A Gift for Kíli
Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
Chapter I
Kíli woke in an almost dark room. It was quiet and warm, no signs of danger. He'd no idea how long he'd slept and it was hard to get his still tired brain going. Better not to move, he thought. Who knows how long this will last. He'd been in far too many stories, too many scenarios, he'd outright lost track of time and place. And to be honest, at that very moment he really didn't care. It was not just that his maker had killed him unceremoniously without a big fuss in the original novel first hand (he didn't even know if he'd got a proper funeral or was left on the battlefield to rot). Now there were these bombastic movies, messing up his far too short life still more. And then the action started in earnest. Ok, ok, there were a few nice survival stories, but the sheer numbers of them were wearing him out, not to mention the countless battles, injuries, deaths and other unspeakable things. No, thank you very much!
Slowly he could think more straight again, cracked open one eye and risked a glance. The room was slightly lit up by a small window. It must be well before daybreak and the shutters were closed. So, there was not much to see at all. He shifted a little with a sigh and closed his eye again; the bed was markedly comfortable.
Shit, a jolt of panic was rising in his gut; in the majority of cases he was recovering from grave injuries or already half dead when he got the luxury of such a bed. Frantically he felt his body for signs of wounds, bandages under the heavy coverings… something. His legs (especially his right thigh just above the knee), stomach, chest and back, shoulders, arms and head… and found nothing. And he still had his stubble and his hair! He felt whole and delightfully free of pain. Kíli slumped. What luck, nothing of that at least.
It was far too quiet for any kind of action story. Well, so with no one else around he was most likely in another romance. Kíli slowly rolled over on his left side, not eager to know what he might see and risked a second glance. Indeed, in the faint glint of light he recognized the frame of a second person, lying quietly on the other side of the wide bed, tightly wrapped in blankets, turning their back on him. Definitely a romance or… no, please! Kíli sat bolt upright with shock, his eyes went wide in the dim light. Please, not that again. As much as Kíli loved his brother's company, not in THAT kind of story. He never really caught why so many writers where thinking such a thing of them. Fíli and he, they were brothers after all.
Fortunately his worry was short lived, the other sleeper was far too fine-boned to be Fíli. Kíli hung his head and rubbed his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "Ok," he shouted, grabbing the persons shoulder, shaking fiercely, "wake up. I don't have all day for this!"
No response.
Who ever it was, he or she slept on. Kíli couldn't even get the blanket off, a corner still covering the head and face. It stuck like glue.
Kíli quickly lost his temper. What a lousy situation! The lack of any other company was annoying and the un - eventfulness was rapidly grating on his nerves. Maybe he was stuck in one of these abandoned stories, untouched for months or longer. Or, worst case scenario: the writer has collapsed watching the third movie! Mahal, the third movie! It probably was about that time. Kíli shuddered, he really never wanted that. Not to mention all the grisly stories certainly triggered by this flick. Why couldn't they not simply leave him be?
Sitting here and wailing would get him nowhere. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed with a frustrated growl he glanced around for his chlothes. He could not simply walk into a dubious situation only dressed in his underwear. With the light slowly dawning he spotted the unruly pile on a chair within reach, his boots underneath.
He grabbed his trousers and put them on; the socks were next in line. He couldn't find his hair clasp right off, leaving his hair undone. What ever! He was used to looking like that. But to be honest, he really loved that thing. Heaving him self up with a sigh he stepped into his much-loved boots and buckled up his belt at the same time. He headed for the door, slipping on his shirt as he went. Not wasting much thought on his still unresponsive bed companion he reached out for the knob and hesitated. He was outright unarmed. No time to bother about that right now.
Slowly he turned the knob, cracked the door very carefully and peeked outside. First right, then left. Not a soul to be seen. A small hallway, floorboards, angled roof beams, a few more doors, another small window to his right and a stairway to his left, leading downward.
Kíli strained his ears. Perceiving no signs of imminent danger he swiftly slipped out in the hallway, tiptoed towards the stairs and went down, slightly crouched. His left hand touched the wall for balance. The last thing Kíli needed to deal with was to stumble in the still faint light shining from the hallway behind. Thankfully the steps didn't creak.
It was only one floor down and the stairway led him to another hallway. A stone floor in friendly browns, wood paneled walls, covered with tapestries, several chests, a chair, a bench, a blanket drooping to the floor. Kíli straightened himself, clenching his fists. This was not a dangerous atmosphere, may be no need to crouch any longer?
The hallway opened up in a large room, a kind of huge kitchen-diner and Kíli instantly felt home. Rich wood carvings everywhere. A massive table and chairs, everything one need to live a good life.
Kíli couldn't help but stare, jaw dropping.
If the furniture hadn't been in a proper dwarven size and the carvings not carried out in the characteristic Durin style, the whole place could have been Beorn's!
Shifting off his first astonishment Kili approached the table with a smile. It's nice this place, he thought. Would it be his doing, he wouldn't have done it any different. Absentmindedly he brushed his fingertips over the smooth well worn table top. Three empty tankards were sitting there, looking like they'd been left just this minute, smelling slightly of stale ale. Oh, couldn't these please be his and Fíli's… and Thorin's.
The whole place looked used; more than that, it looked shared. There were leftovers of a substantial late night supper on the counter and cleaned dishes, stacked to dry.
Kíli scratched the back of his head. As much as he craved to just sit down and be home, he still needed answers to what kind of odd story this was, and he couldn't get them from an empty room. So he strode over to what looked like the front door and stepped outside.
He was greeted by a soft morning breeze. It clearly was autumn time, the air a rich blend of last summer warmth, mingled with a distant touch of winter chill. Sun wasn't yet up, but the sky had already turned in shades of light blue, the eastern horizon glowing in orange and red.
Kíli looked around. The house was L-shaped and had a sturdy frame-work built out with clinker brick. Together with a stable-barn it framed a small yard. And there in a paddock on the opposite side of the yard two ponies were quietly munching on a pile of hay. Their heads flew up, eying the dwarf. They looked curious, nostrils wide and ears thrust out. One of them nickered, clearly recognizing Kíli. Nice, Kili thought, at least someone is talking to me.
A massive Mountain range stretched far to the northwest; all blue and grey in the heights, the hillsides were dotted with pale colors of fall. The distant peaks, partly veiled with mist were already covered with snow. Kíli was struck by a sense of déjà vu. What a gorgeous sight!
Suddenly the light changed and Kíli spun around. The sun rose, sending the first rays to this new day, bathing the land in golden light. Kíli stood and watched in awe. The sun rose swiftly and warmed his face. He savored the moment and closed his eyes. Deep breaths…
As much as he might wish, he couldn't stand there forever, basking in the moment. He still wanted to know what was going on. The house was nestled on a gentle foothill slope facing southeast and the gate stood open to a path downhill. A small village lay spread out not far away, and he could hear some distant noises, a dog barking, a clatter of metal, a cock crowing. So maybe there was a chance to get some answers there.
With another sigh Kíli went back to the house: time to retrieve his remaining gear and set off.
He realized it before the door was open. An unpleasant tickle was running up his spine, setting his senses on alarm. He cursed himself. Never get distracted in an obscure situation. A sharp sensation of imminent danger suddenly was in the air, some kind of reverberation, not quite identifiable.
Someone has just left the room!
Kíli cracked open the door and looked inside very carefully. He was still unarmed after all.
There was no one to see, but something has changed. A fire was burning in the hearth, warming the oven above. The air was different; the room was flooded with the smell of warm food. Ignoring the sudden rumbling of his empty stomach, Kíli strode over to the table and gaped.
As if by magic, a package had appeared on the table, his hair clasp on top. And along with it a letter was leaning against one of the mugs.
"To Kíli, son of Dìs"
Kíli didn't hesitate. He took it, broke the seal and read:
Dear Kíli,
…
AN: Thank you for reading my little Christmas gift for Kíli, I think, he deserved it.
I'm very grateful for summerald's support and the nudge in the right direction. I couldn't have done this without her. Her Erebor 3022 AU is always a huge encouragement and a perfect cure for any kind of Hobbit-movie-depression!
She was also my premium beta for my very first fic, fantastic teamwork, thank you so very much. Mahal's blessings!
