Sorry for the late update, I got sick last week and unable to post.
=^.^=
He had been walking through the forest for hours (or days, he wasn't sure), weariness overcoming his limbs, but he couldn't stop. He would never stop, not until he found what he missed, and it sure was so close, behind the next tree, the next hill, the next… But it was hard to find, in the ever changing forest, through the disturbing mists.
Kíli opened his mouth to call out, but no sound came. Again. His whole body hurt, he was tired, but he couldn't stop and was unable to cry for help.
"Please, let me see you…" He mouthed to the mists, no sound leaving his lips, only tears streaking his cheeks.
"You are looking in the wrong place."
The voice startled him, and he looked around in hope of seeing its owner.
"I miss you so much!"
He mouthed in silence, hopping she would hear him anyway.
"It's not yet the time for you to follow me here. I must spend my time of waiting, you know."
He felt cold arms embracing him, weightless fingers caressing his chest, and the breath of her voice in his ear was all he could focus on.
"But…"
"Shh… You should find it by yourself, love. You found it before, you don't need me for this."
"I can't…"
"You must."
"No! I don't want to!"
The cold contact left him at his cry, a sad sigh and the feeling he disappointed the one he wished to never hurt.
"It was right there…" Her voice came from afar. "Don't scare it away…"
"No! Please, stay!"
He cried for her, but it was too late, she was gone, leaving him alone once more. The forest darkened, the mists turning from silver to lead gray, and all Kíli could do was to weep for his lost hope.
Bilbo was puffing his pipe beside Fíli, who patiently sharpened each of his knives with a whetstone. They were rituals, both actions: breath in, puff out perfect smoke circles, meditate on life, the universe and everything whilst the smoke rings faded, breath in… wet the stone, slide it against the knife's edge, cleanse the infinitesimal amount of draff left, see the result against the light of the fire, wet the stone…
Dís watched the silent no-interaction with sad eyes. There should be another pair of hands either puffing a pipe or sharpening a sword, or yet fletching arrows. To forge arrow points was one thing, but fletching the arrows demanded a sense of balance that was more refined. She decided to break the silence to keep her mind away from her pain.
"Bilbo, dear, I hate that you were right, but I'd hate even more if I hadn't you here to know my son's mind better than myself!"
Bilbo had no time enough to be flabbergasted by her compliment when Fíli stepped in, jealous.
"So are things now, then? First, my little brother leaves without telling me a word; second, nobody asks me if I know about him; and now the burglar gets all praise for finding out Kíli's missing!"
"Pardon me?"
Bilbo couldn't understand Fíli's outburst.
"Me and Kíli have been ass and pants since he was in swaddles, Bilbo. Everybody knows it. Then, why didn't anybody ask me about him? Wouldn't it be easier?"
"Fíli, son, I don't get the point…"
"The point is, what's the point in being older brother, crown prince, whatever, if none ever takes me in account? I could have told Thorin forcing Kíli into marriage wouldn't work. He didn't bother to ask me. Then Kíli vanishes and nobody wonders where he really is for two days. Nobody bothers to ask me, again. Will anyone hear me when Thorin leaves the throne or will I be a decorative item of the treasury? This is not right."
Dís was confused and ashamed at the same time. Fíli did have a point.
"Fíli… Your words are true. Yet, did you consider I have lived here in Erebor the last whole year and didn't have a clue about Thorin's plans, either? That this marriage thing took me by surprise as much as you, or as Kíli?"
Bilbo chuckled, breaking the awkward mood that was settling between mother and son.
"You know, Fíli, it was all your fault that I knew Kíli wasn't there, don't you?"
"Pardon me?" The dwarf cried, surprised. "What did I do to grant you this information?"
"More what you didn't', actually. You and Kíli are ass and pants since he was in swaddles, as you said yourself. If you knew where he was, I was absolutely certain you'd not say a word. Yet, if he really were in his bedchambers, you'd be planted like a tree in front of that door and shouting your mother down of her intention to talk to him." Then he added, as if in second thought. "Or trying, at least."
Dís turned to his older son, pondering Bilbo's words.
"It that so, son? You knew it all the time?"
The dwarf only nodded, acquiescing.
"Then why didn't you tell me, for Durin's sake?"
Bilbo could see the twinkle in Fíli's eyes, all mischief and loyalty to his little brother.
"You see my point now? Nobody asked…"
Dís pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling defeated.
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Because you know your offspring?" He offered.
Bilbo laughed.
"Really, this family never ceases to surprise me. And I love to see how you change from jumping to one another's throat in a minute to melting hearths in the next."
Dís threw his a meaningful look and then back to her son.
"Fíli, I'd box your ears if I had any hope it would fix anything, yet, as it didn't in the past eighty-seven years, I'll just keep it for future reference. And charge you for it, of course."
Now Fíli looked a little worried, scratching his head and glancing at her sideways.
"Are you sure there's not a way I can escape it this time?"
"No, there isn't." Dís shook her head, unmoved by her son's pleading voice. What Kíli had of puppy eyes, Fíli had of melting voice. The dwarrowdam was well aware of it, though not always immune to it. "Once we find your brother - if we find him, Mahal grant me this grace! – you'll both hear the lecture of the age, I swear!"
Fíli hugged her warmly, sharing in her worry.
"I'll be glad to hear this lecture, if only for having my brother back to us!"
The anger Legolas felt faded after a couple days of riding. His father was an intolerant prick, no doubt, but the prince himself hadn't been any different in the past. Blame his upbringing. How could he be any different when his role model was Thranduil son of Oropher? Growing up with stories off the lost land of Doriath, of the glorious Menegroth, the halls of Thingol. Pity none of those stories taught about the fall that comes from pride, focusing instead on the betrayal of others. Always blaming others, never considering one's own flaws.
Likewise, it was the dwarrow's greed that brought Smaug, not Smaug's own greed. Blaming the victim. It sure was easier than taking his own share of responsibility for not helping the exiles. It was not even the case of fighting the dragon – the elven army was unlikely to have more success than the dwarrow one – but allowing all those people to wander with no aid at all.
Tauriel was right, though it took Legolas time to understand. It was one world they all shared, elves, dwarrow, men. And halflings, he added mentally after a moment. Whatever endangered one of them, endangered all of them.
He learned. It took time, but he learned. If he learned, there was hope his father would learn too, one day. But Legolas suspected it would take a very long time, and to be stuck in that palace didn't help. But how could he make Thranduil leave the comfort of his dwellings to see the truth that was outside?
To think about solutions felt better than simply being angry. Reasons to be angry he had plenty, but so believed Thranduil. What made him better if he acted no different from his father?
His musings were cut short by the whack of an arrow hitting a tree close to him. Centuries of warfare training took control, bow and arrow in his hands faster that one could spell danger. His horse neighed, ready to answer his any command. A trained warhorse would not rear in fear under attack, and Sador had been trained by the best. Legolas too, but his thoughts had been too far away to do him any good. He would never be caught unaware if his mind were where it should be.
His arrow flew to the source of the attack, followed by a succession of shots aimed to every moving spot he could descry. They were many, but the quantity didn't scare the elf. He had dealt with several orcs simultaneously more than once. Each of his arrows found it's mark, and none of theirs was able to scratch him. Strange, orcs were gross, but this was ridiculous. Almost as if they were trying not to hit him.
Yet, there was a limit to how many enemies one can take down alone.
When he noticed the arrows had thin, almost invisible strings attached, his arms were already entangled. Spider web. Before Sador had a chance to break into gallop, a heavy net was already upon them. Hoping against hope, Legolas used his hunting knives to disentangle them, but the orc archers were simply too many.
When the spider bite came, his blood was running fast, adrenaline dripping with his sweat. Dizzy, the elf struggled against the venom, but the forest swirled around his head. Losing his strength and ability to move, all he could do was to watch with disgust as the larger of the orcs made a signal to stop the remaining ones from shooting. Some of the others came closer, securely binding his arms and legs, as well as gagging him, all the while grunting in the hideous language of theirs.
Unable to move or even to shout, all Legolas was able was to think how come he had been ambushed, defeated and imprisoned. He hoped his mind would clear from the venom fast, so he could plan an escape. If the orcs didn't kill him right away, there was a chance they wanted him for ransom. Whilst still alive, there was hope.