Chapter Text
The last thing Kili remembers is Azog running toward them, mounting his great white warg, surrounded by his orcs. Fili and him had barely needed to look at each other to know what to do next, and before anyone could stop them, they had positioned themselves between their uncle and his enemies, ready to defend him until death.
Only Kili hadn’t expected death to actually happen to him. It wasn’t supposed to happen to people like him. He was young, he was a prince, he was reckless, how could he die? But fate had decided otherwise, and the very last thing he saw was an orc’s sword coming toward his head, followed by a crippling pain, and then…
And then, only darkness.
Later there was light, and warmth, and Kili would have thought he was dead if there hadn’t also been pain. Or did the dead feel pain? It seemed rather unfair. It was bad enough being dead without having to feel so terrible too. Wanting to find out, he tried to move, or to open his eyes, but failed to do either. Maybe dead, then. But his struggles must have alerted someone, or something, because he thought he could hear a voice, somewhere far away, as well as warmth on his hand. And, with that last thing, he realized that, dead or alive, he felt safe and protected, and he let the darkness engulf him again.
It happened again several time, this going from darkness to light and from light to darkness, until the moment where finally Kili found himself able to open his eyes. All he saw at first was more light, and this time it was so bright that it hurt his eyes. He blinked a few times, until the pain there subsided and he could look around him. He wasn’t sure he recognized the room, though that might have been because he couldn’t think clearly anyway, but he had a feeling he was somewhere inside the Mountain. It was difficult to be sure though, lying on his back like he was, barely able to see anything but the ceiling, so he tried to sit up.
This proved to be difficult for two reasons. First, he felt weak, weaker than he had ever been. The closest thing he could imagine was one time when he’d gotten sick as a child, and his life had been on the line. Secondly, as soon as he managed to sit, there was a yelp next to him, and someone came and gently forced him to lie down again.
“None of that now,” said a soft voice that Kili could almost recognize. “You are to rest still, or you’ll never heal proper.”
Kili frowned, trying to find whose voice it was. Young. Soft. Shy. Oh.
“Ori?”
“Aye. How do you feel? Tired? Hungry? Feeling anything strange?”
“I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years, is all. Bit hungry too, yeah.”
“Well, you haven’t awoken for days, so no surprise there,” Ori said, and Kili thought there was something strange in his voice, a bit sad maybe. “Just stay here and don’t move, I’ll see if I can find you some broth, yeah?”
Falling asleep again, Kili nodded distractedly. He thought he felt Ori take his hand for a second, but he wasn’t sure of it, and he couldn’t imagine why the younger dwarf would do such a thing.
The next time Kili woke up, his head was a lot clearer, and he was a lot hungrier. Carefully sitting up –and that was easier too this time, though he still felt weak –he looked around him. He was definitively in a room inside the mountain, though not one that he had visited before, because he would have remembered such a pretty place, with carvings on the walls and around the window. It was a nice room, with here and there furniture half eaten by worms. An old bedroom, maybe, that had been made habitable again for him? In any case, it was a comfortable place, and the straw on which he’d been installed to sleep felt like the nicest thing he’d ever known in his life.
The only thing to worry him was that he was alone, when he remembered that Ori had been there too, last time he had been conscious. Or had that been a dream? His head had felt rather funny at the time, and he did have trouble focusing, just like in a dream, but then why Ori, why not Fili or Thorin, or someone he had actually managed to talk to during their travel? He was not sure he liked the implication of him dreaming of Ori of all people, but that would still have been better than Ori having really been there, when his brother or his uncle should have been the ones watching over him. Or if they were hurt too, then someone else, but certainly not that boy, who was barely old enough to have a beard. Where were the others? Were they all wounded? Was the battle lost, with only the two youngest dwarves spared because of their age?
Suddenly overcome with panic, the young dwarf tried to stand up, only to feel his head spinning so hard that he quickly fell back on the straw, his foot knocking down a bowl of broth in the process. At the same time, footsteps approached, sounding strangely distant and close all at once. His vision blurry, Kili just made out a small silhouette were the door should have been, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Ori was kneeling next to him, looking worried.
“You shouldn’t try to stand yet,” the younger dwarf admonished him softly. “You’ve taken a bad blow to the head, and we could only give you a little water now and then, so you’re not strong enough to... well, do anything, really.”
“And since when are you a healer exactly? And why is it you guarding me? Isn’t there anyone more...”
Kili didn’t finish his sentence, but by the expression on Ori’s face, it didn’t make a difference. Anyone more experienced, competent. Anyone who wasn’t a child.
“Well, the others were busy, weren’t they?”Ori answered coldly. “You weren’t the only one hurt during the battle, and there were some who needed care more than you did, so I just... tried to make myself useful. I’m not much of a healer, but you’re alive, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. It’s just. Well, why am I not with the others, if many were hurt? Where are...”
“We’re all mostly alive,” Ori cut him. “But you won’t stay alive if you don’t eat a bit. So I’ve brought you broth, made specially by Bombur just for you.”
Kili looked at the bowl he had hit earlier in his fall. He had thought that was supposed to be his.
“That was my lunch,” Ori said as he filled a spoon from the bowl he was holding. “But that’s fine, I’m sure one of my brothers will remember I need to be fed soon enough, and they’ll bring me something. Now try to sit down, and eat.”
“Are you going to feed me like a babe?”
“As long as I have too, yes,” Ori grumbled. “But if my help is so annoying to you, I’m sure I’ll find plenty of people to care for you, now you’re awake. See if they don’t treat you like a babe, though.”
“What’s with that temper? You sound like an orc who’s got a wart on his backside. Did you too get a blow in the head that turned you as grouchy as your brothers?”
Ori shrugged and didn’t answer. Instead, he brought his spoon towards the other one’s mouth, and Kili, though annoyed to be treated so, ate without any more complaints.
After his broth –and wasn’t it embarrassing that he could only swallow half of it before feeling full to the point of sickness –Kili tried to rest a little, only to find he wasn’t as tired as he had been before. Ori still seemed in a foul mood, writing and sketching in his book with his back turned to his patient, and it was probably best not to try to talk to him. Except there was not much else to do, really, not once you had looked a hundred times at those stupid carvings decorating everything, and, really, Kili had never been that interested in the arts of stone anyway.
“Ori?”
There was no answer, but the younger dwarf’s quill stopped, which seemed a good sign.
“What did you mean when you said we are all mostly alive?”
“That some are more alive than others.”
“I’d have thought you could only be dead or alive. How can you be less alive, exactly?”
“Well, you can do that by losing a leg. Or losing an arm, and having to take all sorts of potions just to bear being alive. Or you can just sleep for two weeks without ever moving. Plenty of ways to not be that much alive, really. But we’re all fine now, I think.”
“You’re not telling me who’s hurt.”
Ori closed his book more violently than necessary, and turned toward Kili.
“That’s because you’re part of who’s hurt, for one thing. And really, they’re fine, and our master Baggins, Thorin let him come back and he’s all fussing over him and taking care of him, so maybe he’s got just one leg now, but he’s King under the Mountain, and he’s got a hobbit feeding him and tending his wounds and all the rest, so he’s quite all right.”
“Bet the hobbit is as much of a healer as you are,” Kili tried to joke.
At that, Ori shot him a strange look, not quite as angry as before, and certainly a little worried, though he was trying to hide it.
“I’m sure he and I have had a lot in common lately, yes,” the young dwarf finally said with a neutral voice. “Though do not worry, your uncle is in good hands.”
“And the other one to be hurt?”
“He’s fine too, now. Bombur tells me he’s started eating solid food, and that’s a good sign. But he... Fili lost an arm, there’s a nasty wound on his chest, and we’re still not sure about one of his eyes.”
Kili felt like he had been punched in the stomach. The idea of Fili, in pain, somewhere away from him while he just slept was unbearable. They had still been fighting when he’d lost consciousness, that much he was sure of, and he should have been fighting too, protecting them. And what if they’d been hurt protecting him? He wasn’t sure he could live with that. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be. He’d gone with Thorin to become a great, brave hero, not some idiot who fainted at the beginning of a battle and slept while others suffered around him.
Ori’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.
“Don’t go blaming yourself, you didn’t do anything wrong. You fought very bravely, I saw you, and that blow you took would have killed anyone else. Just wait until you can remove the dressings, and you’ll see the scar you got yourself. And... well. You’ve been lucky, that’s all. And next time, you’re not going into battle with some old armour that’s been lying around for centuries. I’ll make you a nice new helmet myself, if it comes to it!”
Another dwarf might have noticed how bold that proposition was, and how Ori was blushing, refusing to look at Kili. But the dark haired dwarf missed it completely.
“I’d rather not,” he said with a laugh. “Your brothers said once you were the worst smith that the world has ever known."
“Well then, I'll find someone to make a good one for you then,” Ori insisted. “I'm sure I could convince Dwalin, or even Bifur... he is a great smith, there's not questioning that. And then, maybe you'd be a little bit safer when you go running after armies of goblins.”
This time, at last, Kili realized that there was something rather odd with the other's offer. You did not just give things for no reason. That wasn't the way dwarves did things. If you made a present, or talked of giving one, it meant you wanted an alliance, or to settle a grudge, or to maintain a friendship. But Ori wasn't the kind to need allies, and they had never argued, and saying they were friends would have been a bit of a stretch. Kili liked the other one, certainly, but the way he had liked their ponies: because they were there, and they were useful to the group, and that he knew he could count on them even if he never talked to them.
Well, maybe he liked Ori a bit more than the ponies. The ponies hadn't made him a scarf on the way to thank him for having protected them from the trolls at one point -funny how Kili didn't remember that he had done that, really, but Ori had sounded sure of himself and it would have been impolite to say no. And Ori had drawn that lovely portrait of him and Fili, in exchange for a few lessons with bows. And he'd say some rather funny jokes, when his brothers weren't there to silence him. And he had a nice smile, though rarely directed at Kili.
Now that he thought about it, the main reason they weren't friends was probably the fact that Ori seemed to avoid him, whenever his brothers were around. Which was to say, he avoided him most of the time. A strange behaviour, to be sure, but Kili had always had other problems in mind. Until then.
The older dwarf must have remained silent for longer than he should have, because Ori looked very worried, and more than a little discouraged.
“Forget I said anything,” he mumbled. “That was just an idea. I'm sure now that you're the heir, proper and all, you'll not be wanting in helmets, or in anything else, eh? It was stupid of me to suggest it. And anyway, you should rest now, and I should tell everyone that you're better, shouldn't I? I've only told Bombur, and he's so busy, I can't be sure he's told anyone yet. So just... rest and stay here and I'm sure you'll soon have plenty of company, and from people more interesting than me too.”
And before any protest could be formulated, before Kili had a chance to tell him he wasn't that boring, Ori had quickly gotten up, and, his book in one hand, his ink and quill in the other, he had run away from the room.