A/N: I was thinking about the company's time in Mirkwood as described in the book. I always found that part of their journey so so creepy. It must have been especially terrible during the night watch. This can also be found on A03
Summary: During his turn at watch in the darkness of Mirkwood, Kíli turns to old habits. When he was yet a dwarfling, the game kept his restless spirit calm . . .
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"Medkar, inabmadâkh, uzbadmadkh, gerafmadkh, mudkhadukh . . ."
The words were hardly a breath on his lips, tremulous in the cold autumn air. Darkness enveloped them so completely that Kíli could not see the hand belonging to the fingers he counted.
When he was yet a dwarfling, this game kept his restless spirit calm whenever his mother needed him to be still and behave. As his self-discipline developed with each passing year, the times his mother offered up her hands to him became more and more seldom; and the game became nothing more than a warm but distant memory.
"Medkar, inabmadâkh, uzbadmadkh, gerafmadkh, mudkhadukh . . ."
He began on the other hand in his grasp, tracing over callous fingers down to the soft leather glove worn from years of protecting a palm from cold steel hilts. Leaves rustled in the canopy, a strange clicking purr echoing down to the forest floor. Kíli's hand tightened around the one in his grip, its hold in turn became fierce around his.
The forest fell into deadly silence once more. In the inky blackness of its depths, eyes gleamed here and there, disappearing from one place to resurface at another. A chill traveled up his spine, his gear chinking with the force of it, serving only to set him further on edge.
This place, this dark, this air, those damned eyes gleaming all around them- He could suffocate on the anxiety it churned up within him.
"Keep counting," Fíli's calm voice from behind him pulled him back from fear's precipice.
"I was not counting," it was embarrassing that he should have to dredge up such an old game. He must somehow keep the madness of this cursed forest at bay until their turn at watch was over.
"No," Fíli agreed obligingly, and he could only love his brother more for that, "But I was."
Words eluded both of them for many long moments.
Kíli burrowed back into his brother's broad chest, pulling Fíli's arms around himself so that they could both rest their hands across Kíli's knees. Soon, Fíli's gentle touch began trailing over his fingers.
"Medkar, inabmadâkh, uzbadmadkh, gerafmadkh, mudkhadukh . . ."
Eyes continued to blink in and out in the darkness of the tree tops. Cool autumn zephyrs groaned across withered branches. The putrid smell of rotting leaves permeated their camp. Ominous clicks and hisses still echoed above through the unconquerable night of Mirkwood.
Kíli rejoined the game, his voice forming a harmony with his brother's.
"Medkar, inabmadâkh, uzbadmadkh, gerafmadkh, mudkhadukh . . ."
"Medkar, inabmadâkh, uzbadmadkh, gerafmadkh, mudkhadukh . . ."
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~Fin~
End notes:
The game chant is simply the name of the hand's five fingers.
Respectively:
Thumb, index finger, middle finger, ring finger, pinky
I messed around with the words for Thumb and Pinky as I could not find a direct translation for them.
The source for all Khuzdul is The Dwarrow Scholar at wordpress.