Chapter 9
Disclaimer: Tolkien is the genius; I'm just playing in his sandbox.
A/N: Arrrr, mateys, there be fluffy bonding ahead!
"Kíli, help me!" The shout cut through the noise of battle around him and caused him to spin round madly, looking for its source.
"Uncle? Uncle, where are you?"
"Over here, Kíli, hurry!" he heard from his left. He turned to see Thorin beset upon by six of the ugliest, biggest orcs he had ever seen. He darted toward him quickly, but stopped when his gaze landed on a golden head a few feet away; Fíli was battling the chiefest of the orcs himself. But something was wrong; his brother wasn't using one of his swords, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Blood streamed from a head wound that was clearly making the young heir dizzy and interrupting his focus, and with a cry, the Chief Orc kicked his brother in the chest, sending him toppling and skidding backward.
Kíli screamed as he changed direction, his only focus being his brother. Again, the voice cut through his rage:
"Kíli! I need you!"
He didn't hesitate—there was no time—but he did look up in time to see one of the orcs drive its spear deep into his uncle's chest.
Kíli choked, and his legs gave, sending him sprawling in the dirt.
No.
No. It could not be.
He tore his gaze from his uncle to focus on Fíli again; he had to reach his brother before he went to meet their Uncle in the Halls of Mandos before his time. A choked whimper escaped his throat as he stumbled to his feet. The Chief Orc was closing in on Fíli, who seemed to be having trouble staying conscious and was scooting backward as fast as his arm would allow. A smile crossed the disgusting creature's face, and it lifted its crude sword high over its head, ready to run his brother through.
He wasn't close enough, he'd never make it.
He put on a burst of speed, but his legs were mired in bloody mud that had come from nowhere. He couldn't move.
He watched the blade come down, saw Fíli's feeble attempt to block it, saw….
"No!" he shouted as he woke with a start, trembling and sweating. Fíli stirred beside him, his arm instinctively snaking round Kíli's ribs and pulling him close. "It's okay, nadadith," he murmured sleepily. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep."
Kíli lay catching his breath, allowing himself to stay in his elder brother's arms, pressing his ear to Fíli's chest to listen to his heart beat steadily, hoping it would lull him back into sleep as it normally did when the nightmares came to play.
It did not.
Kíli sighed and gently disentangled himself from his brother's grip. Despite his unease, he grinned a little at the sight Fíli made; hair completely askew, tumbling over the pillow and his own face, a bit of it rising and falling with his deep breaths. Kíli reached over and pushed the hair out of his brother's face tenderly, then dressed silently and left the room. Perhaps some fresh air would do him good.
It was early; just before dawn. The gray light of morning would soon give way to gold and pink, judging by the clouds. The birds were already singing cheerfully, and a few elves were up and about, some smiling and calling greetings as he walked by. He responded with a smile for each one; something he would probably not have done seven days ago. Of course, seven days ago, elves had not yet sheltered him and his friends, giving them a respite they sorely needed before the rest of this long journey. Seven days ago, they had not yet rendered aid to his new friend when she collapsed after being tortured by orcs.
Seven days ago, he had no reason to smile at an elf. But much had changed in a week.
His reverie was interrupted as he suddenly noticed a figure he recognized.
Deorynn was walking along ahead of him; quickly and purposefully. She had her bow and quiver slung over her cape, and he suspected her knives were strapped to her belt beneath it. He cocked his head, wondering what she was doing out here this early with weapons—and not headed for the training grounds, if his sense of direction did not deceive him. And with her bow to boot; she'd only begun using it again the day before.
He briefly considered just following her and staying out of sight, until he remembered the very thorough lashing he'd received during a survival game with her, Fíli, and Ori the day before. The game had involved two teams—he and Fíli versus Deorynn and Ori—each one with a pennant to protect. The goal of the game was to acquire the other team's pennant and bring it back to your own—but also not to lose your pennant at the same time. While Fíli had tried to overcome Ori, who'd been left to protect his team pennant, with sheer power; Deorynn had taken a different tack with Kíli's pennant. She had snuck around, staying out of sight in the trees. Even though he'd been watching for her, he hadn't expected the knife that landed point down in the dirt at his feet—not nearly close enough to hurt him, just close enough to bait him. Scowling, he'd charged into the undergrowth to confront her, remembering that hand-to-hand combat was not her forte; but by the time he reached where the knife had come from, she was gone.
Or so he had thought.
He learned the hard way to look up into the trees as well as around the ground, when she dropped from a branch overhead and had him tied up faster than he imagined possible. With Kíli out of commission and Fíli distracted by Ori, Deorynn had stolen their pennant and made her way back to her own. And though Fíli put up a good fight once she got there, the day had gone to Deorynn and Ori; a fate made worse by the fact that even his dear brother couldn't help but laugh when they all trooped over to untie Kíli.
Traitor.
Regardless, Kíli decided sneaking up on anyone who could so easily dispatch him if she desired was probably not a good way to retain all his body parts, not to mention his dignity, so he called out loudly, "Going somewhere?"
The girl turned and regarded him with a coy smile that made something in his chest hitch. "Perhaps."
Intrigued, he followed her out of Rivendell and into the valley. She looked at the sky, then broke into a gentle trot, bearing a bit west, headed up the ridge. Once they reached about three-quarters of the way to the top, she picked a rocky outcropping and sat down facing east, pulling her bow and quiver over her head and setting them at her side, smiling as he caught up and patting the rock next to her. He sat as well; finally figuring out what she was doing up here.
The sun had not yet risen over the Misty Mountains, but the light said it was only just below them now. The clouds, as he expected, had exploded in a riot of color—gold and pink and purple splashed across a jewel-blue sky, reflecting off the snow-capped peaks and turning the mountains a magnificent cobalt. The birdsong and cool morning air only added to the effect, and Kíli had to smile; early morning was his favorite time of day.
Deorynn pulled a sealed mug from somewhere and passed it to him after taking a sip. There was coffee inside, strong and sweet, the smell adding to the perfection of the moment. Reflecting Kíli's own sentiments, Deorynn leaned back on her elbows and sighed in bliss. "I love sunrises," she murmured quietly, as if afraid speaking would shatter the euphoria, "everything is so fresh and new and ready to begin a new day. Not to mention the colors. Mahal's beard, the colors are gorgeous."
Kíli laughed lightly. "Indeed they are. It's like the whole world is thrilled to be alive."
"Exactly."
They watched in silence then, as the light grew stronger and the first bright rays of the sun peeked over the mountains, blinding and warm. Deorynn closed her eyes and let the heat bathe her face, relishing this moment; lazily surprised at how happy she was Kíli was there with her. It wasn't as if she couldn't enjoy a sunrise on her own, but having him beside her seemed to only add to her enjoyment of it; a phenomenon she found confusing and didn't care to explore too deeply at the moment.
For now, she simply let the sun on her face and the company of her friend fill her with joy.
"Hey, Deorynn?" Kíli's voice came softly, and she smiled when she saw his face in the morning light.
"Yes?"
"Where is home for you?"
Her heart hitched with an old pain, but she smiled nevertheless. "Home? I suppose it's…everywhere."
Kíli scowled a bit, "That is simply another way of saying you have none." His frown deepened, but morphed into one more of concern than irritation. "Truly, Deorynn? There is nowhere in all of Arda that you…belong?"
She fought the momentary onslaught of unpleasant emotions that question generated. Anger, bitterness, frustration—why did he have to ask such things, anyway?—fear, rejection. Carefully schooling her features, she met his eyes and replied without emotion:
"No."
His face crumpled, and she felt almost guilty. Well. He had asked. But she hastened to explain; for some reason it was important he understand. "No, there is nowhere, geographically, that I belong. But it is not as bad as it sounds. I have made a place for myself, in spite of everything, and I am quite happy with it. Besides, it's a decent lifestyle, you know; I can go where I please, have no worries at all regarding material goods—other than my weapons—and never have to deal with rude neighbors sticking their nose in my business." She gave him a small smile, hoping to relieve his discomfort. "It's not a bad life, Kíli."
He didn't look convinced. "Forgive me, but isn't it rather….lonely?"
It would have been easier to answer if he hadn't been so…right. "Sometimes," she answered quietly. "But there are worse things than loneliness."
"Yes," he muttered. "Outright rejection." He said it with such conviction that she stared at him, baffled.
"Indeed. You speak as if from experience."
Now it was his turn to look pained. "Let's just say Fíli has always been the more…acceptable of Dis' sons. In pretty much every way."
Deorynn looked completely bewildered. "What?"
He sighed. "You know, he's the consummate dwarf; excels in melees with blades, is exceptionally good in the forge, loves metal and stone and earth, has the whole impressive beard-and-moustache thing going on." Deorynn was beginning to see his point, and she didn't like it at all.
"But you're…not? The 'consummate dwarf', I mean?
He averted his gaze, but not before she saw the flash of shame, and kicked herself for it. Hard. "Not by any means," he replied. "I'm better with a bow, love being outside, am useless in the forge—I'm much better with detail work; leatherworking, etching, carving—and can't even grow a proper beard." He shrugged when she just stared at him, disbelieving. "Believe me; I've had plenty of time to accept it."
Knowing the exact pain of which he spoke did nothing to make Deorynn feel better. She never imagined a Son of Durin would have to endure a similar rejection as she did; it heated her blood and made her want to fight something. Instead, she placed her arm around Kíli and squeezed his shoulder. "Well, for whatever it's worth coming from a bindâd like me, I think you're a fine dwarf. Loyal and true, strong in ways others cannot understand, and handsome to boot."
Kíli barely noticed the compliment. "Please don't ever call yourself that again."
She smiled and shrugged. "I've been called worse."
Kíli shook his head. "Not by me; not before and not ever. Please. Don't say it again. Strictly true or not, bindâd is not a word that should be used to describe you. You're so much more than just an orphan who never knew her father."
"And you're so much more than a dwarf without a 'proper' beard," she replied with a smile. She squeezed his shoulder, and they sat there until the sun shone fully on the valley.
Deorynn returned to Rivendell late that afternoon, hauling quite a good amount of meat and hide to sell. She gave the elves of that valley the first crack at her goods—they bought all the hide—and then brought the meat to Balin, who happily paid her more than fairly for it. She tried to refuse the excess, but he wouldn't have it, stating that Bombur's joy over having meat to cook was well worth the extra coin. Smiling, the girl made her way to the vendors that did business in Rivendell, intending to get some new clothes and a new pack.
She heard Oin's loud protestations before she saw him, trying to communicate with a tall elf, both of them growing angrier by the minute. "We do not sell that, Master Dwarf!" the elf was nearly shouting into Oin's ear trumpet, which made him jump back in alarm that quickly became indignance. "All right, all right lad! No need to shout; I'm hard of hearing, not deaf!" Deorynn reached them just then, and took Oin's elbow firmly. "Master Oin, is there something I can assist you with?"
He saw her and his eyes hardened. "Nothing at all, lass. Now if you please," and he yanked his arm away. The girl stood firmly, noting the vendor he'd been arguing with. She favored the older dwarf with a small smile, resisting the urge to deliberately needle him, as she often did when faced with blind racism.
"Oin, what were you looking to buy?" she asked kindly. "I often make salves and teas and whatnot, if there's a particular kind you need. I would be happy to make some for you, if the herbs you seek are available here."
Oin seemed to fight with himself momentarily, eventually deciding that the necessity for good medicines was worth more than his prejudice. "I'm looking for a simple willow bark salve," he growled. "Ruddy elf won't sell me any, though it's so common I know he must have some."
Deorynn smiled genuinely this time. "Well then, it's his loss, isn't it? I can easily make up a batch for you within the next couple of days. I saw some willows while I was out hunting today; I'll go back out tomorrow and get some."
Oin looked at the young woman before him and nodded gruffly. "See that you do, girl. I'll pay you fairly, of course." She nodded. "Is that all you need? I can also see about making a cream of the same herbs the healers used on my bruises and cracked ribs; it's a pretty potent combination and might come in handy on the road."
Oin nodded. "Do what you can."
He turned away brusquely, and Deorynn grinned.
She couldn't help but feel she'd won a small victory.
Bilbo wandered the garden path, headed toward his favorite footbridge—the one where he'd met Deorynn, incidentally. He grinned when it came into sight and she was already there, a brand new leather pack sitting beside her.
Apparently her day's business had been productive.
"Had a good hunt, did you?" he nearly laughed as she jumped again. Apparently Gandalf was right; he often startled dwarves without meaning to, and it seemed to fit the wizard's declaration that hobbits could easily pass unseen when they wished.
"Mahal, Bilbo, do you have to do that every time?" she practically growled, without any real heat.
At that, he did laugh. "Sorry, my lady."
She stuck her tongue out at him—Lady, indeed—and motioned to him to sit. "To answer your question, it was a very good day. Got to watch the sunrise with Kíli this morning, killed a buck and four rabbits—which you'll be seeing in your stew soon, doubtless—and maybe even took a step toward winning Oin over with my promise of medicines. Some of the elves won't sell to him." She rolled her eyes. "Really, the vast majority of the racial tension between elves and dwarves is completely childish."
Bilbo had never really considered it, though he supposed she was right. "Hobbits generally don't have the same sort of prejudices," he said. "Ours are more prejudices against actions than bloodlines. Usually."
Deorynn cocked her head. "How do you mean?"
"Well," the hobbit replied. "For instance, my running off on an adventure with dwarves and wizards will generate more ire at Bag-End than a troop of dwarves passing through. Hobbits don't care what race you are, and they don't judge other races by the same standards they judge themselves: it's expected for Men, Elves, and Dwarves to fight and quest and adventure. But anyone from the Shire that behaves in any way out of the ordinary is judged pretty harshly. Although," he added as an aside, "we're unlikely to kick you out of town even if you ARE judged an adventurer and an improper, sorry excuse for a Hobbit."
Deorynn laughed out loud. "Well. All I can say is, if there are many more like you there, I can see why Gandalf likes Shirelings so well. I must admit my time in the Shire has been limited, but you all seem like happy, gentle people to me. Everything seems much simpler there."
Bilbo looked thoughtful and nodded slowly. "Simpler. Yes, that it is." Then his face lit. "Have you even met Gandalf yet? He's been a bit scarce of late, what with meeting with Lord Elrond so much the last week."
"Ah, yes, I have. I had the pleasure of speaking with him day before yesterday; ran into him in the library. He's…a fascinating character," Deorynn smiled. "He was exceptionally kind to me, though, so I can't really complain."
Bilbo snorted. "Yes, he is kind. Also mischievous enough to put Kíli to shame, with a temper that can put Thorin's to shame, and a tactfully manipulative streak that would put an Elf to shame."
Deorynn laughed again, "I can see that being the case with him."
"Indeed." A deep, amused voice sounded behind them both. "I think that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said about me, Bilbo Baggins."
*bindâd: literally, "without father." Similar insult to "bastard"
