Saeril had Kili's full attention. As she spoke, he felt a knot in his stomach. Growing up, he'd heard rumors about his great grandfather, but he'd never thought that the same could happen to Thorin. Thorin was strong, he was their leader and king. He couldn't succumb to the sickness that plagued the kingdom.

A troubled expression overcame him. Inwardly, Kili was struggling with what he'd learned. The truth scared him; it was easier to live in denial.
"Are you saying that he's sick?" Kili knew only too well how other races saw dwarves. Greedy, stubborn. Before he might further press her for answers, he saw Saeril's expression change into one of pain.
 "Delva?" Frowning, Kili started towards her, though he stopped in his tracks when she'd started to speak. Saeril's voice went from meek to menacing within seconds.
Alarmed, Kili could only stare in disbelief, the words making little sense to him. [i]Mortal men doomed to die?[/i] Who was she referring to?
"What is it? What's wrong?" Kili moved towards her in order to help, but before he could get there, she'd flown into the mirror.

Shocked, Kili ran forward, his boots crunching against the broken shards of glass. "Delva?!" Kneeling, he tried to see her expression, worried for her well being.