7: The Threads Between Us

Tauriel had never been particularly good at being part of a group before. It was not that she did not have people she liked to spend time with back home, but at the end of a long day, she usually preferred to be by herself, doing things which made her feel at peace. It came as a bit of a surprise, hence, that she fell into step with the routines of her fellow prisoners swiftly and without even noticing at first that she did so.

In the absence of daylight, they structured their time with small rituals, recurring activities making it easier to distinguish between what was today and what was yesterday. They ate together. They rested at the same time. Certain periods of time were reserved for games or rounds of telling jokes. (For all his gentleness, Ingolf's humor was surprisingly coarse, whereas most of the jokes the Dwarves told did not make much sense to Tauriel. The same, they assured her, was the case for them whenever she contributed one of her own.)

Tauriel's worry over how she would cope in a fight against an opponent who was not an orc, a goblin, or something equally vile, was somewhat assuaged when she began training with the others. They couldn't spar (being separated by sturdy bars, and all that), but they practiced certain moves together, the others instructing her in how to add a considerable amount of spectacle to her fighting without doing any serious harm to the other party.

How much use that would be to her in an actual fight, only time would tell. As it was, she enjoyed the opportunity for a bit of exercise—as did the others, it soon became clear. Since Kíli was her only immediate neighbor, they worked together most and she had never seen him as carefree as when he twirled first this way and then that, dodging imagined blows and delivering a series of kicks or punches.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that they were separated by bars, Tauriel thought during their second of such training sessions. If merely watching him practicing his moves was capable of doing some very concerning things to her insides, then she did not really want to know what properly sparring with him might achieve. Or rather, she did want to know very badly and that was exactly what was the problem.

This whole thing was becoming rather infuriating, really. Control over her mind had never been one of Tauriel's most pronounced strengths, but still she should have been able to stop her thoughts from continuously starting to wander in that particular direction. To the cell next to her, that was. And to the Dwarf it contained. And to the way the muscles in his back rippled when he threw himself into a defensive stance. And to the way his hair fell in loose strands against his cheeks and into his eyes once he finished twirling from side to side, making her fingers itch with the urge to brush it behind his ears. And to the way—

Tauriel spun away, pretending to do a few stretching exercises while she glared at the back wall of her cell. Infuriating indeed.

Despite those occasional hiccups in her personal equilibrium, she managed to get through the next couple of days with both her sanity and her body blessedly intact. After Ingolf's aborted fight, Ruari and Suri were next selected to fight against each other. They returned with Suri limping, her eyes glittering with barely contained laughter, and Ruari pressing the sleeve of his shirt to a severely bleeding nose.

While Ingolf fussed over Suri, Ruari kept grumbling about unfair maneuvers and about how Suri had only been able to beat him because he'd let her. Tauriel thought that his complaints lacked any genuine venom, and indeed, once everyone had settled down a bit, she caught him smiling almost fondly while Suri demonstrated one of those 'unfair maneuvers' to the rest of their group. When he noticed her watching him, she expected another of his trademark glares, but instead he merely shrugged. Tauriel wasn't the only one, it seemed, who felt more and more at home within their small group of five with each passing day.

Ingolf got his chance to repeat the missed fight the next time the guards came for one of them. He returned a bit shaken.

"Killed someone?" Ruari asked, never one to beat around the bush.

Ingolf began to shake his head, then stopped himself. "I sort of did, yes." He drew a shaky breath. "They had me fight a bear. A big one. And I—I felt so sorry for the poor beast, it was so scared. But also absolutely rabid. I didn't have much of a choice."

The rest of them exchanged concerned glances while Ingolf ran a trembling hand through his hair. Everyone seemed at a complete loss at what to say in order to alleviate Ingolf's very obvious distress over this highly bizarre event.

"I'm sure the bear's family will understand," Kíli offered eventually.

For a few moments, their whole prison was utterly silent. Then Ingolf gave a snort, and then Ruari, and next everyone was laughing so hard that tears spilled from the corners of their eyes.

"'The bear's family will understand?'" Ruari echoed once he had regained sufficient control over his breathing to speak. "Really?"

Kíli wiped at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, wheezing slightly. "He seemed upset, and I—I just wanted—"

"Finish what the bear couldn't do and kill me with laughter?" Ingolf gasped. "I'd say you've outdone yourself in that regard. Thanks for that, anyway."

They spent the next hour speculating about what other beings might be trapped in dank, dark prisons aboard this mighty vessel, their fantasies growing ever more colorful as time progressed. Once everyone had settled down again, Tauriel found herself quietly conversing with Kíli, as had become their habit during periods where each member of their group went about their own business for a while.

"One of us should be next, I suppose." Kíli was leaning against the bars with his shoulder, his gaze directed upwards, as if he might catch a glimpse of the arena and the challenges it would hold for either of them through the many layers of wood and iron surrounding them.

Tauriel inclined her head in agreement. "Do you feel ready to fight again?"

"I've fought in worse shape than this. So, yes, I'm ready." He shrugged. "Besides, when I'm down here for too long, I get restless."

"I can see that happening, yes." Despite her worries over what might happen when she was next taken to the arena, Tauriel could feel it, too, the itch which prolonged inactivity combined with restrictive surroundings produced in her mind. The impulse to do something reckless, something foolish, something. . .

"What was the stupid thing?" she asked abruptly, brutally tearing her mind away from images of the foolish things she might do while she was locked up here, the Dwarf in the neighboring cell featuring quite prominently in them.

"You'll have to be more precise than that, I'm afraid. Some would argue that 'stupid' is an attribute that goes quite well with most of my actions."

Kíli flashed her the kind of smile she liked best on him—a bit lopsided and decidedly roguish—and for a moment she was tempted to veer away from what she had originally intended to say just to keep that smile on his face. But he'd see through that—maybe he already had.

"The stupid thing you did which caused you to end up here. The one you spoke of on my first day here."

"Yes, yes," he sighed, as reluctant to let go of their banter as she was. "I remember."

For a long moment, Tauriel thought he might not say anything else and feverishly tried to think of a way to steer their conversation back into safer waters. But then. . .

"I wanted to prove myself. As you can probably guess, the only thing I ended up proving, once and for all, is that I'm an idiot." Kíli wasn't looking at her, but down at his lap. He had taken out his stone again and was gently rubbing its surface with his thumb. "You see, I was traveling with my uncle and some others. This journey. . . well, let's just say that it had been planned for a long time. And I was desperate to come along. They almost didn't let me."

"Why?" Kíli was a competent fighter, from what Tauriel could tell. Surely he would be an asset on a long and dangerous trip?

Again, Kili smiled, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My general air of maturity can be deceiving, but in the eyes of my people I'm barely more than a child—and one with a penchant for reckless behavior, no less. They didn't want me to be another burden on their shoulders."

"And you wanted to prove to them that you weren't."

"Do you spot the irony?"

Tauriel winced. "I do. Although maybe you being a burden to them is not the first thing on their minds right now. I would expect that they are terribly worried."

"And that's even worse!" Kíli raked a hand through his already disheveled hair and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in obvious distress. "They're. . . there's a particular purpose to their journey and they're supposed to be focusing on that! Not on where I've gotten my sorry arse to."

"What will they think happened to you?"

'Nothing good, probably. Which they'd be right about, of course." Kíli dropped his hand into his lap once more, fiddling with the stone again. "We were being tracked—had been for some time already. I thought that I might be able to draw our pursuers away from our group while the others got themselves to safety. My uncle wouldn't let me, said it was too dangerous. I went anyway, when he wasn't there to stop me, got separated from my brethren, fell down a fucking ravine while I was being chased, knocked myself out in the process, and. . . well." He waved his hands about tiredly. "The rest is history."

Tauriel remained silent while she thought about what he had just told her. "I understand why you did it," she finally said.

Kíli's eyes darted to hers, surprise momentarily ridding his features of weariness. "You do?"

She ducked her head, feeling self-conscious. "It is not so different from what I did, after all."

And then she told him the detailed version of her capture, from her first trip to the edge of the forest in Legolas' company, his refusal to act and their ensuing argument, to her second, much more fateful journey to the edges of her homeland.

"You see?" she asked once he had finished. "Our stories are not so different. And, much like in your case, those I left behind will, likely, have assumed the worst once my absence was discovered."

Kíli nodded his head distractedly while he studied the runes on his stone. Confusion settled in Tauriel's mind—she had hoped that the similarity between their stories would cheer him up somewhat. Instead, he still seemed rather dejected.

"The prince you spoke of. . . Legolas? He's your. . ."

He trailed off, still not quite looking at her, but at a spot somewhere to the left of her head instead. Tauriel was taken aback. What was he asking her? Surely he couldn't mean. . . But, no, he was the one, after all, who carried around a token from an unnamed lover like it was the most precious treasure in the whole wide world.

"We grew up together," she finally said. It was difficult enough to put a name to her relationship with Legolas in her own, private thoughts. Doing so while Kíli carefully regarded her with this strange glimmer in his eyes, half fearful, half hopeful, made choosing a vague answer the most logical option for the time being. "He will worry about me, certainly. But I expect his anger to outweigh his worry."

Kíli's gaze skittered away from hers. What did he make of her words? Did he assume that some sort of agreement existed between Legolas and her? And did it matter if he did?

"My brother was amongst our party as well," he finally said, and Tauriel was relieved that they appeared to be leaving the difficult topic of her prince behind for now. "He, too, is probably very angry with me. Angry enough, I hope, to prevent him from coming after me."

Tauriel nodded. This she could understand quite well—while the thought of someone coming to their rescue might hold a certain appeal, the thought of their loved ones being captured as well as a consequence of their own stubbornness was almost unbearable. "You are very close?"

Kíli's sharp intake of breath suggested another painful topic. It seemed they weren't running out of these. "We've never really been apart. I—it's strange not to have him here. I keep talking to him, just because that's what I've done my whole life."

So that was whom his nocturnal mutterings were addressed to. Tauriel thought it a little strange that someone would caress the gift from a lover while quietly whispering to an imagined sibling, but who was she to judge the intricate workings of the dynamics within a family? She'd grown up without one, after all.

"He probably feels as you do. Perhaps he speaks to you, too."

Kíli sighed. "I wish I could hear him. I wish I could ask for his advice on how to get myself out of this mess I made for myself. He's usually very good at figuring that out. Had a lot of practice."

As Kíli winked at her and smiled as if they shared an inside joke, something with sharp claws reared it's head inside Tauriel's chest, scratching at the protective walls she had built around her heart. Kíli had all those people in his life, people he cared about and who cared about him in return. She was barely more than a stranger, and one who didn't even dare call the person who had walked by her side for centuries 'friend'. Kíli would pity her if he knew those things about her. And somehow his pity was something she dreaded even more than his indifference.

They retired for the night, soon after. This time, Tauriel did not even attempt to lull her mind into a state of rest, for she knew that she would not succeed and only get angry with herself. Instead she stared at the small lantern where it swung idly from side to side, listening to the slow, regular breaths of her fellow prisoners. Wondering if they dreamt of their loved ones and why, after six centuries on this earth, she still had no one to dream about.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

They had a bet going, the next day, as to who would be fighting in the arena next. Kíli, who seemed to be a bit of a favorite with the audience, or Tauriel, a newcomer who had almost certainly left a memorable impression during her first fight a few days ago. The odds were in Tauriel's favor, and even though she did not voice it, she hoped that this was a good omen.

Kíli kept insisting he was fine, but Tauriel did not have enough faith in her limited skills as a healer to trust that his wounds wouldn't reopen if he had to return to the arena quite so soon. Every additional day would decrease the danger of that happening, and so Tauriel would gladly have gone in his stead.

What Tauriel wanted or didn't want did, unfortunately, not seem to be of much consequence, for when the guards eventually did come for them, it was once again Kíli's cell in front of which they stopped. After a somewhat exhausting training session earlier on, they had all been lounging more or less comfortably in their cells, making idle and mostly inconsequential conversation. At the first sound of nearing footsteps, however, they had been on their feet.

Now, as Kíli's cell was about to open, Tauriel found herself glued to the bars separating their cells.

"Do not take any unnecessary risks," she entreated. "I know you feel better, but those cuts were very deep and may still affect your strength more than you expect."

Kíli had stepped close as well and nodded while he tied back his messy locks with a piece of string. "I won't. I promise." He stilled, a frown creasing his forehead. Then he seemed to make a decision and nodded to himself. "Here. Keep this safe for me, please?"

Tauriel looked down and felt her heart clench when she saw that he was holding out his stone to her. But no matter how sad the thought of watching the token from the one he so obviously loved while he fought for his life made her, she could not crush the glimmer of hope in his eyes. She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, her fingers closing around the stone resting in his palm.

It held the warmth of his skin and fit snugly into her hand as if it had been made to do just that. But it hadn't, Tauriel reminded herself, even as a curious tingling sensation spread through her stomach when Kíli's fingertips brushed her closed fist for a moment before he stepped back and accepted his fate.

The door to his cell had opened and the two two guards began to lead him away. His journey down the corridor was accompanied by muttered well-wishes from Ingolf, Ruari and Suri. Tauriel remained silent, her fist now closed so tightly around the stone that its smooth edges were digging into her flesh.

Return to us, she thought as the doors closed behind Kíli.

Return to me.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

"And then I said, 'How come I've got your precious bag of gold right here inside my sleeve, then?' and while he looked like his eyes might fall out their sockets, the whole bloody pub burst into laughter. And all that just thanks to an old parlor trick my uncle Bjørn had taught me."

Tauriel found herself chuckling alongside the others once Ingolf had finished his tale of how he had exposed an impostor who had tried to make himself at home in his town and cheat people who were already poor out of their hard earned money. It was fairly obvious that Ingolf was trying his best to distract her from worrying over Kíli. His eyes kept darting in her direction and while a considerable part of her felt concerned at the fact that apparently her inappropriate preoccupation with the young Dwarf's fate was so obvious to those around her, she could not help but feel grateful.

Time had dragged by slowly after Kíli had been taken away, all sorts of disturbing scenarios flashing through Tauriel's mind while they waited for his return. They had used up what little supplies they had for the injuries on his back, and she did not want to imagine what she would do if he were to return in a shape as bad as that last time. Since then, trust had grown between them, and she thought that if she had to, he would probably forgive her for reverting to actual spells. To the witchy things, as Kíli would say. But even so, there was only so much she could counter without the additional aid of herbal medicines, of tinctures, powders, and salves. What little magic she possessed worked on the spirit only, and if the flesh was harmed too severely, even the most tenacious of spirits would not stand much of a chance.

Well, she would have to hope that it would not come to that.

When Kíli finally did return, Tauriel saw her worst fears confirmed for a heartstopping moment. His face was covered in blood and he was half stumbling down the corridor between their cells, half being dragged along by the guards.

She must have made a sound without meaning to, or else she did not have a good explanation for where that high-pitched gasp of distress had originated from. Kíli turned his head to look at her and she saw to her immense relief that underneath all that blood he was quite alert, defiant even.

"It's just a cut," he told her while he waited for the door to his cell to open. "Probably looks worse than it is."

The guard at his back seemed not to appreciate him reassuring her like this and gave him a firm shove once his cell was finally open, causing him to nearly trip on the threshold and land flat on his face.

"Oi, is that really necessary?"

The guard outright ignored Kíli's protest and slammed the door shut behind him, turning to leave immediately.

"I'm guessing there will be no extra rations tonight?" Ruari asked.

Kíli wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wincing when it came away coated in blood. "Sorry, brother. That's unlikely, I'm afraid."

"What happened?" Tauriel asked from where she was kneeling on the floor. The second she had grasped the nature of Kíli's injury she had gotten to work, soaking yet another strip of her dress in what little water she had saved from this morning's meager ration. She wrung out the wet cloth and handed it through the bars to Kíli, who accepted it with a grateful nod.

"I might have managed to antagonize our beloved keepers. Quite a bit, actually." He hissed as he pressed the improvised washcloth to the cut on his temple.

"By doing what?" Tauriel asked, frowning down at the hem of her dress and wondering how much more of it she could sacrifice before her appearance would be considered indecent. Not much, she concluded.

"I made a new friend," Kíli explained. He brought down the makeshift compress to look at it and grimaced when he found it stained dark red with his blood. "Tall, dark fellow. It think they wanted us to squabble over a single blade to defend ourselves against a bunch of goblins." He shrugged. "Working together, we got rid of them much more effectively. The crowd loved it. Which, I think, is why we got away with it and were allowed to leave the arena with both of us still standing. Sadly, the guards didn't share that feeling and were quite disappointed that we hadn't strangled each other. Hence this." He used his free hand to point to his battered face.

Tauriel pursed her lips. "You didn't even get this in a fight?"

Kíli shook his head. "Nah. As I said, pissed them off quite a bit. But it was worth it."

Ingolf sighed in fond exasperation. "I suppose you'd see it that way, wouldn't you?" To Tauriel he added, "It wasn't always like this, though. The guards, they've grown impatient of late. Impulsive. More prone to unwarranted violence than they used to be."

"Why do you think that is?" Tauriel was examining Kíli's cut from afar while she digested Ingolf's words. It was bad enough that they were put in cages and forced to fight each other like wild animals, but to think that even outside of the arena they were constantly under the threat of physical harm. . . That seemed barely acceptable.

"I can't say for sure," Ingolf said in reply to her question. "It feels as if we're headed for some sort of turning point. Something big that's going to happen, and they're all growing restless waiting for it." He shrugged. "Or they're just a load of violent brutes. It's difficult to say."

"No, I think you might be onto something there," Kíli threw in. He'd wiped most of the blood off his face and while he still looked worse for wear with his hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks in dark strands and his skin ashen, he resembled himself once again rather than the image from Tauriel's sinister thoughts. "The crowd has changed as well. They nearly lost their minds over each goblin we slayed."

"A simple case of cabin fever, perhaps?" Ruari suggested. "Mahal know being locked up in her day in, day out makes me want to strangle someone."

"Or we're getting closer to whatever our destination is," Kíli said grimly. "Though I'm not sure I want to know the answer to that."

Tauriel weighed her head from side to side. "I would not be so hasty—finishing this journey might offer us an opportunity to escape. Wherever we are going, the chances of breaking out can hardly be worse than they are in here."

She said that last part with a glare in the direction of the elusive locking mechanism to their cells. So far, she had not come up with a satisfying plan on how to obtain the tool which the guards carried. And even if she did manage to get her hands on it—how would she operate the mysterious box from inside her cell?

Kíli did not look entirely convinced by her argument, and neither did the others. But there was no point arguing about it, if they didn't even know where they would end up, was there? So they settled down again, hoping that Kíli's excursion would remain the only one for this day.

With the others going about their own business, Tauriel beckoned Kíli to her, pointing at the rag he still clutched in his hand.

"Let me try and rinse that and then finish cleaning your cut."

Kíli handed her the soggy piece of fabric, leaning the uninjured part of his forehead against the bars while he watched her attempt to wash the compress in her last few drops of water.

"You shouldn't be using what little you have on me." His voice was tired, the residual energy he had retained from the thrill of fighting now draining quickly and visibly.

"I don't need much," Tauriel waved him off. That was not a lie—still, she was slowly beginning to feel the physical effects from lack of food, drink, and proper rest. But Kíli didn't need to know that. She crossed back over to him. "Sit before you fall down," she instructed gently.

That he obeyed her command without so much as raising an eyebrow was indication enough of how exhausted he was. While she dabbed carefully at the cut on his temple with the now moderately cleaner cloth, his eyes fluttered closed several times. Tauriel tried her best to finish as quickly as she could.

"I don't think this will be causing you much trouble," she finally assessed. "It might leave a scar, however."

Kíli merely shrugged. "One of many."

He pulled back slightly, preparing to lay down, Tauriel supposed. Before he went to sleep, however, there was one thing she had to get off her chest. Or her hands, rather.

"You should take this back. I wouldn't want to upset the giver by holding onto it for too long."

With swift hands she reached through the bars and pressed the rune stone into Kíli's hand, not allowing her fingers to linger despite the alluring warmth of his skin.

Kíli blinked at her, then at the stone. He ran his thumb across the smooth surface. "Oh—yes, thank you. Although I don't think Dís would mind you having it. You are, after all, the main reason why my flesh isn't currently hanging off me in strips."

Dís. The unfamiliar name instantly conjured an image of exotic, raw beauty in Tauriel's mind. "Dís is not a very possessive woman, then?"

Tauriel could not help but think that, if their roles had been reversed, she would greatly mind if Kíli shared a gift as personal as his rune stone with another female.

"Possessive?" Kíli's eyebrows had shot up and dropped just as quickly when the action caused his wound to sting. He blew out a breath of air. "I wouldn't quite know, I suppose. I mean, when Fíli destroyed that entire shelf of plates in our kitchen just last summer she was quite furious, but that's not really possessiveness, that's just common sense. Or is it?"

He seemed a bit confused, and so was Tauriel, if she was honest. "Your brother. . . he lives with you and Dís?"

Many Elves did not have brothers or sisters, and so Tauriel did not feel qualified to be a judge of the familial bond between siblings. Most couples she knew of, though, preferred a certain. . . privacy when it came to their living arrangements. Especially the younger ones.

"Well, yes, where else would he live?"

Tauriel could not think of a good answer to Kíli's question. Or any answer, for that matter. Clearly, family customs of Dwarves were more different from those of Elves than she had thought. "So yours is a common arrangement among your kind?"

Now Kíli was eyeing her rather suspiciously. "For sons to live with their mother? If they are unmarried, certainly, yes."

Mother. "Mother?"

"Yes, Dís. My mother. We were just speaking of her?"

Tauriel blinked rapidly as her world disassembled itself, only to emerge again as a wholly different picture. Mother. Not a spouse, a betrothed, a lover. It shouldn't have made a difference, but it did. It most definitely, irrevocably did.

Her smile was genuine, even if Kíli couldn't know the true reason behind it. "Forgive me. I must be more tired than I thought."

She did not quite dare to meet his gaze, certain that he would be able to grasp the nature of her thoughts. Observing him from under her eyelashes, she saw him watch her for another long moment, his eyes narrowed in thought.

To her great relief, he let the topic slide despite her unconvincing excuse. He slipped the stone into his shirt pocket, patting it once. "Thank you, anyway, for keeping it safe. I know it's a bit sentimental to be carrying this around with me, but it's the only thing I have left of my old life."

Tauriel inclined her head in acceptance of his thanks. "There is no shame in holding onto the memory of those you hold dear. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

The tired, warm smile Kíli gave her sent Tauriel's entire stomach aflutter with what felt like a thousand tiny butterflies. She swallowed, schooling her features into what she hoped was an expression of simple friendliness. Her thoughts were something much more difficult to control, however, and while Kíli settled down to get some proper rest, they ran wild in her head, no matter how rigorously she tried to rein them in.

This might turn out to be the longest of nights yet.