Krystallazuli and Wanderingsmith: A dynamic duo if ever there was one. Thank you both for all your help 3
Chapter Thirteen
13
Indelible Marks
~In which Kíli is charming and sincere, a nursery outing proves surprisingly romantic and Tilda tries to get advice from rock~
There had been no tea the morning after their fight, and Tilda was surprised how much that little omission made her heart ache. Kíli had slid into their chambers just as she was getting up, dripping with sweat and obviously fresh from the sparring yards. He'd given her an uncertain smile, a thin expression with no happiness in it whatsoever, before ducking into the bathing room. Conversation as they'd both gotten ready for their day was stilted at best; neither of them knowing what to say, and so they stuttered inanely about stupid, useless things as they both struggled not to look at Tilda's packed bags.
Kíli seemed bent on respecting her wishes and not pushing her any further, but his eyes looked a hundred years older this morning, and Tilda fled their chambers just as soon as she could, feeling confused and heart-sick and not at all sure what it was she should do any more. Still, by the time she made it to the Nursery Rooms, she'd ruthlessly forced herself to put it away, so that the children wouldn't see her distress. She'd had plenty of practice in Laketown, after all, in the uncertain years after the dragon fell; reassuring little ones that there would be food, and water, that loved ones would survive illness when she herself had no idea if it would be so, but someone had to be strong for them, when they'd lost too much to be strong for themselves. The grin she gave to the staff and eagerly waiting children on her arrival was genuine and large, she felt, and she was very certain her eyes were dry. Róa launched herself at Tilda's knees when she slid in the door, squeezing her calf tight in her pudgy arms.
"You're late," the badger told her, though her scolding tone was somewhat ruined for having her face smashed up against Tilda's knee.
"Hardly! I think you're just extra early," Tilda told her with mock-hauteur. As intended, Róa giggled and released her hold. Tilda clapped her hands, getting the other children's attention, and quickly set the older ones to organising the younger, and inside of ten minutes, they were off. Tilda was constantly amazed at how similar managing children was, regardless of race.
Truthfully, Tilda had been looking forward to this outing for two weeks. She had never seen a working mine before, it having never been deemed a lady-like interest, and she had been incredibly curious to have a chance to explore. Doing so under the guise of letting the children develop their stone sense made it seem positively responsible, even. Last night's debacle was still a painful lump in her breast, jagged and consuming enough to have washed away her anticipation for their little trip today, and the cheerful demeanour she'd so carefully constructed on her walk hadn't resurrected any of her original excitement.
But now, listening to the children's carefree chatter surrounding her, she found it wasn't very hard at all to be buoyed by it, and she whistled a jaunty little tune she'd learned on the wharf as a child, watching the ships departing and arriving on the Long Lake, and imagining how grand it might be to spend weeks at a time afloat, travelling to distant destinations far to the East.
And really, wasn't that, in some part, what this was about? Experiencing the unknown? Hoping, maybe, to gain just a little bit more understanding of what rock and stone and earth was like inside of Kíli's head; see if she could get even a faint hint of the grand chorus that surrounded him, all the time.
Maybe, she might get some clarity.
Or at the very least, an afternoon free of other, more difficult thoughts concerning her husband.
The mine they were visiting was not in much use, at the moment, and from what Tilda understood, it was for lack of a Cantor being able to sing the passageways, since parts of it, like much of Erebor, had proven to be damaged by dragon occupation. Of course, the parts that were of concern were cordoned off, as well as clearly marked in runes Kíli had made her memorize when he'd first learned where their little day trip was headed. As Tilda understood it, this was actually an ideal situation for the younglings, as the stone was under just enough stress, at least this close to the main levels, to make it easier for their burgeoning senses to pick up. Though apparently what they would sense would be like the faint murmuring of a conversation held in another room with a thick door; a hum and buzz of voices too indistinct to identify anything more.
They slowly ambled from the main corridor into one of the main shafts, and the stone walls reflected nothing to Tilda but happy chatter. Of course, she hadn't expected anything less, but still, she'd secretly felt that if she concentrated hard enough, she should be able to feel something, too.
The walls changed as they moved deeper, showing exposed crystal structure in beautiful shades of green; Tharak Bazan had been a gem mine, producing mainly apatite, tourmaline and peridot, along with some opal. The fact that this was something she knew no longer surprised Tilda; she could probably name most of the mines in the mountain that were currently at least partially active, and their main products. Sitting with the youngest of children as they learned their minerals had been only slightly humiliating, but helpful, and the children seemed to genuinely enjoy her presence there as they would happily recite all that they had learned to her.
She wandered with the younglings, trying futilely to stretch her own senses along with them, and wondering what it was like to see and hear the world the way that they did. Fláim, who at his age was likely too old to even be included in Eilin's group, was instead acting as an extra set of hands and eyes for Tilda, and helping some of the younger badgers make this first important connection. Right now, Tilda could hear him as he patiently tried to encourage Róa when she complained bitterly that the mine wasn't being friendly to her, and Tilda could see that most of the younglings had formed little groups, mostly twos. It was wonderful, seeing how the love and nurture of children filtered down so that even the older children could always be found encouraging the younger. She never would have guessed, all those years ago, just how emotional and fiercely loving her new people were.
"Be sure to keep together," Tilda admonished the small group when a few of the ones at the back were plainly drifting as they stared about them in curiosity.
"Yes, it's very important to stay close," a voice broke in, and Tilda's head was whipping around before she could stop the startled reaction.
Kíli sauntered around the corner, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking at ease and relaxed and not at all like he was wracked with the wounded hurt that had hung around him—well, both of them, just a few hours ago. He shot Tilda a grin so full of...happiness and smug mischief that her heart did a complicated compression in her chest, rather like Kíli had reached in and squeezed.
It hurt, a lot. She pasted a smile on her face, conscious of all the children gathered 'round, now totally distracted from their lesson by the Prince's unexpected arrival.
"What are you doing here?" Tilda hissed.
"I thought maybe I could learn to work on my ability to forge connections, too." Kíli told her, and the older children laughed, for of course he didn't need to work on hearing the stone's song.
And there went Tilda's heart again, and it was still just as painful.
"Perhaps you'd like to join Eilin's group—she's taken some of the older students down to the selenium shafts—I'm sure you'd find their activities closer to your level," Tilda told him, taking refuge in a sort of prim stiffness that made the children giggle again, sure that she was teasing.
"Nope, I think I like it here, just fine," Kíli told her. "I think I might have a rather lot to learn."
He was teasing her, she knew. Probably not with any intent to be hurtful, but trying to be charming and obviously make some kind of amends for how things had turned out, but couldn't he see how incredibly painful this was, given everything her heart wanted to believe about his intentions? It was cruel, no matter how unintentional, and she tried to hold on to a bit of anger, to burn away the hurt, but it wasn't working very well, because she'd never been very good at staying mad at anyone.
Especially Kíli, it seemed.
She let out a slow breath. She could do this—the children couldn't know anything was wrong, after all; the absolute bastard didn't play fair, tracking her down here, but afterwards she could still leave.
She was going to miss her wards, and her small staff.
The thought was unexpected, and the sadness that came with it was swift—and Tilda wished, not for the first time, that things had turned out differently.
She was going to miss Kíli.
That thought was entirely expected, and equally unwelcome, just now.
"Come along then, and keep up," she managed to bite out through a stiff smile, and she turned to march up the tunnel, glad to have an excuse to turn her back on Kíli, and his charming grin.
"A bit strict, is our Princess, isn't she?" Kíli stage-whispered behind her.
Tilda just ground her teeth and tried not to stomp her way up the tunnel.
"Prince Kíli!" little Róa squealed, obviously in response to some entertaining, and entirely too irresponsibly charming, thing Kíli was doing to amuse them.
Because of course the little girl would, Tilda thought, mulish and fully ready to resent any and everything that approved of Kíli right in this moment.
It didn't take long for her temper to cool, of course, and by the time they had traversed the majority of their assigned section, almost to the crystal chamber that was the apex of their trip, Tilda just wished she could shut her eyes and ears to how wonderful her husband was with the children.
Tilda wasn't sure children were a part of her future; wasn't sure they'd even be able to breed together, as half-bloods were notoriously rare and difficult to birth, and, given the current state of things between them, she definitely wasn't sure they would ever have the occasion to try, but...seeing and hearing Kíli like this, so patient and doting with the younglings hanging off him, for the first time, she found herself curious, and wondering what kind of life they might bring into this world, if they were to ever come together. Try as she might to ignore it, she was beginning to suspect her husband would make an excellent father.
He'd been full of little bits of advice—though he never, ever spoke when Tilda was addressing the class, rather adding his wisdom like he was teaching the class with her, adding supplemental observations and remarks that never undermined her, and she was sure this group of children was benefiting hugely from instruction from an actual Cantor, even if they would never know it. Somewhere along the way, little Róa had decided that she didn't want to walk any more, and Kíli had swung her up on his shoulders with hardly a break in stride as she squealed in excitement from her new vantage point.
Tilda couldn't help but eye Kíli's broad shoulders as they flexed to take the strain, and rather thought she envied the young dam.
Which just went to highlight the whole sorry trip, because she wanted to stay angry, dammit. It was far better than this hopeful beating of her heart, the warm flush she would get on her cheeks every time Kíli shot her one of his smiles that looked far too warm to be allowed in front of children.
Watching her, Kíli just looked smug….and happy.
Tilda was thoroughly confused.
The tunnel at the entrance of the chamber was smooth, and wide enough here for the children to crowd in close to hear her words. "Beyond this point is a Crystal Glade," Tilda told them, not really sure what to expect from that, but trying to project nothing but confidence. "We are deep in the mine, at this point, at its resonant centre, and the...acoustics of the stone's song should be strong enough for you to get some sense of it. Absolutely do not leave the chamber! Spread out and explore."
"Try to find a place where the stone calls to you," Kíli said, trying to catch all the children's eyes.
"And have a clear mind," Jaxom, one of the older badgers, grumbled from the safety of the middle of the group. obviously intimidated by the very idea.
Instead of taking offence at the discontent interruption, Kíli nodded in understanding. "I always had a hard time with that, too," he admitted. "Maybe we just have too many thoughts in our head?" He reached up absently, setting Róa down gently at his feet as he thought. "Try this—what kind of craft leanings do you have, Jaxom? Do any call out to you, at least a little?"
For his part, Jaxom looked startled to have his groaning taken so seriously. "Uhhh...Mining, I guess. And...uhh, well baking," he paused, frowning in concentration. "Dunno, maybe building things, like with wood? Or..."
"Ah, I think we've got something there we can work with," Kíli told him gently bringing his recitation to a halt. "Baking, huh? I know a dwarf who is an excellent baker; he helped King Thorin make a very special dessert for the King Consort once."
If possible, the children crowded in even closer, hanging off any word that had to do with their hero, King Thorin and his even more impressive chosen Consort. "It must have been a pretty special dessert, because Consort Bilbo agreed to marry him." And here the children all giggled, looking at each other with delight. "I asked him how he could decide what to make, for something so important. Do you know what he told me?"
Solemnly, all the children shook their heads, eyes wide and positively vibrating with excitement for Kíli's every word. It was like he had some kind of magnetic effect on them; he could order each and every one of them to eat their greens tonight when they got home, and they would do it, simply because it was Kíli who was asking. Tilda shook her head, bemused.
"He said that ingredients in desserts were kind of like gems," Kíli told them, crouching down to better get to their level. "You've all learned your gem meanings, haven't you?"
A ragged chorus assured him that of course they had, though some of them were beginning to look a bit dubious. "So, here's what I want you to do: Don't think on it too hard, but as you wander the glade, look at each gem and mineral you pass, and try to match it up to a treat or a candy. Like...what is the simplest meaning for emeralds?"
"Intelligence!" a few of them cried out. "Knowing the future," came from another group.
Kíli smiled at them, "And abundance," he said. "Now, I don't know about you, but I know that when Bombur makes his famous chocolate torte, I can already see the future. I know I'm going to eat an abundance of it, and I'm going to have a bellyache. So, I can associate chocolate with emeralds, right?"
A few of them sniggered, and Kíli winked at them. "That's silly!" Fláim told him, looking bemused that the prince of all people could be so.
"Of course it is," Kíli nodded. "It's not something you're supposed to think about, just...whatever pops into your head as you look at all the crystals and minerals around you. As a matter of fact, don't think about it...that's the whole point. Just stare at the mineral that you've chosen, and let your mind drift and just...whatever the first thing is that pops into your head."
And he looked around at all of them, and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "And once you've reached that place, where things just drift into your head like that, then you might hear the stone's voice, too."
"Ooooh!" a young dam crowed, finally getting it, and, laughing, the whole group broke to try Kíli's silly little game.
Which left Tilda and Kíli the only two remaining, standing on the cusp of the chamber, neither in nor out. Kíli stood there, hands shoved in his pockets again, looking shy for the first time since he had shown up. "Did you want to give it a go?" he asked her, and his gaze was soft, and intent, and she really, really didn't know what the hell to make of it.
"I didn't think I could. I mean, I'm not...I don't have your abilities," Tilda stammered, despite that being exactly what she had planned to do as soon as she could reasonably slip away for a quiet moment.
"Under the right circumstances, you could probably get a bit of a...well a bit of a sense of it. Because of me, I mean," Kíli admitted, and he looked positively bashful now.
Tilda felt herself starring at him, extremely confused, but before she could ask him about it, Róa had come running back, babbling about the stone, and what it had to tell her. With an apologetic glance at Kíli, Tilda allowed herself to be drawn further into the glade, one hand firmly clasped by Róa's pudgy one.
A moment later, slender, archer's fingers laced with her other hand, giving her a gentle squeeze as Kíli glanced shyly at her from the corner of his eye. Hesitantly, Tilda returned the pressure, letting Róa's excited chatter wash over her.
They had only gone a dozen or so yards into the chamber when Tilda was forced to stop dead, dragging Kíli to a halt beside her. Róa, with energy too boundless to contain, quickly tugged her hand free and scampered off towards the noisy groups the other children had made, but Tilda couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene before her to even feel a tinge of guilt over her departure.
The cavern—and right now it was hard to remember she was still in an enclosed cavern—was immense; Tilda had known this, conceptually, but standing here now as she got her first real glimpse of its vaulted space, she understood just how much the innocuous term 'glade' had obscured the reality of its size.
The glade was truly glorious; a subterranean forest of refracted light and alien beauty, stretching out before her until the details were muted, and eventually lost, to the distance.
This far in, the greenish stone of the outside tunnels had been left behind, giving way to a single pathway of latticed bismuth crystal flowing across the floor. Oxidization, had caused the dull grey surfaces to bloom with subtle colour; a riot of soft pinks and greens and blues sliding into one another like an ever-changing rainbow. The centre of this pathway had been worn smooth, of course, but the edges still retained bismuth's characteristically sharp construction of maze-like, interconnected boxes which shone in the light.
The walls were the grey-green of the same granite from the rest of the mine, but over this grew collections of thread-like, shimmering formations like vines over a cottage, and in amongst the milky moonstone growths, small inclusions of garnet and sapphire, citrine and lapis grew along the cave walls: clusters and cascades of blooms among the vines.
Great crystalline structures rose up out of the floor, forming formidable, towering trees in this strange garden. Some grew upright—pale, cylindrical tourmaline and single-spired quartzes like horns rising higher than Tilda could reach; while others grew along the floor—fallen logs of amber and green lepidolite and sharp-sheared erratics of fluorite and malachite. Pools of absolutely clear, aqua-blue water flooded parts of the glade, with arching bridges, like the one before them, of stone and wood so intricate and delicate as to defy belief, and yet sharing absolutely nothing with the graceful, slender construction of elves; leaving the elven design looking like a weak imitation.
The surfaces of the rock beneath their feet had been cut and polished to expose the formations within, overlain with spreading rough structures, like moss of rust and indigo, creeping across the floor, looking almost like frost crystals as they spread on a windowpane in winter, and giving everything a textured, organic look—and Tilda was startled to realise that this was alive, in its own way; a quintessentially dwarven, slow-growing garden.
Rod-like prisms hung from the distant ceiling, in places grown so large as to have joined the structure of the floor, like pillars holding up a cathedral roof, and everywhere there was an ambient glow as the crystals in the cave reflected and refracted the dim light endlessly, and Tilda was struck speechless for long minutes as she stared and stared, trying to take in what she was seeing.
"A sub-sect of the miners, the Hyushûr Bazan, are Called as rock-tenders, or caretakers," Kíli spoke beside her, a soft almost-whisper so as not to break the spell. "They tend to the places like this, carefully nurturing a single crystal growth for decades, much like some of Bilbo's hobbit relatives would tend to subsequent generations of tomatoes, to produce a prized strain. What you see here is generations of careful preservation and care, and dwarves from all over make pilgrimages to places like this, just to hear Mahal speak, for here the song of the rock is clearest.
"Of course, during our absence, the crystals grew uninhibited and haphazardly; but in a generation or two, the Tenders will have set the wild parts to rights." His gaze lingered on here and there, in places that looked...no different from any others, to Tilda's eyes, but his smile was strangely fond, and a bit wistful.
Though she'd been trying her best to ignore him, she couldn't help but turn and really look at him here, in the closest thing to his element that anyone would ever likely see. Kíli's face was serene, a soft smile peeking out in the upturn of his lips, and though his eyes were open as he gazed around, Tilda had the distinct impression that he wasn't really seeing any of it—or rather, wasn't seeing what she was seeing at all, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could experience whatever it was Kíli saw through his eyes.
"How many places like this are there?" she whispered, because it seemed like the sort of place one should whisper; either that, or shriek with joy so the pure sound could echo in this hallowed place, forever.
"Here in the mountain, or all the Mansions combined?"
Tilda hummed, not really giving an answer as she wandered onto the bridge, staring around her as if in a daze. From here, the path that stretched behind them, leading back to where they had entered the glade, within yards became obscured by the gentle curve of their route, effectively hiding the cavern's enterence from her sight. The enclosing walls surrounding them, though visible, were too far away, and too obscured by other rocky growths, to discern clearly; instead blending into these other formations and creating the illusion of a near-infinite space. Gazing around, Tilda was forced to appreciate the fact that this cavern, this innocuously named glade, was likely almost half as large as Laketown, even after the reconstruction of her hometown. The ceiling was taller than the tallest building she'd seen; distant enough to be a subterranean sky in its own right, with tiny flecks of mica and quartz winking down at her with borrowed light.
There would be no one else in the glade today, having been arranged solely for their use, and her class hadn't taken much time, once given permission, to disperse far and wide, and even from this vantage point most of them were lost to view as they flit in an out of sight among the stone and crystal growths within the cave. Their voices though, and their happy chatter, carried, making Tilda smile.
Kíli, still tethered by their shared grip, had followed, though giving her a moment as she stared around avidly, before answering. "There is only this one here in Erebor; at least, so far. You never know what else may yet be discovered. There are three—no, I think it's four, in the South and East of us. And...well, there were two in Moria."
Tilda didn't bother to ask about the 'were'; she had learned all about the orc occupation of that most hallowed Hall, and how deeply it rankled, still. Even after the victory of reclaiming their home here in Ereobr, the Mansion lost would never be forgiven, or forgotten.
"And all this, survived the dragon's occupation?" Tilda asked softly, helpless to tear her gaze away from the strange, luminous landscape.
Kíli hummed in agreement, sounding satisfied and pleased that it was so. "Smaug didn't bother to squeeze himself down every corridor of the mountain, it seems, and it wasn't like there was any reason for him to try. Dragons aren't much interested in gems still in rock's embrace; they want mined gems, cut and polished, for their hordes." Kíli paused for a moment, looking both weary and yet hopeful as he contemplated the pristine state of the glade. "He damaged much, during his time here," he murmured. "But...some things of import survived."
Silence descended between them, and despite everything, it was more comfortable than Tilda would have believed. Kíli was staring out over the glassy water, apparently lost in thought, and didn't even seem to be aware of her, giving her the perfect opportunity to study him from the corner of her eye.
"You're staring," he told her after a few moments, not even turning his head.
"Am not," Tilda protested automatically.
Kíli's little half-smile became a warm grin, and his fingers tightened against her own. "That's okay," he told her, as if he hadn't even been listening. "I like it when you stare."
Tilda muttered a very pithy curse under her breath, thankful that Róa had run off to join the older children where they laughingly tried to find a reason to tie limestone to sugar floss.
"I like it when you do that, too" he teased.
"Stop it," she told him, sharply, dropping his hand. "I don't know what you think you're accomplishing, but just...please don't."
His expression lost all of its gentle humour, and his eyes were intent when he turned to face her, halting her before she really had a chance to think about marching off.
"Don't what, my Lady?" he asked, sounding at once dangerously determined, and pleading. "Don't let you know how much you mean to me—"
"Yes, exactly that—stop this!" Tilda whispered, furious, but conscious of the fact that though she couldn't presently see her class, there were still lots of little ears about.
"No."
Tilda just stared at him, because she honestly hadn't expected that. An argument, after his determined behaviour this morning? Yes. An outright denial? Not so much. And the warm way he'd been treating her, the light in his brown eyes; it was all confusing her, and making her wish for things she was trying to put away...
"I'm leaving this evening," she warned him—and reminded herself.
"If you must," Kíli agreed, solemnly. "And I will follow."
His simple declaration hung there a moment; a heartbeat, maybe two, as an almost physical weight between them, before Tilda burst out, "You will not!"
Why did she never realise how infuriating he could be?
Her husband; or at least, the dwarf she had thought was her husband, but apparently only in human terms; simply smiled sweetly at her, a soft look in his eyes as he raised a hand, hesitating a moment before bridging the distance. Just barely ghosting over her skin, Tilda had to fight the urge to shiver over a touch so delicate—it was more the movement of air over her cheek than the sensation of skin on skin, and she had never been so aware of anyone in her whole life as she was in that moment.
"Trust me," he rasped. "There is nowhere I would rather be." Kíli stepped back, swallowing hard and obviously not unaffected, and not even bothering to pretend otherwise.
"Make your journey," he told her. "But know that I will follow, as soon as I am able. And then, we will resolve this."
And then, when Tilda felt like she was shaking and confused and more than a little ready to melt at his declarations, and quite angry about it—
He left.
He...left.
Turned around and headed for the tunnels again, but before he set foot off the bridge and back onto the path, he paused, and turned his head, so that he was speaking partly to the lake, and partly over Tilda's own shoulder. "You should know, Dwarves have very few traditions when it comes to a union, or the choosing of a partner. We don't hold much with Men, that's true, but we don't hold much with each other, either. A dwarrow is joined when both parties decide that they are, not before, and certainly not at the whim of someone else. Traditionally, there is no large gathering of family and friends, because it's a private realisation that happens differently for everyone; but that doesn't mean that it can't happen with a great big crowd and a grand feast.
What we do do, is we mark important events in our life with braids, tattoos, or even piercings. The more permanent the mark, the more...deeply the truth is felt, perhaps, though that too can change from individual to individual."
"And all dwarves are definitely individuals," Tilda murmured, bemused at this torrent of information, and lacking anything else to say.
Kíli gave a short, jerky nod, and strode another few steps, before halting again. His fists opened and closed at his sides a few times, but it was a long moment before he spoke, and this time he did not turn around.
"Many consider tattoos the most permanent mark of all."
And this time he left, and didn't stop again.
…
Whatever could he have meant by that?
-o.O.o-
He could feel Tilda's presence in his soul—or at least, the space that wanted to open for her, if he were fool enough to allow it. It was like a hollow ache, deep inside, somewhere he couldn't reach, fuelled in part by the knowledge, or rather, the soul-deep certainty, that she was his One—but even more so, by the emotions that had grown up over time; months of visits shyly learning about each other capped with weeks of watching her slowly gain confidence as she struggled to fit into a society that was terribly closed and insular.
Love.
It wasn't something he'd ever really given much thought to, but now...now he couldn't stop thinking about it; how to show Tilda how he felt without overwhelming her or making her feel trapped or obligated; both outcomes which would shred him to his core with shame. How to care for a girl, a daughter of Men, in an underground kingdom that differed so much from what she knew...
How much it would hurt if he could never earn her feelings in return.
How amazing it could be if he did...And didn't that thought cause a contradictory little flutter of nervous fear, as if that wasn't exactly the outcome he wanted.
Of course, his thoughts weren't all completely pure...the kiss they'd shared in her little cottage. The feel of her pressed against him wearing nothing more than that clinging silk chemise over her underthings; warm and yielding and utterly innocent. Memories of these phantom sensations still kept him up at night. And invaded his thoughts at all the awkward moments.
Like now.
"Kíli!" Uncle's voice was sharp, meaning he'd probably already called his name a couple of times. Dammit.
"What? Oh, sorry," Kíli scrubbed his face with his hand, trying to force some alertness back into his weary brain. A brain that was more than half caught up in trying to analyze his earlier encounter with Tilda—and what wasn't thinking and worrying over whether or not he'd gotten through to her at all, was beginning to regret his early morning sparring session with Fíli. And thinking longingly of his bed.
Thankfully, they weren't in formal sessions or anything; instead, simply working in one of the many council chambers, where they could be visible and accessible. Various knots of Council dwarves, Guild leaders and Craft masters also used this space. Working cooperatively—or as cooperatively as those disparate segments of the council ever got—they flowed in and out of the room in tiny waves as the morning progressed, providing a constant buzz of background noise and shifting emotional landscape for Kíli to tune out.
Thorin was giving him a steady stare, and whatever his uncle felt he saw in Kíli's mien had concern beginning to bleed into the space between them. "Where are your thoughts today, nephew?" Thorin asked.
Forcing himself to sit up straighter and open his eyes a little wider, Kíli did his best to project nothing but weariness back. "No thoughts today, I'm afraid," he admitted with a small grimace. "Didn't sleep well last night, that's all."
"Hmmm," Thorin was eyeing him, and Kíli knew he was debating on inquiring further.
"Just, worried about Tilda being away for a few weeks," he added, ducking his head as if sheepish. "Silly stuff, really." At least it had the dubious benefit of being partly true. Thorin grunted, but thankfully let it go.
Of course, that just meant that Kíli had to actually make a better effort to concentrate on the rationing reports in front of him. Some things never change, he mused tiredly. Of course, this was rationing of materials, instead of food, but it was equally dull work, for at least Bilbo had been a godsend when it came to allocating foodstuffs. When it came down to iron and gold ore, phosphor and carbon, Bilbo washed his hands of the whole business. But the distraction over the coming weeks would be a welcome one, Kíli told himself firmly. If I don't give up and ride to Dale to convince her to come home, first.
Of course, riding off now, and not letting her leave without him, was exactly what he wanted to do, but with Bifur still away from the mountain, investigating that dirty-minded, nosy bugger Roac's concerns with a unit of Dwalin's guards, Kíli had to defer any departure until he returned; he had a duty to the Kingdom, a complicated battle between his heart and his sense of honour.
Of course, after a few days of worry and regret, things might look a whole hell of a lot simpler. Kíli wasn't sure if he'd even last the two weeks it would take for Bifur to return, but that was the limit he'd set for himself—he had to at least give her a bit of time, as requested. After that, well, he was planning on bringing gifts; jewellery he'd been envisioning just to suit her fine bones and wide bright grey eyes, books on khûzdul or math or sunsets in the dessert. And music—he'd sing to her from her garden if she wouldn't give him entrance. Hell, he'd bring the damned Oliphant if that's what it took, though after the failure of the, at least reasonable, carved spoon, he felt deeply suspicious of any suggestions that came from gossiping merchants.
Anything it took to convince her that he was sincere; that despite thousands of years of history, despite all logic, despite all reason, his heart was only ever in her keeping.
In the meantime, he was going to go mad.
Somehow, he didn't think he could pull off Semi-Functional Lunatic with as much success as Master Bifur, though.
It was a depressing, and sobering, thought.
Uncle Thorin continued to glance at him through their morning, and all the little mini-meetings that cropped up with various officials; so obviously he was still more off than on. Frankly, he just wanted to sleep, but didn't particularly want to go back to his quarters, and see all of Tilda's things gone, as if he could deny it if he didn't see it. Sounds like a capital plan. He threw himself into the reports once more, while the sound of Glóin arguing with the new head of the merchant guilds provided a dichotomous background harmony.
Of course, just as Kíli finally, finally, managed to (mostly) put aside his tangle of emotions, and actually get his mind into accomplishing something, he was interrupted by a new distraction.
Faint chimes could be heard in the outer chambers; a sound that Bilbo often, fussily in the dwarves' (quiet; never, ever voiced) opinion, griped needed to be more melodic, though Kíli couldn't understand it—the sound was abrupt and utilitarian, and not at all prone to making his teeth ache the way his shorter uncle oft complained. Seconds later, a soft tink announced that a message had been dropped into the delivery chute, and Thorin pushed himself away from their table-cum-office to deal with it. Kíli tried not to view the moment alone as being fraught with danger, with thoughts of Tilda and their unresolved fight dogging his thoughts, and he scrubbed at his eyes tiredly as he listened to the faint sounds of industry and the louder sounds of disagreement going on around him.
Seconds, or, more realistically, moments later, Thorin pushed a scrawled parchment message under Kíli's nose. "It seems that young Gondorian whelp from Laketown, Denethor, is requesting to speak with us," Uncle Thorin grunted, lips pursed with faint confusion.
Kíli looked up at his Uncle sharply, "What on earth could he want?" he blurted, but almost immediately wished he'd swallowed his tongue, instead, when it occurred to him that if Tilda had sent a message yesterday, the young Lordling could be here to escort his wife...
Kíli felt sick.
With iron willpower he hadn't even known for sure he possessed, Kíli kept his expression vaguely puzzled as Thorin stared at him, obviously expecting that Kíli, as the only other human under the mountain's husband, would know something about this unexpected guest, but before he could say anything or probe deeper, Balin was already announcing him at the chamber door.
"Your Majesty, Highness," Denethor greeted, bowing in a manner that spoke of drilled practice to the precise angle of incline and specific amount of deference, but with none of the comfort of familiarity and use. Kíli felt sorry for him, for it was obvious he had high expectations being placed on him, to have been drilled so, and from what he'd been able to parse from Tilda's dissatisfied comments, he was overly concerned with fitting within what he'd been taught, with the air of one who had yet to get out from under his father and learn for himself. Kíli rather thought the Steward had been wise in sending his boy to Bard, though he might not like what he got back, if Denethor truly learned anything while he was away.
"I come with a message from His Majesty of Dale, King Bard—" and here, only years of training prevented Kíli from making a face at the man's self-important formality, for they of course knew who Bard was. "—of unsettling happenings in Dale city and in Laketown."
Kíli knew he shouldn't feel relieved to hear of trouble in his wife's homeland, but the thought of this popinjay coming to escort his wife home had been almost more than Kíli could bear, despite knowing that Tilda couldn't stand the man.
Thorin, who had no notion of the turmoil in Kíli's breast, took this news in stride. Looking impassive as always, he motioned their guest to be seated. "And what does Bard wish to tell us?' Uncle asked, deliberately dropping the honorific.
Denethor stiffened, a tiny betraying movement obvious only to a trained observer, clearly nettled by Uncle's subtle rebuke. He eyed the offered seating dubiously, but managed to settle himself in a chair meant for someone a foot shorter than himself with considerable aplomb, though it couldn't have been comfortable. A faint flush was visible above his heavy velvet collar, but his expression remained stoically bland.
He must have said something to offend Balin, Kíli decided, for their cousin to have brought Denethor down here, where there were no accommodation for tall folk, rather than sending word to Uncle and himself to meet their guest in one of the more practical receiving chambers. Still, despite it all, he was handling himself well, Kíli had to concede.
Steepling his fingers before him, trying, and mostly failing, to mask his discomfort as his knees banged the underside of the table every time he shifted, Denethor finally began. "During the restoration work on Dale, some of the old records from the original city have been recovered, and in some cases, restored," he said.
"Bard had mentioned this," Thorin agreed, noncommittal and waiting.
"Mostly it has been clerical records: payments, inventories, earnings, daily disbursements and the like—though there were a few memoirs and...and travel logs from some of the caravans that passed through."
Thorin waited politely, but with every indication of a dwarf who would shortly lose his patience, and Denethor tried not to look chastised as he hurried to explain himself. "The point is, some of those records have gone missing recently; particularly ones that gave detailed accounts of journeys further east of your Mountain, past Dorwinion and the Sea of Rhûn."
Thorin blinked, a large reaction by his standards, clearly not expecting this.
"So, someone is looking for maps and travel information to go further East? An enterprising merchant, perhaps?" Kíli broke in, to give his uncle a moment to digest this strange bit of news.
Denethor looked startled, clearly not thinking along those lines. "Possible, I suppose," he mused, and for a moment he sounded genuine, and less stiff.
"And why did Bard feel that this information needed to be brought to my attention personally?" Uncle Thorin rumbled, still leaning back in his chair and watching their visitor assessingly.
Denethor's expression flickered, a brief glimpse of...something, before he smoothed it out again. "A father's concern for his youngest?" he offered, as if he couldn't really fathom it, and Kíli realised that the distaste Tilda felt for this man was obviously mutual. "The king, of course, has departed for the long journey South, for his eldest's wedding, and wanted you to be aware of these incidences, in case something becomes of them during his absence."
Ah, Kíli thought, settling back in his chair. That's the part that rankles. Bard's left you to look after Dale while he's gone; probably not solely, likely as part of a council, and it's pricking your pride that he's preemptively taking this out of your hands and subtly asking us to deal with it, instead.
Not subtle enough for you to miss it, though. I imagine that was part of Bard's plan, too.
So, obviously Bard realises you're a bit of a pompous prick, and has chosen to give you a set-down. Wonder what you did to anger him?
The theft of a bunch of old manuscripts was probably nothing more than an opportunistic merchant, hoping to bypass the safe passage through Erebor and Dale, and all the incumbent inspections and fees that that entailed; an agent of free enterprise, as Nori would no doubt classify them—and himself, if asked.
Probably...
But the thought that there was a free agent at work out there, while Tilda would be travelling to Dale, added to the nebulous danger already presented by whatever wild animals were loose out near Ravenhill, left a very large knot of worry balled in his gut.
At least Nori had agreed to travel with her to Dale, he consoled himself. And as soon as Bifur gets back, I will be free to see how quickly a pony can make the distance to her side.
And it was this pleasant contemplation that kept him busy for the rest of the fruitless discussion.
-o.O.o-
Dearest Sigrid,
You might want to reconsider who you appoint to give you wedding advice; apparently three months in, and I still don't understand my husband.
And I think I'm about to make a big mistake...the problem is, I don't know which course of action is the mistake...
...
In times of stress, Tilda often found herself composing letters to Sigrid, so she supposed that though this might be the most inopportune time ever, it made perfect sense that the only thoughts with any sense in her head were in the form of a letter...Sigrid, even when it was just in Tilda's own head, always seemed to give such logical advice.
What had he meant, about the tattoos?
Of course that part, out of everything that had been said, was the part her mind kept circling back to.
It did seem a bit easier than picking apart the whole realization that partnership may very well mean something completely different to Kíli and his people...something more, well, more permanent and sacred than her own understanding of marriage, which by and large was a political alliance, or skill-share agreement. If there was some affection or even love present, so much the better, but it was hardly a requirement. If a baker had a shop, but no one to mind it, he would look to broker a deal with a local girl with some skill with numbers to watch the counter.
If a kingdom needed assurances to keep hostilities at bay, they went looking at their neighbours' daughters.
Was it possible the dwarves looked at this differently?
Something perhaps even deeper than marriage, though that was a difficult thing to grapple with, so Tilda reluctantly put it away for the time being.
But still, Kíli's parting words hung in the air around her, and she had no idea why.
A distraction; that's what I need, she thought. And a moment to think.
All around her, she could hear the sounds of engaged chatter, laughter and excitement as her children explored. The crystals here on this side of the wooden bridge Kíli had left her on were mostly lavender and spring-green, giving a feeling of renewal that tickled Tilda's soul in that moment. A small grove of blue-green fluorite crystals formed a tidy little niche, with their surfaces that always fractured on fabulously, mathematically perfect straight planes. In amongst them grew a quartz vein jutting knee-height along the floor that was just about the right height for her to sit on, if she didn't mind bending her knees a bit more than usual. From this point, the main path branched into several smaller ones that meandered their way into the crystal garden beyond, but the bridge behind her was the only access to it, and conversely, the only way out, as well. Sitting here, with half an eye—and both ears—focused on the only gateway, Tilda would be able to relax, knowing none of her charges could wander off.
There was no hesitation as she picked an acceptably smooth spot, and plunked herself down, glad for the relative privacy this afforded her since all that was likely to come of her attempt was her feeling very foolish.
Alright, then, she was determined to give this a proper go.
And it absolutely had nothing to do with resolutely Not Thinking About Kíli.
At all.
Really.
And especially Not Thinking about how he planned on following her to Dale.
Which rather defeated the purpose of going, of course. How was she supposed to convince herself to forget how wonderful he was, when he was right bloody there, underfoot?
Right. Not Thinking About Kíli.
Allowing her eyes to slide closed, she first concentrated on all the noises of the children, and once she was content that she could hear them all, she began slowly trying to push past that noise, in search of this elusive 'stone sense' the children were supposed to be developing. Kíli had once told her that sometimes it was like meditating; that the rock resonated around you, and you had to sort of slide your thoughts in-between, so that they resonated in the same way, though he'd been much more technical about it, talking about frequencies and such.
Tilda had, of course, been absolutely enthralled.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to empty her mind. She could smell the faint tang of stone, a sort of clean mineral scent that had come to replace the smells of the lake in her mind. Róa's little voice stood out, and her tone made Tilda think the little badger was likely stamping her foot in indignation. A soft, soothing murmur followed, probably Fláim, or even Jaxom, who could be comforting when the occasion called for it. Tilda forced herself to try and let it slide away from her, determined to capture this elusive feeling. Of course, it was a ridiculous goal; she wasn't a dwarf, she was of the race of Men, but she never felt particularly reasonable when being told she couldn't do something, she saw no reason to start now. Besides, it sounded like fun.
And a very good distraction from her inner turmoil.
Idly, she wondered what rock would sound like; did the agate sound like an old aunty left too long ignored? Did the emerald give regal commands, while the granite dispensed practical, steadfast advice? She could certainly use some now. Her anger of the day before had cooled, leaving behind a weary ache. The coolness of the quartz beneath her was soothing, as if she could release the heat of her temper into its keeping. Her lips quirked at that thought; Thorin was sure to find it disrespectful. She just felt so tired of trying, and not being enough; but honestly, when had that ever stopped her? She had never been proper, never been Tilda of very much, often bloodied or bruised or mussed, but she'd always been fiercely, independently herself, because if she let go of that, she was afraid she wouldn't know who she was any more.
So, what are we doing now? she asked herself sternly. For Kíli, she'd tried, honestly tried, to be a proper princess, and to fit into that mould; the problem was, it had never seemed to be Tilda-shaped. In point of fact, she was involved in childcare, which, however wonderful and important in dwarven society, was certainly not an occupation usual for her station; someone of her station would be expected to be helping with the administration of the kingdom in some way.
So, if she couldn't be a proper princess, would an improper one do?
Kíli seemed to think so, her mind whispered at her; or perhaps she could fancy it wasthe rock itself; because she wasn't sure her own advice of late was worth trusting. They had seemed like they were heading towards something…well, something Tilda hadn't wanted to think about since finding out that Kíli would never love her like that, and at most would remain a cherished friend.
He had seemed very pleased, that morning, when she had braided his hair for him. Reluctantly, she pushed that thought away as…as inconclusive. It could have been anything, after all. The armlet he made—hadn't that been his First Craft? And he'd made it with her in mind, obviously, with its water theme and much more delicate design than was usual for anything dwarven…
...
Cantor's don't love.
They have an important job that fills their soul, leaving no room for anyone else.
...
This is a fact.
So, if she was an improper princess, could it be possible for Kíli to be an improper Cantor?
This might also be a fact. And it was one that was so very worth exploring.
...
Tattoos are often considered the most permanent mark of all…
…
…
Didn't Kíli have a tattoo? A great big one, that covered a good part of the left side of his chest?
One that, though she hadn't seen more than brief glimpses of since, she had most certainly been unable to stop herself from peaking at, their first night together?
It had gleamed in the firelight; obviously some kind of ointment had been freshly smeared over the pinked skin…
So, a still-healing mark?
...
Sternly, Tilda squashed the excited flutter in her stomach at this memory—and the conclusion that wanted to wriggle free. It could be a mark for anything...maybe for reclaiming the mountain, even; or Canting, or for Sunday roasts with his mum, for all Tilda knew.
But, maybe…
No. The only way to find out for sure, was to ask. She'd sort of been invited to ask, if she looked at Kíli's parting words the right way, hadn't she?
So, step one is find out what that bloody tattoo is about, she decided. Because maybe...maybe Kíli had been trying to tell her something all along, and she just hadn't understood the message.
Think like a dwarf, Bilbo had said.
And so she had: A dwarf thought that Cantors didn't love, at least not romantically.
But perhaps, what she really should have been focusing on, was learning to think like Kíli.
A dwarf who was a Cantor in defiance to all his people's most sacred laws. A dwarf who used a bow instead of an axe; who was kind and welcoming to outsiders, including muddy-hemmed young girls.
A dwarf who also didn't live up to the rules.
Because a dwarf who also didn't live up to expectations...and somehow, made his own niche, despite it all—that might just be a dwarf with whom she could find her happy ending, like in the fireside stories her da used to tell them; full of witches and monsters, and fairies…
...and love.
Tilda's lips twitched, smiling with genuine happiness for the first time in weeks.
Heart feeling cautiously hopeful, and much, much lighter, Tilda hummed a little in disappointment when she realised that she'd quite forgotten about trying to feel the rock, but she did seem to give herself some useful advice, so she'd call it a win. She could almost imagine the faint vibrations beneath her, as if the rock were communicating for real—
Though it was—now that she was focusing on it—a rather jarring sensation she was getting, for some reason...
A hand closed cruelly about her arm, jerking her to her feet, and something decidedly dirty was stuffed into her mouth before she could even draw breath to protest.
"Hello, poppet," a voice breathed against her ear, even as she was being yanked from her little bower, with an iron grip and an almighty yank that had her stumbling, struggling to get her feet under her as she kicked and fought to breathe as she was dragged, back held tightly against the chest of her assailant, and in a blink, they were off.
Across the bridge, and down the path; away from the Crystal Glade chamber; away from the faint sounds of the children still laughing and frolicking there, and away from any semblance of safety— she was dragged, pulse racing, chest struggling for air, Tilda didn't even think it odd that panic was not among the emotions coursing through her right at this moment. A persistent ache in her abused lungs? Yes.
Honest fear for the children, and what this madman might do to them if one happened to cross their path? Most definitely.
Panic, though? Not so much. Though still feeling scattered of wit at her hasty abduction, Tilda continued to catalogue their route with careful eyes, praying to the slumbering rock that the children remained distracted, and trying not to kick up any more noise than she had to while she struggled, however futile her efforts were proving against superior positioning and strength. One part of her mind was distracted, trying to work out the necessary leverage to counteract those advantages, while the rest of her continued to try and make sense of her predicament.
Somehow, dark strangers jumping out of shadows, though highly concerning, didn't hold a candle to dragon's fire raining down out of the night, or orc raids in her village. After those experiences, Tilda felt it would take a lot to truly frighten her into hopelessness or despair.
Everything had happened so swiftly, and the chamber was so huge, offering too many opportunities to meld with dark stony recesses...her attacker had obviously waited for his moment, knowing the likelihood of being seen was slim indeed.
An arm was banded around her, strong as the steel bilge hoop on a barrel, pinning her arms to her sides, and practically lifting her off the floor so that she couldn't get enough leverage to struggle to any great effect. Once they left the Glade behind, Tilda tried to kick out with her feet, to make some noise, on the small chance of alerting anyone who was near enough to hear, but she was wearing slippers and they were useless.
"Very handy of you to come this far out on your own," the voice told her.
It was a fact that they sounded unbearably smug about the situation.
Bugger.
Author's Note:
I have had a string of small crises lately, that has kept my writing and editing to a minimum. Nothing that is going to leave lasting scars, in the grand scheme of things, but enough to keep me very, very busy and stressed :p
But, I managed to get this up, though a part of me is not entirely satisfied with it, but after three rounds with my betas, and the difficulty in finding more hours right now to puzzle out what it is that I can do to fix my niggling doubts, since the constraints on my schedule would have meant asking you all to wait another month or more, seemed unworth it in the end, so here it is. Somehow, I figured I can live with phantom doubts if it means keeping the momentum of regular posting *lol*
Anyway, please forgive any roughness. I tried!
These two characters continue to be adorable, at least in my head, and I am enjoying every moment I manage to scrape together to write them. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to play in this particular sandbox.