Kurt stayed awake and watched over Blaine unceasingly, untiringly, as night lightened into day and then shifted back to night, and the stars glowed and faded five times in the sky. For the most part, Blaine's sleep was calm and untroubled. He fussed and whimpered from time to time, tossing and turning, though his eyes stayed locked shut with sleep. When that happened, Kurt would sing lullabies in Elvish to soothe him – songs his stepmother sang to him when he was but a child.

Blaine could not eat, but Kurt helped him to drink. Kurt pressed a cloth soaked with water to Blaine's lips, patiently dripping the liquid into the Dwarf's mouth, and Blaine's body reflexively drank. Kurt tended to Blaine's wounds until the cold pallor of Evil that masked itself as death faded completely from his face and the blush of rose returned to his cheeks.

On the dawn of the sixth day, Blaine opened his eyes and looked up at Kurt. His eyes were clear, his skin unblemished and glowing beneath the light of a new sun, but his smile was all Kurt needed to see to know that Blaine would be okay.

And then Kurt remembered his arm – his arm with the arrow wound that would vex him the rest of his life. That arm would never work as well as it originally had, and Kurt suffered greatly with the knowledge that Blaine carried the wound because of him.

“Blaine,” Kurt began, his heart breaking in much the way his voice was breaking as he tried to speak, “there is something I must tell you about your arm…”

Blaine raised his hand, the hand of that very arm, and put shaking fingers to Kurt's lips to silence him.

“You are quite incredible with a sword,” Blaine said. “I don't think I have ever seen another who could wield one the way you do.”

Kurt swallowed hard. He knew what Blaine was doing. He was absolving him of his guilt. An arm is not worth a life. Rationally, Kurt knew this. It didn't make the pain of Blaine's injury any less in Kurt's mind. Kurt had seen Blaine fight. He had seen the strength he used to swing his axes. Kurt had also seen the Elf sword smiths hard at work in their trade. It took muscle as well as precision to make a weapon.

Precision that Blaine would now lack.

But Kurt would not allow Blaine to believe that his sacrifice was for nothing, or that his gift of absolution was unappreciated.

Kurt swallowed his guilt, and smiled at Blaine's compliment.

“Not to sound too proud,” he said, kissing Blaine's fingertips before they retreated from his lips, “but I'm at my best with two.”

Blaine shook his head - groggy, ill, and drowsy with a sleep that he did not care to continue.

“I can only imagine that is an awesome sight,” Blaine said with awe, “truly. But…why did you not tell me before that you could not shoot?” He asked the question even though it seemed more like an accusation, and a bold one at that. “I thought all Elves were expert archers.”

Kurt sat back a little, his first reaction to recoil and nurse his injured pride, but his need to be close to Blaine overshadowed that, and he kept the Dwarf cradled against his chest.

“How do you know so much about the skills of Elves if you claim that you've never seen one till we met in Rivendell?” Kurt retorted, deftly turning the course of the conversation.

“And here comes the time when the truth is revealed, is it?” Blaine asked with a painful sounding throaty laugh. “Alright then, but if I tell you my tale, you must promise to tell me yours. Is that a deal struck?”

Kurt sighed and nodded.

“A deal struck,” Kurt said. “I promise, Blaine.”

Blaine sat up taller, not moving too far away from his Elf companion, as he felt it favorable to sit in Kurt's arms than opposite him by the fire.

“Six Dwarves set out to the Mountain to retrieve the Heart of the Andurinin Clan. Five are my clan and one is my kin. Cooper is his name, and older than me by almost seven years.”

“Ah,” Kurt said with a grin. “An older brother. Again we find that we are more alike than I first thought.”

“Yes,” Blaine agreed, blushing slightly at the thought. “My brother will lead the clan one day, but he has never been what you might call a normal Dwarf.”

“So, it is a family trait then,” Kurt teased, and Blaine averted his eyes, laughing softly. “How mean you that he is unlike a normal Dwarf?”

“He likes to pretend and perform.” Blaine smirked, gazing into the firelight and recalling a memory of his brother wearing female clothes and singing in a put-on falsetto voice. “He was meant more for the stage than for the fires of the forge. Long I wondered if he would not one day up and leave us all behind for greater glories than those of riches in the mines, but in my heart I know he would not.”

“How do you know?” Kurt asked, genuinely curious.

Blaine gazed deeply into Kurt's questioning eyes with a look of surprise.

“Because he loves his clan and his kin,” Blaine said as if the answer were obvious. “For all his folly, he embraces his responsibility as leader, and he knows there is no greater good than the care of his people. Our father taught him that.”

Blaine made it sound so simple, and he sounded so proud. Kurt thought for a moment about his own family. His father taught him nothing more than Kurt's existence was a consequence - something that had happened without his say in the matter, a responsibility that he had to shoulder because he had no other choice. Kurt's half-brother, Finn, he loved, but they were not like-minded in any way. Kurt had always longed for adventure. Every day he sat above the waterfalls that surrounded Rivendell, eyes on the horizon, searching for a way to be free, whereas his brother was content to stay at home – to take care of his mother, to learn the family trade, and to court another Elf whom he had long hoped to someday marry.

Kurt saw Blaine watching him, and he shut those thoughts away.

“Your father sounds like a great Dwarf,” Kurt said. “He raised you and your brother well.”

Blaine smiled - a weak, fluttering movement of his lips - and it concerned Kurt that he suddenly appeared so sad.

“The party of my clan and kin were set upon by Trolls once they reached the Mountain pass and they fled, running for the safety of the Mountain by an entrance that only moonlight can open. One who was not fast enough, Arthur his name is but we who've known him most his life call him Artie for short, was left behind when the Trolls bombarded the entrance and the weathered rock caved in on them. Artie managed to escape the rubble and went to the Forest of Mirkwood in search of aid.”

“But, why go to Mirkwood?” Kurt asked. “Those woods are treacherous - mind-altering, some say. And the Woodland Elves are less fond of Dwarves than most other creatures.”

Blaine frowned at Kurt's comment, but continued on.

“The Dwarves of the Andurinin Clan have a special friendship with the Elves of Rivendell and Arthur was sure the Silvan Elves would honor it. He carried a special token with him that spoke of that alliance.”

“But they did not,” Kurt deduced, saddened on behalf of the poor, frightened Dwarf, who braved the forbidden Forests of Mirkwood simply to be turned away.

“No, they did not,” Blaine confirmed. “Since the nature of our alliance is one with Rivendell, the King of the Dark Wood sent Arthur away, but with him was sent a small entourage to see him safely to the borders of their kingdom.”

“Well, I suppose that's more of a kindness than I would have expected,” Kurt grumbled.

“On their way, they were set upon by a pack of giant Spiders.” Kurt leaned in close, hanging on Blaine's every word, and Blaine preened beneath the Elf's attentive eyes. “Artie was captured and carried high into the canopy, where he was injected with Spider venom. The monstrous things were preparing him for supper, but the Silvan Elves fought them off. Artie watched the whole thing, he said. Even as he thought he was dying and his vision became hazy with the onset of death, he watched the Elves fight. A blur of bows, arrows, and swords they were.” Blaine sighed and his eyes unfocused, as if he could plainly see the battle for himself, as if the memory he was recounting was his own. “One Elf, a She-Elf - thin and lithe with long golden hair - moved like a cat, he said. She leapt through the trees from branch to branch. She even growled once, he claimed.”

Kurt shook his head and laughed. What a wonderful story-teller this Arthur must be.

“It was the She-Elf that found him wrapped in the Spider's silk and cut him free.” Blaine lifted himself closer to Kurt, as if to impart a secret. “Truth be told, I think he fell in love with her.” Kurt bit his lip, and Blaine's guileless eyes changed to that knowing look that excited Kurt inexplicably. “Artie said he wished there was a way he could have captured the battle so that he could show others just how it happened without having to rely on his faulty memory.” Blaine shrugged. “I wish that, too, but he spins a good yarn.”

“So, Arthur is the Dwarf that was carried into Rivendell?”

“Yes.” Blaine nodded. He grunted with the strain of telling his story and settled back into the comfort of Kurt's arms. “The Spider that bit him almost broke him in half with the effort. It injected its venom too close to his spine.” Blaine swallowed heavily and his eyes drifted to the fire. “His eyesight is failing, and he will never walk again.”

Kurt gasped. As if the injury to Blaine's arm wasn't tragic enough, Kurt couldn't perceive what the life of a lame Dwarf would be like. Dwarves lived in the Mountains. Their work was arduous. Some of the paths that led to the mines were perilous. Would a Dwarf who could not walk be able to return to his home? And what about his eyesight? Kurt only hoped that Lord Elrond would be able to find a way to set him right. But it had taken so long for Artie to get to Rivendell, even with the speed of the Elves to help him, and Kurt knew there was only so much that Lord Elrond's magic could do.

“So, you are traveling to rescue your clan and your kin, and to retrieve whatever treasure they have?” Kurt summarized.

Blaine's eyes shifted left and right uneasily.

“You could say that.”

Kurt noticed the movement, and he knew that was not all there was to tell.

“But why you?” Kurt asked. “And for that matter, why me?”

“The only other door to the mines is kept closed by an ancient Elvish lock. The riddle around the border is written in Primitive Quendian, I am told…”

“The original speech of all Elves,” Kurt supplied.

“Yes, and the key…”

“Yes?” Kurt edged closer, drawn in by Blaine's fantastical tale.

“The key is my blood, or specifically the blood of a member of my line.”

Kurt shuddered. He never did like these blood-bound locks.

“But, can't your brother…”

Blaine shook his head before Kurt could finish.

“The lock cannot be opened from the inside, nor can the door be forced. They are trapped in the Mountain until we get there.”

Kurt did not know what to say. A wash of shame came over him.

“B-but…but why did you not tell me earlier?” Kurt asked. “If you had told me that this was your quest, if you had told me that we were after your clan and your kin, I would not have judged you so harshly.”

Blaine's eyes turned away and Kurt knew. Blaine should not have needed this tale of woe for Kurt to treat him with the basic kindness he should grant to all living things. Blaine had been nothing but polite their entire journey - a politeness that Kurt realized he did not deserve. More than that, this Dwarf liked him, and wanted so much for Kurt to like him back.

“Blaine,” Kurt said. “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for treating you so cruelly.”

Blaine shrugged but said not a word. His smile, however, as always, spoke volumes.

“So, Kurt,” he said smugly. “It is your turn.”

Kurt sighed. He knew this was coming, and he had made a promise. Kurt was nothing if not an Elf of his word.

“You are right, Blaine,” Kurt said. “Elves come to bows quite naturally, but I have little skill with a bow…and that's because of my mother.”

Blaine furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Did she not teach you?” he asked.

“No,” Kurt chuckled. “It's not that. It's that my mother belonged to the race of Men. So I am half-human, half-Elf. It's rare. There are other half-Elves among us. Even Lord Elrond is half-Elf, but not half-human.”

“But not your brother?”

“No.” Kurt found it hard not to look into Blaine's eyes as he spoke, even when the need to gather his thoughts begged him to look away. A few short days ago, he thought he may never look into Blaine's honey-gold eyes again, and so now he would not take for granted any opportunity. “The Elf that bore my brother is my stepmother. She is the one who raised me. Before I was born, my stepmother became gravely ill. Lord Elrond tried everything he could to save her – all of his magic. None in Rivendell thought she would survive. My brother sat by her side, as young as he was, and refused to leave her, but my father already counted her among the dead. In his grief, my father found solace in a human woman. No one quite understands how or why, but right at the threshold of death's door my stepmother became well again, and all was forgotten…until my mother had me. She would have raised me, too, but she passed away - some sickness of Men which there is no cure for.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said as Kurt paused to catch his breath, “I am so sorry. I did not know.”

“No, very few do,” Kurt said, bowing his head. “She knew she was dying and brought me to Rivendell. At my father's doorstep she left me.” Kurt laughed once, humorlessly. “My father would have probably drowned me, but it was my stepmother who discovered me.” Kurt saw his sorrow reflected in the clear mirror of Blaine's gaze. No pity, as Kurt had feared - only sorrow. Kurt wanted to smile, but he couldn't. “My stepmother is an amazing and selfless Elf, and she raised me alongside Finn as her own. There was a point when my father had begun to love me, too. When he thought he might have two Elf sons of quality, but then…” The rest of the story – the moment of his father's rejection – hung on his lips, stinging him over and over like an angry wasp. Kurt sighed. Regardless of the sting, he couldn't bring himself to tell.

This one wound cut way too deeply. If he opened it for Blaine, it might bleed Kurt to death.

“Anyway, her sight was poor in a strange way,” Kurt continued, “another weakness of Men that Elf magic can do nothing against. It doesn't affect my sight overall, but it mars my grasp of depth, and for some reason it makes shooting an arrow…difficult.”

Blaine pondered all that Kurt told him.

“Then why do you not have two swords instead of a sword and a bow?”

This time Kurt did manage to look away, if only to fight back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Because Elvish blades are sacred, and my father didn't want to waste another sword on me, for all of my faults with a bow.”

Blaine raised a brow, but still not a single glimmer of pity could Kurt see in his hazel eyes. Blaine reached around blindly for his things, leaning away from Kurt reluctantly to find them. His hand connected with his pack, but he tossed it aside. Lying beneath it, he found the leather scabbard and he grabbed it. He pulled back his sheath and sword, handing them clumsily over to Kurt.

“I know you have yet to see me in action with this,” Blaine said, “but trust me when I say that I think it would be put to better use in your hands. It's almost a perfect match to your own.”

Kurt had seen the blade, admired it in secret several times while Blaine slept. It was indeed almost a perfect twin to his own sword. He should have leapt at the opportunity to have an Elvish blade returned to Elf hands, but it didn't feel right. Lord Elrond himself had given this blade to Blaine. It was one sacrifice by Blaine too many. Kurt could do nothing but refuse.

“I can't,” Kurt whispered.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, fixing him with those pleading eyes that so easily melted Kurt's resolve, “you saved my life. I am in your debt.”

Kurt startled.

“Saving your life is not a debt that needs repaying,” Kurt said, aggrieved. “It is a gift.”

One I would have given a hundred times over, he thought. One that I intend to keep safe for as long as there is need for me to do so.

Blaine pressed the sword into Kurt's hand, wrapping the Elf's fingers around the hilt, and then rested his hand over Kurt's.

“Then take this sword as a gift as well,” Blaine said with a smile creeping onto his lips, “in case you should ever need to gift me with my life again.”