The Mountain of Light
Disclaimer: Well...*sighs*. Nope, still don't own them.
Warning: Multiple P.O.V's.
AN: Sorry for the delay! Here's the next installment. Hope you like it. :D And again. thanks to everyone who've taken their time to review and have faved and followed this fic. Your support is encouraging!
Thranduil walked. He kept on walking, noticing nothing about him. His mind was just too clouded and whatever sensation of victory he had felt just moments before all but disappeared.
His mind reeled back to those last counting moments when he held Thorin's gaze. The way he looked at him...the way Thorin had been looking at him when he found out Thraduil's purpose...
A heaviness set about his heart as his vision grew misty. His heart now raced and beat hard as if to try and free itself of the constriction which lay about it.
He quickly hardened his gaze and focused on more pressing matters. Like what their next move could be. Much to his relief, he quickly found the mist disappearing from his eyes as his line of sight became clearer.
However, the uncomfortable sensation didn't disappear and Thranduil had no choice but to hope that he'd somehow keep his mask at least till a great distance was marked between themselves and Erebor.
It was not how he envisioned it ending, he found himself thinking.
His chest felt that strange pressure yet again as thoughts returned centring him and Thorin, his face showing signs by means of a light frown plastered on his forehead.
I never wanted to involve us.
But he had no choice. Like Thrór, he too was passionate regarding this lored beauty he kept in his coat. Like Thrór, in this matter, he too had put his passions before his desires.
After all, we're but slaves to our passions.
Never before had Thorin felt so numb. He stood in place, his eyes frozen to a trance as by and by flashes of images replayed in his head. They were not as much about the Mountain of Light or Thrór and his betrayal as they were about a certain king who had captivated him and stole his heart.
His mind preserved the exact picture of Thranduil as he looked at Thorin, his eyes burning with a smouldering fire and shining ever so brightly with a materialistic lust.
A lust that made him toy with Thorin's feelings. A lust that broke his heart.
He felt so weak-kneed. His lips trembled as he recounted the last gaze Thranduil threw at him. They were lustful and ardent but...was it all for the cursed jewel? Was none of it for him?
Was none of it real?
He didn't register the light tug he felt on his arm. When he was tugged a bit harder, he slowly turned with disbelieving eyes those landed upon his youngest nephew.
Kíli was still here. He was looking at his uncle with concern and sympathy and honestly, had it not been for him, Thorin probably would've slumped on the floor. He truly had no energy left in him at that point.
He gave his heart away to the ethereal elf. He loved with everything and considered him to be the One. His One.
And now he had been thrown away. All for that dire piece of rock.
I'm such a fool.
Kíli felt absolutely helpless, seeing his uncle like that. He was always used to seeing a fire inherent in Thorin—a powerful leader and motivator. Understandably, his heart shattered as this enigma had been brutally discarded by that loathsome creature.
Much like himself...who'd been discarded by Thrór.
He frowned and gritted his teeth while he looked down, inhaling deeply to try and hold the outcome of stings he felt prickling his eyes.
Thrór stood right in front of him, heaving wildly and shaking terribly with rage. To have that, which he sought, be dangled in front of him and then be denied of it—that surely must've caused frustration. Not to mention, the king was now on the receiving end of insult—the very same apparently which, he threw at Thranduil.
By now, Kíli understood the bigger picture. It was entirely about that: who would get to have the last laugh? Who'd get to have the mythical jewel?
It had been entirely about that. Who cared if expectations got shattered? Idealism broken, love lost? As long as they got what they wanted.
A burning sensation covered Kíli's face and ears as revelation dawned on him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch that old geezer in front of him and kill him with his bare hands!
Once Kíli's world centred on him. His blasted approval. Once Thranduil meant the world to Thorin—Kíli could see it clearly at his uncle's eyes.
How could those pretentious mad fools toy with their expectations?
How could Thrór play with him? All Kíli ever wanted was to make his great grandfather proud! All he wanted was t be acknowledged! Was it too much to ask?
His grip on Thorin's arm tightened subconsciously, knuckles slowly turning white. However, neither he nor Thorin acknowledged any of that.
He lifted his eyes as he felt a warm hand patting his back. He remained hesitant for a second before turning to face the other.
His face almost cracked when his eyes landed on Thorin. His uncle had a broken look set in his face but even so, he consoled the younger dwarf and urged him to stay strong.
It was then that Kíli saw who it was that remained proud of him no matter what. Who it was that acknowledged his being and found him worthy to be an heir of Durin.
It was then that he patted Thorin back and nodded in a silent understanding.
This was a person who looked after him like his own father. This was someone who loved him unconditionally.
This was someone who Kíli too would look after. No matter what.
AN: Hope that wasn't too confusing. Please review!