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ladytauriel) wrote2014-03-18 10:14 pm
Fic: Starlit Spirits - Chapter 7
Thank you so much to StarlitTauriel, who is amazing for dealing with me constantly sending her chapters!
Kíli shook his legs out impatiently by the skating rink, waiting for Azog de Moria to finish his free skate performance. The order of competitors went from the least experienced to most, taking the results from yesterday’s short program into account, in which Kíli had placed first, but Kíli couldn't help but feel sour. De Moria's performance had almost been flawless, but he had landed a triple toe-loop on two feet. The younger competitors hadn't fallen, either, neither yesterday nor today, and their combined scores were considerably high. Kíli's highest scores were greater than these, but he would really have to push himself to maintain the lead. He still had the potential to fall on a jump and lose almost everything, including the Olympics. And who knew how good he would be at twenty-three, four years later?
Kíli watched de Moria, assessing him and his skill. He was bald and contained a dark, unpleasant set of asymmetrical features. His jaw was set in a tight line, and his whole face creaked with every triple jump. The butterfly came unnaturally, but his head looked up to face Kíli. The latter saw the dangerous glint in de Moria's eyes, the cruelty in his grin. Kíli turned around and breathed. He needed to focus.
Your warm-up was flawless, he told himself. Don't let the crowd get to you. Don't let the possibility of a gold or a disqualification or a fourth place or a deduction for a terrible fall get to you. He willed his heart rate to slow down.
He wished Coach Balin were here now, but he knew that was too much to hope for. He had been at the hospital on a few weeks ago, and putting pressure on him with the responsibility of prepping Kíli at nationals, and consequentially at the Olympics, if fate so granted, just was not fair. Supporting Kíli was too much of a responsibility, and Kíli didn't want his coach to see him crumble under the pressure, which Kíli needed to force himself to maintain.
So when Kíli heard the applause for de Moria die away, as the minute interval between each performance ticked away, he turned around instead to meet Thorin's eyes, which looked both vacant and searching. Fíli stood next to his uncle, and the rest of the Company, excluding Balin, looked at him nervously from behind their shoulders. Fíli extended his hands. Kíli grasped them, keeping his eyes on his uncle.
"I know you say your motivation isn't driven by the need to win so much as to experience everything you can," Thorin told him urgently, "but don't miss out on this opportunity, an almost once-in-a-lifetime one. Don't let down Coach Balin, who took you through this season. Don't let potential frustration appear between you and I, or you and your brother."
Kíli felt exasperation rise up to choke him. Of course, his irresponsibility and personal motivations would never be good enough for-
"Kíli, no matter what happens," Thorin interrupted Kíli's thoughts, "we will always support you. This is your moment. You're almost there, and I know how much you want to actually feel it. Don't let yourself down."
Kíli blinked and surprise, and then nodded, flustered. After a final sip from his bottle of water, he skated to the centre of the rink. He smiled his open, almost genuine smile, which, as he was told, was even more blinding than the multiple thousand dollar purple long-sleeve, whose speckled crystals reflected the stadium's lights. He waved to his audience all around the stadium, circling the inner rink and staying in motion. Finally, he arrived at his starting pose, an open-armed stance.
As the music began, Kíli tried to calm his mind and listen to his body. Looking up, and following his arms as they led him through the movements. He vaguely remembered that there was a quadruple salchow triple toe-loop, a quadruple toe-loop, as well as his enemy, the triple axel in there, somewhere. However, just as he knew Time to Say Goodbye in the pull of his muscles when he stepped onto the ice for the short program, The Four Seasons and Corelli Concerto Grosso vibrated through his every motion from the start of the music for the free skate. This was music Balin had picked for him over a year ago, using the suggestions of the choreographer to listen to Kíli's natural inclination of mastering figure skating as an art form, and transforming the art form into a dance of the soul.
Kíli knew the choreography like he knew himself. He knew just how much height he needed to succeed in the triple axel, even though a stumble and a clean fall after it had taken him down to fourth place in the 2014 European Figure Skating Championships, which ended just five days ago. Stop thinking, he reminded himself.
Kíli opened his heart. The movements weren't just motions he articulately executed: they were a flow. Each gesture, each kick, jump, and slide, was like a wave, crashing onto the shore with accuracy and precision only to transform into a breathtaking, huge sensation that was the sea. The sea for Kíli was the bows, the spins, the butterfly kicks, and the pull of Vivaldi; the build of the emotion of Corelli and the wave crests over the return of the Four Seasons.
Kíli's body would not stand in the way of the flow of the melody that pulsed within him. It was an instrument, led by the motion that guided him into its bidding.
Kíli ended with a smile, and he barely felt himself bowing in the different directions to his audience. He waved, dimly aware of the cheers, whoops, hollers, and roaring applause that came his way. After circling the rink and picking up the two bouquets the fell from the stands, he exited, falling into Fíli's open arms. Momentarily, he was surrounded by the bear hugs of the rest of his friends.
Thorin and Fíli led Kíli to the infamous bench, at which the results were announced at every competition. Fíli swung his arm around Kíli's shoulders, while his uncle passed him a towel.
"You look in shock," he commented.
"Do I really?" Kíli countered. "But I have to ask: how did I do? I got carried away, I'm afraid."
"Your best performance yet," Fíli assured him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you beat your top score. This performance was legendary."
"The score for Fíli Durinson from Amsterdam for the free skating performance is... 192.83."
Upon the grand screen, Kíli saw his own face and sheepish grin, as well as the results presented with his name: first place in the short program with 95.97 and first place in the free skate with this unbelievably sky high result searing elation through Kíli's heart, making him the best figure skater of the Netherlands, with a total score of 288.80.
"That's almost a world record," he whispered to himself. "And 5.31 points higher than my previously best score."
He stood up, sheepishly grinning and finally waving to the rest of the crowd, which he could tell was going insane. He wondered, for a few fleeting moments, if Tauriel could see him now, watching from a TV either at home or from work. And if she could, was she proud of him? Was she elated in her young, innocent happiness, giggling in light of his accomplishment? Of was she judging each of his movements, repeated on the big screen, attempting to criticise him in a manner similar to a professional? He shook his head, clearing it of his lingering thoughts. He did not want to make Tauriel bear the responsibility of caring for him and his life, and he could not stand the thought of having to say goodbye to her only to return to endless longing.
He felt as if the universe was engulfing him, pulling him into an endless trance. He felt dazed and dizzy with disbelief. He was going to the 2014 Sochi Olympics. I am going to the Olympics, he repeated to himself, this time truly believing it.
Looking over at Fíli's elated face, he could tell that his brother could easily tell what he was thinking.
"Yes, this is happening," Fíli assured him. "You're going, and with good prospects, too. However, worry about placing later. Right now, this is a monumental victory."
Fíli put a hand on his brother's shoulder, thankful for the support. Looking back at the stadium, which was now being set up for the award ceremony, Kíli truly felt the ability within himself to relax. He had done it.
~
The award ceremony had been a blur, shining at the peripheral of Kíli's memory, as he exited the Thialf Stadium of Heerenveen, Netherlands. He held the official bouquet, presented to him at the ceremony, loosely in his right hand, and his gold medal hung around his neck with gentleness and ease, as if not willing the responsibility of such a victory to be a burden. There was a swing to his step, as he walked toward the metropolitan station, preparing to make his way to the hotel to deposit his skates and his beautiful new accessory. Afterward, he would return to a local pub for the after-party with the Company. A celebration was truly in order.
It was in light of the happiness and sense of accomplishment, that coursed through his mind, body, and spirit, that Kíli did not notice the dark figure that trailed him through the alleyway, with the light outside descending into dimness. It blended in with the shadows created by the city buildings, and only when he made the turn onto a completely deserted block that it made its move.
A sharp blow the back of his knees, a cut at his calves through the black material of his performance pants. A fierce blow to the head, an angry glint of malicious, laughing eyes, and darkness.