'Are you sure you want to do this?' His words were gentle as his eyes carefully roamed her trembling body, tiny and quivering beneath him as if afraid of everything he could possibly do, everything she wanted and once forbade him to do. The strength she possessed in battle was nowhere to be found now as she was fiddling with a long lock of hair, swallowing in what he assumed to be a search for words. Her breaths came in quiet huffs, quick and soft like the cries of a babe, and he could feel her heart beating against his chest, loud and thunderous like hooves of a thousand horses pounding into the ground. She was nervous, he could tell, and this wasn't something he needed. He could wait for her to decide when she was ready. Couldn't he? When she drew in a heavier breath, he looked at her, waiting for an answer, but he didn't get the one he thought best for her. Her head bobbed slowly as she returned his gaze, her lip tight between her teeth. Her twilight eyes were glazed over with worry and fear. Of what, he hardly knew, but he held onto her eyes with his own for as long as he could, dipping his face down to hers. Less than a hair's breadth away from her, he could see the bags under her eyes and the dirt and sweat of the day's travel plastered to her skin, the cracks in her dry lips and the dust in her eyelashes. He could feel her sweet breath on his cheeks, smell the flowers in her dark hair. She was so tiny beneath him... He could've waited. He should've waited for Iúlwen - and for himself. But her hands were on his chest, tracing his collar bones and gently playing with the hairs, her eyes dropping from his own to rest on some unknown spot. She was quiet and her lips were trembling even as she bit them, her fingers rubbing into his shoulders now. He did not like to see her so frightened. His hands fell to her cheeks and he held her face firmly - but gently - and he breathed, lightly touching her cheekbones with his thumbs. He rested his forehead against hers, looking into her elusive eyes. Her blinking was erratic and she seemed to be avoiding his gaze, a soft and nervous coo leaving her trembling form. 'You needn't be afraid, m'lady Iúlwen,' Kíli whispered, wishing to all the gods that she would relax. ' I will not hurt you. I made you that promise a long time ago.' It was a simple truth, one that caused her to suddenly shrink further into herself and her eyes to dart up into his. She was so afraid of what was to come that she forgot how to speak, it seemed, and all her strength was lost. It was clear to him now that she'd never been with a man of any kind. At least, not willingly. He promised to keep her safe, to keep her warm and out of harm's way, so that this simple act of desperation would not happen again. He gently stroked her cheeks, his fingers weaving into her hair, and rested his forehead on hers. How could anyone do something so...horrid to someone who never deserved a lick of the suffering it brought her? He looked into her eyes for a long moment, trying to think of what to say, anything to calm her down - to reassure her - but nothing would spring forth, no promises, no apologies, no sweet-nothings. He wanted so badly to make her see that, maybe, she didn't have to do this just to prove that she could. He wanted her to be comfortable in his arms because she wanted to be there. He wanted to comfort her and remind her of all the good things, show her the kind bits, of life and tell her the stories of his people, the stories of the outcasts and the damned - to give her some peace. She was restless in the nights he'd been awake long after all had gone to sleep, dreaming terrible horrors and reliving memories better left in the forgotten recesses of her mind, the scary, terrifying bits of the past. She would cry in silence, alone in the shadows, and wait till dawn came and it was okay for her to venture out in search of water for a bath, to cry, alone, in the water. He didn't want that for her. Who would - for anybody? 'Iúlwen, I-' he'd started, but, as soon as he'd found a word or two, a small, calloused finger pressed his lips closed. 'Kíli,' she whispered, her voice a collection of stutters and fears of the worst kinds. Her twilight eyes dropped from his brown ones momentarily, narrowing and losing focus, widening and closing abruptly. She was quiet then, and she retracted her worn finger, placing her hands at the back of his head to cradle it. She shook and her skin was clammy, but she made herself endure it, even when a twilight storm began to brew in her eyes. 'Kíli, I need to tell you something.' Tears were forming and her lips seemed drier than before, the bottom one trembling tremendously. His brows furrowed and he sensed that he would not like what story she had to tell, what memories that had been mulling about in her sad mind. But he knew she needed to tell him, to spill the contents of her half-glass of tears and pain. He knew, but he could not bring himself to speak, so he gave her a short nod, touching her cheeks with his palms. She was silent again, biting her aching lip, and a sharp breath left her. She was searching for the words, the right ones, the simple ones. She was tearing herself apart on the inside just to find them, to relax, to confess something to herself - or to him. She was looking up at him again, her eyes wide and dry. 'I- Remember when I told you...what happened?' Iúlwen asked him, her voice a shaky whisper containing all the beauty and horror of the world, tightening her grip on him. Of course he remembered! Sometimes, it was the only thing he could think about, the thoughts of some...man and his hands roaming the parts of her body no man should creeping into his head, driving a chill of anger up his spine. How could he forget? He shut his eyes tightly and nodded once more, taking his own time to unwind. 'Well, I- I-it wasn't any man,' she whimpered, fistfuls of hair wound in her fingers. She groaned and hissed at herself, pulling him closer in need of comfort and safety. She was scared and tired of the horrible memories always visiting her in the night, so full of despair as her mind told her the truth of her life, he could see it in her teary eyes. It hurt him to see her this way. So he held her the best he could, shushing her and nuzzling her cheeks, rubbing her arms with his hands to keep her warm, goosebumps chasing his fingers. She was cold and she was shaking. 'K-Kíli, please, please... Listen to me,' she begged him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. He held her tighter, nodding in response to her request, and waited. 'It-it wasn't any man. None that I knew, none that anyone knew,' she murmured through clenched teeth. The tears in her eyes were threatening to fall and, desperately, he wanted to catch them before they did - but she wouldn't have it and he knew that, and that simple fact was enough to put out the spirits of anything and anyone. And, when she continued, choking on her words until she finally steeled herself, he felt his already heavy heart sink further into the dirt beneath them. 'I was hunting with my father and the elf in the White Mountains. We were tailing an Orc pack, headed toward the Adorn, and, sometime in the night, in my bloody sleep, I was snatched from my bedroll.' She'd set her jaw and stared beyond him into the night sky, a tear streaming down the side of her face. He could feel her shaking ease and her body become stone, cold and unfeeling. He did not know what else she would say but he held her tightly, quietly telling her she didn't have to say anything more, that everything was going to be all right. She wasn't the type to accept such things, a pessimist by nature, always worrying about what was to come, fearing it. She was kind as she was dark, buried in the back of her own skull, trapped by her dreams and memories - and traumas. She didn't deserve this. She deserved kindness and warmth, not hate and cold. He looked at her, his brows drawn together, and readied himself to speak, to explain to her that she didn't have to think about any of what happened to her now, but she shot him a glare. 'By the scruff of my neck, the Pale Orc grabbed me and stole away into a river of caves where his precious underlings took turns with me, biting me, breaking me, until he'd decided it was his own.' He was certain that the steel in her eyes was forced and the white hot iron in his throat was akin to that of the searing pain she must've felt. To breathe in her words was to die in the wake of her agonizing memories, to die in a pool of her sadness. She was violated in the worst way imaginable, a crime Kíli had once thought not to exist in a world of Hobbits and merriment where the idea of eating far surpassed any notion of physical pleasure. But, alas, he'd been wrong, his mind clouded by a childhood belief, the one he so guarded as a precious treasure underneath him with a lie on her face as the truth left her lips. His brows knit together and his mouth went dry, his heart sinking. She was strong again, even though it was a false strength, and her twilight eyes were glazed over with memory and a deep sense of disgust for what happened. As stony as she was, her heart was hammering away at her chest, believing it could break her facade. He didn't know what to do, now, with the tiny huntress in his arms, steely and out of focus. And it wasn't that he didn't know what to do, but that he wasn't sure if he should do anything at all. Perhaps lying under the blanket of night would suffice and allow her pain to subside, the memories to drift away for a little while. Or, maybe, a gentle kiss and some kind words, a seed of happiness above barren sands? He did not know. He could not know. She was a redbird with broken wings settled in the dirty ground, her dark hair framing the pale, tired skin of her face. She was a huntress shooting in the dark, her arrows hitting the soft and tender bits of her past, without certainty or any will to keep remembering, for her memories were a painful fire blazing in her heart. This beautiful, mangled, tiny, strong woman was pretending to be okay in a place she did not have to. But she knew that already and, for a moment, he was filled with overwhelming sadness. She did not have to hurt alone, or wear a mask in the presence of others. She did not have to cry herself to sleep in a bedroll offering little comfort, alone. She did not have to lead a restless life and starve herself again, eating less than most animals, alone. She didn't, but she did. Was she afraid of Thorin's judgment, being thrown out if the company at the next town for simply feeling pain? Kíli knew in his heart that none of his Dwarven brethren would leave her anywhere. They'd grown fond of her, attached, and they weren't bloody likely to let go. He knew that. She knew that. So why was she afraid? It all saddened him. His head hung low, forehead grazing her nose, and he shut his eyes tightly, breathing slow and steady.