Finally a little time at hand for the next chapter. It's a little shorter than usual, hope you guys don't mind too much.
Since we've established already that basically everyone was an ass in the last chapter, we should just continue that way :D
Thanks again for all your reviews and also thanks for your understanding. The story will continue a little slower than usual, but it will continue! Enjoy the next chapter :)
The stonewalls of the dungeon cell were cold and hollow and reminded Kíli of hardened clay. Elven charms were carved into the walls and although the dwarf couldn't read it, he felt even more terrified and alone.
The elves had removed the arrow from his shoulder, not in a very gentle way, and bandaged the wound and left him with a pitcher of water and a large piece of bread, that was riddled with various spices the youngster didn't know and therefore didn't want to eat. He spat out the one bite he tried right away and curled up by the bars, looking grim and miserable.
Bilbo had waited in the shadows of the dungeons until the elven guards were not in earshot anymore, then he dared to scurry closer to the poor dwarf. For a while, he had been pondering about how to manage this situation and had finally come to a conclusion that he wasn't quite happy with, but he had no other choice.
"Kíli?", he whispered quietly, sitting by the dwarf with only the bars between them.
The youngster looked around startled but didn't see anything, for Bilbo was still wearing the ring.
"Bilbo?", he asked and almost believed to be suffering from hallucinations already.
"Yes, it's me."
"Where are you?", for once, Kíli wasn't sure if he felt happy about Bilbo being around or rather irritated, since he couldn't spot the hobbit anywhere. When something suddenly tucked at his sleeve, the dwarf flinched badly and rushed into the middle of his cell on all fours. There was nothing at the bars. Nothing at all that could have touched him.
"Are you a wraith?!", he demanded, worried that his friend might have died and had now come back to haunt him, since his death would have obviously been his fault.
"A wraith? No", Bilbo chuckled at the distressed face of the dwarf. "This is some kind of magic I suppose. Nobody can see me right now."
Kíli scooted closer again, carefully and slowly for he still didn't quite trust Bilbo's words. It could have been elven magic after all, trying to trick him. He reached out through the bars and when he felt a light touch at the tip of his fingers, he felt his stomach churn and his heart race in his chest.
"How do you do that?", he asked, looking at his hand and feeling that something was poking him but nothing could be seen.
"It's a ring I've found. Looks like it makes me invisible.", the hobbit explained simply, pinching Kíli in the heel of his hand, causing the youngster to hiss and pull his hand back.
"Ouch", the dwarf shot a nasty look into the thin air. "So that's how you got the key from Bolg."
"Precisely", the hobbit replied, grinning to himself. "Look, I will try to find a way out of here but it might take a while. Is your shoulder alright?"
"It hurts but I will live", Kíli replied and suddenly remembered his brother. His own misery was quickly forgotten, as his features grew worried again. "Do you think he's still alive?"
Bilbo watched him, his eyes full of pity and he was quite glad that Kíli couldn't see him right now, for he surely wouldn't want to be pitied.
"What does your heart tell you?", he asked gently.
"That he's still fighting", Kíli replied after a while, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I need to get out of here, Bilbo. I can't just sit around and let death take him."
"I know, I know. I'll try to help but bare with me. This place is too big for my liking", the hobbit muttered.
They suddenly heard the sound of footsteps approaching and Kíli gestured Bilbo to be quiet again. The Halfling disappeared to the other side of the corridor and watched surprised, when the young elf prince appeared by the corner. He stopped by Kíli's cell and the dwarf quickly rose to his feet, the pain in his shoulder making his head spin for a second. He refused to look up to the elf even more than he already had to.
"Is it true what you said in the hall?", the elf asked, watching the dwarf with some mistrust. "That your brother was dying?"
"Why would I lie about that?", Kíli grouched, already forgetting Gandalf's advice again for he saw no need to be humble when he was mistreated so badly. He thus was utterly surprised when the expression on the beautiful features of the elf changed and became somewhat irritated and curious.
"How does that feel?", he asked. Kíli eyed him for a while and he felt the dislike and suspicion slowly fading, for he had never encountered an elf, that had looked at him like that before.
"Like burning from the inside. As if my heart is torn to pieces", he replied after a while and sank down by the wall again, for he felt like his feet couldn't carry him anymore. He pulled his legs close to his body and felt his throat grow tight but he wouldn't shed a tear before an elf.
The elven prince watched him from the other side of the bars. It was a strange sensation, for elves did not know about death and decay, unless they had fought in battle. The young prince had never lost anyone dear to him, thus death was a foreign concept and he became curious at the sight of the suffering dwarf. Not in a begrudging way, but in the way of a child that had just learned something new about this world.
"Where did your company set camp?", the elf asked after a while and Kíli looked up at him once more.
"On the north-eastern side of the forest. We've travelled down from the Grey Mountains a couple of days ago", he replied carefully. "Why?"
"My father is not willing to help you", the elf began and Kíli suddenly felt so frustrated and furious that he punched his fist into the clay wall. Shards were trickling down on the floor and his hand was bruised but he did not care. For all he knew was that his brother would die without elven help. He was thus surprised, when the elf spoke up again.
"But I might", the beautiful creature didn't seem happy with his own decision though. "I can not let you out of your cell, but I can give you my word that someone will see to your brother's wounds. I can offer no more than that."
"That's more than enough!", Kíli exclaimed, getting up from his spot in a hurry. "I can take care of myself but my brother needs help. And he needs it urgently for he's been suffering since four days now and I'm not even sure he's alive anymore."
The elf nodded slowly, turning on his heels.
"What's your name?", Kíli shouted after him, his fingers clenched around the bars of his cell.
"Legolas", the elf replied, looking back over his shoulder, before he disappeared around the corner.
Kíli stood by the bars for a while, watching the empty corridor before him. He silently wondered why an elf would offer his help. Especially this young prince, since his father seemed reluctant to do the same. And he wondered about the curious expression, for he wasn't aware that elves did not die unless they were killed.
"Bilbo?", he quietly asked after a few minutes but no reply came. He waited a little longer but soon realised that the hobbit must have scurried off to find a way out. Disappointed and sad, Kíli sat down by the wall again. He felt useless and angry, mostly at himself for being so naïve as to believe that Thranduil would actually help them. His uncle had been right after all.
The Halfling had hurried off after Legolas and while he followed the prince, always staying close to the walls, he tried to remember all the corridors and halls. Back in the throne room, Thranduil still pondered over his prisoner and he looked up when his son entered the hall.
"Are you sure you don't want to help?", he asked gently but received no proper answer.
"Have the rafts arrived yet?", the king asked instead and Bilbo listened up.
"Just now."
"Good", Thranduil seemed content. "I feel festive today."
The hobbit felt his stomach turn and he glared at the elf accusingly, until he remembered that he couldn't see him.
"What's with the empty barrels and the provisions for the Lake-men?"
"They'll be send back to Esgaroth tomorrow", Legolas replied. He heard a faint noise in his back and carefully glanced over his shoulder. Though he couldn't see anything, he noticed a weird shadow moving beneath one of the torches and furrowed his brow.
Bilbo suddenly felt incredibly paranoid and as quietly as his hobbit feet could carry him, he hurried back down the corridor. When he reached a bigger junction, he went left instead of right and soon found himself in the far basement down below the House of Thranduil. He followed the corridor and after a few steps, the delicious scent of wine and food tickled his nose.
The pantry was crammed with barrels and boxes and bags of wonderful delicacies and the hobbit silently hoped that his stomach wouldn't begin to rumble. Two elves stood by a hatch in the ground, the panel lifted and Bilbo could hear the Forest River gurgle underneath their feet. He watched in wonder, when the elves began lifting barrels from a raft below, one after the other, each filled to the brim with wine. The wonderful scent drafted over to the hobbit and he sincerely wished for a taste but did not dare to move an inch.
"When will we send those barrels back?", one of the elves asked casually.
"Tomorrow at sunrise", the other replied, hurling another barrel from the raft. "They'll all be empty by then, I'm sure of it. Let's just hope that there will be one left for us as well."
A soft tinkle distracted Bilbo and when he looked closely, he noticed the key to the dungeon cells hanging from the belt of one elf. His face lit up and a plan formed in his head. Vague still, but a plan nonetheless. He silently crept back to the corridor and hurried off to the captured dwarf.
Kíli still sat at the same spot on the ground and felt miserable. Sorrow was drawn all over his features, though he was not worried about himself but rather about his brother. If Legolas did not make it in time, it might be too late for Fíli. Unable to bare the thought of losing his brother, the young dwarf once again buried his face against his knees and thus didn't hear the quiet hobbit steps approaching.
"Kíli", Bilbo whispered, his invisible hands grasping the bars of the cell. The dwarf looked up but, of course, couldn't see anything.
"Bilbo, where have you been?"
"Scouting a little", the hobbit replied. "Where is Esgaroth?"
"Esgaroth?", Kíli listened up and tried to ignore the feeling of stupidity, while talking to thin air. "Esgaroth is a town by the Long Lake. It's close to Erebor."
"It is?", the hobbit beamed and Kíli could hear the excitement in his voice.
"Yes, why?"
"We're going there!", Bilbo happily exclaimed.
"What?", the dwarf asked puzzled. "When?"
"Tomorrow at sunrise. Don't worry, we'll get you out of there tonight."
The moon was shining bright above the Mirkwood and the stars sparkled in the sky like millions of diamonds.
Bofur sat by the fire, looking up at the darkness above them, smoking his pipe. Ori had fallen asleep next to him, leaning against his shoulders. He still held a book in his hands, old and leather bound with plenty of beautiful illustrations, that he had been reading stories from to Fíli. The young prince lay quietly, sleeping tight and Bofur checked from time to time if he was still breathing, for the youngster never moved.
A few yards away sat Thorin, wide awake, yet exhausted but he did not dare to close his eyes, for nightmares haunted him whenever he fell asleep. Never before had he suffered like this. The King had lost a lot in his life. His home. His grandfather. His brother. His father. And he lived through all of that, turning bitter and cold but still, he lived. Losing his nephews too however, and Thorin was sure of that, would be the death of him, for even a strong dwarven heart could only bear so much suffering.
He stirred when he heard a rustling sound and got up from his spot, when he saw two creatures approaching from the dark. Two tall, hooded figures on horses appeared at the border of the woods. Thorin rose from his spot, his hand on Orcrist's hilt already, when one of the cloaked figures spoke up, gentle and quiet with the most soothing voice that Bofur had ever heard.
"There is no need to draw your weapon, Thorin Oakenshield. We've come to help."