He didn't want to die.
But dangling by the scruff of his neck a hundred feet above the ice with the foul hot breath of the Orc at his throat, he had no hope of living. So he welcomed death.
And it was quicker and easier than he had imagined.
One word -a prayer. Then all he knew was white hot pain. A rushing sound. Oblivion.
Or so it had seemed.
He was neither flesh nor bone. He knew no physical consciousness nor time. No more pain. There was nothing to keep him welded to life. Except the song.
Somewhere on the periphery of everything he knew came snatches of a voice that seemed to seek him out through the nothingness. He thought it must have been coming from the Halls themselves, so sweet and sorrowful was the tune.
But no Halls appeared before him, no welcoming arms, and so he began to slip away once more.
Until he heard it again.
Perhaps he it the music of the Creation. Perhaps this was the great reawakening and he was being called forth to life once more, for he felt a profound power beneath the beautifully delicate voice.
He allowed himself to be carried upon the song, to feel the growing sense of wholeness that enveloped his being with each word. It ran through him like thread, weaving in and out of the scattered pieces of his mind and body, slowly but deftly stitching them back together. The more he listened, the more he began to feel a sense of his own presence and to know his own thoughts. Slowly he came back to life.
Twenty three days after he had fallen, Prince Fili of Erebor rose again.
The Elves said it was beyond their understanding, for his spirit had seemed to return to the stone. The dwarves muttered in hushed, excited tones the name of the deathless king come unto the world again. Those who knew Fíli best; his brother, his uncle, and his kin- they felt only the simple relief that their loved one was with them once more.
"I thought I was dead." He said simply when asked. "But then I heard a voice."
"A voice?" His uncle said sharply.
The Prince nodded in earnest, wincing as he did so. "The voice of a maiden singing. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. She called me back. She saved me." He turned his head on his pillow to see the drawn faces looking back at him with concern from their stools by his bedside.
"That's just not possible, my lad." Balin said softly. "Dwalin has no left his post by your tent, and none but the Elvenking and this company were permitted entry."
Kíli fidgeted where he sat.
"But I know I heard a voice, I can't get it out of my head!" Fíli insisted, starting to become quite agitated that they didn't seem to believe him.
"You had a terrible fall, my lad." Balin said consolingly. "Perhaps what you heard was a memory. Maybe of a lullaby that your mother-"
"It wasn't."
The two older dwarves exchanged a meaningful glance.
"I think that is enough for today." Thorin said, getting to his feet. He leant forwards and pressed his forehead to that of his sister's-son. "Rest. Recover your strength and we shall speak of such things again only once you are healed."
Fíli looked up at him. "I'll prove it to you, uncle. I'll find her." He whispered determinedly.
Thorin bit his lip and simply nodded placatingly, then followed Balin through the tent flap to leave the healing prince in peace.
But Kíli lingered, watching the tent entrance and pausing a moment before he spoke.
"They are telling the truth. No one has been allowed to enter this tent since you were brought down from Ravenhill."
Fíli opened his mouth to speak, but Kíli laid a hand upon his brother's uninjured shoulder.
"But I have been here each morning and each night -sun up till sundown. At first I didn't notice it; the clean piles of sheets, the blood scrubbed away. I thought it must have been a healer, but Dwalin insisted that no elf had passed him. And then one morning I woke early and arrived just in time to see a cloaked figure slip through a tear in that corner wall." He pointed.
Fíli's eyes widened.
Kíli looked at him in earnest. "She was real, Fí. Whoever she was, she was real."
A slow smile spread across Fíli's face. "I knew it." He whispered triumphantly to himself. Then he looked to his brother. "I need to find her. I have to know who she is, to thank her."
"I understand." Kíli stood at last and turned to leave. "Dwalin has agreed to let me stand guard by your tent tonight. I had to bribe him with an offer to polish the cobwebs from the entirety of the Erebor armoury before the week is out, but the fallout of my inevitable failure will be worth it if this maiden returns tonight." And with a grin and a wink he too departed the tent.
Fíli allowed his head to sink back into the pillows as a wave of exhaustion threatened to overcome him. His last thought as he drifted off into a peaceful sleep was of that beautiful haunting voice and the faceless one to whom it belonged.
But the maiden did not return to sing to the prince that night, nor any night again.
Sigrid stood atop the walls of a once dead kingdom, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders, watching the comings and goings of the dwarven healing tent from afar.
He was going to live. The kindhearted dwarf prince who has appeared so unexpectedly in her life was going to live. That would have to be enough, at least for now, anything else would be improper.
But as she turned her back upon the field of tents below to face this kingdom of hers, a strange hope or perhaps ever a certainty blossomed in her chest that someday, somehow she would see him again and their worlds would not be so far apart.
AN: Hi there, long time no see. How are you all? Just thought I would drop this little piece of fun nonsense in the Figrid tags. The Little Mermaid seems like the perfect Kiliel AU, but why not share the love? Plus, It's been sitting in my notes and on my mind for a while so I might as well set it free. Look, I haven't spent much time at all editing it so you will have to excuse any mistakes, I just haven't had the time. Never the less, I do hope you enjoy!