Chapter Text
Kili wondered if he would ever see Tauriel again; honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
She was unlike any dwarf woman he had ever been with, her hair confined to her head and eyebrows, tall and lithe with aquiline features that he would gladly carve in bas-relief, her skin smooth and pearlescent, as pale and beautiful as the moon that accompanied the stars in the sky. And yet, something deep within him whispered misgivings and incoherent fears.
The shallow wooden boat rocked precariously. Thorin was at the prow. Back straight, chin high, one knee up on a crate, he was staring dramatically off into the mist rising from the glassy water. The theatrical quality was somewhat lessened by Fili’s grunts as he struggled to move two of the great oars at the same time, but overall Thorin still retained the grace and dignity that had distinguished him from the other dwarves back in Middle-Earth.
Kili could have stared at his uncle for a long time, but there were more pressing matters to deal with.
The sea was not kind to him.
He leaned over the side of the boat and promptly evacuated his stomach of his breakfast. Thorin paused his brooding to glance over at him to make sure he was all right.
“There’s only one more day until we get there, I think.” The words were meant to be a reassurance to Kili, but even as he spoke them, Thorin knew that his nephew was groaning inwardly at the fact that they would have to spend twenty-four more hours on this damned vessel.
“Seasick again! There aren’t even any waves!” Fili was, as usual, teasing him in his harmless way, but a quick glance from Thorin quelled the next remark before it was even spoken.
Thorin was attentive, looking out over the smooth surface of the water, past the patches of mist, towards what could only be –
Kili jerked his head up. “Land!”
The thought brought with it almost too much joy to bear. The Land that they saw – the dark splotch on the horizon – had to be Valinor – they had already passed Numenor and left it behind.
Fili called out. “Could I get a hand with these oars?”
Kili flushed. Helping with the oars was supposed to have been his task, but he had abandoned it in favour of mooning over a girl. (No, scratch that, his mind whispered. Tauriel was an elf maiden, not a girl.) He moved to pick up one oar, but Thorin had beat him to it.
“Hey, Kili, stand at the prow and keep an eye on things.” Thorin’s voice showed no trace of disappointment or anger.
And that was precisely why it made him feel so guilty.