Fleeting Memory
A/N: For the anon that requested a Kili x reader with memory loss. I hope you like it!
Summary: The reader awakes in the wilderness with no memory in the midst of Thorin Oakenshield’s company.
Word Count: 1075
Warnings: Amnesia, lots of angst
You opened your eyes. There was a man leaning over you, with a thick gray beard and ancient eyes. You jerked away from him, scrambling backwards and out of his reach.
There were others here, too. A group of dwarves stood clustered around the gray man, looking at you with keen eyes. A hobbit, too, stood nearby. Who were they? And how had they come to find you?
More importantly, what were you doing in the wilderness at night?
The gray man called out a name, looking at you, telling you to calm down. Panic only tightened your gut further. Was that your name he spoke? How did the man know it?
“Who are you?” You managed, your voice shaking. “What am I doing here?”
One of the younger dwarves, one with a handsome face and dark eyes, approached as if he would embrace you. “We thought we had lost you!” He said, but you stood, ready to run away from him, holding your hands out in front of you to keep him away.
“Who are you?” You repeated, your tone harsher. The dwarf stopped his approach, his face utterly confused.
“It’s me!” He looked at you, studying your face as if he was familiar with it. “Kili,” he said at last, looking to the gray man with dismay. “What’s wrong with her?”
The gray man shook his head and approached you, slower than that dwarf—Kili—had. “Can you remember your name?” He asked.
You shook your head, then clutched your temples. Every part of you ached, but your head was the worst. You tried, you tried, but… what was your name? “I don’t know.”
The dwarves were eerily silent around you. That silence was tinged with shock, dismay, sadness, the sharp tang of anger, but why?
“What happened to me?” You cried out, feeling your knees go weak.
“Shh,” the gray man said. “Sit down. We’ll explain it to you.”
You knelt on the wet grass, noticing the hard stone beneath it. Kili knelt at your side, just distant enough that you did not mind him there, but you wondered why you felt the urge to reach out to him, beg him to hold you close.
Gandalf muttered something to the group of dwarves, and they left to stand farther away, before he approached and held his hand out. “May I touch you?”
You studied him long and hard before nodding. He placed cool fingertips at your temples and closed his eyes. His lips moved just slightly as he intoned a language you had never heard before, and suddenly the pain that pounded in your head calmed, slowed, then stopped.
“How do you feel?” Gandalf asked.
“Better, but you still have to tell me what’s going on,” you answered, uneasy with the power the man had shown in his simple actions.
Gandalf sighed, looked to Kili, and said, “I have done all I can.”
Kili looked as if he was about to protest, but his eyes fixed on you again and softened. “I will explain,” he said. He was looking at me, but Gandalf stood and left, as if Kili had been speaking to him.
You waited expectantly. The young dwarf took a deep breath before he spoke. “You joined my uncle’s company—Thorin Oakenshield—when we left to reclaim Erebor. You said you wanted to see more of the world.” His voice turned wistful, his lips upturned in what would have been a smile had his eyes not been so sad. “We traveled through orc country, got chased by wargs, survived a shape-shifter, and escaped goblins before the orcs caught up to us. Last night, they surrounded us at the edge of a cliff. You fought bravely,” he assured you, but it felt hollow. “Gandalf saw an orc about to strike you, and cast a spell, but it missed the orc and hit you instead.” Kili’s hand drifted toward your face, but you flinched. His hand fell back to his lap, but you didn’t miss the look of utter devastation on his face.
“So this spell took my memory?”
Kili nodded. “It must have. You were unconscious when the Eagles came to save us, and Gandalf was only able to revive you.” His breath shuddered. “We thought you were dead.”
You frowned. “I might as well be.”
Kili shook his head, his eyes wide with desperation as he leaned forward. “No, no! Do not say that!”
“Why not?” You asked, your tone sharp. “I have lost every memory, every shred of who I am, thanks to your sorcerer.”
“He’s a wizard,” Kili mumbled. “And, besides, we can help you remember! I can help you remember!”
He finally rested his hand on yours. The touch felt disturbingly familiar, and you pulled away.
His brown eyes shone with sadness. “Let us help you, please. I love you.”
“You’ve done enough!” You were almost shouting, scrambling to your feet and fighting the urge to run, run, run.
If you didn’t know better, you might have called the look on Kili’s face brokenhearted. “But you said you loved me, too.”
You shook your head. Something deep in your chest whispered that it was true, you did love him, but that was before you lost your memories. Before some wizard had made a nearly fatal error and torn your identity from you. “I can’t do this,” you protested. “Where are my things?”
“What?” Kili’s confusion might have been amusing had you not been so terrified. So angry.
“My things? I must have carried a pack with me, or something, if I chose to accompany you on this journey.”
One of the dwarves approached, holding out a large canvas bag with a sorrowful look. You snatched it from his hands, slung it over your shoulders, and walked away from the group.
“Where are you going? We’re so close! We see Erebor!” The cries of the dwarves that now chased after you did nothing to dissuade you.
“I’m going to see the world, and find out who I am. I cannot travel with anyone who would steal my memories from me.”
Kili’s anguished voice wailed your name. It followed you down the rock, back into the forest, chasing you like the light of the rising sun did. You would remember that, you were sure, whether or not you regained your original memories. But you kept walking, alone, and wondered why you weren’t thankful that the company hadn’t followed you.
