A/N from Aranel/Lady Loki: Ahh! Late again. My coauthor and I most regret our tardiness. In short, life once again put a stranglehold on our writing pursuits. I am ashamed! Ashamed! I shall probably be late to my own funeral. Anyway, here is the latest and greatest chapter. We hope you will, as always, read and review. Haven't heard from a few of you in a while, and we're beginning to wonder if you were slain by roaming orcs or caught by hungry spiders. That would be most regrettable, indeed.

A/N from Eleanor/Juno: I would like to extend my most sincere apologies. We didn't post a new chapter on the first, because I was out of state, and didn't have access to a computer where I could edit this chapter properly. *shame* It honestly didn't occur to me to warn anyone because I hadn't thought it would delay the posting of the chapter. But it did. And it's my fault. *bows at your feet* Forgive me. Tomorrow will be posted another chapter, because tomorrow is the fifteenth! It might be a little later in the day than usual, because I'm going in for the first day of work. :) Wish me luck!

Taki-Sama101: We can assure you the ending will be worth waiting for, though perhaps not conventionally "happy." That remains to be seen. Thanks once again for your amazing readership. :)

astro . gir: *waves* Hi there. Glad you've joined us on our adventure. Also happy you enjoyed this last chapter. Sometimes I think readers skip our FilOri and Kiliel stuff. *le sigh*

Eth-Eesome: Wow, another new reader! *excited* You flatter me with your adoration. Thank you. ^_^ Very glad you're enjoying the story thus far.

killthepain62: And yet another new reader. *bows* And not to worry. All shall be resolved satisfactorily in due time, no Ghost Rider required. ;) Our heroes are at their lowest point. The only place they can go from here is up.

WARNING: The following chapter contains scenes of mild torture and acute distress.

We haven't forgotten the rather violent reactions to the previous "torture" chapter, and we wanted to give you all fair warning. The following chapter shows multiple characters being branded. If this makes you uncomfortable, a summary of the chapter will be available at the end, and the actual "torture" scenes, contained mostly in the middle of the chapter, are enclosed by lines, and may be skipped as desired.

The ending to this chapter, however, is quite fluffy, and well worth the read. :)

Eleven

Billa. Pregnant. The words were taking a while to sink in. Whatever Thorin thought he might say died on his lips, and he shook his head wordlessly. He had no idea how to feel.

"Lass, this changes everything." Balin's voice rose again from the stillness, voicing what was clearly on everyone's minds.

Thorin remained lost and bewildered, his head spinning with all the implications of this news. The mother of his child. He'd have thought it impossible, were it not for all that had happened lately with Kíli and his elven bride. At the back of his mind, though, were whisperings he'd caught from his own court on such occasions as they dared to gossip about his halfling mate, believing him elsewhere or out of hearing range. She was too small, too delicate, too weak. Carrying a viable child to term would be unlikely, and surely the death of her. How much credence he should place in the gossip of servants, Thorin wasn't sure.

"The child is of Durin's blood, Billa." Balin spoke again, pulling him from his thoughts. There was a certain air of reverence in his tone now. "It is our duty to-"

"Quiet." Thorin cut him off with a harsh whisper. "If the Southron hears of this, I've no doubt he will ensure the child dies as his own did. No one is to breathe a word of this until all danger is past. We cannot take any chances."

Plans. Preparations. Those were easier. The rest of the processing would have to come later. To be given such news, here of all places... he simply didn't have the mind for it right now.

"Yes, well, I didn't tell him, did I?" Billa's voice made him jump, not because he hadn't expected her to speak, but because she sounded so... normal. Thorin licked dry lips and forced his overtaxed brain to focus.

"Bofur?"

"Eh?"

"You have them?"

"Right enough, I do."

"Glóin?"

"Aye."

"In your boots?"

Pause. "Oh, aye. That I do, laddy."

"Dwalin?"

The warrior's answer was a grunt, and it occurred to Thorin that his old friend might very well be unhappy with this newest development. Not that he blamed him. The last thing they all needed was yet another vulnerability.

"Under your knuckles?"

"Not anymore."

"What?" Thorin scowled. "Explain." This could throw off the whole plan. Bofur had lockpicks. Glóin had a small knife or two hidden on his person, though not in his boots, more than likely. Dwalin had, at some point, had a mithril sliver hidden under one of the heavy knuckledusters he wore. Having as many weapons as possible was important.

"Loaned it ta Nori. Never got it back."

"You... loaned it to him?" Thorin was skeptical. From what he'd seen of the way the two dwarves had interacted, Dwalin distrusted the thief, and Nori had enjoyed getting on the hulking warrior's nerves.

"A moment of... bad judgment."

"So what's the plan, then?" Glóin asked, lowering his voice considerably.

Thorin held Billa in his lap, his arms encircling her as though he were protecting her. In a way, maybe he was. "We wait until the opportune moment. We will have but one chance, and I don't aim to waste it."

"But they have the caves so heavily guarded," Balin pointed out. "How are we supposed to get past the men, and after that, how are we supposed to get out? We don't know the way."

"We'll need help, that's for sure." Bofur's tone was sober. "Maybe we can talk to a couple of 'em. I mean, they jus' want te feel better about their losses. They're not evil."

Thorin personally thought that very unlikely. "Best not to, I think. For now, we bide our time."

They would all need patience. He toyed with the idea of making Billa put on her ring and escape in the chaos that followed her disappearance. She could do it, of that he had no doubt. But if she did, it would reduce the chances of the rest of them escaping very significantly. She could join Fíli and Ori in Laketown. Fíli would make sure she was safe. But he was also responsible for Bofur, Dori, and Glóin, who also had families waiting for them, and Balin and Dwalin, his two oldest and most trusted friends. He couldn't sacrifice their chances of freedom for the sake of his burglar and their child.

Thorin felt the thought like a punch to the gut. Their child. No. No time to think about that. Not now.

We need to bide our time.

The decision had been easier to make in the night, when Billa was safe in his arms and his comrades were locked behind bars of iron. The decision had been easier to live with when there was nothing to threaten the wellbeing of his burglar. Now Thorin regretted not making her run at the first opportunity. He had no doubt he would feel this way a number of times before they had a chance to escape, but the decision had indeed been made, and he couldn't go back on it now. Not even as the hot iron touched his exposed back, and the smell of burning hair filled the cave.

They were in the chamber Alfrid and the Southron had occupied that first day, and both of those men were looking on now, one with a neutral expression and the other with a look of suppressed glee. Alfrid, he decided, was enjoying this all too much. At the other end of the branding iron (a beastly contraption that could only belong to the Southron) was Dwalin. For all the emotion he showed, the hulking warrior might have been set in stone, his face void of expression, his body rigid with tension. But as ordered, he held the iron to Thorin's flesh until the Southron gestured for him to put the contraption back into the fire. Dori, one hand tucked protectively against his chest and bound in strips of his tunic, held the unconscious Billa.

She had been ordered to add more cuts to his neck, siblings to the decorations the Southron had etched into his skin the previous day, after she'd passed out the first time. She'd done well enough around the back of his neck, but when she reached the front and could see his face again, she'd started to shake in earnest. Her last cut, which trailed shakily down into his chest hair, had been made as she fell. If nothing else, Thorin was impressed by her determination. Poor thing, though. She oughtn't have been forced to go through this.

In her condition. Thorin refused to think the phrase. Absolutely refused. Now was not the time, here was not the place, and there was nothing in the world that could make him disclose her secret to these twisted men. Their secret.

"Thorin?" Billa whimpered his name and the dwarf turned sharply to look at her. A smile flickered across the Southron's face, and he indicated Dori should help her to her feet. The fastidious dwarf looked nearly ill, but obeyed. Three grown Dwarves in one room, and they still didn't dare move against their captors. Why? Because the burglar was in a delicate way and there were at least a dozen guards outside the door. If there had been a chance, Thorin knew they would have followed him. They might have followed him anyway. He shook his head, dark locks swinging against his face. The hobbit was unsteady on her feet, but she stumbled forward, extending one shaking hand to Thorin. He caught it and glanced at the Southron.

Haven't you done enough? Can't you see she can't take much more of this?

He wouldn't say it. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of knowing any of them were nearing the end of their very frayed ropes. Billa leaned against him and Thorin hissed softly. The heat in his shoulder seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat. While Dwarf skin was thick and tough, resistant to burns, not even a Dwarf could handle hot iron without suffering the consequences. Billa must have heard the sound, because she drew away slightly, taking her weight from his hand.

"His hair next, I think," said the Southron, almost lazily. Dori made a sound of protest, and the man smiled. "Cut it off. All of it."

While Thorin felt this newest blow to his pride, the halfling beside him relaxed. As much as he hated to admit it, this reaction troubled him more than many other things she might have done. In fact, Billa took the knife from the Southron and even commented, in an almost jocular tone, "He needed a haircut anyway." She meant no disrespect. She probably didn't even know what a Dwarf's hair meant to him, but the comment wounded Thorin more deeply than he wanted to admit. He might never let her see how deeply, but the Southron seemed to know, and smirked as Billa told him to kneel so she could reach his hair properly.

"If you're waiting for me to grow so I can reach on my own, I'm sorry to disappoint. Come on, love, down to my level."

After a long moment's hesitation, Thorin did so, and closed his eyes. The little knife was as sharp as ever, and Billa was meticulous in her removal of each dark hair. He felt all but bald, but he could tell that she was leaving a uniform length, no more than an inch or two all around. It would grow back, he told himself. The braids had been just as much of a loss, if not more, because he'd also lost his beads. But the hobbit's almost cheerful manner seemed to make it all the worse. He could hear her humming softly, a tactic he'd noticed her using to distract herself during busy or stressful times. He wondered vaguely if it worked.

"Continue performing so well," the Southron said into the warm quiet of the room, "and I may consent to feed you. Rise, Dwarf." The fire snapped loudly, embers settling on the stone as Thorin stood. His head felt strangely light, and the absence of the dark locks was sorely felt as the air moved over his now-exposed neck. Really, after all else he'd suffered here, this new loss oughtn't have bothered him so much, but it did. Perhaps the fact that it bothered him was good. Perhaps that meant that the other injuries were light enough burdens that the loss of his hair out-weighed them.

"Take up the iron," the Southron instructed, and Thorin glanced at him, surprised. The bottom dropped out of his stomach when he confirmed that, yes, the order was for him. Thoughts of his hair were banished as he wrapped shaking fingers firmly about the stout iron. The twisted end glowed cherry-red, the metal bent into such a shape that it would leave a series of spiralling lines, like the spokes of a twisted wheel, on the surface to which it was touched.

"Expose the female's back."

Thorin's blood ran cold. "No, I won't-"

"You won't?" The Southron lifted an eyebrow. "Would you rather I did, and to your comrades as well?" This wasn't fair. Not even slightly. Not even in a skewed sort of way. This was just plain malicious. Thorin glanced at the others, then at Billa, who had been seized, her coat and tunic both pulled upward, off her body. As the linen shirt underneath was removed, Thorin found his gaze drawn almost irresistibly to her body. He had never had cause to look at her, unclothed, from any angle, as he had always respected her privacy and she wasn't a naturally seductive creature (he couldn't honestly say she wasn't passionate). Now it was obvious, to his eyes at least, that her stout frame had much more weight about the middle than he'd thought, making her seem even lower to the ground than normal. Certainly her center of gravity would have shifted downward.

"Shall I perform the task instead?" The Southron's tone was almost delicate, and he chuckled when Thorin's grip on the hot iron tightened. Even the end of the handle was warm enough to make holding it uncomfortable.

"Let me take her mark as well."

"No."

"Please." The word tasted foul. Reduced to begging. Would his sister still respect him when she heard of this?

"No." The Southron's expression hardened. "You may protect the others but she-she is beyond your reach. You will not be able to spare her, any more than I could spare my wife. You will hear and see her flesh burn."

The iron wavered in Thorin's hand. How could he do this? Even if Billa had remained no more to him than a burglar... even from the very beginning of the Quest, he had wanted to spare her. Protect her. She wasn't built to withstand the same amount of damage a Dwarf could take.

"It's alright, Thorin." Billa's voice was muffled, but he heard her. She didn't know what was coming. She couldn't. If she did, then she wouldn't say that. Thorin braced himself and lifted the iron. He would make it quick. He would spare her as much as he could. His eyes met the Southron's, and he knew that the man wouldn't let him make this even relatively easy.

The metal was still glowing when it touched the halfling's back, between her shoulderblades. Billa screamed. The sound tore through Thorin like a blade, and he jerked back, heart pounding.

"You're not done yet, little king. The burn isn't deep enough. Again."

Concentrating fiercely on breathing, Thorin lifted the iron once more, and watched the hot end bob and waver. He touched it to her back again, and the hobbit screamed a second time, a hoarse, wrenching sound. The first burn was a pink shadow of the second, which was deep, angry red, shiny and tight in the firelight as he removed the iron. Billa shuddered and collapsed as the man released her, letting her shirt, tunic and coat drop back over her body.

It only took a moment for the Southron to speak, but it seemed an eternity to Thorin, who couldn't take his eyes off of Billa's shaking form. She made no sound, but seemed to be weeping into her arm, if the way her shoulders shook was any indication. Thorin hated himself for being the one that had hurt her so, but could he have justified any other course of action? She would have been branded anyway, and then she would have had to watch the others suffer the same fate. If it had been him, he knew he would have only wanted to suffer it once.

"You have shown bravery and honor. More than I expected from you, little king." The man's voice and expression were neutral, but his gaze seemed unusually sharp. "Take your woman back to your cell and enjoy her company another night. I'm feeling generous."

Dwalin frowned. "Ye said somethin' about food."

The Southron gave the hulking dwarf a sharp look. "Do not try me," he said softly. "If I see fit, I will provide you and your companions with food. If I do not, then it will be on your head." The threat was clearly understood, and Dwalin lowered his gaze. Thorin picked up his burglar and moved with the others back to their cells. The day's torments had left them sore and exhausted, and though Dwalin scowled and flexed his arms threateningly, and Dori glared at their captors, neither of them fought.

"You know I had no choice." Thorin's voice was quiet, broken with grief and exhaustion.

"I know." Billa still trembled, tears streaking her face in the dim light, and she tried to sit up a little in his arms. The men had gone now, leaving them locked away in their cells, cold, tired, and hungry, but for the moment, undisturbed.

"If I had refused..."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Thorin." Billa reached up to pull his face toward her a little. Clearly she wanted him to look at her, but Thorin couldn't bear to. Her suffering was at his hands, and if there was a crueler punishment than this, the dwarf couldn't imagine what it might be.

"We of Durin's line are hardy of spirit, my love, but this... this asks too much. I am breaking."

"No." Billa's response was surprisingly adamant, and Thorin heard several of the others shifting, as though startled. "No, Thorin. I won't let you break. Do you understand me?"

Thorin finally managed to turn his gaze upon her, though it shuddered, and couldn't hold hers. The halfling sat up, wincing, and leaned into his shoulder, wrapping her arms as far as she could around his trembling body. "Listen, Thorin. I fully intend to get you lot out of here. And if the only way of keeping you alive until that happens is to give him what he wants, so be it. We'll cooperate. For now."

"And if he orders me to kill you? What then?"

Billa hesitated for only a heartbeat. "We'll cross that bridge when, and only when, we come to it. I trust you, Thorin, and I love you, and nothing will ever change that." Her voice was beginning to quaver, but her arms were steady. Even though she couldn't reach all the way around him, the dwarf found her embrace comforting.

"Touching." His approach had been so stealthy that none of them had noticed. The Southron stood a little more than arms' length from the bars of Thorin's door, watching them, nearly indistinguishable from the shadows. Thorin tensed, drawing Billa closer to his chest. A hundred thoughts and a thousand fears flashed through his mind. Why was their captor here? What was his purpose?

"What do you want?" What was supposed to be a demand came out hoarse, his voice wavering unsteadily. The Southron's eyes gleamed as his dark gaze shifted slightly, then he turned away. A handful of tense minutes passed before another man entered the hall, his boots echoing loudly. Into each cell was dropped a large roll, a hunk of hard cheese, and a full canteen. They were the dwarves' own supplies, but it was unclear if this was a kindness or an insult.

"For you. It's not a trick." The man's words registered slowly, it seemed, as no one made a move for the supplies.

Finally, after a moment of searching the stranger's shadowy features, Thorin nodded. "It's alright. Poison would be doing us all a favor." He helped Billa off his lap, then eased himself up, wincing a little as his injuries and aches complained. The hobbit retrieved the food, glancing warily at the one who had brought it, and presented Thorin with the roll. "How much should we eat now, and how much should we save? If we don't decide now, I'm sure I won't stop until everything's gone."

Despite the direness of the situation, Thorin had to smile at that. None could equal the appetite of a hobbit. A pregnant hobbit had to be at least twice as bad.

The roll in his hand was stale, and he couldn't imagine the cheese was in any better condition. After a moment's thought, he shook his head slightly.

"Saving a portion would do us little good in the long run." He broke the roll in half and pushed the larger of the two pieces into Billa's hand. If he'd thought she would take it, then he would have given her the whole thing. She needed it.

Billa gave him a piece of cheese and settled against his side to eat without complaint or protest.

Thorin watched her silently. She took a bite of the cheese and closed her eyes, smiling contentedly. One would have thought she'd just sampled a delicacy from the royal table. After she'd eaten the rest of her cheese with equal relish, her focus seemed to return to her mate, her contentment replaced with concern.

"You're not eating?"

Thorin was a little embarrassed. She'd think his reasons foolish, naturally. "I am waiting."

"What for? Them to come snatch it away from you?" The hobbit frowned at him. "Don't make me force feed you, love. It'd be most unpleasant."

Thorin lowered his head, chuckling through a sigh. "A small pleasure, Billa. Nothing more. I enjoy... watching you eat."

It was hard to tell in the darkness of their cell, but Thorin thought he saw Billa's cheeks flush. If he'd had any doubts, her tone when next she spoke dispelled them.

"Confusticating dwarf. Eat your food." The smile in her words was worth a thousand hurts at the Southron's hands. Really, he was glad to find that the simple joys of being with his mate hadn't lost their charm.

A sudden thought, one of Dís' reaction when she learned that her younger son wasn't the only one to be having a child out of wedlock, made him wince around his mouthful of bread. Billa didn't notice, and for that, he was grateful. Explaining his sister's attitude toward the subject wasn't something he wanted to engage in.

It took little subtlety to convince the halfling to eat his cheese as well, and if gratitude could melt stone, then they would have been in the open air in no time at all.

"Sleep, Billa. We'll plan more tomorrow."

(For those that skipped the entire chapter this is a summary of the whole kit and caboodle.

Thorin is stunned by the revelation that he's to be a father, but decides (surprise surprise) not to think about it. They plan their escape, but conclude that the best thing to do right now is to wait, and bide their time.

The Southron later forces Thorin to accept a brand, a deep burn of his personal sign made to his shoulder. Billa is made to give Thorin a haircut, which she can do, and even enjoys. Thorin doesn't see the loss of his hair as a positive thing, but doesn't tell Billa how much of an insult she's just given. The Southron then makes Thorin take up the brand and use it on Billa, insisting that Thorin should suffer as he did - unable to save or spare his wife.

Afterward, Billa and Thorin are allowed to return to his cell together, and they mutually comfort one another and are even provided with rations. Thorin makes Billa blush. Chapter end.

For those that only skipped the torture scene in the middle this is a summary of that scene.

The Southron forces Dwalin to brand his leader, using a brand of the Southron's making, in the design of his own sign. Then the Southron orders Billa to cut Thorin's hair. She takes this well, and is even cheerful about its execution, but Thorin takes the loss of his hair as deeply as any insult he's ever been dealt. Though he knows Billa is likely ignorant, he doesn't tell her what a deep hurt she has actually inflicted. Afterward, the Southron tells Thorin to apply the same brand he just took to Billa. He protests, trying to take the punishment on himself, but the Southron denies him, insisting that Thorin should suffer as he suffered - knowing his wife was in pain, but unable to spare her. Afterward, telling him he has shown "strength and honor," the Southron allows them to return to their cells.)