Sorry for the delay. I don't know why, but this one was a real bugger.
Thank you for staying with the story!
Sword
XXV.
Morgul Poison.
No, he thought. Not this. Not here.
One-eye grinned. "You are snaga. I order you, you obey. Kill all, Durin-scum."
The whip lashed over his head, the orcs in the ring screeched again and lifted their swords. The fight seemed to be re-opened.
Kíli felt fear rise as the throbbing in his thigh turned into the familiar sharp, stabbing pain. He gritted his teeth as an involuntary groan escaped him. The pain grew stronger much faster than he remembered. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and joined Thak who was fighting off the attacking orcs. Kíli knew he had to put an end to this while he could still hold himself upright. Which, judging by the rapidly increasing pain and dizziness he felt, would not be for long. His leg was burning, flames of pain licked at his intestines. The rushing of his blood was so loud in his ears, it drowned the screeches and the riot around him. His vision blurred and turned blood-red. The words in his head were rumbling like thunder: Kill. Kill all!
And then his world turned into a blur of sounds, a cacophony of shrieks and cries. His nostrils were filled with stench of blood and gore.
—-
Kíli winced. His body hurt, every inch of his body hurt.
He wanted to curl up into a ball, to retreat to whatever was left whole inside of him, to shut out images, pain, sounds, thirst, and nausea. But something at his neck kept him upright. An iron collar that hadn't been there before.
"They put it on while you were unconscious," Thak said.
He had passed out? When? Why? What in Durin's name had happened?
He wanted to ask, but could only groan. So much pain.
"What did the orc give you to drink?"
"Morgul poison," he mumbled. Mahal. What had happened to his voice?
"Morgul…? Are you kidding me? If it is anything like a Morgul wound, there's no way of surviving it."
Kíli laughed, but it came out like a choked cough. Someone else was laughing too. A cackling, scornful laughter without any trace of humour.
The orc approached them on all fours, carefully and slowly, like the predator it was. Its yellow eyes lay on Kíli without blinking.
"We put a Morgul shaft in his leg, long ago. Should have died. Should have become a wraith. Yet he lives." It cocked its head. "Why?"
"Yes," Thak demanded to know. „If it is true what the creature says, why are you not dead?"
"I was healed."
"I witnessed someone perish from a Morgul wound once. It is not something that can simply be healed."
Kíli spread his fingers in a helpless gesture and only then realised they were covered in black blood.
"I was very lucky."
The orc laughed again. "Has run out. Luck of yours. You bear our mark. We give you poison, make you snaga. We order you, you obey."
"Didn't work overly well." Thak was laughing heartily all of a sudden. "Unless you wanted him to kill the first two rows of spectators at the ring, strangle the flogger with its own whip and behead the one-eyed bastard that made him drink the potion."
The orc's laughter stopped, and Kíli choked.
"I did what?"
"I have never seen anyone fight like this before. You were terrifying. It took ten orcs to incapacitate you. Most of them lost a limb or two in the process."
Kíli raked his fingers through his matted hair and flinched when a sharp pain seared through his head.
"They knocked you out. I thought they had cracked your skull."
"Durin's skull," Kíli answered automatically. "Thickheaded."
Thak shot him a glance. "I was sure you were one of their agents. That they put you here to break me. But after what happened today, I no longer think so. Not after the Morgul poison. Not after what the orcs said. They know you, they keep you for some foul reason. I think it's about time you tell me who you are."
"Name's Kíli."
"Kíli? Kíli of Erebor? Brother to the King?"
"You know of us?"
Thak laughed. "Oh, yes. I know what they say about you. They call you the scourge for dwarfkind. The great-grandsons of the mighty Thrór open one of the oldest dwarven kingdoms to other races. The sons of Durin are befriending men and elves. They have no pride in dwarven purity, they are an insult to their noble bloodline. When the Grey Lords ordered the elders to send an agent to Erebor they were more than willing to comply. They are going to put an end to your reign." He grinned viciously. "And by the look of it, they're one step closer to that goal. They've captured you. No doubt they will get rid of your brother as well."
"Not if I can help it."
Thak laughed again. "You can't. You are a prisoner in the dungeons of Vardukanuk. The only way out of here is feet first."
"There's always a way," Kíli insisted stubbornly. "There has to be. I have to stop whatever plans Dwoss and those bloody elders of yours have to take over Erebor. I must make sure that my brother is alive and well. Fíli is the best king Erebor could wish for. He is a noble spirit. A natural leader. And he has never been affected by the gold-sickness most of our ancestors have succumbed to. The love for riches, that madness that drew Smaug into the mountain. That started a war. Fíli, an insult to our bloodline?" Kíli spat on the ground at his feet. "Those dwarves who want to rob him of the throne, those are not worthy of the blood flowing through their veins."
Thak stayed quiet. It was a long time before he spoke again.
"You saved my life, back in the ring. You defended me."
"You would have done the same."
"No, I wouldn't. In here, everybody is just trying to survive. Will do anything to live another day. Not to be punished. Benevolence has no place here. I would have killed you to save my life. Yet you defended me."
Kíli shrugged. "Think nothing of it."
Silence engulfed them again, and Kíli suddenly realised how exhausted he was. He closed his eyes and was on the verge of dozing off when That suddenly spoke.
"She is really dead, isn't she?"
"Yes."
Thak nodded slowly. "Then I have no reason to live."
"Don't say that."
"Thinking of her kept me alive. Helped me to keep my sanity. Now everything is lost."
"Eyra died, trying to save you. Honour her. If you yield, if you let the orcs break you, you will destroy everything she loved about you. Your stubbornness, your courage, your honesty. You will disappoint her, you will be not worthy of the faith she had in you. And that is worse than death." Was he still talking about Thak or was he talking about himself and Tauriel? He pushed that thought aside. "What about your people? You don't want them to be ruled by orcs. That was the reason you were imprisoned. They need you."
Thak laughed bitterly. "They put me here."
"Those who fear you. What about those who followed you? Those who believed you?"
"What about them?"
"Will they not want to escape the colony? With Erebor's soldiers you can put an end to the orcs' regime."
"You would send your soldiers to our aid? "
"You are kin. Any help you may need we will give gladly."
Thak's eyes glittered in the darkness.
"I have never met someone like you before," he finally said. "Someone who is loyal and just. Honest. I have to think about what you said."
He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Kíli listened to his laboured breathing, to the occasional coughs of the few other prisoners, to the orc murmuring in Black Speech, and his heart sank. He had tried to encourage Thak not to lose hope, but in truth he didn't feel half as confident as he had pretended to be. He was chained to a dungeon's wall, every bone in his body was aching, and he had not the faintest idea how to escape. He tried to think about his options, tried to conjure up a plan, but his brain felt like mush. Judging by his headache, it most likely was.
He wondered how long he had been in the orcs' dungeons now. His usual stubble had grown into a full beard, so he reckoned it must have been quite a while now. Weeks? A full moon? More? He had tried to keep track by scratching notches into the ground, one for each day. But since he couldn't be sure how much time passed between waking and sleeping, between fights and food, he had no idea whether his count was accurate. So he had stopped some time ago. There were far too many lines on the ground anyway. His head ached and his leg throbbed in remembrance of the Morgul poison. Kíli closed his eyes. Just for a minute.
He woke up with a yelp and a desperate gasp for air. Which one of his many nightmares had tormented him, he couldn't remember. Thorin dying on Ravenhill? Fíli lying motionless in his own blood? Tauriel falling, her beautiful body a heap of limbs, her pale lips telling him how much he had disappointed her; how much he had hurt her? A small whimper escaped his throat. It felt raw, as though he had been screaming.
A jug was pushed towards him, and he managed to pull it closer with his foot.
"The orcs were here with food and water while you were out. I saved some for you," Thak said quietly.
"What about you?"
"You need it more than I do."
"But…"
"I can go without, you cannot. You need to recover, to heal. We need to think of a plan."
"A plan?"
"To get out of here." Thak bared his ruined teeth in something akin to a smile. "Not so long ago, I was certain I would turn into a ghost. At my last fight, I was convinced I would die. When you told me of Eyra's death, I felt I had no more reason to live. But now I find myself believing you. We can survive this. We can escape. You gave me hope."
He fell silent. The unmistakable sounds of heavy steps and the clanking of armour made both dwarves anxiously look at the dungeon's gate.
"The orcs are coming for us," Kíli whispered.
"Another fight?" Thak cursed. "After what you have done they will most likely have doubled or even tripled the guards. We won't be able to escape. What are we going to do?"
"We watch out for anything that can be useful to us. We seize an opportunity when we see one. And most importantly, we survive."
They heard keys unlock the iron barred door, followed by the sounds of the orcs' heavy footsteps. Thak had been right about the orcs taking precautions. Even the guards that had come to fetch them had doubled their numbers. They unlocked the chains and yanked the two dwarves to their feet.
"Don't worry. I won't fight you," Thak murmured under his breath. "They are not getting what they wish for."
One of the orcs laughed. "I have a new opponent you will not be able to defeat. Got in this very day, dangerous, a good fighter. I put money on this one. You will die, Shakutarbik."
Another orc dragged Shruk towards Kíli and chained them together. The imprisoned orc was spitting, and wailing, and trying to free itself, until a hard blow on its head made it shut up.
"You cannot give me that dwarf to fight. Is for Lord Ulrug, this one. Bears our mark! He has to live!"
"Then don't kill him." The orcs laughed, and Shruk hissed and bared its sharp teeth.
"Wait until Lord Ulrug is back. Will punish you for this. Will put you in the dungeons. The warrant said alive."
"He is back. And he is looking forward to see how the Durin-scum is faring in joined combat."
Thak cursed. "Joined combat? That is bad. The fighters are chained together until one is killed. And that orc is a supreme fighter."
"Enough talking." The orc that had Kíli's chain wrapped around its big, grey fist yanked him brutally towards the exit. Shruk who was dragged behind, choked and tried to punch the guard. They were shoved out of the dungeons in a tangle of limbs. Not until they were half-way through the tunnels was Shruk finally silenced. The chained orc was trotting in Kíli's wake, murmuring to itself in Black Speech.
The audience was cheering and throwing things when they were pushed into the ring. The big fire was blazing and a bizarre pattern of light and shadow danced over the rows and rows of spectators. The front row was now secured by spears. At the other side of the arena, three orcs shoved a person inside the ring, too tall to be a dwarf. They locked Thak's chains with those of the newcomer, and when the hooded figure had taken the sword, a whip snapped just above their heads as a sign that the fight was on. The rows and rows of orcs were shouting even louder now and trampling their feet, and Shruk wielded its blade and attacked. Kíli blocked and saw Thak carefully approach his opponent. Both had their swords ready to strike. Kíli ducked as Shruk's jagged blade swooshed over his head. The orc fended off his counterstrike easily, but Kíli hadn't paid much attention to him anyway. His eyes were glued to Thak and his opponent who were still circling each other. Something about that hooded figure was painfully familiar. Those movements, elegant like a dance and yet dangerously predator-like; the way the sword was slicing through the air; the aura of watchfulness and readiness to fight.
"Oh, no."
He jumped forward, dragging Shruk along who was trying to stab him in the side, and shouldered aside Thak who had lifted his sword to attack.
"Don't!"
The dwarf's eyes were dark and glittering with the want to fight. "Why not? It's a bloody elf! Better her than me."
"No! She is not our enemy!"
Thak shoved him out of his way and attacked again. His opponent averted the strikes easily, but she was shielding her body. Was she injured?
Thak obviously had seen it too and directed his attacks to her middle. Kíli's blade intercepted Thak's in a shower of sparks.
"If you harm her, I will kill you." His voice was a deep growl.
"Kíli! I am so glad I found you." Tauriel pushed the hood from her red hair that was secured in one thick braid. "I wanted to be here a lot sooner, but they insisted that my wound should at least close before we went after you."
Kíli felt a strange sense of dread. "Who is we?"
"Your men, of course."
From the corner of his eye Kíli saw Shruk coming at him from behind and shoved his elbow hard into the orc's nose. A sickening crack was followed by a wail and splatters of black blood.
"I told them not to follow."
"You also told them they were free men. Free to go and to do whatever they wanted. And they wanted to pursue the orcs who captured you."
"I wanted them to be safe. I wanted you to be safe. Now you are a prisoner of orcs after all."
"Not for long." The elf's lips curled into a smile.
The whip lashed at them, and Shruk obediently lunged. Kíli blocked the attack and drove the orc back with one quick strike.
"What do you mean, not for long?"
She shook her head as a sign that she couldn't speak but her fingers twisted subtly, telling him that Helge and the tenth division were just outside the orcs' city and would very soon attack. That they had been determined to rescue him as soon as they realised the orc army had captured him. She told him how Fangorn forest had granted them shelter, once the trees had recognised her as a Silvan elf, a creature of the woods. How she and Ruyak had been nursed back to health by a ranger they had met when they had been following the track left by Kíli's captors.
Thak gasped loudly when he realised the elf's hands were speaking Iglishmêk. Kíli had secretly taught her shortly after their marriage, although it was strictly forbidden. No outsider was allowed to know the dwarrows' sacred sign language – but to Kíli Tauriel wasn't an outsider. She was Amrâlimé. Nevertheless, he had been sensible enough not to tell anybody. Not even Fíli knew the elleth could master Iglishmêk.
"They are going to set the underground city on fire and burn the orcs out," her fingers were saying. "I volunteered to go inside and find you. Be ready. It won't be long now."
Thak looked from one to the other, clearly not understanding what was going on. Still he nodded and when he lifted his sword again, his fingers on the pommel made the sign for agreement.
"Let's fight," he murmured. "For show or they will send others to finish us off."
Strike followed counterstrike, and all attacks were easily blocked. Shruk's sword came dangerously close to slicing Kíli's leg once, but all in all the orc was easily forced back. The audience began to shout them down and to throw stones. The flogger was lashing out at them, and the spectators trampled their feet and roared their approval.
"Quiet!" A black voice thundered from one side of the ring to the other. A giant Gundabad orc rose to its feet, its shark-like, pale eyes sitting deep in its pale, scarred flesh, glared at the prisoners. It bared its sharp, pointy teeth in a vicious smile.
"Shruk. You are a disgrace. Why are you not fighting properly?"
The orc winced and bowed so deep its bald head almost touched the ground.
"My Lord Ulrug! So good to see you back."
Ulrug laughed, its wide chest rumbled under the armour made from rusty metal and from a skin that looked disturbingly like that of a two legged-being.
"Is it?"
Shruk grabbed Kíli's neck, its sharp nails breaking his skin as it forced him down on his knees.
"Oh, yes, it is my Lord. This is the one you have been looking for. I told them not to make him fight. To keep him for you. They didn't listen. But Shruk watched over your property."
The laughter increased. "Oh, but I like to see him fight. He is nothing like I thought he would be. Skinny. Battered. Unimpressive."
"Of course." Shruk kicked Kíli for emphasis. "Unimpressive. But the Dark Lord wants him. Has plans for him. Yes?"
"Yes." The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had started. Ulrug stepped down into the ring and pushed those brutally aside that didn't make way quickly enough. The giant orc stopped in front of Kíli, who had managed to struggle free from Shruk's grip and get to his feet. Still, he had to look up if he didn't want to enjoy a good view of the orc's groin.
"The Dark Lord has plans for you, scum. With Morgul poison you will no longer know you are a son of Durin. You will be His tool. You will do as He says. Soon Sauron will rise again and unleash war, and you will be the key to His success. He wants you to kill your littermate and take the throne for Sauron. You will open the Lonely Mountain to our forces. Erebor will no longer stand between Him and His conquest of Middle Earth. "
"Never."
Ulrug smiled. "No. I don't think so either. I have other plans for you."
"But… He is for the Dark Lord," Shruk shouted at the giant orc. "You must obey. You are His servant!"
Ulrug punched the wiry orc in the face and it went down, half dragging Kíli with it. The uncanny pale eyes looked at the dwarf again.
"I listen to Sauron. In these mountains I am His ear. I know the Dark Lord wants you. But my need is greater. I have long yearned to spill the blood of he who killed my father."
"Your… What?"
"I am Ulrug, son of Azog."
Kíli choked. "Azog? Is that what this is all about? You want revenge?"
"Revenge?" The big orc laughed. "Orcs do not care for sentimental weaknesses like revenge. I claim my right of bloodshed. You have deprived me of my chance to kill Azog myself. I will never have the honour to bathe in the blood of my sire. I must be content with the next best thing – you." He grabbed Kíli by the throat and lifted him off the ground so that Shruk had to balance on the tip of his toes. "And I will make you bleed, Durin's heir, slayer of Azog. You will bleed for me."
Kíli struggled in the orc's grip and clawed at the grey fingers that held his throat like a vice. But Ulrug's fist closed even tighter around his neck. He choked and gasped for air, dark blotches clouded his vision. Suddenly the fingers let go and Ulrug crashed to his knees with a grunt. Tauriel's sword dripped with black blood as she lifted the blade again and sliced the giant orc's throat with one mighty stroke.
"No, he won't," she said coolly.