The quest had worn on the book, as new as it had been when Ori first brought it to Bag End. The pages had grown yellow and water stained, ink was smudged, and a layer of dust had formed on the red cover. Ori wiped the dust off, but could only stare at the ink smudges and ripped pages; he was skilled with books, but some things could just never be repaired.
Flipping through the pages, Ori skimmed the words. In hindsight, it seemed more like a journal than an official quest log, though he doubted that he could be blamed for that; the book had been smuggled past goblins and Mirkwood elves, and when both events occurred no one had truly cared just how sloppy his writing was, not when there were so many other things to worry about.
Certain drawings caught his eyes, and some paragraphs he read word for word. In his frantic writing and scribbling, he had described the youngest prince often, and his book included everything from a description of dinner that he had caught to the nights when he had watch.
Without thinking, Ori held the book close to him and breathed in the musty smell; this was his book now. No one would want to read it now, not when their grief for the heirs of Durin was still fresh.
Choking back a sob, Ori opened the book once more and immersed himself in memories and illusions of happier times, when the world was just a story to him and Kili still lived on in more than just words and doodles.