IN CELEBRATION OF THE NEW "BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES" TRAILER AND MY NEW-FOUND INSPIRATION...

Here you go, my beloved readers and fans — a double-chapter update in honor of the long expected trailer for the final Hobbit film. The 10th and 11th chapter have been long awaited and requested by you, and I want to give a formal apology to all of you for keeping you hanging over that cliff for so long. I can't promise any specific date for another update for the twelfth chapter, but I can say that with the new trailer to boost my inspiration I can assure you that it won't be too long.

Thank you for sticking with me, guys. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

TEN

The Fall

The six days since the chaotic events on the mountain field had been long and especially rough. The roads were no longer smooth and gravelly — if the paths up into the mountains could be called smooth — but rocky and unfit for a caravan of heavy wagons. The kidnappers had no regards for the Dwarves when they pulled and pushed the wagons over fallen rocks and across mountain rivers. Water from river and rain alike soaked them and made it hard to keep warm. Sleeping was impossible while on the move, so uncomfortable was the journey when they had passed beyond the rim of the Livable Lands into the deepest regions of the Blue Mountains. When the kidnappers made camp only the absolutely exhausted and sick could find rest. Most were too afraid to fall asleep, in fear of being chosen to participate in the kidnappers' cruel entertainment or to bury the dead.

Kíli had not even thought of sleep since the battle. He sat by the wall where Fíli had chopped up the hole, curled up with his knees inside his damp tunic and hands close to his mouth to try and keep warm. His golden-haired guardian, so similar to Fíli in the dim light, had long since given up trying to console him and now sat beside him like a watchful statue. The Dwarves in their wagon numbered seven now since the "contents" of a broken wagon had been thrown in with them. All had noticed Kíli's plight, even though only half could understand it. Their silent words of encouragement and sympathetic touches would not bite on the young Dwarf. What little scraps of food were thrown into the wagon he did not share, and he had not protested when he'd been dragged out to bury another elderly Dwarf that had succumbed to the Men's treatment. As long as Kíli did not know if his brother had survived the battle, he was beyond all comfort.

Thunder rolled around them, loud and menacing. Was Fíli out there somewhere, hearing it and seeing the lightning? Or was he lying on that field in the darkness, unable to feel the rain that fell on his already cold, pale skin?

Images like these clouded Kíli's mind, blocking out every sane or hopeful thought. Memories of that night were on continuous loop before his eyes, and whenever he closed them he could see Fíli. Fíli looking at him through the hole in the wagon wall. Fíli touching his gashed cheek, smiling and crying. Fíli being pulled away from him, into the dark world outside. Someone screaming his brother's name, the cling of swords and a horrid war call from the Man who attacked Fíli. Kíli had seen nothing else after that, because his wagon had taken off and left the scene of battle behind to play out without Kíli knowing how it ended. The only thing that Kíli knew that could help ease this trauma was that whoever had attacked the kidnappers' encampment with Fíli had slain Beidon. Kíli had heard some of the kidnappers whisper about it outside his wagon one morning.

"So, you know we haven't seen Boulder since the field?" whispered the first Man.

"Who?" asked the second.

"He's talking about Beidon," the third, a woman, snorted. Kíli sharpened his ears from inside the wagon.

"What happened to him?" asked the second. "He just vanished."

The woman laughed, a disgusting sound. "We left him on the field. Took an axe to the back. Good riddance."

The two men hushed her, and then they were silent for a while, before the first Man spoke again. "Who's in charge now?"

"Folke seems to think he's in command, but I swear he's just a puppet under Egylen."

"Aren't we all?" sighed the first Man.

Kíli had never heard the names of Folke or Egylen before, but hoped for his dear life that neither was as wicked and evil as Beidon. The kidnappers' conversation had Kíli wonder — who was the people who had engaged the kidnappers that could take out Beidon? Was uncle Thorin and his host of warriors on their trail? And what had gone wrong to let the Men escape with all of the captives still in tow? The answer to the last question was the only thing that mattered to the young Dwarven boy, and it was the only answer that nobody could give him.

The days wore on, seemingly without end. Kíli eventually stopped opening his eyes, for there was nothing new to see. The seven Dwarves that remained with him were just like him — not old or weak enough to die from hunger or cold, nor strong and hopeful enough to do anything about anything. They sat there, awaiting an unknown fate that they either hoped would never come or wished would come soon. For every hour that passed changeless, Kíli leaned closer and closer towards the last of the two.

Until, at the brink between a day and a night, a gut-wrenching sound shook his insides to life.

It was the sound of creaking wood. Kíli froze and listened as the sound became more intense. It was coming from below, as if something underneath them was about to snap. And before anyone on the outside of the wagon could react, something did. The axis underneath the wagon broke in two and the wheel on the left side fell away. The entire weight of the wagon came down on the front axis, and the wood could not hold it. It, too, snapped, and the wagon toppled over to one side. Inside the wagon, the Dwarves held on to whatever they could grasp, be it the barred windows or each other. Kíli felt a strong arm close around his middle, holding him firmly. His golden-haired guardian was near crushing the young Dwarf in his arm, but would not let go until the wagon had stopped. Kíli fell down, disoriented and dizzy. He could hear the groaning of Dwarves around him, and the screaming and calling of Men above.

The floor below had been replaced by the wall with the hole, and Kíli found himself staring down through it. At first he did not understand what he was seeing. Then it dawned upon him. The wagon was leaning over a deep, narrow canyon. The rock face that had saved them from falling into the darkness below had tore a hole in the roof of the wagon, and the light of dusk shone in Kíli's face like a blessing from Mahal himself. The opening was not big. It was way too small for any grown Dwarf to get through. But Kíli knew that he could squeeze through. He knew because he had to. This was his chance to escape.

The golden-haired Dwarf looked to Kíli, and recognized the shine in the younger's dark eyes. The guardian caught Kíli's gaze and shook his head pleadingly, but there was no reasoning with the young heir. His Durin blood was pumping in his veins, spreading adrenalin and determination through his body. Kíli blinked hard to get his head together, then rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Heave!" called a Man from outside the wagon.

The wagon jolted upwards, then fell back onto the rock face. The boulder bored further into the wooden planks, and the space between the rock and the edge of the hole shrunk. Kíli lost his footing and fell badly on one knee as the Men pulled at the wagon. Kíli saw through the hole a ray of sunlight fall on his hand in front of him. His thoughts flew away for him for a second. He had not had sunlight on his skin since he was in Ewardor, the day Thorin was called off and this whole thing started. The light, golden in color upon his pale skin, reminded him once more of his brother. Fíli would never allow this chance to pass him by. He'd fight to his last breath, just like uncle Thorin and their mother.

Just like their father.

Once more, the wagon tilted upwards and the hole grew larger. Kíli did not hesitate this time — he hurled himself at the rock face outside and grabbed on to it as the wagon was lifted off of it. He heard the Dwarves scream incoherently, and the creaking of wood as the wagon was hauled back onto the narrow path. Kíli was hanging from the cliff, holding on for his dear life with nothing but air beneath his feet. His legs dangled as he tried to find footing, and the momentum put him off balance. He was not strong enough to carry his own weight with just one hand, so he could not grab onto anything else. The bump in the rock that he was currently hanging from was slippery with ice, and the cold numbed his fingers. He risked moving his other hand slightly to one side, hoping to find something else to grab. What his fingers found was a patch of ice hidden underneath powder snow, and his hand slid off. For a split second he was free falling, but he bore his fingers and nails into the ice and held on with all his determination.

He was scared beyond words, for he had never been so far from safety in his life. He could not look down with his shoulders in the way, and the pain in his fingers now was far worse than anything the kidnappers had put him through.

Behind him, the Men had managed to pull the wagon upright again and secured the Dwarves still inside. It wasn't long before one of them noticed the Dwarfling hanging from the other side of the narrow ravine.

"Somebody, get a rope!" a Man called.

"Let him hang," said another. "Let's see how long the little brat can hold on."

They laughed scornfully, and Kíli heard them place bets on how many minutes he would hang there before he fell. The adrenalin that had driven him to jump onto this stupid cliff was draining from him. He could no longer feel his fingers, and the muscles were shaking. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he could barely hear himself think. But his heart nearly jumped out of his chest in terror when the icy voice of Dariah broke through the chatter of the kidnapers like a whip.

"Get that Dwarf back here or I'll throw you over the edge!" she spat. "And don't make him fall!"

The kidnappers started unrolling rope and throw hooks at the cliff face. One after the other they hit the rock and slid off, unable to find anything to hook on to. It was soon clear to the young Dwarf that they, or at least Dariah, would not give up until he was back in that wagon. Back in the endless darkness and the smell of rotting flesh and damp wood. Back to waiting for a rescue that might never come. Waiting for a family he might never see again.

No, Kíli thought. I will not be a part of this any longer!

Behind him was the kidnappers with their ropes and swords and blood thirst. Below was a bed of rocks and a frozen river plunged in darkness. He was going one of those ways, that much he knew. Either way, death was highly likely. But Kíli did not have to choose his fate. A grappling hook landed right above his head, crashing into the ice on top of the cliff, but did not stick. As it slid off the rock, it fell on Kíli's shoulder and ripped through flesh and muscle. The extra weight pulled him down. In an instant his bleeding fingers gave up and Kíli fell freely through the air, screaming at the top of his lungs for mercy. His terrified cries was only drowned out by Dariah as she called after the disappearing shadow of the Dwarf child.

"NO!"

It wasn't darkness that consumed him, but light, when Kíli's fall came to an end. All pain numbed away, and one after the other his senses died also. Soon, Kíli knew no more.

A craptastic ending for a much awaited tenth chapter. But fear not, you are only halfway through this celebratory double-chapter update! In the next chapter, "The Thunderstorm", I will shed some light on the current whereabouts of Fíli and Elir, and who was the mysterious rider that axed the kidnapper in the field. Read on to know!

Please, if you like this chapter, leave a review and tell me all about it. Thank you in advance!