Chapter Text
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The pain is unlike any he has ever felt.
Its burns and tears and completely engulfs him. Kili falters, the sound of his own screaming and the battle around him drowning out the voices of his brother and uncle. The lever for the river gate is right there - he’s so close he can almost feel it under his fingers - but as he reaches out for it his leg cannot bear his own weight against the pain and he collapses.
Around him Orcs and Elves are slaughtering each other. Kili struggles to try and get to his feet, but when he looks up he sees an Orc perched on the stone work above him, a rusted axe raised over his head. It grins down at him through a maw of black rotting teeth and hisses. This was it. This was where his journey will end.
I couldn’t even do anything to help them, he thinks as the axe glints in the morning sunlight.
He braces himself for a blow that never comes. The Orc lets out a squeal as an arrowhead pierces through the back of its skull and peaks out of an eye socket. It spasms and pitches forward, toppling down the bridge until it splashes into the river below.
Tauriel is there, looking at him, a dark scowl on her face but concern in her eyes. She is angry and deadly and so alien he almost can’t meet her eyes. They regard each other warily for one tense moment before Kili finally looks away. He should say something, he thinks, but by the time he convinces himself to look at her again Tauriel is gone. A strange weight settles in his stomach, a problem independent of the arrow in his leg, but he feels it just as keenly.
Fighting rages, Dwarves are shouting and the pain in his leg in near unbearable. He tries again, gritting his teeth and pulling himself to slow, shaking feet. His legs feel simultaneously like jelly and lead, his head swimming and his vision is blurring around the edges. One step. Then another.
“KILI!”
He can do it.
The arrow shifts in his flesh as he takes a third step and Kili thinks the pain will blind him.
I can do it.
Kili is a son of Durin and he will not disappoint Thorin. With all of the strength left in him he reaches for the level and pulls. There is a great scraping of metal and stone as the gate impeding their access to the river swings wide. The others cheer as their barrels once again lurch forward in the current. His own empty barrel bobs along slowly next to his brother's, who is urging him to jump back in.
I can make it, he thinks and he hobbles along the bridge, If I can just -
“Not another step Dwarf.”
An arrow head is mere millimeters from his eye and Kili freezes.There is an Elf standing firmly between him and the freedom of the river, his bow trained intently on the killing shot. A second Elf materializes behind him, pressing the cold blade of a dagger under his chin. His heart sinks into his gut as he watches his kin floating down the river, out of his reach.
“KILI!” his brother is calling after him, frantic, “KILI NO!”
Thorin only catches his eye for a moment before his is whisked out of sight. There is a grim expression on his face, one that Kili can only liken to bitter resignation. They were not going to turn back for him; there was nothing that could be done. The Orcs break away from fighting the Elves and begin to pursue the barrels down river. Pain flares in his leg once again and he slumps on his feet. The black arrow is still sticking out of his thigh; he is torn between wanting to pull it out and being too afraid to look at it.
The tall blond Elf that Kili vaguely recognizes from their stay in the dungeons runs past them in pursuit of both Orcs and Dwarves. He says something in elvish to the ones holding him captive and then levels one of the most acidic glares at him that Kili has ever seen in his life.
“You are going to regret this day, Dwarf,” he snaps before bolting into the trees. All of the Elves save for his two minders follow suit, and he thinks he catches a glimpse of red hair before it disappears into the forest.
The knife is lifted from his throat and the arrow recedes slightly from its vicinity to his eye socket.
“Come along, Dwarf,” the one with the blade spat, “You will be answering to Thranduil for your crimes.”
He shoves Kili forward roughly, causing an intense wave of fresh pain to shoot through his system. He cries out and stumbles, barely catching himself before he falls over entirely. His face burns with shame and agony.
“I …”
I can’t. He wants to say. It hurts too much. But Kili still has his Dwarven pride, so he stubbornly seals his lips and shuffles forward a few miserable steps.
“Perhaps we should not be so rough,” the one with the bow says, and Kili is somewhat relieved to see a vague resemblance to sympathy on his face, “He has taken an arrow and Prince Legolas would be furious if we let the prisoner die before he can be questioned.”
So that arrogant ponce is a prince, is he? That certainly explains a lot.
The two Elves have a rapid fire exchange in sindarin that Kili has no hope in understanding, but culminates in the one with the knife sheathing his weapon and running off to the fortress. The other one never lowers his bow, but he does take a small step backwards.
“Do not take this as anything more than necessary precaution. Come now, sit here and take the weight off of your leg. I won’t have you die on your feet while you have been put in my care.”
The Elf gestures with his bow at some collapsed stone work and Kili manages to limp his way there before gingerly sitting down. It does not lessen the pain, but it becomes somewhat less immediate. He glares out over the river, trying to ignore both the pain and the company.
His thoughts turn to his kin.
Would they make it? Yes. He had to believe that they would. Thorin would not let his sacrifice be for nothing after all. He would lead them back to the mountain and they would reclaim Erebor. That was the important thing. He wasn’t important. Besides, he was mostly certain that Thranduil would not have him killed. If fate was kind he could still stand in the halls under the mountain with his brother.
“That looks deep,” the Elf comments, though Kili does not look towards him, “You should pull it out.”
The Dwarf grits his teeth. He knows he has to pull it out but in truth he is afraid to do it. He’s seen what can happen when an arrow comes out badly, and he doesn’t have the confidence in himself to remove it correctly. Not that this Elf has to know about that.
“It’s fine,” he spits back and glares down at his boots.
It's not fine and he knows it. His fingers hesitantly reach for the shaft, gripping it gently just above the where the head has pierced his thigh. The slight pressure is agony and it takes all of his self control not to spasm and whimper in front of his guard.
Kili cannot imagine how much this is going to hurt coming out.
As he psyches himself up for the inevitable there is once again the sound of movement and footfall. The Elf with the knife returns, accompanied by two more soldiers and a woman in dark mossy green robes. They all speak around him in elvish, not bothering to include him in the conversation that was clearly about him. Kili watches the blood well up around his wound and stain his pants before the woman kneels down beside him and offers some approximation of a smile.
“Hello. I am Lalvien.”
Kili squints at her suspiciously. She has a not unkind face, but the slight upturn of her lips never quite meets her too blue eyes. White blonde hair is wound in a crown of braids atop her head that is impressive even by Dwarf standards and seems strangely ornamental for an Elf.
“Hello,” he responds after almost a full minute of silence, “What do you want?”
Her smiles widens for a moment, something almost genuine, before settling back into near non-existence. “What I would like is to not be disturbed by soldiers while I am sitting down to read. But since it seems you have taken a rather nasty wound my books will have to wait. May I?”
Lalvien gestures towards his leg with a wave of long, elegant fingers. He nods, tensing when she places a warm hand on his thigh just above the wound.
“What is your name Dwarf?” she asks as she leans in close and peers at the arrow shaft from several different angles. If he were not in so much pain or so angry about this turn of events he might think to be embarrassed about having a woman’s face so close to his crotch, elf or not.
“Kili,” he mutters reluctantly as those long finger prod at the flesh encasing the arrow head; he bites his lip to keep from screaming.
“Tell me Kili, what is something that you enjoy?”
“What?”
“Tell me about something that gives you pleasure,” she says, tilting her head towards him, “A favoured pastime. A tale from your childhood. A loved one, perhaps?”
His brother’s face comes to mind then, and his mother’s and uncle’s. A chain reaction of memories follows, of happier childhood days in the mountain. He doesn’t know why he should be thinking of these things at a time like this.
“Why?” he asks, “What is the point of this?”
“A treasured memory is perhaps the best comfort I can offer you right now,” she says calmly before grabbing the arrow in her hand and twisting it out of his leg.
There is no amount of pride or self control that could have kept in the howl that escapes his throat. Blood gushes up from the wound, freely flowing now that the obstruction is removed. When Lalvien reaches for his leg again he can’t stop himself from lashing out at her, trying to keep her away. The guards swarm him in an instant, pinning him down by the arms and legs so he can scarcely move at all. He screams and screams as the pain radiates like heat from a forge, rolling waves of agony that spread into every muscle and bone. His stomach heaves and bile begins to burn it’s way up his throat. A part of him wants to feel ashamed that he had been so easily done in by a single arrow. Kili is almost glad that others were not here to see him like this - though he secretly wanted nothing more than his brother to be there to hold his hand and tell him it was going to be fine - because he was sure he would never hear the end of it from them.
Poor little Kili. Fragile and useless as always.
Blackness begins to bleed around the edges of his vision as he feels her hands on him once more. He watches blearily as she balls up strips of snow white cloth and begins to delicately mop up the blood. The pressure is only slight but it feels like she’s stripping away skin with every touch. It is too much too fast, and the \Dwarf can feels himself sliding into unconsciousness.
A warm hand presses against his forehead, a soothing gesture amidst the agony. “Easy now,” he hears Lalvien’s voice in his ear, infuriatingly calm, “Go to sleep, Kili.”
He imagines Thorin's disapproving face as his eye lids droop shut. One final pained whine escapes his lips before he surrenders to the merciful lull of the darkness.
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