Dolls
They watched Laketown burn in black tendrils of smoke and screams. Most of them stood by, crouched behind rocks, refusing to look back at the town they had taken advantage of only the day before. Thorin had disappeared back into the mountain without saying anything, and they had let him go. It was better that they could keep to themselves. Dori clutched his brothers to his chest and for once neither struggled to get out of his grasp. Oin and Gloin sat with their backs to a large stone and whispered to each other in muffled voices. Bombur was just a little ways off, hanging his head, letting Bofur console him. Below them was Bifur, his eyes wide as he muttered the same word in Khuzdul over and over. Bilbo recognized it as "fire." The hobbit perched on a rock farther off, holding his knees to his chest and allowing the tears to slowly trickle down his cheeks while he watched the dragon lay waste to the already fading houses.
Below, he heard the voices of the remaining dwarves. Fili was hunched over, showing off the long and heavy strips of bandages that had been tied around his torso. The burns had been worse than the dwarf had made them seem and Oin had already spent precious time carefully adjusting the dressings so they didn't pull at his damaged skin. Next to the injured prince were Balin and Dwalin, and while the elder was trying to console the hysterical Fili, the younger was focused on the fiery town, cracking his knuckles every so often. The hobbit had imagined their return and victory in Erebor to be a merry and exciting affair. Instead, they mourned the men that blazed, as their lights were extinguished.
"None of this is your fault," he heard Balin reassure Fili.
"If he was still in Laketown, then he's almost certainly dead. The beast might have not made the connection between our group and Laketown if I had not been so careless." Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't stopped trembling since the dragon had rounded on him, and he didn't think he ever would. All he wanted was to be back home, gazing at green hills and jolly faces instead of his disheartened companions and the fall of Esgaroth. Most of all, he wished he could stop thinking, turn his mind off. Reminders of the dying men kept passing through his head like crashing birds.
Then, the words weren't just in his head anymore.
From his pocket, he was sure he could hear a soft voice muttering something unintelligible. Fishing a hand into his coat, he removed his ring. The voice gradually became louder. Did magical rings usually speak? And at specific times? It seemed wrong. Still, he wanted to understand what it was saying. Involuntarily, Bilbo peered past his circle of gold and onto the lead-like lake. He squinted, catching something floating along the shore out of the corner of his eye. The tears abruptly stopped, and he hopped down from where he sat.
"A boat!" he squealed. "A rowboat approached the mountain!" Fili immediately rose from where he sat, but was stopped with Dwalin's firm hand. The prince winced.
"Stay here. I can go," Dwalin insisted. The blonde dwarf fell back into his seat dejectedly, while the warrior turned, scanning the groups of company members, before his eyes rested on Bilbo. "Master Baggins, you have keen eyes. Can you swim?" The hobbit nodded. "Then you'll accompany me to the shore." Together, the pair sped down the way they had come up the previous day. Finally hope sprung somewhere near the core of the burglar. He tucked the ring back into his pocket. Perhaps the voice from his ring was trying to alert him of the boat. There could be a survivor there. They could save someone, a man from Laketown, maybe even a child. Oh please, he begged to no one in particular. Oh please let them be alive.
When they got to the shore it began to become clear that the possibility of someone being within the boat was unlikely. It was tipped to one side, clearly taking on water. Heaps of furs were visible over the top of the wooden craft, and there were no people to be seen. Bilbo sighed, catching his breath after the rushed journey. Dwalin's sharp face was as alert and shining, as always, in the fiery lighting. The sight of the boat didn't seem to concern him. His eyebrows drew together, yet he nodded, and turned to face Bilbo.
"Well then. Let's see if we can get it to shore." The hobbit blinked, not comprehending the instructions. The dwarf gestured roughly to the listing boat, as if it went without saying. Suddenly it made sense. 'Can you swim?' The halfling clapped his hands together and forced some sort of grimace onto his face. Easing his jacket off, he examined the situation. The rowboat was about 10 feet off the rocky coast, but Bilbo couldn't tell how deep the water got. And if there was someone in there with the furs, it would more difficult than anticipated to pull it back. There hadn't been much current when they had pulled up to the Lonely Mountain, and he could only pray that it was still the same way. He cast a last look at Dwalin, who looked far too boxy and weighed down with weapons to even stay afloat. If the hobbit had even the slightest possibility of saving someone, he would do whatever it took. He plunged into the water.
Even though the town atop the lake burned, the murky waves were freezing cold. Bilbo yelped upon entering, feeling the tug of the clothes he wore at first, but quickly began kicking and kept his head above the water. He had been right: the current was non-existent. Thankfully, this allowed him to more easily maneuver towards the sinking craft. A couple of times he peered back at Dwalin standing ashore, a confirmation that he was doing the right thing. It had been a while since the hobbit had swum, and he was grateful that he was still able to do so without drowning. After slow strokes, he made it to the boat.
Upon further investigation it was practically falling apart. The outside wooden was rotting, soft to the touch, and covered with a mossy sort of fungus. The vehicles the dwarves had used to get to the mountain had been much better kept, but the burglar assumed that they were finer and reserved for special occasions. This would belong to a commoner, someone much lower in Laketown society. The furs stacked over the top reflected this as well. Of the material he could see, much of it was worn and thin, not to mention the thick crusts of ice and grime that coated it. Bilbo shivered. He had to get it to shore quickly. The hobbit gripped the front of it with one hand, and stroked with the other, kicking the entire time. It was significantly more difficult than swimming normally, and the boat was heavier than he had thought it to be.
Finally he crawled out of the rocky lake, dripping the frigid water from all parts of his body. Dwalin came forward and assisted him with pulling it out of the surf. The burglar was trembling, but refused to let the dwarf see, instead putting his coat back on and clutching his arms to his chest. His garments clung to his clammy body, not doing much to keep him warm.
"Fine job," the warrior congratulated in a stern voice. "Let's see if we have anything of use in here, shall we?" Bilbo nodded, gripping the side of one blanket, and dragged it away. The furs were balled up and stacked, mostly to one side. It explained the tipping, but it also made very little sense. Why pack a rowboat so unsteadily? Dwalin pulled the materials off from a different angle, making a face as his hands came up brown and gritty. They threw the sopping blankets aside as they were too damaged to possibly use. Underneath the furs was a large and tangled net. The hobbit sighed. It was almost the bottom of the boat, and they had not found anything yet, and the space within it was dwindling. He fingered the ring within his pocket. You lied, he accused in his own thoughts. There was nothing at all. Still, it whispered its mixed words.
But when the dwarf ripped the net away, the ring shrieked. Bilbo's fingers burned. Dwalin cried out.
When the warrior reached into the boat, it appeared that the ring hadn't meant to inform him of a survivor; it was to warn him of a victim. The dwarf pulled back, cradling a limp body that was leaking watery blood from its stained clothes. Lank and tangled dark brown hair trailed from stark white skin. The clothing looked familiar, but the hobbit was unable to think about shirts and pants when Dwalin shouted.
"Go up the mountain. Get Oin! Bring Fili, Thorin if you can! Go now!" Bilbo felt trapped in the muddy beach, and simply stood and watched while his companion shook the person, his face becoming more and more desperate by the second. "Now Master Baggins! He isn't breathing!" Something within his body forced his joints to move, his legs to pump, arms to wave, but he felt like he was being controlled by another entity, and not actually inside his own form. His voice tore from his throat as he tried to make it as loud as possible, but when he arrived where the dwarves were gathered, he found them looking relieved rather than concerned.
"Oin! Fili!" he screeched, running out of air. "You need to-"
"No need to scream, Bilbo," the prince informed him, sitting up a little straighter. "We saw."
"Saw?" the hobbit squeaked. "How could you have seen?"
"Well a falling dragon isn't exactly hard to miss, is it?" The burglar whirled around and found that though the sky was still filled with smoke, it was missing the red worm that had made countless lives end. "We could see Smaug fall from here. It's safe to assume he's dead. There's no reason to get so worked up about it." Between the rowboat, their fallen foe, and his confusion about the entire affair Bilbo felt like his head was going to explode. He could barely take a breath, and could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate.
"Bilbo, what's wrong?" Balin returned from where he had been sitting with Gloin and Bofur.
"That's what I've come to tell you about!" The thief rushed. "There was a person crammed in the bottom of the boat Dwalin and I pulled in and they're badly injured and he says they aren't breathing and he told me to get Oin and Fili and Thorin, if you can and we need to go quickly!" The more he spoke the faster and higher-pitched his voice became, but Balin seemed to get every word of it. His face was suddenly very serious, losing its usual warm quality, and he began spitting out orders in a way that rivaled even Thorin.
"Fili, Oin, you heard the hobbit. Go! I can take Gloin and see if we can fetch our king from the mountain. Bofur, make sure we a space prepared here so we have somewhere to keep the person. Let your brothers help you. I need Ori and Nori to go into Erebor and see if you can find any of the doctor's old tools. They would be on the second level, opposite the throne room. Take everything. We don't know what we need yet. And make haste!" Fili practically vaulted from where he sat, despite his injuries, followed by the apothecary. Though his heart raced, Bilbo led the way back the way he had run, tripping several times at his heightened speed.
They found Dwalin kneeling in the sand with the injured person draped over one knee. One of the great warrior's huge arms was being used to prop up the person's head and chest. Unlike the way that the hobbit had left them, it appeared that the boat victim was breathing; his chest was heaving and his head lolled from side to side. As they got closer, he could also hear the raspy and slightly gargled noise of the person taking in air. Dwalin was unusually tender looking, tear tracks easily seen on his face and concern written all over him. When Oin came into view the fierce dwarf appeared as though a weight had been lifted off of his strong shoulders.
"I got him breathing," he announced wearily, as their healer rushed to the injured person's side. Oin's eyes grew to the size of teacups when he glimpsed the victim's face, but said nothing except "You found him in a rowboat?" Dwalin nodded over and over again. Bilbo slowed himself, sick to death of running, and let a limping Fili pass him by. "He was unconscious, and I couldn't tell if he was dead or not. Thank goodness he's alive." The golden prince knelt beside the two other dwarves, and covered his mouth with one hand.
"Mahal," Fili breathed. "How could that have happened?" Now drawn by his own Tookish qualities, Bilbo couldn't help making his way around the huddled group of dwarves. The person was the size of a human child, but as he got a closer look he realized that they most definitely weren't one. The slightest stubble graced the chin, and the face was altogether too mature to be a young boy. The hobbit squinted at the struggling dwarf, he now realized, and felt like a troll had crushed when he realized why he had seemed so familiar. And why Dwalin had requested Thorin and Fili.
The grievously injured person was none other than Kili, son of Dis, second heir to the throne of Durin, and favored of the Mirkwood elves.
He looked so different from when they had left him in Laketown that the burglar had almost failed to recognize him. His skin was pale, lips and some areas around his eyes and cheekbones practically turning purple and blue from the cold. His eyes were closed and sunken, and the prince overall looked sickly and weak. He had a large cut above one eyebrow that was still oozing blood, but the single source did not account for the incredible amount of the liquid that marred his clothes and skin. Just as the thought passed through Bilbo's mind, his question was answered.
"I don't know how serious it is." The fighter reached down and tugged at Kili's torn and stained shirt to reveal the area where he had been injured in their escape from Mirkwood. The hobbit sucked in a breath. Gone were the wrappings that had held the dwarf's side together, but the wound itself looked completely different. Instead of a long scrape shape, he found himself looking at a clearly defined stab, or at least it had been. The skin appeared to be fused back together and formed a puckered mark. Dwalin and Oin exchanged a look. Fili was too panicked to speak. Bilbo was frozen in place again, too horrified to keep watching and too morbidly interested to look away. He coughed, likely from the freezing waters.
Kili's eyes snapped open and he gasped, flailing his arms. The stronger of the two dwarves steadied him but the prince fought back, clawing at Dwalin's forearms with intense vigor. "Let go of me!" the prince shrieked.
"Calm down," soothed Oin, though his voice was so gruff it could barely be called that. "Kili, you're on the shore of the Lonely Mountain. We found you in a rowboat floating along the side of the beach." The dark-haired dwarf's struggle slowed and eventually became nonexistent.
"It was an orc," he wheezed, his words stringing together. "In Laketown. I was wandering through the fishing area and it jumped on me. I-I-I don't remember it very well but there was a sword and I passed out and-"
"Take a minute to breathe, laddie," Dwalin reminded, sitting back on his heels so as to let Fili move closer. Kili obeyed, his eyes like brown searchlights moving from face to face. He slowly resumed again.
"Something went wrong with the thing's plan because when I came to it didn't really acknowledge me at all. It may have been fighting someone. I can't remember. I…dragged myself along with wooden walkway, only a couple of feet, and managed to roll myself into a rowboat and push off. The current swept me away and it couldn't get back at me. I lost consciousness again on the way here-" The prince's own words were cut off with his own voice as his back arched quite suddenly and he made some sort of sharp sound of pain in his throat.
"What's wrong?" Oin demanded, rather roughly but concerned.
"My…my side is…" Kili looked confused. Bilbo was beginning to be rather frightened as he watched the scene unfold. The ring had started its muttering again and he was now almost sure that the hushed voice was not a good sign. It had led him on a dangerous trip to the lake where they found a half-dead and mysteriously injured dwarven prince. Something bigger than the Company was at play and he felt his skin crawling. Kili's eyes rolled back into his head. The ring stopped its ramblings.
~:~
The four carried the injured dwarf up the mountain with tired hands and heavy hearts. It became almost immediately evident from his surprisingly burning skin that Kili was spiking a fever, and Oin soon had to leave the place that Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur had arranged outside in search of herbs to bring it down. The rest of the Company had moved inside Erebor, as Bofur claimed, to speak with Thorin. That left Fili and Bilbo to tend to their fallen comrade as the sun came up over the horizon. They spoke very little, the golden prince mostly sitting silently while the hobbit used the little home remedies for fevers that he knew of the sick dwarf. The silence was eventually broken by the least expected of voices.
"I used to play with dolls," Kili whispered as Bilbo wet his forehead with a damp bit of cloth. In the corner, Fili perked up, turning to listen.
"In Mirkwood?" The hobbit asked. The dark-haired prince shook his head.
"Before. Back when I was a child." His brother took a few tentative steps forward. Trying to keep a steady pace and not let the blonde dwarf rush things, Bilbo spoke slowly, though he already knew the answer to the question he asked.
"So you remember something that happened, before you ran away?" Kili didn't answer the question, and instead stared feverishly up at the high stone ceiling. The burglar wet the cloth again, wringing it out over and over to get rid of the grime.
"Mother had a chest full of them in the attic that I found when Fili was at lessons. I sat up there the whole afternoon looking at them, and sorting them, even though I kept telling myself that they were stupid. I went up there every day for the rest of the week and played with them whenever I could, but I had to keep it a secret. Snuck some dolls down to my room a couple of times, when everyone was outside of preoccupied. My favorite was a wood-carved one with movable joints and a little patchwork dress made out of a doily." The younger dwarf closed his eyes for a moment, and smiled to himself, as if savoring the memory for a moment.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Fili finally asked. "I would have teased for a bit, but then I would've probably played with you." Bilbo patted Kili's skin while the brothers talked, too concerned about the princes to leave, but also a little embarrassed to stay. It felt almost like an invasion of their privacy, but both seemed to be fine with his presence.
"Well," Kili responded. "I stole Mother's dolls for one." This made his brother chuckle, and the younger flushed slightly. "And…they were my little secret. They were mine, and no one got to know about it except me. I made sure to cover my tracks so I wouldn't have to share, wouldn't have to confess to playing with them. I wanted to have something that was just mine." The elf-raised dwarf swallowed several times, and closed his eyes. Bilbo had always thought that sleep would be a peaceful thing, but dwarves always looked angry or sad as they drifted off.
"Do remember anything else? Mother? Thorin? Me? The lessons? Ered Luin?" Fili pressed. The hobbit set down the cloth and drifted away. He could barely glimpse Oin over the ridge, returning with his pouch of herbs.
"No," Kili finally sighed. "Just…just that." The blonde-dwarf deflated slightly, but tried to hide his disappointment by turning slightly away. "I'm sorry Fee," his brother pleaded. "I want to remember. I do. I'm trying." Fili smiled.
"Don't worry about it Kili," he assured. "I'm glad you told me about your dolls." In the bed, the younger brother's face softened, and he sunk deeper into the stack of blankets they had propped his head onto. Bilbo darted towards the healer, and left the pair alone.
Yay! I updated on time. I'm proud of myself . Anyways, I hope you enjoyed unlucky Chapter 13 of my little story, and that you have had as much fun reading it as I have writing it. Never fear everyone! Kili is back! If you enjoyed my make sure to add it to your favorites list, and if you want to know when I update with the next chapter then please follow it. Your support is appreciated! And as always, I love hearing your feedback so leave me a review with your comments, critiques, predictions, theories, etc. Until next time…