Chapter XIII

Kíli ambled through the woods, taking a downhill path without really knowing where he was going. The ground felt soft beneath the soles of his feet. It was covered in moss, exuding a rich, earthy fragrance that reminded him of something—no, of someone, rather.

He looked up to see the sun shine through the thick canopy of leaves, her light broken into small, golden rays that danced across his skin and made the air glitter with tiny particles of dust, pollen and tiny insects.

Distracted by this spectacle, Kíli's foot got caught in one of the many tree roots protruding from the ground and he stumbled, almost fell, reaching for one of the nearby trees to steady himself. Leaning against the tree for support he looked on ahead and smiled when he saw a person sitting on the ground amongst the trees a little further down the hill, her long red hair glowing like fire in the sunlight. Her face was turned upward, and she kept her eyes closed, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She looked like she belonged there, as if she was as much part of the woods as any of the old, dignified trees.

Silently, Kíli walked up behind her. He squatted down next to her, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to the pointy tip of her ear. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and graced him with her most beautiful smile.

"I have been waiting for you, meleth e-gûr nîn." Tauriel's smile was bright, but Kíli thought that he detected a trace of sadness in her voice and a curious, fragile emotion in her eyes that he could not quite place.

He took one of her hands in both of his and raised it to his lips, placing a feather-light kiss onto her knuckles. "I hope I did not make you wait for too long."

Her smile turned a little wistful. "I would not mind waiting an eternity, if only I knew for sure that I could be with you again."

"Come here," he whispered, sensing that she needed comfort more than she needed his caresses right now and pulled her with him as he lay back on the uneven ground. Her head came to rest on his chest and he wrapped both of his arms around her, marveling at how small she felt in his embrace, despite the fact that she was much taller than he was.

As he inhaled the tantalizing scent of her hair, Kíli feared that his heart might burst in his chest with happiness. How could anything on this earth be so pure, so utterly beautiful as she was? And that she would allow him to love her, to hold her close…

He ran a hand up and down the side of her body, a happy smile spreading across his face as he felt her mold herself into his embrace, pressing even closer to him. At the back of his mind, a little voice kept nagging him that there was something he was supposed to ask her, some question he needed her to answer. He tried to hold onto that thought, tried to pull it towards him to inspect it more closely, tried to remember. Just when he thought that he almost had it, when he could already feel the words forming on his tongue, Tauriel lifted her head from his chest and gazed into his eyes with so much love, so much passion, that the thought slipped away from him again like sand running through his fingers.

Now, the only thought that held any power over his mind were her full lips and the warmth of her body where it was pressed against his. So he brought his head up a little and, cupping her neck with his hand, drew her into a tender kiss. It was as if their lips had retained their memory of each other and, without hesitation or awkward adjusting, began to move in unison, exploring, caressing.

Kíli could not suppress a small moan when Tauriel's tongue darted forward, tasting him, and he gasped in surprise when she pushed herself off the ground, straddling him with her long, perfect legs. Her kisses became more urgent and Kíli could feel his own hips lift up in response when she ground herself against him.

She broke their kiss and, hurriedly, her brow furrowed in concentration, set to work on the lacing of his shirt with nimble fingers. Kíli forced himself to lift his hands from where they rested on her hips and wrapped them around her wrists, stilling her movements. She looked at him in confusion, her eyes slightly unfocused.

"Slow down," he said, smiling gently, reassuringly. "We can take all the time we want."

"Don't you want me?" she asked, the unexpected insecurity in her voice almost breaking his heart.

He cupped her cheek, running his thumb across her lower lip. "I think there is plenty of evidence that I do want you, very much," he replied quietly, pressing his hips up against her to further prove his point.

"Then please, let me—" she said, breaking off in mid-sentence to reclaim his lips in a bruising kiss, half unfastening his shirt, half ripping it open. While he wondered at the urgency of her actions and the desperation in her touch, Kíli felt powerless to resist her, and so, sitting up, he pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it aside. Tauriel mirrored his movement and then, quickly, took care of both of their remaining garments.

Panting, Kíli fell back onto the mossy ground as she sat on top of him, joining her body with his in the most delicious way, making him feel complete again after so much time of longing for her touch. He moved his hands back to her hips, trying to guide her in her rhythm, trying to slow her down. He wanted to make this last, never wanted the exquisite sensation of being so close to her to end. But Tauriel had something else entirely on her mind and continued to grind herself against him hard and fast, making his eyes roll back in their sockets from the surge of pleasure that ran through his whole body with each and every one of her movements.

This was not sweet, gentle love-making anymore. This was raw, intense. And yet, as Kíli gazed up at his love, her eyes locked onto his and the sunlight breaking through the trees above her illuminating her in a kind of unearthly halo, he felt only tenderness and the purest form of love he had ever known radiate through his body. He felt the universe expand around him, growing larger and larger, brighter and brighter, until, like an explosion, everything fell apart and he was sent down a spiral of pleasure. He clamped his hands firmly down onto Tauriel's hips, slamming her down against him hard one last time and felt her shudder against him in response as she fell onto him, gasping, panting.

With her forehead resting against his, they stared at each other in wide-eyed amazement, waiting for their breathing to calm down. They were reluctant to let go of one another, both wanting to prolong this intimate moment. But eventually Tauriel slid off him and nestled herself against the side of his body. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her lips.

"Are you going to leave me now?" she asked, her voice sad.

Kíli frowned. "Why would I leave you? There is nowhere else on earth I'd rather be than here, with you."

Tauriel bit her lip. "You did the last time," she whispered. "Promise that you will find me again. Promise that you won't keep me waiting here for too long."

Kíli just stared at her, trying to figure out what she meant by that. The last time? Why, what had happened the last time? When was the last time?

And suddenly he remembered, remembered what had happened after their encounter on a meadow several nights before, how afterwards he had tried to solve the puzzle of what appeared to be a dream, but maybe was so much more. He remembered the things that he should be asking her.

But when Kíli opened his mouth to ask her about the words she had said to him when they last saw each other, ask her about the runestone, to find some kind of confirmation that all of this was real, he found that he could not speak. An invisible, heavy weight seemed to rest on his chest, making it impossible to breathe, let alone talk. His eyes wide with panic, he looked at Tauriel, who sat up and hectically examined his body, trying to locate the source of his obvious discomfort.

As the strain on his chest increased, Kíli could see the edges of his vision begin to blur and then everything began to crumble, to fall away. The last thing he saw were Tauriel's sad green eyes staring back at him as she, too, faded into darkness.

As Kíli struggled towards consciousness, he felt a heavy weight holding him down and he fought against the sensation, like a drowning man trying to break through to the surface. Then, as he finally became aware of sounds and images once more, the weight pressing onto his chest transformed into a sharp, stinging pain.

He groaned through gritted teeth, trying to twist away from whatever it was that was causing him such agony. Swiftly, two pairs of hands appeared in his vision and steadied him, pinning him down. As he looked up, he found two blurred figures gazing down at him.

"Shh, take it easy," one of them spoke to him in a familiar voice, and then, directed at the other one, "Go get one of the healers, he might need something against the pain soon."

Kíli saw one of the figures nod and then disappear. The other one continued to look at him. Allowing his breathing to slow down, Kíli blinked a couple of times and slowly the person leaning over him came into focus. It was Bofur.

"Hello there," Bofur said, smiling. "It is good to have you back again."

Kíli took a deep breath and tried to speak, but immediately winced from the pain that flared up in his chest.

Bofur winced as well in sympathy. "Try not to breathe in too deeply. You got yourself a broken rip or two."

Kíli carefully exhaled, understanding now where the pain came from. "What is going on?" he asked in a low voice. "Where am I?"

"At Erebor," his companion answered. "Don't you remember the battle? We found you buried underneath that nasty, big orc. Filthy thing. We'd already thought we lost all three of you when we couldn't find you."

Right. It all came back to him now. He resisted the urge to sit up and look around himself. Instead he asked Bofur: "Fíli? Thorin? They are alive as well?"

Bofur nodded, but Kíli noticed a shadow pass across the older dwarf's face. "Thorin is… fine. Thanks to you and your brother he did not suffer any serious injuries and is already back on his feet, taking care of… things."

Kíli raised his eyebrows at Bofur's uncharacteristically vague way of expressing things. But whatever was happening with Thorin had to wait for the time being, other matters were more pressing. "And Fíli? He's fine?"

"He's recovering." Bofur paused, making Kíli feel uneasy. "Took a bad blow to his face. There'll probably be quite some scarring."

Kíli winced, this time not from his own pain, but out of sympathy for his brother. "But it could be worse, right?"

"Of course, yes," Bofur replied, smiling at him reassuringly. "I think it will simply take some time until he'll be himself again. He's been a little… withdrawn since he woke up, not his usual, cheery self. The battle changed him, I suppose."

Kíli nodded. Hadn't it changed them all? He could see it even in Bofur's face, on which the many fine laughter lines had recently been joined by some deeper lines of worry.

"Do you remember what happened to the three of you, out there on the battle field?" Bofur suddenly asked.

Kíli mulled that question over in his head for a moment. He remembered parts of it, mostly disconnected feelings. He had been sure that he would die—that memory was pretty fresh still. But aside from that, everything was rather hazy. What he paradoxically had a very clear recollection of was that, somewhere between him passing out on the battle field and struggling back towards consciousness a few minutes ago, he had been with Tauriel again. He stored that thought away for later examination.

"No, not quite" he thus answered Bofur's questions. "It's all very vague. I remember fighting against someone— something?—but aside from that…"

Bofur nodded. "It looked like you were trying to protect your brother and uncle from the enemy."

"Did I?" Kíli tried to recall the events during the battle. "I remember being in pain and whoever I was fighting was so much stronger than me. I think… I think they were about to kill me. And then there's nothing."

Bofur nodded. He bent down, out of Kíli's line of sight, and retrieved a bundle of cloth. Unwrapping it, he showed Kíli an arrow. An Elvish arrow. Kíli raised his eyebrows at Bofur questioningly.

"I found this stuck in the throat of the orc you were buried beneath. Looks like a member of the Elven kind came to your aid just at the right time—again." Bofur looked at Kíli intently, the meaning behind his words clear to the younger dwarf.

He let his gaze drift towards the ceiling, thinking about the implications of what Bofur had just told him. He tried not to read too much into it, but of course he could not help but wonder. Had it been her? Had she saved him once again? But if she had, if she had really been out there on the battle field, where was she now?

He glanced at Bofur. "The Elves of Mirkwood…" he began, but then broke off.

Bofur answered his unspoken question. "The blond lad—Legolas?—he set off with most of their army three days ago after he had a very long discussion with Thorin. A couple of them stuck around, helping to tend to the wounded." He paused. "I did not see her amongst either group," he added, guessing what it was that his young friend was wondering about.

Kíli nodded, silently thanking his companion for being so considerate about his feelings.

At that moment the door opened and Fíli poked his head in. Kíli suppressed a wince when he saw the extent of Fíli's injury. His handsome face, marked forever by battle. Fíli smiled, carefully and obviously in pain, when he saw that Kíli was awake.

"Brother," he said, his voice strained with emotion, as he quickly crossed the room and came to stand next to Kíli's bed. He leaned down and, for a brief moment, pressed his forehead against that of his younger brother, telling him with actions what he could not say with words.

Kíli clasped his hand around Fíli's upper arm. "Glad to see you're alright, too." So, so glad.

Kíli dangled his bare feet from his bed, looking out of the window of his room, lost in thought. It was the first day since he had awoken that he was sitting up. He felt much better, well-rested after such a long period of healing in peace and being looked after by his friends and brethren.

However, while his body had had a chance to rest and to finally recover from the turmoil of the last few weeks, his mind had refused to settle down, always worrying, wondering, remembering.

His uncle had not been to see him since he had woken up and this worried Kíli, forcing him to revisit in his mind the last moments spent with Thorin before the battle, recalling the tension that had been building between himself and his uncle. During the battle, none of this had been an issue anymore, but Thorin's absence led Kíli to wonder whether maybe their recent differences had not been cast aside as easily as he had hoped.

Had he not proven his loyalty when he had thrown himself in front of his brother and uncle, expecting a certain death? Were there not more pressing matters that needed attention aside from the state of his mind, his heart? Maybe there was a dimension to this which he could not understand, but as it was, it certainly felt as if he was being punished for the way he felt, forbidden to be the person that he had become and that he wanted to be. And this hurt. It hurt that someone as close to him as Thorin would not accept him anymore, that apparently his uncle's love for him came with certain expectations that he, lately, had failed to meet.

Kíli sighed. It would be best to simply accept that things were not as they used to be anymore. To move on. During those days when he had been confined to his bed, a plan had begun to form in his mind, a plan to travel for a while, to make himself useful wherever he was needed.

It was ironic, really. They had taken so much upon themselves to reclaim their rightful home, to be able to truly settle down once again. And now that he finally was at Erebor, at home, he was restless, eager to get back on the road. This made him wonder whether, all this time, he had not been running towards something as he had thought, but away from everything else instead, away from his life. And apparently he was not done running yet.

He was torn from his thoughts when he heard his door open. He looked over his shoulder to see Balin enter his room and carefully close the door behind him.

He smiled at the white-haired dwarf in greeting, wondering whether this was merely a social call or something more.

Balin returned his smile. "How are you feeling, laddie?"

"Better than I have in quite a while," Kíli replied, honestly.

"Good, good," Balin muttered, distractedly, as he drew a chair towards Kíli's bed. After a pause that made Kíli slightly uneasy, he cleared his throat. "Thorin sent me to speak with you."

"Oh," Kíli replied, finding it difficult not to show his hurt at the fact that apparently his uncle did not deem it necessary to come in person. "What is it?"

"Thorin is setting up a council, a board of dwarves that is to assist and support him in his decisions."

Kíli nodded slowly, not quite understanding how this was of any concern to him. "And?"

"He wants you to be the head of this council," Balin said, not quite meeting Kíli's eye. It was obvious from his stance that he did not support Thorin's decision, that he thought if anyone were to occupy this position it should be him.

Kíli was dumbfounded. Thorin had been avoiding him for days and now this? "That's—" he stammered, "I'm sure that is some kind of a misunderstanding, Balin. I'm not at all qualified for such a position, I don't have any at all experience with politics and the like. I wouldn't know what to do, and Thorin must know this." Most importantly—he did not say that of course—did he not want this position. It sounded utterly miserable.

Balin inclined his head, signaling that he agreed with the young dwarf. "I'm afraid Thorin was quite clear in his instructions."

Kíli jumped up from the bed. "No, this is not possible. Let us go and speak to him now, clear this up. I have mentioned to him before that I would be willing to return to Lake-town. Or anywhere else where we have allies, I really don't mind. I'm sure if I just—"

"No," Balin interrupted him, shaking his head. "You are to remain at Erebor as right hand to your uncle—to your king."

Kíli sank back down onto his bed when he realized what all this was about, his knees suddenly weak. Thorin wanted to have him where he could see him at all times, wanted to make sure that he did not stray from the path intended for him. Wanted to control him.

"I want to talk to Thorin," he insisted, carefully keeping his anger out of his voice. "Where is he?"

Balin got up from his chair, once again shaking his head. He, too, seemed suddenly angry. "Thorin does not have time for you now. It is a great honor to be offered such a position at your age. You would do good to rejoice in that instead of complaining about it."

Kíli could only stare after Balin in outrage as the older Dwarf left his room. He felt like breaking something.

Clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly, he sat on his bed, staring holes into the floor. What now? He could not be the head of Thorin's council. Maybe he could have been, under different circumstances. But if this was merely a ploy to keep him under observation—no, this would not work.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him. There was no one who would understand him, help him find a way out of this situation. Although that was not entirely true, he realized. There was one person who would always understand him, wasn't there?

He got up from his bed and hurriedly left his room in search of his brother. Surely Fíli would see that this was a terrible idea and would help him convince Thorin to change his mind.

When Kíli reached Fíli's room, he was relieved to find his brother there and that he did not have to search the mountain for him. He frowned, however, when he entered the room and saw Fíli laying his possessions out on his bed—weapons, clothes, supplies—and tying them up into bundles.

"What are you doing?" Kíli asked, puzzled.

"Packing," Fíli replied, only glancing up briefly from his work.

Kíli felt his stomach drop. He swallowed against a sudden lump forming in his throat. "Packing? What for?"

"I will be head of the party returning to Lake-town," Fíli answered, his tone one of detachment. "To help the people there. It's part of the deal Thorin struck with Bard."

Kíli came to stand next to his brother's bed, holding onto one of the bedposts for support. "You're leaving?"

Fíli paused, frowning down at his mattress. "Lake-town is not far away, Kíli. It is not as if I am travelling to the other end of Middle Earth."

Kíli remained silent for a moment and watched his brother continue to pack. "Thorin wants me as head of his council."

Fíli glanced at his brother, his expression unreadable. "Aye, I know. Congratulations."

Kíli wondered if he, like Balin, felt offended that it was Kíli who was elected for this task by Thorin and not himself. "I do not want this," Kíli said, his voice pleading for his brother's understanding. "I want to come with you, not stay here."

"I'm afraid that is out of the question," Fíli replied. "Thorin has made his decision and we promised to follow him."

"Please," Kíli said, his voice desperate. "Let us attempt to speak with him. He cannot be serious about this. I can't do this."

Fíli closed his eyes in exasperation, looking tired. The long gash running down the side of his face had begun to heal, but it still was an angry red, depriving his face of some of its youth and much of its beauty. When he spoke, his voice was tense with suppressed anger. "I warned you, Kíli, didn't I? I told you to let go of her, to focus on your life as a dwarf of Erebor instead of lusting after some elf. But you would not listen. You could have resolved your issues with Thorin, but instead you chose to lose yourself in your fantasies, provoking exactly this kind of reaction from him." He looked at his younger brother, his voice softening. "I'm sorry, Kíli. I'm afraid I cannot help you here."

Kíli frowned, hurt by his brother's harsh words. Was he right? Had Kíli brought all of this upon himself? Condemned himself to this miserable life? And now he was losing his only ally, his brother, his friend. He wanted to cry.

Fíli went back to packing. Kíli made to leave the room, needing some time alone to sort out his thoughts. His older brother's voice stopped him as he was just about to shut the door behind him.

"There will be feast tonight to see us off. See you there?"

"Sure," Kíli replied, even though food, drink and celebration were the things farthest from his mind right now.

Kíli silently walked along a path, leaving the noise of the party behind him. It was a full moon and his brethren had decided to take the celebrations outside, even though the nights were already becoming quite cold. Kíli did not mind—at least this gave him an opportunity to sneak away into the night unnoticed.

He just was not in the mood for any of this right now, and so he had decided to find a quiet spot and work a little on mending his bow, the string of which needed to be replaced. It was a meditative task that always helped him calm down and the light of the moon was bright enough for him to see even in the remote spot at the edge of a group of trees that he had chosen after wandering about for a short while.

He was done fixing his bowstring much too quickly and, since he did not feel inclined to return to the festivities just yet, he sat there in the grass for a while, looking at the moon hanging round and heavy in the sky, wondering, as he so often did, if Tauriel was looking at the same moon right now, wondering if she, too, was thinking of him.

Every night he searched for her in his dreams, trying to condition his mind to go to that place where he could be with her, once he closed his eyes. Sometimes it worked, and he found her in one of those unearthly beautiful places that his mind conjured when he slept. Or was it her mind, maybe, that constructed these places? Because by now he was convinced that somehow, between the two of them, they had found a way of interlinking their dreams, that their minds had acquired the ability to touch upon one another in that vast, incomprehensible dimension constituted by thoughts and dreams.

He did not know how it worked and doubted that he would ever find out, because, while he always felt very conscious during those dream-like encounters with Tauriel, he could never bring himself to remember that he was supposed to discuss all of this with her, to figure out if the experience was the same for her. It was as if his mind had created a mechanism to protect this illusion, to prevent him from penetrating this mystery. But as long as he could see her sometimes, feel the touch of her skin upon his and watch her eyes light up when she saw him, he did not care.

Kíli tensed when he suddenly became aware of a presence behind him. Someone was watching him. Slowly, he tightened his grip on his bow and felt around on the ground beside him until his fingers brushed against his quiver.

In one swift movement he withdrew one of his arrows and jumped up, spinning around to aim his bow at whoever was lingering in the trees behind him. He almost let his arrow fly when his eyes lighted upon a tall figure standing a couple of feet away from him, but then lowered his bow when he realized who it was.

"If I were you I would not sneak up behind people in the dark. Might get yourself stuck with an arrow or two," he called out.

Legolas smirked, stepping out from the shadows of the trees into the white light of the moon. "You would have missed," he replied.

Kíli rolled his eyes at the elf's arrogance. "Please don't tell me that you came all the way to criticize my skill with bow and arrow. You could have sent a letter."

The ghost of a smile played around the corners of Legolas' mouth before his expression turned serious. "No, that is indeed not why I am here." He paused, obviously not happy about what he was going to say next. "I need your help."

Kíli's eyebrows shot up. "My help? With what?" He truly had not seen that coming.

Legolas hesitated, as if he was about to reconsider involving Kíli in whatever it was that was troubling him. Finally he spoke. "It's Tauriel."

Kíli tensed. "Is she alright? She is not hurt or sick or anything like that, is she?"

Legolas frowned. "I do not really know."

"Why? What is wrong with her?" Kíli asked, impatient at the slowness with which Legolas was imparting information.

Legolas sighed. "She—she won't wake up. We have tried everything, but it seems as if she has resolved to remain asleep forever. I do not know what to do."

Kíli was confused—and worried. Legolas would not have sought him out unless something was terribly amiss. "What do you mean, she won't wake up? Why would she choose to remain asleep? How is such a thing even possible?" When Legolas evaded his gaze, he pressed on. "What is it that you are not telling me?"

"There was a misunderstanding," Legolas replied cautiously. "She… she thinks that you are..." He trailed off, still staring at the ground.

"That I'm what?" Kíli was fighting the urge to strangle Legolas. If he didn't come out with the truth soon, he would—

"Dead," Legolas choked out, finally lifting his head to look at Kíli. "She thinks you are dead. It… Something inside her broke. She took a potion that would put her to sleep and now we cannot wake her up anymore. I don't know why and there is nothing we haven't tried. I came here to fetch you. I—She trusts you. For reasons I cannot entirely fathom, she trusts you. Maybe it is you who can bring her back."

Kíli blinked, his mind taking a few moments to register what Legolas was saying. "I don't understand. Why would she think that I'm—oh." He looked at Legolas, narrowing his eyes. "You told her I was dead? Why would you do such a thing?"

Legolas looked away, guiltily. "That does not matter now. I made a mistake—I know that. I am here because I am trying to make up for it." He hesitated, clearly struggling with what he was about to say next. "Please return to Mirkwood with me. I really cannot think of anything else to try anymore."

Under different circumstances, Kíli would have found pleasure in the blond elf's discomfort, but right now all he could think about was Tauriel. Many things that she had said during their dreamlike encounters made sense now—the desperation with which she clung to him, the sadness in her eyes. She thought he was dead and for her he was merely a ghost that she was seeing in her dreams. Ah Tauriel, he thought, if only you knew that I am actually there with you every time. His heart went out to her and all he wanted to do was go and make her feel better.

He looked into the direction of the party that was still in full swing. If he left now, he would be in deep trouble. But he found that he did not really care. His life at Erebor seemed to be taking quite a miserable turn anyways, what with him and his uncle becoming estranged and even his brother turning away from him. He couldn't exactly make it worse, could he?

So he nodded to Legolas. "Let's go, then."

Legolas returned his nod, visibly relieved. He turned around and Kíli followed him through the line of trees behind which Legolas' horse was waiting. Abruptly, Legolas stopped and turned around to face Kíli. "I do not suppose you can get your hands on a horse of your own without getting into trouble?" The look on the elf's face told Kíli that he had not thought of how they would get back to Mirkwood when he rode to Erebor.

Kíli shook his head no. Trying to procure a horse would mean risking detection and this would result in a serious delay—if not worse. Dwarf and Elf looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Then Kíli shrugged and Legolas sighed simultaneously, and they both approached Legolas' horse. Legolas mounted gracefully and reached down to help Kíli climb into the horse behind him.

As they rode off into the night and the sounds of the party died away behind them, Kíli thought that this was certainly going to be an interesting journey. Bizarre, but interesting.