Chapter Text
"Should we follow?"
"What is going on in there?"
"Alright, lads, let's scuttle along–"
"I ain't scuttling like a bloody scared mouse–"
In between the storm of voices a frightful Ori took a glimpse of the open door that led inside the mountain, his insides still vibrating with the echo of the dragon's roar. "What about Bilbo?"
"Give him more time," said Thorin.
"Time to do what?" Balin protested, seeing no sign of their burglar in the corridor. "Get killed?"
His neck actually hurt a bit as Thorin twisted his head to face his old friend. "You are afraid," he noted, his own voice not so steady.
"Of course I'm afraid!" Balin snapped quietly, as though the king's observation was far too obvious to be considered astute. And then he saw it; the bizarre gleam in Thorin's eyes as he stared over the valley below, his head in absolute harmony with the huge dwarven statue that stood guard before the mountain. The same gleam he had once seen in Thrór's eyes as well. "I fear for you."
That caught Thorin off guard. He swallowed soundly.
"A sickness lies upon that treasure," Balin continued. "A sickness that drove your grandfather mad–"
As much as the accusing words that were only meant as a trigger to point out the change in him upset Thorin, he gave the most deadpan look he could muster and turned away from Balin. "I am not my grandfather," he muttered.
"You are not yourself either," Balin argued. "The Thorin I know would not hesitate to enter–"
"I will not risk this quest for the life of one burglar," the king spat out angrily.
Balin's gut twisted with a terrible sense of foreboding. "His name is Bilbo," he corrected him sternly.
The white-bearded dwarf shared a look with his brother, who nodded back pointedly, acknowledging the situation for what it was. Dwalin might not be one to let on any emotion, but in no way did that mean that it wasn't there.
None of the others dared to add a single word to those already exchanged, and fearfully turned to look towards the door that hang open, feeling the tremors of the earth beneath their feet.
Bilbo thanked all the deities in existence the moment his head sprouted out of the golden sea and he took a sharp breath, still feeling his lungs unable to expand to their full size compressed as he was beneath all this gold. He had been sliding up and down of endless piles of coins and jewels for some time now, occassionally dipping in when there was space.
Until he blessedly reached the very edges of the treasury, where patches of the floor could be seen here and there, and the hobbit dived underneath the first pillars and platforms that happened to be in his way. The dragon still wiggled about the room all high and mighty, causing the treasure to fall in a whirlwind along with him with his heavy, pointy tail.
"It's Oakenshield," Smaug hissed, cunningly circling around fallen pillars, "that filthy dwarvish usurper."
The hobbit moved in sync with the beast in order to remain hidden from his line of vision. His step faltered, though, when he caught something white and shiny hidden within the coins, unfortunately very close to the dragon's feet.
"He sent you here for the Arkenstone, didn't he?"
"No, no," came Bilbo's chirpy voice, as casual as he could manage, while he precariously made to step closer to the desired spot. "No, I don't know what you're talking about–"
"Don't bother denying it!" Smaug growled, swiveling around and locking on his tiny little target. "I guessed his foul purpose some time ago!"
The hobbit froze on the spot for a second and then swiftly made to run away and find himself a place to hide.
"But it matters not," said the dragon gravely, before something that could pass for a smile –an evil one– split his face. "His quest will fail... and darkness is coming. It will spread on every corner of the world."
Panting slowly in his temporary hiding place, Bilbo closed his eyes and prayed to wake up soon. His gut was telling him, and quite persistently for that matter, that this was a game of hide-and-seek he was doomed to lose.
"You are being used, Thief in the Shadows," Smaug continued with the same wicked voice and smile. "You were only ever a means to an end. The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your life and found it worth nothing."
At that Bilbo's eyes snapped open, his jaw hardened. He couldn't pinpoint the moment when the game of hide-and-seek had turned into a war of nerves. At least he wasn't nearly as gullible to fall in the trap immediately; also too loyal to believe that Thorin could've used such underhanded methods to enlist a burglar. "No," he said determinedly, nervously glancing around for a way to put a safe distance between him and the dragon. "No, you're lying."
"What did he promise you?" the great beast asked almost amusedly as he resumed his stromping about the hall, and the very foundations of the mountain itself seemed to shake. "A share of the treasure? As if it was his to give... I will not part with a single coin!"
Bilbo decided this was the moment. This was his only chance; he would either take it or miss it. Too bad, fate leaned towards the second. The exact moment he leapt forward to grab the precious jewel, the dragon's wing flipped half of the coins along with the hobbit in the air. Bilbo ended up bumping against a huge pillar, his rear finally slumping down on the ground and not on gold. It was a rather strange feeling to realise that he had actually found the bottom.
"My teeth are swords!" Smaug bellowed. "My claws are spears! My wings, a hurricane!"
As swiftly as his feet could carry him, Bilbo jerked up and tried to steady himself. He had the fleeting thought that the dragon had serious issues with his appearance. Granted, he was a dragon, the last of his kind, magnificent and all that, but still... a modicum of modesty never harmed anyone.
And suddenly he saw it. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped a little as his gaze zeroed in on the spot upon the beast's armour, which apparently missed a piece as Bard and Bain had rightfully claimed. "So it's true," the words left his mouth in awe, despite himself. "The Black Arrow found its mark."
The dragon swiveled his head with admirable rapidity. "What did you say?" he drawled menacingly.
"I... I–" Bilbo cursed the blasted moment he spoke without thinking first and recoiled, stumbling upon small piles of gold coins. "I was just noting that your reputation precedes you, O Smaug the... Tyrannical." He graced him with a little bow as he drew further back. If the dragon fished for compliments, he would have them, if it meant that they would buy Bilbo the time to escape. "You have no equal upon this earth. You..."
The Arkenstone lay before his feet, only a yard or two away and his speech faltered.
Smaug snorted loudly and a hint of smoke puffed out of his nostrils. "I am almost tempted to let you take it," he drawled. "If only to see Oakenshield suffer." The thief realised his mistake and averted his gaze from the Arkenstone, locking eyes with him. "Watch it destroy him. Watch it corrupt his heart and drive him to madness."
Bilbo's mind was spinning to come up with a plan of escape. His options were limited, at best.
Then the dragon finally decided that the creature's visit had gone past the proper hour. "I think our little game ends here," he declared with finality, and no small degree of wickedness, his whole body swaying backwards like that of a snake. "So tell me, thief, how do you choose to die?" And with that he hurtled forward, opening his mouth to fit his guest in one gulp.
Bilbo's heart leapt to his mouth. He saw no other way and quickly slipped the ring on his finger, dived very low on the marble floor, saving himself from the dragon's dentition literally by a hair's breadth. He scrambled to stand up, which proved an impossible feat while trying not to breathe too loudly, because he didn't know if he could still be heard while invisible, and made for the stairs which he had descended from, panting his lungs out. An ear-splitting roar came from behind him as he ran down the corridors, followed by a bout of pure heat, and he half-believed either the fire or Smaug himself with his massive body would demolish the entire mountain from the inside.
"Oh? Well, clearly one must be unstable to be stupid enough to fall in love with you!"
The world suddenly fell from its axis and the duration of the vertigo stretched stubbornly. A sneaking suspicion crept into Kili's head that he might still be unconscious, and everything from the moment he had supposedly regained consciousness and on was a bad dream; or was it a good one, judging by the words just spoken? He could not decide.
He had been dreaming of a response to his feelings, but reckoned the reply would range between a polite rejection and long, very awkward silence. It was all what he prepared himself to experience in the near future, that rejection or that silence. But now that Arya, in a tricky twist of fate and forced by his importunate accusations, angrily blurted out she was in love —actually in love— with him, he couldn't bloody believe it. He found himself totally unprepared for this and his brain was still struggling to recover from the impact with the huge wall it had seemingly collided. His stomach felt a little iffy. He didn't know what other word would do justice to what he felt. The anger bubbling up inside him not minutes ago had slowly fizzled out and given its place to a muzzy bubble made of surprise, astonishment, a hint of joy and also hurt, for it seemed that she was fighting tooth and nail against the acknowledgement of these words and confessed out of pressure.
As all that happened, he failed to notice that his feet no longer held him upright, but had given up, resulting in him slumping down on the edge of the bed genuinely shocked.
For a few moments Arya nearly forgot the way people breathed. Her jaw was trembling uncontrollably as realisation of what she'd just done truly sank in. She staggered a few steps backwards, hands covering her face in embarrassment. All that thinking about game and good players... Good player, her arse! She wasn't even remotely close, judging by that little verbal diarrhea. Their entire fight, all the effort she had put into convincing him of her indifference, they all went flying out of the window.
"Shit."
It came in a whisper, the voice muffled behind her palms.
Kili's jaw had yet to recover from its freefall to the floor, himself practically immobilised on the edge of the bed. "How did you–? When did you–? What did you–?" He tried to swallow the ball of saliva that was stuck somewhere in the back of his throat right after his mouth went dry. "Say that again?"
"Shit."
"Not... the swearing," he managed to breathe out. "Before that... You said–"
"Nothing," she cut him quickly, "I said nothing—didn't utter a word."
"You said–" Kili repeated with wide eyes, still unable to grasp what she'd told him. He finally managed to clear his throat. "You said you've fallen in love with me—I can't believe it!"
If the world was a giant toilet and the plumbing was good enough, Arya could almost hear it flushing her soul down into an infinite wasteland full of orc faeces. "No, I did not say it," she growled.
"Yes, you did!"
"No, I didn't!" Arya protested.
"You're in love with me!"
"No!"
"Yes, you are!"
"No, I'm not!" she exclaimed wildly. "Cease with the repetition!"
"You are in love with me!"
"Stop it, damn you!"
Kili saw the defiance in her shoulders as she plumped down on the floor like a cumbrous piece of furniture, shoving her head between her folded knees and squeezing its sides with her palms. There was a deeper issue there, but for the life of him he could not imagine what it was.
"Arya–" He made to budge from the bed to the floor to draw closer, but an abrupt twinge in his thigh stopped him mid-stride. He let a low hiss.
"You need to be still," she said softly, her voice muffled against her knees. "Please. You need to lay on a bed for days without wiggling a toe, if possible, not bounce about like a pup."
Kili got on with his effort nonetheless. He shuffled across the wooden floor till he was sitting right beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her reaction was a veil of mystery to him. "These are the gladdest tidings I've heard since I learned about the existence of malt beer in this world," he said with a half-smile. "Yet you seem as happy as one could be at a funeral."
The hint of a smile vanished when she drew away from his hand.
"If my words have made you this sad, I admit I must take, not all, but definitely some of them that were spoken in anger and may have offended you back."
Arya shook her head frustratedly.
"Please, talk to me."
She was still too busy stewing in the guilty, drowning juices of her tremendous blunder. As if that would make things better or time run backwards.
"Arya, there are volumes in my voice I haven't even begun to reach."
A fair warning. His tone brooked no argument—he wanted to know and he wanted to know now. And apparently, the habit of slamming a hand on wooden surfaces was shared among the royal family.
"No need," she whispered. "I'm certain half the town has heard enough so far."
"Then stop being a pain in the arse and talk to me."
Most of her back and the side of her face were visibly accessible to him. She could not see him, but could feel his eyes tracing over her huddled up form like silent hands. She gasped when she felt the touch of his fingers on her arm, this time more insistent.
"Do you think that I'm a cold-hearted bastard?" she asked.
"No."
She sighed, "I wish that you did. It would make things so much easier."
"Why?"
Her eyes fell shut with dismay. "You can't understand–"
"I can understand perfectly well," he said irritably, tightening the grip on her arm. "You're simply not trying enough to explain it to me."
"Just by explaining it to you, I could put you in danger!"
Kili let an exasperated breath out. She was a giant riddle wrapped up in a million smaller ones, and he wasn't really into riddles. His body shifted closer to hers and he ended up almost pulling her face to get her to look at him directly. "Then do your best to explain without putting me in danger," he said hotly. "You owe me a bloody good explanation for all of this."
Her pride and bravado died a quick death under his gaze. With more force than ought to be used, she pulled his forearms down and freed herself, which he didn't seem very pleased about.
"As long as someone is close to me," she began, "they can be used against me. You are one of the bravest, most persistent and courageous people I've ever met. But next to wills and minds that can concoct entire schemes, we are both weak. What I mean to say is, to care for someone is a liability–"
"No one comes without one," he protested. "Everyone has a weakness, be it Dwarf, Elf, or Man." Upon further reflection, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you really afraid of?"
It was like being trapped between a rock and a hard place. She had either revealed too much, or he had guessed quite correctly. Perhaps both. "Right now, I'm more angry than afraid, to be honest–"
"Arya."
He saw her as she really was and, almost all the walls she had tried to built to distance herself from him, he tore them down. It became painfully evident how hard he was trying to get the truth out of her because he was exercising his last reserves of patience.
She had noted this before, back at Beorn's, he was far more insightful than they gave him credit for. And that quality of his was frightening. At least it frightened her. It wasn't the best of feelings to have someone able to read your face with a single glance. It could be quite helpful in a different situation, but the current one certainly wasn't in that list.
"I am not afraid of someone in specific and not only for myself. This is what I've been trying to tell you," she said softly, squeezing his hand in hers. "There are a few ways to hurt me that do not involve hurting... me, physically. There were risks in the path I chose to take; I cannot remain faithful to my duties without undertaking those risks. But know that, as far as the people I love are concerned, I will not allow any harm to come to them because of me."
"You can't promise something like that."
"And yet I have."
"If certain lives are destined to be taken early, they will be. It won't happen because of you, and you can do nothing to save them."
"I know," she said with a half-hearted smile. "Seems I can't stop trying, though."
They lived in a world of worst case scenarios. And Arya had cut herself off from hoping for the best, because most of the time the best was not even remotely close to what happened. She only tried for it.
For a brief moment Kili thought that she might have let her guard down. The moment when he saw that sad smile right below the bruised nose he had come close to hurting earlier, he felt a kind of pain that had nothing to do with his injured leg. As much as he appreciated the living proof that she had her vulnerable moments as well, he loathed seeing her hurt and not knowing what to do to take her pain away.
Deep down he knew it was a half-truth, but it was enough, for now at least. Sooner or later he would have the rest of it.
"So... I have feelings for you, you have feelings for me, but you're afraid you may risk my life by being close to me. What, then?" he said seriously. "We have to swallow those feelings and stay away from each other, even if it means we'll be unhappy for the rest of our lives?"
She shrugged, "Works for me."
He glared at her. This was not Arya; this was armour. And stupidly enough, she let it weigh her down. "That is not a nice way to live."
Her eyes were fixed on his eyebrows. She marveled the way they could turn that living ray of sunshine into a dark, brooding, but no less handsome dwarf prince. "It's a good way not to die."
Kili scoffed. "You're not nearly as wise as you trick people into thinking you to be."
"Come again?"
"You tend to act like you're certain of what is to come."
Her face scrunched up in confusion and she winced slightly, having forgotten about her bruised nose.
"You know not what will come." He could see that in a deep part of her mind she knew he was right. He could also see that she was fighting to keep that part hidden in a dusty corner of her brain. "So what right have you to trash this," his hand alternately pointed to both of them, "into the void, due to a mere possibility?"
"Because that alone is terrifying. Trust me, staying away from me is for the best."
"If you make these kinds of choices alone, how am I supposed to trust you?"
"You can't," she said softly. "And you shouldn't." The fingers of one of her hands clenched around his again. "Just take it from someone who, I suspect, has spent incrementally more time around dead beloved ones than you, the odds that history will repeat itself are very, very good."
Kili sighed in frustration, not in defeat—never in defeat. He would lay siege until he made her see straight. "I may be young, but remember that I've been around for nearly fifty years before you were born. I've travelled and met people as well, be it merchants, simple villagers, lords, or thieves and criminals even. Do you know what I've come to believe?" She shook her head 'no'. "That a little more love in the world hasn't brought anyone harm."
A snort was drowned somewhere between her throat and mouth.
"Do you know what I've come to regret?" Kili asked and she shook her head curiously. "That, sadly, I haven't known you since you were born." His face morphed into something else as a dazzling smile split it. "I've missed three decades' worth of your smiles and grimaces– That is outrage."
"You– Kili, this is exactly what I meant before," she snapped quietly. "You're telling me things like these and it feels like I need to powder my bum because it's sweating!"
No blushes, no giggling, no swooning, just good old graphic descriptions and irritation. The Arya way. Kili chuckled. Proof to his words, he did truly miss almost three decades worth of her reactions in his attempts to facilitate conversation with her.
"See?" she accused seriously, seeing his laughing face. "This is ridiculous–"
"No," he cut her, "ridiculous is the fact that you're unusually gabby for someone who claims to dislike conversing with people."
A twinkle of anger flashed in her eyes and she thankfully shut up. Before she could protest about that little snipe Kili was already going for it, praying that she wouldn't look at him like an attacker and he wouldn't end up with a bruised eye. No one in the history of kisses had been kissed with a kiss like the kiss he'd be kissing her with.
Nothing heralded the imminent invasion and Arya, too, couldn't be more oblivious. He was already way too far into her personal space and she couldn't bring herself to move away once he pulled her closer. Forgoing any sign of warning, his lips landed on hers, warm and seeking for her breath to breathe with. Her blood suddenly blazed within her body, but she did not pull away; even if it felt as though life was being drained out of her.
He couldn't even believe that she was responding at all. But, bless her heart, she was. However not with the innocence of one's first kiss should have. Technically, that had taken place back in Mirkwood when he thought her dead; she might not actually respond back then, but it had been a kiss nonetheless. This one was full of despair and something else, another feeling he had yet to decipher. And right then as she returned his eagerness tenfold, he didn't want to hurt her more than she was already. Her lips almost burned him alive, searing their memory into his own. He kissed her with an agonising feeling; that of fear of losing this, of losing her.
That moment, in all its glory, was what he wished to remember forever, even if he never got another like it. No one would ever take that away from him. He'd take that memory to his bloody grave.
She tried to shift further towards him, and his subsequent attempt to keep her close resulted in their legs getting tangled. The sudden move made Kili groan in pain, his leg still clearly not in the state to move around with ease, let alone get burdened with added weight, but he was too enthralled to care. The sound was enough to distract Arya, who quickly made to pull back to see what the matter was.
Kili wouldn't take any of it. "No, no, no," he muttered urgently, "it's fine–"
Before she could protest, stop him, think, or even blink, they were going at it anew.
Bloody hell.
If Arya had to explain the concept of possessiveness, the current situation would be a perfect example. Kili didn't let her move even a bloody inch around, unless it was towards him. They were that close. So unbelievably close that she could feel everything. Literally, everything; like, experiencing every emotion under the sun.
He also had other uses for his mouth apart from making her go ballistic, apparently.
It was sinful.
It was shameful.
...
And it was so, so good.
He was just so dominating, suffocating even, that she felt pinned against the corner of a room. She couldn't remember the last time someone truly held her, and it was as if the floodgates that had been holding back how starved for affection she was opened wide.
Kili was having the time of his life. She tasted of oranges and dried blood. The way her mouth collided with his and currently for a dominance she had lost long ago made him moan quietly and forget the pain in his body and the other in his heart. And all those lovely, soft noises her throat produced every now and then —so quiet, for his ears only— were enough to drive him crazy. They were so shamefully salacious that he was dying to find out what else was there in her repertoire.
She felt like a musical instrument in the hands of an inherently gifted performer. "For what it's worth," she breathed brokenly against his mouth, "I am so going to die of shame later."
A soft chuckle rumbled low in his chest at her words, and Kili buried one hand in her hair and tugged her head a little backwards, kissing her again, deeply and slowly.
Arya just about lost it right then. She undraped one arm from his broad shoulders and, all but timidly, sneaked it into his tunic and pressed hard upon his chest, fingers finally rejoicing in the feeling of that soft, dark hair against her palm.
Kili could easily be mistaken for a bumblebee amongst a plain field of daisies in the spring. Then he felt a gush of blood rushing to a part of his body that really neither needed nor should be disturbed right now, and subsequently up to his already flushed face when he realised what was going on. Apparently, that appendage hadn't suffered any side effects from the injury. And count his blessings for that.
But suddenly the tables started to turn. Willfully or not, she grew more aggressive; like a thunderstorm, eager to bring him down in her pass, uncontrollable; desperately wanting to devour him in a way that a predator vied for its prey. And devour him she did. Swift as the running water, before he could even blink, she had run her mouth across his jaw, then along his throat, and all of a sudden her teeth sank in the soft flesh that was burning hot underneath his stubble; marking him as hers.
It was not exactly her intention to do that, but primal instincts prevailed. In a deep part of her heart, however, she was thoroughly pleased with how it turned out and, if the groan coming from his mouth was any indication, so was he.
Not that Kili was particularly eager to stop her, but he wasn't too eager to give up control either, despite the delightful sting of pain he felt when she bit him. "Now I can understand what they call you a pard for," he said with a breathless laugh, gently pulling her face away from his neck and in front of his.
The words were lost to her. She could barely see straight, let alone process phrases of more than three words. Her whole body was shuddering, violently almost. It actually worried him a little. She was out of breath and her eyes were blazing with the despair —the driving force that led her to such improper behaviour— to taste as much of him as she could before she would have to withdraw, put her walls back up and feel a tremendous amount of guilt, shame, mortification and deep regret for allowing her actions to drive her so lowly down the path of propriety.
"Take it easy," he added with a smirk. "One step at a time."
A new wave of blood raced up to her face and painted it crimson. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment, as well as a mild case of stubble scratching—the price one had to pay for wooing the younger prince of the line of Durin. Seeing her burn with desire for him was a sight to be cherished.
Arya, though, would prefer if a hole in the earth swallowed her right away. She had not been raised among wildlings—not all her youth, that is. She was born and raised in Rivendell for a while; lived among and nurtured with the manners and ways of the most elegant, unblemished, modest creatures in existence, the Elves, and after those years, her mother took great care to continue that upbringing. So nothing, absolutely nothing justified the behaviour that made her look like a shameless, wanton woman. Her heart argued that she was ravenous for just a small taste of him, but her brain, now that it was functioning again after the fog of lust was lifted, was scrambling to banish that thought back to the abyss where it belonged.
Until Fili, not knowing what was really going on in there and fearing he might discover a dead body or, worse, two of them, decided to intervene and barged into the room unannounced. Impeccable timing, as always.