sunny bunny

Thorin’s brow furrows, thoughtful. He turns his face toward the wind, letting it lift the dark strands from his cheek. For a moment, he looks younger—less burdened, less kingly, almost… peaceful.

“I forget,” he says after a long silence, “that you are not made of stone and fire as we are.” His voice lowers. “That you need the sky.”

You blink, surprised by the softness—by the understanding.

Then the breeze picks up, colder this time, tugging at your cloak. Before you can react, Thorin shifts closer. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that his body blocks the wind from hitting you fully.

“You should stand on the other side of me,” he says quietly. “The wind will not bite so sharply.”

You meet his eyes, rich and intense.

“Are you shielding me from the breeze, Thorin Oakenshield?”

He grunts, chin lifting.

“I am shielding you from the cold.”

It isn’t the same thing, but you let him keep his dignity.

The wind sweeps through again, tugging more insistently this time. Thorin exhales, frustrated with the elements themselves, and suddenly he’s shrugging off his heavy fur-lined cloak.

You raise your hands in protest. “Thorin, no—”

But you gave in soon enough and lowered yourself where he was able to drape it over your shoulders, the weight swallowing you in warmth and the scent of leather, steel, and something profoundly him.

“You feel the chill more deeply than you admit,” he says, tone gruff but eyes gentle. “Let the mountain winds bother me, not you.”

Your breath catches, but he pretends not to notice.

Together, you stand at the archway as the breeze stirs the valley, carrying distant echoes and the promise of winter.

After a long, quiet moment, Thorin speaks again—low enough that the wind nearly steals it.

“One day,” he says, “I hope you will let me show you the places where the breeze sings through the stone. Where the mountain breathes. I think… you would find it beautiful.”

Your heart thuds hard enough to feel in your throat.

“When you invite me,” you whisper, “I’ll go.”

Thorin’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face.

“Then I invite you,” he says.

And though the mountain wind still bites at him, he doesn’t move—

hello! this is a silly little sideblog made specifically for me to post about all things in middle-earth, since my main blog doesn't really feel all that oriented for it.

POTENTIAL CONTENT WARNINGS:

- NSFW and slight fetish posting (nothing depraved).

- Deep angst, but probably not much of it.

- absolutely terrible writing. lol.

some stuff I'll post and write about are:

- Any ships I like, which are many and can expand with time and exposure. Current ones will be listed in the tags.

- Platonic dynamics between just about any characters.

- Singular explorations of a character.

- Disdain or hatred between two or more characters.

- Descriptions of physical or mental distress and harm.

- Explorations of mental health in characters.

Bilbo, being an odd hobbit himself, had once or twice felt anxiety when going to sleep as overly imaginative visions of his roof collapsing plague his mind when he knows his obnoxious cousins will be coming to visit the next day, but even he had not entertained the idea beyond such escapist ideations. Neither had he experienced or heard much of a real cave-in, being as he had never been in a cave before his sudden adventure, after all.

Within the Shire, you will find either the richest or the poorest of hobbits residing in Smials. These homes, often simplified to be called "hobbit holes", are dug into the sides of hills within the land and require much structural reinforcement to remain standing under the natural weight of the land above, which grows only heavier when it rains or snows. When the Shire Reckoning began and the first of the Smials were built, much trial and error underwent to ensure there were no cave-ins in the middle of the night. But once the method was perfected, no extra thought was put into the idea of such a collapse. Such is the nature of hobbits; when something is not broken yet, there is no need to worry about fixing it.

Erebor, as one could imagine, was really just an abundance of caves that had been inhabited or expanded by the residents and miners in its populace, and such a thing intrigued Bilbo to a high degree. The omega once rambled about the concept to Thorin when he first got to explore the winding hallways and tunnels of the Kingdom without any threat to his life, how Erebor could almost be compared to a massive Smial. Thorin disagreed, but still found himself glad to hear such a wild accusation. To him, that meant that the Kingdom under the Mountain could, in some way, be seen as home to Bilbo.

Anywho, the hobbit, who internally agreed with such a notion though was too headstrong to admit such a vulnerable thing so soon, had made it an intentional goal of his to map out the winding hallway, random rooms, and various mineshafts in his memory, much as he had his own home when he was a wee lad. The scale of the task now more appropriately matched his age, and was much more intimate, but was equally sacred in his mind.

A day had come when Bilbo had made it his goal to explore the tunnels of one of the wider, more expansive mineshafts, one most dwarves find themselves still weary of despite initial clearings of the area. They spoke of structural failings, odd creaking in the wood and stone that should not be there, yet conveniently in that language the hobbit didn't even have the right to inquire about. Dwarves and their secrecy annoyed him to the highest degree; they somehow only ever told him about the lines he could not cross rather than making an effort to let him in. However, unable to heed their warnings, the hobbit strolled like an utter fool into a collapse waiting to happen.

Conveniently, in tandem with Bilbo walking into a mouth of sudden doom he could not have for saw, Thorin and a majority of his company sat in a meeting. One of what felt like a hundred he must endure, as much as they irked him much like sharp nails against fresh cut granite. He barely spoke in these by now, his tail thumping against the side of his chair, positioned at the head of the table, broadcasting his growing irritation openly to the lords and ladies of the council he did not quite ask for.

At first, Thorin was stupidly relieved by the sudden interruption of the conference room bursting open. The lord who had been rambling about why he should most definitely be allowed twice his current property size for whatever reason he could come up with, which was not what "urgent meetings" are meant for whatsoever, found himself cut off mid sentence with actual urgency.

"My King, punish me for my interruption later, but there's been a cave-in. A big'n. That old, big one." The small dwarf spat out, chest heaving. He had ran with an importance that implied harm, that much was clear. "That describes just about all of them," Thorin grunted out as he stood. "Give me some specifics."

He followed behind the dwarf, who was likely a teenager if he had to guess. "'s the one we just started tapping in again, sir. Er, your highness. We all felt wrong about it, but some'n pushed some'n else, so a handful started mining again. It got cleared, so, I guess there wadn't any clear reason not to." Thorin huffed, before taking a clear sniff of the air. It took a few inhales for him to catch it; metallic and heavy, the unmistakable scent of pain. No death, yet, but there was agony, and as his tail swayed and ears laid flat, he began storming after it, leaving the rambling child in the dust of his path.

Among the scent of anguish, however, Thorin's keen nose picked up something floral, and his mind blanked. That smell had been haunting the man's every waking moment. He had smelled many an omega before, had met with a handful of maiden suiters when he was just a boy, but none had illicit as strong of a reaction in the Alpha's pheromones as Bilbo Baggins had. He was almost knocked on his feet as he had crossed the threshold into Bag-end, which was so heavily marked with the hobbits scent that it could have sent him into an early rut, were he not so addled with stress at the time. Along with feeling such a primal pull dragging him towards Bilbo, there was also something stronger. Ancient stories told of Mahal creating the dwarven lords to awaken with their One's. Durin woke up alone. Many interpreted this as the line of Durin to be destined to live and die without finding their One, but Thorin never truly believed that to be true. Rather, he believed, with such cursed luck his bloodline seemed to have inherited, his One was not to be a dwarf. For most of his life, he was convinced it was an elf, and he was better off dying alone. Bilbo, that cursed hobbit, with his unique tail and snarky attitude and courage much surpassing that of any omega he had ever met, had immediately trampled that idea the moment his wide green eyes met Thorin's sky blue.

Thorin had imprinted this scent to memory, many times believing and fearing he may never be overwhelmed by it again. It was unmistakable. Instinct took over as he knew his One was in danger, and if Thorin was not the one to save him, he would no longer be worthy of the beads he now gripped with fervor in his pocket.

"Hgh..." About a dozen voices rang out at once as Bilbo's hearing returned to him, all grunting and groaning in a shared pain. The first of his senses to become overwhelmed was his nose, as a strong, disgusting smell of metal, musk, and dust almost threatened to knock him out a second time. There was something else, slowly gaining strength above that of plain blood around him, but his body began screaming before the hobbit could quite place it.

He felt it first in his head. That made sense, as when the loud crack rang out through the wide expanse of the shaft, a nearby dwarf had all but jumped to Bilbo's back, slamming him into the ground and shielding his head before the rubble began to collapse. Everything happened all at once, as before it was simply the weight of one dwarf keeping him pinned down, but in nearly the same second, it quadrupled. Rocks are heavy, the hobbit thought through the fog in his mind. A remaining sliver of rationality knew he was beyond concussed.

"Aye, little lad," the dwarf above him, alive only by a miracle of Mahal, began to speak before falling into a loud coughing fit. It was deeply strained and wheezy, but the fact he was speaking brought some comfort to the back of Bilbo's mind. "'r you still with us? By Mahal, I hope so, or 'ell have all of our heads.."

"Oh... Just fine," the omega replied. His tail instinctively moved to sway with the same sarcasm his tone carried, but he found it pinned down. "A bit of pain everywhere, b-but..." he found himself wincing as he tried to move his left arm, which was either bruised or broken, so he shifted his right to try and move himself to his side somehow.

The dwarf crushing Bilbo's head had to have been super-human (or, super-dwarf?), as he began pushing rubble from above them out of the way. "'s is a cave-in, pretty bad one." He huffed, voice and body straining as he fought for room in the mess. "'f we're lucky, which id'nt likely, it was just a layer of the ceiling that came down, n'd not the whole bloody cave..."

Bilbo nodded slightly, as much as he could considering the circumstances. By now, he was able to focus more on that second scent, which was creeping into his mind more by the second, eventually winning dominance over that of the literal bloodshed around him. It was undeniably, unmistakably Thorin. He was getting close, and he was fuming. Concerned and fuming. But mostly unhealthily angry. Bilbo scoffed out loud, half tempted to scold the man when he came face to face with him. If he did.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. It often works to the advantage of the one afflicted, but once it runs thin, the backlash is a worse feeling than if the rush hadn't been there in the first place. All at once, the reality of exactly what had happened to him had hit. He had, oh so ignorantly, followed a group of 14 miners into a cave, despite the grim looks on all of their faces, and ended up crushed under what felt like hundreds of pounds of weight. And while that couldn't be accurate, as he was still alive, the pain he felt made it rather difficult for him to rationalize his thought process.

If he were to die here, it would be the worst possible way he could. The omega had, despite nearly everything being stacked against him, survived an adventure that required signing a dozen page contract listing every way he could possibly be crippled for life, or have his life stolen away entirely. He had experienced countless things that none other had lived through to tell the tale, and his life was somehow brought to higher luxury than it had been before because of it. But it was starting to feel like the damned rock impaling his left leg was going to be the thing that did it for him. There was much he was going to miss out on, if he died here. He had recently received a letter informing him of the unfortunate passing of one of his closer relatives, which left one of the worst things to a hobbit - an orphan. The letter stated that it would not be required for him to claim the boy, named Frodo, but it was him that the 'ling was asking for. He had made plans to return to the Shire for the first time since his departure to meet with him, his second-cousin-once-removed, who he hadn't even met. It shocked him that Frodo was asking for him specifically. Surely his parents had some other family or friends he knew more intimately. Bilbo was nothing close to a parental figure, the closest he had gotten was scolding the children near his home who took to trampling in his precious garden. Oh.. his garden. His greenhouse here in Erebor was soon to be complete. He had already begun filling the plant beds prematurely, much too excited to find comfort in something of home. Thorin hadn't made any effort to stop him, and instead sat, watched, and listened while Bilbo ranted about the different plants he had requested and their symbolism. Surrounded by the scent of Thorin, he didn't even realize when he let the importance of flowers in his culture slip until he noticed the flush on Thorin's face. He never saw the dwarf blush before, had never witnessed his tail wag with such vigor, his scent grow even more overwhelming, something he didn't even believe possible. Being an alpha and omega, each other's true feelings were laid bare much more than either two had liked. They each knew how the other felt in a way more intimate and primal than they could truly comprehend. Their want for each other was only able to be restricted through the constant demands Thorin had to meet, leaving little time for the two to properly court, or even mate. Bilbo would die here without ever mating with Th...

Or, maybe not. A loud crash tore the hobbit from his daze. He had fainted again, likely from the loss of blood in his thigh, but was still alive. Another bang shot through the air, a musky scent tearing through the natural smell of the earth and the rubble and the stale pain. Other races described the dwarves as smelling of clay and bile, a smell only their kin could love. But while Thorin had that characteristic clay of the earth, he also smelled of the clearest waterfall you could imagine, reflecting his youth, potential, and strength. Especially right now, where being so close to him felt like being crushed under such a waterfall, though in the best way possible. Nearly every second, a clang, crash, thump, bang cut through the muffling of the stone, getting closer and closer to the location of the dwarf and hobbit.

The smells in the air indicated a large group, though one or two would occasionally fall behind as they uncovered survivors. Bilbo would later find out that the stone was so brittle that breaking through was no struggle for the dwarves, especially not for an adrenaline and hormone blinded Thorin. They had, indeed, only been crushed by a singular layer of rock, but every second meant the possibility of full collapse, so recovery efforts were quick and almost too ruthless, though most understood the haste.

Bilbo knew, very soon on, that Thorin was coming for him. His scent betrayed as much. No dwarf was on his mind, no concern for his own life. He would follow the scent of the hobbit until he found him. He could feel something in his brain being tugged closer to Thorin, somehow, like his being was being pulled into an embrace before he was physically. An odd reassurance. "I am coming. I am going to save you, if it is the last thing I do."

A week passed in recovery. While dwarves were not known across the lands for their medics, Bilbo had to hand it to them, they knew how to care for gnarly injuries and promote full recovery. He supposed they had seen many a cave-in in their time, and knew how to handle them. For the first few days, he faded in and out of consciousness quite frequently, spending more time asleep than he did awake. This, he later learned, brought his medical team close to insanity, as they needed to keep him awake to monitor his concussion. Thorin spent only an hour receiving medical attention. He had thrown out both of his arms, and nearly dislocated his arm once he finally had Bilbo in his vision. The omega could imagine it, his alpha tearing rock with his bare hands. The fantasy kept him warm and content as he slept, as did the constant scent of that man constantly by his side. Thorin ate, slept, and worked by Bilbo's bedside. He personally handled keeping him fed and, with his explicit permission, keeping him washed once his body was in the state to endure such a thing.

"It's quite embarrassing, isn't it?" Bilbo mused one evening. By now, besides needing to walk with a cane, and his tail being much less active than it used to be, you could barely tell he was within an inch of his life some time before. And yet, Thorin, his mate, insisted on helping him bathe. "Hm?" Thorin hummed behind him. Bilbo inclined his head to the side, catching Thorin's gaze within his own. "That I experienced the first cave-in since your return to the mountain, and almost died to it. I heard some openly claim it a bad omen on our union." The hobbit exaggerated his tone near the end, mocking the shock and urgency he perceived in their voices. While Bilbo expected a laugh, or perhaps a grunt, he was instead met with an arm wrapping around his shoulders, gently pulling him backwards into a strong... clothed chest. "Oh- Thorin, you're getting your shirt all wet! It was just washed, too. Come on-" His thoughts were fully halted as nose met scent gland, and instinct kicked in, melting Bilbo in place.

It had all happened so fast. The spiders, getting wrapped up in webs, Bilbo, then the elves.

They had smelled the elves before they had seen them, as each race had their own unique scent, but in the chaos of the attack, no one had really registered it until they had shown up and slain the spiders.

Being one of the youngest, and being an omega, Kíli's uncle and brother, both alphas, had been rather protective of him, trying to keep him in the middle of the group, but that was difficult to do when being attacked by a whole hoard of giant man-eating spiders.

One of his dark wolf-like ears pricked and turned as he heard the rapid heavy steps of a spider approaching. Desperately, he turned to the elf before him, with the firey red hair that would have caught his eye had they not been in immediate danger. "Throw me a dagger, quick!"

Her own ears, much longer than his and almost fox-like, were quick to angle toward the approaching spider as she turned and threw her sword at the beast. "If you think I am giving you a weapon, dwarf, you're mistaken!"

The blade slashed through the air and hit its target, killing the spider instantly. It thudded to the ground and its legs writhed dramatically before they curled up and it stopped moving.

She hadn't even meant to protect him, really, it just came instinctively.

Kíli looked up at the women in awe. She was beautiful, strong, and skilled in battle. Though, the next thing he knew, he and his pack were being searched and arrested.

All of their weapons had been taken from them– Fíli's search took a little longer and delayed them because he had stashed weapons everywhere on his person. Kíli had often wondered how he carried it all and still managed to move with ease without accidentally cutting himself or making noise.

The elder brother, smelling that the younger was stressed, subtly pulled him closer in an attempt to keep him calm. They had always taken care of each other like this, so it came naturally.

Alphas always instinctively took care of the omegas in their lives, even if the relationship was platonic and familial. With Kíli's uncle, older brother, and mother all being Alphas, he was essentially the safest omega in the world. The line of Durin tended to produce mostly alphas.

Though, the three of them did butt heads a lot, arguing over what was best for Kíli. Dís usually won these fights, since she was the mother and thus had the final say over her pups.

The pack had been escorted into Mirkwood, and while Kíli wasn't entirely sure what his uncle had said to the elven king, he did know they were being put in cells, so it must have been something stubborn.

Though the elves were imprisoning them, they weren't cruel. Anyone who was mated within the group were allowed to be in cells together, as separating them would have caused unnecessary stress and anguish.

Fíli was in a cell with Ori, Dori was with Balin, and while the elves couldn't see him, Thorin was at ease knowing Bilbo was nearby somewhere, able to smell him.

Kíli was in a cell by himself, fiddling with the stone his mother had given him. He couldn't see his brother or his uncle but he could smell them nearby and that was enough. With their bonds being familial, that was more than enough, since they didn't need to constantly be by each other's sides, like mates did.

He perked up when a familiar scent found him and blocked out the smell of the damp cell. Something woodsy and with a hint of some kind of spice. He took a deeper inhale and recognized it as pine needles and fennel.

His ear perked and twisted to meet footsteps that stopped outside of his cell door.

"The stone in your hand, what is it?"

Tauriel hadn't been able to keep her distance, regardless of what the other elves had told her. She could smell his scent from upstairs and how it lingered, as if calling to her. Sweet basil mixed with something earthy like clay. She assumed the clay scent was from him being a dwarf. An odd mixture, but not unpleasant.

"It is a talisman.." the dwarf spoke, his expression serious, "There is a powerful spell put upon it and anyone other but a dwarf reads the runes on this stone they will forever be cursed-" he quickly held it up for her to see, unable to stop the way his tail wagged in mischievous delight when she took a startled half-step backward.

Her ears flattened with a sigh when she realized he had been messing with her, and she started to leave him, only stopped when he started to speak again.

"Or not," he said quickly, "Depending on whether or not you believe that sort of thing, it's just a token." He chuckled a little, having to put a hand down on his tail to calm its movements. The elf found the sight adorable and smiled.

Elves didn't wag their tails like other races did, or at least not in the same way. Sure, they wagged quickly during times of excitement, but that was usually when they were still kits, and hadn't been taught to school their emotions and carry themselves with grace.

Adults, at most, gave a gentle sway, which is what Tauriel was doing.

Kíli turned the stone over in his hands, almost fondly. "My mother gave it to me so I'd remember my promise."

"What promise?" she leaned in a little closer, looking him over through the bars.

"That I would come back to her." He answered, looking up to meet her eyes now. "She worries. She not only thinks I'm reckless, but.." he trailed off, not wanting to mention the fact he was an omega. They both knew that she knew, but it wasn't often something to be spoken about unless you were courting.

Luckily she seemed to pick up on it. "But.. You are her youngest?" She asked, shifting the conversation.

He nodded, thankful for her tact. "Yes, I am her youngest." He stood, then, and angled his nose into the air, sniffing to try and locate his brother.

"The blonde one in the.." he sniffed, "The third cell, it seems.. He is my brother."

Tauriel tilted her nose up subtly, also taking a sniff. She could smell it easily, that clay scent. It was on the blonde dwarf and their king as well, connecting the three of them.

Yet, the sweet basil of the dwarf in front of her quickly overpowered it, calling to her. Her long tail swished. It was so pleasant to her nose, she thought she could live in it forever.

"You are not mated?" She asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. Her ears lowered as soon as she realized. "I am sorry, that was not an appropriate question-"

While anyone else may have taken offense, the dwarf in front of her couldn't seem to stop the stupid grin on his face, nor the wagging of his tail. "No, I am not. Not yet, anyway~" it was such an obvious flirt. He was bold, for an omega.

But if he was going to play, then so was she. "A shame. I hope you find your alpha someday." She responded, her tail twitching to give an amused wag as his ears flattened and he huffed, his flirt not landing how he had hoped.

Oh, the way he pouted, it was absolutely adorable, she thought. She wanted to give him anything in the world because of it. Anything he'd ask for. She realized it was likely a result of hormones, but she couldn't help it. Nor could she help the way her instincts were screaming at her to take care of him.

"Were you fed before they locked you in here?" She asked suddenly.

The question, the concern, it was something Kíli had experienced countless times from his family, but from her it felt.. different.

"No," he said, gently pressing his face against the bars as if trying to see the other cells, but it was useless, "Though, if you are planning on feeding me, could I request that food also be brought to the rest of my pack? We were low on rations before we made it here to Mirkwood."

She wanted to say no, but with those puppy eyes looking up at her, she caved quicker than a mine with no support beams. "Yes, we will have food brought to you and your pack," she said, standing up and leaving him quickly to tell the chefs upstairs to prepare a meal for them.

-

Plates were brought down by roughly ten elves, some of whom were making an obvious effort not to scrunch their noses up at the strong scent that had built up in the prison. To elves, dwarves had a very strong sulfur like scent, from the minerals they were constantly surrounded by, and naturally they hated it. To dwarves, though, that scent was good and it meant 'kin, home.'

Kíli couldn't see them, but he could hear the ravenous eating from his pack mates. Meat was aggressively torn from bone, and occasionally he could hear snapping as he assumed the meat was either being shared around or the bones were being eaten as well.

His mouth watered and his tail wagged eagerly as he could smell his own plate being brought closer and closer to his cell.

"Back up," Tauriel said, firm but kind, as she opened his cell door. He obeyed instantly, backing up to sit on the ledge in there that barely counted as a seat.

She took a step in and closed the door behind herself, which struck Kíli as odd, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He liked having her close.

As she set the plate down in front of him, she took her own seat on the ground, watching as he quickly snatched up the deer leg.

"I thought elves didn't eat meat." He inquired, taking a rather large bite from the leg. His tail wagged when he heard her soft laugh.

"Of course we do, whatever gave you that impression?" she asked.

He swallowed his bite and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, making Tauriel cringe a little. "Rivendell. They gave us lettuce." He scrunched his nose up at the mere thought of it again.

Her tail thumped a little on the floor in amusement at the thought of the Rivendell elves deliberately serving something they knew dwarves wouldn't like.

"I believe that may have been an intentional choice." She mused, causing Kíli to grumble a little.

"That's what I thought." he muttered, continuing to eat the deer leg like he was starving.

He was, actually. Tauriel could smell the malnourishment on him, and she hated it. The thought of this dwarf struggling and going without food tugged on something inside of her.

Her instincts were yelling at her. Feed, protect, provide, they screamed. But he wasn't her mate, and she needed to remember that, no matter how it made her chest ache.

-

Tauriel couldn't help the mix of emotions she felt when she heard the dwarves had escaped.

On one hand, she was glad that Kíli could potentially be free, but on the other hand, she didn't want him to leave her. While she was chasing the barrels down, she was mostly trying to make sure the dwarf was safe.

When the smell of rotten meat filled the air, though, she was on high alert. Orcs. Everyone knew that smell from miles away.

It was potent, it was death, and it filled the air so thick it could make one choke.

But she couldn't choke now, she had to watch over Kíli and his pack.

She ran as fast as he could to keep up with the current that was sweeping the dwarves away, firing at any orc that dared to even so much as look at them. Bodies fell, dropping into the water that thankfully seemed to wash the rotten stink away, even if just a little.

When Tauriel heard cries up ahead, she turned to see that her fellow elves had closed the gates and blocked the dwarves from leaving, yet a battle seemed to have broken out between them and the remaining orcs, both groups trying to obtain the dwarves.

She was able to kill a few as she ran closer. Unfortunately, her battle with the orcs had distracted her from protecting the dwarves, and she heard Kíli cry out somewhere behind her, the sound tearing into her chest like talons.

Whipping around she had just caught sight of the dwarf with an arrow in his leg before he stumbled backward. He would have fallen into the water had she not caught him first.

Social standards be damned, she held the dwarf to her chest and easily picked him up, mindful of his leg. She'd have to wait to check him later.

Her ears pricked and without even looking, she had grabbed her sword from its hilt and thrusted it behind her, right into the chest of an orc. With a fury in her eyes, she twisted the blade and kicked the orc back, watching him tumble back into the water.

Fortunately, that had been the last of them.

The dwarves protested as they were apprehended yet again, but Tauriel was more focused on Kíli and the way his breathing was getting ragged from the poison in his leg.

"Kíli.." a male voice exhaled from behind her. Turning, she met eyes with his brother, his blond ears pinned back in clear worry.

They were not only pack mates, but litter mates, and that kind of bond was even stronger. She understood it well.

"He will need medicine," she said, "You are lucky you didn't make it too far. We can treat him back in Mirkwood. But he will have to come back with us.." she adjusted the wounded dwarf in her arms and lowered her head to get the scent of the poison starting to infect him. "He'll need athelas.." she muttered, more to herself, this time.

Frantic splashing sounded from the river as another dwarf with a hat started to climb out of a barrel. The elves tried to apprehend him but he just slipped right under them. "You said athelas? I can find it," he said, "I can find it quick."

Legolas stepped forward this time, trying to take authority. "We are not letting one of you dwarves get the chance to run off-" he started. Despite being the king's son, though, he wasn't an alpha and Tauriel asserted herself, though unintentionally.

"He is their pack mate," she said firmly, "He will not abandon one of his own, especially if they are wounded. I trust him to return, but you are welcome to go with him if you see it necessary."

The prince stared at her hard, trying to use his royalty as a position of authority.. Though she stared at him harder, and eventually his ears lowered. "Fine," he muttered, "I will go with him."

She nodded and backed off. It wasn't her place to hold power over him longer than necessary. Despite their positions as alpha and omega, he was still the prince and she had to respect that.

As Bofur and Legolas headed off into the forest, the rest of the dwarves, and a hobbit she hadn't previously noticed, were escorted back to the kingdom of Mirkwood.

She barely even registered how Kíli was burying his nose into her neck, trying to calm himself and seek comfort.

-

Kíli awoke in a bed. 'Awoke' may not be the proper term, as he was still a little loopy from the poison, but he was responsive now.

The first thing he noticed was the throbbing pain in his leg. The second thing he noticed distracted him from that, completely.

"You cannot be her.." he breathed, barely loud enough for the angel before him to hear, "She is so far away from me.. worlds apart.."

"Shhh," she shushed him gently, reaching forward to cup his cheek, not missing the way he tilted his head to meet the scent gland in her wrist, "You are still healing. You need rest."

"She is so far away from me," he repeated, "but tell me.." he looked back up at her, "Do you think she could love me..?"

She stilled at the question. It was just the poison, she told herself, or the medicine. But something in the way he looked at her made it sound so, very genuine. Like he had thought it before he had ever been struck by the arrow.

"She could," Tauriel answered quietly, "Though she'd also tell you to rest. Close your eyes and go back to sleep.. Your mind is not well."

Not in a position or the proper state to argue, his head tilted back into the pillows and he drifted off, leaving Tauriel to sit on the words he had spoken to her.

When he awoke once more, his senses were flooded by comfort. A mix of strong, familiar scents all blending together to create a cloud of worry, concern, and relief.

Opening his eyes, he saw that it was because his uncle, brother, and Tauriel were all in the room. They had been quietly discussing something before he stirred, and they all fell silent to watch as he awoke.

Fíli was the first to approach him, worry written all over his face, yet his tail wagged excitedly as he hugged his little brother. "Mahal, Kíli, you scared us." Kíli hugged him back, giving him a rough pat on the back, getting a gentler one in return.

Thorin reached the foot of the bed and looked down at his youngest nephew. "You are alright, then? The elf says the medicine will work quickly, since the poison was caught in time, before it could reach your heart.. But you feel alright?"

Kíli nodded. "It still hurts, obviously, I was shot, but I feel better."

"Your leg may never be as strong as it once was, but you will live." Tauriel said, joining the dwarves. "I do not recommend you continue the journey to the mountain. At least not until the wound has fully healed."

The blond dwarf was quick to snap his head up to her. "But he must! Erebor is his home, his right to reclaim with the rest of the pack-" he was stopped by Thorin laying a hand on his shoulder.

"She is right, he cannot come with us. He will slow us down, and he cannot make the trip."

Fíli growled, his ears pinned back, yet the look in his eyes was pained and desperate. "We grew up on stories of the mountain. Stories YOU told us! You cannot take that away from him- I will carry him if I must!"

Before he could continue, Tauriel laid her hand on his other shoulder. "Your brother is in good hands, trust me. I am not trying to deprive him of this quest, I am trying to keep him safe so that he may heal under elven care. I know you wish for him to see Erebor reclaimed, but for him to heal efficiently, he must remain under our care and with our healers."

When Fíli's ears flattened, unsure, she continued. "Of course, we are not trying to keep him from you forever.. After Erebor is reclaimed and he is healed, you may come back for him.. Reunite with him and be the princes of the mountain."

He looked to his younger brother, who looked back at him. "Go," Kíli said, "Reclaim the mountain for us... But I want first pick on bedrooms when I get there," he finished, making Fíli laugh.

"Deal," the elder said. He turned to Tauriel then, his eyes sharp. "You take care of him. I know most of the elves here are skilled with a bow, but I want you to be the one to look after him."

She caught the look in his eyes immediately. A look that said, 'I've seen how you look at my brother. Don't mess this up.'

She lowered her ears and her head, respecting his place as Kíli's family. "You have my word.. May the stars be with you on your journey."

When the dwarves left (after much argument from Thranduil), it was just Kíli and Tauriel again.

She sat on the side of his bed. "Kíli.. Do you remember anything you said from when you woke up the first time?"

He furrowed his brow for a moment, racking his brain for the memories.. Until it hit him and his ears flattened in embarrassment. "Tauriel.." he started, wanting to either deny it or explain himself.

"When I told you that I could love you back, it was not just to pacify you," she said quickly, "I meant it."

His breath hitched at her words as he eagerly searched her eyes for any hint of deceit, finding none. "Your words are true?"

"Truer than I have the words to describe." She whispered, using both of her hands to cup his face, pleased with how he leaned into her touch. "We are not as far as you think, Meleth.."

He didn't understand the Sindarin, but he understood the general message and kissed her palm. "You have no idea how happy this makes me, Amrâl."

"If you would allow me," she started, "I would like to court you, properly. Teach me the dwarven traditions and I will follow them."

His heart soared at that and he grinned, his wagging tail causing the sheets to beat up and down. "Then in return, teach me of elven courting and I will follow your traditions-"

"Absolutely," she muttered, cutting him off with a kiss that he returned eagerly.

The air changed, filling with the mixed scents of pine and clay, creating something earthy that smelled like the forest. Yet it was also both sweet and spicy. It was overwhelming, but to them, it was perfect.

But there was still a hint of insecurity. "Are you sure that you want me?" Kíli asked, "That you want to court and eventually claim me, of all people?"

Tauriel ended up climbing onto the bed with him, laying down as she held him close. He clung to her, tucking his head under her chin and breathing in her scent as it enveloped him. "You are not something to be claimed," she said softly, "You are someone to be cherished. And I do plan on doing exactly that."

He couldn't help the emotional, excited whine that escaped his throat as he nuzzled further into her neck.

His tail wagged, thumping against the bed, and hers gently draped over his injured leg.