⊱ fairytales by firelight ⊰ || naugriim
"As I walked soft, in Mirkwood, through light and dappled shade. A tall old oak, in sunlight stood, within this forest glade. And taking time, to sit and watch, beside the rattling stream. A sight so wondrous did I catch, I feared it was a dream. For there within the clearing round, beneath the guardian tree, danced Elfin children o’er the ground, in laughter, wild and free--"
The whispers caught short, and her head rose as a cough stirred the youngest of Bard's children. Bofur wheezed in his sleep; Sigird hummed in dreamland.
Bright eyes fell over the group huddled around the fire, resting atop blankets and various bags of goods, reassuring herself that they were all -- in fact -- asleep.
Returning her gaze to Kili, fragile fingers traced the Darrow patterns in his shirt sleeves; the movements were deft, silent, yet they screamed of worry and compassion: the two things Tauriel felt coursing through her veins at that moment.
Soft features had been creased with concern for the entirety of the night.
The kindest of touches went illuminated by the crackle of the fire; she was the only one awake. It was late in the night, after all, and Bard's children had taken refuge around the fire alongside Kili's lionhearted brother and Dwarven companions. The rumble of snores filled the living space, but Kili was silent.
The gleam of a sickly sweat glossed his skin, the sign of his fever still present. She could only hope she had done enough to soothe the ailment, but even she knew he would not recover until the arrow was removed completely.
Yet, that was a task for another hour.
Resting her chin atop her wrist, she slumped in her chair and let her firey hair fall atop the sheets of the bed. Carefully, she listened.
{ There it was. The thumping of his heart. The in-out of his breath. }
Tauriel mistook him for asleep; the she-elf mistook him to be wrapped in a feverish slumber, lashes resting upon his cheeks.