Kili felt light, lighter than he had felt in a long time. It was as though he'd been crushed beneath the weight of rock and iron, suffocating and crumbling, but now the weight was gone and he could breathe again. As he lay there, on the cold ground of Dol Guldur, he filled his lungs with bitter, stagnant air. It felt like the first breath he'd taken in a very long time, like he'd been held beneath icy water, drowning. Each inhale made him feel lighter, freer. Though his head still swam and pounded. He stared straight ahead. He could see a familiar face, one he had not seen for a long time. An aged face, with kind blue-grey eyes beneath bushy white eyebrows.
"Ga...Gandalf?" He croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy, the word hard to get out. Gandalf's mouth turned upwards in a grin and he ran an old hand through Kili's dark hair.
"Yes, lad. It is me." The wizard sighed, relieved, "it is good to see you." Kili looked at him, really looked at him. He couldn't think how long it had been since he saw him last. On the cliff before the orcs took him, but how long had that been? How many weeks? Months? But he knew that the Wizard looked different, older. He was paler and his eyes were darker, his cheek bones more defined. There was dirt and dust upon his skin, and a cut above his eye. Then an image flashed across Kili's eyes, of Gandalf suspended in an iron cage, of the cage being thrown roughly against the stone floor. He'd done that. He'd hurt his friend.
"I'm sorry, Gandalf, I'm sorry." He said, voice cracking with regret and guilt.
"No, Kili, don't you apologize." The wizard said softly, shaking his head.
"But I ..." But Gandalf held up a hand, silencing him before he could say another word. Gandalf wrapped one hand around Kili's elbow and pressed the other between his shoulder blades and slowly pushed him into a sitting position, wincing as the young dwarf hissed in pain. Kili shifted to lean back against a rock, what had once been a piece of fortress wall, or perhaps a pillar. His hand went to his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut. "My head hurts." He mumbled.
"I suppose it would." Behind Gandalf, Elrond, holding an exhausted Galadriel to him, regarded Kili with pensive eyes. He could not help but think he'd seen the boy before.
"I recognize him."
"I should hope you do." Gandalf said, "his name is Kili, he is the youngest nephew and second heir to Thorin Oakenshield, he was one of your guests at Rivendell. When I departed from the company, we all believed him dead, murdered by Azog the Defiler. But ..." He looked at Kili, studying him. He seemed but a hollow shell of the dwarf he had come to know, the cheerful, mischievous youngster that, despite his almost constant jokes and pranks, Gandalf had grown quite fond of. There was nothing of him. No glimmer of joy in those sunken and distant brown eyes, no flash of a smile on his pale, cracked lips. He seemed so small, like a wounded rabbit. Thin lines of healing cuts and the shadows of healing bruises, decorated his pale, sickly face. The Wizard wondered what wounds were hidden beneath the dirty and tattered tunic. He sighed sadly, mouth becoming a thin line. "... it seems, he was to suffer a different fate."
"We were deceived," said the Elven Lord, his voice grave. Galardriel shuddered in his hold.
"The spirit of Sauron endured." There was a hint of fear in her voice. The White Wizard stepped forward, his staff tapping against the stone floor as he moved.
"And has been banished."
"He will flee into the east." Gladriel said, her blue eyes flicking eastward. Elrond released her from his arms and stood, straightening his shoulders.
"Gondor must be warned, they must set a watch on the walls of Mordor." His voice was hard and purposeful. He knew that if Sauron was to gain power, and create an army of orcs, his numbers would leave Mordor and overcome Gondor like a plague, Minas Tirith, City of the Kings, would fall first.
"No." Saruman spoke, "look after the Lady Galadriel. She has spent much of her power. Her strength is failing." He looked at her, weary, drained. "Take her to Lothlorien."
"My Lord Saruman." Elrond protested, "he must be hunted down and destroyed!"
"Without the Ring of Power, Sauron can never again hold dominion over Middle-Earth. Now go," He said with a wave his hand, "leave Sauron to me."
"And what of the boy?"
"I must take him him to Erebor, to warn his uncle. They have no idea what is coming." Gandalf, one hand on the dazed dwarven prince's shoulder, felt eyes upon him. He turned to see four sets of eyes watching him. "I saw them them with my own eyes, rank upon rank of Moria orcs!"
"Both of climb onto my sledge, I'll take you to my house. There I'll get you a horse." Radagast said. His Rhosgobel Rabbits, thumping their feet about him. Ears still twitching nervously. Gandalf nodded and pulled Kili to his feet. The lad was wobbly, barely able to stand. The wizard wrapped an arm around him and helped him towards the sledge. The moment Kili was aided gently down, he closed his eyes, he was so tired. Every inch of him screaming out for sleep. But even with his eyes closed, he knew that it would not come.
"Then you must summon our friends, bird and beast. The battle for the mountain is about to begin." He heard Gandalf say, his voice sounding far, far away. The battle for the mountain. His uneven breath caught, his friends did not stand a chance.
"It is here in these halls." Thorin's voice was low, almost a whisper as he looked up, stood in a rich fur cloak, at the broken, crumbling throne where his grandfather once sat. Where he should sit. The Arkenstone missing from its center. He remembered it there, glistening above the king's head, letting all visitors know that he ruled this place. "I know it."
"We have searched and searched." Dwalin said.
"Not well enough." Thorin spat.
"Thorin, we would all see the stone returned."
"And yet it is not found!" Thorin roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the vast stone chamber. Dwalin, who had abandoned the Lake-town garb for dwarvish clothing, winced at his friend's anger.
"Do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here?" Balin asked, he and his brother glancing at one another. Thorin span to look at him, his gaze hard. Beside him, Bilbo avoided his eyes and shifted nervously. "The Arkenstone is the birthright of our people."
"It is the king's jewel," Thorin said sternly, "Am I not the king?" His raised voice reverberating around the chamber again. Balin and Dwalin looked at one another sadly, the elder of the two brothers sighing. Bilbo stared at Thorin, at his stiff posture, at his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His heart beat like a drum in his chest. He could feel the Arkenstone in his pocket and he wondered if his secret was worth it, wondered what Thorin would do if he found out that he'd been keeping his prize from him. "Know this." Thorin's voice was low, almost like a growl. Dangerous. "If anyone should find it and withhold it from me, I will be avenged." He warned. Giving each of the three people one last glare before walking away and leaving them alone and in silence. A breath caught in Bilbo's throat and again he wondered if keeping the stone from Thorin was worth it.
Balin was stood in a quiet room, filled only with old books and scrolls, each covered with layers of dust and spiderwebs. The only sound was his breaths, heavy as he tried to keep himself composed, feeling the pain of sorrow in his gut. He was loosing Thorin, they all were. Bit by bit, moment by moment, they were loosing him to the Sickness. And the deeper he fell, the more he was consumed, the more their chances to help him dwindled. Had they not lost enough already? He heard footsteps behind him, light on the hard floor.
"Dragon-Sickness." He said, voice unsteady, turning to see Bilbo appear from behind and aged bookshelf. "I've seen it before. That look. That terrible need. It is a fierce and jelous love, Bilbo." The old dwarf was clearly pushing down emotions that threatened to crawl free. Bilbo could see it in his eyes. "It sent his grandfather mad." Bilbo took a breath and stepped towards it.
"Balin," he said slowly, his voice low, "if Thorin had the Arkenstone, or if it was found ..." Balin narrowed his eyes at the hobbit, "... would it help?" It was a thought that had plagued Bilbo's mind since the moment he'd placed the jewel in his pocket. Balin stared at him and leaned closer slightly.
"The Stone crowns all," he said, "it is the summit of this great wealth, bestowing power upon he who bears it. Would it stay his madness?" Balin paused, contemplating this. He sighed. "No, Laddie. I fear it would make him worse," he said, confirming Bilbo's fears. "Perhaps," he continued in a low voice. "it is better if it remains lost."
Kili pulled in a long breath. The air was fine and clean. It was helping to wake him and clear his mind, finally he could focus his thoughts and string them together. Slowly flushing the aching from his body. He was sat beneath a tree opposite Radagast's home, which itself was built into a large tree trunk, branches rising from the roof. It was autumn, but here the trees were still green and alive. Birds still sang and animals still scurried through the undergrowth. It was as though these woods lived in a constant springtime. The two wizards had disappeared into the house some time ago, they had invited him inside but he had declined, he always found comfort in forests and woodlands. Besides, he wished to be alone. He was sat with his knees pulled up and his chin resting on his arms. With each breath he could still smell the scent of his older brother, it was faint now, hidden beneath dirt and sweat, but it was still there and it was comforting. He had heard Gandalf say that the Company had reached Erebor. Gandalf said that he would take him there. And he wanted nothing more. He wanted to be with Fili, with his uncle, with his friends. But a part of him was nervous to see them again, what would they think of him? Would they still think him a monster? Would they still be afraid? He was afraid, he knew he was free now, but even so he was afraid.
A twig broke and Kili's head snapped up. He saw Gandalf walking towards him, a mug in hand.
"Some tea," The Wizard smiled, passing the cup down to him. Kili took it and held it in two hands, the hot liquid inside warming his palms. He smiled gratefully as Gandalf stiffly lowered himself down to sit beside him. "You've had quite an ordeal since I saw you last, Kili." Kili said nothing, simply stared into his cup. "I'm sorry that the eagles didn't save you, that you went through what you did."
"It's okay." Kili mumbled with a shrug, "it's not your fault." It's my fault. He brought the cup to his mouth and took a small sip. He could feel Gandalf's eyes on him, but he did not look at the Wizard. For each time he did, memories would come back to him. And each one hurt like a stab in the gut.
"Kili." Gandalf's voice was low and soft, but it made a chill go up his spine. It reminded him of when he was little, when he'd done something bad and his mother was trying to get him to confess to what he'd done, to tell him why what he'd done was bad. Whether it was stealing a biscuit, breaking a dish, or hitting one of the other children. "What do you remember of Sau ... of the Necromancer?" Kili stared back into his drink, watching the liquid ripple as he tapped the side of the cup. He shrugged again.
"Not much." He said. "I remember you in that cage, but everything else is a blur." And he was speaking truthfully. Everything was a blur. He only remembered what he'd done to Gandalf when he'd looked at him. The Wizard's face, dirty and bloody, striking up his memories. He was sure that he'd remember more as the days went on, and the thought made his stomach constrict, making him feel nauseous with dread. He didn't want to remember.
"Did he speak to you at all? Did he tell you anything?" Kili considered this. The Necromancer had spoken to him. But it was mainly taunting. Mockery. Reminding him of everything he was going to do, all the cities he would ruin and people he would kill. The Necromancer would torture him by filling his mind with images of death and destruction. He had even shown him images of his brother dying by his hand, multiple times. He shivered.
"Just that he would use me to kill people. Millions of people." He heard Gandalf sigh sadly and felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You don't need to worry about that anymore, he cannot use you anymore." Kili looked at him, eyes glistening.
"I'm scared Gandalf," he said, voice shaking. "I know he's gone, but I can still feel him. Like he's still following me." Gandalf tilted his head, his eyes sympathetic. He went to say something but Kili cut him off. "You're going to try and convince me that he's gone, and I know it, I do. I saw him go, felt him go. But I ... I still feel trapped. And I can't shake it." A tear rolled down his cheek, he wiped it away, and dragged in a shuddering breath.
"We'll be at Erebor soon ..."
"But it won't be safe, will it? What was it you said? Rank upon rank of Moria orcs?" A an image flashed in his mind, he and Azog speaking in Black tongue, plans being made. He shuddered. "There's more than that, Gandalf. There is so much more than what you saw." He said desperately, his thoughts going to his friends in the mountain. Even without the Necromancer, they could not possibly win. "They don't stand a chance. Not alone." The Wizard straightened his shoulders.
"Then, we better get going." He nodded, rising to his feet. "Finish your tea, I will see if our horse is ready."
Bilbo sat alone upon a wooden bench, in a dark and dull grey-green hall, thinking of his conversation with Balin. "I fear it would make him worse. Perhaps it is better if it remains lost." These words had repeated themselves over and over in his mind. He wondered if Balin suspected that he had the Arkensone. In fact he was almost certain. It wasn't easy to pull the wool over the old dwarfs eyes, for they had seen much and weren't easily fooled. Bilbo sighed and reached inside his coat, pulling an object from the pocket. He regarded it as he rolled it over in his palm, between his fingers. He did not hear the footsteps nor see the approaching shadow. Not until it spoke.
"What is that?" Thorin's low voice demanded. Bilbo turned to see him stalk towards him from the shadows, "in your hand?" He jumped to his feet and took a step back.
"It's ... it's nothing." He stammered, forcing an un-convincing smile. Thorin's blue eyes looked darkly at him.
"Show me." He pressed. Bilbo swallowed and opened his hand, revealing a small, brown object. An acorn. Thorin's brows pulled together as he stared at it.
"I picked it up in Beorn's garden." The Hobbit explained with a shrug. Thorin looked at him and his faced softened, a faint smile appearing on his lips.
"You carried it all this way?" Thorin asked, with slight astonishment. Bilbo nodded.
"I'm going to plant it in my garden in Bag End." Thorin did smile at this, and it was a genuine one. Bilbo wondered how long it had been since he had seen Thorin smile. The day they got Kili back, perhaps?
"It is a poor prize to take back to the shire."
"One day, it will grow. And every time I look at it, I'll remember everything. The good, the bad ..." Bilbo thought of the bad things, thought of the first time they lost Kili and the second time they had lost him. He remembered the grief and the guilt and the anger. Remembered how the company seemed to fall apart, how Thorin and Fili were at one another's throats, were still at one another's throats. He sighed. "... and how lucky I am to still be alive." Thorin's smile grew and he let out a small chuckle. Looking at him, he almost seemed like the old Thorin. Perhaps there was still hope. Bilbo sucked in a breath and went to speak, but found himself cut off as Dwalin turned the corner.
"Thorin," He said. "The survivors from Lake-town, they're flooding into Dale. There's hundreds of them." And with that, the old Thorin was gone, and the new, sick, angry Thorin had returned. His face hard like stone again, and his eyes burning like fire. The shadow fell upon his face once more. He marched away with a growl.
"Call everyone to the gate." His voice was how it had been before, stern and commanding. Angry. "To the gate! Now!" Bilbo watched him go, feeling his stomach plummet. For a moment there had been hope. But it had vanished.
This was the most life Dale had seen since before Smaug had attacked and sent it's people fleeing. Line upon lines of Lake-town people, wounded and scared, entered the old city, grateful for the abandoned walls, which provided them with a some welcomed protection from the worst of the cold wind. Bard led the way, looking around him at the ruins as he walked. It was such an empty place, so lonely. He had heard stories of the place and in all those stories, it had been a cheerful city, vibrant, full of life and color. But now it was just a shell, a dead place, like a skeleton. And the abandoned buildings were its bones, abandoned homes left to rot like the flesh of a corpse. As the crowd walked through the winding streets, they came upon a children's playground. Wooden animals scorched black like coal. Bard could not help but wonder what had happened to the children who once played here, did they die when Smaug attacked? He could almost hear ghostly laughter. He shuddered.
"Come on, keep moving." He urged, watching the crowd file past him. Pale and tired.
"Sire!" Alfrid called from a stone walkway above the street. "Sire! Up here!" Alfrid waved him up. Bard pushed through the crowd, back pressing against frosted and crumbling stone walls, before running up a staircase, three steps at a time. "Look, sire," Alfrid pointed, "the braziers are lit!" Bard followed his pointed finger, and looked towards the mountain. There he saw two fires burning at the main gates of Erebor. The sides of Bard's mouth turned upwards.
"So, the company of Thorin Oakenshield survived."
"Survived? You mean there's a bunch of dwarves in there with all that gold." Alfrid, asked greedily. Bard stared at him.
"I shouldn't worry, Alfrid." He said with a small smirk. "There's gold enough in that mountain for all." He leaned over the stone wall and looked down at the people below, huddled together for warmth. "Make camp here tonight," he called, "find what shelter you can, get some fires going." He turned to Alfrid. "Alfrid, you take the night watch." Alfrid pulled a disgruntled look at this, the Master never made him take watch, but didn't say anything back, simply walked away with a stifled groan. Bard rolled his eyes at him before turning them to the mountain. He wondered if Thorin would stay true to his word, if he would give the people of Lake-town what he had promised on the steps of the Master's house. He tightened his jaw. He did not trust those dwarves.
-AN-
Howdily doodily readerinos? Here is chapter 45 for your reading pleasure! I hope you enjoy it! I'm hoping to get ch.46 up by Tuesday night, maybe even tomorrow if I write it quick enough! A few more chapters before Fili sees Kili again (sorry for the lack of our golden haired prince in this chapter, but don't worry I have some great scenes planned for him!)
As usual, faves, follows and (especially) reviews are appreciated!
