dr. rupert fitzgerald carlisle shield ⛰ [kili] (nadad) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-01-31 22:31:00 |
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The younger nephew of Thorin scrambled off from his lessons as soon as he could, finding little interest in learning how to craft jewelry when he could be out there learning how to fight or listening to his uncle or to Dwalin tell him stories about the things they’d seen and the places they’d been. He needed something to occupy his time, his mother had said once, or he was likely to wear himself out trying to exhaust his pent-up energy. The only things that had settled were archery and a penchant for their family history. Outside of that, Kili was a wildfire, an unstoppable reckless force that no one could control. (His mother hoped that he'd grow out of this wild streak, that he was only like this because he wasn't yet ten.) (She would be proven wrong over and over.) His brother was the one next in line for the throne, after Thorin -- assuming their uncle didn’t marry and have children, at least. The young prince didn’t think that likely; Thorin seemed more interested in reclaiming the past than in any of the women around Ered Luin. He slung his quiver over his shoulder and picked up his bow, not stopping. “Slow down!” came a shout from a nearby dwarf, who smiled and shook her head through the scolding. The prince wouldn’t learn. His footsteps thudded against the stone floors of the halls as he navigated the marketplace on his way above ground. Thorin’s Halls were bustling with activity -- not as much as Erebor had once upon a time, from what everyone had told him, but there was always someone around. Everyone knew him here, too, which made this path trecherous. Dwarves wanted to talk, wanted to ask how he was doing, wanted to show him the things they’d made, wanted him to pass messages on to his mother or to his uncle. Kili usually slipped out unnoticed through one of the secret passageways that he wasn’t supposed to know about, but those were slow-going and he was too eager to wait. He needed to feel the cool air on his face right away. When he finally broke free of the damp, heavy air inside the halls, Kili skidded to a stop on the top step and just breathed in. The Blue Mountains were cold this time of year, with a sharp wind out of the north, sweeping down the plateau. It was perfect. With one last glance back at the doors, Kili skittered away towards the woods ahead. Once he was safely ensconced under the trees, he pulled one of the arrows out and -- He wasn’t so far away from the main doors that he couldn’t hear the commotion with his sharp ears. He couldn’t catch every word, but he heard ‘raven’ and ‘news from the caravan from the north,’ and the deer he’d been tracking was forgotten. When he finally pushed his way through the crowd, he felt like every set of eyes were on him. It was uncomfortable in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. Their people usually did watch him, but this … this felt different. Dwalin grabbed him by the elbow when he spotted him. “There you are,” his almost-uncle said, his voice gruff. “We were looking for you. You know you’re not supposed to go out alone.” “I was just…” The excuse melted on his tongue. Dwalin looked grave. Like he’d seen a ghost. Like -- “What happened?” “Not here, son.” To someone else, the urgency in Dwalin’s voice might have gone unnoticed. The desperate look in his eyes that Kili not make a scene, that he just trust him and go along with what he was saying. Kili noticed. He just didn’t follow orders well. (He wouldn’t follow orders well for many years, maybe not ever.) “No. Tell me.” It was petulant, he knew, but he frowned up at Dwalin as hard as he could. Dwalin’s grip on his elbow tightened. From the other side of the hall, Kili could see his older brother appear. Fili’s blue eyes met Kili’s brown, and there was a sadness in the older boy that Kili had never seen before. “It’s about your father.” Rupert’s breath left him in a rush as he twitched awake. He’d had dreams of this life -- this dwarf, this young prince -- before, but none with him so young, none of him during his wild early years. It was different than the one of illness poisoning his blood and of a love blooming like brightly colored wildflowers on a hillside, fresh and new and pure. He shivered under the blanket. This one was the moment a youthful innocence was shattered for the first time, the moment when a child realised that the world wasn’t as kind as he always thought it was. For as much as he hated his father for the pressures he’d placed on both himself and on Margaret, for as much as he hated his father for the disappointment he laid at Rupert’s feet for not following in his footsteps, he’d never once wished for his father’s death. On the bedside table, the clock blinked. 2:13 am. Rupert sighed and plucked his phone off the nightstand. It was early in England, but not so early that he’d wake his father up. He typed out a few messages before settling on one: 'We’re doing well. Thought you’d like to know.' |