It's always been strange to hear others talk about war and more who was willing to talk about war. Kili had heard stories from Balin before, tales of Erebor, of its sack, of the horrific cost of recovering the gate of Azanulbizar, of his father before his death, of Thorin before grief weighed him down so heavily. It was always Balin who talked of war, who felt it his duty to inform the younger generation of the perils of the older while Thorin hardly spoke a word of the guilt that weighed on his shoulders. For a long time, Kili had thought Balin to be the only one old enough to talk about such things, then the only one who was strong enough to do so. Only recently did Kili see and realize that strength came in different forms, from Dwalin's mighty axes to Thorin's stonefaced composure to his mother's talisman and the day she gave it to him. Here, the doctor is the one speaking of war, like one who had explained it many times before to those who could not understand its horrors. Not that Kili knew of any of these horrors personally, never having been in war himself, but there's something about the reverence with which it was spoken that inspires more imagery than the words themselves.
There are no messages of hope threaded through Hawkeye's words, no falsities or platitudes, just the truth laid bare and exposed. You're going to die, you're going to die and I can't stop it, you're going to die and no one can stop it. It takes Kili a long silent moment to process that, to try it out in his mind. You're going to die, you might as well accept it. You're going to die and the best you can hope for is to have a friend by your side. He tries to digest it in smaller pieces, to make it easier to swallow, but he can't seem to manage spitting it back out in denial.
No, there was no way any of this could be possible. These sorts of things didn't exist and if they did, they couldn't happen to him, one of Durin's line. Durin's line was not easily broken, Balin had said so. Not even Azog the Defiler— not even Smaug— could destroy the line of Durin and he had certainly taken a good run at it.
Kili looks away, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares off into some sort of middle distance somewhere around Hawkeye's knees.
"Would you be my friend, then?" he asks, the question distant but heavy with the innocence of one who has not had to grow up yet, with one who has had family to cradle him all his life. Even when he was the subject of harsh teasing for his lackluster beard, he could always run back to his brother and be reassured that everything would be alright, that his beard would come in soon enough.
no subject
There are no messages of hope threaded through Hawkeye's words, no falsities or platitudes, just the truth laid bare and exposed. You're going to die, you're going to die and I can't stop it, you're going to die and no one can stop it. It takes Kili a long silent moment to process that, to try it out in his mind. You're going to die, you might as well accept it. You're going to die and the best you can hope for is to have a friend by your side. He tries to digest it in smaller pieces, to make it easier to swallow, but he can't seem to manage spitting it back out in denial.
No, there was no way any of this could be possible. These sorts of things didn't exist and if they did, they couldn't happen to him, one of Durin's line. Durin's line was not easily broken, Balin had said so. Not even Azog the Defiler— not even Smaug— could destroy the line of Durin and he had certainly taken a good run at it.
Kili looks away, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares off into some sort of middle distance somewhere around Hawkeye's knees.
"Would you be my friend, then?" he asks, the question distant but heavy with the innocence of one who has not had to grow up yet, with one who has had family to cradle him all his life. Even when he was the subject of harsh teasing for his lackluster beard, he could always run back to his brother and be reassured that everything would be alright, that his beard would come in soon enough.