, condition.”“Condition? Is my wound infected?”“No, thankfully. I mean, that is to say…” If the light in the room had been any better, Kíli would’ve sworn the elf was blushing. “Do you not…?” The tip of a long finger was placed between the elf’s teeth as he paced back and forth. “Oh dear. I feel as if I am intruding. But then, if you do not know then is it not my duty as a healer to inform you?” Kíli and Ori watched him argue with himself for a moment.“Master Elf,” Kíli snapped, “Whatever it is, say it and be done with it.” A ball of tension was being woven in his chest, more threads being added every second he watched this tall, insipid creature waffle back and forth. Kíli couldn’t say for certain that he understood Thorin’s reasons for hating elves, but if all of them were as indirect as this one, maybe he could sympathize just a little.The healer stopped and took a deep breath. His robe sleeves were askew from where he pushed them up during his ramblings. The scatterbrained look that had once been on his face had fallen away, revealing a gravitas that chilled Kíli to the bone. He was silent for a moment more. With a last look between the two dwarrow and the door, the elf sighed.“Alright, then I shall tell you: Master Dwarf, you are with child.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Mother, where do babies come from?”“Now goodness, what’s gotten into you, my little gem?”“Gimli said his dad told him dwarflings come out of geodes. Is that true? Did I come out of a geode? How did I get in there?”“W-well… Hmm. Oh! Oh, Kíli! Your Uncle said you could help him at the forge today if you finish all your schoolwork. Be a good pebble and hurry up so you can go meet him, okay?”——What a silly lie. Dwarf babies don’t come from geodes. They come from sad, fucked up little dwarf princes who are too weak to protect themselves. They come from ugly idiots who get raped by their brothers. They come from Kíli.With child.Pregnant. That meant pregnant.“You… liar.” Kíli could not put any heat into the accusation. He sat on the bed as still and as dumb as a sack of potatoes. The blood in his veins was turning thick and his limbs felt numb. Even the pain of his wounded leg now felt distant, almost imperceptible.The elf looked stricken. “It is no lie, I promise you. I felt the presence of the babe when I touched your stomach.”“But that’s—” Ori’s face scrunched in disbelief as he looked from the elf back to Kíli. “That has to be a mistake.” He reached for Kíli’s shoulder. Kíli did nothing as Ori rested his hand there, unable to look away from the elf healer’s earnest dark blue eyes. Sincere. So stupidly sincere.If any other dwarf at any other time heard an elf of all people make this sort of ridiculous assertion, he would be out of bed and fully armed before the last syllable was uttered, prepared to defend against whatever scheme was being cooked up by the traitorous, two-faced tree-shagger who solely lived to further disenfranchise any child of Mahal who let their guard down.But, very sadly, Kíli was not any other dwarf at any other time, no matter how much he wished it were so. He had no real grudge against elves aside from the dregs of bitterness passed down from Thorin and his stories of Erebor’s fall. He had no firsthand experience with them. He had no reason to be blindingly suspicious of possible motives and lies and ways to stray him into some kind of trap. That’s why, with frank and unclouded eyes, Kíli could see that the healer meant every word he was saying.Yes. The elf was correct. Kíli knew it perfectly well. Even if he wished to remain ignorant, he could not. The truth glowed inside his heart like a sputtering ember, threatening to set his whole body aflame. A baby. Inside him. In his abdomen, somewhere.A jolt of tingling, nauseating lightning coursed through him, arcing from the top of his head to the tips of his socked feet and he suddenly had too much energy to handle. Kíli lurched and brushed off Ori’s palm. He rucked his tunic up and stared down at his exposed stomach, willing the little intruder to make itself known. As if staring hard enough would reveal its location. Kíli's fingers dug into the slight give of his flesh, raking up and down the furred area near his navel. Here? Or lower? Where was it? Damn it, there was no way to know.Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Wherewherewherewherewhere?Ori, who had since backed up and moved to an angle where he could more clearly see Kíli’s face, gave a small, startled cry. “K-Kíli? What are you doing?”The knife. It was off the table and back in Kíli’s hand. He considered the blade, lifting his thumb above the guard to ever-so-gently press on the sharp edge. A drop of red, more garnet than ruby, pooled at the pucker of skin where the metal met his flesh. His other hand continued to hold his tunic aloft, displaying the slow rise and fall of his torso as he breathed. Kíli’s mind unspooled at a breakneck pace.“Kíli…?”Kíli did not look up at Ori. His eyes did not dare stray from the expanse of quivering, olive-toned skin below him. The target: just a few inches above his beltline, where his skin slightly folded upon itself due to the acute angle of his back. Less than half the blade would probably be enough.He raised the knife. Not all the way above his head, but near level with his shoulder. Don’t want too much momentum.“Kíli!”Would he die? What was the risk, here? The injury on his leg was already pretty rough. Would an additional wound be enough to kill him? If he lived, what would he tell Thorin? That an elf stabbed him here in the dark? What about Ori? Could he convince Ori to go along with the lie?It didn’t matter.“Stop!” The elf’s urgent half-hushed cry was met with a loud thwack, followed by silence.The knife halted in its descent, slipped with a soft thud to the sheets, then clattered to the floor. Kíli threatened to follow after it, woozing to the right before being caught by strong arms. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he lost consciousness.——“I-I didn’t think it would knock you out. I’m sorry.”“’S okay.”Kíli was, once again, properly horizontal. A cloth soaked in cold water was resting on the swollen part of his forehead where Ori had headbutted him. The healer lit a second brazier and produced from somewhere a few stools. Now Kíli’s bed was bracketed on either side by elf and dwarf. The knife was put away during his brief stint of unconsciousness. No more said about it, for which he was grateful.The elf was hovering his hands over Kíli’s bare stomach. Kíli did not like it one bit, but kept his arms still at his sides. The urge to vomit repeatedly crept its way up his throat, held back by gritted teeth.“No harm or injury. The babe sleeps peacefully.”Kíli’s lips pulled into something between a smirk and a snarl. The movement jostled the wet cloth and it slipped over an eye. Ori shifted it back up and caught Kíli’s gaze. The scribe’s face was incredulous. “You believe him?” Ori looked up at the elf. “No offense.”“It is alright.” The healer said as much, but the sour turn of his mouth showed otherwise.Kíli turned his head away, sending the cloth sliding again. Ori expected some sort of explanation. But what could Kíli say? He measured out the words in his head. “I can… feel it. I didn’t think anything of it until now but… I can.”“That’s—That’s…” Ori seemed to be torn between saying ‘great’ or ‘awful’. The arrival of children was cause for unparalleled celebration among dwarrow, but the scribe could see how Kíli did not welcome the news. So the sentence lay unfinished and Ori instead reached for and readjusted the cloth again.The elf furrowed his brows and lowered his hand until it was almost flush with Kíli’s skin. The palm was so close he could feel the hairs on his stomach bending. Kíli grit his teeth again, a fresh wave of bile knocking on his esophagus door. The long fingers flexed, threatening to touch, but never quite coming close enough. “The development is not insubstantial.” The elf said, “You must be at least three months along at this point.”Ori shook his head in a manner similar to a pony with a fly problem. He tended to do that when he was about to correct someone. “That’s not accurate.” The elf raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips together. The sour look was back. Ori raised his hands in apology. “Sorry. I m-mean to say that, um, dwarrow gestate for about seven months. So if you’re using elf standards…”The healer, placated, nodded with wide eyes. “Indeed, I was. Elves carry for an average of one year. Seven months seems so short.” The hand was mercifully pulled away from Kíli and used for counting out numbers. “Then, Master Dwarf, you are a month and a few weeks along.”Under his breath, Ori mumbled something derisive about using fingers for mental math. Kíli chuckled despite himself. If the elf heard them, which he most likely did, he said nothing about it. Instead he continued his ministrations for a few moments more before motioning that Kíli could pull his tunic back down.“I must confess, I do not know much about dwarven pregnancies. I did not even know males of your race could beget children.” He squinted at Kíli. “You… are a male, are you not?” Kíli rolled his eyes and nodded. The elf continued, “For now, there is not much I can do for you. Fear not. Imladris has many a medical text. I shall look for further information,” he paused, tilting his head in Ori’s direction, “Unless your companion knows anything else that might be of use.”Ori’s face flushed a bright red as he nodded. “W-well, a little.” he squeaked, “I know the basics, I mean.” He ducked his head in embarrassment. Kíli raised an eyebrow at Ori’s sudden awkwardness.The elf stood up. “Then we will not be completely in the dark. That is good. I shall return later, after the sun has risen.” He looked up at the high windows. “Dawn is still a few hours away. I would advise that you rest. Take the medicine if you need it.”“Wait.”Kíli snagged a fistful of silken sleeve as the elf made to retreat, holding him in place.

“What’s your name?”The elf looked down at him. And Kíli looked up. Actually looked, for the first time since he’d first been set on this bed.The elf’s face was wide, set with a large jaw and a sloped brow. The features between were oddly mismatched: a too-small nose, a too-big mouth, and sallow cheeks that cradled a mole snugly up against the fold of the right nostril. His skin was powder-pale and his hair was so black that not even the flecks of light from the braziers reflected in the strands. The contrast was startling, and if Kíli was being unkind, not very attractive. The healer looked a little bit like himself, so he didn’t feel especially bad thinking as much.The elf blinked his round eyes. As the realization he never introduced himself sank in, he gave a bit of a start. The hand not in Kíli’s grip raised up to the left side of his chest. He bowed his head, knocking a few heavy locks out from behind his ear. “I am Tiriador.” He paused, then added hesitantly, “At your service.”“Kíli, son of Dis.” Kíli replied, flicking his expectant eyes over to Ori. Ori stood and gave a bow, neither deep nor shallow. “And I’m Ori, son of Miri. At yours and your family’s.”Tiriador seemed pleased at participating in the dwarven-style introduction. He smiled so brightly that it was as if someone lit a candle behind his eyes. Kíli tightened his grip on the cloth between his fingers. “Please, Master Tiriador. Please,” Kíli pulled down a little for emphasis, somewhat surprised at the strength of the fabric, “Do not tell anyone about this. Dwarf or elf. I’m begging you.”Tiriador’s enthusiasm dimmed as he pressed his mouth into a thin line. Kíli held his breath. Ori was tense beside him, off-put by his friend’s earnest plea. The moment of silence that stretched between the three of them broke only at the distant hooting of an owl. Whether it was barred or barn, no one could say.“I will keep your secret. After all, if a patient cannot trust their healer, what good is having a healer at all?”Tiriador bowed his head again and wished them both a good night. He extinguished the second brazier and left. Kíli lay back on the pillow and listened to Ori’s movements. The scribe should have been bursting with questions, but he wasn’t saying anything. It made Kíli nervous.“...Ori?”Nothing. Kíli tried again. “Ori? Don’t you—”“Have questions?”Kíli turned his head and nodded. Ori flung his hands into the air and made a frustrated noise. The sheet he had been holding in an attempt to straighten up the bed area slipped and fluttered to his shoulder. “Of course I have questions! More than there are stars in the sky!” His arms dropped back to their sides, sending the sheet all the way to the floor. “H-however, for now I think you should get some sleep. Your health is more important than my curiosity.”After Kíli had been tucked in and made to take a sip of the clear medicine, Ori climbed back into his own bed. As he lay down, he pointed an accusatory finger. “Don’t think this m-means you’re getting off easy. We’ll talk about this soon, okay?”Kíli nodded hesitantly, and, as Ori rolled onto his back, threw an arm over his face. He welcomed the dark. His nostrils filled with the scent of earth and sweat that clung to the fabric. Unpleasant, but beneath it was the smell of home—the charred stone hearth, the slush of late winter rain, the dry mountain grass that often trailed inside caked on the bottom of a boot. Home meant Mother and early mornings before work or lessons. Home meant late nights smoking with Uncle in companionable silence. Home meant a warm double bed that he once shared with Fíli.Fíli.Fíli’s baby. Kíli let out a breathy chuckle. What a damned mess.He doubted it would, but sleep eventually came to him, like a thief in the night.——It’s amazing how the world can end but the sun still chooses to rise. Kíli would have preferred that it didn’t. He wished very much to stop the clock and live out the rest of his life in a stretched-out eternity of midnight solitude. But asking the sun not to rise is like asking a waterfall to stop, or for an autumn tree not to shed its leaves. You could certainly try, but they wouldn’t understand you and you’d look foolish for trying to talk to forces of nature. Unless you’re an elf. Perhaps an elf could ask the sun not to rise?But Kíli was not an elf and even if he could have asked for the morning to delay itself it probably wouldn’t have listened. He awoke to breakfast brought by the same mustard-clad elf. It was a savory porridge with mushrooms. He did not grouse as Ori spooned his share of the fungus into Kíli’s bowl. They were halfway through eating when Thorin showed up, accompanied by both Balin and Dwalin. The three older dwarrow looked tired and haggard despite the apparent luxury of their current accommodations. And they had news. Kíli ate around his giant pile of mushrooms as Balin filled them in.“Two weeks?!”Balin smiled tightly and nodded. “The letters Lord Elrond claims are present on,” he took a resigned breath, “the map... are designed to be read under the same moon that was shining on the night they were written. For us, that moon will appear in two weeks’ time.”Ori gasped in recognition. “Moon runes?”“Aye, the very same. I had heard tales of such a Craft, but never in my life would I have thought to witness it myself. Ink for such a purpose is now impossibly rare, perhaps extinct.”Ori looked fit to burst from excitement. Dwalin, taking a much more morose attitude at the news, crossed his arms and grumbled, “It ain’t right, sharin’ our people’s secrets with these bloody elves.” Balin said nothing but from the set of his jaw, Kíli could tell he readily agreed but was too polite to say as much.“Well,” Ori countered tentatively, “If I recall correctly, wasn’t moon-rune ink crafted with the assistance of the elven jewelsmiths of Eregion?” He flushed as everyone else turned to look at him and stumbled over himself to continue, “So i-it isn’t really a, um, proper secret? If Lord Elrond could identify it then he knew what it was already, I mean. So, um…” Ori’s voice trailed off.Balin stroked his white chin and nodded. “I suppose you have a point, laddie. With the reveal of what these moonletters actually say on the horizon, it seems comparatively inconsequential to fret over sharing basic knowledge of the ink and its uses.” He smiled warmly at the young scribe. “Thank ye for the prudent reminder, Ori.” Dwalin grunted noncommittally, relaxing his shoulders all the same. The bald warrior almost seemed on the cusp of a smile, but Kíli surely must have imagined it.Ori’s cheeks were so red that his freckles couldn’t be seen. He mumbled something along the lines of “You’re welcome” and bowed his head down so far that only the bridge of his large nose was visible beneath his fringe and short plaits.Thorin took over. He looked the worst out of the three, like he hadn’t slept even a wink. “Be that as it may, we cannot continue on our journey until we know for certain how to get to the secret door. I am loathe to admit it, but we need Elrond’s knowledge if we are to have even a faint hope.” The king gestured to Kíli’s wounded leg and continued, “I cannot say the delay is unwelcome. Our time here will give that wound a chance to heal.”Kíli shrugged. “I’ve been laid up worse places.” Thorin stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is the medicine they are giving you truly working? You look exhausted, Kíli.”Kíli felt the burn of his tired eyelids as he blinked. The few hours of sleep he’d gotten felt short. All the same, he couldn’t let Thorin worry.“You’re one to talk, Uncle. You look like you just went three rounds with a cave troll.” He grinned wickedly. “Or maybe a hobbit?”Thorin glowered, his cheeks only betraying a very light tint of pink. Balin stifled a chuckle with a demure cough into his fist. Dwalin didn’t hide his laugh at all. With the mood adequately lightened, the conversation flowed a bit more easily. Balin informed Kíli and Ori about the state of their accommodations. Namely, that most of the company had chosen to forgo the rooms given to them in exchange for sleeping all together in an open-air atrium. Only Master Baggins, for whatever reason, chose to sleep in one of the provided beds. “It is unfortunate that he does not feel safe sleeping among us,” Balin remarked with a pointed look in Thorin’s direction. Thorin didn’t deign to reply.They also discussed last night’s dinner. Dwalin and Ori commiserated over the lack of meat. Thorin was indignant over the fact that Kíli only received soup, but agreed to drop it after his nephew pointed out that he didn’t even finish it. “Besides,” Kíli added, “We’re all getting used to going without for a while.”On that dour note, Balin reminded Thorin that the rest of the company were likely done with their own breakfast and also awaiting an update. Thorin gently knocked Kíli’s forehead against his own (right on the still-tender spot, which hurt more than a little) and made his exit, flanked on either side by the sons of Fundin.There was little time for private conversation between Kíli and Ori. The mustard elf came back and took their food trays, lifting a brow at the large amount of leftover mushrooms in Kíli’s bowl. Then some other elves in grey robes appeared and assisted in shuffling Kíli around so they could change his sheets. They also proffered the same set of robes from last night, which he promptly turned down again. Just because he looked like an elf didn’t mean he would dress like one. A pitcher of warm water and a fluffy towel were given in place of a bath. The bandage would prevent any thorough cleaning, at least for a few days. He didn’t mind.With all these people coming and going, Kíli was starting to feel a little bit like one of the decorative stone signposts peppered throughout the market hall near his house. A useful marker for a meeting-place with no real meaning behind it.When the early morning ticked over into mid-morning and Rivendell finally sprang back into the closest thing it had to ‘hustle and bustle’, Tiriador came back just as he said he would. Only, irritatingly, he wasn’t alone. Lord Elrond and another very stuffy looking elf trailed in after him.“Master Kíli.” the Lord nodded in greeting. Tiriador and the other elf mimicked his motion. “I hope your evening was…” he looked at Kíli’s sunken eyes, “restful.”“Oh, sure. Just fine. What do you have in these mattresses? Phoenix feathers? Unicorn hair?” Kíli lightly punched the soft material. Lord Elrond lifted a brow. “I believe it is a mixture of cotton and feather down, though certainly not firebird. That wouldn’t be very cost effective.” He tilted his dark head, the silver circlet on his brow gleaming with caught light. “If you mean to complain about the quality of my furniture, you should know you aren’t the only one. Your kin seem to have taken to using it for kindling. The halfling accompanying you seemed quite angry at breakfast.” Kíli remembered Bilbo’s volcanic reaction to their treatment of his possessions back in Backend or whatever he called it. The thought of him going ballistic over a burning couch or chaise or whatever while Thorin stood next to him with smug indifference was pretty funny, he had to admit. He smiled at the visual.The elf next to Elrond did not share Kíli’s opinion. They narrowed their eyes and curtly remarked, “It is good to know that even as the ages pass dwarven manners are the same. There is something to be said for your kind’s constancy, especially considering my Lord and his healers have taken great care to assure that you did not lose your life to that foul arrow.”Ori stood so quickly the stool underneath him fell over. The buzzword of ‘manners’ must have triggered the Dori-ness in him. “I-I apologize for their behavior! Um, and thank you for having us in your home. And, and for saving Kíli!”The elf Lord waved off Ori’s words. “Your apology and gratitude are appreciated but unnecessary, Master Dwarf. I have a duty to aid those in need of help.” An actual smile threatened to creep over his lips. “And it might please you to know your halfling spent all of breakfast telling me the same thing, though he used more… colorful words.”The image of fussy little Bilbo swearing in the presence of this esteemed Lord made Kíli’s smile turn into a proper laugh. The unexpected movement caused the wound in his leg to throb and he gasped in pain.Lord Elrond motioned to Tiriador. The healer hurried over to Kíli’s side and poked around at the bandage. He topped off his examination with another one of those weird elf hand-waves over the damaged area, accompanied by some words Kíli couldn’t understand. The pain in his leg receded, leaving behind an unnatural but not uncomfortable warmth. Tiriador caught his eyes meaningfully as he pulled away.“This brings me to what I wished to speak with you about. No doubt your Uncle has told you about the duration of your stay here in Imladris?” When Kíli nodded Lord Elrond continued, “Two weeks should be enough for you to heal fully. Tiriador has told me the threat of infection is already quickly diminishing. Once it has passed altogether, we can fully close your wound.”Tiriador hummed in agreement. “You should be walking, albeit with a crutch, by the day after tomorrow. From then, the healing process will speed up. You will be as right as rain before the second week is upon us.”Ori clasped his hands together. “That’s so quick! So elven healing magic really is as good as they say!” Kíli shared his fascination, but wasn’t happy to hear he’d be back on his feet so quickly. Once he was able to move around he’d have fewer reasons to avoid most of the company. And now, proof of what happened was tangible and real. Something he would have to hide.The elf Lord wished them a peaceful afternoon and swept out of the room. The snide elf followed after him. Tiriador walked behind, turning around right before he reached the door. He made a motion to his leg then pointed at Kíli. The distant voice of Lord Elrond calling for him to keep up rang out from the hall, startling him and prompting him to rush away without another word or look back.“What was that all about?” Kíli looked at Ori. Ori stepped closer and made a noise of surprise. “Look, in your bandage!” There was a small bulge on the far side of the wrappings, tucked in the crook of Kíli’s leg and the bed. Kíli’s mouth fell into an o-shape as he dug into the fabric and pulled out the contents. It was a little lump of paper, pressed tight and folded over itself so many times that prying it back apart was a challenge. Kíli smoothed it out as best he could and tilted it so Ori could see.‘To my esteemed dwarf friends,I have looked over the medical texts in our largest library. There is very little on dwarf pregnancy. I planned to check the older collections as well, but Master Lindir has suddenly decided that I must not have enough to do during the day and has given me additional responsibilities on top of being in charge of your recovery. I do not mind, but for now, I will have very few opportunities to speak with you alone. Do not despair. I will continue my search for useful information in the spare time still allotted to me—when Master Lindir is far away.Regards,Tiriador’The scribe wrinkled his nose at the jagged Westron. “That’s got to be the worst handwriting I’ve ever seen.”Kíli agreed, though his wasn't much better. “Friends, huh?” He folded the paper and tossed it into a lit brazier. His shot was dead-on—a benefit of being an archer. Friends with an elf. What would Thorin think of that?“I wonder if he’ll even be able to find anything.”Kíli watched the smoke rise from the burning paper and waited for Ori to continue. The scribe began to pace, ever so slightly, in the space between their beds. “And even if he does, will it be accurate? Elves don’t seem to know much about other races.” Kíli raised a brow at the certainty in his friend’s tone. “What makes you say that?”“When we were bringing you here, Elrond called Bilbo a halfling. Bilbo corrected him. He said his people don’t like that word.”“I don’t think any of us knew that either, though.”Ori rolled his eyes. “Well, yes. But we’re dwarrow. Plus, elves live long lives. Long enough to learn the proper way to address somebody. And he did it again just now, remember? Kind of rude.” Kíli smiled at Ori’s heated retort. About a week after they left the Shire, Ori—to his chagrin—had been corrected himself, and made sure to spread the word to the others in the company. Even if they didn’t all listen, the effort was appreciated by their burglar. He and the scribe had been on the fast track to friendship ever since. They were a lot alike.“What’s more,” Ori continued, pulling thoughtfully on one of his beard braids, “Tiriador didn’t know we only carry for seven months. That’s something a healer ought to be aware of.” He dropped the fluffy plait and shook his head. “We might be on our own.”The words, though said innocuously, were chilling. Kíli wrapped his arms around himself. The shudder he was holding in his heart must’ve escaped into something audible, for Ori was suddenly sat next to him, perched on the edge of the bed. He wrapped a sweatered arm around Kíli. The soft mattress sagged under their combined weight, forcing Kíli to lean into the touch. Honestly, right now he didn’t mind. Ori’s warmth was reassuring.He willed himself to speak before the silence got awkward. “You said you knew the basics. What are the basics?”“Uh,” The hand on Kíli’s shoulder retreated, joining its twin to drum on Ori’s knees. The scribe was bright red again. If they hadn’t been in deep shit, Kíli would’ve laughed. It was as plain as the red on Ori’s nervous face that he didn’t like discussing sex and its results so frankly.While it would be very easy to make fun of Ori for perfectly embodying the blushing virgin stereotype, Kíli had to admit that he was mostly the same. Not that it was their fault. The dwarven habit of keeping things secret sometimes extended to its own people, rather annoyingly. The barebones talk given to him long ago by a nonchalant Uncle Thorin stopped at the knowledge that spilling inside someone else could result in a baby.Ori took a deep breath and started again, “As an apprentice, I sometimes t-took notes for a midwife. Which included recording some births. And, um, he was nice enough to answer m-my questions.” Ori loved to learn. The idea of him getting so overeager that he forgot himself and badgered the midwife while they were both still covered in blood was very plausible.“S-so, there’s a small, really thin channel inside of our, uh,” he paused and cleared his throat, “Yeah. And that’s where t-the, um, seed gets taken in. The… the uterus is beyond that. It’s lower and further inside the body in dwarrow males than it is in dams. Hrar, that’s the midwife, he said that makes it harder for the baby to grow, but at the same time there’s more padding to protect it. It’s kind of crazy, some of the dwarrow I saw hardly seemed pregnant at all! If you’re thickly built or fat, it’s almost impossible to guess.” Ori tilted his head. “I forgot to ask him how he was able to tell. But that’s convenient, isn’t it?”As Kíli expected, the further Ori got into his explanations, the more his awkwardness ebbed away. The only thing Ori loved more than learning was sharing what he learned. Many of Kíli’s childhood lessons had been re-taught by his brainy friend when they failed to stick the first time.Kíli looked down at himself. He had the natural Durin barrel-chest, it’s true, but he was neither very stocky nor at all fat. How might he look a few months down the line, especially if food became scarce? He suppressed another shiver. A question, one that had been lurking at the back of his mind ever since Tiriador broke the news, resurfaced.“How do they get the baby out?”Ori blinked. “How do they...Oh! Y-you mean for dwarrow males.” The nervousness was back, but for different reasons this time. “The intake channel isn’t, um, flexible. So,” Ori took a breath, “Since it can’t go out the way it came in, midwives have to make an incision on the abdomen and remove the baby that way.”“You can’t be serious.”Ori nodded. Kíli leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He would’ve given almost anything to be able to just scream and scream in this moment, let out his frustrations until he was raw, but he couldn’t. He just sat there and pressed his palms into his eyelids so hard the grey in his vision went fuzzy. A warm hand settled on his back. “Hey, it’ll be okay, Kíli. We’ll figure it out.”“Figure what out?”Kíli’s head snapped up at the voice. The white sparks that’d gathered in his eyes quickly dispersed, leaving him dizzily looking up at his brother. Fíli was leaning in the doorway, looking at him with barely concealed irritation. Ori’s hand flew from his back as its owner flew out of the bed. “F-Fíli! We, um, we were just—”“Ori, Dori was looking for you.”Ori dusted himself off. “O-oh, he was? I-I guess I should go find him.” He looked nervously at Kíli. “Will you be okay for a while?” Kíli smiled reassuringly and nodded, pretending not to notice the way his brother’s face darkened. With a final straightening of his scarf, Ori gave them both a nod and scurried off. Fíli didn’t even look at him as he stepped out of the way.“Hey, brother.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“C’mon! C’mon! It’s this way!”
Fíli smiles and deliberately slows his steps, earning a cute groan of aggravation from his younger brother. Kíli grabs his hand and tries to tug him along, giving up after a few pulls yields nothing. He drops his arms with a loud sigh. “You’re so freaking slow, Fee.”

Fíli digs the toe of his boot into the dirt and scans the forest around them. They aren’t far from home yet, but if whatever Kíli wants to show him is much further the sun will finish setting before they’re back. Already it lingers low in the sky, setting the autumn-red leaves in the trees aflame in brilliant hues of bright scarlet. The dappled patches of gold light that make it past the defenses of the ruby bulwark fall across Kíli’s face, layering themselves atop the pink flush of mild exertion that stains his cheeks. The colors shift and swim as the younger prince hops from foot to foot. So fidgety. Even when he’s standing in place, he can never be truly still.
“Where are we going, anyway?”“Ugh! I already told you it’s a surprise.” Kíli crosses his arms. “You’d actually find out if you stopped asking questions and got your butt moving.”
Fíli laughs. “You’ve got me there. Alright, your majesty. But if we get in trouble it’s all your fault.” He taps his shoe on the ground to clear the accumulated mud away.
“Wait!”
A skinny arm darts out and snags his shoulder before he can move another inch. “I have an idea,” Kíli chirps. He steps behind Fíli and slips his cold fingers over the blond’s eyes. “Okay. Now we can keep going.” His voice is chipper and huffy with excitement and the chill of mid-autumn mountain air. Fíli shivers at his touch.

They shuffle forward awkwardly, banking a sharp turn around a fallen log (where they nearly stumble when Kíli accidentally pulls his braids) and continue in that manner for what feels like ages. Fíli often feels like he is unfairly chided for being overindulgent where his younger brother is concerned, but as the minutes pass with him fumbling in the dark, he starts to get a sneaking suspicion that maybe those claims have some merit. The idea is roughly jostled out of him as he is suddenly arrested by Kíli’s rigid arms and held in place.
“We’re here! You can look on three! One… two…”
Kíli’s voice is right next to his ear. From mid-calf all the way up to the chest, their bodies are pressed together. This physical closeness is not unusual for them in the slightest, but today Fíli is feeling the flickerings of something odd and
different
in how his heart speeds up. He pushes away the sensation before it can settle. Just the cold getting to him, probably.
“Three!”
The hands pull away and Fíli blinks like a startled prey animal. He rubs the spots from his eyes. Dwarrow aren’t made for such drastic changes in light level—not even himself, who was born above ground. It takes a moment, but eventually his vision clears enough for him to have a look around at what his brother is so eager for him to see.

There is a gap in the canopy above them marking where the trees have stopped and given way to a small glade. Grass and autumn wildflowers grow high and thick, taking advantage of every inch of bare sky they can get. The gentle burble of flowing water tickles Fíli’s ears. Inexplicably drawn to seek the source of the sound, he steps forward to wade through the vegetation.

He doesn’t have to search very hard. A small creek cuts across the ground about halfway across the clearing, running over uneven rocks coated in thick moss. Little transparent fish dart about in the gentle current, scattering momentarily when Fíli’s shadow blankets the surface of the water. Kíli’s own silhouette is close behind. The picture painted by their side-by-side outlines—Kíli, a few inches shorter but growing every day and Fíli, shoulders broader and more defined the closer he creeps to maturity—is suddenly splintered into wavering shards by a tossed pebble. Fíli wants to chide his brother for scaring the fish, but when he looks up he is caught off-guard by the childlike enthusiasm of Kíli’s anticipatory smile.
“So? What do you think?”
Fíli looks around. The sun is still peeking over the horizon and the low light saturates the already vibrant colors of the plant life to the point that they seem unreal and more resemble stitches in a fine tapestry. The whispering grass is golden-green, pricked with dots of white, yellow, and pinkish purple. Jays feathered in blues and tawny browns chirp loudly in the trees above them as they alight from branch to branch, almost as restive as the dark eyes waiting on his reply.

A typical dwarf would not,
should not
find much of value here. Dwarrow are built to find beauty in the solid world of Stone—jade, silver, sapphire, iron, emerald, ruby, gold—permanent, glistening things that sing to be shaped and cut by skilled hands. They are not built to seek comfort in the tremulous and ever-changing world of open skies and season-addled forests. That’s what Fíli has been taught. This place could be changed within mere weeks, be it by storm or the frosty fingers of winter’s grasp. It is ephemeral, unreliable. To others, not worth considering.

But Kíli is not a typical dwarf. And his considerations often lie with the odd and unexpected. Fíli feels strangely grateful for that fact.
“How’d you find this place?”“Chasing a deer.” The reply is sheepish. Kíli knows perfectly well that he isn’t yet allowed to go hunting on his own. “No one else knows it’s here, I think.” He picks a long strand of grass and waves it like a sword. “I thought maybe we could make this a new hideout.” The ersatz weapon buckles in the breeze. “For cutting lessons, you know? But I guess there isn’t much of a point anymore.”
Kíli’s words hang in the air. This trip into the woods had been frenetically pushed upon him by his little brother as soon as he’d arrived home from afternoon work that day. Now Fíli understands why.

In no less than five days Fíli would be leaving. He would be joining his Uncle on the roads out of Ered Luin and into the Men towns beyond. The pair would be gone all winter, traveling further than Fíli’d ever gone in his life. It is an unusual situation, given that most dwarrow don’t leave home until they are adults with thick beards and journeyman qualifications to tuck into their belts.

Fíli himself is forty-nine, a good twenty-one years away from his coming-of-age and still rather inexperienced in real labor. But this year has been more harsh than usual and the little bit of saved coin their family has is quickly drying up. Thorin normally supports them in lean times with money he earns further afield where there are better opportunities, but as things stood, even if he worked every single day he was away from home he still wouldn’t bring home enough for them to live on. He is only one dwarf. He needs more hands on deck if they were to make it past next spring. So, as he prepares to leave at the onset of winter, Fíli will be joining him to help where he is able.

Away from home. For an entire season.

Mother and Balin and Dwalin are making a big deal of it, being cheerful and celebrating in a fashion that is obviously solely for his benefit. The adults think their smiles and promises of adventure will make Fíli forget that he is leaving Kíli behind.
But he hasn’t
. The prospect is a terrifying specter, looming further and further over his shoulder with each day that passes. Fíli had been putting on a brave face about it, hopeful that Kíli would follow his lead and treat their upcoming separation as no big deal.
But it is
.

Guilt and apprehension pool in Fíli’s stomach. He feels very childish for believing that he could just pretend that everything was going to be fine. But what else could he do? It often seems to him that feigning ignorance is the most popular recourse for the adults around him when times get too tough to handle. Kíli isn’t like that at all though. No matter what example Fíli tried to set, his brother would never have just pretended to be okay. That isn’t who he is.

Fíli’s hand unconsciously taps against his side. He feels the heavy lump resting there. The dark cloud around him ebbs away as he remembers what he was going to do before Kíli dragged him out the door.
“Hey, I have something for you.”
He fishes around in his coat pocket for a moment as Kíli’s eyes grow wide with excitement. A hard object is pulled free and pressed into the younger dwarf’s eager hands.
“A dagger!” Kíli slips the blade free from its leather sheath with reverence. Pride and embarrassment in equal measure clash within Fíli as he watches his brother pore over every detail. There’s not much to see; it’s a simple creation, nothing remarkable about it save for the tiny Cirth lettering in the shaft. Though he applies himself to his smithing apprenticeship as best he can, it is already obvious that it isn’t his Craft. Still, with enough practice and several false starts, the weapon is just good enough to make a suitable going-away present.
He knows perfectly well that Kíli already has plenty of knives of his own—ones he’s forged in lessons and ones given to him by relatives on the occasional nameday. His brother barely even likes blades, preferring bow and arrow more and more with each passing day. And yet, Kíli holds his gift as if it is something sacred and beautiful. The sight makes Fíli’s heart feel tight from innumerable emotions, things he couldn’t name if he tried.
“I love it. Thank you, brother.” Kíli gives it a small swing, shifting his grip as he tests the weight. He takes notice of the writing at last, eyes lighting up as he tilts his head like an owl to read it. “I don’t know this word.”
Fíli reaches out and does the simple correction of rotating the blade to its side, lest Kíli strain his neck from his silly position. “It’s ancient Khuzdul. Balin is teaching me, remember? I didn’t exactly get permission to write it down, though.” He takes the leather sheath from Kíli and uses it to conk him gently on the head. “So don’t go flashing this around.”
“What’s it say?”“That’s a secret.”“Aw, come on,” Kíli whines, “I thought we told each other everything!” He turns his black eyes pleadingly up at Fíli. Fíli almost gives in, almost. It’s only the awkward explanation that would surely follow that keeps him from just spilling the beans. He has no idea what spurred him to choose that word to begin with. Something about it just felt… right.“I’ll tell you when I get back.” Better to just buy himself some time and hope Kíli will forget.
His brother’s smile diminishes. He snatches the sheath back and stores the knife. It gets slipped inside Kíli’s own coat pocket, taking the brief cheer of the moment with it. “Yeah. When you get back.” The words are nearly swallowed up by the wind as he turns away.
“Kee?”“You… are coming back, right?”
Fíli blinks at Kíli’s back. He wants to laugh and brush off the question as ridiculous, but then he sees how Kíli’s shoulders are trembling and suddenly the fear they’re both carrying inside is threatening to spill out into the open and become real. He moves forward and spins his little brother around before tucking him into his arms. “Of course I am.” A dark head buries itself in the crook of Fíli’s neck. “Promise?” The muffled word is hot against Fíli’s bared skin. He reaches a hand up and rubs Kíli’s back reassuringly.“Yes, brother. I promise. Just three months and I’ll be home again.” He pulls away and flicks his little brother’s nose. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Kíli retaliates with a sharp poke to Fíli’s stomach. “That’s impossible. You snore.”

Fíli shoves his brother’s shoulder and gets a playful kick to his legs in response. Before he knows it, they’re scuffling like they always do and all is right with the world.
“Fíli! Kíli!”
The distant shout is unmistakably their Uncle’s voice. Fíli freezes with Kíli in a headlock, belatedly noticing that the sun has now almost fully set, leaving the two of them bathed in blue light that is darkening with every passing moment.
“Uh oh. We’d better…” He releases Kíli and shoots him a look.“Boys?! Where are you?!” Their Mother’s sharp shout echoes from somewhere not too far away.“Yeah. Run!”——Fíli wasn’t enjoying his stay in Rivendell.It wasn’t all bad, to be fair. The camp they made in the wide pavilion outside the rooms Lord Elrond had bequeathed them (all unused, save for one) was warm and cozy and considerably secure, if the lax watch rota was anything to go by. But, ever since Kíli was whisked off to the healing hall, Fíli’d been nothing but ill at ease.Thorin was gone most of the evening, conspicuously flitting in and then back out after he returned from speaking with the elf Lord. Bofur audibly suspected that it had something to do with Master Baggins’ own curious wanderings. Most of the company had overheard at least some of what Kíli’d said in the infirmary. It was a fairly sure bet that wherever Bilbo had gone, Thorin was not too far behind. Though, they were divided among themselves as to what his actions actually meant. “Worried about treachery from the halfling, I’d wager,” Glóin had said when their leader was not yet back at bedtime, “Can’t be too careful in this nest of vipers.”Before he departed, Thorin advised against any late-night snacking. “The meals provided by the… elves may be barely adequate, but, as my nephew reminded me, it would be prudent to avoid cutting into our own provisions. We will eat what is given to us.”There was an expected amount of complaining, followed by a scuffle between Nori and Dori as the latter forced the former to give up a bundle of smoked sausages he’d pinched from the kitchens. The thief was quickly outmatched by his powerhouse older brother, and Dori handed over the foodstuffs to Bombur with a sniff. “Best put these away, then. Regardless of where they came from,” the eldest Ri pointedly looked at his brother’s unashamed face, “They’ll serve better later down the line.” With a few heartbroken and longing looks, Bombur put the meat away while Nori grumbled something along the lines of “How does he always know?”Fíli wished Kíli had been there. With absolute certainty, he could picture what his little brother’s reaction would’ve been. First, he would’ve elbowed Fíli in the ribs, smug about Thorin heeding his words, then his catlike expression would’ve fallen away as he heard the complaints of his fellow dwarrow. Kíli was, despite how he outwardly seemed, a sensitive soul easily guilted by the reactions of others, something that frequently got him caught when pulling pranks. That sad mood would not have lasted though. As soon as Dori and Nori started their argument, he would’ve bucked up and shouted something playfully inflammatory about the thief’s habits, hoping to egg on the brawl a little. Maybe he would’ve even taken a bet, and then felt bad about that too. The cycle continues. Multitudes within multitudes.Well, that was the old Kíli, anyway. Frankly, he had no idea what the Kíli he was currently dealing with would do, as proven by his brother’s choice of company for the night.Seriously. Ori? Ori?Fíli had nothing against him, to be clear. Ori was his friend. Ori was Kíli’s friend. But why the hell had Kíli asked for him instead of his own brother? It beggared belief. Sure, the excuse Kíli had given their Uncle made sense, yes, but… Kíli had never been the type to let pragmatism get in the way of what he wanted. And usually what he wanted was Fíli.Just the night before, when they were alone with the ponies, a seed of fear had begun to germinate in the back of Fíli’s mind—and now he knew it would not be so easily killed. His brother’s coldness, his skittish aura that he masked under unassuming nonchalance, was all he could think about.Every spare moment since the company had arrived in these elf halls had been dedicated to puzzling out the mystery of Kíli’s strange behavior. But he was getting nowhere, and none of his guesses led to anything good. Unless he wanted to go mad, he would have to do what he’d failed at yesterday. He had to talk to Kíli.He could go this very night, if he wished. None of the others would begrudge him a visit to his injured and ailing brother. Balin even suggested as much when he noticed Fíli’s excessive restlessness. But the older prince declined, secretly feeling like the nighttime might swallow him up if he ventured out on his own. It was a silly and childish notion, this fear that he had when his brother wasn’t near, but he tempered it with the rationalization that Kíli was probably long asleep and needed the rest in order to recover.So, the lonely singleton of a separated pair, he remained in the camp, his agitation only increasing as the merry hours ticked by. Nori and Glóin tried to occupy him with a game of dice, but the string of losses that followed was so embarrassing that both of the older dwarrow stopped taking his coin very quickly.“Still worried about him, are you?” Nori asked the question as he put away his most recent round of winnings. Fíli’s morose face did all the talking for him. Glóin, a few coins lighter and all the more cantankerous for it, gave the prince a slap on the back. “Can’t say I don’t understand, lad. If it were my wee Gimli in there…” He shook his red beard indignantly. “Elf healing, peh!”Nori elbowed the banker hard in the ribs, a not-so-subtle reminder that Kíli was still very much reliant on that elf healing for survival. Glóin rubbed at his side and gave the thief a dirty look before quickly adding, “He’ll be fine, laddie. He’s of Durin’s line. Sturdy as granite slabs, our kind are!”“And twice as thick,” The thief jeered as he flashed a deck of cards. “Ready to give me more of your money?”Glóin grumbled in protest at the thief’s insult but swiftly took the cards as they were dealt out to him. Fíli waited for own hand to come, but Nori only shook his star-shaped head. “Sorry kid, you’re out. Gettin’ kind of sad at this point.” They offered to let him officiate, but Fíli found that he’d had enough of gambling. It wasn’t as fun when Kíli wasn’t around to help him cheat.Since there was no need for him to be on watch and no other ways for him to alleviate the tension building in his chest, Fíli made for his bedroll and tried his best to will himself to sleep. Even with the warmth of summer air and the crackling of the nearby furniture fire, he felt far too cold under his blanket. Thoughts of what he might say to his brother when they next saw each other swirled around in his head. They stretched into the red-dark of his closed eyes, slowly giving way to the droopy half-silence of fitful sleep. He dozed restlessly, his unconscious ears half-listening to snatches of distant music, undoubtedly from the flute of a drunken Bofur.Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would go to see Kíli.——“Hi.”Kíli’s response was rather nonchalant, a sharp contrast to his… everything else. Fíli bit his lip. Just what had he walked in on? Ori had barely left the room and already Kíli was receding into himself. The smile his little brother gave him had teeth, but no warmth. Not like the look he gave Ori. Fíli’s stomach lurched as he shuffled from the doorway to the bed.He sniffed the air. The clean scent of medicinal herbs and tonics, which had thoroughly permeated the room just last night, was now almost gone, covered up by the tang of Kíli’s sweat. And his brother looked even worse than he smelled. His hair was a matted mess, bangs sticking up over his damp forehead, adding an eerie and owlish look to his sleep-deprived eyes. And his skin, normally a robust olive, was grey-pale. Fíli could see the difference easily, for a lot of it was visible—why hadn’t he changed out of his torn up trousers?“Are you playing at making the elves wait on you hand and foot, Kee? Think they’ll take to dressing you and bathing you themselves if you look a big enough mess?” He hoped the words sounded as light as he wanted them to.“Think it’ll work?”“I could run to the stables to fetch some manure for good measure.”“Bet you wouldn’t be able to find any. I heard elves don’t poop. Bet elf horses don’t poop either. If they did, the elves wouldn’t want to keep them, would they? It’d get annoying.”A smirk danced at Fíli’s lips. Not two sentences out of Kíli and already they were talking about animal shit. He could’ve laughed at the sheer everyday absurdity of it, or perhaps at the relief he was feeling. Already the daytime was doing wonders to abate his anxiety. His Mother had often told him that, as a pebble, he’d felt fear more strongly when the sun had set.Even if Kíli was still acting different, it didn’t necessarily mean anything, did it? Perhaps he’d just caught his brother—and Ori—in an awkward moment. Fíli grimaced at the spots where sweat had dried on Kíli’s tunic. Worrying about his relationship with Kíli right now seemed selfish. Concern for his brother’s health should be taking priority, shouldn’t it?“Seriously, didn’t they bring you some water?”Fíli looked around and spotted a tray sat haphazardly on a table, atop which rested a jug and a few small bathing accessories, including a sponge, a towel, and a hairbrush. He tilted the ewer, expecting to find it empty, or nearly so. The cold water near the brim splashed over his knuckle as the pitcher wobbled. Grunting in shock, Fíli scrambled to right his course and keep from spilling anything further. He peered, dumbfounded, first at his wet shoes, then at the bone dry towel. “Kíli… I really doubt they’re going to actually bathe you. You have to do that part on your own.”There was a weak sounding snort. A bad sign. Kíli was too exhausted to even make annoying noises properly. “Haven’t had time,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Feels like someone’s bursting through the door every thirty seconds. You want me to strip to the nude when that elf Lord could come in any second and see me with my tackle out?”Fíli frowned. “Point taken. Well, it’s just us in here now.” He tossed the towel over to the bed and picked up the ewer. “You reek, Kee.”Kíli caught and balled the fabric in his fist. “Funny. Wasn’t it you who came back from the smithy stinking so bad Mother had to hose you down outside?”“Not fair. That was one time, and if I recall correctly, your fault!”Fíli said as much, but truth be told he couldn’t exactly remember which of the two of them was behind the idea to leave a stink bomb inside the forge that day. But Kíli was the one who had copped to it and in doing so received a long lecture from Thorin as well as a severe punishment in the form of three weeks of rigorous training with Dwalin before sunrise. Fíli had made it up to him, of course. He surreptitiously handed over his share of dessert to his brother every night for each one of those miserable twenty-one days. The scales were balanced; they would always keep things even with each other.Kíli waved away the ewer as Fíli approached. The smile he’d plastered on was still there, but looking more and more strained by the minute. “No thanks. The water’s cold now. I’ll do it later when the elves bring more.”What?His brother didn’t care about cold water. He never cared about cold water. Growing up in Ered Luin, their plumbing wasn’t good enough to produce warm baths half the time. And on the rare occasions the water was properly heated, the tub was thriftily shared. Kíli had never minded Fíli bathing with him before, so why was this any different?Fíli tried to smother the spark of angry jealousy that sputtered within him. It was stupidly self-centered of him, but a small part of him had hoped that perhaps Kíli’s filthy state had been for Fíli’s sake. That Kíli had merely been waiting for him to come help. To come comfort him as he always did. That maybe his brother wished to keep the vulnerable parts of himself for Fíli alone. But no. Kíli clearly didn’t need or want his help. He would bathe later. With Ori to assist him, no doubt.Ori.The spark turned into a flame. He set the ewer back down with more force than necessary, not reacting at all to the water that flowed over his hand. Kíli gave a start, the fake smile falling away from his face. “Mahal, Fee, it’s just a little dirt. You’re acting like Bilbo did when we scraped up his glory-thingy.”
Ori.
The air in the room was sucked up, leaving only a sweat-scented vacuum. Corners tilted to impossible angles. All he could see was the young scribe here at his brother’s bedside, where Fíli himself ought to have been. In Kíli’s bed, even. He’d seen them together himself, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? Ori had been there in Fíli’s rightful spot. Touching Kíli’s back like he had any right to do so. The older prince was drowned in a sea of visions—the two of them whispering together. Laughing. Deriding Fíli for his ignorance. Lips drawing closer and closer together until they meet. Tongues lashing each other. A treasure plundered. Defiled. Stolen. Sold secondhand to some ingrate that has no idea of its proper use or value. In the darkest depths of his heart something pale and glittering gold, cast in the shape of his family’s line, peeked out its hungry eyes.His One. With someone else.Then, as soon as it had come, the feeling passed. The curtain of mist pulled away from his eyes leaving only the barest pricking of tears and a silly, slightly squeamish feeling in his gut. Kíli was pulled up completely in the bed and looking very, very cross. The discomfort he’d been trying to hide was now as plain as day on his face. Fíli didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand anything. He had to be wrong. His mind was merely playing tricks on him.
Right?
“Sorry. Yeah. Hot water would do you a world of good. Make sure you do that, brother.”Coward. Too much of a coward to pry further and risk Kíli’s ire. Fíli wiped his wet hand on his tunic and sat down on Ori’s bed, as close as he could get without crossing the imaginary boundary that laid itself out brick by brick with every further word between the two of them. Kíli kept his eyes locked on his brother as he sank into the mattress, but thankfully made no motion to turn him away.“Have you seen Thorin?” The subject change was awkward, but leaving would have been worse. His legs were suddenly far too tired to carry him from the room.Kíli blinked at the shift in conversation, then made a great show of rolling his eyes. “He looks worse than me. What happened yesterday?”“Dunno. He left after dinner to talk to the elf Lord and took Bilbo and Balin with him. They came back for a little while, but after the others started burning furniture our Burglar excused himself. Said he was going to take a walk, since the weather was so nice. Or something. Uncle stayed for a bit then got all fidgety, like when he has to sell something to a Man. He stormed off grumbling about ‘sweet-talking elves trying to encroach on Company secrets’ or something.”Like a ray of sun peering through an all-day raincloud, Kíli laughed. The genuine sound warmed Fíli down to his very bones. “More worried about an elf trying to ‘encroach’ on Mr. Baggins’ person, I’ll bet.”With a grin so wide his teeth started to hurt, Fíli welcomed the burst of vitality from his little brother. Chasing more of that beautiful sound, he proceeded to list with great detail each amusing instance that had happened in his brother’s absence. A satisfied nod was given at his description of Thorin’s praise for Kíli’s wise words, and second and third laughs were given for the tidbit about Nori’s sausage stealing. By the time he described his string of bad luck with the dice (though he did not mention the reason), it almost felt as if the past month had rewound and never happened. Kíli dared to cross the fence between them and smack him on the arm for not being a better cheat, and Fíli felt like he could fly.“Not fair, brother,” he crowed, “You try turning a die when Glóin is hacking and coughing up a storm next to you. It’s enough to make me want to give up my pipe.”Fíli was blessed a second time when Kíli shoved him again. Play-acting at weakness, he slumped back across the bed beneath him and lay there for a moment, staring at the vaulted ceiling. Words of love sprang up from his heart and perched in his mouth, ready for him to say them. And he truly wanted to, was sitting right on the cusp of unleashing all that had been on his mind while they’d been traveling. Maybe…all was not lost.He sat up.“Kíli, do you—” As his arm moved to support his ascent, it brushed something foreign sitting in the folds of the sheets below. Something about it, about its half-hidden presence in the elven silk caught his attention, and he stopped speaking to grasp for it. The object, smooth, heavy, and rectangular slipped free from the fabric easily and Fíli recognized it as soon as he saw the worn brown leather.Ori’s journal.His mood dimmed at the reminder of the scribe’s sharing of Kíli’s quarters. He held the book in one hand. It was an everyday thing to see Ori scribbling in this book, but something about finding it now, without its owner present, brought back memories of Fíli’s childhood. Back in Ered Luin, his then-friend had never been without a journal or diary of some kind. Years would pass and he’d fill up one after another after another, all the way back to the very instant he could first scratch out cirth and common-letters unassisted. It wasn’t always records of day-to-day happenings, either. Stories, myths, recipes, drawings of banded agates and freshwater fish—anything he to which he took a fancy.“I remember things better this way. Even if I never look at my work again I’ll always remember what I wrote,” Ori had said dreamily when Fíli asked about his mishmashed hoard of knowledge, “And maybe someday if I have to write down something really important, I’ll already know the right words to use.”It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when he took scrivenry for his Craft.“Wh-what are you doing, Fíli?”Fíli’s fingers paused at where they’d started to flip through the pages. “Aw, c’mon Kee, don’t you wanna see what Ori’s got written about our epic quest so far? We should see if he’s making us sound like proper heroes.” He looked up with a mischievous smile. Kíli did not return it. “You shoudn’t look through that when he isn’t here,” the younger prince fired back, “It’s not right.”The coldness in his brother’s voice was like a stab in the gut, and it stirred him to frustration. Why shouldn’t he look? Was there something Kíli didn’t want him to see?“Kíli, we’ve peeked in Ori’s journals hundreds of times. What’s one more?”Quick as an arrow, his brother leaned over the gap between the beds and snatched the book away. Fíli was too shocked by Kíli’s sudden movement to resist as the journal was torn from his grasp. He caught a glower across the younger prince’s dark features before it was replaced by something worse: neutrality.“Well, maybe it was wrong back then too,” he said as he scooted the book out of sight. “Maybe what we did was wrong.”Fíli’s golden eyebrows knit together. Somehow, it felt like he wasn’t just referring to their errant snooping. “Kíli—”“I’m kind of tired, Fee. I want to rest for a bit, if you don’t mind.” A yawn came to Kíli’s mouth, punctuating his dismissal better than any ‘get out’ or ‘I don’t want you here’ could have possibly done.Fíli rose on unwilling feet. Again. Again he’d messed this up. “Um, okay. That’s fine.” This time, he didn’t even bother trying to reach for Kíli before he turned to go.“Sleep well, brother. Feel better.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It wasn’t a complete lie. Kíli really was tired. And he really did sleep.Just a bit, and not especially deeply, for no dreams came to him. He barely registered the blip of rest at all—a few seconds floating in the dark behind his eyelids before Ori was gently patting his cheek to awaken him.“Kíli, wake up. Óin’s here.” A pause. “Um, to look at your leg.”The hurried clarification was appreciated; it stopped Kíli’s panic before it could spread. He slowly and groggily sat up, peering through squinted eyes at Ori and the grizzled healer behind him. The late afternoon sun pushed golden rays through the lofty windows, casting the room in a hazy glow. Óin’s brass ear horn caught the light and gleamed brightly from where it perched in his hand.“Well now,” he harrumphed, “Got word that the weed-eater’s already had a look at ye today. Without consultin’ me.” The old dwarf frowned derisively as he bustled in with his satchel full of tonics and rubs. “‘M Sure they won’t mind me checkin’ their work.”As Óin approached and made to uncover the damaged area, Ori gave Kíli a reassuring pat on the arm and took his seat on the bed. He wasn’t worried. The prince wished that he could feel the same way. Oin was sharp. Kíli took a deep breath to calm himself. Yes, there was no logical way either of them could have waved the healer off, but as long as Óin stuck to the area around his leg, there’s no reason he’d find anything amiss.And, by some miracle, Óin did. He examined the wound thoroughly, hemming and humming as he looked over the area, stopping only once to rummage for a foul-smelling poultice, which he applied in a thin, stinging layer. With a grunt, he stood up straight and gave a begrudging nod. “Well, the threat of infection seems to have passed. If they do mean to close ye up tomorrow, I’ll say nothin’ against it.” He pressed his hand against Kíli’s forehead to check his temperature. “But I’m not sure I like this medicine they’re givin’ ye. Yer a bit too pale for my likin’.”“Oh,” Ori chimed in timidly, “The, uh, healer—um, the elf healer said that was normal. For the draught. Side effects.” A nice save. Unfortunately, the scribe had been leaning over Óin’s shoulder when he spoke, and had to quickly throw himself nearly horizontal to avoid being hit by Óin’s elbow as he spun to look behind himself.“Wussat, lad? Fried insects? They tryin’ to feed ye bugs?” Óin shook his braided beard. “Strange folk. Unnatural.” The healer squinted once more at Kíli. “Ye feelin’ alright other than yer leg? Headaches? Cramps? Anythin’?”He did have a headache. A throbbing one. As well as a queasy stomach, a battered heart, and an unexpected passenger.“No. Everything’s normal.”Óin’s gaze sharpened for a moment as he attempted to detect dishonesty in the prince’s words. But Kíli, by now practiced in the art, kept his face a soft and placid line of neutrality. When he could find nothing, the healer resumed his normal air of half-hearted irritation. “Alright, but if that changes at all ye send Ori to get me, ye hear? We’re only a few hallways away, remember. Not,” He winked, “On the other side of the world.”Ori followed Óin to the door, waiting for a moment after the older dwarf had left to stick his head out into the hallway and confirm his departure. He padded back to the bed and dropped onto the sheets with a sigh. “What a day.” The scribe popped his head up to look at Kíli. “How are you feeling? Did you take more medicine?”Kíli shook his head. “I don’t like how it makes me feel.”Ori frowned. “If we can’t rely on Óin for help then we have to trust Tiriador. You should take it.”The clear bottle still sat on his bedside table. Kíli picked it up and rolled it between his fingers. He hated the numb half-awake feeling the draught left in him. Vulnerability. The last thing he needed.When he didn’t get a response, Ori hummed in a ‘suit-yourself’ sort of way and took to shuffling about on the bed, scrabbling through the sheets and blankets. Lax at first, as the seconds ticked by the sounds of shifting sheets and blankets picked up as he lifted the bed dressings over and over, each time slightly more frantic than the last. “H-hey, where’s my—”“Oh. Here.”Kíli slid the journal out from under his pillow and passed it to Ori. Ginger brows raised in confusion. “Fíli was snooping,” Kíli said primly, “Or trying to. I took it.”Ori quickly flipped through the pages. “Well, thanks. I don’t really mind, though.”“I do,” Kíli insisted, “It’s rude.”Ori gave him a flat look. “Kíli, if you’re worried I wrote anything about, you know,” he made a clumsy circle in the air in front of his stomach, “I-I wouldn’t do that. I promise.” He looked hurt by even the mere implication. A stab of guilt pierced Kíli’s heart and he bit his lip.“Sorry. I know you wouldn’t.”The scribe smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I get it.” An awkward pause passed between them. Shit. Kíli really did trust Ori, didn’t he? He could’ve sworn he did, sworn it to the Seven Fathers. It’s not like his friend would have even had any time to write things down anyway! So why, then, had Kíli felt so very afraid when Fíli picked up that journal? Mahal, this was nonsensical. Like all of himself was being eaten away by fear and guilt and shame. Slowly. From the inside out.He clutched his stomach. Heh. There was an apt metaphor in there somewhere.“H-hey, do you wanna have a look?”Kíli’s head shot up at the sound of Ori’s weakly cheerful voice. The ginger dwarf continued, tapping the surface of his journal with a slender finger, “Now that I’m here, and all. Do you wanna see what what I’ve got so far?” An unspoken ‘maybe then you’ll believe that I’m on your side’ followed after his words.Even outside of his anxieties about the Big Secret, Kíli was happy for the offer. Fíli had not lied when he said the two of them often perused Ori’s art in their youth. It was a pastime that Kíli often enjoyed. He was fond of the graceful, sloping strokes of ink the scribe used to convey his subjects, as well as the delicate smudges of charcoal, and, on rare occasion, watercolors, that made the drawings come to life. The talent of putting pen to paper was far beyond him, as it seemed most things were, but his own lack of skill made him all the more appreciative of what Ori was able to do.So with a genuine, excited smile, he carefully scooted himself over and patted the spot on the bed where Ori had sat earlier that same day. The scribe hesitated for a moment, looking fretfully to the door and wringing his mittened hands, but Kíli’s burst of exuberance won him over, and he sat down with a spare pillow propped behind him and his book cradled on his lap.The journal was cracked open and spread out between the two of them and Kíli was once more a child ‘ooh’-ing and ‘ahh’-ing at a larger-than-life storybook.The first section of the journal was nothing but drawings. The slopes of Ered Luin, the hills of the Shire, winding roads dotted with ponies and bracketed by pines—and of course, many, many portraits. There were plenty of Thorin, as well as several of Nori and Dori. One completely inked page showed Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur tending to the campfire. “I-I get nervous about asking, but Bofur was really nice about it,” Ori explained as Kíli examined the picture, “He said that he was honored anyone would want to draw his, um ‘ugly mug’, as he put it.” A finger flipped the page and pointed to one of the small drawings of Bilbo, faintly done from a bashful distance. “I hope Bilbo might let me do a proper portrait while we’re here. He’s so unique-looking, kind of like—”You. The sentence didn’t need finishing. Ori had said as much many times growing up that Kíli’s unusual face was ‘visually interesting’, which might’ve sounded like a kinder way to say ‘ugly’ if it came from anybody else. But his friend had been genuine then, and was genuine now. The sketches mixed in with the others that featured Kíli doing various things about camp, sometimes alone or with Fíli, attested to that.“There sure are a lot of Dwalin,” Kíli noticed. And indeed, more than any other dwarf, there was. He appeared in almost every scene. Sitting. Smoking. Driving his pony. Splitting wood. Even sketches of singular family units sometimes had him rendered very faintly in the distance, like a bald and grumpy ghost.Ori waved off the observation with a sniff. “He’s a, a challenge to draw. Lots of textures. I’m practicing.” Before Kíli could say another word about it, the scribe flipped forward a bit to the pages that held his writings. “Let me show you what I’ve written!”Kíli raised an eyebrow at his friend’s dismissal but didn’t press the issue. He was too eager to keep browsing the sketchbook to mind, anyway. The paragraphs depicting their arrival at Bilbo’s home were nice, and made him feel nostalgic. Only about a month ago but it still felt like so much time had passed. Other incidents, like Bofur’s finding of the creek and the attack on Dwalin’s face made him want to curl up into a ball and hide away forever. Mahal. Never mind the terror. What an embarrassment.The most interesting stuff, as it turned out, was not found in Ori’s main journal entries, but in the little notes he took between happenings. In small text between the occasional paragraph, Ori had written little blurbs about all his leading characters, summarily explaining who they were and how they appeared to be from his (very astute) point of view. Thorin got all the usual buzzwords—Grave. Kingly. Stoic. Bilbo was described accurately as well, called ‘fussy and easily flustered, but kind, gentle, and sharp’. And Dwalin, in keeping with the flattering sketches, got no less than a paragraph about his bravery and merit as a seasoned warrior. Each dwarf was rendered a vivid and believable character with fairness and frankness by Ori’s skilled words.Kíli’s eyes glided smoothly over the tiny letters, pausing when he got to himself and his brother.‘Our archer, Kíli, is the youngest of the company and of Durin’s line. He is wolf-like, wild, and brazen. Untameable in heart and mouth. His manner is fearless, and he carries himself as one with the world at his feet. He lives each moment as if it is worth its weight in gems and fights as such too.’The ironic inaccuracy was almost funny. Like a horrible private joke known only to himself. Once upon a time, he had been this dwarf. Not any more.‘Fíli is very similar to his brother. Mischievous and free-spirited, he hides his eager nature underneath a keen eye and a natural flair for diplomacy and leadership, much like the way sodium rock belies its explosive nature when kept away from water. In appearance he is golden, and fairly colored. Kíli is his opposite, dark-featured. When the brothers are near each other, be it in conversation or sport, one might liken the visual to seeing the sun and moon in the same sky.’Kíli’s heartbeat sped up as he read the words. So simple a description, and yet it moved him. Yes. It was true. Fíli was all this, and more as well. A small part of him was disappointed that his brother was not here to read these words. Seeing his reaction would have been fun.Ori was in the middle of showing him the light sketches he’d started of Rivendell—most done just last night, as a matter of fact—when the sound of a bustling cart drew their attention.To Kíli’s mild surprise, instead of the mustard elf, it was Tiriador who pushed in their food trays. The healer was in good spirits, his jet-black hair freshly combed and shining brightly in the late afternoon sunbeams. “Good evening,” he intonated in his gravelly voice, “Maethadis said you were asleep when she came by to bring lunch. I volunteered to bring you your dinner early. I hope that is alright, I figured you might be hungry.”The cart was settled in-between the beds and Kíli grimaced as the food was placed in front of him. The mushrooms from this morning made a second appearance, mixed in with what looked like some sort of cooked millet along with carrots and beans. Next to it was, big shocker, yet another salad, this one garnished with nuts and slivers of strawberry. It didn’t look especially tempting but Kíli’s low appetite from the past few days was starting to catch up with him, so he picked up his fork and took a few bites.Ori poked about his tray with a martyred expression. Kíli gave him a commiserative smirk. Tiriador, seemingly unaware of the pitiable quality of their sustenance, stood at a distance and hummed quietly to himself while he waited for them to finish eating. Once their spoons were set down and their bowls empty (or the closest thing they would get to being so) he turned to face the door and was silent for a moment, head tilted so his pointed ears faced the wood.Ori gently pushed the food cart away with his foot, as if having the scraps of green anywhere near him was a great offense. “Are you a-alright, Master Tiriador?”The elf shook himself out of his stupor and turned to smile brightly at the scribe. “Yes, Master Ori, though you may call me Tiriador if you wish. I was merely listening to make sure that we would be uninterrupted.”“Oh,” Ori replied, “That’s probably a good idea. And, um, you can just call me by my name as well, then.”“Same here,” Kíli added. Thorin wouldn’t like it if he got wind of this familiarity, but that was something they could deal with later. Tiriador fetched a stool and sat down. “You found my letter, I hope?”The prince nodded. “Smart, passing a note that way.” Tiriador looked very pleased with himself, puffing out his lean chest like a child that had just finished his first Important Errand. Kíli disguised a snicker with a yawn into his fist.“Like I communicated earlier, I have not found any books that might be of use to the two of you.” The elf sighed. “There’s barely any information on dwarves in our library to begin with!”“Dwarrow,” Ori corrected, “And I’m not surprised. We don’t go around spilling our secrets to everybody, nevermind to elves.” There was a pause. He frowned apologetically. “No offense.”Tiriador shook his head. “I said I would help you, on my word as a healer, and yet I cannot even begin to provide aid when I know nothing.” His large hands folded into fists. “It is most discouraging.”Kíli’s dark brows raised. Until now he’d only really taken this elf’s sincerity at face value, so to hear the real distress in his voice at failing in a task that he’d set out to do with no benefit to himself… it was somewhat perplexing.“A-about that,” Ori said, fingering a ribbed stitch on one of his mittens, “I, I think I may have some, um, information…?” He traced the thick yarn lines that ran across the back of his hand, guilt building in his dark brown eyes. Kíli swallowed. He had a bad feeling about this.“Ori,” The prince said hesitantly, “What did you do?”The scribe looked away for a moment, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. He wetted his lips and paused for a moment. “S-so, when I was coming back from checking on Dori, I just so happened to run into Óin,” He began.Kíli recalled how he and the healer had shown up together. “Go on.”“I remembered that the other day Glóin mentioned his brother’s work as a midwife. That he delivered a lot of babies, especially before Erebor fell. And, well, I got to thinking that… maybe the best person to ask about dwarven births was a dwarf healer. It’s the simplest answer, isn’t it?”Kíli paled. “Ori.”“Calm down, Kíli! L-Let me explain first!” The ginger dwarf balled his hand into a fist and thumped it down onto a wool-clad thigh. When Kíli didn’t say anything, he continued, “He was on his way to the healing garden to replenish his stores and he invited me to go with him.”“The healing gardens are rather extensive,” Tiriador mused, “If a plant has any replenishing properties, the chances are good that it is cultivated here.”“They were!” Ori agreed, “Óin pointed out a bunch of things to me. Bay laurel, maker’s eye, valerian—Oh!” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, pulling a flattened white blossom from the middle. “And this is feverfew. He said Bilbo told him about it. In the Shire they use it for fevers, headaches, toothaches, even arthritis! What a discovery! I just had to take a clipping so I could note it in my—”“Ori,” Kíli snapped, “Please.”“Ah, sorry.” The delicate bloom was slipped back into its paper cocoon and pressed carefully between the pages of Ori’s journal. “Anyway, while I was helping him I brought up my time working under Hrar and how informative of a job it’d been. That delivering babies looked difficult. And, well, we got talking about the finer details.”Kíli nervously drummed his fingers on his good leg. Ori’s thirst for knowledge was well-known, but could it really be that simple? “Just like that? Really?”The scribe pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yes, Kíli. Really. You can trust me on this. You didn’t come up at all. If anything, he thinks I’m the one in need of… ahem.” A blush crept up his freckled cheeks. “I think he thinks I’ve n-never had ‘The Talk’.”The prince blinked. “Oh.”“Y-yeah. He made sure to go over that stuff too. It was really embarrassing. So be grateful, please.”Kíli tried to surpress a laugh at the thought of Ori, hands full of medicinal vegetation, being unable to escape Óin’s loudly voiced descriptions of the birds and the bees. He could probably discount the old healer being his friend’s One. He caught Ori’s eye and both of them broke, overcome with giggles.Tiriador’s puzzled voice cut through their laughter. “Talk? But weren’t you already speaking with him? Are you referring to an earlier conversation?” This caused them to laugh even harder, making the elf frown and huffily twist locks of dark hair around his slender fingers.“Uh, maybe Ori can tell you later,” Kíli said once he caught his breath, “We’re getting off-topic.” He gave the ginger dwarf a smile, feeling more at ease than he had all day, “So, what did you learn?”“Well, to begin with, I asked Óin—very casually—what one m-might need to watch out for.”——“Disks? What about disks? Oh, oh. Risks. Feh. Speak up, lad! Well, I’d say malnutrition is the biggest one. Pregnancy is rough on a dwarf’s body. The babe needs plenty of energy to grow. If the parent doesn’t eat enough and eat properly, they’ll find themselves in a pretty precarious situation. Protein and fats are especially important.”——Tiriador eyed the disheveled food cart with more than a little guilt. “Protein… and fats.” He pinched his large eyes shut. From his mouth there were mutterings of elvish, followed by a slightly peevish, “I knew that Lord Elrond’s joke was in poor taste.”Kíli and Ori shared a look. “What joke?” Ori asked, “What are you talking about?”“The meals,” Tiriador replied with a frown, “Surely you’ve noticed, there’s no meat.”“Oh. Y-yes, we have. Elves are vegetarians, aren’t they?”The elf let out a belt of laughter. “Hardly! Well, that is to say, I am. And so are a few others. But many more that dwell here in the Valley take a little bacon with their breakfasts and enjoy duck and chicken roasted, fried, or boiled into soups. And any elf would surely tell you that the Nost-na-Lothion feast is at best incomplete without at least three or four suckling pigs.”Ori’s brown eyes had gone as big as serving dishes. “Wh-what? Then, then why have we been given nothing but salad?” He was scowling now, but his face could hardly be taken seriously, given the trail of drool that had begun to slip from the corner of his mouth. Kíli also found himself salivating at the idea of piles of roasted pork, marinated in spices and wine. His stomach growled as he remembered his meatless dinner.“As I said, it is my Lord’s idea of a… joke.”Two pairs of unimpressed dwarven eyes bored into the elf and he retreated into himself, slim shoulders hunching. “Er, Lord Elrond is a gracious host, but I… I believe he spoke with Master Lindir about ‘getting a bit of his own back’, whatever that means. He instructed the cooks to use only vegetables, and to give meat to the dwarves only by his saying so.”“What?!” Ori said again, at a much louder volume. The bridge of his large nose wrinkled as anger darkened his features. “Of all the—”“Ori, didn’t Elrond say something about the others breaking his furniture?” Kíli asked, unable to keep a wry smile from his face. “We’re hardly innocent ourselves.”The scribe deflated. “Oh… You’re right.” He fixed Tiriador with a worried look. “And, um, believe me, I’m sorry about that. But all the same, this is really bad! Dwarrow typically need a high-protein diet to begin with, never mind one that’s expecting! Kíli could—”“I am aware, I am aware! We must do something about it.” Tiriador put a fist to his pointy chin. “If I start bringing all your meals, I can sneak you some meat—” He looked at Ori’s hopeful expression, “Both of you, I suppose. I don’t know what can be done for your companions, though.”“We’ll figure something out. What else, Ori?”The scribe, who was so pleased by Tiriador’s idea that he’d reached out to gratefully squeeze the elf’s shoulder, nodded and cleared his throat.——“Getting ill is also a bit of a worry. A little cold won’t harm much of anything, but things like pneumonia or a high fever can cause serious complications. Set that down there, laddie. Don’t spill it! Ugh, just give it here. Where was I? Oh, yes. Yes. You’ve got to watch out for your health when pregnant, of course. But there’s lots of minor aches and pains that’ll come along no matter what ye do. No helpin’ it. Males usually get bouts of abdominal pain, on account of the additional organ shifting and whatnot, that’s far more common than nausea. Why, when I was in the family way— ”——“Hold on,” Kíli raised a hand, “Óin has a son?”“Had. He died at Azanulbizar along with his other father. Gimli told me about him, once. His name was Fróin.”Kíli vaguely recalled hearing mention of that name when he was very young. He felt a pang of sadness on Óin’s behalf. That awful battle took so many dwarrow away from their families, including his own father, whom he’d never known.“If Master Óin has carried a child himself, then he should be a perfect source for information, should he not?” Tiriador asked.Ori nodded vigorously, the braids in his hair swinging. “I think so, too! It’s all so interesting, I wanted to take some notes—” He shot Kíli a timid look, “If that’s okay, I mean.”Kíli shrugged shakily. “As long as Óin doesn’t know about me, you can do what you want.” Beating back against the waves of terror and paranoia blossoming in his chest, he added, “I trust you, Ori. I really do.”The scribe beamed.The conversation continued in a similar manner for a while longer, until Tiriador made to dismiss himself, citing that the other healers were bound to come looking for him if he didn’t soon return. “This has been a most enlightening discussion, though,” he said as he did a quick check over Kíli’s leg, “It would be nice if we could speak again tomorrow, but I doubt we’ll be able to do so. I’ll be assisted by a few of my comrades in the morning when we close up your wound.” Finding everything satisfactory, he bowed deeply at the two dwarrow and left.Kíli got one last batch of visitors before the day was done. Thorin returned, followed by Óin, Dori, Glóin, and Dwalin. All of them would have come—even Bilbo—he was informed, but Óin wouldn’t allow the still-sickly prince to be overwhelmed. His Uncle critically eyed Kíli’s still-dirty clothes but said nothing about them, leaving most of the talking to the others. While Óin perfunctorily examined his leg yet again, the group joked around and poked fun at Kíli’s sorry state, as well as at Ori for putting up with him.Kíli did his best not to notice Fíli wasn’t there laughing with them.After the dispersing of the crowd and a gentle goodnight from Thorin, Kíli settled down to sleep, eyeing the flask of medicine still on the table. With a quick glance at Ori, who was wrapped up in writing down various tidbits from what they’d discussed today, he steeled himself and downed the liquid.
The darkness retreats in waves. Pulses of pale, sickly green push back against the abyss, highlighting the silhouette of a figure hunched over him in a pose somewhere between kneeling and standing upright. Even in the cold half-light Kíli knows it is the shape of his brother, knows it before he can even register the sensation of a boot heel resting almost painfully heavy atop his elbow. The joint is pinned in place on the ground next to his head, the hand attached to it grasping meaninglessly at the air in the vain hope that help will materialize. The other cumbersome shoe must be resting atop the sleeve of his tunic, for he isn’t able to move that limb either; he his trapped. Kíli cannot see Fíli’s face, something he accepts with a modicum of relief, for the terror of seeing with certainty the expression he wears while holding him in place is more than he can possibly handle.
‘Stop,’ Kíli whispers the word so softly that he isn’t sure if it left his lips at all.
But it must have, for the Fíli-shaped thing responds by pushing his foot down, increment by increment. Dwarf bones are dense, resistant to breakages—but the sting in Kíli’s arm comes accompanied by a nauseating creaking sound.
‘This is a dream,’ Kíli chokes out. The air is so humid that it is painful to breathe. ‘You’re not Fíli.’
More pressure. His eyes start to water from the discomfort. All the same, Kíli does his best to open his mouth once more and fight back against the warm fog around him. ‘Fíli wouldn’t do this.’
‘But he did,’ the creature wearing his brother’s face retorts, ‘And there’s no going back.’ The voice that comes from the shadowed lips is so very unlike Fíli’s—high and distorted, as if it is shouting against a gust of wind.‘S-so what?’ The words are shaky in Kíli’s mouth. ‘He hurts me one time and now I’m ruined forever?’ He had meant for the question to come out as a challenge, but instead it reaches his own ears as fearfully earnest. For Kíli himself does not know the answer, and is terrified of that fact.
The thing above him laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
‘Go away.’ Kíli tries to shut his eyes, but, just as anyone who’s ever attempted the same during a nightmare could tell you, it does not help. The vision remains. ‘Go away,’ he repeats, louder this time.
More terrible laughter. Like the sound of bats shrieking.

Kíli takes a deep breath, shuddering as the throbbing of his arm and his lungs rattle him in an attempt to keep his teeth pressed together. With all of his remaining strength, he persists with one final shout.
‘Go AWAY!’
Like a candle splashed with water, the figure is snuffed out in the middle of his last guffaw, taking with him his heavy boot and leaving only silence and the pulsing green light in his wake. Kíli scrambles to his feet. Although the pain in his elbow is gone, his whole body feels ragged, worn, and stretched. Used up. Untethered. Standing feels more like swaying.

He is utterly solitary in this nothingness. Kíli turns and turns, darting his head this way and that, hoping for something, anything that could anchor him in place. But there isn’t. Just… empty space, for miles and miles and miles. The sense of dread almost swallows him whole. He’d rather be dead than alone.

But he isn’t. Dead, or, in the next instant, alone any longer.

The new form comes into his vision gradually, like the spread of tea into hot water. He never liked tea. All the same, the wood and stone makes up shapes he’s seen before. Recently, in fact. A guest star from a previous nightmare: the front door to his family’s house, in all it’s well-worn glory.

There is more light seeping in from under the threshold. It’s nothing like the eerie sallow tone surrounding him; it is golden and blindingly bright. Beholding it fills Kíli with a strange sense of wary familiarity. Like being out in the woods and seeing the same signpost twice.
‘Hello?’
No response. All the same, he is sure that someone waits behind the door. Who, he doesn’t know. But they’re there.

They’re there.
Sometime between the lateness of night and the early of the morning, Kíli woke and shivered at the great sense of foreboding that lingered over him. The medicine had knocked him out before he’d even realized it. That was scary. He wouldn't be taking it again if he could at all help it.
The prickles of pain and fear that haunted him in the world of sleep fled with his waking, but the feeling, the impression that looking upon that door had given him persisted. If he shut his eyes right now he could recall every detail, as if it were still there in front of him. Dreams weren’t meant to do that. They were supposed to be fuzzy, flighty, semi-opaque at the best of times, and forgotten completely come morning. Why should one detail stick out so much?He rolled over in his bed and looked blearily through the dark at his friend’s softly snoring face. Whatever. If it became a problem, perhaps he could ask Ori.Until then, it would remain a mystery.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Kíli is so very sick of waiting. Sick of silently going to bed, waking up cold, walking to and from lessons alone, but mostly… the waiting!

His brother and Uncle were meant to return before the arrival of the spring birds. They had not. February snow trickled into March slush and then into April mud, and still they were not home. Now it is May and Kíli is an overly wound coil, tense and threatening to lash out at anything that gets to close. More than a few times he’d needed to apologize to his Mother for harsh words that he didn’t really mean, and at least two striplings in his weapon exercise group had gone home to their parents with blackened eyes.

It’s not like there had been no word from Thorin and Fíli. They were alive, that much Kíli and his family knew. But paper and mail-travel was a luxury that could ill be afforded that winter, desperate as they were, so the two or three letters received from his Uncle are barebones and terse. Things like ‘All is well,’ and ‘traveling further south before Yule’ and ‘Fíli’s smithwork is improving’ were pretty much the standard fare.
‘The tense air before an arrow is fired’, that’s how Kíli would describe the feeling. If Ori had still been living near them, he would have told his writer friend about the metaphor and urged him to use it for something. But alas, Ori isn’t here, and neither is Fíli.
Kíli’s Mother says time and time again that she isn’t worried, though he knows she’s merely trying to reassure him. He catches her pacing more often now that the days are warmer. She treads a steady path from the door, to the kitchen table, back to the door, and then to the bench in the living area. Repeat ad infinitum, as Balin might say.

Balin too, is becoming uneasy. He comes over in the evenings with Dwalin, the two of them watching the fire and listening to Kíli play rotely memorized compositions on his fiddle accompanied by the strums of his Mother’s lute. The guilt is always present on their faces; Balin’s for not convincing Thorin to find an alternative to leaving, and Dwalin’s for not accompanying him. But neither of the two things had been possible, and everyone knew it. No one is to blame.

He is sitting in the afternoon shade behind their house, feeding a stale crust of bread to a small crow when he hears the eager shouts in the distance. The voice—which he’d always know instantly, even in a sea of ten thousand—is loud and triumphant and relieved and Kíli is on his feet immediately. Turning to offer the startled bird a hurried apology, he drops the rest of the loaf and dashes down the hill.

There he is, golden and glittering. His hair sparkles in the sunlight and Kíli’s heart is on fire.
“Fíli!”
That’s all the younger prince can get out before he tackles the blond, knocking them both clean to the ground. The sensation of his brother’s solid, real, actually
here
form under his hands is the best thing Kíli’s ever felt and he soaks it up like a dried plant in a rainstorm. He’s squeezing as tightly as he can, laughing breathlessly as the other attempts to sit up with an entire stripling in his lap. There’s a warm chuckle from above them and Kíli pokes his dark head out from Fíli’s shoulder to smile up at their Uncle. “Thorin!”

Thorin deftly scoops the both of them up and crushes them into a hug, butting foreheads with Kíli as best he can from this awkward angle. Kíli laughs again and lets his tears flow freely, still clutching at his brother long after Thorin releases them. He doesn’t want to let go ever again. But he has to, soon enough. Their Mother approaches and he backs away with great reluctance so she can sweep her oldest son into her arms. Kíli isn’t left out for long, however, and neither is their Uncle. For several moments there is no sound from the huge knot of dwarrow but the quiet snuffling of weeping faces.

Work is set aside for the rest of the day and Kíli is excused from his afternoon tasks. The celebration of a long-overdue reunion is far more important. The sons of Fundin show up in short order, each headbutting and bear-hugging Thorin and Fíli until all parties are breathless and all skulls are sore.

A welcome home meal is hurriedly prepared, the boys’ Mother laughing with delight as Thorin presents to her two freshly plucked chickens, as well as a loaf of honey-sweetened bread. “Wouldn’t do to come home empty-handed, would it, sister?”

Balin has a twinkle in his eye as he produces a bottle of liquor from who-knows-where, which he doles out into small cups—even Fíli and Kíli are allowed a tiny sip when toasts are had!

The early dinner of hearty chicken soup is merry and comforting, with Fíli and Kíli crowded together on one chair so that there might be seats enough for everyone. Kíli doesn’t mind. Far from it, he relishes the feeling of his brother’s arm slung around his waist, the familiar smell of his clothes. They wolf down their food and get seconds, and then thirds, though there is little but broth and turnip stumps left by that point.

Afterwards, the adults let the evening wind to a quiet, content close from their chairs around the fire. Thorin plays soulful melodies on the harp, then tells tales of their journey, how each job went and what every week brought them. He skimps on details of their return home, going quiet when Balin asks what caused them to be so late. A silent shake of the head is given, which Kíli soundly ignores in favor of tussling with his brother, relishing the rush he feels with each brush of skin on skin.

He doesn’t mind at all when they are dismissed to bed like pebbles half their age. As long as Fíli is with him, he is happy. Kíli is stuck to his side like a limpet, not budging even when his brother has to maneuver the door open.
“Kíli, can you let go a minute? I gotta change.”“No,” is Kíli’s reply from where he’s hooked around the older prince’s back, “You’ll just have to deal. Never letting go again.” Fíli tries to pry him off for a moment, only succeeding in getting his little brother to slide further down, arms knotted around his waist and the rest of his body lolling on the floor like a young child’s dragged-along teddy bear. The blond puts his hands on the parts of his hips that aren’t covered by olive-toned limbs and taps his foot impatiently. “Well, I haven’t had the toilet all day. You coming with me?”
Kíli immediately releases his hold and drops the rest of the way to the floor with a thud. Instead of heading for the lavatory, Fíli turns and shakes his head at him with a smile. The younger dwarf furrows his brow. “That was cheap.”

Fíli shrugs, and starts to slip off his tunic. “If it works, it works.”

Kíli scoots back and clambers atop their bed, sitting on the edge to watch as his brother shucks off his travel clothes. The dizzying high of having him back hasn’t worn off yet.

Fíli’s undershirt comes off and Kíli stares transfixed. Only five months apart—feels like a mere blip now that he’s home—but something about his brother’s chest is different. Broader, stronger, maybe a bit more thick. The tawny-blond hair that dusts him all over seems more dense, especially in the valley between his pectorals. Kíli swallows. He’d been eager to show off how he’d grown a full inch taller in his brother’s absence, but compared to how Fíli has changed, it feels like less than nothing.

He eyes the roundness of Fíli’s biceps, the beautiful slope of his collarbone as it melts into his shoulder. Perhaps Kíli ought to be jealous, gangly and miserably lean as he is in his pubescence. But he could never be. Never in a million years. Never in a million ages. He is nothing but grateful. Grateful Fíli is home. Grateful to witness these glimpses of skin. Grateful to be able to touch freely.
“Ouch!”
Fíli spins and smacks Kíli’s hand away from his lower back. Kíli grins cheekily and goes in to pinch him a second time, when a flash of something catches his eye. A spot of discolored skin peeks out from under Fíli’s right arm, in the area where it joins his shoulder.
“What’s that?”
Fíli freezes, and Kíli uses the opening to grab his brother’s wrist. Lifting the limb slowly, he watches in horror as the jagged line of raw pink continues from the underside of Fíli’s arm, through his armpit, arcing in an angry crescent until it stops an inch below his chest.
“Wh,” Kíli breathes, shocked at the size of the scar and the taut shine of the healing skin, “What happened, Fee?”“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”“It is too something! Who did this?! Are you okay?!”
Fíli winces and rubs his neck with his hand—giving Kíli another look at the new scar. He catches himself and quickly lowers it, switching to the other one. “… a wolf.”
“A wolf! You were attacked by a wolf?” Kíli stands and snatches Fíli’s hand, clutching it tightly. A reassurance. He’s still here. Here and safe.“Yeah. While we were camping on the road. It was mangy and all alone. It bit me then Thorin killed it. That’s all.” Fíli looks away as he speaks, gazing out their small bedroom window at the murky blackness of the night. Kíli grabs his scruffy jaw and turns it back until their eyes meet. Fíli’s pupils are shaky, and his lip quivers. Kíli doesn’t understand.“I feel like you’re not telling me something.”
The older prince bats Kíli’s hands away and attempts to continue changing. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Fíli!” The younger prince is upon him again immediately. He tugs the clean shirt his brother has grabbed out of his hands and tosses it aside. Fíli glares at him and goes to pick it up, only to be blocked by an increasingly petulant Kíli. “Talk to me.”
The blond dwarf huffs and crosses his arms. His bare biceps flex again. “There’s nothing to tell. That’s all.”

Dark eyes stare into light ones. “You promise?”

Fíli furrows his brow as if he might lose his temper, but at the last second he smiles sadly and reaches up to cup his brother’s barely stubbled cheek. He rubs his fingers along Kíli’s jawline, the warmth from his fingertips heating the younger prince’s whole face.

Their foreheads meet in a soft bump. “I promise,” Fíli whispers, breath smelling like the honey bread they’d gorged themselves on after dinner, “That’s what happened. I’m okay.”

Kíli thinks for a moment, takes stock, like Balin has painstakingly taught him to do before making any big decisions.

1. For starters, the healed wound looks nothing like the bite marks he’s seen in the past. There are plenty of hunters in town, and almost all of them sport some type of scar or whatnot, a trophy from encountering something dangerous and living to tell the tale.

2. Fíli is definitely worried about something. He’s quieter than usual tonigh
t. He won’t hold Kíli’s gaze for more than a few seconds. He hunches in on himself.

3. Thorin didn’t mention anything about a wolf attack.

But on the other hand,

4. Fíli would never lie to him.

Alright. Decision made, Kíli nips forward and pecks a kiss on the tip of his brother’s nose. The gesture isn’t unknown for the two of them, but all the same Fíli rears back, somewhat surprised. A flush of crimson streaks across his face.
“Okay,” Kíli says, “I believe you.”
It’s as simple as that.

They change for bed, neither saying another word about the dispute or the scar on Fíli’s right side. Kíli does decide to mention the fact that he’s gotten taller, but not until they’re snuggled up in bed and Fíli cannot measure with his hand the actual distance between their heights. “I’ve got you almost beat now, brother,” the younger prince says cheekily, “Another few months and I’ll tower over you.”
“Psh. That’ll be the day.”
His brother’s breathing is muffled and quiet from where he lays on his side. Kíli wants to curl into him, to press their bodies together, but something about the rapid heartbeat that echoes into his ear where it is pressed into his own pillow stops him. He settles for slipping his hand into Fíli’s underneath the covers. Even just this is pure bliss.
“Hey, Fee?”
Moonlight spills in through the window, outlining his brother’s supine form. He’s everything. Everything to Kíli.
“Yeah, Kee?”“I’m glad you’re home.”“Me too.”——“Do I really have to?”Kíli eyed the white dressing gown in Tiriador’s hand like it had bit him. Oin rolled his eyes and Thorin sighed heavily.The healing hall, while not as full as it had been in the few days before, was fairly crowded this morning. The Lord of the Last Homely House himself was heading up the closure of Kíli’s wound, assisted by Tiriador and two other elves. Oin, out of his element where elf magic was concerned, was occupying himself with observing and snarking from his spot next to a grumpy Thorin and a timid Ori.“Yes, lad. They have to clean you up first. Clothes come off, gown goes on.”“But—”“Honestly Kíli,” Thorin cut in sharply between his nephew and the old healer, “You’re acting like a child. Do you want to stay dirty and injured?”“N-no.” Kíli bowed his head. The words stung, but his Uncle was right. He’d been delaying it for far too long, and for such a silly, stupid reason. He was silly and stupid.A screen was drawn and the sweat-stained tunic came off along with his torn trousers and his smalls. The cool, silky fabric of the robe tingled on his skin. His leg got a thorough washing, scrubbed with businesslike gestures from an apologetic Tiriador and then he was lifted onto a high table brought in for this express purpose.The procedure itself was surprisingly brief. Some of the other elves produced a bitter-smelling liniment using a large mortar and pestle—with a few sharp “hmm”s and “well then”s from Oin on the sidelines—which was then pressed into a cloth and bound tightly over Kíli’s leg. Elrond came forward, grave features growing even more stony, if such a thing was possible, and he placed his large hands atop the wounded area. Chanting something in elvish that sounded very posh and important, he showed no surprise at all when a bright glow began to emanate from his fingers where they pressed into the cloth. Figures, he was probably quite used to all this.The sensation was odd, but not uncomfortable. Like sunlight on a cold day. Kíli closed his eyes and concentrated on pleasant things, trying his best to forget that there was a hand on his thigh.“It is done.” Elrond backed up and let the other elves peel the fabric away. Letting out a gasp of relief (and perhaps amazement) Kíli craned his neck to look. Sure enough, the hole in his leg was gone, replaced by a very faint line of slightly paled skin.“Amazing,” Ori squeaked.“I'm inclined to agree,” Oin huffed while nodding reluctantly. “How do ye feel, laddie?”Kíli carefully shifted his leg. “It’s stiff. Kinda hurts, like I pulled a muscle.”“It will, for the next several days,” Elrond said as he wiped his hands with a towel. “You’ll need to be ginger with that leg while the internal muscle finishes knitting.”“But tomorrow,” Tiriador butted in with a smile, “You should be ready for a pair of crutches.” The elf Lord nodded in placid agreement. “He speaks true. As the days go by you should feel less and less of a strain.”Thorin walked over to the table and peered at the scar left by Elrond’s ministrations. Then, looking like he’d swallowed a lemon whole, he turned and slowly bowed his head to the elf Lord. “I… Thank you, for your care towards my nephew.” The words were terse and few but said with real feeling, and their recipient looked ever so slightly put out to hear them. Elrond frowned as if he hadn’t been expecting a thank you, but the twinkle in his eye suggested he was ultimately pleased by the outcome. He dipped his own head in response. “I am glad to have done you this service, Thorin Oakenshield.”The King picked up the dirty bundle of clothes Kíli had left on his bed. “Ori,” he called out to the scribe, “See that Dori gets these, and ask him to do what he can.” The scribe scurried forward and accepted the ball of laundry with a nod. Kíli pushed himself up in protest, clenching his legs tightly together around the opening of the robe in some vain hope of pinning it closed. The action was more than a little uncomfortable. “Uncle,” he cried, “I don’t doubt Dori’s skill with a needle, but what am I supposed to wear in the meantime?”Thorin looked unbothered. “I would imagine either that gown, or perhaps Lord Elrond has something else he can spare?” He raised an eyebrow at the elf in question.Elrond folded his hands together. “It is my understanding that the change of clothes that was previously offered was turned away.” Before Kíli could open his mouth to defend himself, the Lord added, “Though I suspect that the fit might not have been the best. Your body types do differ quite dramatically from our,” a pause, “Usual guests. Not to worry, I believe I have something that might work,” He knowingly eyed Kíli’s sour expression, “In terms of both measurements and taste.”Ugh. It felt like Elrond could see right through him.“Good,” Thorin said, turning back to his nephew, “I would imagine with the wound now gone that bathing is a safe venture?” Tiriador, who was draping a sheet over Kíli’s clenched up lower half, nodded vigorously, “Oh yes, we would encourage it, as a matter of fact! The waters of our bathing pools run warm rather than hot, and they possess healing qualities that will only serve to speed up Master Kíli’s recovery.” The elf smiled radiantly down at the prince, faltering for a moment when he saw the unimpressed look the dwarf was giving him.Damn it. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. “But how am I supposed to get there if I can’t walk?” Kíli asked, doing his best to pretend to be disappointed.Tiriador shared a glance with the other healer elves. “We could—”“I’ll carry him,” Ori piped up. “I need a bath too, anyway. S-so I’ll take Kíli and keep an eye on him. If, if that’s okay?”Thorin smiled at the scribe’s bold thinking and hummed appreciatively. He tapped Kíli’s forehead with his own, paying no mind to the dire look on his nephew’s face. “Uncle—”“Hush, Kíli. Go bathe. You stink to the very heavens.”Great.——Rivendell’s main bathing pool was a sight to behold. It was located inside a bowl-shaped overhang of the valley’s rock wall, the opening too wide and shallow to be considered a proper cave mouth. Though it was very technically a cavern, the space was open and airy and plenty bright, the honey-colored stone catching much of the afternoon sun. The pond itself was a stunning mixture of natural formation and elvish design. The edge nearest to the back wall—where a waterfall flowed in from between two large statues and gently churned the water—resembled the stony border of a creek or lake one might find in a forest, while the side nearest where bathers would come in was a set of gently sloped stairs, carved so delicately that finding the seams was virtually impossible.It was near these steps that Ori deposited Kíli. With his palms pressed hard into the cool stone below, he took some deep breaths, as silently as possible, and tried to push back the feeling that was beginning to build behind his eyes. Bile pressed up from his throat. Through sheer force of will he kept it down, burying the desire to vomit under protests that it’d be a waste of the breakfast Tiriador’d brought them this morning.Ori was already stripping, tossing his many layers of knitwear into a basket left for that exact purpose. He undid his hair ties and unraveled the ribbons in his braids as well, taking a bit of care with setting them atop the woolen pile. Shaking his ginger hair loose, he dipped a toe into the water and smiled at Kíli. “It’s warm. Do you need help getting to the step?”The prince shook his head mechanically. “No,” he rasped, “I’m alright.” Fingers fumbled for the tie at the front of the gown, undoing the knot clumsily. He pulled apart the fabric and let it fall away from him, slipping down his arms and fluttering to the ground.Fluttering.Falling.White silk flying away like a bird on the wing. Kíli followed after it. Up and away into the bright blue of the summer sky. The chill of unhindered air against his naked body came to him dully, from far, far below. Sounds trickled into his head through a barrier of cotton: the drip of the water, the chirp of birds, the buzz of Ori’s voice. All mixed into a garbled stew.Where, where, was he? The baths… oh, yes. Warm today. He should go get Fíli. They have to save money. Share, Mother had said. A happier side effect of poverty. Knock-knees jammed into a tiny tub, close enough that he feels more heat from his brother’s skin than the water itself. Fíli’s dark-damp curls spilling over his shoulders, plastered to his chest. No room for splashing, but a jostle or two is plenty fun. Humming from all sides. Small waves bobbing up, pricked through with dull suds, blossoms of cream and off-white. And pink. And red.And red.And red.Red waterfalls pouring from lines on his back.The water is cold and dirty.Fíli is gone.“—li?” The voice sharpened and reverberated in his skull. Snap. Back down he came. Kíli blinked. Blinked again. “Hmm?”“Kíli, a-are you… um, I’m getting in now. You coming?” His eyes refocused and he saw Ori standing on the second-to-top step, water lapping at his ginger-dusted calves.“O-oh. Yeah.”Kíli scooted forward carefully, minding the pull in his leg. Ori assisted him when he got to the edge, grabbing his arms and effortlessly lowering him down the step. They repeated this process of sliding and lifting several more times until Kíli finally had enough water around himself to move comfortably on his own.A washrag and a cake of flower-scented soap were pressed into his palm and he set to scrubbing himself without looking, eyes unfocused and hazy. While he lathered, rinsed, and repeated the appropriate amount, Kíli mindlessly listened to Ori babble about this and that, mostly things he wondered about Rivendell and their elf hosts. There was a large mural on the ceiling, which Kíli blearily took in as he tilted his head upward to avoid getting soap in his eyes.Depicted in slopey, graceful lines, a group of androgynous elven youths bathed in a pool much like this one, brushing each other’s long hair and playing twee little flutes and miniature harps. Set further in the distance and rendered in darker tones, a warrior on horseback observed them. The image was… unsettling. Kíli had no idea what the artist meant to convey, but the expression on the watcher’s face as he peered through the treeline was. Well. Not very yielding. Kíli whispered a silent warning for the unaware bathers, as if his plea could reach their unhearing ears and warn them of what waited just out of sight.His pitiable reverie was interrupted by the sound of soft, yet deliberately audible footsteps. An elf clad in spring green slipped through the arched entrance and deposited a second basket on the ground. “From Lord Elrond. He hopes you will make use of these.” Without another word, and with unflinching neutrality, they dipped their head and disappeared back the way they came.When Ori could not convince him to linger and soak his sore muscles for a while, it was decided they would dress and return quickly to the healing hall, lest Tiriador bring them their illicit goods and find the duo not there to dispose of the evidence. As Kíli sat on a suspiciously chair-like boulder and tetchily dried himself with an impossibly fluffy towel, he eyed the clothes brought for him with sour disdain.Ori spread them out along the dry ground for him so he might browse and pick what he liked best. There was only one pair of breeches, tailored to stop at the knee (though they looked like they’d run much longer on Kíli) but the tops offered a bit more variety. A green doublet, a gambeson stitched with interlocking loops and spirals, a shiny leather jerkin, and an array of long tunic-like undershirts in a variety of colors.Kíli quickly picked a darker one and pulled it over himself. The odd pants followed, slipped on with Ori’s help. The doublet, hideous and far too small, was cast aside immediately. The jerkin was nice, stiff and solid leather, but ran much too tight around his midsection, hugging his stomach close enough to fire off alarm bells in his mind. That left only one option. Though it was indeed too big and its style nothing like the dwarvish versions he’d grown up wearing, the quilted cloth of the gambeson was comfortable and sturdy enough. He did up the small wooden clasps (reluctantly leaving the ones near the top undone, for the weather in Rivendell was a bit warm) then knotted the cloth belt.“How do I look?”“Um,” Ori said.“That bad, huh?”“N-no, not bad. Not at all, Kíli. They almost suit you.”A grimace found its way to the prince’s lips. “Because I look like an elf.” He waved away Ori’s stammered protestations. “I know I do. It’s fine.”It wasn’t fine, but its not like he could really do anything about it. His whole life he’d heard the same thing. The incident with the guildmaster in the bar was just a drop in the bucket. Ever since he could remember, taunts and rumors about his appearance had followed him. He’d mostly learned to tune them out, but occasionally the cruel words did slip through.“Where’s your pointy ears? You get em cut off?”“I heard they found you in the trash.”“Good thing your brother’s the heir!”“What kind of slut is your mother, fucking an elf?”“Ugly!”“Freak!”“Bastard!”Damn it all. Stupid elf robes. At least with dwarven clothing he was passable. In his normal attire he might never turn heads but being plain was just fine. Had been just fine. With this outfit there was no hiding himself, no distraction from the sparseness of his beard, or the smallness of his nose.What a two-hit combo today was. It wasn’t fair, having to deal with the ridiculous floaty nonsense feeling that threatened to come up every time he so much as thought about getting naked and baggage about his features all at once. On top of being pregnant. Pregnant from—This was too much. He was so broken. Poor little prince. Weak.“Kíli?”Ori’s voice called him back to reality once more. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”The grimace on Kíli’s face had turned into a glare at some point. He shook it free, willing himself to chase away his negative thoughts, to scrape the inside of his head clean. Worrying his friend and only confidant wasn’t going to help anything.“It’s really okay. Really.”Ori didn’t look convinced, but let the subject drop regardless.With his new clothes donned and his hair mostly dry, there was nothing left to do but return to the healing hall and wait to see what bits of meat Tiriador would next bring them. Breakfast, while mostly the usual depressing fare, had been saved by the guest appearance of a few large slices of ham. Ori’d nearly cried. When asked how he got their food past the cook, Tiriador only shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips. The two of them were both hoping that lunch would offer treats of a similar caliber.They ran into Dwalin very early on their way back. Oddly early. The warrior was walking down the path outside the bathing area, looking the same way he had when he’d tried to sneak the last few cookies back in Bilbo’s house. He slyly smiled at Ori, the tops of his bristly beard painted pink, but the expression fell away as he caught sight of Kíli draped over his shoulders. The trademark irritated look Dwalin was known for returned, and the tall dwarf coughed roughly into his fist.Kíli raised an eyebrow. Interesting.“Mister Dwalin!” Ori didn’t seem at all discomfited by the sudden appearance of the burly warrior, if the naked glee in his voice was anything to go by. He jogged the rest of the way up to him, bungling Kíli around on his back as he went. “Hey, watch it! Still injured here!”“Afternoon, Ori,” Dwalin said, seemingly fighting with himself over whether to cross his arms or not. “I was just, uh,” He flicked his eyes from the scribe to the smirking prince behind him, “Out for a wee walk. You two just come from the baths?”“Oh yes,” Ori gushed, “It’s so beautiful in there! I’d like to come back and do some s-sketches later, if I can.”“We’re here for two weeks, lad,” Dwalin chuckled indulgently, “I’m sure you’ll find the time.”Kíli couldn’t believe his ears. Where was the sarcasm? Where were the quips about frou-frou elves and their frilly spas? “You’re in a good mood today, Dwalin.”The warrior glared at him. “I’m always in a good mood.” Kíli childishly stuck his tongue out at him. Normally, Dwalin would have replied to his needling with a thump on the head or a rude gesture, but today, for some reason, he was unflappable. He flat-out ignored Kíli, who had started making funnier faces over Ori’s shoulder, where the scribe couldn’t see.“There’s a giant fountain near the main house, big bastard of a thing. Bofur and Gloin wanted to wash up there, give the tree-shaggers a little somethin’ to look at. The burglar looked like he was about burst a blood vessel. Didn’t say anythin’ against it, poor bugger, but he made himself scarce quick.”“I’ll bet,” Ori mused, ignorant to the kissy faces his passenger was making just out of sight, “Bofur said something to me on the way in about the huge bowl making for a good slide.”“Aw,” Kíli said, letting his fingers drop from where he’d been pushing his nose up to resemble a pig’s snout. A water slide? What a fun idea. Not for the first time, he wished very much that he wasn’t injured. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t mourn his luck so much. The less people saw him naked, the more sane he could stay.“Aye, the others thought so too,” Dwalin pointed a large finger at Kíli, “Then yer uncle got involved, the bloody killjoy. Said something about it being a bad look to muck up their precious wee fountain just days after they saved yer life.”“Uncle? Caring about how he looks to elves? What’s the world coming to?”Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Maybe my stick-in-the-mud brother’s rubbing off on him. I give it three days before they try again anyway, Thorin or no Thorin.”Opening his mouth to suggest that they make a bet of it, Kíli was cut off by a loud growling sound, like some sort of wild and ornery animal. Dwalin’s eyes widened and his hands flew to his axes. There was no danger to be found, though.“S-sorry,” Ori stammered, the tips of his ears going red, “I guess it’s almost lunchtime.”Dwalin stowed Grasper and Keeper. “So it is. Punctual stomach ye got.” The warrior looked around the empty path, giving a shuffle that, to Kíli, made him look like an incontinent duck. What was up with him? “S’pose I might accompany ye back. Never know what could happen.”Kíli snorted. “Three hundred feet up a gentle slope on a mild summer’s day?”Ori hiked him further up onto his back, bumping the tender part of his leg. “Ow!” Kíli cried, “You did that on purpose!”The scribe ignored him. “We’d be happy f-for the company, Mister Dwalin!”The three of them made their way back to the healing hall at a leisurely pace, something rather at odds with Ori’s loudly complaining stomach. Normally, Kíli would have poked at him about this, perhaps complained that he was hungry too, maybe played up the injury card, but honestly it was far more entertaining to keep quiet and watch the spectacle before him. He’d known both Dwalin and Ori his whole life. But he’d never seen either of them behave like this. The warrior was acting… downright bashful! With every slow step he waffled out some ridiculously banal observation like “nice weather today” and “good to be off the road for a bit”. Each statement was lamer than the last. Kíli’s opinion of Dwalin as a tough-as-nails, no-nonsense guardsman and a taskmaster of a combat teacher was in serious jeopardy of being flushed down the lavatory.Ori, for his part, was also bizarrely out of character. The scribe he knew was timid around older dwarrow—shy and mannerly and avoidant. Not this tittering, blushing goofball that had an eager nod for each stupid thing his older cousin had to say!Giggles. Furtive glances. Stupid small talk. Kíli’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was witnessing.Flirting! By Mahal, his best friend and older cousin were flirting! With each other!“That’s one mystery solved,” Kíli muttered under his breath. His companions didn’t seem to hear him. It seemed that, somewhere between fluttering eyelashes and shoulders that occasionally brushed each other with a sickening coquettishness, the pair of them had forgotten he was even there. There and quite liable to die from secondhand embarrassment, which would be a shame since he’d already gone through the frankly annoying effort of surviving an orc poisoning. To Ori’s credit, though, even in his twitterpated distraction he was gentle as he carried the prince, taking great care to support him and keep his middle protected as well as his leg. That was dwarven instinct for you: shield the injured, guard the pregnant.Voices floated out from the healing hall door and onto the air as they approached. Elf launderers coming to change the sheets, maybe? Kíli could not recall them being so talkative, or sounding so fussy.“Yes, yes go ahead and tuck the fitted sheet, goodness! Eh, Fíli, pull that corner down further. Dratted high mattress.”While there was indeed an elf stationed inside, they were nowhere near the beds. Instead, toting a basket that contained Kíli’s ragged clothes under one arm, they stood pinch-faced off to the side while Dori and Fíli stripped the mattresses without assistance. It was easy to imagine that they’d been strong-armed out of the task by the maelstrom that was the eldest Ri. Dori was not the type who trusted others to do things properly when he could do them himself. Especially not where Ori was concerned.“There we are!” The silver haired dwarf ran a hand over the silky top blankets to divest them of any remaining wrinkles, then stepped back and rounded upon the green-clad elf. He snatched the basket out of their arms, making a shooing motion with his free hand. “And these I can manage myself, thank you!” A flash of irritation bolted through the servant’s slender face but they gave up without a fight, slipping past the new arrivals with a beleaguered sigh and some murmurings in elvish.Fíli noticed the three of them first, almost seeming to wither as he caught Kíli’s eye. The younger prince felt himself flush with guilt as he recalled their conversation from yesterday. Perhaps he hadn’t handled that in the best way.“I was walking past and Dori called me in to help,” Fíli said, as if he felt the need to defend his presence here, “Did you two have a good bath?” There was an icy bite to his tone, the words “you two” coming from his lips like fired arrows.Kíli’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Yeah…” He replied carefully, “It was nice.”Ori gently deposited Kíli on the newly made bed. Dori bustled over immediately, peering over his outfit with the studious eyes of a tailor. “Not bad, I suppose. The stitching seems strong enough, though this fabric,” a large hand pinched at his new coat, “Not quite as thick as it should be for a proper gambeson. I would’ve gone for more padding, personally. Now let’s see the trousers.”He tsked loudly as Kíli straightened a leg. “Are these meant to be breeches? Wide as anything, almost like Master Baggins’ own hobbit shortpants!”“Oh, come on, Dori,” Ori rolled his eyes. “They’re elf hand-me-downs. Of course they aren’t going to fit properly. I think the slightly oversized look is rather nice, actually. Almost dashing. Right, Fíli?”“Eh?”The older prince had been staring, with a hood-eyed intensity, at Kíli, and looked very caught-out to be called on by Ori. He looked around furtively, one hand fingering the spot where he kept his favorite knife. Kíli knew that look, knew those motions. His brother was lost, with too many thoughts and not enough words for them. But why? Maybe Fíli was feeling uncertain, since their not-quite-fight yesterday, and was trying to think up a clever joke that wouldn’t hurt his feelings?“Er, yeah,” Fíli said at last, “Sure.” Looking a bit queasy and out-of-place, the blond shook his head and, with an abrupt grunt about heading off to lunch, evacuated himself from the room. He bumped into Dwalin on the way out, patting his shoulder in wordless apology as the warrior frowned down at him with concern.Ori watched his retreating back and then shot Kíli a confused look. “Is, um, he okay?”Kíli didn’t know. And it bothered him.Dori stood up from his examination of Kíli’s outfit and fetched the laundry basket. “I’ll see about washing and mending these. Ori, give me your outer things so I can clean those too.” Without waiting for a response, the fussy dwarf began unwinding the thick hood from around his little brother’s shoulders. Once that was gone, the belt came next, along with his tunic and sweater vest. Another few seconds and Ori would be left with nothing but his thermals.Dwalin made a quiet, strangled sound and dismissed himself with an inaudible, grumbled excuse; doing an almost perfect pantomime of Fíli’s exit, but older and balder. Dori didn’t even spare him a glance. “I meant to get these before you two headed off for your bath, but you were too quick for me.” A wry smile came to the tailor’s lips. “Ori, shall I redo your braids? You’ve left them out.”The clattering of a cart came from down the hallway. Ori’s hand flew to his loose hair. “O-oh, actually, uh,” Anxious brown eyes flickered in Kíli’s direction. That was definitely Tiriador. And he’d have meat with him. Which the others didn’t know about yet. Crap.Kíli took over, fixing himself with a blithe smile. “Actually, I was about to do them.”The tailor was taken aback. His thick, silver brows raised in surprise. “You were?”The sound of the cart drew closer.“Y-yes,” Ori jumped in, panic blurring his words together, “He was. S-so we’re all good here, okaybyeseeyoulater” With all the Ri strength he could muster, he pushed his bemused brother to the door and sent him away. In the opposite direction of their approaching lunch, of course. Just in time, too, for no less than three seconds later Tiriador was upon them.“Sheesh. Talk about c-close ones.” Ori scooted out of the way of the elf and his cloche-covered cart.Tiriador tilted his head. “What is the matter?”“Nothing lunch can’t fix,” Kíli said with a relieved laugh. “What do you have for us?”“Ah! I managed to get some chicken soup. As well as bread with honey and butter!”It wasn’t half-bad. Could’ve used some turnips.