“Everything around here looks exactly the same,” Blaine muttered tiredly, shuffling his feet and kicking up the dust and gravel. “Every rock and hill and swell of the land, all these trees and grass.” He sighed.

It was the first time that Kurt had heard Blaine sound even the slightest bit discouraged. Kurt suspected that the early mornings and the long days of walking nonstop were getting to him – possibly as a consequence of that limp menacing him, though he didn't outright complain about it. Didn't Blaine, axe maker, live in the Blue Mountains? Kurt thought ruefully. How can the bleak greyness of the Mountains dishearten a Dwarf? If anything, it should remind him of home and bring him gladness and hope.  

Three days it had taken them to cross the Misty Mountains, walking from before sun up to after sun down, resting in cold, dank caves that smelled of musty, decaying fish, and which catered to creatures who fed only at dusk. The haunting chitter of unseen teeth ripping and tearing at rotting flesh plagued the Elf and Dwarf all night long.  Kurt knew that Blaine had not slept well, regardless of his overwhelming exhaustion. By the second day, Blaine ceased to speak at all, he hadn't sung a verse, and Kurt regretted how much he missed the sound of the Dwarf's voice.

Kurt had thought the road out of the Mountain, rocky as it was, would bring back Blaine's humor, being entirely downhill and easier to traverse, but it only seemed to vex his injured leg more.

“How do you possibly know where we're going?” Blaine whimpered in a distinctly un-Dwarf-like manner.

“I have a map,” Kurt said. He held aloft a rolled-up piece of worn paper in his hand, shaking it for Blaine to see.

“I did not know you had a map,” Blaine said, his eyes wide.

“Well, I do.” Kurt returned the map to the pouch on his belt.

“I would like to see it,” Blaine said eagerly, hurrying to catch up.

“If you wanted to look at a map, then you should have brought one, Dwarf,” Kurt teased.

“Well, can you not show me where we are going?” Blaine implored.

Kurt snickered, happy to hear Blaine speak again.

“You just want to peek at my map,” Kurt said, his nose upturned.

“No,” Blaine pouted, “tis for curiosity, to be sure, but for safety, too. In case something happens and we are separated. We can agree upon a landmark and we will be able to find one another again.”

Kurt sighed. As much as it pained him to admit it - and it pained him quite a bit - Blaine made sense.

Kurt pulled the map from its pouch on his belt and unrolled it. Blaine took hold of the ends of it, spreading it flat so Kurt could point out landmarks.

“Here is where we left Rivendell,” Kurt said, pointing to its location on the map. “And here are the hilltops where we camped the first night.”

Blaine nodded as Kurt traced the path they had travelled so far.

“We will travel this road here,” Kurt said, “skirt the Forest here…”

Blaine's eyes skimmed the map, trying to find the Mountain he was searching for.

“So, where do we end up?” Blaine asked, anxious to lay eyes on their destination.

Kurt tutted at the Dwarf's impatience, bringing his finger to rest in the center of a large, empty expanse of land to the Northeast. Blaine squinted, and then brought the map up to his face, trying to find any trace of his Mountain. As far as the map was concerned, the Mountain in question didn't even exist.

“But…but there's no there there!” Blaine exclaimed, looking at the map with what Kurt perceived as terror. Blaine's reaction confused Kurt. He shook his head.

“I don't understand. This is your family home,” Kurt said. “The Mountain of your kin. Has none of your clan been to it? How do you not know where it is?”

Blaine turned the map upside down, then right side up. He flipped it over in his hands but his destination was nowhere to be seen.

“In almost a Dwarves' age, only one has dared enter its halls again,” Blaine said, looking with despair at the vacant space on the map.

“What happened to him?” Kurt asked, surprised at himself for being curious when the matter shouldn't concern him at all.

“We do not speak of it.” Blaine swallowed thickly, rolling the map up again and returning it to its owner. “He never returned.”

“Never returned?” Kurt asked with alarm. “What do you mean never returned?”

Blaine didn't answer. His face remained blank as he stared at the ground. Kurt didn't like this silence as an answer. He didn't like being sent into the wilds with no idea what he was up against or what he was doing. He felt like a pawn and he didn't appreciate being used. These outer reaches beyond the safety of Elf country were not secure. Out here, beneath the ever changing canopy of the Forests, they might well encounter Orcs, Spiders, Trolls...

Kurt could die out here and he wouldn't even know what he had died for.

“What are we doing out here Blaine?” he blurted out. “What am I taking you to this Mountain for?”

Blaine looked up slowly, staring into the Elf's distraught face, blue eyes flashing with the first traces of fear he had seen from Kurt.

“This is for treasure, isn't it?” Kurt groused. “I'm doing all of this so that you can recover treasure?” Kurt didn't wait for the Dwarf to answer. He threw his arms up to the sky and groaned. “There's probably a Dragon in that Mountain, ready to burn us alive and swallow us whole, isn't there?” Kurt grimaced. “That's why no one is telling me. That's why they chose me. That's why my father had no problem letting me go. He was finally getting rid of his worthless son!”

Kurt panted out his anger with his hands gripping his knees, bent over, preparing to be sick. When he caught a glimpse of Blaine - when he finally seemed to remember that the Dwarf was standing not a few feet away while he threw his tantrum – the poor Dwarf's tan face blanched, his hazel eyes the size of saucers, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Kurt took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming down now that his ire had cooled.

“You're right,” Blaine said, stunned. Something about Kurt's tantrum had startled Blaine, and the voice he spoke with was meeker, reserved. “Not about the Dragon…or about being worthless…” Blaine clarified. “We're…we're going to the Mountain for treasure. That's all. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.”

Kurt felt his heart slow its racing, though he was unaware that it had started racing at all. That's because it hadn't started when Kurt got angry.

It started when Blaine said that Kurt wasn't worthless.

“What kind of treasure?” Kurt asked, being conversational to make amends for his horrible behavior.

“It's…it's sacred,” Blaine explained. “It's called the Heart of the Andurinin Clan. My people have been without it for a long time…” Blaine's eyes darted to the sky, following a wisp of cloud overhead as a Southern breeze pushed it along. “For too long. That's what we're going for.”

Kurt looked at his companion, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't entirely convinced that what Blaine had said was indeed all, but he had no right to pry, especially not with the way he had acted. He nodded his head in acceptance of Blaine's explanation, and left it at that.

“Come along then,” Kurt said, returning to himself and hoping that soon Blaine would, too. “Let's get you to your Mountain.”

***

“I thought you said we were going to skirt the Forest?” Blaine asked, shrinking beneath the overhanging branches of the golden trees that they passed underneath. “This one…this one feels more foreboding than the last.”

“I dare not travel anywhere near the Forest of Fangorn,” Kurt said. “Many Elves say that those trees are on the verge of waking up, and I, for one, do not want to be anywhere near there when they do. These trees border the lands of Lothlorien.” Kurt gestured to the trees with his hand.

“So, we are safe here?” Blaine asked, ever the hopeful one.

“No,” Kurt admitted. “But we are safer here than near Fangorn, and safer at the moment than out in the meadow.”

Blaine stopped walking.

“Why?” Blaine sounded smaller than conceivable with the whisper of that one little word. “What have you seen that I have not?”

Kurt waved a hand in the air, dismissing Blaine's fears.

“I swear that I have seen nothing,” Kurt said, and it was the truth. Kurt saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he felt something. A presence lurking - something dark, yes, and distant…thankfully very distant. But whatever it was noticed them as they passed out of the Mountains, and it seemed to follow their progress to Lothlorien closely. It's eye, however, did not seem to pierce through the magical veil woven among the branches of the mallorn trees that made up the Forest of Lothlorien.

Blaine looked about him fearfully with his axes held at the ready. He tiptoed over the fallen logs and decaying branches, but even those careful footsteps sounded like the trampling of oliphants to Kurt's ears. He winced with every snapped twig, every crackling dry leaf, until he almost snapped.

“I've heard tales of Lothlorien,” Blaine said, pausing to swallow hard. “I've heard that there are dangerous things alive in these woods…and even more dangerous things that were once alive and now dead. Insects that once fed off blood and now feed off of mortal souls. Dismembered hands that crawl about by themselves and strangle weary travelers who fall asleep in the underbrush, all under the control of a powerful and wrathful Elf Witch.”

“Elf Witch,” Kurt scoffed. “Are those the stories you tell Dwarf children to keep them underground?” He turned over his shoulder and saw Blaine's fear, his eyes wide and owlish, his axes trembling in his hands. It was comical but Kurt felt his heart grow heavy at his companion's anxiety.

“Do not believe everything you hear,” Kurt informed him, “though you are right to be cautious. Actually, all woods are dangerous, for they almost all hold a grudge.”

“A grudge?”

“Yes,” Kurt said in a whisper out of respect for the trees. “There was a time when the trees and Men and Dwarves and Elves were friends. The trees didn't stay in their Forests. They traveled about, seeding the land, making new Forests grow, but they were all of them betrayed.”

“Betrayed?” A large winged predator passed overhead, its shadow falling upon them, and Blaine's axe handles clattered together. “B-by who?”

Kurt sighed in sorrow at the memory.

“By Men…and Dwarves…” he admitted.

“But not by Elves?”

“No,” Kurt said definitely. “Not by Elves. You forget that the trees, the grass, the flowers, all things that grow were put here by the Valier Yavanna. It was the Elves who taught the trees to speak. The Fangorn Forest is protected by the Treehearders – Ents they are called. Lothlorien is the fairest of all Elf realms, guarded by the Lady Galadriel. We are safe among these trees because they exist out of time, as a haven, but we cannot tarry here for long, or we will soon come to forget all that is important to us.”

“And what about Mirkwood?” Blaine asked.

“The wood-Elves live in Mirkwood, keeping their trees safe.”

“I have heard that the Elves of Mirkwood are less wise than the Elves of Rivendell,” Blaine said cautiously.

“I do not speak unkindly of my kind,” Kurt said, his voice stern, a warning, “but yes. They are a bit more wild than wise.”

“I almost took you for an Elf of Mirkwood,” Blaine confessed. Kurt looked at him with questioning eyes. “Because you are wild, but you are also wise. Maybe you move between two worlds, and you don't even know it.”

Kurt blushed beyond his control, and bit his lip as he focused on the road ahead.

They traveled almost the entire length of the wood before Kurt dared to venture back out again. They left Lothlorien behind and followed the banks of Anduin - The Great River, finding shelter right on the brink of the Field of Celebrant. Kurt didn't dare attempt crossing the river in the dark. He worried not for himself, but for his worn-out companion. A Dwarf at full steam would have difficulty negotiating the swiftly moving water.

Blaine at his current capacity would surely be swept away.

They could tackle that crossing in the morning.

They sat together in the dark shelter of an overhanging rock, in the quiet that seemed to reach out to them from the woods all around and snuff out any sound. Bats and owls, which Kurt would have sensed with his acute Elf hearing, did not fly overhead. The crickets did not chirp, and nocturnal animals did not scurry about looking for food. All of this filled Kurt with a sense of foreboding that in the clearing beyond their hidden cave full of green, lush grasses and dotted with wildflowers, petals closed in the hush of sleep, a deathly silence loomed, as if the beauty of nature was simply a façade hiding a great Evil from their sight.

Blaine, however, sensed none of this. He sat unaware, content to turn the rabbits he had snared on the spit over the fire, and cleaned the dirt and grass off of his axe blades. Every once in a while, he would peek out into the dark night sky, at the stars twinkling above them, and smile so sweetly that it tugged at Kurt's heart, and he had to turn his gaze away from it. Blaine didn't have the same burdens and woes that Kurt carried. Why would he? He was a Dwarf. Dwarves led such simple lives – digging and mining and searching for treasure. Duty and being honor-bound meant nothing to them.

Well, maybe nothing to Dwarves in general, but Blaine…Blaine seemed different.

Kurt didn't want to dwell. The winds changed, swirling a small eddy of pebbles and stones around the circle of firelight, causing it to flicker and dance, and with it came the smell of something dangerous lurking in the wood.

Anything that would dare venture near Fangorn Forest was worth being feared.

Kurt's eyes flicked up and unexpectedly caught Blaine's, honey-gold in the light of the fire, that insufferable little impish grin on his lips. Kurt rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the blush coloring his cheeks, and he moved closer to the heat of the flames to give himself a proper alibi.

“Tell me about you,” Blaine asked shyly.

“About me?” Kurt asked.

“Or about your people,” Blaine covered quickly. “I rarely see Elves, and I find your kind so fascinating.”

Kurt gazed into the fire, listening to the tinder hiss and snap as it burned. He suspected that Blaine was searching for an explanation behind his outburst, especially considering the mention of his father, but Kurt was not prepared to give him one.

“The Eldar value light,” Kurt began. “All light is sacred. We choose to live in view of the stars and each Elf in turn values light differently, for their own reasons. It guides our path through life.”

As Kurt spoke, Blaine pulled the meat from the fire. He broke off the choicest portion and handed it to Kurt. Kurt wanted to refuse. He had longed to try it, but it didn't seem right. Blaine had trapped the animal, skinned it and cooked it. He had even started the campfire, but here he was offering the best piece of the rabbit to Kurt for his dinner. Kurt put up a hand to wave the meat away, but there was a pleading look in Blaine's eyes that melted Kurt's heart, as much as he would never want to admit their effect on him. So he took the meat with a nod of thanks. He pulled a piece from the bone with his fingers and popped it in his mouth under Blaine's watchful gaze, taking a moment to gather his thoughts while he chewed.

It tasted amazing, so much more than he had ever thought possible. His family mostly ate vegetables, but living beside the river, they dined on fish and those birds that cherished the water, and even then only on the rare occasion. He pulled off another piece and placed it on his tongue, closing his eyes and allowing the savory tang of game to fill his mouth before he started to chew. The flavor of the tender meat flooded his mouth, and he hummed with the pleasure it gave him. Kurt opened his eyes and saw Blaine's eyes shining back at him, but instead of that same honey-gold color, they were darker, almost a match to the dancing firelight.

The change excited Kurt, but now was not the time to linger on it, or what the change might mean. He chose to push it aside, but to show his thanks, he decided to give Blaine something a little more personal.

“My father treasures the daylight,” Kurt continued, turning his attention back to the meat in his hands. “More time for work, less time for dreaming.”

“He sounds very much like a Dwarf,” Blaine said, chewing his piece of rabbit and staring thoughtfully into the fire.

Kurt's first instinct was to be offended. His father wasn't necessarily the most honorable Elf in Rivendell, but being compared to a Dwarf seemed harsh even for him. He looked through the fire and saw Blaine – strange, enigmatic Blaine, such a walking contradiction, never anything but kind and polite, and unerringly forgiving. Then Kurt thought of his father - greedy and ambitious, caring more for status and power than any other Elf he had ever met.

Kurt chuckled once.

“You know,” he said finally, “I'm inclined to agree.”

“What is your favorite light?” Blaine asked, eyes once again smiling and twinkling with firelight. “If you don't mind me asking…I mean, I don't know if that's too personal a question to ask an Elf, seeing as it's so important to you and all.”

Kurt broke a piece of bone in half and tossed it into the fire, listening to it crackle and pop as he thought about Blaine's question, not because he didn't know the answer, but because no one had ever thought to ask him before.

“My favorite light is the light at sunrise,” Kurt said. “The first rays of day that pierce the veil of darkness. It seems so triumphant, so hopeful - the herald of a new day bringing something brilliant and exciting.”

Blaine nodded as he thought over Kurt's answer.

“Well, I have never put too much store in light – day or night,” Blaine admitted. He finished what was left of his meat and picked up his whetstone, running it over the blade of his axe.

“That's because you're a Dwarf,” Kurt said in an unflattering way that made Blaine flinch, and Kurt's heart immediately swelled with guilt. “Your kind spend so much time in the Mountain,” Kurt amended, trying to soften the blow of his heinous remark. “I imagine you find other ways to mark the time of day.”

Blaine didn't look up into his Elf companion's eyes, but he nodded, thankful to Kurt for trying to fix his mistake.

“But, I do like rainbows,” Blaine spoke up. “Does that count?”

Kurt laughed lightly and shook his head.

“It does,” Kurt said, “it does.” Kurt watched Blaine, so involved in cleaning his blade, marveling at the contrast between the crude weapon and its compassionate owner. “You are an odd one, Master Dwarf,” Kurt chuckled.

Blaine's whetstone stopped along the edge of his blade.

“Please, call me Blaine.” A slight flush colored Blaine's cheeks, visible even through the shadows thrown by the dim light of the fire.

Kurt tilted his head, raising an arched eyebrow in question.

“You refer to me as Dwarf so often,” Blaine explained, looking down at the blade of his axe and picking off an errant piece of grass, “but I like it ever so much when you call me by my name.”

Kurt hadn't cared at all before what Blaine preferred to be called, but now Kurt found it mattered to him…it mattered very much.

“Of course,” Kurt said, his eyes and his voice softening. “You are an odd one, Blaine…treasured son of the Andurinin Clan.”