Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 4:23:06 GMT
Author: Soul Narrative
Challenge: Friend or Foe
Summary: Fili and Kili are separated from the company after their escape from Mirkwood. Legolas goes in search of the wounded Dwarf as repayment for his life debt to Thorin Oakenshield.
Rating: K+
Characters: Legolas, Fili, Kili, Thorin, Oin
Warnings: Some slightly graphic descriptions of wounds
He did not know what made him go after them.
Perhaps it was because the Dwarf who had been shot during the ambush seemed so young that Legolas retrieved his fastest horse from the stables the moment the Orc threat had passed. With no time to bother with a bridle or saddle, he rode along the cliffs parallel to the fast-flowing river, scanning the rocks and trees below for any sign of Durin’s folk.
He would have to be quick, for surely his father would send a retinue after him the moment the king noticed his absence, but Legolas knew the young Dwarf warrior had only a slim chance of surviving his wound in the wilderness. He doubted the Dwarves possessed the supplies or the knowledge to treat the poison that the arrow had most likely carried. The Dwarf needed Elvish medicine, and while Legolas’s healing abilities were far from advanced, he was confident that he could help the young Dwarf in his plight.
He gripped the silky mane of his mare tightly as he rode onward, pondering inwardly why it mattered to him whether the Dwarf lived or died. He disliked the Dwarves greatly – their stubbornness and obsession with gold was frowned upon by his people. His father had certainly been indifferent to Thorin Oakenshield’s predicament, and Legolas could just imagine the lecture he would receive for lending them any aid.
Or maybe, it was precisely that he felt indebted to the Dwarf prince for saving his life in the nick of time. He mulled this over for some time as he rode. Why had Thorin Oakenshield bothered to slay the Orc who nearly attacked him from behind, who would have otherwise succeeded in mortally wounding him? Legolas could not imagine the Dwarf prince cared anything for him. The strain between their peoples ran deep, even since before the dragon. Their capture and imprisonment of the Dwarves had certainly done nothing to ease the tension between them.
Still, Legolas could not turn his back on the young Dwarf, if nothing else but to make peace with his conscience. It was, after all, partially his fault that the Dwarf had been wounded in the first place. He was but a child to the Elven prince – foolish and naïve, yes, but also proud and courageous and stout of heart. Such were admirable qualities in any warrior, no matter his kin.
It was nearing nightfall when Legolas spotted them; two figures not far from the river’s rocky bank. One appeared to be leaning heavily on the other as they moved laboriously toward a thicket of trees. Even at this distance, their diminutive build and style of dress were unmistakable. Without hesitating, the Elven prince urged his horse down a narrow slope, keeping the Dwarves in his keen sight all the while.
<^>
Kili groaned and clutched at his leg, holding fast to a young sapling.
“Hold on, brother,” Fili said as he quickly removed his tunic and spread it over the pile of spruce branches he had collected. “It would not serve you well to lie on the cold, wet ground.”
He tried to keep his voice steady for Kili’s sake, but in truth he was uncertain and afraid. They were separated from Thorin and the rest of the company, having lost sight of them during their wild barrel ride down the river. Now they were lost, with precious few supplies and no sign of their companions. Kili was in obvious pain from the wound in his leg, which was still oozing blood through the cloth with which he had hastily bound it. Never before had Fili found himself in a more desperate situation. There had, of course, already been many close shaves during their quest, but Fili had always trusted Thorin to fix it, to make it right, to guide them to safety. He could only hope that their uncle had made it to shore not much farther downstream and was already searching for them.
Fili gently helped his brother lay down on the makeshift bedding. The younger Dwarf bit back a groan that escaped through his gritted teeth. Fili swallowed his alarm at the feverish feel of Kili’s skin; his brow was drenched and hot to the touch. Fili had hoped the arrow was not poisoned, but Kili’s fine tremors told him otherwise. The elder Dwarf squeezed his brother’s shoulder reassuringly and was about to take a look at his wound when the sound of a horse’s gallop reached them on the evening air.
Fili quickly found his footing, placing himself between Kili and the approaching rider. Having no other weapon, the elder Dwarf reached for the only blade the Elves had been unable to find – a small hunting knife he kept hidden in his boot. Brandishing this, he prepared to defend himself and his brother at all costs. The galloping drew nearer, growing louder until the cliffs around them echoed with the thundering of hooves.
A solitary grey mare came into view as it rounded a broad bend in the river. Fili recognized the rider as the Elf warrior who had captured him and his kin the previous afternoon, the Prince of Mirkwood, whose father had given the order to imprison them in the woodland realm.
The horse slowed to a trot as it approached. Fili took a brazen step forward.
“We won’t go quietly this time, Elf,” he spat. “You’ll have to fight me first.”
Legolas scoffed at the Dwarf’s foolish words, but extended his hand in greeting all the same as he dismounted some distance from him and his wounded kin.
“Peace, Master Dwarf,” Legolas greeted in Westron. “I mean you no harm. Orcs often taint their arrows with a wicked poison. Your companion will not survive long enough to see the sun rise again without proper care.”
Fili opened his mouth to protest, but hesitated as he considered the Elf’s warning. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was watching the interaction with a grimace of mingled pain and apprehension. Fili slowly turned back to the Elf, raising his eyes to the prince’s face, which remained impassive.
“You came all this way to help him?” the elder Dwarf inquired, unable to disguise his skeptical tone. Legolas simply inclined his head.
“If nothing else, I have a debt to repay.”
Fili’s brow creased at the Elf’s cryptic statement. He weighed his options, uncertain whether the prince could be trusted. Surely Thorin and the others were not far; the likelihood of the company finding them before dawn, however, was quite slim.
It was Kili’s wrenching moan that ultimately decided for him.
“Alright,” Fili said, lowering his blade. He stalked toward the Elf until he was directly in front of him. He would have stood nose to nose with the prince, but he barely reached his chest. Instead, he was content to glare up at him, hands on his hips. “But if you go back on your word, you will answer to me. Before I hand you over to Thorin Oakenshield, that is.”
“As you wish,” Legolas said, deftly stepping around the Dwarf. “Night is falling fast. We will need light. Bring some firewood, quickly.”
“What about the Orcs?” Fili replied. “A fire will give away our position.”
Legolas turned to him again.
“Do not worry. My people have driven the Orcs from these lands for now. They will not come near my father’s kingdom again so soon.”
Fili did as he was bidden, gathering the driest branches he could find from within the nearby copse. Legolas knelt beside the wounded Dwarf, gently resting his cool hand against his brow.
“Penneth, you are burning,” the Elf said.
Kili watched him curiously through glassy eyes as Legolas removed his cloak and covered him with the rough, woven fabric. Then the Elf drew a small, clean cloth from within his tunic and went to the river’s edge.
The evening was tranquil in the violet-hued twilight. Legolas dipped the linen scrap into the cold water, letting it float in the current. Behind him, he could hear the fair-haired Dwarf striking flint against steel. The first twinkling stars had appeared in the velvety sky overhead, a bright crescent moon just visible over the cliffs to the east.
Fili was feeding the small flame with dry twigs when the Elf returned, wringing excess water from the cloth. Legolas dabbed gently at Kili’s face and neck with the damp fabric before laying it across his brow. Fili watched mutely, surprised by the Elf’s gentle and attentive gestures as he cared for his brother. Kili moaned, balling the edges of the cloak in his fists, his features twisted in distress.
Legolas moved closer to the fire and took a small leather pouch from his belt. He immediately handed Fili a bundle of herbs, smaller than the palm of his hand.
“Let him chew this,” the Elf said. “It will help his pain.”
Fili took it without question. Legolas retrieved a handful of athelas from his pack, then turned to the wounded Dwarf again and cut away the blood-soaked tourniquet with a small, slender knife.
Fili watched anxiously as the Elf examined Kili’s wound. Even from his position next to his brother’s head, the elder Dwarf could see that it was deep. The skin around the injury was swollen and bruised, an ugly mottled purple color that was hot to the touch. Kili hissed as the Elf gently prodded his knee.
Legolas looked up and met Fili’s inquisitive gaze.
“Part of the arrow is still in his leg. I must remove it.”
Kili threw his head back with a choked sob and Fili swallowed thickly, steeling himself for what was to shortly come. He grasped his brother firmly by the shoulders and whispered to him in Khuzdul as Legolas sterilized his blade in the fire.
“It will not take long,” Fili soothed, praying that he would not have to eat his words. “It will be over quickly. Do not be afraid, brother. I am here. Be strong.”
Legolas returned shortly and settled at Kili’s side. The Elf paused as if he, too, dreaded what he was about to do. The wounded Dwarf was breathing heavily, clenching and relaxing his hands in a state of near-panic. Legolas looked at Fili.
“He may struggle.”
Fili repositioned himself so that his brother could not see what the Elf was doing. He grasped Kili’s arms in his large hands, and for a moment Fili was reminded of all the times he had comforted his little brother when he was frightened or hurt while they were growing up in the Blue Mountains. Kili’s dark eyes were wide and shining in the firelight, like he was begging Fili to take his pain away.
It was then that Legolas took a firm hold of Kili’s leg and lowered his knife to the wound.
Kili jerked, clenching his jaw in an effort to keep silent, but he grew quickly overwhelmed by the intensity of his pain, roaring in agony as the Elven prince dug the arrowhead from his leg. Fili held his brother’s arms fast as the younger Dwarf writhed in his grasp and instinctively fought to move away.
“Kili,” Fili nearly sobbed, wishing more than anything to release his hold, knowing that he was taking part in causing his brother’s agony. “Kili, do you remember long ago, when you slew the hawk in Ered Luin?”
He had no idea what had suddenly stirred this memory, or why he spoke of it aloud. He was desperate to calm his brother; each terrible scream lanced his heart. Fili realized he himself was trembling, but he continued to seize his brother’s arms in an iron grip, so tightly he was certain that Kili’s hands must be going numb.
“Remember? You were only ten years old. And the hawk was killing all the ravens. Thorin and Da could not trade with the Men down the mountain all winter because their messages were never delivered. Remember that?”
Kili groaned and tossed his head back, gritting his teeth, but he was looking into Fili’s face again now, drinking in every word as if they were an ether.
“And you went out alone and slew the hawk, because no one else in Ered Luin was as skilled with a bow, even though you were so young.”
A small metallic sound and a flurry of sparks from the fire told Fili that Legolas had managed to remove the arrowhead from Kili’s leg. Kili relaxed for a moment, fevered brow gleaming in the firelight. His chest heaved, and Fili took the opportunity to adjust his grip on his arms. A moment later, Kili lurched again in his hold as Legolas began cleaning his wound, but he did not scream again.
“Do you remember what Thorin said when he learned what you had done?”
“He told me…” Kili gasped. He groaned again, but his dark eyes sought his brother’s face. “I was a…a mighty warrior.”
“That’s right,” Fili said quietly, and for a moment, his throat became extremely tight. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Elf coating the angry wound with a thick salve.
“And when spring came, Thorin let you accompany us to Bree to sell the weapons he smithed during the winter. Even though I had not been allowed to go with him until I was twelve.”
Kili had gone quiet and still save for his ragged breathing. Fili finally released him and smoothed the Elf’s cloak, tucking the edges around his brother’s trembling frame.
Legolas finished tying the bandage and stood.
“I will make something for his fever,” came his soft voice from among the flickering shadows.
Fili watched the Elf go to the river again, then turned the wet cloth so the cool side lay across Kili’s brow.
“Rest, brother,” he said. “Thorin will find us soon. I am certain of it.”
He could only pray their uncle was safe.
<^>
The moon was high overhead. Kili still burned with fever, sometimes calling out nonsense in Khuzdul, other times Fili’s name. Twice, Legolas had crushed herbs with a small mortar and pestle and mixed them with water from his own canteen. This he administered to Kili in small amounts while Fili supported his brother’s head and shoulders.
The Elven prince was just setting aside the cup when Fili saw his body tense visibly in the firelight, his eyes peering into the inky darkness downriver. Fili strained his ears, but all he could hear was the familiar crackle of burning wood and the constant murmur of flowing water.
“Wait here,” Legolas breathed, picking up his bow, and before the question had left Fili’s lips, the Elf had vanished into the night.
Fili sat very still, his heart hammering against his chest. He heard nothing unusual for several long moments, and then a branch snapped loudly nearby.
“What errand have you here, Elf?”
Thorin’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, but it was unmistakable. Fili rose from Kili’s side and all but ran to the river’s edge.
His uncle came into view some twenty paces from their little camp, accompanied by Oin. Thorin was weaponless, but stood square to the Elven prince, who was facing him, bow lowered at his side. Even from this distance, Fili could see the tight set of his uncle’s jaw. Fili dodged forward.
“Thorin!”
The Dwarf prince raised his head in the direction of his nephew’s voice. Fili slowed as he reached his uncle’s side, and Thorin reached for him, strong fingers grasping his elbow in an iron grip.
“Fili! Where is Kili? Has this filth harmed you?”
“Thorin, stop…please. He has lent us his aid.”
Thorin was unable to completely mask his shock. His dark eyes swept over the Elven prince suspiciously.
“Is this true?”
Legolas simply inclined his head. When he spoke, his tone was neutral.
“The young one is recovering his wound. I have done for him what I can. I would show you to him, if you would allow me.”
Thorin exchanged a subtle glance with his nephew, not entirely convinced, but warily followed the Elf toward the glow of the fire.
Oin folded back the edge of the cloak the moment he reached Kili’s side, but stopped when he saw the clean, white bandage around the young Dwarf’s knee.
“This is a fine dressing,” he commented, looking first at Thorin, and then up at the Elf, who stood a few steps away.
“He sleeps, now,” Legolas said quietly. “I have given him Elvish medicine. He still burns with fever, but it is not so bad as when I first arrived.”
Thorin’s expression was unreadable in the firelight as he glanced at the Elven prince, but he remained kneeling next to his youngest nephew, gently trailing his fingers through Kili’s damp hair. Fili watched him with his back settled against a broad tree trunk, his exhaustion suddenly rolling over him. Thorin had found them; they were safe now.
Oin volunteered to keep watch, stumping over to a fallen log at the edge of woodland glade. Legolas took the cloth from Kili’s brow and went to the river again. When he returned, Thorin spoke, though he did not take his eyes from Kili’s face.
“Why did you help him?”
Legolas was silent for a moment, sponging the young Dwarf’s face again before laying the cloth over his brow. When he did answer, it was with a question of his own.
“Why did you help me?”
This time, Thorin was quiet. For a long while he looked at Kili, his big hands surprisingly dexterous as he gently braided sections of his nephew’s hair.
“Orcs are my sworn enemy,” he intoned quietly. “Anyone who slays them is an ally, if only for the duration of a battle.”
“Aye,” Legolas agreed softly.
“And that’s why you aided him? You did not want to remain indebted to me.”
Again, Legolas did not answer right away. The peaceful night filled the long silence that stretched between them.
“I have known an Elf for many centuries,” Legolas offered at length. “He is unlike my father. He does not focus on the differences among the free peoples, on which frequently keep Elves and Dwarves and Men apart. It is not something I understand, but I respect his gift to overlook those things. He has been a healer for many millennia. My knowledge of the healing arts is limited. Yet what I know, I learned from him. All who are wearied or wounded from their travels are welcome in his home. He may not always agree with them, yet he would never refuse them aid.”
Thorin was watching him carefully now. Legolas tucked the edges of his cloak firmly around Kili again, which had come dislodged amid the young Dwarf’s fevered movements.
“This one bears your resemblance,” he said, and his eyes lifted to meet Thorin’s gaze. “Your son?”
“My sister-son,” Thorin replied softly. “Both of them,” he added, gesturing toward Fili, who dozed between the thick, knotted roots of an oak tree. “But they may as well be…”
He hesitated. Legolas was looking at him curiously.
“Mahal claimed their father long ago.”
Legolas lowered his gaze again. For a moment, he remembered his mother’s beautiful face, radiant with unconditional love and care.
“They are yet very young,” he said quietly. “They are but children to my people. When I saw that he was wounded, I could not turn my back. I knew that if I had done so, I would have condemned him to death.”
Thorin’s throat grew tight, so he said nothing, and stroked Kili’s braids.
“I would not pretend I am fond of you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Legolas continued. “But perhaps we are not so very different after all. Maybe there is yet hope for peace between our peoples.”
He became silent again. The firewood popped and crackled, sending orange sparks floating into the darkened sky before they disappeared. Beyond, the moonlight reflected silvery off the river’s infinitely flowing current.
“Thank you,” Thorin finally managed, his deep voice no more than a whisper.
Legolas inclined his head.
<^>
Kili awoke at dawn, the morning’s first light arriving grey and violet over the cliffs. His fever had broken, and now he watched as the Elven prince spoke to his uncle at the water’s edge. He did not remember Thorin arriving in the night, but now as he watched his uncle through hazy eyes, he felt only the warm embrace of peace and safety that always accompanied his presence.
Legolas pressed a small bundle of weeds into Thorin’s hand.
“Athelas,” the Elf said. “Take it. It will help his wound heal faster.”
Then he unbuckled a sword from his back. Thorin immediately recognized it as Orcrist. Legolas offered the handle to him.
“This is a fine blade, forged by my kin long ago,” the Elf added. “May it protect you on your journey.”
He whistled, and his grey mare trotted toward him from around the bend in the river. Legolas gracefully swung himself up onto her back.
“Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield. I know not where your quest may lead you, but it is not my place to interfere any longer. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. The fates will reveal all in due time. May the Valar watch over you and your sister-sons.”
And before Thorin could reply, the Elven prince had vanished into the rising mists.
Challenge: Friend or Foe
Summary: Fili and Kili are separated from the company after their escape from Mirkwood. Legolas goes in search of the wounded Dwarf as repayment for his life debt to Thorin Oakenshield.
Rating: K+
Characters: Legolas, Fili, Kili, Thorin, Oin
Warnings: Some slightly graphic descriptions of wounds
He did not know what made him go after them.
Perhaps it was because the Dwarf who had been shot during the ambush seemed so young that Legolas retrieved his fastest horse from the stables the moment the Orc threat had passed. With no time to bother with a bridle or saddle, he rode along the cliffs parallel to the fast-flowing river, scanning the rocks and trees below for any sign of Durin’s folk.
He would have to be quick, for surely his father would send a retinue after him the moment the king noticed his absence, but Legolas knew the young Dwarf warrior had only a slim chance of surviving his wound in the wilderness. He doubted the Dwarves possessed the supplies or the knowledge to treat the poison that the arrow had most likely carried. The Dwarf needed Elvish medicine, and while Legolas’s healing abilities were far from advanced, he was confident that he could help the young Dwarf in his plight.
He gripped the silky mane of his mare tightly as he rode onward, pondering inwardly why it mattered to him whether the Dwarf lived or died. He disliked the Dwarves greatly – their stubbornness and obsession with gold was frowned upon by his people. His father had certainly been indifferent to Thorin Oakenshield’s predicament, and Legolas could just imagine the lecture he would receive for lending them any aid.
Or maybe, it was precisely that he felt indebted to the Dwarf prince for saving his life in the nick of time. He mulled this over for some time as he rode. Why had Thorin Oakenshield bothered to slay the Orc who nearly attacked him from behind, who would have otherwise succeeded in mortally wounding him? Legolas could not imagine the Dwarf prince cared anything for him. The strain between their peoples ran deep, even since before the dragon. Their capture and imprisonment of the Dwarves had certainly done nothing to ease the tension between them.
Still, Legolas could not turn his back on the young Dwarf, if nothing else but to make peace with his conscience. It was, after all, partially his fault that the Dwarf had been wounded in the first place. He was but a child to the Elven prince – foolish and naïve, yes, but also proud and courageous and stout of heart. Such were admirable qualities in any warrior, no matter his kin.
It was nearing nightfall when Legolas spotted them; two figures not far from the river’s rocky bank. One appeared to be leaning heavily on the other as they moved laboriously toward a thicket of trees. Even at this distance, their diminutive build and style of dress were unmistakable. Without hesitating, the Elven prince urged his horse down a narrow slope, keeping the Dwarves in his keen sight all the while.
<^>
Kili groaned and clutched at his leg, holding fast to a young sapling.
“Hold on, brother,” Fili said as he quickly removed his tunic and spread it over the pile of spruce branches he had collected. “It would not serve you well to lie on the cold, wet ground.”
He tried to keep his voice steady for Kili’s sake, but in truth he was uncertain and afraid. They were separated from Thorin and the rest of the company, having lost sight of them during their wild barrel ride down the river. Now they were lost, with precious few supplies and no sign of their companions. Kili was in obvious pain from the wound in his leg, which was still oozing blood through the cloth with which he had hastily bound it. Never before had Fili found himself in a more desperate situation. There had, of course, already been many close shaves during their quest, but Fili had always trusted Thorin to fix it, to make it right, to guide them to safety. He could only hope that their uncle had made it to shore not much farther downstream and was already searching for them.
Fili gently helped his brother lay down on the makeshift bedding. The younger Dwarf bit back a groan that escaped through his gritted teeth. Fili swallowed his alarm at the feverish feel of Kili’s skin; his brow was drenched and hot to the touch. Fili had hoped the arrow was not poisoned, but Kili’s fine tremors told him otherwise. The elder Dwarf squeezed his brother’s shoulder reassuringly and was about to take a look at his wound when the sound of a horse’s gallop reached them on the evening air.
Fili quickly found his footing, placing himself between Kili and the approaching rider. Having no other weapon, the elder Dwarf reached for the only blade the Elves had been unable to find – a small hunting knife he kept hidden in his boot. Brandishing this, he prepared to defend himself and his brother at all costs. The galloping drew nearer, growing louder until the cliffs around them echoed with the thundering of hooves.
A solitary grey mare came into view as it rounded a broad bend in the river. Fili recognized the rider as the Elf warrior who had captured him and his kin the previous afternoon, the Prince of Mirkwood, whose father had given the order to imprison them in the woodland realm.
The horse slowed to a trot as it approached. Fili took a brazen step forward.
“We won’t go quietly this time, Elf,” he spat. “You’ll have to fight me first.”
Legolas scoffed at the Dwarf’s foolish words, but extended his hand in greeting all the same as he dismounted some distance from him and his wounded kin.
“Peace, Master Dwarf,” Legolas greeted in Westron. “I mean you no harm. Orcs often taint their arrows with a wicked poison. Your companion will not survive long enough to see the sun rise again without proper care.”
Fili opened his mouth to protest, but hesitated as he considered the Elf’s warning. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was watching the interaction with a grimace of mingled pain and apprehension. Fili slowly turned back to the Elf, raising his eyes to the prince’s face, which remained impassive.
“You came all this way to help him?” the elder Dwarf inquired, unable to disguise his skeptical tone. Legolas simply inclined his head.
“If nothing else, I have a debt to repay.”
Fili’s brow creased at the Elf’s cryptic statement. He weighed his options, uncertain whether the prince could be trusted. Surely Thorin and the others were not far; the likelihood of the company finding them before dawn, however, was quite slim.
It was Kili’s wrenching moan that ultimately decided for him.
“Alright,” Fili said, lowering his blade. He stalked toward the Elf until he was directly in front of him. He would have stood nose to nose with the prince, but he barely reached his chest. Instead, he was content to glare up at him, hands on his hips. “But if you go back on your word, you will answer to me. Before I hand you over to Thorin Oakenshield, that is.”
“As you wish,” Legolas said, deftly stepping around the Dwarf. “Night is falling fast. We will need light. Bring some firewood, quickly.”
“What about the Orcs?” Fili replied. “A fire will give away our position.”
Legolas turned to him again.
“Do not worry. My people have driven the Orcs from these lands for now. They will not come near my father’s kingdom again so soon.”
Fili did as he was bidden, gathering the driest branches he could find from within the nearby copse. Legolas knelt beside the wounded Dwarf, gently resting his cool hand against his brow.
“Penneth, you are burning,” the Elf said.
Kili watched him curiously through glassy eyes as Legolas removed his cloak and covered him with the rough, woven fabric. Then the Elf drew a small, clean cloth from within his tunic and went to the river’s edge.
The evening was tranquil in the violet-hued twilight. Legolas dipped the linen scrap into the cold water, letting it float in the current. Behind him, he could hear the fair-haired Dwarf striking flint against steel. The first twinkling stars had appeared in the velvety sky overhead, a bright crescent moon just visible over the cliffs to the east.
Fili was feeding the small flame with dry twigs when the Elf returned, wringing excess water from the cloth. Legolas dabbed gently at Kili’s face and neck with the damp fabric before laying it across his brow. Fili watched mutely, surprised by the Elf’s gentle and attentive gestures as he cared for his brother. Kili moaned, balling the edges of the cloak in his fists, his features twisted in distress.
Legolas moved closer to the fire and took a small leather pouch from his belt. He immediately handed Fili a bundle of herbs, smaller than the palm of his hand.
“Let him chew this,” the Elf said. “It will help his pain.”
Fili took it without question. Legolas retrieved a handful of athelas from his pack, then turned to the wounded Dwarf again and cut away the blood-soaked tourniquet with a small, slender knife.
Fili watched anxiously as the Elf examined Kili’s wound. Even from his position next to his brother’s head, the elder Dwarf could see that it was deep. The skin around the injury was swollen and bruised, an ugly mottled purple color that was hot to the touch. Kili hissed as the Elf gently prodded his knee.
Legolas looked up and met Fili’s inquisitive gaze.
“Part of the arrow is still in his leg. I must remove it.”
Kili threw his head back with a choked sob and Fili swallowed thickly, steeling himself for what was to shortly come. He grasped his brother firmly by the shoulders and whispered to him in Khuzdul as Legolas sterilized his blade in the fire.
“It will not take long,” Fili soothed, praying that he would not have to eat his words. “It will be over quickly. Do not be afraid, brother. I am here. Be strong.”
Legolas returned shortly and settled at Kili’s side. The Elf paused as if he, too, dreaded what he was about to do. The wounded Dwarf was breathing heavily, clenching and relaxing his hands in a state of near-panic. Legolas looked at Fili.
“He may struggle.”
Fili repositioned himself so that his brother could not see what the Elf was doing. He grasped Kili’s arms in his large hands, and for a moment Fili was reminded of all the times he had comforted his little brother when he was frightened or hurt while they were growing up in the Blue Mountains. Kili’s dark eyes were wide and shining in the firelight, like he was begging Fili to take his pain away.
It was then that Legolas took a firm hold of Kili’s leg and lowered his knife to the wound.
Kili jerked, clenching his jaw in an effort to keep silent, but he grew quickly overwhelmed by the intensity of his pain, roaring in agony as the Elven prince dug the arrowhead from his leg. Fili held his brother’s arms fast as the younger Dwarf writhed in his grasp and instinctively fought to move away.
“Kili,” Fili nearly sobbed, wishing more than anything to release his hold, knowing that he was taking part in causing his brother’s agony. “Kili, do you remember long ago, when you slew the hawk in Ered Luin?”
He had no idea what had suddenly stirred this memory, or why he spoke of it aloud. He was desperate to calm his brother; each terrible scream lanced his heart. Fili realized he himself was trembling, but he continued to seize his brother’s arms in an iron grip, so tightly he was certain that Kili’s hands must be going numb.
“Remember? You were only ten years old. And the hawk was killing all the ravens. Thorin and Da could not trade with the Men down the mountain all winter because their messages were never delivered. Remember that?”
Kili groaned and tossed his head back, gritting his teeth, but he was looking into Fili’s face again now, drinking in every word as if they were an ether.
“And you went out alone and slew the hawk, because no one else in Ered Luin was as skilled with a bow, even though you were so young.”
A small metallic sound and a flurry of sparks from the fire told Fili that Legolas had managed to remove the arrowhead from Kili’s leg. Kili relaxed for a moment, fevered brow gleaming in the firelight. His chest heaved, and Fili took the opportunity to adjust his grip on his arms. A moment later, Kili lurched again in his hold as Legolas began cleaning his wound, but he did not scream again.
“Do you remember what Thorin said when he learned what you had done?”
“He told me…” Kili gasped. He groaned again, but his dark eyes sought his brother’s face. “I was a…a mighty warrior.”
“That’s right,” Fili said quietly, and for a moment, his throat became extremely tight. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Elf coating the angry wound with a thick salve.
“And when spring came, Thorin let you accompany us to Bree to sell the weapons he smithed during the winter. Even though I had not been allowed to go with him until I was twelve.”
Kili had gone quiet and still save for his ragged breathing. Fili finally released him and smoothed the Elf’s cloak, tucking the edges around his brother’s trembling frame.
Legolas finished tying the bandage and stood.
“I will make something for his fever,” came his soft voice from among the flickering shadows.
Fili watched the Elf go to the river again, then turned the wet cloth so the cool side lay across Kili’s brow.
“Rest, brother,” he said. “Thorin will find us soon. I am certain of it.”
He could only pray their uncle was safe.
<^>
The moon was high overhead. Kili still burned with fever, sometimes calling out nonsense in Khuzdul, other times Fili’s name. Twice, Legolas had crushed herbs with a small mortar and pestle and mixed them with water from his own canteen. This he administered to Kili in small amounts while Fili supported his brother’s head and shoulders.
The Elven prince was just setting aside the cup when Fili saw his body tense visibly in the firelight, his eyes peering into the inky darkness downriver. Fili strained his ears, but all he could hear was the familiar crackle of burning wood and the constant murmur of flowing water.
“Wait here,” Legolas breathed, picking up his bow, and before the question had left Fili’s lips, the Elf had vanished into the night.
Fili sat very still, his heart hammering against his chest. He heard nothing unusual for several long moments, and then a branch snapped loudly nearby.
“What errand have you here, Elf?”
Thorin’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, but it was unmistakable. Fili rose from Kili’s side and all but ran to the river’s edge.
His uncle came into view some twenty paces from their little camp, accompanied by Oin. Thorin was weaponless, but stood square to the Elven prince, who was facing him, bow lowered at his side. Even from this distance, Fili could see the tight set of his uncle’s jaw. Fili dodged forward.
“Thorin!”
The Dwarf prince raised his head in the direction of his nephew’s voice. Fili slowed as he reached his uncle’s side, and Thorin reached for him, strong fingers grasping his elbow in an iron grip.
“Fili! Where is Kili? Has this filth harmed you?”
“Thorin, stop…please. He has lent us his aid.”
Thorin was unable to completely mask his shock. His dark eyes swept over the Elven prince suspiciously.
“Is this true?”
Legolas simply inclined his head. When he spoke, his tone was neutral.
“The young one is recovering his wound. I have done for him what I can. I would show you to him, if you would allow me.”
Thorin exchanged a subtle glance with his nephew, not entirely convinced, but warily followed the Elf toward the glow of the fire.
Oin folded back the edge of the cloak the moment he reached Kili’s side, but stopped when he saw the clean, white bandage around the young Dwarf’s knee.
“This is a fine dressing,” he commented, looking first at Thorin, and then up at the Elf, who stood a few steps away.
“He sleeps, now,” Legolas said quietly. “I have given him Elvish medicine. He still burns with fever, but it is not so bad as when I first arrived.”
Thorin’s expression was unreadable in the firelight as he glanced at the Elven prince, but he remained kneeling next to his youngest nephew, gently trailing his fingers through Kili’s damp hair. Fili watched him with his back settled against a broad tree trunk, his exhaustion suddenly rolling over him. Thorin had found them; they were safe now.
Oin volunteered to keep watch, stumping over to a fallen log at the edge of woodland glade. Legolas took the cloth from Kili’s brow and went to the river again. When he returned, Thorin spoke, though he did not take his eyes from Kili’s face.
“Why did you help him?”
Legolas was silent for a moment, sponging the young Dwarf’s face again before laying the cloth over his brow. When he did answer, it was with a question of his own.
“Why did you help me?”
This time, Thorin was quiet. For a long while he looked at Kili, his big hands surprisingly dexterous as he gently braided sections of his nephew’s hair.
“Orcs are my sworn enemy,” he intoned quietly. “Anyone who slays them is an ally, if only for the duration of a battle.”
“Aye,” Legolas agreed softly.
“And that’s why you aided him? You did not want to remain indebted to me.”
Again, Legolas did not answer right away. The peaceful night filled the long silence that stretched between them.
“I have known an Elf for many centuries,” Legolas offered at length. “He is unlike my father. He does not focus on the differences among the free peoples, on which frequently keep Elves and Dwarves and Men apart. It is not something I understand, but I respect his gift to overlook those things. He has been a healer for many millennia. My knowledge of the healing arts is limited. Yet what I know, I learned from him. All who are wearied or wounded from their travels are welcome in his home. He may not always agree with them, yet he would never refuse them aid.”
Thorin was watching him carefully now. Legolas tucked the edges of his cloak firmly around Kili again, which had come dislodged amid the young Dwarf’s fevered movements.
“This one bears your resemblance,” he said, and his eyes lifted to meet Thorin’s gaze. “Your son?”
“My sister-son,” Thorin replied softly. “Both of them,” he added, gesturing toward Fili, who dozed between the thick, knotted roots of an oak tree. “But they may as well be…”
He hesitated. Legolas was looking at him curiously.
“Mahal claimed their father long ago.”
Legolas lowered his gaze again. For a moment, he remembered his mother’s beautiful face, radiant with unconditional love and care.
“They are yet very young,” he said quietly. “They are but children to my people. When I saw that he was wounded, I could not turn my back. I knew that if I had done so, I would have condemned him to death.”
Thorin’s throat grew tight, so he said nothing, and stroked Kili’s braids.
“I would not pretend I am fond of you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Legolas continued. “But perhaps we are not so very different after all. Maybe there is yet hope for peace between our peoples.”
He became silent again. The firewood popped and crackled, sending orange sparks floating into the darkened sky before they disappeared. Beyond, the moonlight reflected silvery off the river’s infinitely flowing current.
“Thank you,” Thorin finally managed, his deep voice no more than a whisper.
Legolas inclined his head.
<^>
Kili awoke at dawn, the morning’s first light arriving grey and violet over the cliffs. His fever had broken, and now he watched as the Elven prince spoke to his uncle at the water’s edge. He did not remember Thorin arriving in the night, but now as he watched his uncle through hazy eyes, he felt only the warm embrace of peace and safety that always accompanied his presence.
Legolas pressed a small bundle of weeds into Thorin’s hand.
“Athelas,” the Elf said. “Take it. It will help his wound heal faster.”
Then he unbuckled a sword from his back. Thorin immediately recognized it as Orcrist. Legolas offered the handle to him.
“This is a fine blade, forged by my kin long ago,” the Elf added. “May it protect you on your journey.”
He whistled, and his grey mare trotted toward him from around the bend in the river. Legolas gracefully swung himself up onto her back.
“Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield. I know not where your quest may lead you, but it is not my place to interfere any longer. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. The fates will reveal all in due time. May the Valar watch over you and your sister-sons.”
And before Thorin could reply, the Elven prince had vanished into the rising mists.