Chapter 29
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
A/N: Two updates in a week, what? *wink*
Okay, fair warning—I'm upping the rating on this chapter to M. It's not a fun read, and there might be trigger material in here, so if that's not your thing, stop right now. PM me, and I'll send you a synopsis without all the gory details. I'm not going to lie; the only reason this is out so quickly is because I've been writing it for weeks—it's taken that long for me to get through it, and I've cried several times over it. Emotionally, it's just not cool. And if not for summerald and Cassandrala, it'd likely still be sitting on my computer while I agonized over it.
Three days.
Three miserable, long days.
She stood—well, slumped, more like—against the rotting wall she was shackled to. Her chains gave her some leeway, but not enough to sit, and she'd given up pulling at the bonds after the first day.
Given up fighting to get free.
Given up hoping for a miracle.
Given up trying to catch a glimpse of her brother, who she could hear shouting in agony off and on the entire time.
When Fárbjóðr had first separated them, both siblings had fought viciously, forcing the Eiri to resort to using magic to exhaust them prematurely so they wouldn't overpower him.
Bastard.
So he'd managed to keep them out of sight of one another, though not out of earshot, and had simply left Ryn there; no questions, no demands, no gloating or monologues...just torturing her brother and making her listen.
He was breaking her heart, weakening her body, and shattering her will; slowly, inexorably, undeniably. Ryn felt her resolve diminishing by the moment, counting the long hours and measuring time by the passage of the scorching late summer sun and the freezing dark nights.
Even Talos wasn't screaming anymore.
Kíli fought the bone-deep exhaustion that seeped through his veins as he rode, slowing his reflexes and wearing down his will to even move, let alone lead his people.
He was familiar with physical exhaustion, had been taught how to handle it, how to push through it, how to function in spite of it. Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin had made sure he had plenty of practice.
But this, this was different. He'd never felt anything like this before—this empty ache that felt like half his heart was missing. He felt echoes of lingering horror, gnawing hunger, and growing weakness. It made no sense, because aside from the ever-occurring attacks from Dark Creatures (which his company was growing used to dealing with—no one had died since the night Ryn was taken, thank Mahal), Kíli was experiencing nothing he couldn't handle, certainly nothing worth feeling this level of hopelessness and anguish.
He had asked his mother about it, but she didn't have any idea where it came from either; only kissed his brow and sang him to sleep like she hadn't since he was a dwarfling. Kíli had nearly protested, he was far too old for such coddling; but the relief had been so intense he hadn't been able to help it and had fallen asleep in his mother's arms.
But it had just started all over when he'd woken the next day.
Luckily, they were due to reach the elves today, and Fíli would arrive soon after that. That fact alone infused Kíli with a strength he hadn't felt in days, making his heart beat just a little faster and the forest look just a little less sinister.
His nadad would be here soon. All would be well.
He hadn't even asked her any questions. The bastard was trying to break her—for what, she wasn't sure, but it couldn't be good.
The oddest feeling—anticipation, she recognized—poked at her from somewhere far away. It was a mere echo of real emotion, but she knew what it meant.
Somewhere, something good was happening to Kíli. Or at least, it was about to. Their bond was humming with energy, and it lent her vigor she hadn't felt since she left the caravan.
The infusion of energy translating into red-hot rage, Ryn lifted her head.
"You can't keep me locked up here forever!" she shouted, her parched throat making the words come out in a croak. "Fárbjóðr, you monster, come and face me! Coward!"
No answer.
But he appeared before her, all too suddenly, and all her fury was spilling out without any sort of filter at all—she was too tired, too hungry and thirsty, too lonely to bother.
"You craven imbecile!" she growled. "You'll not get anything from me if you starve me to death before you even make any demands! What is it you want?"
Fárbjóðr chuckled.
"You," he responded. "My willing servant."
Ryn's heart sank. She'd thought so. She couldn't, he knew she would never...but for Talos' sake, she was actually considering it. "What makes you think I'd ever do such a thing of my own volition?" she snarled, trying hard to maintain her affronted act.
"Oh, you will. You'll serve me willingly, and you know why?" her enemy asked. Ryn just glared. "Two reasons: First, I have your brother. And this arrangement is simple; you serve me, he stays alive. Second, haven't you heard of the astírsnuâ?"
Of course she had heard of the Love-Bind. She winced at the reminder that Kíli had not, though...poor lad was feeling echoes of every emotion she felt, and he wouldn't actually know why. But what did Fárbjóðr care about the astírsnuâ? Ryn winced when she answered her own question.
He wouldn't. He can't. He….oh Mahal, he doesn't mean to try, does he?
Fárbjóðr went on, as if she wasn't staring at him wide-eyed, knowing exactly what he was talking about. "The Love-Bind. A purely Eiri phenomenon; one that physically, emotionally, and mentally binds a man and woman to one another when they first unite while she is on her Time." He grinned at her. "I'm willing to bet you haven't bedded that Prince of yours since your body announced itself ready to conceive, have you? Judging by your eyes and hips, I'm guessing you're, what, about two weeks into it?"
"You're too late," she growled. Her intimacy with Kíli was none of this monster's business; but she wasn't about to let him think that this hare-brained scheme of his—which incidentally involved forcing himself on her—would actually work.
Because it wouldn't. She was Bound to Kíli now, and nothing he did could change that.
"Ahhhh," the pale man tsked softly after a beat. If he was surprised by her revelation, he didn't show it; stepping right up to the girl, face inches from hers. She squirmed, despite her pride. "But now it's even more perfect. I'll have my way with you, and with the Bind you share with the Durin prince, well..." he laughed. "He'll feel your distress, your pain, and it will weaken and distract him. It's almost too easy; all I have to do is take you…" he touched her face and she jerked away, panic cutting an electric path through her midsection. She bit back a whimper of terror.
I need leverage; I need something to stop him….
"Now, now," he cooed, his intent all too clear. "Just let yourself enjoy it, Ryn; it's going to happen regardless."
His use of the nickname Kíli had first given her made Ryn furious. She wriggled again, growling fiercely. "You don't get to call me that, you spineless cockroach! Unhand me!"
He laughed into her neck—apparently the wiggling was only pleasing him—and bit her, hard. "You have spirit. It's always so much more fun to break a strong spirit than a weak one…" he pressed his hips into hers, and Ryn lost her head entirely.
She panicked, screaming as tears squeezed themselves from her eyes, fighting at the bonds until they cut mercilessly into her wrists. She screamed for Kíli, for Talos, Mahal, for anyone to save her, to keep her from this fate worse than death. Her body locked up and she tried to curl into herself, but ended up just pressing closer to her enemy; then pulling back, sick with terror. She vaguely heard her brother shouting—unable to see what was happening, thank the Valar, but hearing her distress. She was certain he'd break his own wrists if it meant getting to her.
Through it all, Fárbjóðr just laughed, reaching down with one hand to unlace his trousers as he shoved his lips against hers, probing with his tongue.
Kíli was charging the latest group of attackers-wraiths again, and he prayed to Mahal his luck would hold and none of them would manage to activate the morgul poison in his blood with their high, reedy voices—when it happened. A punch of panic shot through his veins, the feeling of being violated, forced, helpless...
The Prince gasped, tripping to his knees in the dirt, splayed hands catching him as his sword slipped from his grasp. It landed several yards away, but Kíli was too busy trying to slow his panicked breaths to bother with it.
Breathe, Kíli, Mahal, breathe!
What was happening to him? Panic made the sounds of battle around him seem like too much to handle, and he covered his ears, whimpering. Vaguely, he heard someone shouting his name. He shook his head and squeezed his hands over his ears tighter.
"Kíli! Kílan, move!"
Only one person outside of Kíli's immediate family knew his Heart Name, and she wasn't here... Kíli looked up, and his heart stuttered painfully.
Blond braids. Two battleaxes. Eyes the color of a summer sky.
Fíli.
Shame at his brother finding him like this clashed horribly with a physical relief that had Kíli back up on his feet fighting seconds later. His warriors were cheering at the reinforcements that had just arrived, and with the combined armies Fíli had brought, the wraiths were not just defeated, but completely annihilated within a minute.
Ryn gasped with the sensation of overwhelming joy that hit her senses in that moment, and some small part of her cheered—Kíli was entirely thrilled about something, and it stopped her panic in its tracks, clearing her head and helping her breathe again.
Fear will not save you. Think, Ryn.
She evaluated her situation, quickly. Hands shackled behind her back, but ankles free; weakened but standing; not gagged; weaponless.
You are never entirely weaponless; Dwalin's voice came unbidden, as it often did when she needed it most. You are your greatest weapon.
Fárbjóðr was done with his ties and had moved to hers, lifting her tunic to reach her trousers. He had to pull his hips back to do it, and Ryn didn't waste her chance.
Shifting her weight forward, she drove her knee into his groin, biting mercilessly at the tongue invading her mouth and hanging on enough that when he doubled over, it ripped a good portion of the slimy muscle.
She spat his blood out of her mouth as she followed up with a knee to his face, feeling perhaps more satisfaction than was strictly honorable at the sound of his nose breaking and his scream of agonized rage.
Ryn yanked the chain out of the old wall, the struggle having loosened it enough for her adrenaline-fueled muscles to overpower the crumbling stone, and backed up from her enemy, careful to keep her balance. She bent and drew first one leg, then the other through the circle of her arms to bring them in front of her.
Now she had fists as well, and better balance. She tested the iron shackles-too tight to shimmy out of, same as they'd been the last three days—but pulled at the length of chain that had been chained into the wall and smiled.
No longer weaponless.
Fárbjóðr had recovered enough to charge the girl, aiming to drive his shoulder into her gut and knock her flat on her back. But Ryn had other ideas. She swung the chain hard, whipping the Eiri in the face with it.
She shuddered when he roared in pain and fury, backpedaling. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, she reached for her magic.
But the sorcerer was faster. "Oh no, you don't," he snarled, smacking her backward with a blast of energy that turned her blood to ice. Ryn smacked hard into a gigantic tree, her head thunking against the wood. She slumped to the ground, stunned.
Fárbjóðr stalked toward her, pulling her by her legs to lie on her back and crawling atop her while she blinked hard, trying to pull herself back from the edge of unconsciousness.
Bad position, no leverage, stuck….wait!...
He was focused on her trousers again, single-minded in his purpose. She drove her hips up, knocking him forward and off-balance, and then shoved on his chest with her bound hands, throwing him off. Instead of running, as her instinct screamed, she followed up, straddling him and using the heavy shackles like a club on his face.
It wasn't enough, even with his broken nose. He was strong, and well trained, and now she'd pissed him off.
He hit her; a solid punch to her right temple, assisted by magic, that knocked her off him, and left her stunned and barely conscious after rolling a few times. Now they were within sight of the ruined jail, and Ryn caught a momentary glimpse of her brother. Talos was holding one shackle up to his face, picking at the lock with something stuck between his teeth.
The pin she had given him what seemed like ages ago—thank Mahal, the lad was trying to get free.
"Useless wench!" Fárbjóðr was screaming, his tongue and nose healed already as he stormed over and stood above Ryn's still-prone form. She was unsettled by how quickly he'd recovered—a move like that should've given her more time...
Oh right, he's Eiri too.
Before Ryn had a chance to heal her throbbing face, the Eiri sorcerer drove his iron-toed boot into her back. Ryn felt the rib crack and gasped, frantically trying to access her Magic.
He didn't give her the chance, it kept slipping away as he kicked her over and over—her stomach, her chest, her face—until she lay on her back, still and barely conscious. Vaguely, she saw Talos, one wrist free, working quickly on the other, concentration writ in every line of his brow.
She barely registered Fárbjóðr's hands on her, but the cool air on her skin as he untied her laces drove the point home.
He's trying again.
Ryn wanted to throw up. Talos chose that moment to scream her name, even though he wasn't quite free yet. The Eiri growled when his eyes found the lad, half-extricated from the iron shackles, and threw a massive wave of devastating energy his way. Ryn saw it hit Talos, saw him slam into the decayed stone wall, which buckled under the force and collapsed.
Saw him make no move to rise.
No, was all she could think, her vision growing dark around the edges as she struggle to breathe.
No, no, no...
Hot rage bloomed in the girl's chest, and she reached for her magic. Taking advantage of her enemy's momentary distraction, she got an iron hold on her Magic, focusing on him and yanking his energy away to heal herself.
Fárbjóðr gasped, tried to struggle against it, but she had the upper hand now, and she wouldn't stop. Fury fueled her magic as she sucked the life from him, shoving him off her the moment she was able.
The Eiri stumbled backward, his already-pale face bloodless and his lips turning blue as he struggled to breathe. His hands were shaking as he slowly fell backward, unseeing gaze turned toward the blue sky.
She didn't stop when he whimpered for mercy.
She didn't stop when he lost consciousness and she stood over him, their positions reversed.
She didn't stop when his heart slowed and his breathing became labored.
She did stop when she heard a familiar voice call her name. A gruff sort of kindness punched through the fury that fueled her.
"Lady Deorynn, you must stop!"
Where did she know that voice from? Blinking, Ryn looked up.
Gandalf.
She stopped—just short of killing Fárbjóðr outright—and stared at the wizard, her mouth open just slightly and shock writ all over her features.
Kíli's sword and Fíli's axes hit the ground in the same moment as the brothers embraced each other roughly. Kíli fought tears, squeezing his eyes shut to keep them from falling. He knew he was shaking—and he knew Fíli knew it—but his brother stayed, refusing to let go until Kíli calmed enough to recover his composure.
When he pulled back, Fíli's smile was the first thing he saw, and Kíli felt weak at the wave of absolute joy that assaulted him.
He smiled. "Fee. Mahal, it's good to see you, brother."
Fíli laughed, knocking their heads together gently. "You too, nadadith. I got here as fast as I could."
"Just in time, honestly."
"Yes," Fíli's eyes clouded with concern. "We'll talk about that. But first…where's Mother?"
Kíli grinned.
