Kurt foraged ahead as they walked, doing his best to find a suitable breakfast for Blaine. Before they left the hilltop ruins, Blaine had unpacked a bit of jerky, which he ate, and some lembas bread from Rivendell that he left untouched. Kurt still felt responsible for the fact that exhaustion had driven the Dwarf not to eat the night before. Kurt lucked upon some apples growing on an obliging tree along the path that they travelled, as well as some ripe berries, all of which he offered to Blaine without explanation.

Blaine accepted these unsolicited gifts graciously, hiding a small, secretive smile when he did.

They walked while they ate, enjoying their bounty beneath the blossoming morning sun.

Kurt did not need to scold Blaine for talking this time. In fact, Blaine remained uncharacteristically quiet as they took the trail that led through another small stretch of Forest. The trees that flanked them were not too dense here, and it was easy to see what kept pace beside them, be it snake or rabbit or doe. They traveled in a straight line, as there was no room to walk side-by-side, which suited Kurt just fine.

But the silence, which the Elf should have been grateful for, became bothersome to Kurt.

Kurt peeked over his shoulder, wondering what had captured the Dwarf's attention so completely that he had gone from his non-stop mindless muttering of the day before to sudden, absolute quiet. Blaine seemed to be engaged in doing nothing but staring straight ahead, lost in thought, with a dopey smile on his lips. Kurt turned back to the trail ahead of him and considered Blaine's expression for a moment. Here they were on this journey, a treacherous one at that, picking their way through some of the most dangerous country ever mapped by Man or Elf, and this stunted creature was daydreaming – and delightedly so. Kurt looked back again, measuring out the level of Blaine's eyes, trying to decide what exactly it was that the Dwarf was gazing so fondly at.

Kurt's forehead wrinkled as his thoughts came to only one conclusion.

Could he…is he…

Kurt turned back around and gasped in alarm, his thoughts reeling.

That horrid, disgusting mutant creature is staring at my rear!

Kurt couldn't be sure, but with one more glance backward, he saw Blaine biting his lower lip, while the dreamy, far-off look in his eyes grew brighter. Kurt blushed straight to the roots of his hair. He wasn't sure what to do. How exactly should he go about asking this Dwarf to stop staring with moony eyes at his behind? What if Kurt was wrong? What if Blaine was staring not out of want, but by circumstance? What if Blaine could not help himself? What if he had no other choice? The trail, narrow as it was, offered nothing much else to look at. If you've seen one tree, bush, or stretch of grass, then you've seen it all. Quite dull and mind numbing, to tell the truth. Yes…that had to be the case. Kurt decided to be civil about the whole situation and let it lie. After all, Blaine couldn't rightly be blamed for his unfortunate stature. The Elf would leave the matter be and therefore accept that it was simply a hazard of the mutant creature's height that forced him to stare at Kurt's rear, the way a common ass on the trail must keep his eyes fixed on the stallion that leads it along, wherever those eyes may happen to fall.

Still, it distracted Kurt - in a peculiar way that he didn't understand - but nonetheless, he really wished the Dwarf would stop.

“Is there some way in which I can help you?” Kurt asked, hoping to divert the Dwarf's attention away from his behind.

“Uh…” Blaine snapped his head up and met Kurt's eyes, his cheeks darkening with the embarrassment of being caught staring – whatever the reason. He at least had the dignity to appear appropriately ashamed. “I'm sorry. What was that?”

Kurt smirked, finding it quite amusing to fluster the Dwarf.

“I asked if there was some way I could help you,” Kurt repeated, “since you seem to be exceptionally lost in thought.”

“Oh,” Blaine said, and though his face glowed red with chagrin, he smiled congenially, “I was just wondering, Master Elf, how long do you expect our journey will take?”

“It will take as long as it takes, Master Dwarf,” Kurt said, imbuing the title with all the derision he could muster.

“Well, how long is that, do you suspect?” Blaine repeated the question in a different way in the hopes of getting a more direct answer.

“An Elf traveling at full speed and with not stops should be able to make the journey in about ten days,” Kurt said. “A full grown Man would make the journey in about fourteen. Traveling your speed, I imagine we'll be there by winter at the earliest.”

Blaine laughed.

“But it is only spring,” he said.

“Precisely,” Kurt returned sharply.

Blaine looked up at Kurt with mildly hurt eyes, his good-natured smile slipping from his lips.

“What reason do you have for hating Dwarves, Master Elf?” Blaine asked, tilting his head to look up at his companion, one arm thrown across his forehead to block out the sun.

Kurt bit his lip to contain his anger but he found it difficult. Questioning Kurt's motives was insult unto injury. Just because he had to drag this Dwarf across Middle-earth didn't mean he had to justify himself.

“Because your kind are greedy and selfish!” Kurt replied, boiling over with self-righteousness. “You care nothing for our world or the creatures in it. You live to dig and destroy and to horde gold.” Kurt pointed an accusatory finger at Blaine, and Blaine jumped back. “See there, in your scabbard. You carry a sword of Elvish make, forged by my kin, and for what purpose? You have two axes to fight with. You have no need of it! If I know the nature of Dwarves, you mean to sell it, and you have no idea of it's true worth.”

Kurt expected his haughty speech to still Blaine's tongue permanently, if either by anger or humility, and shut him up for the remainder of their trip, but instead, the Dwarf smiled wide with an inexplicable glimmer in his honey-gold eyes.

“I was told that Elves are cold, but look at you!” Blaine commented. “Full of heat and passion to put dragon fire to shame. Yes, I carry an Elvish blade, and yes, I do have an idea of its worth.”

Kurt turned on Blaine, glaring down at him with all the fire of his rage burning through his steel blue eyes, demanding an explanation without speaking a single word aloud.

“It is priceless, Master Elf,” Blaine said with a half-smile curling the right edge of his mouth, “because it was a gift from Lord Elrond himself. And a gift from a friend is truly worth all the gold in the Lonely Mountain, or all the gold in all the mines of Middle-earth, indeed.”

Blaine's smile grew and took with it the color from Kurt's face.

“Uh…exactly,” Kurt said, recovering from his shock. “Quite right. Priceless, indeed.” Kurt's eyes shifted ahead, following where the trail spit out into a clearing. “There,” he said, indicating with his raised finger to a point in the distance that his Elf eyes could see and Blaine's eyes could not, “across that field of tall grass is a rock cave. We can camp there for the evening.”

Kurt turned his eyes back to the trail, their fire thoroughly extinguished, not even an ember of their original blaze remaining, and it was his own tongue that stayed still for the most part as they made their way to the campsite.

The grass in the meadow beyond the tress was tall and lush, vibrantly green, and nearly hid Blaine completely, which made Kurt chuckle in private. Blaine ducked down from time to time and disappeared entirely from view, just to pop up again as if he was sprouting out from the ground.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked, hiding another chuckle.

“I'm setting traps,” Blaine said, short of breath. “I intend to have fresh meat for dinner tonight and not jerky.” Blaine ducked down again, and then hopped up, catching Kurt's eyes as the Elf watched the Dwarf work. “I invite you to dine with me, of course,” he said, his voice soft – the same voice he used when he sang – but before Kurt answered him, the Dwarf squirreled away, the only trace of him being the sway of the grass in his wake.

Kurt shook his head, but left Blaine to his work, bobbing up and down in the foliage.

Kurt didn't like to admit that he spent the remainder of that day pondering the enigma that was Blaine. He had heard many tales of Dwarves and of the broken alliances between them and the Elves. Dwarves were not creatures of their word. They toiled only for personal gain. They dug too deep into the Mountains, often times releasing old world demons lain dormant for more than any one Elf's age, save maybe Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel. They speak never a kind word, and in general should not be trusted.

But Blaine spoke only kind words. Could he be trusted?

As they put together their camp, Kurt caught Blaine's eyes watch him on more than one occasion. Slightly unnerved by this attention, Kurt decided to try and learn the Dwarf's secrets.

“So, Dwarf,” Kurt said gruffly despite his best attempts at being courteous, “what is it that you do?”

Blaine's face went from an expression of admiration to one of confusion.

“What do I do?” he asked to be sure that he heard Kurt's question correctly.

“Yes,” Kurt said. “This is a quest of some importance, is it not?”

“Of the utmost,” Blaine agreed with a nod of his head, his scruffy black curls bouncing when he did, “or else they wouldn't have given me you as my guide.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but with that gesture came a smile he couldn't quell.

“Such pretty words are wasted on me, Dwarf,” Kurt said, focusing on setting up the campsite so that Blaine would not see the smile he fought to erase.

“I don't think they are,” Blaine countered with a smile of his own.

Kurt rolled his eyes again, but more fondly this time.

“Answer the question, please, Blaine,” Kurt said. “What do you do?”

Kurt didn't seem to realize that for the first time he had used Blaine's proper name, but the slip didn't pass by Blaine unnoticed. He stopped working and swallowed, his breath hitching at the sound of his Elf guide calling him by name.

“I…I make axes,” Blaine stuttered.

Kurt looked up at him, his nose scrunching when a more lengthy explanation was not forthcoming.

“Is that all?” he asked.

Blaine pulled himself a little higher, drew his back a little straighter.

“Well, it's an important job where I come from,” he defended.

Kurt thought it over. He supposed that making axes was a very important job to a Dwarf. Those who made swords among the Elves were revered for their skill. But Blaine wore only simple garments – old skins and leathers – that put even Kurt's simple hand-me-downs to shame. Yet Lord Elrond would have Kurt believe that this Dwarf might be the key to reforging alliances. He might be the one to help form the paths of future relationships between Elves and Dwarves. Kurt looked Blaine over from head to toe and back, trying to connect the importance of their great quest to this humble axe maker.

“You make axes,” Kurt repeated.

“Yes,” Blaine affirmed, laying out his bedroll and setting down his pack beside his axes and his Elven blade.

Kurt sat cross-legged and watched Blaine carefully.

“Are you a Prince among your people?” he asked thoughtfully. Kurt figured the answer would be that Blaine was not, but it never hurt to ask. Kurt had never seen a Dwarf Prince. Maybe Blaine could be one. It would make sense in some ways.

Blaine chuckled. He gathered up rocks that lay scattered about their campsite and constructed a fire ring.

“Nope.”

Kurt opened his pack and reached inside, pulling out his dinner – lembas bread wrapped in a folded leaf.

“A leader?” Kurt asked, taking a bite.

“Nope.” Blaine shook his head, the curl of his lips holding a carefully guarded secret. “I just make axes.”

“So,” Kurt said, resentment coloring his voice, “I am risking my life to guide Blaine of the Andurinin Clan, axe maker, through the barrens, and an Orc filled landscape, to what is more than likely a Troll infested Mountain?”

Blaine looked back at Kurt with a wide, toothy grin.

“And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

It suddenly struck Kurt that he wasn't entirely sure why they were headed to this Mountain, or why it was that Blaine relied so heavily on Kurt to find it. Why did Blaine need an Elf guide? Why not go to the Mountain in the company of Dwarves? Kurt assumed that what Blaine was after was treasure. All any Dwarf cared for was treasure, no matter how charming or noble they seemed, but no treasure of the Dwarves would be of concern to an Elf, so why did Lord Elrond put such store in it?

“Take him safely to the Mountain,” was all Kurt had been told.

He didn't feel right questioning the intentions of the Great Elf Lord. Kurt guessed he was told all that he needed to know.

Blaine started the fire, almost with imperceptible speed. Kurt had never been one for camping, and he was quietly impressed by Blaine's skill in the matter. Blaine left the fire briefly with what looked like a piece of twine and a couple of sticks. When he returned, he had a handful of rabbits grasped in his grubby fist from the traps he had set along the way. He held them up proudly, raising his eyebrows, quietly offering Kurt some of his catch, but Kurt turned up his nose.

“Have you eaten, Kurt?” Blaine asked, setting the plump creatures down and getting to work skinning them carefully and putting the pelts aside to dry.

“That I have,” Kurt replied, showing Blaine the square of lembas bread he was frugally taking bites from.

Blaine scoffed.

“But that's barely a nibble,” Blaine commented. “That cannot be enough.”

“It is,” Kurt said. “A single bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown Man.”

Blaine pulled a face and laughed heartily.

“Aye, I've heard of that Elvish waybread. I've even tried a bit back at Rivendell. I couldn't really stomach it, to tell you the truth,” Blaine admitted sheepishly. Kurt watched with veiled interest as Blaine filleted and prepared the animals, spitting them and putting them over the flames.

“How did you learn how to do that?” Kurt asked.

“My father taught me,” Blaine said proudly. “He first took me out snaring rabbits when I could barely walk.” Blaine smiled at the memory. “What did your father teach you, Kurt?”

“What?” Kurt asked, not fully understanding the question.

“What do fathers teach young Elves?” Blaine asked. “Rivendell is surrounded by rivers and waterfalls. Did he teach you to fish?” Blaine cocked his head. “Do Elves eat fish, or just bread?”

Kurt knew that Blaine didn't mean any harm; he hadn't intentionally wandered onto a subject that caused Kurt pain, but Kurt lashed out anyway without meaning to.

“My father taught me nothing,” Kurt said in a clipped voice, turning his back on the fire and laying on his bedroll, effectively ending the conversation.

Kurt lay on his side with his back to the fire, the rich smell of meat crackling in the air around him. The smell made him hungry, to be completely honest, but his stomach turned sour at the thought of his father. What was the last thing his dad had attempted to teach him? Kurt tried hard to remember. The only thing that came to mind was when he had tried to teach Kurt how to use a bow. Kurt had been so young then, barely older than four – such a long time ago. Kurt's father had been a kind and attentive spirit before then – such an attentive father.

It was those lessons that had born the resentment between them.

Kurt glanced at his bow, sitting beside his sword, and scowled.

If only, Kurt thought, pulling his arms around himself and hugging his chest tight. If only.