4: To Simply Know You
Kíli hit the floor face-first like a dead weight, his limbs sprawled beneath him at decidedly awkward angles. Despite her resolution to find out more about the locking mechanism, Tauriel barely paid any attention as the door to his cell was slammed back into its original position. Her eyes were fixed on Kíli's back where his tunic, which had been rather threadbare to begin with, was hanging in ragged strips, bruised and bloodied skin peeking out underneath.
There was a bit of a scuffle happening in the corridor, and Tauriel looked up in time to see Ingolf clutching the sleeve of the skinny guard in his white-knuckled fist, entreatingly hissing words which Tauriel could not make out. The guard tried to pull away, but Ingolf merely tightened his hold, for which he received a hard shove from one of the bulkier guards. As he stumbled backwards, clutching his shoulder, the shorter guard just stood in the middle of the corridor, staring numbly first at Ingolf, then at Kíli's lifeless form. Tauriel wondered about this curious exchange, but before she had time to make sense of it, the guard Ingolf had attacked was being marched out of the prison by the other two.
This time, Tauriel did not even hear the sound of their prison door locking over the noises which erupted once they were alone again. A kick from Ingolf, accompanied by a curse which caused the tips of Tauriel's ears to feel quite warm, rattled the bars of his cell. Suri, too, had rushed forward, making soft noises of distress even as she reached through the bars to lay a calming hand on Ingolf's shoulder.
"Is he dead?" Ruari was kneeling on the floor of his cell, his face pressed against the bars while he stared at Kíli's lifeless form with haunted eyes. "Don't just sit there! Check if he's dead!"
That last part was directed at Tauriel, who felt nettled by his rough, commanding tone. "I thought that was precisely what you wished for," she spat, even as she scooted closer to the bars separating her cell from Kíli's.
"I told you, it's a matter of principle more than anything else. If he dies, if he's—Mahal, he's—"
Ruari broke off, running a hand through his already messy beard in obvious distress. Tauriel was growing ever more curious about the relationship between the two Dwarves, but now was most definitely not the time to investigate. Instead, she returned her full attention to Kíli, who was still lying exactly as the guards had left him.
In the dim light, she still couldn't tell if he was breathing just by sight. Touch it would have to be, then. Pressing her body against the bars, Tauriel stretched out her hand, her fingertips searching for a spot where she might feel the blood pulse through Kíli's veins.
His left arm was beyond her reach, and his right hand was buried underneath his body. She considered simply resting her hand against his back to feel for a movement of breath, but decided against it due to the extent of his injuries on that part of his body. She shifted position again, and was finally able to press her fingers against the crook of Kíli's neck.
He was definitely warm to the touch, which was a good sign. Still, Tauriel could feel nothing, no pulse, no twitch of muscle. His face was turned towards her, completely slack and ghostly pale even in the weak, orange light.
The numbness of shock was abruptly replaced by a gut-wrenching fear. She might not be entirely sure of his true character as well as curiously hurt by his apparent distrust in her, but she didn't want him to die. Not at all. She wanted to look into those soft brown eyes again, and she wanted them to look back at her with. . . well, what exactly?
Focus, Tauriel, she chided herself. This was why she hadn't become a healer, despite the gift which coursed through her veins. She became distracted, attached, nervous. Unsuited, in short, as chief healer Linnedir had commented when her wish to enter healer training had been rejected.
Well, formally trained or not, she was currently all Kíli had. And feeling a pulse was most assuredly not beyond her skills. She applied more pressure with her fingers, held her breath.
Ah. There it was. Weak, but steady.
The air rushed from her lungs in relief. "He's alive."
Ingolf heaved a shuddering sigh, while a small sob was to be heard from Suri. Ruari slumped against the bars.
"Thank fuck," he muttered.
Tauriel only noticed these things on the periphery of her consciousness. Kíli's eyes had opened and locked onto hers, panicked, at first, but then relaxing into another emotion, one she hadn't observed in their soft brown depths before. It was almost as if he were looking at her for the first time, seeing her, really seeing her, without the context of their grim surroundings, her background, his obvious dislike of her kind. And, oh, she wanted him to keep looking at her like this, just look, so that she might continue to feel seen, warm, wanted.
The moment was over so quickly that Tauriel wasn't even sure she hadn't imagined it, the curious sense of loss weighing down on her soul the only proof that something had happened at all. Kíli's eyes darkened (who would have thought that eyes of a color as common as brown could display such a range of shades as well as the emotions accompanying them?) and he stiffened slightly, prompting Tauriel to snatch away the hand that had still lingered against the side of his neck. There it was again, the distrust for which she did not think she had given him any reason, the coldness which hurt her somewhere deep down, unreasonably.
"You're alive," she stated, entirely superfluously.
Kíli groaned and rolled onto his back, further away from her. She could see the moment that his mauled skin made contact with the floor reflected on his face and for a second she thought he would simply pass out again judging by the grayish pallor which spread across his cheeks. But then he closed his eyes and appeared to relax into the pain, welcoming it, perhaps, as a reminder that he was still there and not drifting in the shadows of the afterlife just yet.
He seemed to remember something else, then, and patted down the front of his tunic, his hips, his thighs, with shaking hands, wincing whenever his fingers encountered a new bruise, another scrape.
"You should move as little as possible," Tauriel could not stop herself from saying. "Otherwise you are only going to make yourself sick."
Kíli gave no indication of having heard her and continued running his palms over the fabric of his torn clothes until, finally, his fist closed around something in the right pocket of his trousers and he released a brittle exhale, bordering on a sob. He stayed eerily still after that, his ragged, uneven breaths the only sign that he was still with them and had not slipped back into unconsciousness.
Feeling oddly helpless, Tauriel turned her head to look at the other occupants of their prison and received concerned stares in return.
"I take it you lost, then?" This was Ruari, clearly not inclined to spare the invalid's dented pride. Tauriel sent him a reproachful look, even though she, too, was a bit curious about the events that had left Kíli so utterly defeated.
Kíli, however, managed a bark of laughter. "I didn't, actually. Although it rather feels as if I did." His laughter gave way to a fit of coughing that left him exhausted, his voice weak and croaky when he continued. "They brought out a fucking cave troll."
The reaction to this was instantaneous, shouts of varying degrees of disbelief and anger echoing through their cramped prison. Tauriel, who had encountered her fair share of the hideous, violent creatures in the depths of Mirkwood, could only stare at Kíli in horror. Horror and a healthy measure of respect, if she was honest, for encountering and defeating a cave troll by oneself was no small feat indeed.
"There's a cave troll somewhere on this vessel?" she asked incredulously. "Do our captors not know how dangerous that is?"
Kíli let his head loll to the side, looking in her direction but not quite at her. One corner of his mouth lifted. "There was a cave troll kept here. No reason to worry about that any more."
Ingolf clapped his big hands together and laughed. "Ah, what wouldn't I give to have witnessed that! Tell us, how did you defeat it?"
"Trust me, it really wasn't such a pretty sight." Kíli grimaced at the ceiling. "They didn't give me any weapons and bare hands are not much use against a bloody troll. I had to let him chase me around the arena until he was so mad with rage that he put his ugly head through a wall. Used that fine opportunity to break his neck."
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that your mere presence was enough to piss an opponent off so severely that he essentially killed himself," Ruari commented dryly, though not entirely without admiration.
Kíli raised his head off the ground far enough to blow the other Dwarf a kiss. The back of his skull knocked hard against the floor as he collapsed again with a groan. "I just wish he hadn't gotten his ugly claws into my back before I finished him off."
Tauriel's bottom lip hurt from biting it for several minutes and she decided to speak up rather than risk injury. "Show me your wounds."
Alright, well, that had come out a lot more commanding than she had intended. Which probably explained why Kíli was looking at her with undisguised bewilderment. She cleared her throat, tried again. "I mean, I could treat your injuries. They look quite painful and I have some. . . experience."
Kíli's eyebrows twitched. "Experience, hm?" He made no move to accept her offer, though, rolling onto his side again and scooting further into the shadows. "I'll be just fine without Elven sorcery, thank you."
"It's not—," Tauriel made to protest, but Kíli had already closed his eyes, whatever he had retrieved from his pocket earlier cradled against his chest inside his palm. The furrow between his eyebrows had smoothed out and the tightness around his mouth had relaxed somewhat, his breaths deepening with impending sleep.
Frustrated, Tauriel sank back on her heels and stared at her stubborn neighbor, who was so clearly in pain. She wasn't even meant to be using her gift, and certainly not on a Dwarf. But in here, in the dark, close atmosphere of their prison, the rules of the outside world did not seem to hold the same absoluteness and she would have gladly tried to alleviate Kíli's suffering. None of that mattered, though, if he didn't let her.
Her feelings must have shown rather clearly on her face, for Ingolf uttered a few words of reassurance. "Don't worry, he's been through worse. Apparently, Dwarves' bones are as hard as their skulls are thick."
"Worse than a cave troll?" Tauriel asked doubtfully, even as Ruari gave an amused grunt.
"In a week here, you encounter enough horrors to last you a lifetime," Ingolf said. "And Kíli's been here longer than that."
"Longer than you?" There was so much Tauriel wanted to ask, so much information to obtain about her fellow prisoners, their prison, their captors, she didn't even know where to begin with her questions.
Ingolf chuckled unhappily. "No, I've been here the longest. Time gets a little hazy in here, as you can well imagine, but I'd say it must have been two months by now. Ruari here followed soon after. For Kíli, it should be going on three weeks now, maybe three and a half." For a moment, his eyes flickered to the empty cell on Tauriel's left, and a series of emotions flitted across his features too swiftly for Tauriel to grasp. He shook himself and inclined his head in Suri's direction. "Our little dove joined us two weeks ago, but we think she was with our captors long before that."
Suri merely looked at Ingolf with her expressive, dark eyes and it was easy to imagine the broad smile hidden behind the fabric concealing the lower half of her face. It was heartwarming, really, to observe just how well these two understood each other, especially with the tension which hung in the air between some of the other occupants of their prison, Tauriel herself included.
Again, she looked at Kíli, huddled on the floor. Why didn't he trust her? And, even more puzzling, why did she want him to trust her quite so desperately?
It was obvious that among their little group he seemed to be someone the others respected for his skill and his courage. If Tauriel wanted them all to work together on a scheme to escape, she would need Kíli on her side, or else the others might not follow.
And yet, that was not all that there was to it, if she was honest with herself. Curiosity burned inside her about the young Dwarf, a desire to. . . yes, to what? To simply know him, Tauriel supposed, to peel away the layers of playfulness, of gentle mockery, of blatant over-confidence, and find out what was underneath. This was a strange need, one she had not felt before with anyone else. Then again, she had never encountered anyone who had—in such a short time, no less— managed to both delight and frustrate her in equal measures in the same way Kíli had.
When she looked up, she found Ingolf watching her with a soft smile playing around his lips. Quickly, she cleared her mind of those more confusing thoughts of hers and hoped that her face, too, would show no traces of what she had been dwelling on just then.
She politely returned Ingolf's smile. "Will you tell me more about how you all came to be here? I still do not even fully comprehend where 'here' even is. . ."
"My own story I will relate to you without hesitation," Ingolf said. "As for the others, their stories are theirs to tell, if they wish it so."
Tauriel inclined her head in understanding, even as she risked another glance at Kíli. Would she ever hear his story? Right now, that seemed improbable. But Ingolf was right, of course–it wasn't his story to tell.
And so she turned her back on the sleeping Dwarf in the cell next to her, folded her legs underneath her body and prepared herself to listen to Ingolf's tale, hoping it might give her a clearer idea of the evil she was faced with.
Ingolf, as he had already revealed when he had introduced himself, was of the Rohirrim. He came from a long line of simple craftsmen, and seemed used to a life without much comfort or time to reflect upon one's status.
Things had become more difficult when, a few years ago, his son had died in an accident, leaving behind a wife and three small children. Ingolf, already a widower at that time and with no younger offspring to provide for, had taken it upon himself to care for his late son's family and to see to it that their bellies were full and the roof over their heads secure.
Of late that had become a hard task, with many of the families in their small town and the villages surrounding it impoverished by a sequence of poor harvests. People simply couldn't afford to pay him for his services as a carpenter, and Ingolf had been forced to travel further and further from his home, seeking employment elsewhere.
It had been during one such journey together with a small group of tradesmen–blacksmiths, stonemasons, carpenters–that they had heard of strange occurrences taking place near the village they had found lodgings in. Disappearances, eerie lights in the night-sky, rumblings as if the earth were about to split open beneath the soles of their feet.
Never one to shy away from an adventure, Ingolf and two other men had decided to investigate the matter.
"You can imagine our surprise when, near the edge of Fangorn forest, we saw this monstrous construction loom out of the dense gray morning mist." Ingolf chuckled. "Ulf, who is far from squeamish, nearly fainted when we discovered the means by which it was pulled along."
"The beasts." Tauriel shivered as images of bloodied tusks and blind, milky eyes sprang to mind. "What do you know of them?"
Ingolf shrugged. "Not much. We have tales of similar beasts which we tell our children, but I always thought they were just that—tales."
"They're not, it would seem." Tauriel forcibly wrenched her mind away from those monstrous creatures and the strange combination of awe and pity they had evoked in her when she had first seen them. "What happened next?" she asked, urging Ingolf on with his narration.
His story, it turned out, was remarkably similar to her own. With the exception that it hadn't been his own curiosity which had led to his capture but that of one of his companions.
"Leander wanted to get closer, to get a better look at the way this whole thing was constructed. He's young, with a wife, three bairns and another on the way, and I didn't want him to go alone. We were jumped from behind. I tried to defend Leander since he's not much of a fighter, but I quickly went down. Never found out what became of him."
Guilt was evident on Ingolf's face, but even though Tauriel thought that he had no reason to feel guilty, she knew that there was not much she could do about it. A tricky emotion, guilt. She knew it intimately, for it had been her companion ever since her parents had died to protect her.
"So, in essence," she said, swallowing against the lump in her throat, "they drive this gigantic construction around our lands and pick up whoever strays too close to it?"
"That would appear to be the gist of it. Although from what we think Suri has been trying tell us, they also raid entire villages from time to time."
Tauriel shifted her gaze to the young woman. "You were taken during such a raid?"
Suri nodded urgently, her eyes filled with bottomless sorrow as she formed a cradle with her arms, rocking them from side to side.
Tauriel's blood ran cold. "You and your child."
Suri tilted her head towards her left shoulder, then to her right. Neither yes, or no—clearly Tauriel hadn't gotten that quite right.
She watched as Suri tried to explain, pointing first to herself, then to the empty spot beside her and holding her hand about hip-high, her palm facing the floor.
"A smaller version of yourself, but not your child?" Tauriel tried, and then, when Suri nodded encouragingly, "A sibling? Your sister, perhaps?"
Suri clapped her hands together and Tauriel nearly gave a whoop of triumph, forgetting for a moment the bleak nature of their topic of conversation. She'd always liked riddles, sometimes getting more competitive than what was generally regarded as acceptable by her peers. Stifling the impulse, she gave Suri a bright smile instead, relieved that a connection appeared to be forming between the two of them. In places such as this, forging friendships could very well be the key to survival.
To Suri's right, Ingolf chuckled. "Glad to see that you two seem to be getting along," he said, earning himself a sheepish smile from Tauriel and a whack to his upper arm from Suri. "Oi, what did you do that for, love? I meant it—if there is one thing we don't need in here, it is us constantly ribbing each other, is it?"
"I take it you're talking about me?" So far, Ruari had remained perfectly silent during their entire exchange, cleaning the dirt from under his nails with what looked like a toothpick fashioned from a splinter of wood. Now, he got up and leaned against the bars separating his cell from Ingolf's. "And I'll say, keep your big nose out of things which aren't your business to begin with."
Ingolf seemed unfazed by both Ruari's words and the threatening manner in which they were delivered. "Watch out whose nose you call big, Master Dwarf."
Ruari scoffed, scrunching up the organ in question. "Fair enough. Now, how about we turn this conversation towards matters of greater interest?"
"Such as how you managed to get yourself captured?" Tauriel smiled innocently at Ruari when he turned his glare on her.
"No Dwarf divulges his secrets to an Elf."
Ingolf groaned. "Ah, stop with your blather, will you?" He winked at Tauriel. "He's just embarrassed, that's why he won't tell you."
Ruari drew himself up to his full height. "I am Ruari, son of Brodi, son of Brór, and I have nothing to be ashamed of!"
Ingolf cackled at the Dwarf's display of indignation and Suri's headscarf shook with suppressed laughter. Tauriel, too, had to stifle a giggle. If she laughed now, Ruari would never tell her anything at all.
"Go on then, tell her. I've heard the story before, and it's really not worth making such a big fuss over."
They all turned in surprise when Kíli's voice interrupted their mirth (or, in Ruari's case, pouting). Tauriel wondered if he had just woken up or whether he had been awake the whole time, listening to her conversations with Ingolf and the others. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him watching her from the dark while she had opened herself to this little group of strangers.
"I'm surprised to see you awake again so soon. You seemed rather knackered before," Ingolf said, his tone cautious.
As Kíli drew himself into a sitting position with one shoulder leaning against the side of his cage, the light from their little lantern slanted across his features and Tauriel glimpsed a tired grin. "A little difficult to sleep with such chatterboxes for company. So, Ruari." He tilted his head to the side. "Perhaps a good bedtime story will help me get back to sleep."
Ruari muttered something unintelligible into his beard, but eventually relented. "Fine. They picked me up at the base of the Misty Mountains, just north of the Gladden."
Tauriel frowned. There was nothing in that area that she could think of, no settlements or particular landmarks. "You were all by yourself?"
"At that point, yes. I'm a treasure hunter, you see. Sometimes I travel with others of my ilk, but for the most part, treasure hunting is done best alone." He wriggled his fingers in the air. "No squabbling about the bounty."
"Ah, but you weren't treasure hunting when they got you, were you?" This was Kíli again, earning himself another glare from his fellow Dwarf.
"Be careful who you're trying to embarrass here, laddie. I've a cousin, whose wife grew up in the Blue Mountains. I'm sure for a diamond necklace or a lovely pair of earrings, she would readily part with some truly entertaining tales about the adventures of the adolescent Durin brothers."
Kíli pressed his lips together, his expression dark as he narrowed his eyes at Ruari.
Durin brothers. . .
Tauriel wondered what Ruari had meant by bringing the name of the ancient royal line of Dwarves into their conversation. Was it just some kind of nickname ? Or was there more to it?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Ruari when he decided to continue with his tale. "Fine, then, I wasn't treasure hunting when I was taken. I had won a particularly fine bottle of mead from one of my. . . associates before we parted ways and I might have indulged a little more than I should have."
"He was as drunk as a fiddler," Kíli supplied cheerfully.
For once, Ruari did not take offense at the younger Dwarf's words. "Aye, I was. It was bloody good mead. Anyway, I was sleeping it off and that's when they got me. Going after someone while they sleep. . ." He shook his head in disapproval. "Bloody dishonorable, that's what that is."
"I do not think your good opinion matters to this lot," Kíli remarked drily.
"No, I don't suppose it does," Ruari muttered. He shook himself. "Be that as it may. Your turn, Elf."
He looked at Tauriel expectantly and it took her a moment to realize what he meant. "Oh, how I got here, you mean? Well, my story's not so different from yours. Except the mead, perhaps. And the sleeping. That's not exactly something we do."
"What isn't? Enjoying some fine mead?" Ruari looked taken aback by the mere thought.
Tauriel laughed. "That, too, I suppose. I won't say no to a sip of good wine, though. No, I was talking about sleeping."
"You don't sleep?"
Ingolf seemed genuinely fascinated by this observation. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, Tauriel saw Ruari mouth something at Kíli that distinctly looked like 'bloody Elves'.
"Not in the same way you do," Tauriel answered, keeping a cautious eye on the two Dwarves as she spoke. "Certainly not in a way that would permit someone else to take us prisoners."
With some amount of satisfaction, she watched Ruari roll his eyes at her little jab. "Alright then, message received. Your story is essentially the same as mine, except that you did not make a complete fool of yourself and brought shame upon your family name for all eternity. Now that we've established that—What did you do?"
Tauriel's smile faded and she leaned her head against the bars, looking towards the place in the wall where a window ought to have been—a window, and beyond it the stars that would have assured her that she was still in her world, even if a little further from home than she was used to.
"I did precisely the opposite of what I was supposed to do. I did what is going to cost me everything once I am free again."
"Ah, she speaks in riddles," Ruari exclaimed. "Whatever does she mean?"
Was he purposely trying to lighten the mood? Tauriel couldn't be sure, but it did feel as if the cynical Dwarf was warming up to her. She sent him a small, grateful smile. Which he didn't return, obviously.
"I acted against my king's wishes when I set out to investigate what was behind the strange shapes and lights I kept seeing on the horizon," she explained. "I thought—I thought a war was brewing, and I did not want to sit by idly. You were wrong in your assessment, Ruari—I did act foolishly, carelessly." Her shoulders drooped of their own volition, heavy with her shame. "I got so distracted by what I found that it was easy for them to overwhelm me. Before I knew it, everything went black and. . ."
She trailed off. They all knew what had happened next, for it had happened to them as well.
"Don't grieve yourself over what's in the past already," Ingolf offered. "You've heard my story. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
Tauriel did not point out that while he was a simple carpenter, she was supposed to be a captain in her king's guard. That she was supposed to know better, to fight better. Instead she smiled weakly, forced herself to nod.
"So, if you're not supposed to leave the forest, your king, he wants you to. . . what? Sit around in his palace playing with stolen gems all day?"
Kíli, when she turned her head to look at him, bore a deep frown on his face.
"No," she chuckled. "That is not quite how I would put it. He wants us. . . he wants us to be safe, I believe."
"By hiding out in his fabled underground fortress, like cowards?"
"I did not say that I agree with him. I am here, after all." She was finally starting to get an idea of what Kíli's strange behavior towards her was about, she thought. Enough of an idea to voice her suspicion. "You are a Dwarf of Erebor, are you not?"
Kíli pursed his lips, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. "When I was born, there were no more Dwarves in the Kingdom under the Mountain. But yes, I am a Dwarf of Erebor, by manner of speaking."
"Then you are among the ones who have suffered as a consequence of my king's reclusive politics," she said, taking the bold road. "I can see why you would hold that against me."
Was she mistaken, or did he actually seem a bit flustered by her blunt assessment? Even though her heart was beating fast inside her chest, she tried to maintain a relaxed exterior. Whatever it was about him that kept her thoughts returning to him, she cared about gaining his trust more than she cared about keeping her pride intact.
"I didn't—I mean, I'm not—" He winced, and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. "You say you don't agree with your king's views?"
"With most of them, no," she answered honestly. "My life would be a fair bit easier if I did."
"I can imagine it would be." Kíli dropped his gaze and stared at the floor. The frown had not left his face, although it wasn't as pronounced as before. A few seconds ticked by where Tauriel wondered if maybe not even her willingness to lay bare her conflicted feelings about her king would stand a chance against what he had been taught to believe about her kind. Then he shifted again, away from the bars at his back. "The real reason why I woke up wasn't the noise you all were making. My back is killing me. You—I—I wouldn't ask, normally, but you offered, earlier, and I. . ."
"You would like me to take a look?" Tauriel fought extremely hard to keep the smile off her face for she feared it might be mistaken as ridicule. "Come closer," she urged gently. "There won't be much I can do without any supplies, but I can at least assess the damage and examine your wounds for possible inflammation."
Kíli scooted closer, shifting so that he had his back turned to Tauriel. Reaching through the bars, she slowly lifted the soiled fabric that had once been his tunic off his back, careful not to disturb the skin underneath. The orange glow from their single lantern certainly wasn't helping, but even without it, Tauriel suspected that the deep cuts crisscrossing on Kíli's back would have been a gruesome sight. What was still intact of his skin was caked in blood and dirt, the red gashes a network of valleys in a mutilated landscape.
Tauriel sat back on her heels and let out a slow, controlled breath. "I can see how this would cause you discomfort."
"That bad, huh?" Kíli's tone was light, but she could tell from the edge to his voice that even as they spoke, he was trying not to let pain overwhelm him.
Frantically, Tauriel considered her options. She didn't have any herbs or powders which she might have used to clean the wounds, nor any dressings to cover them. There were spells designed to speed the healing process or prevent inflammation, but she was hesitant to use them. Doing so would in all likelihood confirm Kíli's prejudices about what he called 'Elven sorcery' and now that he appeared to be opening up to her, she was reluctant to push him away again. Not that there was even any guarantee that any spells she performed would have the desired effect.
"Psst. Elf."
Tauriel was roused from her musings by Ruari, who was waving something to draw her attention. A. . . floorboard? Yes, that was precisely what he held in his hands. Quickly, he lowered it onto the ground, using it to push something across the space between their cells. A small bowl of water.
"Managed to save this. Use it to clean him up. Won't get a wink of sleep if he keeps up his moaning and groaning, otherwise."
A smile tugged at the corners of Tauriel's lips, but she forced it down and nodded, earnestly. "That is very helpful. Thank you, Ruari."
With her arm stretched out all the way, she was able to get a secure grip on the small bowl and draw it towards her without spilling a single drop. The water had a slight film on its surface and gave off a faint, not entirely fresh odor. Still, it was a very precious gift in a situation such as this and would do the job of cleaning the blood and the worst of the grime from Kíli's skin just fine. And as for a possible risk of inflammation, Tauriel was quite certain that the water was unlikely to do any damage that hadn't already been done. If only she had access to even the most basic of medicines, a few common herbs, at least. . .
Oh, Tauriel thought. And then, again, aloud this time, "Oh!"
Leaning back slightly, she rolled up the front of her dress, her fingertips tracing the waistline of her leggings until. . . Yes! There it was! It had been so long ago since she had sewn the small pouch into the inside of the garment in a flash of inspiration that she had almost forgotten it was there, had almost failed to remember the emergency remedies concealed within. A small handful of yarrow leaves, a pinch of thyme. . . Not exactly the supplies to perform any miracle healings with, but it was certainly better than nothing. And it would reduce the risk of Kíli's wounds festering by several degrees.
The yarrow was a little on the dry side and the pinch of thyme was really just a pinch, but Tauriel felt as if she were handling the most exquisite, rare ingredients as she added them to the water, carefully stirring the mixture with her finger. She let it sit for a little bit while she tore a portion of fabric from the bottom of her dress, ripping it into several, smaller pieces. The sound of her dress tearing earned her some curious glances from her prison mates, but, as it quickly became obvious what she was doing, they let her get on with it without further comment.
While the first couple of improvised compresses soaked in the small bowl, she addressed Kíli, who still had his back to her, his head resting on folded arms atop drawn-up knees. "Can you remove your shirt? Or is it too painful to lift your arms?"
He shook his head, but visibly struggled as he pulled the garment over his head. His forehead dropped back onto his arms immediately once he was done, the ruined shirt still dangling from one of his wrists.
"This will sting," Tauriel informed him. "Tell me if you need a break in between."
At the sound of her wringing out one of the now thoroughly soaked pieces of fabric, Kíli angled his head to the side, a tired eye peering over his shoulder. "What's in there? Witchy stuff?"
"Just some common herbs. Things your mother probably had growing in her garden when you were a child. Nothing 'witchy,' I promise."
He flinched, but whether at her words or at the small shock when the wet washcloth first touched his skin, she couldn't tell. Inch by painful inch she washed his back, trickling the now quite pleasantly fragrant water over his skin before gently dabbing around the deep cuts. She had promised him no witchy stuff, but while she worked, she kept repeating some of the incantations she had memorized years ago inside her head. Maybe someone would listen, maybe someone would care.
The whole situation just felt so surreal. If someone had told her as she had set out from the borders of Mirkwood that within a few hours (Days? How long had she even been here?) of her departure, she would befriend a group of random strangers, confess some of her doubts about her king's politics to them, and try to heal a Dwarf without him noticing, she would have laughed right in their face.
Kíli kept completely still while she worked, the only sign that he was in any discomfort at all the faint tremors which rippled through the muscles on his back, probably in an effort not to flinch. She had just begun to wonder if maybe he had lost consciousness, when he spoke.
"It was stupidity, on my part."
It took Tauriel a moment or two to shake off the light trance into which she had fallen while she worked. "Stupidity?"
"What got me here. Stupidity." Kíli's voice sounded bitter, but at the same time the talking appeared to help him relax while Tauriel cleaned out the deepest cuts, just below his shoulder blades.
"More stupidity than Ruari's bout of drunkenness?" she whispered conspiratorially and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.
"In some ways, yes. Dwarves can be a foolhardy race."
"I'd never have guessed," she teased gently. "What did you do, then, that you deem so very foolish?"
Kíli scraped at a streak of dirt on his forearm with his thumbnail before answering. "I got into a stupid argument with my uncle. And that stupid argument led me to attempt something even more stupid just to prove him wrong. Needless to say—by getting myself captured, I ended up proving him right."
The amount of bitterness and dejection in his voice caused something to twist inside Tauriel's stomach. "Our stories are not so very different then," she offered as consolation.
"How so? I thought you were trying to do something heroic, something for the 'greater good', when they picked you up."
Tauriel was glad he had his back turned to her so that he didn't witness her blush. "Before that, though, I had an argument with a friend. He accused me of running towards danger without thinking it through first and. . . well." She smiled sheepishly. "He wasn't as wrong about that as I convinced myself he was."
An exhausted bark of laughter shook Kíli's shoulders. "I know the feeling. I—" He took a shaky breath. "I threw away everything. Everything."
Tauriel had meant to distract him from his pain by talking to him, but now he sounded just. . . broken. This wasn't helping. "I often find," she said, "that it is much easier than we think to pick up threads which we've dropped long ago. We merely need to forgive ourselves first."
Kíli appeared to ponder this for a few moments and Tauriel used the time to finish cleaning the last of his cuts. She gathered the handful of compresses that were still clean. "It would be advantageous if you could leave these on your wounds for a little while. Can you lie down on your stomach, perhaps?"
Kíli nodded and proceeded to stretch out on his front, his torn shirt bunched up under his head like a pillow. Tauriel dipped the compresses into what remained of her tincture and placed them over the worst of his wounds. "We will leave them on for as long as you can stay still. Are you comfortable? Not too cold?"
She wasn't sure what she would have done about it, had he said that he was. Aside from the gifted water, a few soggy herbs and the clothes she wore on her body, she had nothing to offer him. Thankfully, he did not seem inclined to ask for further help and merely sighed, some of the tension leaving the muscles on his back and shoulders as he relaxed into his new position.
Quietly, Tauriel cleared away the equipment she had used to treat him. In all likelihood, neither what was left of the herbal tincture nor the torn up strips of her dress would be of much use in the future, but in a situation as dire as this, she was reluctant to part with them. In order to keep them out of sight, she moved both the small bowl and the wet compresses to the back of her cell where, hopefully, the lack of light would suffice to hide them. To be on the safe side, she piled up a little bit of straw in front of her small stash, just enough to shield it from curious gazes and not enough to attract any unwanted attention.
While she had tended to Kíli, the remainder of the prison had fallen silent, all other occupants having retreated into the shadows for some rest or simply a bit of privacy. Tauriel knew that she, too, ought to rest in order to keep up both her body's and mind's strength, but she was unsure if she would be able to achieve the calmness of thought necessary to do so. Her bones and muscles felt uncommonly weary, but her head. . . well, that was another matter.
She glanced at Kíli. Part of her longed to continue their conversation, now that his temporary coldness towards her appeared to have dissolved. He, however, needed his rest more than any of them did and so she resolved to leave him be and meditate for a bit in the hope to quieten the faint buzzing inside her skull.
Only a moment or two passed after she settled down on the floor—close enough to the bars separating her cell from Kíli's that she could keep an eye on him, but also far enough that she wasn't crowding him—before she was once again startled by Kíli's voice.
"D'you really believe we'll get out of here? Go back to our old lives?" His face was turned toward her atop his folded arms, weariness written all over his features.
"Don't you? I thought you Dwarves were supposed to be such a stubborn lot."
Again, her gentle teasing was rewarded with a twitch of his lips. "We are. But. . . after so much time down here, it's a little difficult to keep track of what I believe and what is just. . . a trick my mind is playing on me. A fleeting fancy."
She turned so that she was facing him, cross-legged, and leaned forward a bit so that her elbows came to rest on her knees. When she spoke, she tried to project all the resolve she had felt when she had first decided that if—when—she made it out here, she would bring the group of random, innocent strangers with her. "Well, as someone who has been here only for a short while, let me assure you that we will get out of here. All of us."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, once. "You looked a bit scary when you just said that. I believe you."
It was a strange thing to say and an even stranger reaction to feel warmth flooding her from a point somewhere below her sternum. She really hadn't been here very long, but clearly she, too, was already experiencing some of the disorienting side effects of imprisonment.
She covered her temporary confusion with a reassuring smile. "Good. Now get some rest. I'll have another look at your back in a few hours."
Kili pressed his lips together, nodded. "Thank you. Really."
Tauriel inclined her head in acceptance of his thanks and when she looked up again, his eyes had already drifted shut, dark lashes fanning out against his cheeks. She watched him, for a little while, contemplating how young he looked in his sleep. Her image of Dwarves had always been that of gnarly, old beings with bushy beards and severe features. That at some point every dwarf had once been young had somehow not occurred to her—although now she did wonder if all young Dwarves looked like Kíli. She doubted it.
Tearing her gaze away from her neighbor before her wayward mind could begin listing all the ways in which Kíli's looks surprised her, Tauriel forced herself to return to her meditation. Just a few simple breathing exercises, she promised herself. She might not get any proper rest, not tonight, but those would at least keep her alert.