𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍.

                        𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦  ——   𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 .

the informations acknowledged with a brief nod of his own blond head , his blue stare restlessly grazing across the gold of fíli’s hair .    ❝ i see . ❞    it appears fíli isn’t the ONLY dwarf with golden hair after all .   though the subject is naturally changed when a lean elleth brings what legolas had asked her of , and gently places it atop the silk sheets .   a dinner that consists mostly of leaves and greenery , but thankfully wine is present also .

elves barely harm any living creature in their realm ,   unless they have intruded the area and abused the laws . which only means fíli had to spend his night meal with salad .   legolas , on the other hand , was genuinely unaware of fíli’s need for meat .

’ they seem rather unhappy with the dinner . ‘  \   ` how rude ! `

❝ what of your mother ? is she alive ? ❞    asks the elf , while bringing the food closer .   never would legolas imagine himself curious about a dwarf’s life .   there was something fragile in his stare while he uttered the question with certain hesitation ,   𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 ,   longer than any emotion that his eyes have shown perhaps .   seems like the prince is waiting rather impatiently for the answer , even though he didn’t know what he would do with it when he got it . or if he had crossed a line .

          he would be disappointed in the food were he not so  ravenously hungry;   he would also be more ashamed of his horrible manners,  but he feels as though he hasn’t eaten in months,  and for all he knows that might be true.     it’s only after the leaves are gone that he realizes there is wine,  and that the elf prince  hasn’t left;   and,  perhaps feeling a bit cowed,  he drinks the wine with much less fervor,  hoping it will ease the tremor in his fingers and the hollow in his belly.

          in his mind,  he hopes that his brother and thorin had drank enough wine to not complain to their hosts.     he’s sure the dwarves are a draw on the woodland realm’s resources,  which must have been stretched thin during the all-consuming battle that nearly claimed his life  ——  the least his kin could do was to  BE RESPECTFUL.

                    ❝           aye,  she still lives, ❞  he answers after setting down the goblet and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.     ❝ she’s eager t’ return to the mountain;   she was jus’ a wee pebble when it was sacked. ❞     he’s quiet for a time afterwards,  silently longing after his mother and wondering if such things were acceptable to talk about in legolas’ presence.     after all,  though he has seen much of the woodland kingdom by now,  he has yet to see the prince’s own mother.

          the almost fragile look in the elf’s eyes tells him enough  ——  he’s seen that look in kíli’s eyes many times throughout their journey,  that look of aching longing for one who is not there.     his fingers itch to reach across the  ( surprisingly small )  space between them,  to give the elf’s slender hands a reassuring pat like he would to comfort his brother.     but as his body is still weak,  his voice decides to be bold.

                    ❝ ...i dunno if y’ value a dwarf’s sentiment much,  master elf,  but my thoughts are with you.     about  your mother,  i mean.     i’m sure she was wonderful. ❞

immortality itself is a curse when one is barely changing and the world around him rots and turns .  the elves simply watch ,   they have seen the same eyes in different generations , somehow they know the end of every story .  yet they choose to LIVE it ,  to allow the mortality of the middle world to taint them .   legolas is delighted to know fíli can climb . the shorter one’s hand is abandoned atop the rough surface in favor of allowing the elf to climb , just as promised .

❝ will you be able to keep up ? or is it on me to bring medical aid here all the way from the castle ? ❞    his own mirthful words are flowing freely from mouth ,  as he easily grips onto any branch that will get him atop the old tree .  in no time at all , the prince is lost between the thick leaves above the tree’s crown , no sign of him left behind  ── ── hoping that fíli could keep up and follow him .

          A CHALLENGE,  was it?     the dwarf isn’t one to shy away from competition;   though he keeps it well hidden,  he does indeed have his uncle’s  PRIDE.     and that aside,  it is a privilege to see the elf prince carefree and joyful in his own element.

                    ❝          i may not be an elf,  but i can climb better’n any o’ my kin, ❞  he shouts into the dense foliage above,  hoping legolas can hear him.     reckless though it may be,  the dwarrow sheds his coat and leaves it at the roots of the tree before making his way up.     his shorter limbs and stature make finding hand- and foot-holds much more difficult,  but those stout arms and legs are packed with power,  and he’s able to propel himself up the tree with relative quickness,  keen young eyes scrutinizing a few feet ahead for any sign of the elf prince  ——  though he doubts he will find him until he breaks out of the canopy.

knowing a language is better than never hearing of it before ,  while thranduil’s face twists in pure distaste upon hearing khuzdûl in his realm ,  legolas finds it rather endearing coming from this very specific dwarf .  others have only shouted insults in the said language , this was the first word that doesn’t make legolas feel insulted .  their steps taken ever so slowly , perhaps each secretly delaying the arrival at the end of this forest .  for legolas wasn’t allowed to accompany dwarf from there , he’d leave .

❝ teach you what ? ❞    whatever it was , legolas can feel it’ll give tauriel a nice opportunity to mock him .  either way , a pale hand takes fíli’s wrist and drags him toward an old tree . the harsh surface presses snugly against the dwarf’s palm , but his knuckles grazed with legolas’ soft flesh .    ❝ we have taught them to speak . now they have our secrets . ❞

the stare of calm fascination never leaves his pale face ,  the hand that’s lingered atop the smaller one longer than it should . it’s dangerous to make an elf so curious about yourself ,  fíli had never heard of that saying it seems . whatever he did , lit a new sparkle of curiosity in the lean elf . and suddenly , he can’t help but ask ;    ❝ can you climb ? ❞    dwarves aren’t made to jump around the trees , that much he can tell .

          he initially resists the elf’s grip on his wrist,  but a fraction of a second later,  he relaxes and allows legolas to press his palm against the trunk of the old tree.     it’s rough,  gnarled and dry,  like thorin’s laugh when bofur tells a terrible joke;   deep furrows crisscross its ancient skin,  and fíli firmly believes that each cleft holds more knowledge and wealth than any coin or jewel in erebor.

          in stark contrast to the bark and yet much the same,  the elf prince’s palm is soft against the backs of his knuckles.     where the bark is weathered and worn much like his own hands,  legolas’ touch is gentle,  even,  smooth as a freshly-laid robin’s egg;   and yet,  fíli doesn’t doubt that the tree is half the prince’s age.     it is hardly a wonder,  he ponders,  that thorin avoids elves  ——  they could run circles around him if they wished,  both physically and mentally.

the atmosphere itself is tense , with the poor dwarf’s troubled mind , nothing can pierce through it , not even the gentleness of the prince that simply wants to put fíli’s mind at ease .  yet the twitch of chapped lips is a 𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 in their rushed moment , it makes legolas wonder if it was the golden of his hair that made him seem rather handsome in his eyes or the laziness of his mirth .  either way , the action comes before the elven prince can stop it ;  he’s already placing his softer hand upon the other’s . thumb rubbing on the calloused knuckles .    ❝ war remains with all of us . ❞    their distance from death  ── ──   THAT ELVES NEVER DIE ,  had caused them to fear it less .  elves die , and not even they can avoid it sometimes .

perhaps he should stay with the dwarf prince until the dinner is eaten .   which reminds him .  legolas gets up only to ask one of the elleths to bring fíli a tray of the dinner ,  but don’t tell thorin he has awoken yet . the golden dwarf needed to rest more , don’t get excited too much .

❝ we had to undo your braids in your hair … ❞    something random to distract the dwarf , and not a lie .  legolas HIMSELF had done it , the reason why he has the silver clips . they’re handled with care and dropped gently upon the dwarf’s palm .    ❝ is this your hair’s natural color then ? ❞    pure curiosity is in his voice , never seen a blond dwarf before .  red and brown are boring and overrated , 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 however , was something he’s not witnessed on a dwarf’s head .

          trying to keep track of the elf is like trying to catch pipe-smoke with one’s hands  ——  he is always on the move,  each still moment something  fleeting ... even when a feather-light touch brushes against the backs of his calloused fingers,  it is soon after  GONE,  leaving fíli with a lump in his throat and a bit more color in his cheeks.     he hopes it will go unnoticed,  as he suspects he looks  AWFUL;   some color to his face would likely do him good.

                    ( the elf’s fingers are cool,  smooth yet ancient,  holding the timeless wisdom of a creature ten times his age  ——  perhaps more.     fíli can’t deny that the brief contact has him in awe,  intrigued,  and frightened at the same time. )

          the all-encompassing fear of what was to come is pushed aside in favor of the here and now,  and the issue of  his hair.     the loss of his braids was not something he lamented  ——  after all,  his braids were well worth his life.     his only sorrow is that kíli would not be able to help him re-braid his hair,  a ritualistic pastime that the brothers cherished more than almost anything.     

@zirizant asked  :   “ you’re surprisingly strong for how slender you appear . ” \  accepting.

many with limited knowledge of elves , would often forget their strength .  but he guessed the dwarf prince expected him to fail the task of pulling him up to his feet from the dirty ground of forest .  which resulted in fíli stumbling forward in his stomach / chest ( mostly his nose ) ,  legolas , gently steadying him in the place with a hand on his shoulder , youthful features graced with a smile .    ❝ and you are lighter than you look , master dwarf . ❞    the quest to take the dwarven prince safely to his home was also a task legolas would have dumped on other warriors , merely because he had borders to guard and a forest to keep safe .  𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎, and many youngsters in his kingdom .

the elf lets go of him at last , ignores his grumbles and grumpy glare .   ah dwarves and their masculinity ,  legolas had to admit it was rather pleasing to witness it .

❝ the forest only accepts the ones that are willing to get lost in it . ❞    his father would say that his mother believed this  ── ──  and young legolas had lost the count of how many times he’s gotten lost in the thick woods around his castle .  only to find his way back home .  that’s when the forest treated him kindly , allowed him to live and to survive . their walk through the trees was a slow one , however , never rushing to get out of it .  perhaps he’s starting to enjoy dwarven company more than he 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 .    ❝ if you speak with the trees , if you listen to them , mellon nîn . ❞    his once ice stare , now somewhat warmer , settles on the shorter blond .    ❝ that’s how you can pass this forest . ❞

          the elf smells nice,  like clean linen and fresh earth and something else distinctly wild that reminds him oddly of  his brother.     fíli hates that this is the first thing he notices when he stumbles into legolas’ front after being hefted easily to his feet.     he does his best to square his shoulders and pretend he’s not bothered;   moreso by the infuriating forest or the elf he’s perhaps becoming  too fond of,  he isn’t certain.     he is certain that thorin will chastise him for tarrying,  for spending any amount of enjoyable time with an elf,  but his uncle’s grudge match with thranduil doesn’t have to affect either prince if they don’t allow it to.

          fíli is grateful that legolas seems relatively unfettered by his presence.     he’s starting to grasp what it is that kíli sees in elves  ——  their enviable self-assurance,  their unmatched grace,  their maddening ambiguity,  their damnable penchant for keeping their true feelings hidden ... he admires it,  and he’s loath to admit it.     all his life,  he has been confident and carefree,  a little thing who didn’t care that he was in a world made for much bigger folk;   and this had never bothered him until now,  for until meeting the elf prince,  the only thing that ever made fíli feel small,  both in size and in spirit,  was  HIS UNCLE.

                    ❝           is that the secret,  then? ❞     he chuckles as he straightens his furred mantle.     he’s never been a believer in  magic,  nor anything else he could not touch with his hands ... but he cannot deny that the forest does seem to be  spiteful  towards him.     ❝ i s’pose i’ll have to have my  ears  checked,  bâha. ❞

          the casual use of  khuzdûl  in the presence of an elf was another thing that thorin would have his braids for,  but fíli sees no harm in it  ——  after all,  it’s not as though legolas knows  HIS TRUE NAME  or anything of the sort.     much shorter legs struggle to keep up with the elf’s long strides,  and he has to work to stay close to legolas’ side so that he may ask the question that’s been brewing ever since the elf spoke.

                    ❝         can y’ teach me? ❞

a pair of elf maidens had taken the tray from legolas , and the healing elixirs which had taken fíli from his forefathers and back into elven halls .  legolas remains seated even though his time to leave must have come .  the golden dwarf was awake and speaking , he had to give the blessings and the news to thorin . yet the dim-light make other’s golden locks glint weakly and he’s suddenly reminded of all the gold in that mountain .  it’ll be 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 to watch this one go mad with greed , sell his friends and lovers for the wealth that lies beneath that mountain .  legolas can’t help but wonder if thorin still acted rather odd .  madness can kill even the wisest wizards , son  \  thranduil would say .

what brings the prince out of his troubling thoughts is  …  that gentle THANK YOU . tauriel once said the dwarves don’t have that specific word in their language and legolas remembers himself laughing at it .  it seems she was wrong .

❝ … you are very welcome . ❞    he chooses not to show how taken back he really was . the elf seems tall and lean as he gets up on two swift feet , not to leave so soon , simply fix the silk of the curtains that trap the silver moonlight in them . if he smiles , fíli doesn’t see it .    ❝ are you concerned about my reputation in front of my father ? ❞    legolas will never be the king ,  he longs to be in the forest ,  he longs to hear the white gulls on the shores . thranduil’s soul trapped in the halls of woodland realm seems calm , but not legolas’ . perhaps he takes it after his mother────    ❝ i am touched . almost . ❞    pale hands lock in front of the silver tunic , thumb rubs mindlessly across his knuckle .    ❝ would you like to rest more ? ❞

                    ❝         i feel rested enough, ❞  the dwarf lies.     his body is fatigued and aching,  but alive and stable,  and his mind wanders;   he worries for his kin,  and is still reeling from the situation he finds himself in.     thorin has survived,  a blessing as fíli is deeply afraid of becoming king so soon  ——  but a curse,  as his nephew fears that thorin may yet fall back under the spell of the  GOLD.

                    ❝ i worry more for your reputation in front of my  UNCLE,  t’ tell the truth. ❞     a wry smile turns up the corners of his chapped lips,  but it immediately gives way to a look of despondence and worry.     he cannot force himself to be optimistic.     ❝ and i worry for his reputation,  as well.     i worry for us all,  master elf. ❞

          short fingers grip the silk sheets with white-knuckled strength.     orcs  rush at him behind his closed eyelids,  jump out from every darkened corner the moon does not touch  ——  and so he will not rest.     surely,  one battle lost does not signal the end of the orcs,  nor the evil that sent them.     he casts a beseeching look up at the elf who saved him,  searching his fair face for any sign that he,  too,  is afraid.     he doubts  legolas greenleaf  fears  ANYTHING.

the first thing legolas does is an attempt to lay the dwarf back on the bed ,  and it’s proven unnecessary after seeing how his own body refuses to cooperate .  yet the palm of the pale hand remains on fíli’s shoulder , in case he tried to act on the instincts again .    ❝ all are well , rested , and currently having dinner with the king in the dining hall . ❞    came the soothing , melodic voice of the elf . he had been asked to join a few times by his otherwise silent father , legolas doesn’t remember answering him but hoping the older elf would remember his distaste for dinners ,  especially eaten with guests .

thranduil didn’t insist too hard on it , knowing the tense atmosphere between his son and the king under the mountain could ruin such peaceful dinner .  it’s started from the very moment legolas’ arrow nudged the grumpy dwarf’s nose , and it amused legolas more than anything .   kíli , like a desperate puppy , mimics thorin .  tries to glare as hard as he does , despite the disarming beauty of the elves .

fíli was different .   𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 ,  and lighter in voice and expressions .  he didn’t tick the prince off much , perhaps the elf himself had forgotten to pour his hatred into the cold stare  ── ──  thranduil had seen and lived too much , his young prince had a few years to be as stone hearted as him .    ❝ you need to rest . your injury was somehow deadlier than theirs , a miracle you’re still alive , master dwarf . ❞    the curtain had drawn over the blue eyes , hiding away the emotions as usual .  though , he doesn’t look too displeased with fíli’s presence .

          the elf puts a hand on his shoulder,  and for a split second,  fíli feels as though his heart has stopped  ——  neither out of fear nor pain,  but rather  SURPRISE.     he’d heard that elves were distant,  pretty things of wise,  if not confusing,  words and little contact;   and legolas continues to prove him wrong.     his gaze lingers on the other prince’s face longer than perhaps it should,  as though trying to suss out any lies behind those stormy blue eyes  ——  but the elf has hidden his emotions once more behind a veil of propriety and nobility,  and fíli knows he will find no answers in his gaze.

          the dwarf  hates  being told what to do.     granted,  kíli hates it far more,  having grown up a free and wild thing with no need to follow courtly rules;   but they both adopted the rebellious streak of  THEIR MOTHER,  and would fly in the face of even  thorin  if they saw fit to do so.     and yet,  fíli obliges the elf prince without a word,  forcing his tense and inexplicably exhausted body to relax beneath legolas’ slender fingers.     how is it possible that he can be so fatigued after sleeping for what felt like ages?

          DEATH,  he supposes ... if the elf’s words were true.     he doesn’t doubt that they are.

The journey to return the White Gems of Lasgalen had been fraught with danger — though this sojourn into Mirkwood is less secretive, and the Company is welcomed as friends rather than taken as prisoners, the roving orc packs and ever-present threat of spiders make their travel strenuous. The good will of the King Under the Mountain is sent alongside the glittering gems, to be delivered to the prince of the Greenwood by Erebor’s prince himself; Fíli is dismayed to learn that the elf who had saved his life no longer resides in the forest kingdom. The irritation of his companions at their fruitless journey is tempered by the look of anguish that cracks the tranquil façade of Thranduil; indeed, were Thorin present, he would have been pleased to see the pain in the elf’s eyes. But Fíli feels no such pleasure, and merely offers the king his condolences as he keeps the gems concealed within the deep pockets of his coat — there is no need to redouble Thranduil’s agony by presenting him with something he cannot have.

It is a kindness that Thranduil offers them a place to stay and recover for their return trip, one that Fíli accepts gratefully before making haste to a secluded source of water. The others may have been content to languish in the scent of blood and sweat and fear that clung to their clothing, but the prince had no such indolence; the sooner he could wash the foul spider-silk off his clothes, and himself, the better. And for all his disdain of elves, he is inclined to be clean and well-dressed in their presence — he would have liked to impress the elf prince, but he supposes his Silvan subjects will have to do. It takes him a long while to find a slow-moving arm of the Forest River; he has to venture outside the protective walls of Thranduil’s kingdom, beyond the gate that had trapped them so many months before, and by the time he finds a spot that is free of spiders and the prying eyes of the elf guards, the sun is low in the west, and as the dwarf disoriented prince ascends through the canopy to get his bearings, he sees Erebor on the horizon, glowing red with bloody sunset. His uncle would have his braids if he knew Fíli was out on his own in the depths of this dangerous forest; he can’t help the pang of guilt that strikes him in the heart at the thought of Thorin’s dour gaze. The dwarf prince gives his kingdom one last apologetic glance before returning to the forest floor and beginning to remove his clothes.

One by one, he produces his concealed weapons: throwing axes and daggers of all sizes are carefully extracted from about his person and set aside in organized fashion. He removes his boots, his swords, and his coat with speed, but as he moves to discard his coat, he pauses, remembering the glittering white necklace in his pocket. He would not be a dwarf if he could resist the urge to take them out, to marvel at them under the dappled sanguine light filtering in through the leaves overhead; and he does, running a calloused fingertip around the largest of the gems with surprising gentleness. It was a magnificent gift that Thranduil had wanted made, a sumptuous display of love for his late wife; Fíli feels no small amount of guilt that Thorin will not allow them to be returned.

“Those are elven gems.”

The voice, sonorous and even, and undeniably familiar, startles him — he jerks his head up and casts a quick glance around, only to find himself alone. The dwarf senses eyes on him, yet he cannot pinpoint the source of this sensation. His muscles are tense, coiled tight beneath the sweat-damp wool of his tunic, but he keeps his voice calm as he responds.

“Aye, they are.”

“How did you come by them?” the voice questions almost icily, and Fíli feels a chill run down his spine.

“They were given to me by the King Under the Mountain, to bear to the prince of this realm, as a gift for saving my life.” The dwarf eyes one of his throwing axes and is tempted to reach for it, but he knows Thranduil’s son could put an arrow through him before he could so much as move a muscle. But would he?

The woods are silent except the chirping of evening birds. Fíli would think himself alone if not for the feeling of piercing blue eyes staring him down from somewhere deep within the wood.

“Seeing you hale and hearty is repayment enough, Malthen er.” The reply is far softer and warmer than he expects; Fíli does not know what he says in his language, but he senses it is not an insult. “Please, relax, bathe; do not let my presence stop you.”

“I would,” the dwarf begins, peering through the tangle of leaves and branches overhead as he gently returns the gems to his coat pocket, “if I knew where you were.” Curse the elf prince’s ability to walk unseen.

“I am here,” the elf replies with infuriating ambiguity, “with you, to protect you.” Fíli can practically hear the prince’s smile, and in spite of everything, it puts him at ease, enough for him to slowly begin to unlace his tunic.

“Does the king know you’re here?” he asks the unseen elf as he cautiously continues to undress, no longer feeling the need to hurry back to the safety of the Company now that Thranduil’s son watched over him, even if the eyes on him did offend his modesty ever so slightly. “We came looking for you, and you were not there; yet now, you show up unannounced, when I am unarmed and alone. And for what? You certainly would not risk the wrath of the Elvenking to protect one dwarf.”

Silence. There is a rustling overhead, but whether it comes from the evening wind or the elf prince’s boots remains a mystery. Fíli cannot tell if the elf is brooding over his words or watching him intently.

“No,” comes Legolas’ reply after a long while, long enough for the dwarf to fully undress and slip into the gentle current of the river that had once whisked him along in a barrel to Long Lake. “I would risk the wrath of the Elvenking to protect a prince — a prince whose life I saved at no small cost to my own.”

These softly spoken words stir up a cloud of confusion in the dwarf’s heart; golden brows knit together as a quizzical look enters Fíli’s hardened features. Never in his wildest flights of fancy did he imagine an elf could be so agreeable and so aggravating at the same time. In the distance, he hears the drum of what is undoubtedly spider legs on tree bark; from above him comes the twang of a bow loosing an arrow, and the drumming immediately ceases. Fíli’s heart skips a beat, and immediately, he knows the elf’s keen ears have heard thus.

“Do not be afraid.” Legolas’ voice drifts down from the reddened leaves like honey, sweet and reassuring. “And do not fear for me. My father’s actions will not sway me or bring me harm.”

And so Fíli is not afraid. He bathes in peace and relative calm, constantly scanning the trees for a glimpse of the elf prince’s lithe form and always finding nothing. The occasional rustling of leaves, or crunching of bark underfoot, or piercing twang of the elf’s bow betray his presence, but never his appearance; every so often, Legolas speaks, his dulcet tones almost part of the woods around them, and Fíli answers in kind as he scrubs the blood and sweat from his skin and tunic. It’s only when he moves to untangle the spider-silk from his hair that he feels the elf’s interest roused.

“Do you braid it yourself?” Legolas’ tone could almost be described as a tremulous whisper, laced with the excitement of the curious youth Fíli has come to know him as despite his cold, noble bearing.

“Sometimes,” the dwarf responds, ignoring the way the hairs rise on the nape of his neck; he senses the elf has ventured closer, feels as though he is mere inches behind him, and despite constantly searching for Legolas’ presence, he does not dare turn around. “Sometimes Kí does it for me. My mother also, when I’m with her.”

Silence once again. A sigh filters down through the stale evening air.

“I am envious,” the elf prince admits, it seems, with no small amount of humiliation. “I have not had a mother’s touch in many, many years.”

“How many?” The dwarf regrets asking as soon as he does, but, like his invisible companion, he, too, is a curious youth.

Legolas’ reply is soft, nostalgic, full of pained longing: “Too many.”

For a moment, Fíli is tempted to offer up his mother as a surrogate, though he is positive Dís would never lay hands on an elf, not even one who had saved the life of her son and earned Thorin’s respect.

“I’m sorry, bâha.”

To use Khuzdûl in the presence of another race was bold, but not as bold as calling the elf friend, and certainly not as bold as venturing into one’s former kingdom on pain of death to protect a single dwarf. He hears Legolas chuckle, almost as though from inches away; he swears he can feel fingers brushing lightly against the freshly-cleaned braid just behind his left ear, yet when he whirls around, he sees nothing but stoic tree trunks and gathering darkness.

“I have lived for many years, Nogoth: I walked these woods before the birth of your uncle, and his father, and his father before him. I have known a world without dwarves or dragons in Erebor; I took my first breath before any one of these trees had taken root. And yet, not once in my long life have I been apologized to by a dwarf.”

A pause. Fíli feels exposed, vulnerable in the dark that has descended beyond the canopy. The water is cold; he realizes just how long he’s been shivering for, yet, he does not move, held captive as he is by Legolas’ dulcet yet ominous words.

“Night descends. The spiders are coming.” Indeed, Fíli can hear their hissing, the skittering of their claws against the dry bark of Mirkwood’s trees. Yet his elven guard seems unmoved, his tone only growing softer as he speaks to the dwarf shivering in the river.

“Go now. Return to your people, Malthen er; and return the Gems of Lasgalen to my father, as a favor to me, and in honor of my mother.” The twang of the elf’s bow breaks the stillness once more. “For me, there is no greater gift than seeing you in good health. Hail i tar- nuin i oronti: hail to the King Under the Mountain.”

iaurhael said: ‵ i can do this . and even if i can’t , i have to. ′

          the dwarf’s gaze settles on the chain barely peeking out from beneath the neckline of frodo’s crisp shirt.     fíli’s shoulders sag;   his head bows,  as if the weight of  THE RING  is settling on him by proxy.     he cannot even begin to imagine what the hobbit is enduring,  even having seen bilbo’s own descent  ——  watching them both bear such a burden is a frustration he had scarce imagined before.     the knowledge that he cannot do more to help than to facilitate frodo’s journey,  and ward off his foes,  troubles him deeply.

first there was a man who needed him , named strider , then the call of the white gulls above the sea distracted him .  no one knew why the prince lingered in mirkwood still , bidding the green leaves goodbye they supposed . legolas should have been gone a few days ago when thranduil asked him to , yet here he was .    ❝ yes , you have died . ❞    says the lean prince with a twitch of the lips , hidden behind fíli .  tips of the long digits brushed across the bandaged wound to catch the other’s reaction , to see if it still stung as the first day .

he had no idea how the pale orc had gotten his hands on the durin’s sons , and for a while the healers told him  ’this one won’t survive it . focus on thorin and his younger nephew . ’  and legolas did the exact opposite , as usual .

❝ i found you in the snow , covered in your blood , yes . ❞    the very first time the prince allows himself to look at the dwarf in the eye .  wood elves are often pretty things with BLANK faces , but legolas couldn’t find a reason to muster up such a cold façade .    ❝ you are in mirkwood now . ❞    not the best place to be for a dwarf , he knows  ── ──  but legolas had quickly declined the invite inside the mountain merely because the walls of it would surely suffocate such a free creature as himself .

          he remembers sending his brother in the opposite direction of the nigh-imperceptible clink of orc metal on stone;   he remembers their filthy hands on him,  tearing his sword from his grasp;   he remembers  AZOG,  and begging his uncle to flee,  and searing pain just below his sternum ... and then  nothing.     and now,  to awaken in  MIRKWOOD  of all places  ——  had his kin truly left him to die?     or perhaps  they too were dead,  and now,  he is- ... he is- ...

          the word  KING  dies before he has the chance to think it.

                    ❝           and- ... and my uncle...? ❞ 

          the breath snags in his parched throat.

                    ❝ oh mahal,  KÍLI!     what of kíli? ❞     fear grips his heart,  which skips a beat and sends a pang of pain through his clammy chest.     he struggles in earnest now to sit up,  and finds his body resisting,  like he has once more become a wee babe unable to lift its head.     so,  instead of scrambling to his feet and rushing off as he intended,  he turns his attention back to the fair-haired elf who had seemingly rescued him.

          he doubts it was out of the goodness of the slender prince’s heart;   indeed,  thorin would claim that  he did not have one.     but as he meets legolas’ gaze,  fíli finds himself second guessing everything he’s come to know about elves.     after all,  were there truly  BAD BLOOD,  then legolas should have  left him to die;   but perhaps the bad blood lies between  the elders,  and has yet to taint  the youth ... if he can call the elf prince  young.

@zirizant asked  :   “ you really didn’t need to , you know . ” \  accepting.

the younger dwarf’s voice doesn’t exactly make the elf jump , but something in his blue eyes says that he was indeed startled .  either way , perhaps the blonde dwarf had an impressive talent in acting unconscious or legolas’ mind strayed somewhere else as he ever so gently wrapped the thin bandages around the arm .

elven halls of healing were open even for the 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐝 dwarves , legolas doesn’t remember this one saying something directly insulting to him but knows his brother wouldn’t quite enjoy his company right now .    ❝ welcome back , master dwarf . ❞    the pale hands reach for fíli’s forehead , discarding the damp towel that served to lower his fever .  legolas pauses to place it back into the lukewarm water , readying it again since it seemed a little harder to deal with dwarven fever than an elf’s .    ❝ to the world of living . ❞    legolas doesn’t look angry  ──── after the loose friendship between their kingdoms and the fake gestures of affection , taking care of their oldest prince wasn’t such a hard task that he’s been asked to do . at least not to this one .  fíli didn’t glare as hard as his uncle does , which truly was a relief .    ❝ can you sit up ? ❞

         his head swims.     darkness  had been his only companion for what felt like days,  and very well might have been;   his only solace was the pair of gentle hands beating back the ache in his head and the searing pain in his body.     he’d only come to know these as the hands of  THE ELF PRINCE  moments ago,  when he’d finally mustered the strength to open his eyes.

                   ❝          had i died? ❞  he manages in a voice almost as rough and deep as his uncle’s.     the sentiment is almost humorous,  though he suspects the elf will not understand.     he coughs a few times and groans at the twinge of pain the action sends through his sore ribs;   he attempts to do as legolas asks, but finds it immeasurably difficult.     perhaps elves recovered quickly after such grievous injuries,  but fíli doubts anyone could heal easily from such wounds;   he suspects that he should be in his GRAVE.

         and though  thorin  would never openly show his gratitude,  the crown prince had no qualms about doing so.