Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

Warning: If you have a serious phobia of snakes, stop reading at the line "Rock. He was simply a part of the floor." And resume reading at the first sentence in italics. That part is seriously creepy.

27. Cold, Hard Stone

Kíli had no idea how long he had been lying there when he finally came out of his stupor, the euphoric feelings slowing fading as reality was again acknowledged. Most of his cuts had faded to burning lines, a trickle of warmth against his skin letting him know that whatever foul stuff the goblins had rubbed in, it was preventing clotting. It also felt unusually warm, as if newly heated water trickled over him, just shy of scalding, and a shiver wracked his naked form, though from the fires within or the freeze without, Kíli could not say. There must have been herbs in that stuff they forced on him that raised his blood temperature, probably to attract the scavengers, especially the stone vipers.

The serpents had supposedly been created long ago, so long that no written records survived, only stories passed down through the ages. They were said to be a twisting of several natural creatures, a tribute offered to the original dark lord by Sauron, his lieutenant. The fell lord had been pleased, breeding many more as a way to finally reach the stubborn dwarrow, hidden deep in their halls of stone. As such, those who worshiped the dark lords had come to view them as messengers to him, using them in sacrifices and even, supposedly, keeping them as pets. At least those were the tales whispered by traders who had ventured on the southern routes where such vile practices had still held sway.

A viper bite would almost instantly paralyze its prey, then the skin would slowly start to melt away, as if touched by acid, spilling the hot blood that the creatures craved. It was the stuff of nightmares, and unlike most other children of Ered Luin, Kíli also knew it to be all too real.

Memories whispered, buried deep for so many years, and his breathing hitched, recalling the smell and feel of the dead laying so close to him. How had he forgotten that? The mere thought was enough for Kíli to swing from euphoric to hysterical in less than a minute, tears leaking from pained eyes as he sobbed, struggling for breath and control. Fur brushed his leg and tiny claws dug into his bare leg, making him shudder, but it was the scrape of dry scales on stone that truly alarmed him.

They seemed to come from all around, hissing quietly as they came closer, ever closer. At any moment, he expected to feel the liquid fire of fangs sinking into flesh, bringing with them an end. Now, more than ever before, he wished to truly be stone, unfeeling and impenetrable by such hazards of the flesh. The noise filled his ears, hissing and the scraping of scales as the agitated creatures puffed up their bodies, shaking back and forth in warning. They were preparing to strike their prey.

Rock. He was simply a part of the floor.

At the first touch of scales upon skin, Kíli could not stop the scream, high pitched and primal, his bladder releasing its overfull load as his body quaked with both fear and a renewal of the muscle spasms caused by the drug he had been force-fed. Pain bit into his wrists and ankles as he fought, squirming on the hard floor. Escape. He must get away, must subsume himself in the stone.

A blunt nose bumped into his cheek and he froze, terror forcing a control he thought gone as another tear tracked a burning trail down ice cold skin. He could hear the hisses of the snakes as they circled him, almost as if they were attempting to make sense of the contradictory information they were receiving from scent and heat. The one by his ear gave a low rasp, almost a grunt, as it prodded his cheek again, the tongue tickling, but he dared not attempt to turn away. Would the thing bite his very face?

He gagged as scales rasped over his face instead, pulling at the skin as the thick body wound its way up. Kíli held his breath, terrified that even a puff of hot air from his nose or mouth might seal his fate. The viper did not pause, seeming intent upon an unknown goal, forcing the prince to lay there, tears still leaking from his eyes.

The slow track of the thing was its own unique torture as it slowly made its way to the hollow created by his dislocated shoulder on the opposite side. There, it coiled up, settling in as Kíli gagged again. His skin crawled and he stifled another scream, body quivering as a childhood nightmare came to life. His cheeks heated and it took all his control to keep still as two more seemed to be intent upon settling in his crotch. What were they doing? He flushed, abruptly realizing that they were seeking out the warmest spots, as if locating the perfect places to bask as normal snakes would do upon a sunny day.

"Why aren't you dead yet, little brother? You should be. Don't you have enough practice at dying to finally do it correctly?"

The voice was bright with amusement, making him start in surprise, only stilling when his unwelcome visitors hissed their own displeasure. He had not heard any footsteps break the stillness that consumed him. Desperate, he twisted his head as far as he could, straining burning eyes for even a hint of light and the promised presence of the one who could end this torment for him.

"F-Fíli! Help!"

Kili's sobbing renewed, despite the risk of unsettling of the vipers, as he continued to peer around him, seeking that beloved face in the unrelieved black. Why did his brother hesitate to shoo away the vile creatures and cut the bindings? Had his prayers to Mahal been answered so readily? Would Fíli not release him? He was on the verge of begging when the voice came again, dashing his hopes.

"I can't help you, Kee. No one can." There was a sadness now, but also a note of malicious satisfaction, such as Kíli had heard in that grotto in Mirkwood, when his brother believed their uncle to be Thranduil. "You were meant to die long ago, you know. In that cave the man put you in. Maybe you did die there, and didn't have the wit to realize."

The cruel words twisted in his soul as the ordeal he had suffered as a child came fully to mind for the first time. Alone, cold, scared, only the dead for company. Was this the way he was meant to die, truly? The next thing he heard was a soft, sad whisper.

"I only came to say goodbye."

Kíli finally saw him, then, kneeling by his head and reaching out to run one hand down his brother's cheek, heedless of the deadly serpent coiled nearby. It was only then that he realized that this had to be a hallucination. There was still no light in his world, and Fíli was dressed as he had been so long ago during the first part of their quest, in the coat that their mother and Kíli had made him for Durin's Day the year before.

The coat that had been lost when they were taken captive by the elves in Mirkwood.

As if the realization broke some enchantment, Fíli was gone as abruptly as he had come, leaving the brunette to spill more bitter tears as harsher voices took the blonde's place, giving voice to taunts that he had heard a thousand times before.

"Such behavior from a Prince of Durin! Perhaps he is a tender-hearted elf after all! Should we feed him some leaves and see?"

"That must be why he leaves his hair loose – to hide the ears!"

"Only cowards use bows."

"Dis should be ashamed to show her face with such a son! At least if he were a daughter, he would be of some value!"

"Why? Even with dwarrowdams so few, I would not pledge to such a one!"

"Second son, the extra! Can't even manage an ax!"

The harsh mockery was flung at him from every direction, echoing over and over as it was caught by the stone until a hundred voices scorned and laughed, filling his ears. Futilely, the prince tugged at the bonds holding his good arm, desperate to cover his ears and block out the cruelty he had known so often as a child.

As with any race, young dwarrow could be cruel and unfeeling, especially to those perceived as different, and Kíli had been about as unlike his peers as any dwarrow ever born. A tiny, thin, sickly body had given way to muscles over time, but then he had gained in height, rivaling his uncle, while he stayed thin. Add to that his fondness for the woods over the interior of the mountain, his use of a bow, and unusual sensitivity, and there was no end to the ways they could pick on him. The fact that they dared not lay a physical hand upon a prince of Durin outside the sparring ring, which had been under the stern gaze of Master Dwalin at all times, had made their tongues even sharper whenever they could catch him alone.

He had learned early on how to hide the bruises and sew up the tears in his clothing so his mother would never see. He had also found that the presence of others made the cruelties harder to deliver, lest the tormenters have their fun spoiled. That was the true reason he had become Fíli's shadow, always a step behind his brother wherever the other went, though it was one he dared not speak aloud for fear of further mocking. His brother knew, he was certain, but respected Kili's wish for silence while taking to lurking around the younger dwarf whenever those who tormented him were nearby, even if it meant a scolding from an oblivious adult.

Kíli had known that if he spoke up about what was occurring, none would refute the word of Thorin Oakenshield's nephew, no matter how much they wished to deny such behavior upon the part of their children, but he could not bring himself to do so. A prince of Durin was meant to be strong and independent, a leader, not a victim. The disappointment he was sure to see in the eyes of his mother… Thorin… at the realization that he was so weak… that would cut deeper than any mere taunts. As if summoned by his thoughts, the familiar voices rang in his ears.

"I have already mourned you once, why must you go out of your way to ensure I must mourn you again? Is it any wonder that I needed Therin and LIs, now? They know not to leave their mother alone in grief!"

"What were you thinking, going by yourselves so far from the sentries? Are you but a selfish child? I had thought better sense had finally been pounded into that ignorant head! Now look at what you have done! Your brother dead and you stretched out like some Wildman's offering! You are no kin of mine!"

Scornful blue eyes hovered in front of him, every slight, thoughtless comment and reckless action reflected in the derisive sneer that twisted the lips. Surely he spoke the truth that Therin had died because his brother failed to warn him in time, to protect him as he had promised their mother! Was this how Fíli had felt, watching him die by inches from the morgul poison? But Fíli was not responsible for his brother's choices!

Abruptly, Kili's emotions took another wild swing, anger at the unfairness of Thorin's accusations surging through him so hot that the serpents coiled and hissed, shifting in agitation. Opening his mouth, he screamed at the other, not caring that the actual words were slurred and disjointed when they came out. It was clear enough in his head.

"What right do you have to judge me? I did everything I could just for a kind word from you, one shred of approval, but you left me alone to die! You didn't care how ill I was, only for your precious mountain! And still I came back! I died for you! I am worthy! I am!"

The last two words were a hoarse screech, desperate and defiant at once, as if he could shout down all the doubts in his own soul.

"Are you, little brother? What have you ever done to show your worth beyond getting shot with arrows and bring our enemies down upon us? If you had just done as Thorin asked and stayed home that night, none of it would have happened, you know."

It was true! It had been his stupidity that had gotten them chased! Why should he not be the one to pay the price?

"Why did you have to come? You had everything – the mountain, a wife, child, happiness. All that I was supposed to inherit. You should have stayed where you belonged, Kíli. Then I wouldn't have had to leave you to them, to die alone in the dark."

Had it been deliberate? Did Therin truly hate him so? The tears came faster now, heedless of the agitated serpents on him, and he began to drift again, welcoming the escape until another voice tore him out of it.

"Why have they not begun to feast yet?"

The first inkling that Kíli had that the last voice might actually be real was the angry stir of one of the serpents on his midsection. When the scaly body began to drop off of him, he almost sobbed with relief, had there been any tears left for him to cry. When had he stopped? How long ago had his mouth begun to feel so dry and cottony, his body craving liquid with a thirst so powerful he would have begged at the slightest hint of such a relief being offered?

Another snake stirred, hissing loudly in discontent before also leaving, then another, coiled near his rib cage, and the one on his aching shoulder. Soundlessly, his cracking lips mouthed his thanks over and over, only to cringe when the crackle of a torch drew near. Would they burn him now? Brand him as he had sometimes heard they did to slaves, disfiguring and grotesque?

A footstep, though muffled, as if someone walked with their feet wrapped in cloth. He froze, breathing harsh as he waited helplessly for the blow of a weapon or a hand yanking at his abused head, forcing more drugs into his already overtaxed system. The other crouched, but the hand that lifted his head was surprisingly gentle.

Liquid was dribbled on his lips and he braced for the burn of more foul potions even as he submitted, opening a starved mouth to receive any nourishment he could. Instead, water trickled in, pure, sweet and shockingly cold, the first mouthful not even enough to swallow as starved tissues sucked it up. Three more swallows were allowed, then the other pulled back, allowing his head to slump back to the floor with a dull thud that Kíli barely felt, he hurt so much throughout his body. He coaxed one word from a painful throat.

"Help."

A rustle of cloth and the sound of a body hitting the stone floor followed an alarmed squawk, more water splashing on his face, tantalizingly close, but too far for a questing tongue to lick up. Silence descended and Kíli stilled, resigned that the other was yet another hallucination meant to torment. Had the water been real or some sick fantasy of a dying body? Then a finger prodded at his shoulder, making him grunt at the flaring pain from the bruising and swelling undoubtedly there.

"Alive?" The voice whispered in the darkness, as if someone spoke to themselves. "How odd. The vipers should have killed you by now."

Could this be real? If it were so, why had the other thought to pour water down the throat of a corpse? At this point, Kíli was beyond the shame that came from pleading for his life. Let them think him weak, he no longer cared, he simply could not stand the thought of returning to the darkness for all time.

"P-please… Help!"

"Help?" The other repeated, as if testing the word to decide what it might mean. "No. No, no, no, can't do that. No."

Nothing but another hallucination meant to torment him, then. He wanted to scream, curse, cry, he did not know anymore! Stone. Cold, emotionless stone.

"W-why?"

It was more a forlorn plea to Mahal then a real question. After all, those who were not even real could do nothing for him. The answer, however, was more puzzling than enlightening.

"You trick me. You always do. Never what you seem, no. Safer to be alone, safer, yes, much better. Hide, they said. My brothers. Hide if there is trouble and we will come for you. But they haven't. You came instead, seeking to torment and trick." The voice altered to an almost singsong cadence, muffled steps circling him in dance. "Fool me once, I am a dunce; fool me twice, you're not nice; fool me thrice, live with the mice; fool me four, I am an elf forevermore!"

Desperate to keep the other talking, even in his own mind, Kíli seized upon the words, not wanting to be left alone with the cold dark and the vile serpents. Vaguely, he recognized pieces of the distorted, singsong chant as something he had heard long ago in the Blue Mountains.

"F-fool…?"

The laugh was almost manic and right in his ear, making him jerk his head so that it bounced on the stone floor.

"Always a fool, me. Take on a dragon! Walk into the dark pit! I've seen others come, like you. Once I was certain there was a dwarf with them, but then I saw the elf." Cackling as fingers ran up his chest, making the prince shudder. "Glóin and an elf walking side by side! The creature followed them. The one who spoke of hobbits and stolen preciouses, so I hid again. Always hiding."

It was only then that Kíli dared to believe that someone just might truly be here, but as abruptly as the other had come, he was gone, only silence and the steady drip of water left in his wake. He must have blacked out, as he could not recall hearing the other leave. Either that, or it had all been mind tricks. He bit back a curse as the sound of the vipers returning reached him instead. Would this torment never end? Desperate, he fought hard to pull himself through the fog that tried to separate him from the stone, wanting to feel the footsteps, to know that it had been real. So much stone, ancient, all around him, tunnels and stairs, a never ending maze!

There was no sign of his visitor that he could detect, so he allowed his mind to slide further out, searching for evidence that any still lived in this horrid place. He knew from long experience that he would not hear words, but the stone picked up the vibration of voices sounding near it. Each language had its own cadences, its own murmur in the rock that was as distinct to him as the actual words would be to the ears listening.

There, the harsh staccato beat of the Black Tongue, barking orders. The constant low music of the elves, barely caressing the stone. He almost stopped there, but a part of him longed for the heavy rumble of Khuzdul, so he continued on, trying a bit closer to the catacombs he could sense his body lying in.

There!

Voices, far away, but speaking the low rumble of Khuzdul, so sweet to his ears even when the words were indistinguishable. Dwarrow, venturing closer to where he was then he had thought possible. They were about to walk past the path to where he was, and he sobbed in renewed frustration. Could he do nothing to aid them in his rescue?

And… There! A door, still warm with the heat of a hand. With a thought, Kíli brushed against the trigger, gasping as pain brought him back to his lonely present and he realized he had twisted his body as if actually trying to touch portal. It was so warm…

Was that sweat or blood that trickled down his temple? Were the drugs once more heating his body, or had the fever begun to burn? Exhausted, Kíli let himself sink into darkness once more, not caring that he might not be strong enough to find his way out.