Chapter Text
Kili looked out at the woods from his perch in the trees, quiver slung over his shoulder and an elvish bow in hand. The full moon cast an eerie glow over the thick canopy, dappling the leaves in shades of blue. He smiled and let out a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. Enormous moths of grey and black rose to greet him, wings brushing across his skin like kisses, and Kili’s smile grew.
Mirkwood stretched out for miles before him, thick clumps of trees blocking out most of the light beneath the canopy. This was Kili’s favorite place to sit, up in the very tops where the butterflies and other cheerful creatures still dwelt. The darker spot of the forest was invisible from here, surrounding the old fortress of Dol Goldur, and Kili shuddered. He’d had his fair share of encounters with spiders. He’d been stung at least four times that he could remember on various hunting trips, and he’d grown to hate them more than anything.
Kili’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sharp, violent tug on his free-hanging leg. Thoughts still on spiders and other evil creatures of the forest, his hand went instinctively to the knife at his belt as he was pulled down several branches.
There was a merry laugh from below, light and almost silvery, and Kili glared from the treetops, realizing he’d been played. The grip on his ankle released him and the dwarf looked down to see the elf still chuckling at him from the ground.
“Rhaich, Legolas!” he swore. “I almost killed you!”
Legolas just chuckled good-naturedly, arms crossed over his chest. “I fear you couldn’t accomplish that if you tried.”
Kili scowled and climbed down from the tree, boots hitting the ground with a soft thump. The elf was significantly taller than Kili, but that didn’t stop the dwarf from shoving him against a nearby tree. “We could test that,” he growled.
In return, Legolas raised an eyebrow, a hand snaking around to grab Kili by his hood and raise him into the air, feet dangling. The dwarf’s shoulders slumped and he glared.
“You made your point. Put me down.”
The elf laughed brightly and set him down, giving him a fond smile. “Come, Orothen. You will not wish to be late for the feast. There have been two already and your absence was noticed.”
Kili looked up from adjusting his hood, surprised. “Two? I was told there was only going to be one feast.”
Legolas looked irritated at the question. “There have been strangers in the wood,” he said, disdain in his tone. “They attempted to attack us twice.”
“Strangers in the wood?” Kili was rather taken aback, shaking his head in surprise. It was rare that strangers dared wander into the Elvenking’s realm. Mirkwood had a reputation after all. “Trespassing to begin with, and that they should have the audacity to attack wood-elves...I wonder that the Elvenking hasn’t had them imprisoned for it.”
“He has half a mind to.” Legolas was just as displeased with it as Kili, letting out a great sigh. “It’s why he’s come this time.”
Kili shook his head again, wondering what could possibly bring strangers this far into Mirkwood. It was a foreboding place, even for those who knew it well. He felt a twinge of sympathy for them; they must be starving if they had wandered off the path. It was daring enough for them to stay, and surely they had to know the dangers.
“Orothen.” Legolas looked back at Kili, cutting through the dwarf’s thoughts. “Please come.”
Kili rolled his eyes, a slight smile crossing his face. “Someone has to make sure you don’t finish all the wine by yourself. I’ll be there. I have something I have to finish first.”
Kili was rewarded by the light laughter of the elf once more and smiled before heading back towards the Elvenking’s Halls. Elves were starting to trickle out along the path, bringing food and wine towards the woods. It was tradition to hold feasts in the wood itself, as a sign of defiance to the Necromancer and the Spiders. Kili was well known in Mirkwood, and many of the elves greeted him cheerfully, using the Sindarin name he’d been given. He smiled and returned the greeting, singing along to the songs in the air.
He wondered if Legolas or Thranduil remembered that today marked his sixtieth year in Mirkwood. Sixty years of living among the elves, adopting their culture and practices. He rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks absently, the only thing (besides his height) that was still truly dwarvish about his appearance. He dressed like the elves, talked like them, ate like them, hunted like them...It had been a constant struggle, trying to make himself fit in, but for a dwarf Kili had turned out remarkably elvish, something that seemed to please the other residents of Mirkwood.
His life he owed completely to the Elvenking. Kili tried to remember those first days in the wood and was met with memories of Thranduil caring as earnestly for the sick dwarfling as he would have for any of his own kin. He’d been a tiny thing when the dragon had attacked Erebor, his life spared only by the fact that he had been trying to run away because of something his brother had said. Kili remembered that, at least. He remembered watching Dale burn, hearing the screams and tasting the smoke on the air, the stench of burning corpses.
He remembered looking out at Erebor and seeing the gleam of his father’s golden hair. And he remembered too clearly the dragonfire that had engulfed him. Kili had been terrified. He’d bolted. He ran until he collapsed, only to get up and run again. When Thranduil had found him, he’d been sobbing in a tree on the edge of the forest, near starved to death and painfully skinny. It had been the Elvenking that had nursed him back to health then, and the Elvenking that had chosen to take Kili in and raise him as one of his own when the dwarves of Erebor could not be contacted.
Kili shivered slightly at the bad memories and tried to shake it off. Even after sixty years, he still had nightmares of Smaug, of watching his father burn. Tonight was not meant to be a night of sorrow, but a night of celebration. He loved the wood, loved the elves and the small family he had cobbled together here. And tonight he meant to show them his appreciation.
Thranduil had never let Kili forget his heritage. The blacksmiths in Mirkwood were not as skilled as others of their kind, but between their shared knowledge and what little was remembered of the dwarves’ technique, Kili learned a great deal. Metalworking was something he found he had a great talent in, something that came easily and almost instinctively to him. It was mere decades before he had a forge of his own, and many came to him to request his skill. It was through this ability that Kili connected with his forefathers, through this that he felt like a true dwarf, and he loved it.
Stepping quietly into his forge, Kili bundled up the set of white-handled knives in a bit of cloth and tucked them away into his coat. He considered for a moment or two before buckling his sword to his hip along with his usual bow and quiver. Mirkwood was a dangerous place, after all. Kili had needed to prove he could handle himself before Thranduil had let him out with any of the usual hunting parties, and their celebrations tended to draw in an uninvited guest or two. The daring of these strangers too meant there was a good chance they would try again to attack, and Kili wanted to be well defended.
By the time Kili arrived at the feast, it had only just started. Pleased with himself for making it on time, he made his way quietly through the crowds to kneel before the Elvenking and present himself.
“The stars shine upon the hour of our meeting,” he murmured respectfully, keeping his head bowed.
Thranduil inclined his head. As usual he looked slightly enigmatic, if pleased. Even after sixty years Kili still couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “I take it you have decided to join us, Orothen. Rise and take your place.”
“The night is waning!” called another elf, and there were a few titters of laughter around the table.
Kili smiled and stood, but before he took his place, he pulled the cloth wrapped knives out of his coat. “My Lord, I want to present you with these, as thanks for the sixty years I have been honored to live in your wood.”
Offering the knives out, he waited. Something like a smile shone in Thranduil’s eyes as he opened up the cloth to take the knives, bone handled and carved to the best of Kili’s ability with trees and mountains. The blades were some of Kili’s finest work, and he was proud of what he’d been able to create. He had never wanted to give Thranduil anything less than his best, after all.
“Your skill continues to improve,” Thranduil finally declared, sheathing the knives, and a proud smile crossed the young dwarf’s face. “These are very fine indeed. You have given us more than you know, Orothen.”
It was high praise coming from the Elvenking, and Kili was beaming when he finally took his seat on the left hand of Thranduil, opposite of Legolas. His adopted brother winked at him before reaching over to fill Kili’s glass with wine.
“This may be the finest wine I’ve ever had,” Legolas declared. Kili chuckled as he leaned back in his seat, sipping at it. The stuff was incredibly strong, and he knew from experience not to drink more than small amounts at a time.
“I think you say that every time, Legolas,” Kili pointed out, and the elves around him laughed.
The Elvenking’s son laughed brightly, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Clearly that means the quality of the wine has only improved with time,” he concluded.
Kili shook his head, laughing along with the others as he admired the table. It was laden with all the very best Mirkwood could provide. There were steaming plates of varied meats, a remarkable arrangement of greens and roots, baskets of bread, and assorted other dishes. Kili loaded up his plate with venison and elk, eating with gusto. While he had picked up elvish eating habits, occasionally his dwarvish nature slipped through.
He was on his second glass of wine when the dancing and singing started. Suitably full of food and pleasantly warm from the alcohol, Kili’s gaze moved to one elf maiden in particular. Dark hair beset with tiny white flowers, her skin fair but marked with scars, her voice was the sweetest to his ears, and her dancing the most graceful. He let out a sigh, and Legolas kicked him from under the table.
Staring. Right.
“Orothen.” Thranduil’s voice was gentle, and he plucked Kili’s glass from the dwarf’s hands. “You’ve had enough to drink.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Kili agreed, and shifted his gaze to Legolas instead. The fair-haired elf was watching him with mild concern, and he shook his head to indicate he was fine, there was nothing to worry about. “Excuse me, My Lord, I think I’ll draw nearer to the fire,” he murmured, and got to his feet.
He didn’t have to look behind him to know that Legolas was following. Sitting on a sawed off tree stump beside the fire, Kili sighed, feeling the elf seat himself just behind him. He closed his eyes as Legolas took a few strands of Kili’s soft dark hair in his fingers, weaving slender braids.
“I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about her,” Kili finally said softly, leaning back slightly against his brother.
Legolas chuckled softly. “I have never seen you give anything up easily, Orothen.” He plucked a few flowers up from the ground, winding them in with the braids. “But she is a warrior, and you just a child in her eyes.”
That drew an irritated sound from Kili. “But I’m not a child.”
The elf smiled. “I never said you were. Though it does not seem it was very long ago at all that you were a tiny dwarfling I could lift on my shoulders.”
“Legolas.” Kili tilted his head back, giving him a flat look.
“Forgive me, brother,” Legolas said with a laugh. “You know how strange it is for me to see you grow so quickly.
Kili huffed. “You’re so sentimental.”
The elf was about to reply when the entire gathering fell completely silent. Startled, Kili looked around to see that a stranger had emerged into their midst. Brown eyes widened and he stood slowly. It had been many long years since he’d seen another dwarf, after all.
His hair was dark and streaked with grey, fierce blue eyes piercing through his tangled mane. It was clear just from one glance that he was a warrior, judging by the scars and the way he held himself. Those intense eyes found Kili after a moment, widening dramatically in shock and something else. Horror? Understanding? His chapped lips parted, but before he could speak a word, all hell broke loose.
The fire went out in a puff of black smoke and for a moment, Kili was blind. All the elves were moving, fast and silent, darting along the familiar path. He could feel them brushing past them, almost taste the terror on them. Slim fingers closed around Kili’s upper arm, tugging him away.
“Orothen.” Kili recognized the voice immediately as Legolas’. “Go home, I’ll meet you there. The Elvenking wants the stranger taken in for questioning.”
“Wait!” he protested, vision coming back slowly. “Legolas, he’s a dwarf! You never told me they were dwarves!”
“There was no need to.” The elf’s eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Go.”
Frustrated but knowing there was no use in arguing, Kili sighed and set off after the elves, running along the path back to the halls. The look on the strange dwarf’s face stayed fresh in his memory, haunting him. It was as though...as though he’d recognized him, as though he knew Kili. Worse still was the nagging feeling that he’d seen that dwarf before, though in dream or reality, he couldn’t say.
Once safely in the halls, Kili went immediately to the throne room. The Elvenking was already there. His eyes fell on the young dwarf, a slight frown curving his lips downward. Kili was an open book, and it was easy to tell what he was about to ask.
“My Lord, please,” Kili stammered out, the words coming in a rush. If he didn’t ask now, he’d lose his nerve and his chance. “Permit me to stay during his questioning.”
Thranduil shook his head. “Not this time, Orothen.”
“Please!” Even Kili was surprised by the pleading in his voice. “I know you never meant for me to stay so long. You meant to return me to my own people, and I think...I think he knows me. What if he knows something about my family?”
There was a long pause. Finally Thranduil spoke. “If he does indeed know who you once were, your presence may influence his answers. No, it is best you stay out of this.”
“But--” Kili tried to interrupt, but Thranduil cut him off.
“If it is a matter that concerns you, I will inform you. For now, I mean to determine what he and his company have been doing in my wood.” The Elvenking’s voice was firm. Defeated, the young dwarf sighed and inclined his head respectfully.
“Forgive me, My Lord. I’ll retire for the night,” he murmured, and excused himself.