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Chapter Text

For the first couple of days, Kíli is not worried.

Durin's Day is drawing closer, yes, but Bilbo was not captured, and Gandalf is somewhere. The Elves have shown no sign of wanting to mistreat them, beyond confining them; they are well fed and comfortable. He can't see any of the other cells, any of his companions, but he can hear them every now and then. Fíli is close enough to exchange words with; the others make themselves known in shouts and songs.

And then he wakes one morning to Thorin's grief, echoed through the Company, and he realises. It's Durin's Day. The Quest has failed.

Tauriel does not seem to have any regular duties in the dungeon; he doesn't see her for days. But she comes one morning, dismissing the usual guard and seating herself outside his cell.

Kíli grips the bars, thinking quickly. "Tauriel, how many of us did you capture?"

"Are you planning a break out?" she asks, amused.

"Yes, as soon as I rip the bars from the walls." He leans against the bars. "Please, Tauriel. I am not asking where they are held. Only how many, and if they are well."

She considers him for a long time. "We took thirteen," she says finally. Kíli concentrates on not reacting either way. "All were well and unharmed, though Thorin seems to have slipped into despair since."

"Yes," Kíli mutters. "He would – is he alone?" He hasn’t heard Thorin’s voice since the day his grief echoed through the halls, and none of the others ever have messages from him.

"You are all alone."

"Yes," he says again, retreating to sit. "We are."

Tauriel stands. "Is there anything you need?"

"Key to the door?"

"Kíli."

He smiles faintly. "No. Thank you. To know they are unharmed is plenty." He glances to his right. "Tauriel, my brother Fíli is the next along; he is blond, he will be angry. Please tell him I'm well. I call to him, but I think he doesn't believe me."

"Will he believe me?"

"No. But if we tell him enough, he may accept it."

She nods, turning away; a moment later he hears her voice and Fíli's angry answer, though he can't hear the words.

Sighing, he sits down and tries to think.

 

Three months in, and Tauriel is back. They speak of inconsequentials for a time, and she assures him that the others are well.

"Even Thorin?"

"He is still – he is not what he was when he came here first. But he eats, he speaks, he sleeps."

Kíli nods thoughtfully. "Thank you."

"Your brother cursed me as I walked by," she adds.

Kíli grins, delighted. "He's been doing that to all of the guards. I think he hopes to provoke them. I told him it would not work."

"Not on me." She tilts her head, studying him; Kíli is fiddling with his runestone, apparently without realising. "Kíli, if you wish it, I will try to have word sent to your mother."

Kíli stills, staring at her. "My mother."

"I cannot tell her where you are," she says apologetically. "But I could tell her that you and your brother are safe."

Kíli shakes his head, but the effort is obvious. "She would not believe it without our name signs, and I cannot give you those. Thank you. No."

"As you wish."

He stands, fingers wrapping around hers on the bars. "Thank you, Tauriel."

 

Eight months in, and an illness sweeps through the dungeons. Elvish healers come, but the Dwarves are mostly left alone.

Kíli goes down early, burns through his illness in a couple of days, and begins to recover, though he is weak still. The guards tell him nothing, no matter how he begs, and no one answers his calls. He is frantic when Tauriel comes, days after he’s started to recover.

"Kíli." She kneels outside his door; Kíli sinks to sit against the wall. "What has happened?"

"An illness – you weren't told?"

"I have been on patrol these last weeks. I only returned this morning."

He glances up automatically, though the light in the cells is constant during the day. "Morning."

"It's late afternoon. If I had known, I would have come sooner. Are you well?"

"I am recovering. Only tired. But Tauriel, no one will tell me of my friends, and they don't answer when I call. Please, please tell me how they fare."

"I will find out," she promises. "Have you been left alone?"

"The healers came. They said there was little to do; the illness runs its' course and we live or we die without their aid." His tone is bitter and angry.

"I will find out, Kíli. Rest. I will return soon." She turns and hurries away, and Kíli lets his head rest against the wall.

When she returns she unlocks his door. Kíli blinks at her, alarmed. "Tauriel?"

"The guards have separated you. That is why no one answers you. They thought to slow the spread of the illness if you were kept far apart." She reaches to help him stand, but he pulls away, using the wall for support. "Most of your companions are on the mend. Thorin did not take ill at all, nor the young one – Ori, I believe they said. There is some doubt about Balin, as he is older and has more trouble recovering, but he insists he will be well."

"Most." Kíli is watching her carefully.

Sh reaches for him again. "I must hold your arm, Kíli. If the guards see you loose it will mean trouble for both of us."

"Where are we going?" he asks, voice tight. He doesn't fight her grip, but he is tense and he knows she can feel it.

"Your brother is very ill," she murmurs. "I will do what I can, though I am not a true healer. But I will not keep you apart."

The walk from his cell to Fíli's exhausts Kíli; it's everything he can do to totter over to the cot where Fíli lies, tossing in feverish sleep. He sinks down beside him, leaning over to press their foreheads together. "He's burning," he murmurs.

"It's a good sign; it means he is fighting. I need supplies, Kíli, I must lock you in. If the guards protest, tell them I brought you here."

"Thank you, Tauriel." He takes Fíli's hand, lacing their fingers together, and his brother quiets at his touch. "Thank you."

Tauriel works with Fíli and Balin both, and whether through her medicine or their own stubborness both recover. Kíli sits with his brother until he can sit up, until he can take care of himself; then he docily allows Tauriel to return him to his own cell.

The guards keep the Dwarves apart. Kíli can no longer hear their songs.

 

A little over a year, and Tauriel comes to his door. "Stand," she tells him, unlocking it.

"What is happening?"

"Ssssh, less noise. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," he says warily. "To a point."

She produces a skein of rope, reaching for his hands. Kíli allows her to do it; when she's finished, he tests the bind, discovering that while it looks solid, it's easily pulled apart.

"If we meet anyone, do not speak," she tells him quietly.

"Where are we going? To Fíli?"

"Yes. But somewhere else, first."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing is wrong. All your friends are fine."

He follows her through the palace, head down. None of the guards they pass seem to think that anything is amiss, and they reach the tiny balcony she'd been aiming for without being stopped.

Kíli pulls his hands free as soon as they're alone, and she frowns but lets him do it. They're unlikely to be found here.

"What are we doing here, Tauriel?" he asks.

Tauriel lifts her chin towards a nearby stand of trees. She's managed to time this perfectly. "Look."

Kíli half turns, so he can see what she's pointing at without putting his back to her. In the same moment, the fire moon bursts over the trees, huge and so close, near enough to touch.

He stares at it for a long time without moving. Tauriel does not hurry him.

 

Nearly two years, and Thorin is sliding back towards despair as Durin's Day approaches again. Tauriel has taken Kíli to see the others or to visit the balcony a handful of times, when she can do it without being caught; none of them seem to begrudge his limited freedom.

Tauriel appears at his door late one afternoon. "Kíli."

"Tauriel," he returns without standing. It seems so much effort, lately.

She watches him for a moment before speaking. "Kíli, how much influence do you hold with your friends?"

"Influence?" He scoffs. "Almost none. Why?"

"If you can get their word that they will not try to run, I will take them to the balcony, as I have you. It isn't freedom, but it is fresh air, and even a Dwarf must grow weary down here."

"Even a Dwarf," he murmurs. "I will save you some time, Tauriel. They won't agree. Take your pity somewhere it will do some good."

"Kíli!" she protests.

"Do you think Thorin would allow you put rope to his wrists, even for show? Dwalin? Fíli? They have the right of it, and I am a fool. Go away, Tauriel." He turns, putting his back to her, tense and unhappy.

Tauriel is silent for a long time. "Kíli," she says finally, softly. "What happened? Something has upset you. Let me help."

Kíli laughs sharply. "Yes. Something upset me."

"What is it?"

He rolls off the cot, stalking towards the door, and Tauriel takes a step back before she can catch herself. She has never been afraid of Kíli, but something is very wrong here.

"I heard the guards talking." Kíli halts just before touching the bars, eyes locked on hers. His voice is cold and sharp. "I don't know if they thought I couldn't hear, or knew and didn’t care – they talked about the blond dwarf, and how he's almost healed. They laughed at someone who would strike the wall so hard as to break the bones in his own hand. They spoke of how the healer ordered him tied down so he would not hurt himself again."

Tauriel has bowed her head at his first words. "Kíli. I did not know this. I would have told you, brought you to him."

"Yes," Kíli agrees, still ice cold. "You did not know, because you do not care. You don't visit them. They get no consideration, as I do. I walk in the sun while my people rot in your pit. No more. From now on I will take nothing from you that they do not also get, Tauriel."

"You get nothing they do not now. Except a few words from me."

"Then that will finish now." His gaze softens, for just a moment, and he murmurs, "I am sorry."

"I would have told you, if I had known."

"I know." Kíli turns away and goes back to lie down, back to the door.

After a long time, Tauriel leaves.

She returns, over the next few days, but only to give him brief updates on Fíli. She tells him she has persuaded the healer to have him released from his bonds; she tells him Fíli is well; she tells him Fíli worries about him. Kíli listens in silence, unmoving. Tauriel asks for a message for Fíli, for the others. Kíli ignores her.

One day she comes to open his cell. "Stand."

"Why?"

"Your brother is very vocal. His guards are becoming increasingly frustrated. Perhaps you can convince him to stop. Come."

Kíli shakes his head, gripping the bars of the open door. "Do you have permission for this?"

"No more or less than I've ever had."

He shakes his head again. "I can't."

"Kíli, we will not be caught."

"It's not that."

"Then what? He wants to see you. Let me take you to him."

Kíli's fingers tighten on the bars. "If you take me to him," he says, clearly concentrating on each word, "I will fight you when you try to take me away again. I won't be able not to."

"You've seen him before."

"That was a long time ago. We are Dwarves, Tauriel. We need our kin. If your people don't start letting us see each other, more of us will do as Fíli and Thorin have. And if you take me to my brother now, I will fight to stay with him, and he with me. We will be heard, and you will be caught."

Tauriel studies him. "You could have gone to him without telling me. Why warn me?"

Kíli groans. "For pity's sake, Tauriel, close the door. Don't make me fight this."

She has to fight him to get the door closed, eventually pushing him back far enough to swing it into place. Kíli swings back towards her, relaxing slightly when he sees the locked door.

"It's like fire, burning under our skin," he tells her, eyes closed. "We need each other. A Dwarf alone is not a Dwarf."

"Why warn me?" she asks gently.

"You have tried to be kind. If you ask me again, I don't think I'll be able to say no. Just tell him I'm well, please, and leave me alone."

"Kíli, I want to help you."

"There is no help for this! We are Dwarves. We do not sit idle, we do not flourish in captivity, we do not live apart. Your king was cruel indeed to choose this punishment. But Thorin will not give him what he wants. He will die first."

"And let all of you die too? Is that your king?"

Kíli nods. "And let all of us die too. That is our king. And I would choose him over yours a thousand times."

"Why?" Tauriel asks softly.

He closes his eyes. "My king loves me." And he does not answer again.

Guards come for Kíli as he sleeps. He lets them take him out of the cell; then he twists, fighting, biting, scratching. The guards are forced back a step and he whirls.

Tauriel stands calmly in front of him. "Kíli."

"Out of my way." He barely recognises his own voice.

"No. Come with me."

"Tauriel..."

She steps closer and he hesitates, panting. "I told you," he says, quietly enough that the guards won't hear him.

"You told me," she agrees. "And I listened. Come with me."

Kíli follows her. Tauriel warns off the guards with quick, harsh words, and they don't try to touch them, though they follow at a distance. Kíli ignores them as much as he can. It's so hard not to break away, to run, shouting, through the halls until he finds Fíli.

They head down, and Kíli stifles a groan. Down is bad; further away from escape.

But then Tauriel waves him over one of the narrow stone bridges, to an open area below cliffs with cells set into the sides, doors hanging open. There's no way out, only over the bridge, but he doesn't care because Ori and Oin and Bofur are there, and just stepping out of a cell...

He flings himself at the blond figure, murmuring fragments of Westron and Kuhzdul, nothing that makes sense even to him; it doesn't matter, because Fíli is doing exactly the same thing to him.

Tauriel gives them a few moments before coming to stand beside them. "Kíli. I need your help."

Fíli growls something uncomplimentary in Khuzdul and Kíli very nearly laughs. "Don't," he says tiredly, pushing until Fíli's grip loosens. "She's been kind, as much as she can. What, Tauriel?"

"The rest of your group don't trust us enough to come. I need you to come and talk to them."

"I'll go," Fíli says.

"Fíli..."

"I'm his heir," Fíli says softly.

"I could go," Bofur offers from somewhere behind them.

"No, stay with Kíli." He turns to Tauriel. "Let's go, then."

 

Coming up to four years. Thorin is doing better, this year. Being together helps, though they are still bored, frustrated and confined, and now they are never unobserved.

They've all tried – endless strategy sessions in one cell or another – but the simple truth is, there is only one way out, and it is both blocked and guarded, with guards standing there and posted on the high ledges with bows and arrows. Kíli often watches them jealously. It's been years since he felt a bow in his hands.

Tauriel comes in one afternoon. She is still the only Elf who dares walk among them, and that only because Kíli has publicly given her his protection. Most of the others are hostile towards her, but no one touches her, and she seems immune to their glowers and angry words.

Kíli glances up; he and Fíli have been half heartedly playing with stone fragments. "Tauriel."

"Kíli." She crouches to study the game board they’ve scratched into the ground. "Hello, Fíli. What are you doing?"

"Playing. There's nothing else to do." Fíli tries to be polite to her for Kíli's sake, but it's barely any better than the others.

"You, or he, could come outside for a time, one at a time," Tauriel offers.

"I told you," Kíli says without looking up.

"Yes. I know."

Fíli nudges him, and he murmurs, "I take nothing from her the rest of you don't get."

"Idiot," Fíli says, but there's affection in the words.

"Tauriel!"

They all three turn, and Kíli frowns at the Elf standing just on their side of the bridge. "Tauriel?" he murmurs.

"Legolas Thranduilion," she tells him.

Kíli closes his eyes, wincing. "Get him out of here," he says, almost under his breath, and Fíli gives him a look of pure betrayal.

Tauriel looks up again, notes the way the Dwarves are gradually closing in on Legolas, and pushes to her feet. "Do you need anything?" she asks, consciously trying to sound normal.

"Actually..." Fíli starts.

"No," Kíli says over him. "Thank you."

Tauriel nods, turns, and goes to join Legolas. She can sense the Dwarves' anger as she guides the Prince out, and she hopes they won't turn it on Kíli.

Which brings the question; why did he speak up? That's twice, now, that he's gone against what he clearly wants to help her. She can't understand why. All he had to do was keep silent, and the Dwarves would have taken a hostage that may have secured their freedom.

In the next few days reports filter up that the Dwarves have begun sparring in their jail. If Thranduil hears of it, he does nothing to stop it. The guards begin thronging on the upper walkways to watch, and she catches bets being passed between them, sometimes.

She doesn't stare or bet, as the guards do, but she sees snatches of it sometimes as she passes. Even bare handed, the Dwarves are formidable fighters, and though their confinement has obviously left them weaker than normal, they are quickly regaining strength.

She might not have noticed, if she hadn't paused by two guardsmen as they discussed the Dwarves, heard them agree that the youngest was a sure loss, that he is always beaten no matter who he's paired with. She watches for a while, then, sees that Kíli is called too often, more than the others, forced into fights he clearly can't handle. His brother and one other usually only knock him down and leave him; the others seem to delight in forcing him into submission, pinning him down painfully, drawing out the fight far beyond the needful. The others are allowed to withdraw; Kíli never withdraws. His fights go until he physically can’t continue. He takes it all with grim determination.

She joins the group bringing food to them that evening, waves off Fíli's attempt to stop her and goes to crouch beside Kíli. "Kíli," she murmurs.

Kíli avoids her look. "Tauriel."

"They are angry at you."

He shrugs. "It will pass. All things pass."

She brushes feather light fingers over the bruise on his wrist. “So I see.”

He twitches away. "Tauriel, you do not help me by coming here." There's no anger in his voice. Somehow it makes it harder to bear.

"I only wish an answer."

"What answer?"

"Why did you warn me? With Legolas as hostage you may have been able to bargain freedom."

"No. With Legolas as hostage, his father would have decided that Thorin's plans were not worth it. His archers would have killed us where we stood, or trapped us and let us starve. And you would have either had to fight us or be declared a traitor for your aid to me. Either way would bring pain to you and death to my people." His eyes meet hers. "I made a choice I do not regret, and I will take what results. Now please. Go away."

“Shall I return in a few days?”

He smiles, painfully. “Things pass more slowly than that for Dwarves. They won’t forget so soon. Please. Don’t come back.”

Tauriel nods, rising to her feet. He doesn’t want her to see his pain, and if that’s all she can do for him she’ll do it. “If that is your wish, Kíli.”

He nods, and across the open area Thorin calls angrily, “Kíli, we are waiting!” A lie; Fíli is still struggling against his opponent, but Kíli nods and stands, walking away from Tauriel without looking back at her.

Chapter Text

Six years in, and the training Thorin still insists on is closer to true training now than thinly veiled punishment. Sometimes Tauriel or the blond prince watch from above. Neither tries to come in.

No one but Fíli has ever asked for his reasons, and he's never been able to give a proper explanation. What he told Tauriel was true, so far as it went, but he wasn't thinking of them when he warned her. He was thinking that freedom bought with blood was not true freedom, and that he did not want a war between Dwarves and Elves on his conscience. It was only later that he was able to understand what had made him speak up.

Thorin comes to him one day. "Fíli tells me that your She Elf has offered to take us outside."

"Tauriel is not my anything," Kíli says evenly. "And that was before. I don't know if she can do it now; we are never unobserved." He watches Thorin for a moment. "What's wrong?"

"Ori and Balin are struggling," he murmurs.

"We are all struggling."

He watches Thorin bite back his first response to that. "Ask her," he orders.

"As my king commands," Kíli says, hauling himself to his feet.

"Kíli."

He pauses, and Thorin continues "Have you told her of our relationship?"

"No."

"Good. I would not put it past Thranduil to threaten harm to you or your brother in his anger at me."

Kíli considers him for a moment before turning away. He doesn’t point out that Thranduil has made no attempt to find out anything from any of them in almost as long as they’ve been held. There’s no point; Thorin wouldn’t hear it.

The guard on the bridge stiffens as he approaches; Kíli stops a safe distance away and calls a request for Tauriel.

It takes more than a day before she appears, striding across the bridge. Thranduilion is with her, stopping on their side of the bridge, watching them; Kíli glares warningly at Thorin before going to meet her. "Tauriel."

"I received word that you wanted to see me." Her gaze is flickering over the other Dwarves, watching them.

Kíli glances at Thorin before looking back at her. "You told me once that, if I could promise their compliance, you would take my people outside."

"I did," she agrees slowly, "and you told me they would not agree."

"That was a long time ago," he mutters. "Our youngest and oldest are struggling. They need fresh air and sunlight. I will stand as hostage for their behaviour."

"You will be hostage anyway," she says, not unkindly. "A moment."

He watches as she speaks with Legolas. The Prince is obviously not fond of this plan; he wonders how Tauriel is presenting it. A chance to ingratiate the Dwarves to the Elves, perhaps learn some of their secrets? A chance to force Thorin to thank him? That might be more appealing to the Prince.

Tauriel comes back to them. "My Prince agrees that, subject to conditions, one of your Company may walk outside each day."

"Conditions?" Thorin asks.

"Thank you, Tauriel," Kíli says over him.

She smiles faintly. "The conditions are as you would expect. No attempts at escape, obedience to the guards. If you will give me your word that they will behave, Thorin, they need not be restrained. Understand, though; my Prince has decreed that since Kíli was the one to ask, he will bear the punishment if any of your people disobey."

"You said she didn't know -"

"She doesn't know," Kíli interrupts him.

“I am their king, I will be accountable,” Thorin says firmly.

Tauriel shakes her head. “It was Kíli’s request –“

“It was my request!”

“– and he will be held accountable.”

"We accept," Kíli says clearly.

Tauriel considers them for a moment before nodding. "I will escort your first choice now."

"Ori," Thorin says, and Kíli nods.

"Be kind to him, Tauriel. He isn't a warrior."

He turns away before she can answer, crossing to hunker by the young Dwarf. It takes a few minutes before he's sure Ori understands, and longer before he can persuade Nori and Dori to let him go. But eventually he's leading Ori over to Tauriel.

"Remember, Ori, stay with Tauriel and do as she tells you," he says gently. "She will not leave you alone."

Ori nods, barely able to look up as Tauriel escorts him out. Legolas goes with them, glaring back once at Thorin before leaving.

"She doesn't know," Kíli says softly. "Or if she does, she did not hear from me. I said so and I meant it."

"I know." Thorin is still watching the bridge. "Did she tell him?"

"That you meant to take him?" It's the first time either of them have mentioned it openly. "I don't know. He walked in here without any fear."

"That could be arrogance."

"Or it could be lack of knowledge. Tauriel doesn't mean us harm, and telling him would only harm us."

"Maybe. Find out, if you can."

Kíli nods, and Thorin strides away.

 

Eight and a half years, and Kíli can walk the path from cell to garden and back with his eyes closed. Today Tauriel is his escort, as she always is when not on patrol. Kíli prefers it. The guards who take her place are polite, if distant, and never attempt to hurry them; some of the Company have been known to spend all day outside in an effort to annoy the Elves, but it never works. But Tauriel will talk with him as they walk.

Kíli never tries to stay out long. He often gives up his day to one of the others, if he thinks they need it more. But today he's enjoying the air. There's a chill, but they're coming into Spring.

Legolas appears, scowling out of habit when he sees Kíli and speaking over his head in Sindarin.

"Now?" Tauriel protests. Sighing, she turns to Kíli. "I have been called to the archery range. A guard is coming to take over your escort."

"Can I come?" Kíli blinks, realising that he has actually just asked that.

Tauriel frowns. "Kíli..."

"I will watch, from whatever distance you feel prudent. I don’t expect you to put weapons in my hand."

"Let him come," Legolas says lazily, inexplicably using Westron now. "He might enjoy seeing true archers."

Kíli manages not to laugh. Tauriel is smiling openly. But then, neither have ever seen him shoot.

He follows them to the archery range, stopping when he's told and ignoring the Elf set to guard him. Tauriel deals with whatever problem she's been called for, while Legolas takes a bow from one of the Elves and begins to shoot.

He's very, very good, Kíli admits. Showing off, but very good. Tauriel comes back, sees him, and sighs, accepting a bow and quiver from another Elf. The two compete good naturedly, laughing and tossing insults back and forth.

Kíli watches, arms folded tightly across his chest. His fingers ache for the feel of a bow. These are Elven bows, longer than he's used to, but he's drawn one before. He could make every shot they are making, he feels it in his bones.

He turns to the guard finally and asks to go back inside. Tauriel is beautiful in her enjoyment, but he cannot watch any more.

"Kíli!"

Tauriel comes up behind them, still flushed and smiling from her contest. She dismisses the guard with a nod, leaning easily on her bow. "Are you going back in? You asked to watch."

"I asked to watch, and I have watched," he agrees.

"What's wrong?"

He touches the bow lightly; Tauriel glances down at it, frowning. "It's a beautiful weapon," he tells her.

Tauriel bits her lip briefly before offering "You may try it, if you wish."

Kíli shakes his head. "Give the others swords, give Dwalin an axe, then I will try your bow."

"Kíli," she says, sounding oddly fond.

"May I go?" he asks tightly, and she nods, waving for the guard to walk him back inside.

 

Almost ten years, and the day he's been half expecting had come.

Thorin is raging against his guards. "I am the one who struck out! I am the one who fought! I will take the punishment!"

"You were told, King under the Mountain." Legolas turns his head to look at Kíli. "You may bring one with you."

Fíli is already stepping forward, but Kíli shakes his head. "Bofur." This will upset the miner, but not as much as it would upset Fíli.

Bofur startles, surprised, and then slips between his brother and his cousin to join Kíli. "Are you sure...?"

Kíli smiles faintly. "Fíli would fight back."

Legolas takes them to a chamber far enough away that sound will not carry back to the others. It’s an unexpected kindness, and Kíli is still thinking about it when they enter the little room. Tauriel is there, with a handful of other Elves. Her gaze is locked on the whip in her hand.

Kíli hesitates at the sight. "Prince Legolas?"

"Yes."

"I have a request."

"Yes."

"You. Not Tauriel."

Tauriel glances up, frowning, but Legolas is speaking. "Tauriel is Captain of the Guard, it is her duty to punish transgressions."

"It is cruel," Kíli says, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "You know it is."

"But you are prisoners of the kingdom," Legolas continues. "And as such your punishment lies in my hands. Prepare yourself." He takes the whip from Tauriel, seeming not to notice her look of gratitude.

Bofur helps him, hands shaking. "All right, lad?"

Kíli smiles unhappily. "Tell them I was brave."

"It won't be a lie."

Kíli doesn't remember much of the actual punishment. Legolas is skilled and thorough but not cruel, and he has a healer waiting. Once Kíli's been cleaned and disinfected and bandaged they're escorted back to the others, Bofur taking most of his weight.

Thorin and Fíli are pacing by the bridge and the others aren't far behind. Kíli ignores all of them; Bofur gets him to his bed and then yells until the others leave him alone with his brother and uncle.

"Kíli, I am sorry," Thorin breathes, kneeling beside the bed. "I did not truly think – this was cruel."

Kíli shakes his head. He's exhausted, barely able to stay awake. "We knew this might happen. I knew this might happen. No blame, Uncle."

"Get some sleep," Fíli murmurs, brushing a hand over his eyes. Opening them seems so hard, and Kíli gives up, sinking into sleep.

 

He wakes to yelling, dragging himself up onto an elbow. Thorin is shouting, out in the central area, but the words are muffled through the wall. Ori is standing near the door, listening with a frown, and Kíli clears his throat for his attention. “What’s happening?”

Ori jumps, looking at him. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Kíli doesn’t dare answer. “What’s happening?”

“Tauriel’s here. Thorin’s not very happy about it.”

“Help me up.”

“Kíli…”

“Help me up, Ori.”

The Dwarves are facing off against Tauriel outside, though at least Thorin isn’t touching her. Bofur catches sight of them as they step out of the cell and comes to help them. “Should you be moving around, lad?”

“Probably not, but he needs to stop shouting at her. He’s not helping.”

Thorin falls silent when Kíli steps in front of him, looking at Tauriel. “Tauriel.”

“Kíli,” she says politely. “How are you feeling?”

“You dare to ask that after you…”

Kíli turned to look at him and Thorin falls silent again, fuming. “I’m as well as can be expected,” he tells Tauriel.

“I’ve brought you herbs. They’ll help with the pain and keep infection away while you heal. Your king seems to think you would rather suffer the pain than take medicine from the hand of an Elf.”

“My king has a higher opinion of me and a lower opinion of my friends than I do,” Kíli says without looking back. “Do you have permission today, Tauriel? Helping me heal better seems to be against the purpose of the punishment.”

“The punishment is over. It was nobody’s plan to make you suffer while you heal.”

Kíli nodded. “Thank you. Ori, where’s Oin?” Ori slips away to fetch him, and he adds, “Oin is our healer. Can you show him the herbs and how to use them?” Tauriel nods understanding and Kíli says “Bofur,” under his breath.

“All right, lad, back to bed,” Bofur says loudly. “Oin can come and find you when he’s done with the maid. Come along, now.”

He all but carries Kíli back to the cell – not Kíli’s own, but the closest to the bridge – and helps him ease himself down onto the cot. “Ah, lad, you’ve done yourself no favours,” he murmurs.

“I don’t care,” Kíli says into the cot. “I’m not refusing her help because Uncle has some stupid feud with her king.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” Fíli warns from the door.

“I hurt, Fíli,” Kíli says softly. “I’m tired. I trust Tauriel not to hurt me, and we don’t have any other way to help me. Oin has no supplies except what she brings.”

Fíli nods, hunkering by the bed. “I’m with you, brother. It’s Uncle we need to worry about.”

Kíli groans. “Uncle. Is he angry with me?”

“He’s angry,” Fíli says with a shrug. “When isn’t he? Mahal, Kíli, how you manage to cause trouble simply by turning around…”

Kíli shifts, hissing out a breath. “It’s a skill,” he says tightly. “You thought having all the girls smile at me would never be any good – ah, Fíli, it hurts…”

“Oin is coming,” Bofur says from the door. Kíli nods, hands tangled in Fíli’s shirt and braids, and hangs on.

Chapter Text

Thirteen and a half years, and in his weaker moments Kíli considers asking Tauriel to split them up again.

He doesn’t actually mean it, of course. Anything is better than that cell, quiet and lonely without any of his kin. But sometimes it seems easier.

The Dwarves have earned two more punishments since the first; Dwalin, striking a guard, and Nori, trying to steal a dagger from Tauriel. Kíli thinks she might not have reported it if Legolas hadn’t seen it happen.

Kíli takes the punishments without complaint and with Bofur by his side. The last punishment was some time ago, however, and he’s quite healed as he sits cross-legged outside his cell, watching Thorin and Dwalin tussle.

Someone sits beside him and Kíli looks over in surprise. “Fíli.”

“Kíli.”

They haven’t been avoiding each other, exactly – it’s all but impossible to do here – but Fíli has been spending more time with Thorin lately. Kíli thinks his brother doesn’t really approve of Tauriel, though he does at least acknowledge her help.

They sit for a while, watching Thorin and Dwalin, then both hiss at once at a particular move. Kíli looks sideways, finds Fíli looking sideways back at him, and then both are laughing, careful not to be overheard.

“Your braids are atrocious,” Kíli says when they’ve calmed. “Turn.”

Fíli does, tilting his head to give Kíli easier access, and they’re silent a little longer before he says “I need to ask you something.” Kíli hums softly and Fíli continues, “And I want you to answer, even if you think it’ll hurt me.”

“I don’t love Tauriel more than you.”

“Idiot,” Fíli says affectionately. “Not that, it’s…when they take you, for the punishments, you take Bofur. You ask for Bofur. Not for me.”

Kíli concentrates on the braids for a moment. “I don’t love him more than you either.”

“I know.”

Kíli sits back, drawing a deep breath. “The truth?”

“Even if it hurts.”

“It’s because you love me too much. I’m afraid if you saw it happen, if you were right there, you would fight to try and stop it. And that might mean more punishment. I know I make it look easy, but it’s not, Fee. I don’t want you to watch it.” He watches Fíli for a moment. “Do you understand at all?”

“I understand. You’re an idiot, but I understand.”

“I’m not wrong. Even knowing what it meant, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. Bofur has enough trouble with it.”

“No. I don’t think you’re wrong.” He says it quietly. “Kíli, does Tauriel…”

“No. It’s always Thranduilion.”

“The Prince himself. I hope you feel perfectly honoured.”

“Well, we’re princes.”

“He doesn’t know that, does he?”

“Not from me, he doesn’t. Uncle thinks it’s not wise.”

Fíli’s eyes flicker up over his head and he stiffens. “Tauriel.”

“Fíli. Kíli,” she responds politely. “Are you coming, Kíli? It’s a pleasant day outside.”

“I think Ori –“

“I think you.” She smiles again. “You haven’t been outside since the last punishment. Come along.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells Fíli firmly. “I’ll be back soon.”

They walk the familiar path to the gardens in silence. Kíli keeps quiet. He’s not afraid of silence.

“Princes?” Tauriel murmurs finally.

“We were discussing Legolas, and the siblings I assume he has.”

“Why would you assume something like that?” she asks, half-amused.

“Royal families rarely stop at one child, Tauriel.”

“Don’t you trust me?” she asks softly.

“Very much. That’s what makes it hard. I know that you keep your promises, and your oath to your king comes before anything you’ve said to me. If I answer your question and Thranduil asks you, you will tell him.”

“He’s my king, Kíli.”

“I don’t expect you to lie to him. That’s why I’m not answering you.”

Tauriel studies him. “You’re a good soul, Kíli.”

He smiles faintly. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh dear,” she murmurs, and he makes a face.

“You’ve been talking to Fíli.”

“Fíli’s been talking to me,” she agrees. “Something about your good intentions and terrible decision making skills.”

“I can’t argue that,” Kíli says with a sigh.

“He worries for you.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he repeats, looking away.

“What have you been thinking?” she asks obligingly. She knows better than to push him about his brother.

“Do you think Thranduil would let Thorin and the others leave if I stayed as hostage against their return? What he’s doing is important, Tauriel.”

“Not important enough to tell my king about.”

“Too important to tell your king about.”

She shakes her head. “It wouldn’t work, Kíli. My king is determined that your king will humble himself before the throne.”

“Thorin will never do it,” Kíli mutters. “Not to Thranduil. What if I kneel to him?”

“But why would he care about one of Thorin’s common rabble, Kíli?” Tauriel points out gently. “Even if you were a prince that would not work. Thranduil wants Thorin’s secret, and I don’t think you’ll give it to him.”

“No,” he murmurs. “I won’t.”

Tauriel nods, and they walk on together.

 

Eighteen years, and the dungeon illness returns.

The guards don’t bother separating them this time, and the healers come earlier, stay longer, and work harder. Balin, Dori and Bifur never fall ill at all, and most of the others recover well, if slowly.

Kíli knows none of this.

As before, he is one of the first to fall ill. Unlike before, he does not recover. Fever rages through him, no matter what they try. Sometimes it recedes enough for them to force him to take a little water or eat something. He calls for his brother, his mother, for Dwarves he knew growing up. He doesn’t recognise the people around him.

Fíli can’t be moved from his side. Bofur and Balin take it in turns to make sure they have everything they need. Oin comes and goes, checking on the others. Thorin, struck down heavily, is still too weak to do more than send messages.

Fíli asks for Tauriel on the tenth day.

“Tauriel can do nothing we are not already doing,” the healer tells him.

“I know. This isn’t that. Just – please send for her.”

“I believe she is on patrol, but I will do what I can.”

It takes another three days before Tauriel arrives. Kíli is still fevered, but he’s begun to recognise the other Dwarves. He still mostly thinks he’s in Ered Luin or on the Quest. Fíli’s had to stop him from chasing Trolls or Wargs more than once.

Kíli is awake and mostly aware when Tauriel comes in, and he smiles dreamily at her. “Tauriel.”

“Lie still,” she murmurs, brushing two fingers over his forehead.

Thorin arrives, already angry. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“I sent for her,” Fíli tells him.

“Why?”

“Because Kíli is her friend. And she has helped him before.”

“She is an Elf…”

“Who has never done anything but help us,” Fíli says firmly. “She brought Kíli to me when I was ill. I won’t keep her from him now.”

“I can do nothing the healers have not already done,” Tauriel says softly.

“I didn’t bring you here to help him,” Fíli says without looking away from Thorin.

Kíli tugs at her sleeve and she looks down. “Yes, Kíli.”

“If I’m not here,” he says, obviously concentrating on each word, “will you still come?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes. Help Fíli the way you help me. And Ori, and Unc…” He hesitated, frowning.

“Don’t,” Fíli warns Thorin softly.

“Tauriel,” Kíli insists.

“I will,” she says quietly. “If you think they will take it.”

“Fíli?”

Fíli finally turns away from Thorin, kneeling beside the bed. “Here, Kíli.”

“Take the help,” he orders.

“Yes.”

“Fíli…”

“Yes, Kíli. I will take Tauriel’s help.”

“And you’ll make…Thorin take it too?”

Fíli glances at Thorin. “No promises,” he says lightly. “He’s pretty stubborn.”

“Runs in the family,” Kíli mumbles, almost asleep again.

“Yes. Stay stubborn, little brother.”

Tauriel sits back on her heels. “There’s little I can do, Fíli.”

“I know,” Fíli agrees. “I wanted him to see you again.”

“Dwarves do not suffer illness like this,” Thorin says. “This is an Elf malady.”

“Elves do not suffer illness.” Tauriel rises to her feet. “Don’t give up on him, Fíli. Kíli’s strength surprises me.”

“I’m not giving up.”

Tauriel smiles. “I will return tomorrow. Have the healers been bringing food?”

“We can’t get him to eat much.”

“I will speak with them.” She slips past Thorin and over the bridge.

She returns the next day, and for the days afterwards while Kíli battles his way back to health. Thorin scowls and tells the rest of the Company that Kíli was already recovering before she arrived. Fíli doesn’t tell him about the night Kíli was burning so hot he could barely be touched, the night Kíli had been talking to their father in broken Khuzdul, pleading for him to wait and not leave him behind.

The morning Kíli recognises Tauriel again, she’s sitting on the floor beside his bed, working with a mortar and pestle. He watches for a while before shifting to catch her attention. “Tauriel.”

“Kíli,” she answers without looking up. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” he says truthfully. “Weak. How am I?”

“Out of danger.”

“Was I in much danger?”

“Yes.” She looks up finally. “You were.”

“But now I’m well.”

She stands, tipping the contents of the pestle into a cup. “Now you won’t die.”

“Good.” He eyes the cup. “You got Thorin to back down about your medicine?”

“You got him to back down. You don’t remember?”

Kíli considers. “No,” he decides. “How long was I ill?”

“More than two weeks.” She passes him the cup. “Fíli sent for me, and when I got here you asked me to keep coming even if you weren’t here, to help Fíli and Ori and your uncle.”

“Uncle,” Kíli echoes blankly. “I must have been very ill.”

“Yes. I’m sure that was it,” Tauriel agrees. “Drink up.”

Chapter Text

Twenty years, and Tauriel offers again to allow Kíli to practise with her bow.

“I have spoken to Legolas,” she says before he can refuse, “He agrees that while one of your company is outside, the others may practise. Your weapon requires outside practise.”

“Ori, too,” Kíli murmurs.

“The slingshot? Yes. He’ll have his turn.”

“Thank you,” Kíli says.

“I have not found your bow yet. It’s been stored somewhere, but we have practise bows –“

“Let me try yours.”

“Kíli, my bow is almost as tall as you are.”

“Dwarves are stronger than Elves. I can draw it. Let me try.”

She smiles faintly, and he should feel pandered to but he can’t feel anything beyond excitement at getting his hands on a bow again. “Very well. But first, bracers and a glove.”

“And then your bow?”

“Then my bow.”

His first arrow hits the bullseye, and he laughs for sheer joy.

The guards stop him on their side of the bridge, calling for Thorin and the others to give back the weapons. Fíli carries them out, handing them over and grinning broadly when one of the guards checks him thoroughly before letting him go.

Fíli slings an arm over Kíli’s shoulders as they cross back over to their own side. “How did you manage this one?”

“It wasn’t me. This was Tauriel.”

“No help from you at all?”

“We spoke about it, once, but that was years ago, Fíli.”

Fíli grins. “Let me guess. She offered to let you shoot her bow, and you refused unless we could all handle our weapons together.”

Kíli refuses to be flustered. Unlike most of the Company, he knows Fíli means it in jest. “Do you want to hear about her bow? It’s so big, Fíli. I had to position myself very carefully before I shot.” He turns towards his cell, and Fíli trails after him.

“And?” he asks.

“I performed perfectly, of course.”

“Of course you did,” Fíli agrees. “Bullseyes all around, I’d wager.”

“I just hope she’s not disappointed with Ori’s slingshot,” Kíli says with a sigh, dropping onto his cot.

“I’m sure Thranduilion will comfort her.”

Kíli considers. “I don’t think they do that.” Tauriel never speaks of Legolas as anything other than a comrade.

“Oh, so you still have a chance.”

He sits up, suddenly angry. “Tauriel is my friend, Fíli.”

“I know,” Fíli agrees. “So have fun.”

“Go handle your weapon,” Kíli snaps, brushing past him and going to look for Bofur.

 

Twenty five years. One quarter of the way through their sentence. Kíli isn’t sure they’ll make it to half, let alone all the way through.

Thorin’s mistrust of the Elves is only deepening. He has spoken recently of restricting who goes outside for fear that the Elves are trying to turn them and learn their secrets. Kíli has so far ignored the discussion, going so far as to walk away when his uncle starts talking about it. He knows very well which group he’ll be in.

Tauriel knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t ask, just takes him out to the range and lets him shoot. He shoots perfectly, but mechanically, afraid to let himself feel anything.

Tauriel studies the target, arrows clustered thickly around the bullseye, and looks back at him, eyebrow raised. “Problems below?”

“Just let me shoot,” he says tightly, and she obliges.

They’ve been out longer than usual – the guards are stricter now that the Dwarves have weapons – and they might have stayed out longer if a guard hadn’t come for Tauriel, speaking in quick Sindarin. Kíli has picked up a little over the years, and he hears Dwarves and trouble but nothing else.

Tauriel frowns, turning to him. “We must go. Leave everything here. Someone will collect it.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shedding bracers and gloves as quickly as possible.

“I don’t know yet. Perhaps nothing. Kíli, whatever it is, stay beside me. Do not move.”

“Something is wrong.”

“I don’t know,” she says, a little more sharply. “But something has the guards alarmed. Stay beside me at all times.”

The Dwarves are facing off against the Elves across the bridge when Kíli and Tauriel reach them. Legolas is there, and he catches Tauriel’s eye and gestures for her to join him, keeping Kíli between them. He speaks to her, but he does it in rapid fire Sindarin, and Kíli can’t catch a word.

Tauriel studies the Dwarves for a moment before looking at Kíli. “Thorin refuses to return the weapons.”

“We’re keeping the weapons!” Thorin calls in unnerving echo.

“Kíli is still on this side,” Legolas points out.

Thorin’s eyes meet Kíli’s, and he knows what’s going to happen a moment before it does.

“Keep him,” Thorin says clearly. “What good is an Elf’s get to me? He’s more Elf than Dwarf now.”

Kíli keeps his chin up – it’s not the first time he’s been called Elf get, just the first from someone he cares about – and looks for Fíli. There at their uncle’s shoulder, and completely bewildered by his words. Bofur is next to him, looking uneasy, and Balin on Thorin’s other side, shaking his head in dismay. Most of the Dwarves, he notes, show some sign of upset or confusion.

Tauriel is trying to calm things down, and that’s just not going to work. Thorin hates her too much. Kíli takes a step forward; he can hear Legolas shift behind him, but no one tries to stop him.

“What are you planning now, Thorin?” he asks. Thorin stares at him, and he goes on, “You have weapons, and the guards can’t take them from you, but you’re still on that side. You can’t get over here unless they let you. You don’t have anything to bargain with. Legolas’ archers will cut you down.”

“Our fate will not rest in Thranduil’s hands a moment longer,” Thorin snarls.

“Our fate rests in your hands,” Fíli says abruptly. Thorin rounds on him, and he continues placidly, “Tell us to and we will keep these weapons, my king. Give the order and we will charge that bridge. But we cannot win this battle. There will be better days.”

Balin, on Thorin’s other side, carefully reaches for his sword. Thorin lets him take it, looking vaguely confused.

Tauriel keeps Kíli with her as the other Dwarves disarm, watching as Fíli gathers the weapons and passes them across the bridge. “Kíli,” she says quietly, and he sees Legolas shift as he listens, “I can get you the key to Thorin’s cell.”

Kíli doesn’t follow for a long moment; their cells don’t lock, they’ve never locked, everyone wanders in and out at will – and then he figures it out. “It would kill him, Tauriel. I can’t do it.”

“He was ready to leave you to us,” she reminds him.

Kíli shakes his head. “No. That was – I can’t explain it to you. But I know what it was.”

“Kíli,” Fíli says edgily. “Are you coming?”

“You don’t have to,” Tauriel says, in slow careful Sindarin. Legolas huffs out a breath but doesn’t comment.

“They’re my kin, Tauriel.” He smiles sadly at her. “Thank you.”

Kíli ignores the others, slipping between them without stopping, avoiding their touches. Fíli trails in his wake, quietly dispersing the others with hand gestures.

Kíli goes straight to his cell, but once he’s there he only looks around uncertainly. Fíli leans in the doorway, watching him.

“It’s the dragon sickness,” Kíli says eventually, still staring at his cot.

Fíli frowns. “Do you think so?”

“I hope so.”

“The dragon sickness is about gold,” he says uncertainly.

“The dragon sickness is about obsession. For Thror, it was gold. For Thrain, Mordor, and for Thorin, it was Erebor, and now that’s slipped and it’s about the Elves. That’s what’s driving him. That’s what’s blinding him to everything else.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“I hope not. Fíli, I’m going – I’m just going to lie down, I think.”

“I can leave –“

“No. Please.” He swallows. “Unless they need you.”

“Balin and Dwalin can handle it.” He leans out the door. “Bombur, make sure no one disturbs us.” He pulls the door across, leaving it open just a crack.

“It’s all been for you.” Kíli sounds lost, and he knows it, and he can’t stop it. “She helps us. Everything we have is because of her. I’m still a Dwarf.”

“I know,” Fíli assures him. “Sit down. We know you are. None of us believe it. We didn’t know Uncle would say that.”

Kíli nods absently. “I can’t keep fighting him over this, Fíli. Tell him he wins. I’ll ask Tauriel to have someone else escort me, to stop coming here. Thorin wins.”

“Kíli…”

“Please don’t argue with me right now, Fíli.”

“I’ll be arguing with you later, then.”

“Later’s fine.”

“Lie down,” Fíli says softly, and Kíli obeys.

He wakes what feels like moments later to Fíli and Balin arguing quietly over his head. “What’s wrong?” he mumbles, scrubbing one hand over his face.

“Morning,” Fíli says, cutting Balin off.

“Is it?”

“You’ve been sleeping about half a day. How do you feel?”

“Tired,” he says flatly. “What’s wrong?”

Fíli and Balin exchange a look. “Tauriel’s here,” Fíli says finally. “She’s waiting over the bridge. She thought it better that she didn’t cross today.”

Kíli sits up. “Where’s Thorin?”

“Dwalin’s keeping him busy,” Balin tells him. “Lad…”

“It’s the dragon sickness,” Kíli cuts him off. “That’s all it is. I need to see Tauriel.”

“Are you going to do it?” Fíli asks.

“I have to,” Kíli says distantly.

He starts to stand up and then pauses, confused. “Why is…”

“You have to let go of my sleeve,” Fíli tells him, amusement clear in his tone.

Kíli looks down at his hand as though he doesn’t recognise it. He’s gripping his brother’s sleeve so tightly his fingers are white. “I didn’t realise.”

“You’ve been holding it all night,” Balin tells him.

“Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fíli tells him, carefully loosening his fingers. Kíli hisses as feeling returns to them.

He doesn’t look around when he steps out of his cell, just crosses to the bridge. Fíli and Balin follow him, talking quietly.

“What is he going to do?” Balin asks quietly.

“Disown Tauriel.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t keep fighting my uncle about it,” Kíli says. He’s halfway across the bridge, Tauriel and the guards can hear him. He doesn’t care.

Tauriel smiles gently when he reaches him. “Kíli.”

“Tauriel.”

“Are we saying goodbye?”

“I’m sorry,” he says helplessly. “I can’t keep having the same fight with him.”

“Then stop having the same fight with him.”

Kíli shakes his head slowly. “There are things I can’t tell you. About Dwarves, about him. This is the only thing I can think to do to help him. It’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry. But it has to be this way.”

“Kíli.” She kneels in front of him, something she never does when anyone else can see them, watching him carefully. “I know there are things you don’t tell me. I won’t ask you to tell me. But if someone I cared about called me Dwarf get, I would not care about them much longer.”

“You don’t understand.” Kíli’s so tired. “I’m sorry. I would tell you if I could, but I have betrayed him enough.” He takes her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Goodbye, Tauriel.”

He doesn’t look back as he crosses the bridge.

 

Kíli has lost track of the time.

Balin knows, he’s sure, but he hasn’t asked. It doesn’t seem important any more. Once every thirteen days he goes up to the garden with an anonymous Elf, where he mostly sits in a corner and does nothing. When he comes back down he spends time with Fíli or Balin, Bofur or Ori. Sometimes, to keep Fíli happy, he practises with sword or knives. He hasn’t touched a bow since Thorin’s attempted coup.

The Elves are careful now. Thorin is not allowed to touch a weapon, he is not allowed to join in the training, he is not allowed to be left alone. He chafes under the restrictions, seeing them as further evidence of the Elves’ untrustworthiness.

Kíli hasn’t had a conversation with him in months. The others work hard to keep them apart. Kíli has told them not to bother, he doesn’t care anymore. He feels hollow. Thorin can’t hurt him any more.

Tauriel has obeyed his wishes and stayed away. Sometimes one of the guards gives him a brief message; more than once they’ve reminded him that the bow he customarily used is still waiting for him. Kíli knows that if he asks, she will come back.

He doesn’t ask.

Legolas comes one day, dismisses Kíli’s usual guard and walks him up to the gardens. Kíli sinks to sit cross legged on the ground, ignoring the Elf Prince as best he can.

Legolas sighs above him. “She asks about you.”

“Tell her I’m well,” Kíli mumbles.

“You would have me lie to her? Does the royalty of Dwarves have so little honor?”

Kíli digs his fingers into the ground, trying to summon up the outrage he knows he should feel at that. “I am well.” It’s far too late to protest being called royalty, though if Thranduil knows, he’s done nothing about it.

“No. You are not.” Legolas drops to a crouch, balancing effortlessly. “Kíli. Whatever ails your uncle, Tauriel is only one tiny part of it. Keeping her away is not helping him.”

“It is not Tauriel.” He keeps his eyes on the ground between his fingers. “He dislikes the friendship we share. Should you start visiting, he would hate that just as much.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Elves are treacherous, foul beings who would step over us rather than help us.” He half-smiles. “Did you not know that?”

“I suppose I had forgotten, for a moment.”

Kíli nods. “As I had forgotten that Dwarves are – short…”

“Lying, thieving, hoarding –“ Legolas says something Sindarin that Kíli thinks means illegitimate or something close to it “- stubborn fools.”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“I agree with stubborn, anyway.” Legolas sighs, lowering one hand to the ground. “Kíli, keeping Tauriel away hurts you both and helps no one.”

“Then let her come. We are prisoners, Prince Thranduilion, not guests. If my wishes do not conform to yours, ignore me. What rights have I, here?” Kíli presses his hands against his eyes and sits very still.

When he finally looks up, Legolas is gone and a guard waits patiently some distance away, pretending to ignore him.

He wakes one morning to find Thorin standing over him. Kíli rolls his eyes, rolling to his feet and stepping around Thorin without looking at him.

“Nephew.” Thorin says softly, anguished.

“Thorin.”

Thorin flinches at the coldness in Kíli’s voice. “I would never have left you here.”

“No?”

“No. I only needed them to think –“

“Did you think it would help?” Kíli interrupts.

“What?”

“Elf get.” He spits the words, and some part of him is pleased to see Thorin flinch away. “Did you think they would feel sorry for me? Stop hurting me?”

Thorin catches at his shoulders, and Kíli goes very, very still. “You don’t understand,” Thorin says softly. “My people are suffering, and I cannot see a way to give them what they need. I was rash, Kíli, and I am sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” he says softly.

Fíli is there, suddenly, and Dwalin’s behind him. “Thorin?”

“I don’t understand,” Kíli says more loudly.

Fíli hesitates, clearly uncertain. “What don’t you understand?” he asks finally.

“That getting what we need down here can’t be done. That it’s – frustrating.”

Fíli grimaces at his tone. “Thorin, what are –“

Kíli pulls his tunic off in one move, turning to bare his back to Thorin. “I carry these scars,” he says tightly, “so that your people, my people, can walk in the sun. So that they can hold weapons and feel like Dwarves. I bled for them, and I will do it as often as I must, and I will carry the scars with pride. But you will not tell me I do not understand. Not ever again.”

“Kíli’s the reason we have anything at all,” Fíli adds.

“We have a hole in the ground!”

“We have each other!” Kíli yells back at him. “We are fed, we have weapons and sunlight. We have guards who are not unkind or cruel, and we are together. I wanted to die in that cell on my own.”

Thorin stares at him, and for a moment Kíli dares to hope he has broken through the madness and obsession that cover him like a shroud.

“Does it take so little for you to be happy in captivity?” Thorin asks, looking honestly bewildered. Kíli turns away, pulling his tunic back on. “You were not in danger, Kíli. I saw you by your elf maid’s side. No harm would have come to you.”

“If Balin has not disarmed you,” Kíli says without looking at him, “Thranduil would have been told. And he would have ordered his guards to kill me as slowly as possible while you watched. Tauriel couldn’t have stopped it; she doesn’t have that kind of power. But she does have power, power enough for this.” He takes the key from where it’s been hidden under his cot, tossing it to Dwalin.

Fíli frowns, touching it with one finger. “What is this?”

“It’s the key to Thorin’s cell.” He almost smiles when Dwalin looks up sharply. “Tauriel offered it to me when he tried to leave me for dead.” He sees Fíli flinch, but he can’t bring himself to soften it. “I told her that it would kill him to be locked away. She had the key sent to me anyway, in case I needed it.”

“I am your king,” Thorin says quietly.

“I am your prince,” Kíli replies evenly. “And your heir.”

“You don’t think it’ll kill him now?” Dwalin asks, studying the key.

“It will.” Kíli sits, leaning his head against the wall. “Locked in a cell while we walk free? It will kill him. But I want him away from me. I don’t trust myself with that key anymore. Put it to the Company, Dwalin. Just don’t let him argue for himself, it won’t help.”

He isn’t looking, but a moment later Fíli says “Do it,” and Dwalin goes.

“Don’t,” Fíli adds. Thorin must have started to speak. “If you want Kíli to ever forgive you, don’t speak to him now. Just go, and let Dwalin do whatever he’s going to do.”

Thorin leaves, and Kíli laughs shakily. “I should have asked you to talk to him years ago.”

“I tried. We all tried. How long have you had that key?”

Kíli tilts his head so he can see Fíli without lifting it away from the wall. “Legolas gave it to me when I sent Tauriel away.”

“You could have locked him away,” Fíli murmurs.

“And let him stew in his madness?” Kíli points out. “He’s already half-convinced I’m a traitor to the line. I can’t be the one who locks him away. Neither can you,” he adds as Fíli starts to speak. “Not if you have any hope of taking the throne.”

“The throne is gone, Kíli. We’ll never reach it now.”

“We will,” Kíli insists. “We’re going to reach Erebor, Fíli. That’s why – it’s worth it, all of this, to get us there.”

Fíli sighs exaggeratedly. “By then, you might even be able to grow a proper beard, my brother.”

Kíli hits him.

 

Uncounted days later, Kíli wakes to find Tauriel kneeling by his cot. It’s unusual enough to bring him to full wakefulness; Tauriel never visited his cell, even when they were talking to each other, only when he was ill.

“Tauriel.” He scrubs a hand over his face, pushing his hair back quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“Come,” she tells him, rising to her feet.

“Why? What’s happening?”

She smiles, shaking her head and standing. “Come.”

She offers him her hand; he ignores it, but he does follow her out into the central area. Legolas is standing on the bridge, and it takes Kíli a moment to realise what’s wrong.

There are no guards on the bridge, none waiting across the chasm. Legolas is completely alone. Kíli turns quickly, scanning the top of the cliff. No one’s up there, either.

“Tauriel,” he whispers. “What are you doing? If the others see this…”

“What?” she asks, eyes wide and innocent.

“They’ll make a run for it,” he says slowly. “The two of you can’t stop them.”

“But Kíli, even if they crossed the bridge safely, they would surely be lost in the tunnels. Unless of course they made sure to follow the left hand wall at all times, even when it seems to double back on itself, even when it seems it cannot be right. That is the only way they could possibly escape.”

Kíli leans into Fíli’s cell and kicks him awake. “What will happen to you?” he asks Tauriel. Fíli steps out of his cell, takes in the situation at a glance and goes to start waking the others.

Tauriel smiles gently. “At a time like this, you worry about me?”

“You’ll be exiled.”

“No. We have a – powerful friend, helping us. We’ll be fine.”

Kíli smiles faintly. “I wish I believed you. I wish it made a difference.”

“Kíli.”

Kíli absolutely does not scream, though there might be a squeak that makes Ori look at him very oddly.

“Gandalf.”

Gandalf nods, looking at Tauriel. “I did say, did I not, that time is of the essence?”

Tauriel nods, and Kíli says quickly, “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

Gandalf has been counting Dwarves. “Where is Thorin?”

Kíli glances over at Fíli. “Who has the key?”

“Dwalin – Dwalin, you and Gloin go and get Thorin.”

Gandalf is frowning. “Why is Thorin locked away when the rest of you are not?”

Kíli takes a breath, straightening his back unconsciously. “The dragon sickness took him. He was dangerous.”

“Gandalf, can we talk about it later?” Fíli adds. “How long do we have?”

“Only a short time,” Tauriel says quickly. More loudly, she adds, “Help, help, the Dwarves are escaping,” with as much emotion as if she were commenting on the weather.

“Go over the bridge and follow the left hand wall,” Kíli tells Nori. “Don’t touch Legolas,” he adds, and Nori scowls as he crosses the bridge.

“Help,” Legolas says flatly, rolling his eyes. “Stop. The Dwarves are escaping. Come back. No, don’t follow that wall…”

“Nori, don’t follow that wall!” Kíli yells. “I said left!”

Fíli’s counting as the Dwarves swarm over the bridge. “Ten, eleven. That’s it, Kíli.”

Kíli nods, turning to Tauriel. “Tauriel…”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Run, Kíli.”

He reaches for her hands, kissing the palms as he did once before. “Thank you, Tauriel. Anything I have, for all of my life, is yours to ask for.”

“Don’t escape, Kíli and Fíli,” Legolas drones from the bridge, and Tauriel smiles. Gripping Kíli’s shoulders, she turns him bodily around, pushing him lightly. “Run, Kíli.”

Kíli runs.

Tauriel’s path eventually takes them out of the palace through an aqueduct. They meet no one on the way. Gandalf appears and disappears, hurrying them along, and when they slog ashore outside the palace walls he meets them, perfectly dry, and hustles them along the shoreline and further from the palace. Eventually Fíli pauses them, sets Bofur and his brother and cousin to setting up camp, and takes Kíli to talk to Gandalf.

Kíli gives a vague outline of the years in the dungeon. Fíli fills in some gaps, but Gandalf is clearly not satisfied. “And Thorin?” he insists. “When did you give up on him?”

“He –“ Fíli starts.

“Fíli,” Kíli murmurs, and Fíli falls silent. Kíli turns to Gandalf, arms folded tightly. “Where have you been?”

Gandalf draws himself up, towering over them. It’s perhaps not as intimidating as he means it to be, not after years spent among Elves. “Do you question a wizard, Kíli Durinson?”

“I question anyone who abandons those he calls friends for near three decades, and expects obedience without question when he returns.” Kíli ignores Fíli’s frantic Iglishmek; perhaps Gandalf will strike him down for the question, but he simply doesn’t care. His people are free; he doesn’t need to fight any more, and without that to sustain him and keep him going there is nothing. He is hollow and empty.

Gandalf studies him for what feels like a long time. “We are not so different,” he murmurs finally. “Only that there was no one to fight for me as you have fought for your people – I too was captured, Kíli, held in Dol Guldur itself. I have only recently escaped, and came for you as soon as I could.”

Kíli nods – he doesn’t care, and it doesn’t matter anyway, it’s for Fíli to decide how to act now – and gives a precise, impersonal report of the failed coup, right down to Thorin’s insults against him, and continues with the last conversation he’d had with Thorin. Gandalf listens intently without questioning him, but he leans more and more heavily on his staff as Kíli goes on.

“And you believe it to be the dragon sickness?” he asks finally.

“I hope so,” Kíli murmurs. “I hope he didn’t decide I was worthless on his own.”

Fíli starts to answer and then stops, looking helplessly at Gandalf. “Is there a way to stop the dragon sickness, Gandalf?”

“Yes. Find something he cares about more than the focus of the sickness.”

Kíli laughs softly. “You, Fíli. Or Erebor, maybe…thank you, Gandalf.” He turns away, going back to the little camp and leaving Fíli to deal with their erstwhile ally.

Chapter Text

Thirty nine years, four months, and nineteen days, and Kíli stands on the dais as his brother is crowned King Under the Mountain.

Fíli should have been crowned months before, really, but he’d kept putting it off, absorbed in trying to reform Erebor into a functioning society. The loss of Thorin in what the Humans were calling the Battle of Five Armies had devastated the Company, and for a time Erebor had teetered on the brink of collapsing under its own weight.

Fíli had been everywhere in those days, dealing with Dain and Bard, helping Bofur in the mines, working with Dwalin and Balin to get their defences up again. The only job he had delegated was dealing with the Elves of Mirkwood, and that only because Thranduil had left it in Legolas’ hands. Kíli dealt with the Elven Prince, and Fíli simply signed what his brother told him to.

When he wasn’t dealing with Legolas, Kíli shadowed his brother, helping where he could. Dain and Bard were both invaluable; Kíli honestly believes the Company would have been forced to leave Erebor without their help. But now Erebor is returning to her former glory – slowly, yes, but returning – and Dale is literally rising from the ashes. There is a long way to go yet, and many obstacles to overcome, but Kíli believes they’ll make it.

And now Fíli wears the crown. Kíli leads the cheers, laughing at the half bashful look on Fíli’s face as he bows to his followers and assorted dignitaries. They’d kept the list short; Bard, his children and a handful of others from Laketown; Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel; Dain and some of his councillors. Dis, newly arrived on the first caravan from Ered Luin, stands at the front, tears shining in her beard. And at the back of the room, Gandalf and his guest are standing. No one knows who the guest is, as he or she is wrapped in a hooded cloak and has not spoken. It doesn’t matter. Fíli has publicly proclaimed that any friend of Gandalf’s has the freedom of Erebor. Kíli reminds himself to make sure a private dining room is available to them. If Gandalf’s companion wishes to keep their identity secret, Kíli will do what he can to help.

But that’s for later. For now, his brother wears the crown, and there are honours to give to the Company.

Much later, after plenty of food and ale, after songs and stories and tears and laughter, Kíli finds himself on a balcony. Gandalf is standing by the railing, blowing smoke rings. Kíli walks carefully – he’s drunk, but not terribly so – across to join him, gripping the railing and studying the pattern of fires in Dale. “They are making good progress.”

“Very good,” Gandalf agreed. “Where is your brother, Kíli?”

“With Dain, I believe. Why?”

“I wish to speak with you both.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Kíli nods. “I will find him. You’ll be here?” Gandalf nods, blowing another smoke ring, and Kíli slips back inside.

Fíli is easily found, and he comes without question when Kíli tugs at his sleeve. Kíli pauses to tell Dwalin that they’ll both be absent for a few minutes, and then leads his brother back to the balcony. Gandalf is still standing at the railing, and the hooded figure is beside him.

“Hail, King under the Mountain,” Gandalf says without looking at them.

“Hail, mighty wizard,” Fíli says, rather less seriously. Gandalf is not, will probably never be, the source of half-awed terror he once was. A powerful ally, yes, not someone to get on the wrong side of, but they do not revere him as they once did.

Kíli is studying the hooded figure; this close, he can see that the figure might be a young dwarf, or a man child – or a Hobbit, perhaps, though the cloak trails on the ground so even the feet are invisible. “We can’t be gone long, Gandalf,” Fíli is saying.

“Then I shan’t keep you,” Gandalf agrees. “I only wanted to pass on a request, from one who was once a friend of yours.”

“Oh?”

Gandalf sucks at his pipe. “Did you ever wonder, King under the Mountain, what happened to your uncle’s burglar?”

“Bilbo?” Fíli says in surprise. “Of course I did. The Elves never found him, though, and after a while – it was too long, and there were other things to think of. I stopped wondering.”

“The Elves never found him, true. Nor did I, not for far too long. He tried to follow you, when the Elves took you, but he lost the trail. And the spiders you found were not the only ones.”

“Gandalf,” Kíli protests half heartedly. He is summarily ignored.

“Through sheer luck, they did not manage to catch him. But he was bitten, and the venom made him very ill. He stumbled out of Mirkwood, feverish and hallucinating, and was found by Beorn. It took him a long time to heal, and when he did Beorn learned that the fever had destroyed some of his memories – several years of memories, in fact. Bilbo remembered nothing of you. Since Beorn knew only that you had not arrived in Erebor, he arranged for Bilbo to return to the Shire instead.”

“When was this?” Fíli asks intently.

“A little under a year from when you entered Mirkwood.”

“So Bilbo was alive and safe,” Fíli says quietly. “That’s a relief. But you said a request, Gandalf? How can he have a request for us if he doesn’t remember us?”

“He remembered a little, towards the end,” Gandalf says carefully, and Kíli shivers as he realises what Gandalf means.

Fíli swallows. “Was – did he suffer?”

“No. Not at the end.” Gandalf glances at the hooded figure; the hood lowers to reveal curly dark hair and the biggest blue eyes Kíli has ever seen. “King Fíli, Prince Kíli, meet Frodo Baggins. He is Bilbo’s cousin and ward, and Bilbo hoped that, for the sake of the friendship you held for him, you might provide Frodo a home.”

“Gandalf…” Fíli frowns. “Of course Frodo is more than welcome, but we are Dwarves. We know little of Hobbit traditions. Surely there is someone…” He trails off, studying Frodo. “But you are welcome if you wish to stay, Frodo.”

Frodo smiles, the expression there and gone again in a moment. “Thank you.”

“There is more to tell, but Frodo is tired,” Gandalf says, and Kíli realises that Frodo should not look so pale and thin. “We travelled hard to get here.”

“Of course,” Kíli agrees. “Come with me, Frodo, and I will find you a place.”

“Go along,” Gandalf says when Frodo looks at him. “And stay hidden until the king has talked to his people. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Will you?” Frodo asks. His voice is high; still a youngster, then, though Kíli has no idea how to read Hobbit ages.

“I will be here tomorrow,” Gandalf promises. “Go with Kíli. He will take care of you.”

Kíli leans into the throne room and asks the first dwarf he sees to have Dori step outside. “I don’t know what rooms are available at the moment,” he tells Frodo apologetically. “We may have to move you around a little until we find something permanent. But we will find you something.”

“Anything is fine,” Frodo says absently, studying a nearby carving. At least, Kíli thinks he’s studying it; the hood is back up, shadowing his features and making it impossible to see what he is.

Dori appears, flushed with alcohol and dancing. “Kíli, what’s –“ Catching sight of Frodo, he amends, “Prince Kíli, did you need something?”

“Yes, Dori. Gandalf’s guest will be staying with us. I know there are few rooms available at the moment, but we need somewhere for now, and a permanent room as soon as possible, in the royal sectors.” Frodo moves as though to protest, but he doesn’t speak.

Dori nods. “There’s a room free there now. Fíli moved into the King’s apartment this morning. The room he was using is empty.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Dori. Please don’t say anything about this. My brother is speaking with Gandalf, he’ll make an announcement when everything’s ready.” Turning to Frodo, he adds, “If you need anything, and you can’t find me, look for Dori. He’s our steward.” Frodo nods quickly, and Kíli studies what he can see of the Hobbit’s face. “Have you eaten? Dori, can you get something brought?”

“I’ll take care of it myself,” Dori promises.

Kíli nods, guiding Frodo away. “You may have just gained a nursemaid,” he murmurs, grinning. “Dori likes to look after people.”

Frodo doesn’t answer, and Kíli doesn’t push, leading him through the corridors. “You’ll soon learn your way around. I’ll make sure of it. Now, this is my room, and yours is just here. If you need anything, please come and look for me, anytime.” He ushers Frodo inside; it’s functional, but not much better than that, like most of Erebor.

Frodo looks around before sinking onto the bed, pulling his hood down absently. “May I ask you something, Prince Kíli?”

“You may, if you stop calling me Prince. It’s just Kíli.”

Frodo nods, though he doesn’t look convinced. “Gandalf said that your uncle died in the Battle of Five Armies.”

“Yes,” Kíli agrees. “But Thorin and I weren’t close by then. I respected him as my king, and we made our peace before the end, but I didn’t mourn him as I’m sure you mourn Bilbo.” He catches Frodo’s eye and adds gently, “We are glad that Bilbo lived and was safe and happy.”

“He abandoned you. He was ashamed when he remembered. I thought he’d die from it.”

“Abandonment requires intent,” Kíli says, and then stops, startled by his own words.

“What’s wrong?” Frodo asks worriedly.

“Nothing. Only a stray thought. No one here will think any less of Bilbo, and if anyone treats you harshly or says anything unkind to you, let me know.”

Frodo nods, eyes drifting around the room again, and Kíli says quietly, “Forgive me, Frodo, I know little of the lifespan of Hobbits. How old are you?”

Frodo considers him. “Hobbits are adults at thirty three. I was twenty four in September.”

“And adult long before that,” Kíli mutters, but Frodo clearly doesn’t hear him.

There’s a knock on the door; Kíli waits for Frodo to pull his hood back up before letting Dori and Ori in. Ori’s carrying a ewer, towel, and extra blankets; Dori has a tray heaped with food, and Kíli can see Frodo’s surprise even through the hood.

“Eat what you can and don’t worry about the rest,” he tells the Hobbit. “I have to go back to the party; I’ll be missed. But it won’t go on much longer.”

“I’m just going to sleep,” Frodo tells him. “Thank you, Pr – Kíli.”

Kíli leaves him to eat, makes sure Dori and Ori will keep quiet, and returns to the throne room. Fíli meets his eyes from across the room but makes no attempt to talk to him. Gandalf is nowhere to be seen.

Much later Kíli follows Fíli into his rooms, slumping across the bed. Fíli doesn’t push him, stripping out of his robes and adding fuel to the fire to bring some warmth to the room. “What are you thinking?” he asks finally.

Kíli stirs, though his eyes are locked on the fire. “Abandonment requires intent.”

“Yes,” Fíli agrees slowly.

“Thorin had no intent. The sickness made – but he didn’t plan it. He didn’t mean it to happen.”

“You’ve been telling everyone that for years.”

“Because they needed to hear it. Not because I thought it was true. It was for them, not for him.”

“And now you think it’s true?” Kíli nods slowly, still watching the fire. “What’s brought this on?”

“Frodo thinks we’ll be angry at Bilbo. For abandoning us.”

“He didn’t –“ Fíli cuts himself off. “Ah.”

“Ah,” Kíli agrees with a smile. “I’m not – ready to go to his tomb, or proclaim my forgiveness, not yet. But I’m ready to think about it in a new way.” Dis will be happy, he knows; she’s never once done anything to try to change his mind or make him feel guilty, but she hates his antipathy towards his uncle. He stretches, curling onto one side to watch the fire. “Frodo will stay?”

“If he wants to. His relatives would take him from duty and to get his inheritance. We may not be Hobbits, but we can give him better than that. I’ll tell the Company tomorrow, and we’ll get him settled in.”

“Mmm.” The fire is making him drowsy. “Didn’t Bilbo say he’d always wanted to see Elves? If Frodo’s the same, I’ll take him to Mirkwood; I have to go in a couple of months. He’ll charm Tauriel.”

“Always thinking about Tauriel,” Fíli grumbles, settling behind him, close enough for Kíli to feel the warmth of his body. “She’s right here in Erebor, you know. He can charm her tomorrow.”

“He should get used to Dwarves before we introduce him to Elves.” Kíli can feel sleep creeping up on him. “And mourn.”

“Yes,” Fíli murmurs. “We’ll all do that.” Lightning his voice, he adds, “And then off to the Elves. You’ll soon be his favourite uncle.”

“Don’t worry.” Kíli reaches around, awkwardly, and pats Fíli’s elbow, the only part of him within easy reach. “I still don’t love Tauriel more than you.”

He falls asleep to the sound of Fíli’s laughter.

 

Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live

Maybe one of these days you can let the light in

Show me how big your brave is