Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The company walked in single file. Two large trees formed an arch, ivy and lichen rustling gently in the breeze. Blackened leaves tainting the lowest of leaves, spreading their pestilence with the never wavering persistence that only nature can possess. The path itself was winding, cobbled stone of deep blues and greys flowing through the undergrowth like glistening water. The bright and soothing gate soon faded into darkness and apprehension; the canopy thickened sharply casting the company into an unnatural gloom. The ink black leaves begun to consume their healthy brethren, choking the life out of them slowly and painfully. It was silent dreadfully so, the trees loomed and listened. Brambles soon consumed the path, over-painting the blue with a deep blood-like brown. Cobwebs caught the rare beam of sunlight, revealing them in their vast expanse. Tapestry woven betwixt the trees, forcing their feet to stray from the path.
As they progressed through the forest unspeaking, noise begun to permeate through the expanse. At first Kili had thought he had imagined it, his mind filling the aching pained silence with anything, any sound. But he saw the others flinch as the distant sobs echoed through the trees.
There was no birdsong, no scuttling of small creatures, even the trees themselves seemed subdued, their leaves voiceless despite the wind.
The cries persisted but what made the noises he could not see.

They pushed on, desperate to be free of the wood and its inhabitants. The elves of Mirkwood were not known for their tolerance of trespassers, nor for their fondness of dwarves. The cries persisted, never stopping for breath. They pushed on.
…
They pushed on, despite their hunger. Never stopping, not even for food. Mirkwood was not known for its abundance, and certainly anything that grew on that barren land was just as tainted as the land itself. The cries persisted, their volume unchanging despite their progress. They pushed on.
…
They pushed on, despite their exhaustion. Never stopping, though their eyes grew weary and limbs heavy. Mirkwood was not a place of refuge. Both the creatures of the forest and elves a hidden threat to any who entered. The cries persisted, growing desperate, wounded, and louder. They pushed on.

Kili wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this. It must have been hours, if the growl of his stomach and the ache of his legs was anything to go by. The cries were taking a toll on him, on all of them really.
…
They pushed on, despite their thirst. Never stopping, not even to replenish their waterskins. though their throats grew dry and scratchy, they persisted. The river of Mirkwood was known to be corrupted, more so now they were deep within the depths of the forest. The cries transformed, no longer the pained sobs of sadness replaced instead with the screams of utter anguish. Kili put one foot in front of the other. They pushed on.
…
The voice was young he realised. A child of some sort, alone in the forest and left to its tender mercies.
Mirkwood was not known for its mercy.
He had had enough. He could not bear to ignore their howls any longer.
“Uncle we must find them. Can’t you hear their cries, feel their pain.They must be but a child-“
“And be lured into whatever trap has been constructed by the horrors of this forest? I think not. We keep moving.”
Kili looked to the rest of the company for support, though found none, “Uncle-“
“We push on.”
…
Soon the company found themselves at a clearing. The brush parting to reveal a large white tree, untouched by the darkness enclosing it from all sides. Leaves shining a deep orange-red, not all to dissimilar to particularly bright Carnelian stone. However, Kili’s gaze was not directed at the crown of the tree but at the base, where he found a small figure curled tight between the roots.
The cries ceased, as the sounds of the forest came crashing in like a tidal wave. Birds chirping, bugs skittering, wind whistling sharply. The figure unfurled itself revealing, as he had suspected, a small child.
They were clearly elven in nature, that much was obvious.
Long untamed waves fanned them, shining as bright as pure mithril, tucked behind the tell-tale ears of the Eldar. Kili notes that this is the youngest elf he thinks he has ever seen or even heard of. Of course the elves must bear children, all races do. His mind was drawn to his people’s custom, was it possible the elves did the same? A child, treasure of all treasures was to be protected. Guarded from outsiders at all costs, lest they pose a threat to the most precious jewel, a child. And yet here they were all alone, deep in the boughs of Mirkwood… silent tears streaming down their frightened face.

The small elf seemed to be wearing simple garb, more suited to the race of men or the smallfolk; a plain brown tunic bunched up towards their knees revealing tar black veins climbing steadily up their legs. They were injured and alone. His heart could not stand it. He would stand it no longer.Thorin tensed as he took a step towards the child, hand hovering over the hilt of his blade. Poised, just in case.
He took another tentative step towards them, distinguishing himself from the main body of the group. Far enough away that they shouldn’t see him as a threat… and hopefully far enough that they won’t pose a threat to him either.Thorin looks to him raising an eyebrow microscopically, not daring to utter a sound. Go on then, your wish has been granted nephew, it seems to say.

Only now as he faces the child, their doe eyes unblinking, does it occur to him that he doesn’t know any elvish. Would an elf so young even understand the Common Tongue? Or could they only comprehend the melodic tones of their kin? He supposed he had to try, keeping his tone hushed and even he dared to break the silence.
“Hello little one. I am Kili. Are you lost?”
Their nose scrunches slightly in apparent confusion, eyes boring into the very depths of his soul.
He begins to feel a slight prod at the edges of his mind, only to be distracted by the haunting sound of their small and distant voice.
“It pains doth I.” They respond, in fractured Westeron.
Kili released a breath he had not realised he had been holding. Thank Mahal they understood him.
Do you know where your Ma and Da are? Mirkwood? Rivendell? Lothlorian?”
“Thou preside not Eryn Galen. Here doth I. ”
Bilbo chimed in tentatively, “Eryn Galen is the elvish name for Greenwood.”
They nod their head shyly at him, recognizing the word Greenwood.

Great, just great. He turns back to Thorin, “We can’t just leave them here.”
“We are to pass through Kili. I would rather face Azog once more than voluntarily walk into that coward's curse'ed palace. They would kill us all on site. ”
“Thorin they are a child! What about the monsters! If we were to leave them here we might as well kill them now. It’d be more merciful;. They wouldn’t survive the night!”
“I will not damn this company for some wretch’ed elf. It is their fault for running into the forest and away from their kin. I will not let my own suffer for it.”
The child flinched at Thorin’s steadily increasing voice. While it was clear they couldn’t understand what he was saying they registered his Uncle’s wrath. They scrambled to their feet, launching themselves deeper into the forest with an unmatchable grace.
Kili ran. He had to get to them before Spiders or Orcs did.
“KILI GET BACK HERE NOW!” his Uncle boomed.
He didn’t care, vaguely registered the pounding of footsteps behind him he pushed himself hard. Lungs burning, his focus remained on the small child who was rapidly outpacing him.
They flew through the trees unwavering, never stumbling once. Kili however was not so lucky. He soon found himself face down in the soil, brambles curled around his boots trapping him. He ripped his knife from its sheath, and begun hacking. He had to get to them. He had to keep running. He had to save them, protect them.
“KILI SEE SENSE!”
As he turned to shout back at it his Uncle, an arrow grazed his cheek.

“Halt trespasser and submit to the judgement of the Woodland realm.”

Kili's head throbbed. He had to get to them. Surely they would want their child safe, He had to protect them from the encroaching darkness. He had to keep pushing on. Words tumbled out of her mouth before he could form a coherent thought.
“We don’t mean you any harm! We found one of your children while passing through! We wanted to bring them home! I need to find them before anything else done-”
“Silence Dwarf. There has not been a child born since Legolas Thrandullion within our walls. Do not take us for fools. There is no child among you. Are you so cowardly that you would lie through your teeth, in an attempt to garner our pity?”
Kili stomach turned, violently. His heart dropped to his shoes. What did they mean no child has been born since the Woodland Prince, there had to have been. But there was never a child in the woods… and in his folly, he had caused the capture of the entire company.

Chapter Text

Dark curved walls greeted them as they entered the halls of the Elven king. The deep brown and green walls uncanny to those more familiar with the grey of worked stone. It felt ancient but not in the way of a monument. It felt as though the Valar themselves had carved this sanctuary themselves, ageless and wild in its beauty. Branches twisted to form walkways above their heads with vines swaying like spider silk in the breeze. They soon found themselves led down a staircase of river stones to what must have been the throne room. Kili felt his stomach turn, his head throbbed. It was all his fault. They were never going to reach Erebor and it was going to be all his fault. His thoughts were cut short by their guards coming to a halt as they opened the ornate doors.

It was less of a room and more of a cavern, carefully cultivated into the desired shape over thousands of years. The room was sloped up as they took tentative steps into the space. The room was largely empty, undecorated for the most part but deliberately so. A towering throne of branches and leaves seemed to sprout from the ground dominating the room. It’s position and height forcing one’s gaze up. ‘In service, or in submission’

Kili didn’t get the chance to expand on his musings before a particularly tall elf descended down a staircase with preternatural grace. A crown of autumn leaves was weaved into his loose icy blonde hair, which he scooped to one side as he lounged seemingly unbothered pride of place.

“Toltha I Hadhodrim” the melodious tongue of the elves filled the air, ringing like bells.

Guard shoved him and his compatriots forward, forcing them closer to their King.

“Dar!”

A hand yanked him upright. But the King’s focus was solely on Thorin

“Now what purpose do 12 Dwarves have in the Greenwood? Mere trespass? Attempted Burglary? Sabotage perhaps?”

“It is none of your concern.”

“I did not think you a liar Thorin Oakenshield, though perhaps I was mistaken. You dishonour your forefathers.”

“You know nothing of my forefathers-“ “Watch your tongue child of Aulë. You are in my halls, under my rule, and your will submit to my questioning.”

“Îsh kakhfê ai-‘d-dûr-rugnul!” Thorin spat at Thranduil’s feet, but he merely raised an eyebrow in return.

Leaves began to swirl unnaturally, the breeze nowhere near strong enough to create such a display. Kili felt the urge to interject build in his chest. Thorin was just making it worse.

Suddenly, the guards pushed his head down, forcing a deep and painful bow. Thranduil rose, turning to assess the changing situation. As their guards released them from their position he saw them.

Their hair was just as striking as before, but now it was decorated with a mixture of healthy and decaying flowers. Their face was brighter, less pained within the halls, but their eyes seemed to suggest a deep longing that was not present earlier. Their frame was covered in the suggestion of elven formalwear. Sheer layers of shimmering silver silk floated behind them as they ran down the staircase towards the Elven King, giggling softly.

The child collided into his side, but his stance did not falter in the slightest. He steady like the trees of the wood he ruled. A slight softness graced his features as he addressed them, “Faire Nin’ya?” placing a gentle hand to their crown in an uncharacteristic show of intimacy.

Kili turned to the guards on his left, “That-That’s the child. I told you there was a child! This is them!”

Thranduil had the decency to at least look slightly puzzled, before turning to the child “Tyalie lé Aulëonna Faire Nin’ya?”

“Antahoryava.” Their voice was equally haunting in their own language.

“Aulëonna?”

They hummed in response.

Thranduil turned directly to Kili now, switching from the not-quite Elvish to Westeron once more.

“You have been bestowed a honour beyond your worth Dwarf. Though you have demonstrated more wisdom than most of your kind…”

Thorin moved to speak only to receive a sharp elbow from Fili.

“The Greenwood… is intrigued by your presence, and pleased by your compassion for it. I wondered whether Dwarves only cared for the sorrows of the stone, clearly not.”

Sharp eyes began to born into his soul as he advanced “So, in a show of good faith I will allow you the opportunity to rectify your Uncle’s mistake young dwarf. I will not ask you again. What were you doing in Greenwood?”

Kili felt the weight of the company’s expectations, their hope, their fear. What was the right thing to do? What would get them out? “We are traveling through, but Fa-irn-ya was crying. I thought they were lost or hurt so we… I strayed from the path. I-“

He knew he butchered the pronunciation but he hoped the effort was appreciated. He wondered what it meant.

“Silence. Is this the truth?” He asked the guards.

“When he was captured he mentioned a child though we thought it a lie, Aran nin. Prince Legolas has long been of age and there have been no children since.”

“Atya?”

A stifled chuckled erupted from the guards.

What was so funny? Thought Kili.

“Though I suppose Fairë Men’ya would be considered your ward sir.”

“Atya! Amba!”

Thranduil crouched picking up the child by the armpits, deftly swinging them onto his hip in a careful and practised motion.

Kili’s couldn’t supress a laugh and neither could the guards. What a sight! The last Elven King this side of the Sea beholden to such a mundane thing as a child’s desire to held.

Thranduil kissed their forehead before in a teasing tone asked,“Tai sanwëtya Melda? Letha lé Aulëonna?”

“Valainante náto?”

“Valainante var valainante?”

“Yúyo.”

Thranduil turned to his guards, “Then I suppose there is not much point in my keeping them.” He waved his free hand lazily. “Release them.” Kili let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

The guards withdrew their weapons, relaxing at their King’s order. Thranduil strode with purpose towards the staircase, ‘Fairnya’ now bundled in his arms. Cradled like precious jewel they were, a tender hope for a better future.

As the pair turned the corner Kili felt another distinctive prod at his mind. He couldn’t understand the lilting words, but he knew their meaning nonetheless.

“Hantatyë Kili… Maihúmë”

Thank you Kili, Sleep Well.