Wow, 100 reviews! Thanks, I love all of you guys :) It's been really nice to hear your feedback because my life has just gone crazy again with starting the last year of school and my lil dog having an operation :( so thank you! This one's been a while in the coming but it should be pretty good for you, I've struggled with knowing how to get to where I want to go with this but I'm pretty sure I'm on track now.
I have to go to school like, now, so I hope there are no mistakes (like Kilo in the last chapter, sorry :P) and I really hope you enjoy :D
As a sidenote – I wrote this to many songs but one, called Two Little Boys by the Irish Rovers (which may well pop up later coz I love it!) fits really really well to Fíli and Kíli in my mind, so give it a listen on the old YouTube :)
Read. Enjoy. Review.
Chapter Twenty One # Somewhere #
"Lost in the darkness I'll find you somewhere Lost in the darkness
Hoping for a sign
Instead there's only silence
Can't you hear my screams?
Never stop hoping
Need to know where you are
But one thing's for sure
You're always in my heart
I'll keep on trying
Until my dying day
I just need to know
Whatever has happened
The truth will free my soul
Tried to find your way home
I want to embrace you
And never let you go
Almost hope you're in heaven
So no one can hurt your soul
Living in agony
Cause I just do not know
Where you are" Within Temptation, Somewhere
When Kíli woke he was blind. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth and his head was spinning, but try as he might when he opened his eyes, he could see nothing.
His hands were bound behind his back, so tightly that it was a wonder they had not dropped right off, so calling for help was probably not the best option. Praying that a blindfold was the source of his sightlessness, Kíli opted instead to keep quiet, shuffling around on the floor to try and discern where he was.
"E's awake…" a rough voice crooned and Kíli froze.
"Ah, welcome, Master Kíli…" another voice laughed coldly, and several other voices joined in the laughter.
Kíli's blood ran cold as he recognised the callous cackles of orcs and goblins amongst them.
"Don't be rude, Rulg!" the first voice crooned again. "Master Kíli indeed. This is Prince Kíli of Erebor, second in line to the throne."
Cheers echoed off the walls of whatever space Kíli was lying in and he struggled against his bonds fearfully. A clawed hand found its way to his neck and started to choke him and he instantly kicked out viciously, fighting ever harder.
"My dear Prince, stop struggling or my hand will be replaced with a knife." The other voice, apparently belonging to one called Rulg, whispered dangerously.
Kíli stilled himself with an inconspicuously deep breath, straining to hear for any clues as to where he was.
"He doesn't speak." Rulg sounded disappointed and Fíli's voice popped into his head unannounced.
He doesn't speak? Are you talking about the same Kíli, he never shuts up!
Kíli swallowed. Since the Blessing had struck, he had never left his brother's side, with the exception of a short time in Goblin Town and obvious occasions such as bathroom breaks. Feeling like an infant pining for its mother, Kíli yearned for Fíli's comforting presence before scolding himself. He was glad that Fíli was not here, because Kíli was in an undoubtedly unfortunate predicament, it seemed, and Fíli was safer elsewhere.
"Oh mighty prince?" the first voice called gleefully. "We have a surprise for you, your majesty!"
Even though he knew that his captors were using the terms sarcastically, Kíli still did not feel as though the titles belonged to him. Prince, indeed. The last time he had been a 'prince', he had been eight years old.
"No way, Fee."
"Aw, come on, Kíli!" his brother called imploringly.
"Na uh." Kíli shook his head and folded his arms.
Fíli put his hands on his hips. "Kíli…"
Kíli mimicked the gesture. "Fíli…"
"I was Azog last time, Kíli, it's only fair-"
"You were not!" Kíli gasped, appalled. "I always have to Azog and I'm not going to no more. If I'm not Uncle Thorin then I'm not playing with you!"
Fíli wrinkled up his nose distastefully. "That's just babyish."
"Babyish?" Kíli blinked. "No, it's blackmail."
Fíli laughed out loud. "You're so silly, Kee."
Kíli scowled, rolling his fists into balls. "I am not!"
"Whatever." Fíli rolled his eyes. "Now, you be Azog-"
"I'm serious, Fíli!" Kíli growled. "I don't wanna be Azog."
"Stop being such a baby and listen!" Fíli snapped but Kíli let out a yell and launched at his brother.
To their misfortune, Kíli chose to attack the same moment that their Balin entered for their daily tuition.
"Lads! What on earth are you doing?"
They both scrambled to their feet and glared at each other, neither brother willing to tattle.
Balin sighed and raised an eyebrow. "I'll tell you what, if you tell me what happened I won't tell your mother that the pair of you were brawling."
"Really?" they looked at each other and then began talking at twenty five miles an hour "Kíli hit me-"
"Because Fíli called me a baby-"
"Because he said he wouldn't play if he wasn't Uncle Thorin-"
"I'm always have to be Azog and I hate being Azog!"
"Which isn't tr- wait!" Fíli looked at his brother. "You can say "I'm always Azog" or you can say "I always have to be Azog", but "I'm always have to be Azog" makes no sense."
"Oh, thank you Fee." Kíli nodded, storing the knowledge away for later.
"You're welcome. And you're wrong."
"I am not!"
"Are too!"
"Am not!"
"Are two!"
"Lads!" Both boys turned to Balin who was watching with a look of pure amusement on his face. "You want to play out a battle?" they both nodded eagerly and the old dwarf smiled. "Why don't you play out a different battle?"
"A different battle?" Fíli blinked.
"Aye…you could re-enact the Siege of Barad-Dŭr…"
Kíli later realised that Balin had found a way of teaching the boys their daily history lesson with total certainty of their complete attention, but the eight year old and thirteen year old sensed only the story, sitting down instantly with their best listening faces on.
As soon as Balin had finished retelling a somewhat condensed and censored version of the War of the Last Alliance, the boys burst to their feet.
"For a story with not so many dwarves that's a good one." Kíli smiled at their teacher before turning to Fíli. "I wanna be Izzy-door!"
"Isildur." Balin corrected gently. "The son of the great King Elendil."
"Prince Isildur…" Fíli tried out the name on his brother and then grinned. "I'm gonna be Sauron!"
"Make it historically accurate, laddies, then it's part of your studies." Balin noted and Kíli nodded seriously.
Uncle Thorin did not like it when they played out real battles, and Mama always said to never ever play the Battle of Moria when he was around. This was strange to Kíli – Uncle Thorin was always the hero of their games, and he could not understand what it was his uncle hated. Though Kíli was not sure why, he did notice that whenever he witnessed their games Thorin would go very quiet and sad, or he would ask them to stop because they were making too much noise or they were going to break something.
The eight year old could not remain serious for long. "I'm gonna bite your fingers off!"
"He didn't bite them, he slashed them with a broken sword." Fíli corrected.
Kíli rolled his eyes with a sigh. "I know but I don't have one! I don't have any sword so I'm impoverishing."
Balin laughed merrily. "You mean improvising, and very well I might add."
Kíli beamed at the praise and the two boys started to wrestle around on the floor. That evening, like most evenings, Kíli was most definitely not ready for bed. Bouncing up and down on the mattress he turned to his mother.
"Mama? Am I a prince?"
"Well, I suppose so, yes." Dís sighed, her nose scrunching up as she pulled out a crust of bread from under Fíli's pillow.
"Really?" Kíli asked enthusiastically.
"Yes, really. Your Uncle is the King-In-Exile of-"
"Erebor!" the two boys chorused and Dís laughed.
"Exactly. But he's not a proper king because he has not got a kingdom. You are his heirs so in a way you are princes-in-exile, but I'm not sure that that is a real term."
Kíli considered this. "I'm not gonna be a prince until we get Erebor back. Then I'll be the bestest prince ever with the bestest beard ever, but until then I'll just be Kíli. I'd rather be just Kíli than a prince without a princedom. I mean kingdom." When he looked up at his mother he gasped. "Mama, why are you crying?"
"I'm not." Dís insisted, blinking away the ghostly moisture in her eyes and tucking the blankets up under Kíli's chin and planting a kiss on his head. "You'll always be a prince to me."
Kíli giggled and squirmed as she tickled him and kissed him again, before repeating it all with Fíli.
"Goodnight my little princes." She called from the doorway.
"Goodnight Mama." They called sweetly and the door closed.
"Prince Kíli…" the words sounded alien on his tongue, but good alien.
"We'll get there one day, Kee." Fíli breathed.
Like so many other nights of his blissfully ignorant childhood, on that warm spring night Kíli smiled himself to sleep.
Well, now he was a prince for real, as his captors were kind enough to count out. Though, saying that, was it official yet? Thorin Stonehelm had denounced the throne to hand it over to his uncle, but had neither had had a coronation. Maybe he was not technically a prince yet.
It did nothing to help his predicament but Kíli could not help but wonder where exactly the two Thorin's were with the formalities. Speaking of the younger Thorin, since when had Stonehelm had that great a beard?
It was just not fair; Kíli's beard somehow did not want to grow-
Snap out of it! A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Thorin scolded. If you want to make it out of here alive you need to keep your wits about you, not reminisce about childhood like a nostalgic old woman!
Kíli steeled himself, trying to tune back into whatever conversation he had been ignoring. He wanted to live so badly. Dying again would be just awful, especially now, when they were so close to Erebor again, and when he was yet to grow an actual beard.
Kíli…The voice chided and Kíli felt a little sheepish. Sorry… Wait, now I'm apologising himself. Great, so I've been captured by what sounds like orcs and I'm already starting to go mad…
"Answer me!" Rulg's yell connected with his ears in the same moment the man's – or maybe orc's – foot connected with his gut and Kíli tensed, refusing to make a sound. "Do you think your brother would prefer to receive your ear or your finger?"
Kíli's stomach lurched and he kept his mouth shut, partly due to his inherited stubbornness but largely because he was afraid to answer the question.
The foot smashed into his gut again and again and Kíli grunted, but no other noise escaped his lips and despite it all, a tiny bit of pride warmed his heart.
"Fine, riddle me this my dear Prince." The first voice chanted, sounding dangerously close to his ear and laughing when the young dwarf flinched away. "Would you prefer your brother to die by his knives or your arrows?"
Low jeers met his ears and Kíli tried to keep silent again, but his captors had had enough and something that felt suspiciously like a club crashed into his groin. Agonising pain shot through the lower half of Kíli's body and a scream ripped its way out of his mouth before morphing into a pained groan.
"Rulg, we got the signal!" A new voice yelled. "It's time to move!"
"Get up!"
A hand grabbed Kíli by the scruff of his neck and his feet kicked above the floor for a moment before he was roughly set down on his feet again. Harsh hands pushed him forward and he stumbled forward obediently, only to trip over a branch of sorts and crash straight back down onto his face to the soundtrack of cackling orcs.
"I said get up, scum!" Rulg rumbled, dragging Kíli up by his hair this time, making the proud dwarf hiss with pain.
This time the sharp tips of swords pressed Kíli onwards and he tried to watch his step, wishing he was a hobbit or some other nimble creature. Then he would not stumble over his own big feet even with the blindfold. A low buzzing noise neared his face and Kíli shook his head to scare the insect away, and something gently hit the side of his face.
His frown deepened as he wondered what it could be, but when he realised that the clasp usually drawing his hair away from his face was dangling by a single lock and colliding with his neck and chin as he walked, Kíli had a thought.
Lowering his head to the side, Kíli made a point of scratching his shoulder with his chin, inconspicuously pulling the clasp free of his hair and letting it fall to the floor with a mixture of triumph and sorrow. As much as it hurt to leave the last thing his mother had ever given him behind, if anyone was tracking them, if there was the slightest chance of rescue, Kíli's clasp would confirm his presence with this band of ruffians, an idea he had admittedly stolen from the youngest hobbit of the Fellowship.
According to him, he has stolen many a prank from Fíli and I before so it's only fair…
Stop getting side tracked! The Thorin-like voice in his head was practically crying with frustration. Concentrate, Kíli!
Kíli shook his head again and staggered on. To his dismay, that was how he spent the next day or two, he was unsure how much time passed exactly. His only indication of time passing at all was the apparent darkening of the world behind the blindfold that was now protecting the upper part of his nose and face from the wind that bit his chin and lower cheeks, as well as the tip of his nose.
As he walked his legs did not ache, he was too used to walking for that. No, the walking was not a problem for Kíli. Unlike a hobbit or a man, Kíli's lips did not crack in the face of the bitter winds and he did not shiver and try to bear the cold. Though winter was settling in it was not cold, not for a dwarf of Durin's folk.
What made Kíli shudder and try and retreat into himself was the strange emptiness he felt. The fact that he was in mortal danger put aside, being alone was not a thing Kíli was used to anymore and he did not like it.
"Kíli? Kíli?"
The adolescent dwarf groaned, dropping out of the tree in front of his panicking brother. "What now?"
Fíli looked affronted. "I've been looking for you everywhere, I don't know what you thought you were doing! Dwalin-"
"Wants us to train twice a day, yes I know." Kíli snapped, snatching up his bow and storming back up the mountain towards their home.
"What's wrong with you?" Fíli snorted, throwing his arm around his brother.
The look of surprise on Fíli's face when Kíli flung his arm off was almost enough to make Kíli feel guilty. "I want some personal space, Fíli! I want some time to just be on my own and think!"
"You want what?"
"I want to have some time to think my own thoughts, Fíli. I like being alone sometimes." Kíli added softly.
"Alright." Fíli's voice was just as soft. "I'm sorry."
Back then, there were days when Kíli would have given his bow for a little time to sit with himself and be alone with his thoughts but now… Now Kíli would give anything for that lack of privacy, for the constant presence of another bothering him to high heaven.
Being alone with his thoughts was not all it was cracked up to be, either. Without the silently reassuring presence of his brother, uncle, or any member of the company for that matter, there was nothing to stop Kíli's fears festering and growing in his head to manifestations that were out of his control.
Not to mention the moment that you're actually alone with your thoughts your subconscious starts arguing with itself.
Oh, grow up, Kíli.
You just proved my point.
An unnoticeable smirk twitched across Kíli's cheeks for a second and he pressed on, walking until he was thrown to the floor.
The blindfold was ripped away from his face taking several strands of hair with it and Kíli hissed, glaring up at his captors with the fiercest glare that he could muster.
"You look just like your uncle." Rulg snorted, and the crude name suited the face it appeared to belong to.
You are a very unfortunate man, Kíli thought, taking in the man's clumsy, lumpy features, pockmarked complexion and disgusting haircut, though out loud he replied in a steely tone. "Good."
"Are you proud of him?" the crooning voice belonged to – to Kíli's surprise – a tall blonde man, with hair so fair it was almost white. "You shouldn't be. He's a greedy swine. Don't you agree?"
Kíli spat at the man's feet in response, and the blonde seized a handful of Kíli's hair and dashed his face against a nearby tree.
Moaning in pain, Kíli listened intently to the man's infuriated hiss.
"You listen to me, boy. You are only alive now because I say so, so don't push your already dwindling luck."
Kíli nodded curtly, studying the man's face with distaste.
"I preferred it when he could not see anything."
"No…" a sickeningly familiar voice growled. "I want him to see me when I kill him. I want to send his head to Oakenshield on a pike, my image burnt into his horrified little eyes."
Lovely. Kíli thought, his heart sinking faster than Bilbo without a boat. That's a horrible analogy…
Oh for the love of Durin, Kíli, now is not the time for this!
As the speaker came into sight Kíli's knees felt strangely weak and a flurry of thoughts dizzied him for a moment.
Please no, not again, I don't want to die again, not again, not again!
Fíli, I'm in big trouble, oh, Fee…
His mother's face flashed before his eyes, followed by the faces of the entire company and the people he had befriended along the way; Gandalf and Beorn, Merry and Pippin, Grimbeorn and Amalie, that silly little dog… The faces of his childhood friends, many long forgotten, joined the more recent acquaintances, and in the span of a few seconds the face of every being Kíli had ever liked or loved pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.
Of all the faces, the faces of the company lingered, joined by his mother as he remembered her – laughing lightly – and two figures who stood in front of the rest.
Thorin.
Fíli.
It was these images alone that swam in his mind as Kíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thror, was forced to lay his head on a nauseatingly bloody rock and stare into the eyes of Azog the Defiler as the loathed enemy of his people brought his mace crashing down towards his head.
~ The Hobbit ~
Caver whimpered as they drew closer to what had obviously been a camp as recently as the night before.
Legolas let out a low curse as he observed the litter and tracks left behind, his cheeks flaming red with anger that none of the others had never seen before as he examined something on the floor.
"What? What do you see?" Thorin demanded, and the elf turned to him with burning eyes.
"There was an elf here. The tracks indicate that he was not one of the prisoners."
A string of curses longer than Gandalf's staff erupted from Thorin's furious mouth and Legolas let him rant before adding –
"There were dwarves, too."
"So the only folk who have had none corrupted by these villains are the hobbits?" Bard II glanced at Bilbo and Frodo, and the former snorted humourlessly.
"Not even the most evil of hobbits I have ever heard of would have thought it worth any money, travelling so far from home." When he finished his angry declaration, Bilbo looked for Fíli, who was following Frodo looking very different from the confident young dwarf prince that had strode into his home so regally all those years ago.
In Bilbo's mind, Thorin's nephews had always been princes, though his being a hobbit meant that his application of the title to the boys stemmed more from his admiration for their spirits and respect for their talents and heritage than from their formal positions in society. Back on the original journey, Bilbo's hobbit mind had simplified matters significantly – Thorin was rightful king, therefore Fíli and Kíli were rightful princes. It had been much nicer to think of it like that – though Bilbo understood the politics well enough, he hated politics.
"They went this way." Frodo pointed out needlessly – the entire company could see the heavy tracks leading westward.
"Do we follow the tracks?" Bard queried and Thorin looked at him.
"We will follow the tracks until our search yields something, and though I greatly appreciate your help, should you wish to turn back you may." Despite the burning determination in his eyes Thorin's voice was monotonous.
Bard nodded respectfully. "I did not mean that I wish to turn back."
Thorin sighed and nodded, and Bilbo was thankful for neither the first nor last time that dwarves could not breathe fire like their scaly enemies.
A strangled cry from ahead a short while later had Thorin running to the front of the group to find Fíli trying to steady himself.
The blond held out a familiar metal clasp, crushed beyond repair by dozens of heavy feet.
"It's Kíli's."
"We're on the right track." Thorin swallowed gravelly. "We keep going."
They followed the tracks on horses and ponies for the rest of the day, until Caver started to howl pitifully at a huge, blood splattered rock. Smoke curled up into the air, the rancid smells of burning flesh filling the air as Frodo and Fíli went hesitantly to see what was upsetting the dog.
"We are being led somewhere." Legolas murmured to Bilbo uneasily. "I do not like it."
"What do you mea-" Bilbo's words were interrupted and his heart skipped several beats. "Oh, no, please no…"
Fíli's spluttered cry held more pain and fear than any noise the hobbit ever cared to hear, and he jumped off the pony thoughtlessly, running to the young dwarf's side with several others to see the cause of his distress.
Behind the rock Caver had stopped at was another rock, splattered with dry blood. An enormous pool of fresh blood lay on top, with flecks of what looked like brains, hair and bone showing up in the tacky liquid. A familiar bow, snapped clean in two, was nailed to the wall behind it, a single word behind it carved into the stone and outlined with blood.
Thorin fell to his knees next to Bilbo, his head hanging low against his chest at a time when the hobbit would most expect a roar. All of Thorin's rage had been spent, his anger having its only outlet in the expression of the intense grief swallowing his being.
The broken-hearted brother could have taken his turn to scream at the world but instead he whispered the name on the wall. He whispered it with the breathless torment only found in those who have lost the single most important thing to them in the universe.
He whispered it aloud, pouring into the word his grief, his anger, his fear, his hatred and his pain…
"Azog…"
Duh duh duuuuuh! I hope you all enjoyed, please drop a review it would make my day!
BTW – in my headcannon Thorin does not like seeing the boys re-enact the battle of Moria when they were kids because of the memories it stirs.