A sniffle.

A rustle.

A whimper.

Kurt's eyelids began to flutter open at the familiar sounds of his dear husband in pain. But this time, it felt strange to the Elf, since not only did Kurt always hear when Blaine's stiff muscles and past injuries made him groan, he had grown so accustomed to Blaine's discomfort, he could feel his Dwarf's distress before he opened his eyes, his hands moving toward the source in the dark, seeking them out to start healing them.

This time, Kurt did not feel the familiar twinges and sharp stabs. And his husband's cries sounded distant, removed from him and their home. As Kurt's senses pulled him from his sleep to the aid of his Dwarf, he realized that the sounds of distress he heard came not from his husband at all, but from something above ground, almost completely above their heads.

Blaine often told his Elf husband that his hearing and sight were both a miraculous thing, an enviable commodity. But Kurt, having had them his entire life, had been at liberty to take them for granted. But he relied on them most heavily now that he lived underground, and with his husband, listening carefully to Blaine's heart beat in his chest, the hiccups in his breathing, the stutter in his steps. These sounds that woke Kurt called to him as surely as his husband would, and no matter how hard Kurt tried, he felt powerless to ignore them.

Whatever it was, it spoke no words, but it seemed to be asking for help.

Kurt sat up slowly, untangling himself from his husband in stages as he went, sure to keep the blankets tucked around Blaine's body to trap the warmth within. Kurt had barely slid an inch away when Blaine rolled over and grabbed Kurt's wrist.

“Where are you going?” he asked, still partially held by the binds of sleep. “Is it sunup already?”

“Oh, my Love. It has been sunup for some time,” Kurt informed him. “But that is not what calls me from our bed. I feel there is something above ground I must see to. I shan't be long.”

Blaine's brow furrowed, troubled lines creasing his forehead, though his eyes refused to open.

“Tis nothing serious, is it?” he asked, holding Kurt's wrist tighter in his grasp, reluctant to let him leave out of want of his husband's safety. “Nothing…Evil? You will not put yourself in any danger?”

“No,” Kurt said, bending over to kiss his husband's hand and chase his worry away. “Nothing of that sort.”

“Promise?” Blaine asked.

“I promise. If it were” - Kurt chuckled - “I swear to you, I would not leave your side. You rest, my love. Go back to sleep. I will see if I can find us some breakfast on my way back.”

“Alright,” Blaine said, satisfied but not soothed, too deep asleep yet to rouse himself and join his husband on his outing. “Just…do not be long.”

“Of course not.” Kurt gently placed his husband's hand beneath the blanket and tucked it in around him. He kissed Blaine's brow, and whispered sentiments in his ear until Kurt heard his soft snores again. Kurt climbed out of bed and quickly dressed, bundling up in an extra layer since the mornings had started becoming nippy as Autumn drew near. Which, for some reason, added speed to his steps, to his need to be above ground.

The sniffle, the rustle, they were joined by a shiver Kurt could feel deep in his bones, and he felt a great urgency to put a stop to it.

Kurt tore up from the Mine and out of the Mountain as fast as his feet would take him. Once he reached the outside, he heard a plaintive wail, but the strength behind it started to wane. High and shrill, it soared over the Mountainside like the warning cry of a wounded quail. Kurt pulled forth an arrow from his quiver and notched it to his bow string. He walked cautiously, feeling out the ground with his feet, listening for vibrations, wary to the growls of hungry predators nearby who might be searching the same as he. He could not fell one from a distance, but he had much improved with his bow skills up close, so a wolf or such animal prowling nearby would be no match for him.

But he could feel no such presence around him.

Carefully Kurt tiptoed, following the whimpers, the choked cries, a single sneeze, but mostly the scent of fear, which would have been the creature's downfall had Kurt been anything but an Elf. Kurt came upon it in the tall, drying grass and withering brush, this particular thick patch of amber foliage buffeted the hardest by the swooping wind. When he saw it, the wriggling beast stuffed underneath the overhanging leaves of a dying bush turned bronze from the chill, his heart melted. He put his arrow back in its quiver, slung the bow over his shoulder, and knelt to get a better look at the mournful creature.

It was just a tiny thing, barely larger than a full-grown rabbit. It was wrapped in a blanket, soiled dark and wet. Kurt pinched the stain on the cloth between his fingers. It welled, dripping red down his pale skin. It was oily, and ran fast, trying its hardest to find a spot to sink in. Kurt knew it on sight. Blood. The flimsy blanket was soaked through with it. Kurt picked up the squirrely creature and carefully unwrapped it, turning his back to the wind to shield it from the cold. Kurt looked it over – her over, he discovered – from the top of her scruffy head to the soles of her dirty feet, and could find no injury. Aside from being nearly frozen and hungry, the poor thing was simply scared.

The blood did not belong to her.

But to whom then?

Kurt removed one of his layers and wrapped her in it, keeping her warm and dry till he could bathe her properly and, hopefully, raise her body temperature. He stood with her against his chest and scanned the Mountain, as far as his eyes would let him see. But there was no one – no Dwarves, no Elves, no Orcs, no Trolls. All that was alive and breathing remained underground, preparing for Winter. And aside from the body of Blaine's father, may he rest in peace, no dead soul, either. Kurt looked to the ground for clues and found a set of footprints – weak, staggered, heavily tread. Following those were another set, larger, steady, better grounded. Kurt took a breath in, to see what the air around him might have to tell. He could smell only himself and the wriggling beastie in his arms. There were a few lingering signatures, but they had started to fade. Whomever had traveled here with this wee thing was no longer alive to tell the tale, which made the creature in Kurt's arms…an orphan.

The Dwarves would say that anything found on the Mountain belonged to the Mountain.

But Kurt was Elf of the Mountain, and he claimed this life that he had found for his own.

The Mountain could take that up with him later on if it so chose.

“Come along, little one,” Kurt cooed, holding the darling thing close. He pressed his cheek to her forehead when she began to cry. She settled down at once, snuggling against his skin. “I shall take you somewhere safe and warm, somewhere the cold will not trouble you, and the smell of Death will not haunt you. You will belong with me from now on, and I shall protect you.” Kurt smiled. “Me and mine…my love…we shall protect you.”

Kurt left the soiled blanket in the brush, taking with him no evidence of what he had found, and returned to his Mountain. He climbed down into the belly of the Mine, following paths and channels his feet knew by rote. Even if Kurt couldn't see them, he'd be able to walk the route from the mouth of the Mountain to his and Blaine's quiet abode completely by heart. Long before he reached home, he could hear his Dwarf stirring, humming an old Elf tune that Kurt had taken to singing, most likely working on some carefully crafted table or chest for Kurt's use. Kurt smiled. After this day, Kurt would have something else for his husband to toil over.  

“Hello there, my beloved,” Blaine called as Kurt came down the corridor. How Blaine heard Kurt's steps, Kurt would never know. But he imagined that Blaine knew him more than by the sound of his footsteps.

He felt Kurt within his soul, the way Kurt felt Blaine.

“Hello there, my love,” Kurt returned. “Hard at work, I see, when I strictly bade you to stay abed.”

“Not so strictly,” Blaine said, “since you followed it with a kiss.”

“True,” Kurt agreed. “Very true.”

Blaine glanced up from his sanding, quirking his eyebrow at the bundle in Kurt's grasp.

“What have you there? I saw you took your bow. Did you go hunting? Did you have any success?” Blaine asked hopefully.

“You might say that,” Kurt replied. “Husband? Remember you once told me that many don't believe in the existence of Dwarf women and children? That they feel your kind pop up from the ground like gophers?”

“Or daisies?” Blaine smiled, but his jaw dropped long before his husband showed him what he held, for Blaine could hear the singsong mews of the creature cradled in his arms.

“Well,” Kurt said, uncovering the filthy yet smiling face of the baby Dwarf girl he had found on the Mountain, “I believe we have ourselves a Daisy.”