“Father! Father!” Kurt called, raising his small sword high into the air in triumph. “Come here, Father, and see what Finn taught me!”

The older Elf turned from the path to their house and regarded his two young sons with amusement – both carrying short practice swords, both dressed in worn leather armor he had fashioned for them, both red-faced from sparring the long afternoon away in the bright summer sun.

“Of course, Kurt,” his father said with a warm smile, bounding quickly down the side of the hill toward the grinning pair. “Show me what you have learned.”

Kurt turned on his older brother, brandishing his sword. Kurt lunged, and Finn blocked. Kurt lunged again, and Finn blocked again. Kurt lunged a third time, but this time he faked Finn out and disarmed the older boy.

(His brother, of course, had more than seen the move coming, having practiced it all afternoon, but he still nobly accepted defeat and applauded his younger brother's cunning.)

“Very well done,” their father said with a wink to his eldest.

“You should have seen it the first time,” Finn said. “He came up with that disarm all on his own.”

“Did he now? That's wonderful!” their father praised, smiling with pride. “What a clever boy.” Kurt ducked his head and smiled, and his father took that as an invitation to tousle his chestnut-colored hair. “Have you let him try your bow?” he asked Finn.

“Not yet, Father,” Finn said.

“Why ever not?”

“He wanted you to teach him.”

“Ahhh,” their father murmured. “Quite so. Hand it to him, son, and we'll have Kurt give it a go.”

Finn put down his sword and quickly produced his bow and quiver. He handed them both over to his brother in exchange for the other practice sword. Kurt took the bow and quiver gleefully, shouldering the quiver and holding the bow up the way he'd seen his brother practice over and over so many times.

“Perfect,” his father crowed. “A perfect stance. Just like your brother.”

Kurt's smile lit up his tiny face, and his father beamed at him.

“Now position the arrow on the string, and aim for the target.” His father sounded even more excited than Kurt to see the boy shoot his first arrow. Kurt focused hard on the target, looking past the arrow's tip and narrowing his eyes, but immediately he knew that something wasn't quite right. The bullseye became blurry, and its position shifted from side to side. Kurt blinked hard, but try as he might, he couldn't clear his vision. He couldn't get the target to stay still. He did his best to line up the arrow with the target, and then he let the arrow fly…but it overshot its mark and landed off into the bushes.

“Never mind that, never mind that,” his father said, handing Kurt a second arrow. “Your first shot's always a scratch. Try another. This time you'll get it for sure.”

His father winked at him, but Kurt could tell he was tense. He could hear it in his father's voice and see it in his eyes as his loving, proud look changed swiftly into an unsettling half-glare.

Kurt held his breath this time as he drew back his arrow, squaring the target in his sights and locking it into place in his mind. This way it didn't matter if it moved. He would just shoot in the direction he knew for sure it had been. Before he could draw the arrow back, his eyes began to burn. He fought to ignore it until they watered. Then he had to lower the bow and arrow and wipe his eyes.

“Wh…what's wrong?” his father asked, a strange tremor of anger overshadowing the tone of worry in his words.

“Nothing,” Kurt said, rubbing his itchy eyes. “It's just…my eyes…the target is blurry…it's hard to focus”

Their father suddenly became furious, grabbing the bow out of Kurt's hands and shoving it back at Finn.

“I knew it,” he spat with such tremendous rage at his younger son that Kurt was sure his father would strike him if not for his stepmother's timely intervention.

“Lunch time,” she sang, stepping out of their house and onto the path with a large basket hanging from her arm. She stopped at the sight of her husband and two sons standing in front of their makeshift archery target, all three burdened with distinctly different souring faces.

Kurt's father stormed away towards his wife, but her smile never faltered.

“He's got his mother's eyes,” his father muttered roughly with a barely contained, simmering anger.

“I know,” his stepmother said delightedly, “they're so beautiful and blue, like the summer sky…”

“No,” his father cut her off sharply, “I mean he has his mother's eyes.”

He punctuated the final few words, made them sound venomous. The smile on his stepmother's face dropped completely. Kurt didn't understand, but his stepmother knew. His father stomped away, slamming the door behind him.

Kurt looked up at Finn with watery eyes, eyes that would forever remember the look of disappointment on his father's face.

Finn looked at his mother, and then back at Kurt.

“Don't sweat it, kid,” Finn said, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder and smiling. “Just be who you are. That's all you need to do.”

“But, I don't understand,” Kurt said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What did I do to make him so angry?”

Finn shrugged.

“I don't know, but I'm sure he won't stay angry for long.” Finn wrapped his arms around his brother and held him tight. “I'll tell you what – let's have lunch and then we'll try again. I'll teach you.”

“Shouldn't…shouldn't I go and talk to my father?” Kurt asked, scared that Finn would say yes.

“No,” Finn said. “Not right now. Best not to fight the river today.”

***

Barreling down the current, spiraling out of control, Kurt took his brother's advice and didn't fight the river. Even when the rapids became treacherous and threatened to drown them, he remained calm and trusted the water to carry them along, keeping Blaine afloat with his head always above the surface. Before too long, the rapids died down, and Elf and Dwarf could float side by side, saving Kurt's overburdened arms, his muscles shaking from the strain of keeping Blaine above water. Kurt sucked in all the air he could into his deprived lungs, assessing the state of his body as he buoyed with the flow of the rushing water.

The river deposited them on the far side, miles away from the Orcs and the horsemen, out of reach of the fighting and the reckless death. Kurt pulled himself and Blaine out of the water, not wanting to be dragged in again. He could barely stand, and in the end had to kneel as he dragged his companion up further onto the bank. There Kurt lay on his back, gazing up at the sky for a few precious, stolen seconds before he knew he would have to move once again. He moved his whole body one limb at a time – arms, then legs, wiggling frozen and stiff fingers and toes, turning his head on his neck, checking for breaks. Content that no serious damage had been done when his body hit the water, Kurt crawled over to check on Blaine.

Blaine lay in the sand, not entirely conscious but with his eyes wide open, cold and gasping for breath. His eyes stared blankly, the honey-gold color now a ghostly, milky white. Kurt looked into them and froze solid, down to the depths of his soul.

Blaine was dying.

“No,” Kurt whispered, hoping that his eyes had been tricked by some spell, that the same foul voice that called the Orcs to attack had placed some horrible enchantment on him. He prayed that he was still asleep under the rock overhang with Blaine by his side, and that he would awake beside the fire of their campsite, beneath the fading starlight, with the rays of the morning sun cresting the hillside.

Then this would all be a dream, and he could start the new day with his friend by his side.

But Kurt knew that was not the truth.

The truth lay before him, shivering with cold, the light in his eyes dwindling.

Kurt's legs still weren't entirely strong enough to carry him, but that didn't matter since now he needed to run, to gather the Dwarf in his arms and find shelter – and a way to save Blaine's life.

Kurt registered in part that they had ended up somewhere near the Forest of Mirkwood, but he knew he would find no fellowship there, especially not with a sick Dwarf in his care. He ran with Blaine in his arms, the Dwarf still clutching madly to his axes, the bulky weapons crossed over his chest, his teeth chattering loudly and sounding as if they would rattle loose and fall from his mouth. Kurt covered more land than he intended in his search for a safe place to rest, but eventually he had to settle for a small raised hillside with the remains of a covered ledge upon it. It offered little in the way of protection, which would not matter much if Blaine did not survive the night.

Kurt settled himself down with the Dwarf in his arms. He threw off his pack and weapons, and began to undress Blaine. The arrow had broken off in the fall and whatever remained of its head had vanished, either in the rushing river or dissolved by the poison. The wound went deep – deeper than Kurt had originally thought, and doubt began to creep in like a shadow in Kurt's mind.

This was beyond his abilities to heal. There was no way he could save Blaine alone.

Regardless, Kurt had to.

He tried to think - what would Lord Elrond have him do?

Kurt needed Athelas. Luckily, he had some with him - a habit his father always thought foolish since Athelas, or ‘Kingsfoil' in the common tongue, was a weed, and grew practically everywhere. Kurt was grateful for his own foolishness since he didn't want to leave Blaine while the light in his eyes continued to diminish and his skin became more and more sickly grey. He rummaged through his pack and found the plant, dried and withering as his own hope began to wither, but he prayed it would still do the trick. He crushed it in his hands and applied it to the wound. Blaine groaned with pain as the Athelas burned his tainted blood. Kurt's voice failed him more than once as he chanted the Elvish words that would save Blaine's life…but nothing Kurt could do would save his arm. The wound was too deep and the poison too powerful. He would still have use of the limb, but he would bear the wound the rest of his life, and his skill with an axe would be greatly decreased.

Kurt didn't know if the Valar would grant him his wish and heal Blaine. Kurt realized despairingly that he was an Elf plagued by petty vanity, and the Valar might not want to reward that. He could appeal to Aulë, the Smith, Lord of the Earth and all that lies underneath, the one the Dwarves call Mahal, their creator. Every day Kurt began to realize that he and Blaine were not so different as Kurt had once believed. He would make it up to the Dwarf, if only he would live.

Kurt cradled Blaine to his chest and rocked him gently. He chanted and prayed until the sound of his own voice rang in his ears, even when he did not speak out loud. Did Lord Elrond not say that all the blessings of the Elves traveled with him? Where were those blessings now when he needed them? Why could he not use them to heal Blaine?

“Do not go, Blaine,” Kurt whimpered, mewling like a frightened child. “Do not leave me. Do not surrender to the dark.” Kurt sniffled as he pleaded. “Please, do not go where I cannot follow.”

Kurt felt Blaine shake his head slowly, blank eyes staring blindly – staring at Kurt's face but unseeing.

“I would…” Blaine said, the words stealing from him what Kurt feared would be his last breaths.

“Please, don't speak,” Kurt implored, adding more Athelas to the wound, wincing when he heard Blaine hiss. “Save your breath, Blaine. You'll need it. You need it to get well and strong again.”

Blaine continued to shake his head, trying his best to smile. Kurt's heart sank into the void of his own anguish knowing that Blaine was trying to comfort him, here, in this hour of his need.

“I would follow you…” Blaine said, his voice rough and weak, “wherever you led.”

Kurt shook his head.

“Please, be still,” Kurt begged against the clammy skin of Blaine's cheek. “Please…”

“Wherever you led,” Blaine repeated. “Wherever you led…”

In his desperation, Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips against Blaine's to silence him, to heal him, to lead him from where only a spire of eternal darkness awaited him. It was an anchor, a way of letting the Dwarf know that Kurt was still there, even if his hazel eyes were too obscured by the shadow of death for him to see clearly. Kurt pulled away when he could no longer feel the stuttering rise and fall of Blaine's chest, afraid that he had breathed his last while Kurt was indulging, wallowing in his own pity, but the smile on Blaine's face almost made Kurt laugh out loud.

By the light of the rising sun Kurt could see that Blaine's expression looked less pained, his eyes less clouded.

“Blaine?” Kurt whispered, unsure of what had just happened.

“Could you…do that again?” the Dwarf asked sheepishly. Kurt didn't hesitate, capturing the Dwarf's lips with his own. This time, Kurt could feel Blaine's lips move against his, like Blaine was whispering the same words over and over again, but Kurt couldn't tell what they were. When Kurt pulled away a second time, Blaine's skin had more color, his eyes looked much brighter, and his lips – Kurt was slightly embarrassed to notice – were flushed a healthier shade of pink instead of waxy grey. Blaine's eyes went wide as they focused on the Elf hovering above him, the milky white bleeding away and their original radiance returning.

“I…I know your face,” Blaine whispered in awe, “and your smile…it shines brighter than a hundred rainbows.”

Kurt giggled at the Dwarf's ridiculousness, giddy with joy at his return.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt sighed, resting his forehead against Blaine's.

“Kiss me again?” the Dwarf pleaded, with that unique innocence that Kurt was certain no other Dwarf possessed. Kurt laughed, even as relieved tears began to fall.

“Blaine,” Kurt said firmly, “you need to rest now.”

Blaine opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again, and smiled a little stronger.

“I will rest, but I will not leave you,” Blaine promised, his eyes looking their last before fluttering shut.

“I know,” Kurt said, brushing wet curls from Blaine's face. “I know that now. But you need rest, Blaine and worry not. I will keep you safe.”

Blaine nodded.

“Kurt…” he whispered.

“Blaine…” Kurt scolded gently, smiling at the Dwarf's efforts to stay awake a bit longer.

“You…you didn't fail me,” Blaine said, each word quieter than the last. “There's nothing…to forgive.”

Kurt gasped, his heart stopping dead in his chest as Blaine recited the words Kurt had thought but hadn't spoken before their bodies hit the water. He relented, giving the Dwarf one last kiss, feeling Blaine's breath pass through his lips as he fell asleep in Kurt's arms.