Author's note: Okay, so work is driving me nuts right now and I think some of this insanity has spilled over into this chapter - I'm curious and a little nervous to see what you think of it. Thank you all so much for your feedback so far! I really feel the need to bring our favourite couple together again soon, so it probably won't be too long, please have a little more patience with me.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit.
Chapter XII
Tauriel struggled to regain consciousness, her limbs warm and heavy and trying to drag her back into oblivion. She had been drifting in a state between sleep and wakefulness for a while now, reluctant to let her guard down and sleep while at the same time tempted by the vague possibility of seeing Kíli in her dreams once more. Now, however, her instincts were suddenly screaming at her to wake up and she forced herself to open her eyes, breathing heavily as she quickly assessed her surroundings.
Adrenaline shot through her veins when her gaze fell upon Nimwen's face a few feet away, her eyes wide and scared. A blade was pressed to her delicate throat and in the darkness it took Tauriel a moment to make out the orc standing behind her friend.
She sat up immediately, but was stopped from any further actions by the voice of said orc. "Move and I will gladly slit her throat."
Tauriel grew perfectly still, not questioning that the orc would take great pleasure in killing her friend right before her eyes. "What do you want?" she growled.
The orc did not reply right away, but used his free hand to throw a woolen sack that contained something heavy at her. "Open it!"
She reluctantly obeyed this command and pulled the fabric apart to look inside. Iron shackles.
"Put them on, she-elf," the creature still threatening Nimwen hissed. "And pull the bag over your head," he added, grinning as if this was a whole lot of fun for him.
"Why?" Tauriel demanded, narrowing her eyes at the orc. She considered leaping up and using the shackles to strangle the foul creature, but one look at Nimwen's frightened expression made her rethink this plan. It was too great a risk.
"Because I say so," the orc snarled in reply, pressing his blade precariously close to Nimwen's throat. "If you don't want to sit in a pool of your little friend's blood, you'd better learn to follow my orders."
Tauriel felt anger rise in her so hot that she was sure it showed on her face, but complied with the command nevertheless and fastened the shackles around her wrist, fixing the orc with a murderous stare all the while. Then, with a last, hopefully reassuring look at Nimwen, she pulled the filthy, woolen bag over her head, trying her best not to gag at the smell that immediately entered her nostrils.
"That's it," she heard the muffled voice of the orc and managed not to flinch as she was grabbed roughly by her upper arm and yanked into an upright position.
"Where are you taking her?" she heard Nimwen ask as she was being pushed towards the door.
"To meet the Master," the orc snarled and if Nimwen said anything in reply to that it was lost to Tauriel's ears because the door to their cell was slammed shut and locked.
For the first time in what had to be at least a day and a half she was now outside the cell she shared with Nimwen and she decided to use the circumstance that she had once again been blindfolded to her advantage and pay attention to every detail that she was able to perceive with the senses still left to her.
As she was roughly being pushed and pulled along seemingly never-ending corridors she counted. 46 steps to the right. Then a flight of stairs with 22 steps, winding narrowly upward. 37 steps to the left, then a draft of fresh air – an exit nearby, maybe? – and another 53 steps down the corridor. She could hear shouting and what might have been the clatter of weapons to her right, but was shoved into another stairway to her left, climbing 45 more steps. After 20 steps down yet another corridor to her right, a door was opened and she was pushed inside, the background noises she had perceived previously all dying away as it shut behind her.
For a moment Tauriel stood completely still and steeled herself for whatever might come next. Then she was again taken by her upper arm and guided a few steps into a room that was still cold, but definitely warmer and less damp than her prison. With a jab to the back of her knees she was forced into a chair of some kind. The shackles were removed from her wrists, but the joy over that lasted only for seconds before her arms were fastened to the armrests of her seat, the bonds tying her down also made of iron, making an escape impossible.
The bag was yanked off her head and Tauriel blinked, her eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the light in the room, not bright, but still much brighter than anything her eyes had become used to over the last couple of days. She was dimly aware of the orc who had brought her here bowing deeply to someone else in the room. "I hope you will find her to your satisfaction," he said, in a tone much more deferential than what he had used before, and disappeared quickly and silently from view.
Tauriel was breathing heavily as her surroundings came into focus. She had expected a dungeon of some sort, a torture chamber maybe, but had not been prepared to find herself sitting before a long table, laden with foods of all kind, bread, meats in abundance, fresh fruit even.
"Are you hungry?" a voice cut through the silence. Something about it made her insides turn cold and she whipped her head around to localize its owner.
Perched at one end of the table was a cloaked figure with bony shoulders, face concealed under a large hood. From the sleeves of his cloak, long-fingered hands with sharp, dirty nails protruded.
Tauriel frowned and balled her hands into fists. "If it was your intention to invite me to dine with you, you should have refrained from tying my hands to a chair." While she spoke, deliberately keeping her voice cool and confident, she tried to assess her host. This had to be the elusive Master. From his physical appearance – or at least from what she could see of it – he did not appear to be much of a physical threat. But Tauriel would not be so naïve and allow herself to be deceived by this – for all she knew a lethal fighter could be hiding under this long, black cloak.
He chuckled at her reply. "You have wit," he said, "I enjoy that. Much more interesting than the dull other one. But you misunderstood me – I was asking in earnest. After so many days without proper drink and food, are you not eager to fill your stomach once more? Are you not starving?"
His voice went up at those last words as if the mere thought was making him giddy and Tauriel gaped at him, puzzled. Quickly she collected herself, determined not to show any emotions in front of this man. "I am starved for light and air," she returned, "as well as for freedom to move about as I wish."
"Ha!" her opponent exclaimed and Tauriel flinched ever so slightly when he suddenly rose from his seat and moved across the room with much greater agility than his hunched pose had suggested. She tensed when he came to stand behind her, her fists now balled so tightly that the shackles on her wrists were cutting into her skin. "I am afraid you will have to contain your hunger for those things quite a bit longer," he hissed, his face now closely behind her. As his foul breath washed over her, Tauriel felt bile rise in her throat and she quickly took a couple of deep breaths through her mouth. Being sick right then and there was a sign of weakness she was not willing to risk.
"What do you want with me?" she choked out, tears burning in the corners of her eyes as she swallowed against the acid feeling in her throat.
Her host laughed at her obvious discomfort. "You will help me gain the favor of someone very important, very powerful," he sneered. "As the others have done, before they so unfortunately… expired. You – you are strong, though. A warrior. You have what I need."
Tauriel blinked. Expired? Others? "What if I refuse?" she hissed, trying to lean away from the bony hand that had begun twirling a strand of her hair between its fingers, her heart beating fast in her chest both from fear and revulsion.
Suddenly the grasp onto her hair was tightened and her head was yanked roughly against the back of the chair. "I do not need your permission, elf," the Master snarled into her ear. "I have studied your kind for a long time, I know many of your strengths and even more of your weaknesses."
Tauriel gritted her teeth as a knife was produced from somewhere behind her and pressed against her throat.
"Yes," the voice behind her muttered when she did not even make a sound, "you will not bend so easily. You will help me complete the last steps of my task. And I will unleash something Middle Earth has never seen before…" He gave an insane little cackle.
Tauriel winced as the blade against her neck travelled lower, lightly cutting into the skin on her collarbone. The sudden bang of the large doors behind her being thrown open saved her from finding out how much damage her captor intended to do with his blade and she closed her eyes briefly in relief when the knife was withdrawn.
"Master," she heard the voice of an orc speaking in a humble tone. "There has been an incident in the pits."
She was aware of a swoosh of air behind her and exhaled deeply when she felt the presence of the Master retreat towards the exit.
"Can you do nothing right?" he barked at the orc. Tauriel heard him take a few steps before he added, "Take her back to the cells. We will continue later."
Tauriel did not bother to resist when the discarded woolen hood was pulled over her head once more, eager to be led away from the quarters of this man whose madness permeated the air around him, chilling her bones. On the way back to her prison, she only half-heartedly paid attention to her surroundings and possible routes for escape. In her mind she mulled over the things she had learned during her audience with the master of the place, stringing them together, trying to make sense of her's and Nimwen's situation.
When finally she reached her destination and was pushed into the cell she shared with her friend, she patiently waited – on her knees – while the iron shackles on her wrist were removed. As the door behind her was pulled closed, she tore off her blindfold. It was a little brighter now inside the cell than it had been before – the sun must have risen outside, she told herself, day and night blurring into each other in this dark place.
Nimwen was at her side immediately. "You are bleeding," she muttered, brushing aside Tauriel's long hair to inspect her wound.
Tauriel glanced down to where a thin cut marred her smooth skin, a few drops of her blood running down her chest. "It is nothing," she said absentmindedly, staring into nothingness as Nimwen produced a small piece of cloth which she pressed against the wound. Her thoughts were running wild in her head and she was barely aware of the slightly stinging feeling caused by Nimwen's administrations.
"What happened?" the healer asked, her voice fearful.
Tauriel shook her head in reply. "It really is nothing," she repeated and covered her friend's hands with her own to get her to focus on what she was saying instead of her small injury. "The one they call Master – I think I know what he is doing, Nimwen."
Nimwen looked at her with wide eyes. "What?"
Tauriel took a deep breath. "Breeding. He is breeding orcs."
Now that she had said it aloud, it all appeared to make even more sense than it had in her head. Clearly this so-called Master was working for someone else, someone even more evil and clearly more powerful. That someone had tasked him with the creation of something, something bad, something foul. Then there had been the mention of pits, which resonated with stories Tauriel had heard of abominable creatures that sprang forth from the earth. Also, clearly, their captor intended to use elves for his purpose or had even done so before. How, exactly, she had yet to determine.
"If that is true," Nimwen's shaky voice cut through her thoughts as if reading her mind, "then what role do we play in this?"
Tauriel looked at her. "I do not know. But I would rather not stay long enough to find out." Kíli, I hope you are close. I see no way for escape and I do not now how much longer we can hold out.
She swallowed and squeezed her friend's hand when, unbidden, another word she had heard their captor utter sprang into her head. Expired.
"Breathe in deeply. Now let your breath out slowly. In. Out. In. Out." Kíli was crouched on the ground next to Finn, speaking in a very low voice, barely above a whisper, in order not to alert the doe grazing below a couple of trees to their presence.
With their food supply so very diminished and their journey becoming more and more physically demanding the closer they got to the mountains, Kíli had at last found himself forced to slow their steady pace for a while and teach Finn to hunt with bow and arrow.
Before he had made that decision, he had of course tried to do it himself and had cursed his shoulder when he'd found that he would not be able to get a steady aim, his muscles protesting against the exertion of drawing back the string on his bow. Now he was impatient to get this over and done with and continue following the trail of the orc pack, but he also knew that Finn would never hit his target if he pushed him too hard and so he tried his best to be a patient teacher to the boy. Which was far from easy with the pressure to find Tauriel increasing with every hour, clouding not only his heart, but also his thoughts.
"Continue to breathe steadily," Kíli now instructed his young friend. "Now, on your next breath, raise your bow. Hold your breath while you take aim, breathe out about half the way, shoot. Do this quickly or you will begin to feel faint from holding your breath for too long."
"What if I miss?" Finn asked between breaths.
"Then we'll have to find some wild berries for dinner," Kíli simply replied and smirked as Finn automatically scrunched up his face in distaste. "You won't miss," he added. "Not if you do it the way I showed you."
Finn nodded, took another breath and raised Kíli's bow that was a little too small for him, but not so bad for practice. His face was a mask of concentration as he focused his eyes on the animal and let his arrow fly.
Kíli let out the breath he too had been holding, out of habit, when the doe, startled, jumped up and ran. The arrow had not found its mark.
He was still trying to think of something nice to say to Finn, something that would not convey his disappointment, when the boy suddenly jumped up. "It think I hit its leg – it won't get very far like this," he exclaimed and, before Kíli could stop him, set off after the animal in a sprint.
"Finn, wait!" Kíli called after the boy as he, too, leapt to his feet. But Finn neither turned around nor did he slow down and so Kíli saw himself forced to run after him. Mahal, this was not good. Kíli had not seen the animal get hit, but even if Finn had managed to actually shoot it, the sensible way would be to look for a trail and follow it. If the doe was wounded, there would definitely be a trail. Running at through unknown territory in pursuit of it was however certainly not such a clever thing to do.
"FINN!" Kíli shouted again, not just angry but also a little afraid. Several scenarios of what might happen to the boy flashed through his mind as he dashed through the trees – he might get lost and then Kíli would have to search for him, wasting valuable time. Tauriel's time. He might run straight into the arms of another band of orcs, giving away their presence, in all likelihood ruining their mission. And, worst of all, he might fall down an unexpected precipice or whatever, and break his neck in the fall.
Pushing himself as hard as he could, Kíli emerged from the small forest they had been hunting in just in time to see the deer disappear behind a couple of rocks at the other end of the plain the forest gave out on. Finn, a couple of yards ahead, did not waste any time in going after it and Kíli thought with a sensation of dread that the last of his imagined scenarios would be the most likely to come true, all his instincts telling him that it was not a good idea to run at full speed towards the horizon without knowing what lay beyond.
Panic gripping his heart, Kíli dashed after the boy, his lungs threatening to explode from running so fast. For a moment he imagined that he saw a movement somewhere off to the right - just a flutter at the edge of his vision - but if he wanted to save the boy, he had not time to spare to check his surroundings. As Finn drew closer to the edge of the plateau, Kíli finally managed to reduce the distance between them. Just a little more and he would be able to reach him… Throwing himself forward with all the strength he had, Kíli felt rather than saw his hand gripping onto the fabric of the boy's coat, and he yanked him back forcefully, causing Finn to land on his back with a shocked yelp.
Under other circumstances Kíli might have triumphed at the fact that he had been right and that the plateau actually did end in a cliff that rose high above the lands below. As it was, he cursed himself for once again doing something so completely reckless when his own momentum propelled him past the boy on the ground, his boots skidding across several feet of gravel before he went over the edge.
Scrambling, he managed to hold onto the rocky edge of the cliff and tried his best not to look down at where his feet where now dangling in the air, twisting his body instead so that he faced the wall. Holding on for dear life with his left hand, he simultaneously tried to find a place to put his feet and his right arm so that he would be able to pull himself back up. He growled in frustration when he discovered that his right arm was mostly useless for this task – he could not get a good grip for what seemed like a long time, and when he finally did and tried to pull himself up, an excruciating pain shot through his shoulder, forcing him to let go again.
"Finn!" he yelled, dangling by his one good arm, his muscles screaming in protest. Now he did risk a glance at the ground and groaned when he realized just how high up he was. "Finn! I could really use some help here!"
There was no answer and Kíli wondered if the boy had maybe hit his head or something when he had pulled him away from the abyss. Well, if that was the case then this was probably his end – not even the most robust of dwarves would have been likely to survive a fall so deep. "Finn!" he tried again as he felt his grip slipping.
This could not be it, he thought, his heart filling with desperation, as he looked down again, small rocks raining down the surface of the cliff from where he had tried – and failed – to find a footing. He had to get back up there, needed to make sure the boy was alright, needed to continue on his quest to find Tauriel. He could not die such a pathetic death – not now, not like this.
Holding on with barely more than his fingertips, his silent prayers were answered when, suddenly, a hand was wrapped around his wrist in a firm hold. Looking up, Kíli contemplated whether he would hit Finn or kiss him once he was on safe ground again and then nearly let go of his rescuer's arm in shock when above him he spotted not the boy's face, but someone else's entirely.
"Fíli," he breathed, as his dark eyes locked onto the light ones of his older brother.
Fíli smiled and held on tightly. "I've got you, little brother, don't worry."
A/N: Told you, it's a little insane... But I promise that the next chapter will continue right where this one ended.
To the whole orc business... I've done some research on orc breeding (crazy as it sounds) and decided to go with some of the ideas that Peter Jackson's LOTR movies give us. As to who this guy might be working for... I think I'll leave that one open to your own interpretaion. For now at least.
