Chapter XI

"Uhhhhgh."

Kíli groaned in desperation and let his head sink onto his arms folded in front of him on the table.

So many books. There were so many books in the library of Erebor, Kíli had not known that so many even existed.

Upon entering the halls where they were stored on broad shelves that almost reached the ceiling, Kíli had realized immediately that this would not be as easy as he had initially thought it would be. Walk in, pull out a dictionary of some sort, figure out what the words he had hastily scribbled down on a piece of parchment this morning meant.

No, that was definitely not how this would work. But he had to at least try, right? So he had just started searching for a book that might help him at some random point in the library, running his fingers along the spines of the many volumes, occasionally sneezing when he whirled up too much dust.

After a while, he had at least managed to figure out that the books had not been put into the shelves haphazardly. They were not ordered alphabetically either, but instead arranged according to subject matter. Eventually he had located a section with a small number of books that had Elvish writing on their spines—if he wanted to find a translation of the words he had heard in his dream, that was probably where he would have to look.

So he had pulled book after book from the shelves, carrying them to one of the tables at the center of the library and had started flicking through them, looking for anything that looked familiar.

The problem was—he couldn't read Elvish script. Not even a little. And most of the books where at least partly written in it. So how was he supposed to recognize Tauriel's words if he ever came across them? Somehow he had not thought of that before.

So, laboriously, he had tried his best to transcribe the words on the, by now slightly tattered, piece of parchment into Elvish script, using a table he had found in a book that seemed to study and compare different Elvish dialects. He had no way of knowing if those 'words' were even actual Elvish words and what he had ended up with looked… odd, but it would have to do.

That had been two hours ago. Since then he had made no progress at all. Nothing he saw in those books made any sense to him. The pile of discarded volumes to his right was growing and growing, but he had yet to find anything at all that might be helpful. This whole endeavor was beginning to look an awful lot like a fool's errand.

Sighing, he raised his head from where it rested heavily on his arms and stared at the pages in front of him, propping his chin up on his folded hands. The letters and runes began to blur before his eyes, rearranging themselves on the page, forming new words that made no sense at all—not that they had before, for that matter. He rubbed his eyes. He had gotten too much dust into them and now they felt itchy and tired. The dim light issued by the small lamp he had lighted and the stale, musty air did nothing to improve his concentration.

Maybe if he closed his eyes, just for a minute, his vision as well as his head would become clear once more…

Kíli could have sworn that only a second had passed, but suddenly he could feel himself drifting, seeing things that should not be there at all, colors, forms that he did not recognize. Disoriented, he looked around himself, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He could not.

Quite abruptly he became aware of another presence there with him among the blurred shapes, a presence very familiar to him. Tauriel. He could sense her. Her presence was so strong, so overwhelming that he could almost taste her essence on his tongue as if she were everywhere at once, as if she were the air that he breathed.

He could feel her fear, her desperation, and while he could not hear her voice, he could sense her calling for him, looking for him in this surreal space. He tried to answer her, to return her call, but he choked, unable to utter a single sound. He imagined the dust he had been breathing in clogging his lungs, blocking his air. He clutched at his throat, trying to force air into his chest.

Suddenly he felt fingers brush against his hand, saw a strand of red hair flit through his vision. He reached out with one hand, but his fingers only met with empty air.

A loud thud echoed in his ears and he opened his eyes to find himself back in the library of Erebor. He had pushed a particularly heavy volume off the table when he had stretched out his arm and it had crashed onto the floor.

Disoriented, he lifted his head and blinked a couple of times. He jumped in shock when he noticed Balin standing on the other side of his desk, looking at him curiously.

"Everything alright there, laddie?" Balin asked him, inclining his head to one side.

"I... well...," Kíli stammered, "yes. Yes, of course. I was just... reading." With his hands under the table, he quickly balled up the parchment with his feeble attempts at a translation and pushed it up his sleeve.

"I can see that," the older dwarf responded, an amused smile playing around his lips. "But be careful with those old volumes. Some of them are rather valuable and do not take well to being thrown around." He bent down to retrieve the book that had fallen to the floor. It had landed with its pages opened and Balin picked it up carefully, blowing some dirt off the yellowed pages.

He frowned when he looked at the opened page. "An Elvish grammar?" He glanced at Kíli in surprise. "I did not know that you were a student of other languages."

Kíli laughed and ran a nervous hand trough his dark hair, feeling foolish and rather embarrassed. He had not worried about getting caught, but of course he should have remembered that Balin was very likely to visit the library at some point as well. "What can I say?" he replied, putting on an air of false confidence. "I'm full of surprises."

He winked at Balin and hastily started collecting the books on the desk before Balin could ask any more questions. "But I'm done for today. The place is all yours, let me just put those back where I found them."

He started carrying the huge pile of books towards the shelf from which he had retrieved them, wobbling slightly under their weight. He paused when Balin called out to him.

"Was there anything in particular that you were looking for? I have at least some knowledge of the Elvish tongue and might be able to help you."

Kíli hesitated and turned back in Balin's direction. True, it would be the easiest way to simply ask him to help with a translation. It was not as if that thought had not occurred to Kíli already. But two things held him back. First of all, he had no idea what the words meant—if they meant anything at all. He had a feeling that whatever the meaning of those words was, it might rouse many more questions. Secondly, Balin was Thorin's confidant. And Kíli did not want to risk word of his sudden interest in the Elvish language get back to Thorin. Not after his uncle had already expressed worry about Kíli's friendliness with the Elves.

So he declined. "Nah, thanks. I was just looking at some things because I got bored. Nothing else."

Balin nodded slowly, but Kíli could not help but notice a slight trace of suspicion in his eyes. Had Thorin already spoken to Balin about their conversation? He hoped not.

Eager to get away, Kíli returned the books to their shelf, not really bothering to arrange them in a particular order. With a quick wave at Balin and a mumbled goodbye, he fled the library.

This had not been a helpful trip at all. On the contrary, it might even cause him more trouble at some point in the future.

Kíli sat at the long table in the dining hall, staring down at his plate in dismay. After his fruitless visit to the library, how was he supposed to solve the mystery of his dreams? He knew that he should probably just let it go, but he could not. It ate him up from the inside, not knowing, always wondering.

If only there was a way for him to figure out how the runestone had come back to him. His head hurt from trying so hard to make sense of this and still he could not come up with a probable explanation for this circumstance. But then again, he was well aware that there were many things in the world that he did not know and could not comprehend. That did not mean that they weren't real. If only there was someone who could help him, who could point him in the right direction...

He poked at his food listlessly, waiting for the other dwarves to settle down so that they could all begin with their dinner. Across from him, Bofur picked up some peas off his own plate and started flicking them at Kíli's lowered head.

Kíli glared at Bofur and retrieved a pea from his lap. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Bofur just shrugged. "Thought that any reaction from you would be better than watching you sit there and mope. What's the matter, eh?"

Kíli managed a half-grin and threw the pea back at Bofur who caught it between his teeth and grinned. "Nothing, really," Kíli responded to Bofur's question. He glanced around the table, trying to find another topic for conversation aside from his state of mind. He was tired of people constantly asking him whether he was alright. He frowned when he noticed that his uncle's chair was still empty and that everybody was waiting impatiently to start eating. "Where's Thorin?"

Bofur twirled his beard around his forefinger. "Out in the hall, with Balin. I saw them together on my way in, discussing something, apparently."

Kíli's frown deepened. That did not sound good. Or was he just getting paranoid? Maybe this did not have anything to do with him at all.

Bofur glanced around and then leaned in more closely, speaking in a slightly lowered voice. Not that the dwarves left and right to them were listening anyway, they were much too busy complaining about the delay. "Thorin was very interested in our time in Lake-town after they left, by the way. Asked me lots of questions."

Kíli's eyebrows shot up as his blood turned cold. "Did he?"

Bofur nodded, confirming with his eyes what Kíli was wondering in his head. Those questions had centered around him. And Tauriel.

Kíli hesitated, wondering how much Bofur knew. "And what did you tell him?"

Bofur did not look very happy. "Nothing much. Just that I don't feel it's right to leave the people there to sort everything out for themselves after Smaug tore the city to pieces. It's not honorable, it's not fair. But Thorin did not seem to share my opinion."

Kíli felt relieved and worried at the same time. Relieved that apparently in Bofur he had found someone who did not care what had or hadn't happened between him and Tauriel. Worried that it seemed as if he was not the only one who felt ill at ease with some of Thorin's decisions.

He looked at the other dwarves grouped around the table. They all looked cheerful enough. Happy to be at Erebor. Grateful and loyal to their king. But somewhere at the back of his mind, Kíli sensed that soon a rift might be forming amongst their group. This thought filled him with fear.

So, to appease Bofur, he said, "I'm sure Thorin will warm up to the idea of supporting the people in Laketown soon. Once everything has settled down a little. He would never just turn a blind eye to their suffering. He knows better than most of us what it feels like to lose your home." Why did this not sound convincing even to himself?

Bofur was about to reply something when the door opened and Thorin walked in, quickly taking his seat at the head of the long table. Balin followed shortly after.

A sigh of relief ran through the group and they—finally!—were able to begin with their meal.

Kíli forced bite after bite into his mouth, chewing slowly, trying to bring himself to enjoy the flavors. He failed miserably. It felt as if a knot had formed in his stomach that would simply not allow any food to pass though. As he reached for his jug of ale to wash down the little bit that he had eaten, he looked up and found Thorin studying him intently. He did not look happy.

Quickly, Kíli dropped his gaze back to his plate and frowned, his insides twisting themselves up further with the jolt of unease that ran through him at seeing his uncle look at him like that. Well, that was it then, he was done eating. He pushed his food away in resignation.

"Are you going to finish this?" Bombur asked next to him.

Kíli shook his head. "Nah, go ahead." Bombur's eyes lit up as he reached for the younger dwarf's plate. Kíli could feel more than one pair of worried eyes resting on him as he pushed his plate towards the eager Bombur.

It took all his willpower to remain where he was and not get up and flee the room. That would only serve to attract even more attention. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. If all this tension was not resolved anytime soon, he would go insane. And he would starve.

When everybody was done eating and started getting up to clear away the dishes, Kíli rose from his seat slowly, hoping to be able to sneak away quietly and find somewhere peaceful where no one would come looking for him. But Thorin's voice stopped him in the middle of the movement. "Kíli. Stay for a moment longer, would you? I want to speak to you."

Without looking at his uncle, Kíli fell back onto his chair in defeat. He waited for the others to leave the room, feeling their surprised looks and hearing them whisper amongst themselves. Fíli was the last one to leave and closed the door behind him with a final worried glance at his younger brother.

Kíli kept his gaze focused on the surface of the table while Thorin left his seat and crossed the room to sit down in the spot across from his nephew.

When Kíli continued to stare at the tabletop, Thorin spoke. "Kíli. Look at me please."

The hint of gentleness in his voice made Kíli look up to meet his uncle's eyes. "I know what this is about," he said before Thorin could say anything else.

The dwarf king leaned back in his chair. "Then you know more than I do," he replied, looking at Kíli for a long, silent moment before continuing. "Your conduct of late confuses and alarms me, but no matter how hard I try to put the pieces together and make sense of it all, I only end up with more questions than before."

Kíli remained silent and dropped his gaze once more, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

Thorin sighed. "I wish you would tell me what it is that is troubling you and that is making you act so out of character. You and your brother are like sons to me. I worry about you."

The young dwarf prince risked another glance at his uncle. "Is it truly me that you are worried about or rather my loyalty?"

Thorin's face hardened. "Is there a reason to doubt your loyalty?"

The pair of them stared at each other for a long moment, the air heavy with the tension between them. Kíli's palms grew sweaty and he could feel his pulse in his throat, his breathing shallow and quickened.

Suddenly the door burst open and Gandalf rushed in, Fíli following closely behind.

Uncle and nephew whipped their heads around in surprise, staring at the grey wizard who exuded an air of extreme urgency. Thorin rose from his chair and opened his mouth to greet Gandalf, but was interrupted by him before he could utter a single word.

"I do not bring good news," Gandalf said gravely, his voice echoing through the high-ceilinged room. "We are all in great danger."

Blood. There was so much blood seeping into the earth at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. Orc blood, dwarf blood. Blood of men, blood of elves. All mingling together, staining the earth black and red.

Kíli tried not to let the images enter his head, tried not to consciously reflect on all this violence. Instead he kept going and going and going, cutting down orc after orc with his blade, defending his home, defending his family, defending his king.

Despite what had passed between him and Thorin, they were now fighting side by side together with Fíli, protecting each other. Everything that had been said had lost its significance for the time being and all that remained was their fierce love for one another and their kingdom. None would dare question the loyalty of the other at this very moment.

Kíli leaped over the body of a fallen elf in pursuit of another orc, forcing himself not to stop and check if it was her. Ever since Gandalf had informed them of the army that was marching towards Erebor and had promised that help from Mirkwood was on its way, one question had permanently been present at the back of Kíli's mind: Was Tauriel coming, too?

He forbade himself to linger on that question, knowing that this was neither the right time nor the right place for romance. He needed his mind to be focused, his senses to be alert. But he could not control his heart that missed a beat every time he saw an elf fall at the hands of an orc, praying that it was not Tauriel, praying that he would not see her lifeless eyes stare back at him if he dared to look.

Without any clear recollection of. how he had ended up there, Kíli found himself with his back to an enormous boulder, fending off a large number of orcs, his brother and uncle still fighting beside him. They were cornered, the number of enemies advancing on them much bigger than what the three of them could handle.

"Kíli, get up there," Thorin shouted. Kíli glanced at the boulder and immediately understood what his uncle wanted him to do. He hefted himself up onto the massive stone, ignoring the pain that the action caused to explode in his right leg.

From this vantage ground he could take an excellent aim at the orcs attacking Fíli and Thorin below and, without delay, began to take them out one by one with his bow, clearing the ground for his kinsmen to go forth. As they slowly moved away from the boulder, Kíli made to follow them, but was distracted for the briefest of seconds by a flicker of red at the edge of his vision. He whipped his head around, scanning the chaos below for any signs of Tauriel, but saw nothing. Only death and destruction.

His brother's cry made him turn back around. "Thorin!"

Time seemed to slow down as he watched his uncle fall to his knees from a blow delivered by a particularly dangerous-looking, gigantic orc. Kíli recognized him immediately. It was the one who had been leading the pack of orcs that had been following them. The one that had shot him with a poisoned arrow.

Upon seeing Thorin fall, Fíli leaped in front of his uncle, using all his strength to fend off the foul creature that towered over him. Kíli slid off the boulder, almost falling to his knees as he came into contact with the ground. His leg would not hold out much longer and he felt barely able to walk. It was only adrenaline that kept him going as he sprinted to his brother's aid. But he was not fast enough.

"Fíli!" His eyes wide with panic, he could only watch as the orc swung his weapon and delivered a nasty blow to his brother's face, causing Fíli to collapse on top of Thorin's lifeless body. His face was covered in blood. Desperation lent a final surge of strength to Kíli's battered body and he threw himself in front of his brother and uncle, attacking the orc with everything that he had. But it was not enough—he did not stand a chance against the much larger creature in his weakened state.

He caught a heavy blow to his chest and thought he could hear something inside of him crack. His sword was knocked from his hand and landed a couple of feet away, out of his reach. He fell onto his back right next to Fíli and Thorin, scrambling to shield them both with his body. He watched helplessly as the giant orc raised his weapon and waited for the final blow to be delivered.

So this was it. The end had come. If only he had had the chance to see her once more, to watch her eyes shine as they reflected the light of the stars.

Suddenly the throat of the vile creature in front of him was pierced by an arrow. A look of shock registered on the orc's face for a split second before he fell to his knees, clutching his neck. He slumped forward as he drew his last breath, crashing to the ground, burying Kíli and the two dwarves he was trying to protect beneath his massive body. Kíli raised his arms to shield himself. Then everything went black.

Several feet away, out of Kíli's line of sight, Legolas lowered his bow, furrowing his brow in confusion as if trying to understand what on earth had suddenly made him save the dark-haired young dwarf that had brought him so much trouble, caused him so much pain.