Chapter 29

Thorin Dreams


A/N: I'm so sorry for this chapter. It was not in the original story. Blame it all on firefoxxe's request and prompt.


Warning: canon minor character deaths, war violence, rape/non-con. This does include a dream sequence so expect some freaky things. If you're squeamish about this sort of thing, just skip it, it doesn't change the rest of the story.

Disclaimer: JRRT and Sir Peter own this world. I only play in it, gratefully, and receive no recompense save your generous reviews.


Thorin rubbed his hands over his face. When had everything become so difficult? The discussion with Kίli had been going well, his sister-son actually opening up about his feelings instead of trying to pretend that all was fine. He had not tried to avoid the talk nor fled when the discussion became painful.

The elder Durin had tried very hard to control his tone and words, to listen without judging, to be accepting; and things had been going well. Then without warning everything just exploded. One thing. He had said one thing- something he had called his nephew so many times in the past, 'little Kίli.' How was he supposed to know that the wretch Brogen had used the same pet name for his sister-son?

The king-in-exile shook his head. This was all getting to be too much for him. He was trying to understand how his nephew felt, trying to be reasonable; and yet, wishing Kίli could just move on. It was rudely apparent now that that would not be happening.

He looked around the empty living room. Fίli had taken his brother to their room trying to quiet his anguish while Dis had stayed with him for a while. They had discussed Kίli's current state and mood swings without reaching any plans of how better to deal with the young dwarf. Finally Dis, too, had retired for the evening, leaving Thorin to his thoughts.

With a sigh the dour dwarf rose heading for his own room and whatever rest he might glean tonight. As he lay seeking sleep, Thorin's mind replayed his nephew's words: defiled,...unworthy...ruined...violated...filthy.

The world around him was gray, so gray, in fact that he could barely tell where land met sky. The only way to distinguish hills and ridges in the terrain was through lighter versus darker shades of the implacable gray. Whatever colors surrounded him were muted and barely discernable save for three vivid ones: red, black, and Durin blue.

The scene before him was dotted with patches of writhing red and black that Thorin recognized as blood as he heard the sounds of battle, but, they, too were obscured much as if he had received a head blow leaving his ears ringing without specific sounds.

Thorin stood on a battlefield surrounded by dwarrow and orcs, his own sword black with their blood. Next to him was Dwalin his shieldmate and friend roaring out his fury as he attacked the seemingly endless horde. Thorin blinked rapidly trying to bring his surroundings into sharper focus only to see a giant mace hurtling towards his head. Instinct and muscle memory took over for rational thought as Thorin stepped sideways and backwards leaning away from the weapon that missed him by the barest margin as he plunged his own sword into the ugly goblin's chest.

Azanulbizar- Thorin recognized the battlefield quickly looking around for his father, grandfather, and brother. There only meters in front of him on a small rise he saw the biggest orc he'd ever seen, Azog the defiler. The pale unnatural gray of the orc's skin blended into the background so much that what Thorin noticed most was the multiple white scars marking the body and the soulless icy blue eyes.

The orc was engaged with Thror, the bold Durin blue striking against the monochromatic background. Thorin yelled a battle cry rushing to aid his grandfather only to have his arm grabbed by his father. Thrain knew neither of them could save Thror at this point and did not wish to needlessly waste any more Durin blood. They would meet this orc again on the field.

Time stopped as Thorin froze staring in disbelief as he watched the defiler's blade cleave Thror's head from his shoulders. Then Azog bent down to grip Thror's head and heft it by the hair. He threw his head back and laughed a maniacal, twisted sound without mirth, as he flung the head directly towards the young prince. The improvised projectile landed in front of Thorin rolling to a stop at his feet with dead eyes staring up to pierce the prince's soul. Then the mouth opened with a hideous grin.

"So shall all the line of Durin fall, piteous scum before the supreme Azog." The head croaked out it's dire warning.

Then Thorin was falling as all around him turned to red. He cried out to his friend for help.

"Dwalin!"

But when the tall dwarf turned to face him, Thorin saw not the mohawk and dark eyes of his shieldbrother, but the bald head and pale blue eyes of Azog superimposed on the face of his friend. Dwalin advanced on him, snarling with axe raised, and just as he began the downward swing, Thorin's world turned black.

When he opened his eyes Thorin was once again in the battle but now standing in a low spot beneath an outcrop of stone. He blinked to clear the fog from his eyes.

"Thorin!" He recognized that voice. The call brought the prince's head whipping around to see the defiler standing on the outcrop holding a dwarf by the neck. All color drained from Thorin's face as he recognized who Azog held- his baby brother Frerin. Thorin shook his head trying to make the scene disappear to no avail.

"Another worthless Durin whelp," Azog taunted shaking Frerin's body. "Is your line so weak, it sends dwarflings to fight?" The orc used Black Speech but somehow Thorin understood each horrid word.

Frerin looked piteous. His face was covered in blood, a slash bisecting one eye. His right arm hung at an odd angle, the shoulder definitely dislocated, the lower arm broken so that his hand twisted backwards. Red covered his chest and abdomen, but Thorin was unable to discern just where the wounds were.

Thorin's head whipped around looking for access to the outcrop but the wall was a sheer face of smooth rock.

"Leave him alone," Thorin thundered. "Fight me."

Azog laughed. "No, little prince, there is no fight left here. Let me show you all that this whelp is good for."

Frerin squirmed in the pale orc's grip as Azog dropped his sword to the ground freeing his hand to reach up and rip the trousers from the struggling prince then drop his body to the ground.

Frerin cried out as his battered body hit the stone. His fingers scrabbled reaching for purchase to crawl away from the orc; but Azog brought his foot down on the young prince's leg eliciting a scream as sturdy dwarrow bones broke under the brute force of the large orc.

Azog dropped to his knees behind the young dwarf, moving his skull codpiece aside to reveal his massive member. Reaching out he gripped Frerin's hips lifting them up and pulling him back.

Thorin could not believe his eyes. Not Frerin. Not his baby brother. Not this...this monster. "No, no, no, no, no!"

At first contact, Frerin's scream split the air driving daggers through Thorin's heart. Try as he might, the heir of Erebor could not drag his eyes away from the horrible sight before him. As the pale orc continued his violation of the younger dwarf prince, Frerin's screams of anguish rang out over the field until Azog was sated.

Azog threw his head back and barked another laugh, "This is what I will do to the entire line of Durin until you are no more."

The pale orc rose from the stone gripping Frerin by arm and leg and then pitched his broken body off the outcrop onto the field in front of his brother.

Thorin woke with a start, sitting upright in bed. Sweat dripped from his face and his breaths came in shallow ragged gasps much quicker than normal. As he raised his hands to wipe sweat from his face he realized they were shaking. He turned them over in front of his face willing them to still. He felt his gut twist at his mind raced back over his nightmare.

He did not know why he had dreamed what he did. Frerin had not died that way, had never suffered that ultimate violation at Azog's hands. Remembering his brother's actual death was bad enough, but this...this fragment of delirium was pure agony.

He levered himself up from the bed knowing he would not sleep again tonight, and not wanting to even if he could since he feared returning to the same horror. He made his way back to the living room to settle into his chair.

Slowly Thorin came to the realization that perhaps everything around the assault against Kίli had affected him more than he realized, or maybe his mind was just berating him for not taking his sister-son's distress as seriously as he should have.

He scrubbed his hands over his eyes replaying in his mind the months since Fίli had come home with an unconscious Kίli- the injuries, the personality changes, the outbreaks, the breakdowns, the nightmares. He had done what he needed to do as king-in-exile, but apparently not as Kίli's uncle.

In light of his recent nightmare Thorin needed to rethink his approach towards his nephew and his expectations. He had to find some way to make things right for his sister-son, for his whole family.


A/N: I may blame this chapter on firefoxxe, but actually it was really easy to write almost flying off the keyboard. Actually this is the fourth chapter that was added based on comments in the reviews and I want to thank you guys for helping me to make this story better. That's why the chapter count has now burgeoned to 32 from the originally promised 28. Hope you're not too disappointed in having extra chapters to read ;D. And keep those reviews coming in; I can't promise even more new chapters for this story, but there always future stories...