Uncharted Waters 6: Kíli


It had quickly become clear that the ranger Bard had lent Kíli's company was there more to keep an eye on them, rather than actually help them track anyone down.

Not that Kíli doubted the Man's abilities, quite on the contrary, he seemed a capable huntsman, but it was obvious he was hardly needed. They knew the Easterling's snatchers had headed south along the edge of Mirkwood, and there was only one path they could have followed. The Long Marches had been drained two years prior and only one road bridged the canals that the Dale-men had dug.

Even through the dead of the night, Kíli's company rushed their ponies with great haste on the well-trodden path, the waters of the Long Lake calm darkness on their left. Only when they reached the end of the Marches did they slow down, as the solid ground along the road now allowed any travellers to leave it and disappear in the skirts of Mirkwood. Even so, they still could afford to canter, the trail they followed clear—Bard's rangers ahead of them did not hide their tracks, leaving their trail visible even in the faint light of the moon.

Kíli's company caught up to the rangers several hours later, and their progress slowed down considerably after that.

This far from the Long Marches, the snatchers seemed to have begun an effort to confuse possible pursuers, abandoning the road, splitting up at places, or riding through the thick carpet made of years' worth of leaves that didn't hold hoofprints well.

"Vidar, Lerik," Kíli barked at his two best trackers. "Go help the Men in the front."

There were eight soldiers in the unit Bard had sent after his Easterling, none of which Kíli knew by name. He had become familiar with many of Dale's warriors in the past years, but those all belonged to Bain's men who guarded the Southern Plains. They were all stationed there at the present, and the guards Bard had sent were all strangers to Kíli. Only their leader seemed familiar; Kíli vaguely remembered his face from his infrequent visits to the city, though his name escaped him.

When the moon disappeared behind clouds again and they risked losing the trail in the dead of the night, the two companies decided to give their horses a rest and stopped by a small creek. Through the blanketing silence of the night, Kíli could hear the mighty roar of the Long Waterfalls—they must have ridden close to the southern end of the lake by now.

As Men and dwarrows around him sat down against tree roots for a short shut-eye, Kíli passed his reins to Gimli and approached the leader of the rangers. Booted footfalls closely followed him; Kíli didn't have to turn to recognise Dwalin swiftly falling into position at his back, ever looming.

"You're Bard's chief of guards," he greeted. "I'm Kíli; this is Dwalin."

The man bowed his head. "The name's Iwar, my lord. Thanks for sending your trackers to the front—their keen sight made a difference."

Kíli accepted the gratitude with an absentminded nod, his mind elsewhere. "I wonder if we shouldn't just hasten ahead, even at the risk of losing the trail. The traversable land between the river and the Mirkwood proper is narrow; in case we do lose their tracks, it wouldn't be such a stretch to search for them anew."

Iwar frowned. "You might have the truth of it, sir. But there's a risk they'll choose to brave the dangers of the thick forest rather than our men on the Plains. I need to keep to their tracks in case they'll be foolish enough to cut their path through Mirkwood."

Kíli hadn't considered that possibility, and neither did he think it likely now that Iwar mentioned it. Even if faced with a hundred blades, any Dwarf would still choose the fight rather than traversing the treacherous woods. But maybe Men saw it differently? Their adversaries were Men, just as Iwar was. Grudgingly, Kíli grunted his assent.

"But perhaps, we could split?" Iwar said next. "My men on their faster horses could ride ahead, whilst you with your keener sight in the dark would make sure the tracks don't disappear in the forest."

It was Kíli's turn to frown—with Thorin's parting orders still fresh on his mind, he didn't want to risk a confrontation to which he wouldn't be present. Fights were always a chaotic affair. Even if Iwar managed to slaughter most of her snatchers, one of them could still slip through the rangers' fingers with the girl, delivering her into the arms of the Ringwraiths afterall. Kíli's orders were to prevent such a scenario.

However, he could ill-afford to oppose Iwar's sound suggestion now, not when Erebor's offer of assistance was already regarded with suspicion. He glimpsed at Dwalin. The dwarf inclined his head in silent approval and Kíli beckoned Iwar to start talking specifics.


Thus began the dwarrows' slow chase along the western banks of the Long River and in the shadows of Mirkwood whilst Bard's men pushed their horses ahead, quickly leaving Kíli's company far behind.

It was frustratingly slow going. The riders they were trailing, the Easterling's snatchers, often chose speed over stealth but when they'd come upon a patch of land that offered a chance to mask their tracks, they'd never failed to take it, confusing Kíli's trackers into frequent pauses.

They rode through the faded colours of the dawn, through the shy autumn sun of the noon and they carried on into the evening, taking only short breaks to rest their ponies. The dusk found them still in their saddles, though much wearier. Kíli heard the murmurings of his men behind him, the fierce silence of the previous day and night replaced by muffled conversations, as the dwarrows fought to stay awake through the monotonous ride. He'd need to plan for a longer rest soon.

"They're good," Gimli, riding abreast with Kíli, spoke up himself. "The kidnappers. They've made us slow down every time they could."

Kíli hummed in agreement.

"The woman is of some import to us, isn't she?" Gimli asked next. "It is not just Lord Bard's sweetheart that we're rescuing."

With a start, Kíli realised Gimli wasn't privy to Gandalf's warnings, as they had been shared only among the dwarrows of the Company. He found himself torn between informing his friend of the danger that loomed over their heads, and Gandalf's insistence to guard it as secret.

"It's a truly grave matter, Gimli. One that I'm forbidden from sharing."

"Hmm. It is not as Bard suspected, though, is it? Once rescued, we'll not use her as leverage against her brother ourselves, will we?"

Kíli winced. Gimli's question might have been filled with doubts, but Kíli now realised others in his company could genuinely perceive the goal of their mission as such. How dishonourable they must think him to be! Though, how did one go about correcting the opinions of his subordinates, without giving them the impression that their opinions mattered when listening to orders?

Finding no answer to this question in any of the many lessons he'd received throughout the past years, Kíli hurried to reassure his friend at least. "No, we won't. I wouldn't go as far as to claim that Thorin has forgiven the slights of that thief, for I don't think such thing possible, but he's no longer enraged enough to hurt an innocent in order to catch the criminal."

Unbidden, Thorin's parting commands came to the forefront of Kíli's mind. Cruel they may be, and still, Kíli was sure they weren't given out of cruelty, nor a desire for vengeance.

"And what about you?" Gimli asked, taking Kíli away from his grim musings. "Have you forgiven the Easterling?"

Kíli furrowed his brows at the question, unappreciated of the interest. People tended to focus on Thorin and his thirst for revenge. Only too gladly stood Kíli in Thorin's shadows, and used his worry of Thorin's reaction as an excuse to shy away from his own thoughts on the matter. They were hardly pleasant.

However, leaving Gimli with silence now would be an answer of its own, and Kíli thought the truth wasn't that simple.

"No, I have not," Kíli said at last. It was clear some of the blame for Fíli's death lay on the Easterling's shoulders. Had Thorin been awake during the battle, he would have been at Ravenhill with them. He would have prevented Fíli's injuries. "But- the Easterling also saved my life. For that, I cannot ever act on my anger. And that makes me hate the man even more."


On the morning of their third day in the saddle, something finally broke the tedium of their slow progress.

A group of riders emerged from the trees up ahead, on the other side of the meadow the dwarrows halted at. Kíli sounded an alarm but then quickly called it off as he recognised Iwar and his men.

Though—they counted one rider more than when they had left. Kíli's weary mind stirred in hope—was their chaste at its end?—only to note the width of the rider's shoulders, and realise that they couldn't belong to a woman.

A beat later, he recognised Bain, Bard's son. The young man was as scruffy looking as all the Dale-men tended to get towards the end of their term at the camps of the Southern Plains, with their hair overgrowing and their beards untidy.

When the Men rode up to the line of dwarrows, Bain greeted Kíli and Gimli with a nod. "The snatchers never reached the Plains," he said next. "Instead, two of my men deserted—one riding north, probably to join with the snatchers, but the other rode south, pushing his horse hard. To bring reinforcements, we fear."

"And you think the snatchers will be waiting for them to arrive?" Dwalin asked, dubious.

"No. We fear they have decided to try their luck in the mountains, planning to meet the Wraiths on the other side of the slopes."

Kíli suppressed a groan. Behind him, Dwalin was less successful, his displeasure carrying clearly in his low growls. No Dwarf would ever willingly step into the thrice-cursed forest, though necessity often forced many dwarrows to do so. But Mirkwood's Mountains? Those were only the subject of legends and frightful warnings.

"Legolas rode up ahead, scouting the few passes that the Men could possibly know of," Bain carried on with his report, ignoring Dwalin's protests with the ease of practice. "Hopefully, either he, or we, will be able to track them once they leave behind their horses."

"An Elf to join us! This plan keeps on getting better and better," Gimli grunted into his beard at Kíli's side.

Bain must have heard him still, for he frowned. "Attempting to cross the Mountains of Mirkwood is in itself foolish enough venture; I would not risk it without a Wood-elf for a guide."

Kíli nodded his ascent, stalling further protests from his party. He liked the prospect of trekking through the accursed woods and treacherous mountains as little as the last Dwarf behind him, but he would enjoy the shame of returning to Erebor empty handed even less.

"If Legolas is scouting ahead and you're here, who's in charge at the Plains?" he asked Bain next.

"My second in command."

When Kíli scowled, doubtful of such a decision, Bain sent him a flat look back. "Legolas needed to go—he knows the Mountains better than any of his guards. Our best chance lies in catching the kidnappers in the Mountains—once they've crossed and met up with the Wraiths, we'd hardly have a chance of stopping them. We need Legolas."

"And you? Why haven't you stayed with your men?"

"I fully trust Graen to guard the Plains—he has three times the experience I do. If the Plains face an attack from the Wraiths afterall, he'll do better than I could."

Kíli blinked at the admittance, and at the ease with which the young captain uttered it. A slight pang of jealousy pierced him—he wouldn't be able to admit to his faults this plainly; the fear of appearing insufficient would halt his tongue.

Whilst Kíli fell silent with his thoughts, Bain's features pulled into an awkward grimace and he added, "Besides, in his message, father commanded me to deal with this personally. Apparently, this is a rather delicate matter."


As the two parties set off again, the fighters trudging in two files behind the trackers, Kíli wondered how strange it must feel, for Bain to suddenly gain a new figure in his life, a complete stranger that might pose as his mother. A mother that was probably younger than Bain himself, if Nori's spies were to be believed. Kíli wondered if he would be put in a similarly awkward situation, should Thorin try for a family. The mother of the King's child would have very little power over Kíli, as the position held only a fraction of the respect a wife and queen would enjoy, but he would still have to accept her as a new member of their family.

Bain steered his horse to walk by Kíli's pony, offering a more detailed report from the Southern Plains, and Kíli forced himself to listen. Since Bard's borrowed raven arrived at the camp, the Elves had lit all their torches and the boats and ferries had been sent to the other bank of the river. At last, Bain told Kíli of the two men that had snuck away in the middle of the night.

"One was a newcomer, a boatman that claimed to have hailed from Dorwinion. The other used to be a good friend to me, though, a lad I once played with on the streets of Lake-town."

Bain's tone turned soft and sadden; Kíli glanced at him, easily seeing how troubled the Man was by the betrayal. He searched for words of consolation, and was himself surprised how quickly some sprung to his mind. "The wizard told us of the terrible power of persuasion the Enemy and his servants wield. Mourn the loss of your friend but do not condemn him for his actions, for they weren't truly his own. Much greater and wiser minds have been deceived by the honeyed voice of evil."


Before the sunset, the tracks had turned away from the river and led them into the Mirkwood proper. By noon the next day, their ponies and horses started to steadily climb. After their measly breakfast the next morning, they didn't mount their steeds again, for the path in front of them turned too narrow and treacherous, made of loose stones and rotting roots. Soon enough afterwards, they came upon traces of where the snatchers had obviously let go of their own horses, with marks of lighter hooves disappearing into the woods.

Unlike them, Kíli's company didn't just leave their mounts to brave the spiders and other malicious creatures of Mirkwood on their own. Instead, they agreed to sacrifice one of their number, a young ranger from Dale, and tasked him to lead the horses and ponies the shortest way from the forests and to their camps on the Plains.

When dusk started to fall, they were joined by Legolas.

As the Wood-elves were wont to do, he snuck up on them until he suddenly walked in their midst, slotting seamlessly in between Bain and Kíli in the single file they marched in.

"The Men have not picked the easiest of passes," the Elf said in lieu of a greeting. "They might not know the Mountains well, though I would faster believe the contrary; I'd suspect they have chosen the track well and plan to stall us with the perils of a difficult path until reinforcements from Dol Guldur arrive."

He carried his usual bow, quiver and two daggers strapped across his back. Two carved torches also rested in the harness, though. Unlike the rest of them, haggard and travel weary, the Elf looked fresh and well-rested, very much in his element in his native woods.

Even he was scowling, though. "I do not like the path they are taking us on," he said after Bain offered his greetings and Kíli grunted in acknowledgment. "Long had the Mountains reflected the shadows the Necromancer kept casting over the southern Wood. The wickedness had seeped through the peaks to the Mountain's northern slopes. I worry of the treacheries they will surprise us with the higher we go; worse so if we travel during the night."

"We cannot afford to wait the night out," Bain argued. "Our only chance is to catch up to the snatchers whilst they rest."

Legolas nodded. "They are still a day of walking in front of us, and they are clever, with at least one experienced tracker among them."

Kíli nodded, having reached the same frustrating conclusion three days ago.

"And the Mountains will only aid them," Legolas added. "The night will be long and without mercy."


Much to Kíli's chagrin, the Elf was only too right.

The forest around them stayed as oppressive as during every single one of Kíli's visits, and even more so for their lack of sleep and shortage of breath, as the path continued to climb underneath their boots. Was the whole mountain range covered with woods? They must have risen high above the Plains by now and yet, there were still stumbling over treacherous roots and climbing over fallen trunks. The sky might have been clear and lit with a full moon, though they wouldn't have known, as only darkness reigned under the thick canopy of gnarled trees.

The dwarrows lit up their lamps. They kept only two of them alight at the same time, though, for they packed only very little oil. As such, the goings were slow and filled with curses, as Man and Dwarf alike kept stubbing their toes or headbutting into low branches.

At one point, Kíli heard Dwalin snarl in a whisper behind him, "We could use the light of the torches, if the ponce would be willing to share. They're wrapped thickly, they could last a pretty hour."

Kíli, who had spent nearly two full years sharing a camp with a company of Woodland guards on the Southern Plains, knew what a foolish proposal that was. He went to explain, but Gimli's voice came faster, carrying from behind Dwalin. "I sure hope it won't come to lighting those. They're a good tool to have in a pickle, aye, but they shine truly bright and sometimes attract bigger trouble than the one you first chased away with them. I wouldn't like that to happen when you only have one Wood-elf to keep the flames blazing."

"Whatever you mean, laddie?"

"The torches are enchanted," Kíli said. "Don't ask me to explain how but the Elves use them to keep the dangers of the forest away from their homes. Their strength resides in numbers, though; they are not as effective on their own, without the support of other tricks the Wood-elves employ."

"Like what?"

Kíli shrugged. "I wouldn't know, but I bet it involves singing merrily in one way or another. What Gimli meant to say was that a single Elf with a torch can make a powerful deterrent to most of the creatures here but he won't st-"

"Halt!" came a soft call from the front of their column and abruptly ended the conversation.

Up front, the light of their first lamp landed on Legolas, who stood with his arm raised and head turning left and right, studying their surroundings.

"I recognise this place," he said when Kíli and the others rushed over. "What possessed them to cross through here?"

"What's wrong?" Bain asked, casting his eyes around as were the rest of them, frantically looking for the approaching danger.

"These parts are where the Enchanted River rises. Breathing gets tenuous this high in the Mountains, and the very air around the River's spring is said to carry the same curse as its waters down the stream. We are not far from it."

Kíli remembered only too vividly the first time he stood at the banks of the River Legolas was talking about. Bombur had fallen into deep and long slumber after slipping into its black waters. "There must be a way to protect oneself against the enchantment. Why else would they choose this path?"

"They might be very foolish, and ignorant of the signs of danger," the Elf mused. "Given the difficult chase they have led us on so far, though, I do not believe them to just unwittingly walk into their own end. We must assume this is a trap set for us."

"Well, is there a way to walk around it?" Dwalin asked.

Legolas shook his head. "I don't know these woods well enough to lead you around safely, and certainly not swiftly. I'm afraid of losing their trail completely should we abandon it."

"Through the enchanted forest it is, then," Kíli chimed in. "If the snatchers managed, there must be a way for us to get through, too."

Legolas' eyes flashed towards him. They gained an absentee glint before they sharpened again, landing on the lamp in Bain's hand. "I do not know how the Men have managed, but the Silvan Elves have a way. I only hope it will work well enough for Dwarves, too."

The Elf's plan turned out to be rather straightforward—they diffused some of the lamp oil in one of their waterskins, soaked several stripes of cloth in it, and then wrapped those around their nose and mouth. So now, not only were Kíli and his men tired, hungry, out of breath and mostly blind in the darkness of the forest, they were also forced to inhale the pungent odor of the oil, making them even more lightheaded. To sour his mood further, Dwalin and his two guards positioned themselves around Kíli as an embarrassing human shield, in anticipation of a trap ahead. There was very little he could do about it, knowing their orders came directly from Thorin. All in all, Kíli began to dearly hope the snatchers were indeed lying in wait for them somewhere nearby because he was more than ready to start chopping off limbs. He'd rather if they were the enemy's.

Legolas unstrapped one of his torches. "Seldom creatures wander into these parts, even the fell ones," he explained, his voice muffled through his own cloth mask, as he went to light the torch with one of the lamps. "The only danger it can attract would be the Men who might already be waiting for us."

Before the sap could ignite, Kíli turned his eyes away, knowing how bright the flames would flare up. Instead, he watched as their light illuminated the woods around them, reaching further than a single torch had any right to.

Legolas raised it high above his head. "This way, my friends. Be on your guard."


Kíli soon got his wish. As it turned out, the snatchers were indeed lying in wait for them by the Enchanted spring.

Iwar, whose turn it was to walk in front of their procession, was the first to discover them. He went down suddenly, falling and disappearing into the underbrush.

Kíli surged forward in alarm, nimbly side-stepping Dwalin's broad shoulders, but Iwar's muffled cursing halted his steps, as he realised the Man had only stumbled on the treacherous trail once again.

"Oi," Iwar called softly. "Look what I found!"

They rushed to him. There they saw the body of a man, in the wooden embrace of two raised roots, listless. He wore the clothes of the Northmen that people of Dale preferred, deeply stained at the knees and elbows as if he had crawled quite a way on the dirty floor of the forest. There was no spilt blood where Kíli could see.

Iwar was crouched by the Man, examining him. "He's asleep."

"This could still be a trap," Legolas whispered urgently. "Stay cautious!"

But it wasn't a trap, or if it had been meant as one, it had only sprung on its own creators; for when Legolas raised his torch high and they cast their eyes wide around the lit woods and combed the undergrowth with their swords and axes, they soon found another man, slumbering away. And then another, and another, all in a crawling distance from the trail Kíli's company had been following, until they counted nine and Bain's excited call brought them to a stop.

"I found her!" he called from a short way of. "She's just as asleep as the rest-"

His voice cut off, and they rushed towards where they'd heard it last. Kíli rounded a large tree trunk and saw Bain crouching behind its knotted roots. A woman rested against the bark of the old oak. A curtain of dark hair hid her features away from the light of the torch, but she seemed to breathe peacefully, her upper body nestled between two roots as if in a wooden embrace, instead of sprawled on the ground like the other sleepers they'd found. Next to her, from beneath the root of the giant tree, black water trickled out from the ground, pooled along her crossed legs and then flowed in a small creak on a shallow bed of boulders.

Her hands were bound in her lap, her hair a nest of curls falling over her face, and her clothes stained from the road, but she seemed unharmed. With her body folded comfortably against the bark and her head rested against a pillow of thick moss, it occurred to Kíli she must have welcomed the fate, falling peacefully into a gentle sleep instead of facing the horrors that would have awaited her in captivity.

At the sight of her, guilt pooled in the pit of his stomach, rendering him frozen, as he stared at the defenseless girl in a moment of horrifying clarity. This was the creature, a gentle innocent, that he had been prepared to kill.

Moving away from the uncomfortable truth, Kíli turned his attention to the man kneeling before her. "Bain?" Kíli asked, clasping his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Bain jerked as if startled, but recovered quickly. "Yeah- yes," he stuttered. "Just let me get h- her away from the water."

He gently picked the sleeping woman up, easily gathering her small form into the cradle of his arms, her head resting by his ear. And just like that, their chase was over.


Kíli stared at the row of slumbering bodies laid out in front of him. These Men had led them on a four day chase, utilizing all known ways to lose a tail, and now hadn't roused even through the rough handling of Kíli's and Iwar's warriors as they had dragged them across the forest floor.

Kíli felt- well, he couldn't very well be disappointed, for they'd been successful; the woman was safe and all his men were alive and uninjured. Yet, with the rush of an impending fight still simmering in his blood, the sudden non-violent end to the chase felt rather jarring. The bout of luck they were afforded by the snatchers' ignorance of the forest didn't sit right with Kíli. He wasn't often this fortunate, and when such luck once came about, it seemed to him a fluke.

He attempted to push such ungrateful thoughts aside. The snatchers lay slumbering in front of him, all nine of them, as they had been reported to number, and Kíli was left breathing through his mask, pushing the thrill of a fight from his blood with one forcibly calm exhale at a time.

"We need to leave this place or the same fate will eventually meet us," Legolas spoke.

And yet, no one moved.

"What will happen to them here?" Gimli asked. "Will they wake up?"

"No," the Elf said, voice solemn. "They will sleep here until their bodies wither away. No wildlife will approach."

Glancing at the frowning faces of his soldiers, Kíli could easily guess what was running through their minds, just as surely as the same thoughts kept him rooted to the spot. Leaving the Men here would equal to killing them, unconscious and defenseless as they were, and no Dwarf, or Man, would ever do such a thing and walk away with his honour unscathed. And yet, they couldn't carry nine full-grown Men down the slopes, exhausted as they were. He cast an eye around his warriors, all of their faces furrowed and scowling above their beards, and came to a swift decision.

"Dwarrows, make stretchers for two of them. We'll take turns carrying them down."

There was only a moment of hesitation before the men moved to obey his orders. Kíli glanced at the sleeping faces, and with the solemn awareness of sentencing the other seven to their death, he simply nodded at the two youngest Men, choosing them to be saved.

"We'll help you," Bain spoke up. "With all of us taking a turn, we can take one more with us."

With a nod, Kíli beckoned him at the row of bodies, letting him take the next choice.

Bain chose a different approach. With a long exhale, he closed his eyes and let his arm point, blindly. His rangers bent to pull the lucky Man up, a bold fellow of some forty years, when Bain suddenly twitched, and hurriedly spoke, "Actually, not that one. Here's my real pick."

Kíli's eyes skipped between Bain and the lanky lad he had indicated, searching in vain for a reason behind the abrupt change. Bain himself didn't offer an explanation; without another word, he turned around to gently lay the woman in his arms down to the ground, and went to help with the stretchers.


The forest around them woke up in a fable light and then dimmed back into twilight before Legolas proclaimed them far enough from the Enchanted Spring to make a camp.

The less said about their arduous descent from the Mountains the better. It had been slow and arduous going indeed, as they'd trudged along on animals' paths, taking turns in carrying their heavy captives. Everyone had carried a stretcher at some point, even the Elf. Only Bain absconded, his arms always full of the Easterling woman. When his rangers had offered help, he'd refused, citing the feather-light weight of his load. At first, Kíli had been doubtful, but Bain had continued to carry the woman for hours onwards, his face barely reddening with the strain, and Kíli concluded the lad must have grown into a strong Man indeed, albeit at times a strange one.

Now camped, they lit the rest of their lamps and built a cooking fire. Legolas threw some herbs into the flames that left its smoke smelling something sweet as it lingered above their camp. The giant moths that had gathered by then all suddenly fluttered away.

As both of their parties had packed lightly, no one had a pot to cook in. However, one of Iwar's rangers had a cured cow stomach for a water container that he claimed could take the heat of warmed up stones. He'd make a broth in it, if others shared their provisions.

Kíli let his men discuss the meal whilst he chewed on his jerked meat in silence, watching the rest of the camp settle down. He chuckled as he saw two dwarrows roll the unconscious Men out of their stretchers and take the padded beds for their own, the gentle mercy the warriors had shown up at the Enchanted Spring long forgotten, washed away by the hours of carrying the dead load down.

But once the watches had been assigned, Kíli didn't wait for the warm meal to be ready. He curled up on his side and immediately fell asleep.

When Dwalin woke him for his watch, it was to the hesitant light of another morning approaching. Kíli had slept through the whole evening and night, his exhaustion locking him into a deep slumber. He let out a gruff as he felt the soreness in his muscles waking up with him.

He took the last sip of his water, glaring at the empty waterskin in dismay for a moment, before he dropped it back to his belt with a shrug. He'd deal with that later, one issue at a time. Dwalin passed him a bowl full of a stew—so the cooking had been successful. Kíli took a tentative sip—it was bland at best, but still better than the hard cheese and biscuits they'd been chewing on for the last four days. He slurped the rest of the warm soup down in little time and cast his eyes around the camp of sleeping dwarrows and Men. Wait-

"Dwalin! Where's the woman?"

Her bedroll, the one Kíli had seen Bain wrapped her in, now lay empty, the blanket open and in disarray.

"She woke some time ago," Dwalin answered, his voice muffled from inside Kíli's abandoned bedroll where he'd already curled up for the leftover warmth. "She's gone to wash up—Bain went with her."

Kíli glanced at the three other enchanted Men they had carried down from the Mountains, and found them still slumbering away. Someone had thought to bind their hands together, though. "She has woken up while the rest still sleeps?"

"The Elf wasn't overly surprised," Dwalin muttered. "Said the enchantment treats everyone differently."

Kíli went to nod, only to halt again. "Where would she wash up, though? Legolas said there's no other creek but the Enchanted River. I certainly hope Bain wouldn't let her close to its black waters!"

"What would I know of women's ablution? She woke up in a state, made a fuss of having a moment on her own and agreed to take only Bain for a guard. Who knows what happened during her captivity—I'd wager a guess the main point was to get away from us men."

"Hm. And where's the Elf?"

"Slipped away a while ago. Would have preferred to send some of our lads after him, but we all know how futile that would have been in this dratted forest. Now, will you let me sleep or do you need a minute-by-minute report of my watch? I could tell you all about the ants that made a bridge out of the haft of my axe."

Kíli wisely fell silent after that. He picked a root for a seat a short way from the bonfire and settled down to take his watch.

Legolas arrived some time later, slipping into the light of their fire without a single sound. He sat down, crossed leg, against the trunk of Kíli's root, snuggling into his seat as if it was a plush chair, not hard wood.

He had a waterskin in his hand and when he raised it towards Kíli in a silent offer, it seemed to bulge out as if full. Kíli nodded without hesitation and Legolas tossed it over the short distance.

The water inside smelled of needles and sap, but the taste was just clear water, pure and fresh—it cannot have been contained for too long.

"Few sips will be enough for a whole day," the Elf's gentle tones reached Kíli through his gulping, and he reluctantly put the waterskin down. The water was cold and quite wonderfully refreshing.

"Is it also enchanted?" Kíli asked, perhaps rather belatedly.

"No. But it was freely given. There is power in that, too."

Kíli had long given up on trying to wring any sense out of the poetic riddles the Wood-elves used about their trees and shrubberies. "How far did you have to travel for it? You said there were no springs around."

"Not far. This forest might hold very little of its former beauty, but it still provides for those who care for it back."

Kíli had nothing respectful to say to that so they fell quiet. Slowly, as was their habit, the things unsaid crawled into the silence between them, making it as awkward and uncomfortable as it had always been between the two of them, no matter how many times they'd shared a fire in the camps of the Southern Plains.

However, this time, it seemed even less bearable. Kíli stilled a huff as his thoughts travelled to his recent conversation with Thorin. Perhaps spurred by the options the King had laid out in front of him, an actual question found its way to Kíli's lips, and spilt forward, unbeckoned, the way Kíli had always forbidden them to.

"Have you heard from her?"

Legolas twitched and didn't quite look at him, though Kíli still felt as if the Elf was glaring at him. He would hardly ever learn to read the Wood-elves, but in this instance, Kíli fancied he could perceive the incredulous surprise Legolas was emitting. Kíli understood; he was himself shocked that he had dared to ask.

"Middle-earth is vast, and full of wonders," Legolas said at last. "It will likely be a long time before Tauriel steers her path back to us."

There was reproach in his tone. Kíli winced at it, but didn't argue with the sentiment. It had been Thranduil's banishment that chased Tauriel out of Mirkwood, but Legolas and Kíli both knew it had been Kíli's rejection of their friendship that didn't stall her steps and instead sent her wandering further.

Early on, there had been days when Kíli entertained the thoughts of following her, tracking her down and joining in her travels. What could have evolved out of the fascination he had held for her, and she possibly had held for him? However, those foolish fantasies had quickly gotten buried under the responsibilities Erebor piled up on his head; they had been buried so deep that he now felt surprised to recollect them.

"There is a settlement of my people a day of marching from us," the Elf said next, voice turning businesslike again. "I suggest we return north through the forest, instead of travelling back to the river. The dangers of the woods would slow down any possible pursuers. If we set off soon, we could be with my people by nightfall, and gather our strength under their protection."

Kíli frowned at the prospect of spending more days under the canopy of Mirkwood's trees. He would protest, vehemently, but unfortunately, it wasn't a bad plan. "And how would Thranduil look upon us, taking refuge in his lands without permission?"

"My word is your permission," the Elf stated, his chin rising imperiously.

"Not that Father would fight you on this matter," Legolas added a moment later. "Remember that we have received the same warnings from Gandalf. We understand how important it is for the sister not to fall into the hands of the Ringwraiths."

Kíli felt his brows drawing together at the grim declaration. Had Legolas been burdened with similar orders from his father, the same way Thorin's merciless instructions had troubled Kíli's mind since he'd left Erebor?

Whilst entertaining the idea, he realised the woman in question was still missing from their camp, although it had been a while since he'd woken up.

"They are nearby," Legolas said when Kíli had expressed his worries. "I can hear their voices carry in the wind. Their words are lost to me, but they speak softly and do not sound alarmed."

What wind did he speak of? There was certainly none underneath the canopy, as far as Kíli could tell.

As if summoned by the Elf's words, a movement among the trees caught Kíli's attention only a short while later. The light was still dim in the woods, but his sight was keen enough to recognise Bain approaching, a woman at his side. They traversed cautiously along the treacherous forest ground and their slow approach gave Kíli a chance to observe the lass at length. And observed he did, with open curiosity in his prolonged glare—after all, she was the reason his men now all lay exhausted around him, knackered from the laborious chase to rescue her.

She had her hair tied, held back with a strand braided across her forehead and circling her head like a feeble crown. With her face thus unobscured, he could finally study it. He blinked at the familiar features that readily called forward the memory of her brother. They were clearly kin, perhaps as close as a man and a woman could resemble each other, and still, this was clearly a feminine face that stared back at him, with none of the boyish petulance Kíli connected with her brother. She must have found some water indeed, for her face was cleared of the strains of travel, skin still red from scrubbing and now bright even in the gloom of the forest. Her eyes seemed to have a shine to them too, the same striking green Kíli saw only once before, on her brother. The eyes met his own unwaveringly, her gaze landing on Kíli with the same keen weight her brother could bestow. They narrowed slightly, perhaps in annoyance at his obvious scrutiny, and as much as Kíli wanted to hold the glare, he found himself looking away first.

To mask this small defeat, he quickly cast his eyes over the rest of her figure. This is also where brother and sister differed, among the obvious. Where Harry had been scrawny and almost sickly frail for a man, this Hattie's figure could not be as easily dismissed. Still shorter than most of the daughters of Northmen Kíli had seen, she seemed to wield every inch of her diminutive stature with a presence, her stance solid and chin tilted up—there was nothing frail or easily shakeable about this new Easterling. It had turned out there had been nothing frail about her brother either, Kíli's memory reminded him, at least not once he'd disposed of his masks. What then hid behind the sister's confident bearing?

"You must be Kíli," her voice cut through his observations, bringing his eyes back to her face. "Thorin's nephew. I've heard about you."

Kíli blinked at her, thrown aback by her familiarity and the vehemence with which she spoke, apparently in no need to wait to be introduced first. He glanced at Bain, who stood a half a step behind her, and felt his brows rising slightly at the small show of deference.

Before Kíli managed to formulate a reply, she had turned her attention away from him, promptly addressing the Elf next. "And you'll be Legolas. Well met, to both of you."

"And to you," Legolas answered, less flustered than Kíli was by her directness it seemed, or perhaps better at hiding it. "It is good to see you unharmed, my lady."

Her forehead scrunched up into a small scowl. "Let's dispense with the lady part, if you at all can. Afterall, I'm going to struggle with calling you the correct honorific back, and I'd hate to be rude ." She spoke softly, as if not to rouse the sleeping men in the camp behind them, yet there was very little gentleness in her tone, and certainly none of the careful feminine cadence that Kíli associated with the women of Dale.

"Now, is there any breakfast left? I'd be much obliged for a bowl or two."

That seemed to finally spur Bain into motion, as he darted from behind the woman and snatched Kíli's bowl that still rested by his side. As the Man busied himself with the food, Legolas offered her his waterskin—she took it with a grateful nod, though she hesitated before drinking and sniffed its contents, uncaring of the rudeness of her actions. She took a small sip, weighing it on her tongue, before swallowing with a little shrug. She then went to take several eager gulps.

"This is wonderful," she said as she handed the waterskin back to the Elf. "You can feel the tingling all the way to your toes."

There was nothing demure, frightened or skittish about her manners. Indeed, one could easily forget she had spent the last days in captivity, dragged across Mirkwood with unsavory characters, only to await even crueler captors at the end of her journey. And then must have fallen asleep by the Enchanted Spring with no expectations to ever wake again. Kíli looked for a crack in the steel mask she perhaps wore, but she had so far shown none.

Realising it was high time he spoke, Kíli leaned forward to attract her attention. "What can you tell us of your captors, my lady?" he asked, gently, aware that he could be bringing up harsh memories that she only coped with by suppressing. Yet, these matters had to be discussed. "We found nine of them. Should we expect more company?"

She paused, her brows drawn together, and Kíli felt his shoulder stiffen in alarm, expecting a scene brewing. When she spoke though, calmly and decisively, Kíli realised her frown was one of contemplation rather than that of distress. "If you found nine of them, then you really got everyone in the band that dragged me from Dale. They spoke of reinforcements—reinforcements that were meant to meet us on the other side of the mountains, to give us horses for the rest of the way south. So no, I don't think you should expect an attack soon. Even if that second party decided to be impatient and cross the mountains to our side, they'd still be several days behind us. As long as we don't linger extensively, we shouldn't meet any pursuers."

Kíli shot a glance at Legolas, who looked perhaps as relieved by her words as Kíli felt. They still shared a nod, in silent understanding they'd stay wary regardless.

Something else in her answer registered then. For the rest of the way south, she had said. "You knew where they were taking you," Kíli surmised. "Have they talked more of their plans?"

"If they did, it wasn't where I could hear them. It wasn't hard to reach my own conclusions, though." She regarded him with her head tilted to one side, her eyes sharp with clear wit. "As have you, it seems."

She sucked in a breath, a fortifying one perhaps, before she continued, and Kíli sat up in attention. "I'm flattered by your gallant rescuing, I really am. But I'm not as haughty as to think myself important enough to warrant the collaborative efforts of Men, Dwarves and Elves to chase after me; with no less but the heirs of the three realms in the lead. My brother, on the other hand, has always carried the propensity to make waves. I was to be a bait for him, wasn't I?"

Briefly, Kíli marveled at the calm face she had delivered her conclusions with, showing no panic or fright at the terrible fate she had only narrowly escaped. He didn't let that impression distract him from the far more important point—she seemed to have understood the gravity of the situation and not disregarded it as Bard tended to. Kíli saw an opening there, a way to approach the Easterling thief, and immediately went to grasp it.

The Elf, though, proved to be faster still. "Your brother has indeed garnered the Enemy's attention," Legolas hastened to say. "He's in grave danger for it—please, if you know how to contact him, you need to send him a dire warning."

"And extend our offer of protection," Kíli added, not to be undone by any Elf.

It earned him a drawn-out stare and eyebrows raised high in doubts. "Erebor would offer protection to my brother?"

So she did know what had transpired between the King of the Lonely Mountain and the Easterling thief, or at least a version of it. He nodded, trying to portray his resolution as best as he could. "You might have heard how well our race holds onto grudges. Let it be the proof of the danger your brother faces that we would be willing to forget our grievances, in order to protect him from a common enemy."

She kept staring at him as before, but something in her expression, a slight narrowing of eyes perhaps, told him that he had only now gathered her full attention. He fought to hold her eyes, as they seemed to judge him.

"What is it that you think the Nazgûl want from Harry?" she asked at long last.

Kíli's eyes twitched to Legolas. Gandalf had warned them against telling anyone what the Easterling was actually in possession of, afraid of turning more greedy eyes towards the thief. And yet, Kíli was also wary of being too evasive with this lady of clever eyes, afraid to squander the best chance of contacting the elusive lad they had in years.

Whilst Kíli was pondering the best approach to choose, the Elf spoke up. "It is the Shadow himself, not just his servants, who search for your brother, for he holds power the Enemy desires. The Shadow can be most persuasive—he would snarl your brother to his service and turn the power against the Free Folk."

She only slowly turned her head towards the Elf. "My brother can be quite stubborn—heavens know I'd be the one able to tell."

'Heavens'? Kíli idly wondered at the strange expression, even as he felt himself bristle at the attempt at levity. "If persuasion failed, force would follow," he grunted. "Your brother would break."

She had a reply ready, something biting according to the scowl she sent him, but at that point, Bain returned with a bowl, filled with stew to the brim. She slurped down the thin meal with even more eagerness than Kíli had, effectively ending the conversation.

By the time she finished her breakfast, the rest of the camp started stirring from their sleep, and it was no longer safe to speak on such matters. Instead, Kíli had to endure a spat with an ill-tempered Dwalin who had not taken well to the idea of staying in the cover of Mirkwood trees for their return journey. At one point, Kíli feared the guard would truly turn mutinous and question Kíli's leadership, but luckily, he reigned in his protests before too long.

Once they broke camp, they filed into a single column behind the Elf and trusted him to lead them on non-existent paths to the closest settlement.

Even though they now took frequent breaks to alleviate the stress of the previous chase, it was another trying day in the dreary forest. The tediousness of their marching was only slightly lessened by the addition of a woman into their midst. Kíli watched as the dwarrows and rangers both paid close attention to the Easterling, and the way she ignored their lingering glances, unfazed and seemingly unbothered. She couldn't have been ignorant of them, neither Kíli's guards nor Bard's men were being subtle in their curiosity. It occurred to Kíli it was more practice than naivety that let her bore the attention with unperturbed ease. She was an obvious stranger in the lands she travelled through—she must have been used to people regarding her closely, and not always kindly.

But watching even this strange dance got old by the time they broke lunch.

Instead, Kíli busied himself by observing the interaction between the Easterling and Bain, as it was a strange one. Kíli didn't know what had been said between them in the privacy they'd stolen this morning, but it must have been a long conversation, for both seemed to be rather comfortable in each other's company. They passed comments, too soft to be heard by others in the company, but when they walked quietly, it was evidently a companionable silence, not an awkward one. For anyone else who wouldn't know they'd met just today, they would appear as dear friends.

"Bain sure seems accepting of the development," Gimli grunted from behind Kíli, nodding at the duo he must have caught Kíli observing. "Should my father ever take a fancy to a lady younger than me, I doubt I could show her this much respect."

"Should your father take an interest in anyone but your mother, he'd be a dead dwarf and you'd be showing respect to his remains as you peel them off Himli's axe," Kíli responded absentmindedly, even as his own wandering thoughts agreed with his friend, recalling the way Bain had stood a step behind the Easterling when she'd first approached Kíli and Legolas his morning.

"Were my father to show an interest in someone else whilst my mother lived, I'd be the one to chop him into bits," Gimli called in indignation. In front of Kíli, Dwalin's shoulders began shaking with amused huffs, and Kíli got reminded how well voices carried in the silence of the forest. He ceased speaking altogether.

At long last, they noticed lights flickering in the green gloom in front of them. Legolas halted them before they could reach the torches, though.

"My people will offer hospitality," the Elf said. "But they'd be more comfortable to do so outside of their dwellings. Wait here."

With that last command, he disappeared towards the lights. Some time after the dwarrows and Men had settled to wait, finding seats in a loose circle on the gnarled roots, a wave of excited chatters reached their ears, until a sudden hush seemed to befall on the many speakers hidden from their sight. Then, lit torches started tottering towards them.

Kíli must have been more tired than he'd thought because he dozed off at some point, and when he blinked his eyes open again, the forest around him was greatly changed. Where fading gloom of Mirkwood twilight had previously reigned, warm light of many torches surrounded him instead, creating a wide illuminated circle around their company. Tall and frail figures milled amongst the flames, drifting in and out of Kíli's sight as their constant motion led them into a dance around their small clearing, their voices raised in a gentle humming, of words Kíli did not recognise.

What caught his attention the most fervently was the veritable feast that suddenly spread around them. The roots and stumps had turned into chairs and tables, still equally gnarled and twisting, but now covered in cloths and blankets and laden with no less food and drinks that could be found in feasting halls of Erebor on a particularly busy market day. Kíli's stomach gave an excited lurch when he spotted the same bacon rolls the Elven guards sometimes made in the camps.

"We are protected here," Legolas' voice drew his eyes away from the food momentarily, and he saw the Elf standing still in the midst of his flickering kin. "Feast and rest now, friends."

Some time later, when the lingering hunger of the past days was long forgotten, Kíli had to excuse himself to elevate the pressure of the perhaps too excitingly drunk wine. His business done, he didn't return to his seat between Gimli and Dwalin, but remained leaning against a tree a bit aside, sweeping his eyes over the company.

The Elves had ceased their dancing some time ago, although groups of them still burst into a song every other moment. Or they might just be telling crude jokes about their guests and Kíli wouldn't know any better, for the melody of their language sounded all the same to him. Their hosts sat in separate groups away from the dwarrows and Men, observing them with curious eyes but certainly not mingling, and that was just alright with Kíli. They were generous hosts indeed, for the feast had been going for some time, and the Elves kept bringing fresh trays of meals and flagons of drinks. Kíli watched as a white doe of all animals carried another barrel of wine into the clearing, following after a brown-haired elf without reins or brittle, as docile as any pack animal that Erebor's stables housed, yet as graceful as its proudest stallions. With a chuckle, Kíli imagined the most haughty steed of the Mountain's stables demonstrating the hardheadedness of their pack mules. He mock shuddered at the thought of working with such an animal.

As Elves took away the doe's load, Kíli watched the animal trot over to the rest of her herd, where they loitered on the edge of the circle of light, shooting the dwarrows and Men the same curious gazes as did their owners. One of them was a stag and Kíli's eyes, unbidden, hurried to count the points of his antlers once again, even though he'd already known them to number only eight.

He heard someone join him at his solitary post. His eyes narrowed when he turned and saw the woman, leaning against the same tree.

"Harry told me about you," she started, her voice soft, perhaps in naive thought that the Elves wouldn't thus catch every one of their words. "Told me of your brush with a Morgul-made arrow."

Kíli cast an eye at the Elves, knowing them well enough to expect a hush in their reverie at the dark words being spoken. Strangely enough, they seemed to have missed the woman's words, or they were better at covering their eavesdropping than their kin camped with Kíli at the Plains managed. Dismissing the Elves, he returned his attention back to the woman at his side. He was in no mood for a conversation, a fact he hoped to have conveyed by his stance away from others, yet this was hardly a topic he could appear ungrateful about. "Your brother saved my life," he grunted in acknowledgement.

"Hm. I'm glad that he did."

"Forgive me, my lady, for not putting much weight into your comment, even if flattering. You have known me for less than a short day."

She didn't seem deterred by his snap tone. "You ordered your men to take as many of the sleeping captives down from the Mountains as they could. That was a kind thing to do."

Kíli bristled at that description. Yet, surprise halted his full retort at the offense, intrigued that she seemed more inclined to offer mercy to her captors than just retribution. Still, offended he was. "If I was being kind, it was only to my own men."

She nodded. "You didn't want them to remember being powerless; powerless to act according to what their honour dictates," she said, and Kíli stiffened at how accurate her understanding was.

"A kind and noble heart indeed," she added a moment later.

He huffed softly and locked his gaze onto the herd of white deer, turning away from her with as much a telling side-shoulder as he could. And still, she remained rooted to his side.

"Do you remember anything of what Harry did?"

At the end of his patience with this trespassing stranger, Kíli spun to give an excuse to leave her company, when instead of looking at him, he found her frowning across his shoulder. He followed her gaze—she'd been staring in the same direction he had, at the herd of white deer.

His half-formulated excuse froze on his tongue; any thoughts of leaving skidded to a halt. Could she know- "What do you know of what your brother did to me?" he asked with sudden urgency.

Her eyes slit to regard him side-ways. "I don't know what exactly happened. But I see you have questions. Describe to me what you remember from that day and what's obviously been happening to you since, and I'll tell you as much as I can."

"You wield the same powers as your brother?"

As Kíli tensed to jump away from her and then- well, he didn't know what exactly, perhaps to sound the alarm?—she dismissed his question with a shrug. "I'm harmless, don't have a smitch of the talent. But I grew up with the same tutors Harry did. If I can shed some light on what's been happening to you, lad, I will."

Was she playing him now? Could she use the same tricks her brother employed, to appear harmless and let them underestimate her? If her innocent act was indeed just that, a mask, it was a good one—she truly looked like any other daughter of Men that Kíli had ever met, defenseless and fragile of body, if rather willful at times—it would be easy to believe her to be just so. It would be an excellent disguise. Should they be wary of a creature capable of such perfect deceit?

However, she wouldn't have let the snatchers drag her across Mirkwood if she had wielded at least some fraction of the power her brother did. That simple fact halted the swirl of suspicions twisting in his mind. She could hardly be a danger to his party of hardened dwarrows if she couldn't escape a group of such thugs. She was indeed harmless. At least if it came to a swordfight, he added when he glanced into her sharp eyes.

His suspicions appeased, he returned his attention to the topic of their discussion. He tried to settle back against the trunk, though not all of the tension in his body disappeared. His near-death experience with a Morgul poison was not an easy one to share, especially with a stranger, a woman to that, and his discomfort left him stumbling through his words. But stumble through them he did, because this was too rare an opportunity to pass up on. He had not spoken of this before, doubtful that anyone in the Mountain could offer any insight; but here stood a woman who had seen him eyeing the white stag and came over to inquire about it.

"Your brother gathered a bright light to call me back from the place I was slipping in. Oín, the healer who witnessed the whole ordeal, talked of bright shine pooling in your brother's hands until he released it into my body, to drive away the enchantment of the poison."

"And what of your own experience? How did this all seem to you?" she asked, tone impatient.

Treat her as you would a healer, he instructed himself, and immediately felt the strategy falling short. This was no shallow cut he had to reveal. He took in a fortifying breath, and plunged headlong into the full explanation, leaving his reservations behind. "I wasn't truly conscious that day at the lake to recall any of this. And yet, my mind must have a memory of it, because it calls it forward again and again. At first, I used to have episodes even during my waking hours, when pain flared up in the healing wound and drew me back to the place of grey shadows. Once my leg fully healed, the episodes stopped. The dreams have not."

"What do you see in them?"

"I'm in the place of grey, I'm fading and feeling myself becoming one with it, one of its shadows. Sometimes, I wake up soon enough. But when I don't and I linger too long, your brother's light appears."

He trailed off, as his alarm once again caught up with him, at finding himself sharing this with a complete stranger. She didn't allow him to embrace his fears, though. "What happens next?" she pushed.

"Your brother's light shapes into a deer," he said, nodding at the herd at the edge of the clearing, "a majestic stag with twelve points on his antlers. He charges—and as he impales me on his antlers and the agony comes, I realise I'm not a shade after all, but a Dwarf with a spine cut in half."

Silence reigned at their secluded spot once he finished his tale, Kíli's pushful companion for once quiet, until-

"Bugger."

Kíli did not know the word she uttered, but he recognised the cadence of a curse when he heard one.

"Have you since learnt more about the Morgul poison? About this place of grey it was dragging you to?" she asked next.

"Gandalf explained. He told us of the Morgul blades. I know that the Wraiths now at Dol Guldur wield them and what would have happened to me hadn't your brother worked his enchantment."

She nodded. "It's true he spared you a rather grim fate. But that doesn't excuse the fact he had tried something new and then didn't wait to see what the full effects were. Well, I know my brother can be a dunderhead sometimes, but I'm sure he wouldn't have left without an explanation had he expected your difficulties. He'd surely apologise if he was here right now."

Kíli cared very little for apologies. "What hold does your brother have over me?" he demanded to know.

"None whatsoever. His charm ended that day on the boat, Kíli, the moment it purged the poison from your body."

"What of my nightmares, then? Why is there your brother's stag in my mind, powerful enough to inflict pain over and over again?"

"Because Harry failed to explain what his charm did to you. Instead, you've learned to fear what was only ever meant to protect."

"Explain now, then."

"There's none of his magic lingering inside you. Even if there was, it would never turn malicious towards you, as that is simply not in the charm's nature. That day on the lake, Harry's stag attacked the Dark Magic that you were turning into. Your mind probably remembers the agony of the powers clashing, for it must have been rather torturous. In your dreams, it is the shadows that are a danger to you, as Gandalf explained, and the stag comes to your rescue once again."

A commotion rose in a far corner of the clearing. Legolas stood between two groups, one of Elves and the other of Dwarves. Another blond elf braved the attention of their bearded glares and shuffled closer.

"He asks you for a song," Legolas translated.

There was a moment of stillness and then grumblings broke among the dwarrows before one of them sprung to his feet. Kíli had to smuggle a snort when he saw who'd risen to the occasion—Delir couldn't carry a tune even if his beard was on the line. Snickers simmered among the dwarrows, as Delir wheezed his way through the first lines of his dilly and the eager faces of Elves slit into thin masks of polite attention. Gimli was the first one to crack, his boisterous laugh mercifully interrupting Delir's croaks. He pulled the Dwarf back to the ground and stood up himself. He took over the song, still chuckling along the melody, but he was thankfully doing a much better job of it.

"I wish I could show you the stag now," the Easterling spoke up again, drawing Kíli's mind back to their tree. "So you would see there's absolutely nothing malicious about it—well, at least to those who are not Dark Arts users. But alas, I can't. If you ever cross paths with my brother again, you should demand a demonstration. He won't be able to refuse you."

"What else can you tell me of the powers he used, then?"

She shot him an unimpressed side-eye and Kíli withstood it with his chin tilted proudly—yes, he was fishing for knowledge of her brother, but she'd declared herself that he was owed it.

"Back home, some of us have the talent to… use their good memories and make them into a protection of a sort," she began cautiously, and Kíli knew it was only her momentary guilt that had loosened her tongue. "Harry recalled a memory, a strong good memory, and weaved it into a protector—his white stag that you see in your dreams. The stag, Prongs we in the family call him, guards Harry against some forms of Dark Magic—it can also chase it away, as it did in your case. But if you were to touch Prongs, you would perhaps feel a bit giddy from the echoes of Harry's memory, but the animal itself would feel like mere shining mist to your skin. His antlers couldn't certainly pierce through it."

Kíli pondered her words long after she had ceased talking. Yet, she didn't leave him to his silence, standing guard next to him. Kíli wished she had, though he found her company a bit less vexing after the knowledge she had willingly disclosed.

"Your nightmares won't probably disappear after hearing this," she said next. "But whenever you wake up, you can be sure it's just your memory playing tricks on you, and there's no power Harry holds over you."

Kíli shrugged. "I have long conceded that I'd rather be haunted in my dreams by your thief of a brother, than be another wraith in the clutches of the Dark Lord. It does calm me, however, to know that were your brother to fall into the power of the Enemy, I won't be dragged down with him. For that, you have my gratitude."

She only huffed a small sigh in reply.

"He will fall to the Dark Lord if he does not heed Gandalf's advice," Kíli pushed. "You shouldn't hope that his power would protect him, not even this strength of the stag that you talk of. The Enemy would spoil any arts your brother wields, and turn them against him."

"Would you answer a question in exchange?"

Kíli beckoned her to carry on, even though he suspected she'd be detracting from his warning again.

"Why do you call Harry a thief? He told me you'd started well before you saw him take the Arkenstone—something he did only for your own good, not for any gain of his own, as you very well know."

Kíli was of the mind to argue her last point, as Harry's action had done the Durins very little good. But no matter how sharp her eyes were, and how quick she'd been to call her brother a dunderhead, he knew how deep a sibling's loyalty actually ran, and he recognised it a pointless endeavor to try to convince her of her brother's mistakes. Instead, he went to answer her question.

"We've known him to be a thief since we entered his house in Lake-town," he said truthfully even if he knew she might not accept his words out of said loyalty. "We found his stash of coins then—those that he minted in the likeness of Iron Hills' gold. He did a good job forging them but he couldn't fool the fingers of a Dwarf."

"Oh." There was silence, and then, "He did keep the gold pure though, you know. He might have counterfeited your Dwarven print, but he did not cheat anyone with the value of the coins."

"We do know."

"Why do you call him a thief, then? Nobody got robbed by his actions."

"Is that so? The only men who would go into the arduous efforts of melting gold into coins in their little home forges, are those men who need to shake possible trails that gold leaves."

She understood his implications quickly enough. "That was no stolen gold that he melted."

Eh, there it was—the blind loyalty. Something of his indulgent thoughts must have shown on his face, because she bristled. "I know the gold he was melting—those were coins he'd taken from home. They'd be too conspicuous to use in the West—that's why he reprinted them. I know because I was there when he first did it."

"Gold's gold," Kíli argued. "What was so conspicuous about the coins that he couldn't show them even to a single smith?"

"I don't have to explain that; it's not I who must prove my brother's innocence, but you who need to prove him guilty of stealing if you insist on calling him a thief!"

"Very well. Should we call him a crook instead, then? We do have clear evidence of his counterfeit."

He heard a huff of annoyance leave her. "At least that would be more substantiated, if not any less unkind. I know my brother caused you a lot of grief, but there's no need to add false accusations to the list. He was only trying to help, afterall."

With that said, she finally left him to his corner alone.


The feast had winded down soon after Kíli had rejoined Gimli and Dwalin at their fire. When he woke up the next morning, he felt like a Dwarf newly reborn, with the aches and fatigue of their arduous chase almost gone. They were completely forgotten by the time the Elves returned with fresh servings of breakfast.

When it was time to leave their clearing, Kíli was so grateful for the treatment his men had received that he stood right there next to Bain, nodding along, as the young commander bade Legolas to translate his fervent thanks.

Their journey became much easier from then on, with their bellies and also their packs full of provisions. They had been given three of the white deer to carry the captives, still unconscious, and even a guard of six archers under Legolas' command. Kíli was much less grateful for the second addition to their party, nervous with the thought of Elves and their bows surrounding them yet invisible to his eyes; however, even he couldn't argue the usefulness of Wood-elves against the treacheries of Mirkwood.

Their pace hastened, now that Legolas led them along an Elven path. Invisible to an outsider's eye, it weaved onwards clearly to those who once stood on it.

The magic of the path kept the dangers of Mirkwood at bay during the days; at night, it was the Elven torches and their singing that chased away most of the oppressing gloom of the forest, allowing the Dwarves to keep a clear mind. In the end, it was the complete lack of violence and queer treacheries, so unlike during any of his previous visits, that made Kíli anxious. And yet, no matter how tensely he expected their fortune to sour at any moment, the most exciting element of their remaining three days underneath the canopy of the trees proved to be the woman in their midst.

"How many Orcs are stationed at Dol Guldur? Do they all come from the North, or have some marched out of Mordor?"

Somehow, the lass steered Bain to walk just in front of Kíli and included them both in her constant chatter. Kíli had hoped that after the huff she'd left him with the night of the feast, she would take to avoiding him. She proved more persistent than that, though. Gimli had left Kíli's side, dragged to march at Legolas' heels by his need to win yet another of their endless arguments. Thus, Kíli was left on his lonesome, free to be snatched into a conversation by babbling Easterlings.

"What power have you seen the Wraiths wield? How close have you got to their stronghold?"

Was she trying to befriend him out of guilt? She'd certainly appeared remorseful for her brother's actions and their effects on Kíli's dreams. If so, Kíli had no interest in a friendship borne out of pity, even less so with this peculiar daughter of Men. It did occur to him he was guilty of the same—afterall, this was the innocent lass he had been prepared to murder. The guilt for accepting such plans still lay heavily on his mind, and made him extend more patience towards the woman. This only served to sour his true disposition towards her, though.

To his further vexation, he also felt compelled to grasp the best chance they'd had in many years of trailing her brother, and gain a friendship of the sister. It helped that her questions did not entirely bore him. What was more, they were asked without the clueless admiration Kíli had come to expect from females when the talk turned to the matters of war.

"She's a strange bird, that one," Dwalin muttered two nights after the feast, as they settled down around the cooking fire. He clearly meant to say more, but shut his mouth when the object of his observation sat down on Kíli's other side.

Kíli felt his brows climbing high. He shot Dwalin a look of frustration, at which the guard just chuckled and then made to vigorously chew on his rabbit leg, even as he kept eying the Easterling. For once though, the woman kept mercifully silent, eating her portion with a far away look as the dwarrows and Men and Elves around her talked in soft tones over their dinners. After the meal, when the Elven guards rose to walk the perimeter of their camp and sing their evening songs, everyone kept silent in respect, even her.

It was in the quiet of the camp that Kíli noticed the soft voice coming from his side. The Easterling was singing along with the Elves. As he listened in closely, he realised that she was not only humming the melody, but actually murmuring the words, following the chants with little hesitation.

He was startled enough to once ask a question himself. "How do you know the songs of the Elves?"

She sang for a bit longer, in no hurry to answer him. "I observed them long enough to imitate the words. They are quite lovely, aren't they?"

"You have been a guest to Elves before?" he asked, incredulous. "I didn't know them to be frequent hosts. Why have you not mentioned it to Legolas?"

"Because then I'd be lying. I have travelled through their woods aplenty but I have not often had the pleasure of their hospitality. Certainly haven't been taught their songs."

That was a clear diversion from his line of questioning but he allowed it, equally curious about her singing. "You don't know what the words mean, then?"

"Quite right. Haven't the faintest clue."

"Aren't you afraid you invoke the power in them, regardless? There's magic in the songs they sing in this forest, to keep its dangers away," he warned her.

She didn't look alarmed. "If you let me memorize the strokes of your chisel and gave me a stone to carve, would I end up with the same masterpiece as you?"

Kíli paused to appreciate her metaphor and found her conclusion lacking. "There's power in words, the same way there would be strength in the strokes of your chisel. You wouldn't carve anything worthy, but you'd still butcher the stone. Are you not afraid your clueless mumbling of their spells would similarly invoke warped magics around us?"

"Words are just an expression of our thoughts. If there's no intent, there's no power to them, either. You don't need to worry."

Yet, he frowned. "I have certainly invoked great effects with my words, without meaning to."

That seemed to force a chuckle out of her. "I was talking of magic, not of offending people when our mouth runs away from us." Her smile turned soft at the edges now; a tinge of warmth to the private amusement he had often found in her eyes.

"Is this what you have been taught alongside your brother? You have said you shared his tutors."

In an instant, he felt her stiffen at his side. "True," she said, though there was reproach in her tone now, the previous ease of their conversation disappearing. "Don't go fishing for more intel on my brother now. You're awfully transparent when you do so, and I'm having too pleasant an evening to spoil it."

Kíli blinked in face of her unapologetically blunt rebuke. He was used to such directness from his fellow warriors, but the ladies of the Mountain usually employed more convoluted techniques. He quickly shook his surprise off, though, knowing she was still hoping to silence him with it. "Why don't the two of you travel together?"

She let out a long sigh, which felt exaggerated entirely for his sake, but answered regardless. "We did, at the start. But then came a point when he wanted to go north and I wanted to go south. He was sure he'd win, thinking me completely reliant on him, so I packed my bags and said goodbye, determined to prove him wrong."

That answer imparted annoyingly little insight into their past but he chuckled anyway, remembering clearly the lengths he himself had gone to, with no logic or reason behind them but the petulance of a younger brother.

"Well, I'm sorry you have failed at that," he said next, the sympathy coming easily to him for once.

"How so?" she asked, appearing genuinely confused.

Kíli raised a disbelieving brow and nodded pointedly at the settling camp around them. "You were abducted, to be ransomed, and then had to be rescued."

A flash of annoyance flickered through her eyes, and Kíli for a moment wondered whether he'd be treated to an outburst of emotion he had long expected from her.

And yet, when she next spoke, her voice was light and her face had settled back to her usual calm expression, though he fancied he noticed a bit of effort behind it. "Well, I'm still alive, aren't I? In my eyes, that counts."


Kíli was far from claiming he would miss the Easterling's company when they finally arrived into the shadow of the Lonely Mountain and the time came to separate their companies. They had arrived at the Long Marches at noon of the fourth day from the Elvish feast, and the road had then swiftly taken them along the Lake north, to Dale. Less than a mile to its gates, the woman stopped their procession, beckoning the dwarrows towards their Mountain and the rangers ahead of her into the city, claiming she didn't need to return with an honour guard. Surprisingly enough, the men knelt to her wishes. Only Bain was to remain, to accompany her for the rest of the ride.

However, all that planning turned out pointless, for they had been spotted from the city walls and a regiment of men on horses rode out to meet them, the Lord of the City in their lead.

Kíli would not miss her company. She had turned out to be a competent enough traveller, doing her share of the chores whilst camped and complaining none for the inconveniences of a hastily-planned journey. That might have gained her a portion of his respect, but hardly his friendship.

He struggled then to understand the sudden pang of jealousy that twisted his insides when watching her reunite with Bard. And yet he felt it, the dark resentment and self-pity as he saw them embrace. It was only when the dwarrows turned their steeds to the Mountain and all of Kíli's worries returned to the forefront of his mind with the Gates looming at the end of his path, did he realise where such emotion originated. It was envy he felt towards Bard, of the simple happiness the Man seemed to have found for himself. Bard had a strong heir to succeed him, the respect of his budding kingdom and now even his comely if rather a willful woman back at his side. None of which Kíli could claim.

And yet, it was Bard who chose to keep his ears closed and eyes averted when Gandalf spoke of the biggest dangers to their time. It was Bard who let Kíli and Kíli's kin worry about the fate of them all, whilst he basked in his happiness.

Kíli kicked his pony into a trot and quickly led his dwarrows away from the Mannish city.


A/N:

I had long waited for Elves to make an appearance, so I could recommend this absolute gem:

All Those Who Wander by StraitjacketChic

A beautiful piece of writing from the Second Age, following the steps of a young Half-Elf. I was entirely charmed and enchanted: by the depth of the characters, the relatability of their arcs, the attention to detail and the sheer poetry of not only the words themselves but the storylines. The author added new dimensions to many aspects of the canon, always enriching, unerringly respectful and never jarring. The effort they put into their story is evident; it had very quickly gained my fascination and trust.

This is the story that made me fall in love with the LoTR world and awakened the desire to spend some time in it with my own writing (although our styles differ significantly).

In other words, shoo, shoo! It's the perfect adventure to set out on during the holidays. (available on ffnet and ao3 both)