I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius,this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.

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Author's note- there may be some-NOT horribly graphic descriptions of sexual assault and torture in this chapter, though the assault is merely described hypothetically, not acted out in any way. Consider yourself forewarned please, and no flames please- it is done for a reason (which I hope you will see if you do choose to read this).

Thorin couldn't help the sense of dread and despair envelope him as he sat vigil by his pale, unconscious nephew, the young prince's golden hair shining in the firelight.

Gandalf had decided that the young dwarf's mind may need rest from his grief until his wounds had healed some, and his condition had become more stable. Oin had agreed, and between the healer and wizard had managed to get both Thorin and Fili's wounds stitched and bandaged up in relatively short order, their only pause coming from the time it took Bofur to fetch some water from the waterfall splashing on the rocks on the northern edge of the eyrie.

The eagles had kindly brought wood for a fire, which Gandalf lit with his staff, the dwarves having lost their tinder boxes in the goblin tunnels. They had also brought up some wild hares and some sheep, the latter having been acquired from a human settlement between the eyrie and the Anduin. Meneldor, however, had taken an arrow in his taloned foot in the process.

The bird was in obvious pain as he landed somewhat awkwardly, dumping his dead sheep out of his beak rather ungracefully with a slight squawk. The giant bird's foot curled up toward his body, his mate standing alongside him to keep him from tumbling over as crimson blood dripped down from the appendage.

Gandalf had just finished aiding Oin in bandaging Thorin's torso, the latter being quite fortunate that he had been wearing armor underneath to help deflect some of the warg's bite, when he noticed the eagle favoring his foot. Standing with a tired grunt, the wizard approached the great bird and offered to pull out the arrow and heal the wound as best he could.

Thorin watched all this silently as his left hand gently stroked Fili's hair, the injured elder propped up against a makeshift pillow constructed from the coats of some of the members of the company. While they were being healed, Gandalf had told the story of how he had met the great Windlord himself, healing him from his arrow wound, and how Gwaihir had pledge his assistance to the wizard since.

The dwarf king was quite grateful that particular event had happened, for he dreaded what might have happened had the great birds not come to their aid. His blue eyes stared into the crackling orange flames of the fire, marveling at that small but versatile force of nature that could aid healing and yet still destroy, if not managed carefully.

His thoughts drifted back to Erebor, and the terror he felt at seeing the flames of the dragon for the first time as he had thrown himself and Balin behind a giant pillar, thus saving their lives. He remembered the fires of the dwarven camp, and how all that remained of the dwarves of Erebor huddled around, desperately seeking warmth and the meager food it offered.

He thought back to his sister, and how the flames in her eyes died as she laid eyes on her husband's body for the last time. And finally, his thoughts drifted to young Kili.

He recalled the night Kili was born, and how the tiny babe was no bigger than a loaf of bread in his large warrior's hands. He recalled the day Kili attempted his first steps, and crashed into his elder brother with hysterical giggles. He recalled how the enthusiastic toddler would follow his elder brother everywhere, even to the point of sharing beds, the two exhausted dwarflings tangled in each other's limbs.

He remembered the start of their education, and how many of them had believed Kili to be somewhat unintelligent, simply because he acted impulsively before thinking, and got bored easily during lessons in deportment and diplomacy and history. He remembered the day that he had given the lad his first bow, and his shock at how quickly Kili progressed in his skill, followed by sword training when he had become stronger.

He remembered the lad's heartbroken expression as he told him he could not come along because of his age, and the quite literally two weeks thereafter that young Kili begged to be allowed to join the company and prove his worth. He did it constantly, until an exasperated Thorin finally conceded, if only because he knew the lad would follow them regardless, and he didn't want him to be in danger should he be in the wild on his own.

Danger….

He remembered the desperate feeling of seeing Kili nearly killed before his eyes, only to be saved at the last second by the young woman throwing herself in between the oncoming warg and the frightened young dwarf. He remembered his shock and anger at Kili's actions thereafter, only to be completely stunned at the lad's diplomacy as he dealt more skillfully with the elves than any other member of the company could have done, except possibly Balin.

The lad had proved right then that they had grossly underestimated his wit and intelligence, and Thorin had come to regret his actions, knowing that they stemmed not from Kili's actions itself, but rather his own prejudice against elves. He recalled Kili's fear when he believed Thorin would strike him, and his reassurances and promises thereafter.

Searing pain and grief suddenly radiated through him as he remembered grasping air, his grappling hand barely missing the young woman's foot as the two plunged into the abyss. He could vividly recall hearing their cries suddenly cease, the only sound registering in his mind afterward crackling flame, and Fili's heart-wrenching wails, the two drowning out the angry howls of the goblins.

He wasn't even aware of the tears falling down his face until he felt a familiar hand on his trembling shoulder. He looked up into the face of his childhood friend, the bald dwarf's eyes damp as well.

Thorin glanced at the rest of the company, who had turned their heads away from their grieving king, respecting his grief, and preserving his pride. He looked back at his greatest friend, who had begun to allow his own tears to fall.

Dwalin reached around Thorin's shoulders, mindful of his wounds, and Thorin grasped his friend's arms in a tight grip, their foreheads coming together. It would bruise badly, but the burly dwarf did not make a sound, or even flinch, knowing that his friend needed this.

"Kili—" Thorin's voice broke as he whispered, the mask of the king falling away completely as his shoulders began to shake furiously. "I…I let him come. I….I led him to his death."

And, for the first time since the Battle of Azanulbizar, Thorin cried.

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Kili turned and peered out through the waterfall again, dark eyes scanning the thick fog for any sign of the orc pack as he desperately hoped they were gone from scent or earshot.

The young dwarf could hear Cirashala sniffling behind him as her breaths came quickly, and guilt flooded his mind.

Should her hand not heal properly, it would be my fault, he thought to himself, swallowing heavily.

Being an archer himself, he was fully aware of what the consequences would be, should things go badly in the healing process regarding her hand. He could not imagine what would happen should he ever become injured so badly that he could never shoot his bow again. It was bad enough losing the beautiful weapon in the goblin tunnels, but if he were to ever be unable to shoot permanently, it would be absolutely devastating to the young archer.

Slowly drawing his knife from its sheath, the young dwarf glanced over his shoulder.

"Stay here," he whispered, before moving to go out. A hand on his arm stopped him, and he glanced back at her, confusion in his gaze.

"Don't," she said quietly, gripping his coat with her left hand. "I-I'll go." The young dwarf immediately shook his head.

"No," he said simply, and her jaw set in determination.

"You are Thorin's heir," she replied, a slight spark entering the blue eyes as her voice dropped low. "Azog is hunting your uncle. And you look too much like him to not be kin."

Kili stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes widening, indicating that thought had clearly not crossed his mind. His gaze quickly shifted to determination as well, his eyes narrowing.

"And you are a woman," he said, his voice equally low, and edged with steel. "I will NOT allow a woman to fall into the hands of orcs!" The woman in question took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose, before locking eyes with the stubborn dwarf prince.

"Do you have any idea what would happen should Azog take you prisoner?" she asked, her voice dangerously low. "He would either kill you, or use you to find Thorin. You would either be forced to reveal the location of the company, or Azog will use you as bait-possibly both."

"Do you have any idea what the orcs would do to you?!" he retorted, unconsciously moving closer to her until their faces were about six inches away from each other. "They would take you prisoner, tear your clothes off, and do whatever they please with you!"

Her eyes widened slightly, face paling at the thought as the young woman shrank back slightly from the fierce protectiveness in the young dwarf's gaze.

"The goblins didn't do that," she whispered, and Kili's eyes left hers, coming to rest on her swollen hand as she drew her arms about herself defensively.

"Only because Gandalf arrived when he did," he said quietly after a moment, before looking back up at her, his expression filled with regret. "You have no idea how much we tried to protect you from that."

Her thoughts went back to the goblin tunnels, and how fiercely Kili had fought to reach her as she had been whipped.

He- he was trying to keep them from….

She locked eyes with the young dwarf then, and nearly jumped out of her skin as she saw the strikingly similarity in Kili's appearance to her dead husband's. Even the expression in the young dwarf's eyes was quite similar to what her husband's had looked like when she had revealed parts of her past that she wish had never happened.

She blinked, shaking her head to clear the awful memories from her mind, before looking up and seeing Kili again. The young dwarf had noticed the sudden shift in her demeanor, and his expression changed to one of concern.

"Cirashala?" he asked, moving back slightly. "A-are you all right?" She looked up at him and nodded, noting that the young dwarf looked unconvinced.

"Y-yes," she whispered, glancing around him, desperate to change the subject. "A-are they…gone?"

Kili stared at her for a moment, eyes searching her face as he frowned, before turning back around slowly. He peered into the fog, but still saw nothing, and nodded slightly.

"I-I think they're gone," he whispered, looking back at her, his frown deepening when he saw her shiver, her lips tinged blue from the cold water. "We should get you out of here."

Wordlessly, she nodded, sliding back down in the water. As she went to move past him, he reached his hand up on her shoulder, stopping her.

"Wait," he said softly, "please." She looked at him for a moment, before looking down at the toes of her boots.

"What about my oath?" she whispered, blue eyes looking back up at him with a questioning gaze. Kili sighed, swallowing nervously.

"You swore on your honor to protect us," he replied slowly, bringing his hand down, before hesitantly grasping her left hand as though she were made of glass. "So, please, protect my honor as a man, and a dwarf, and….allow me to protect you."

Cirashala was too stunned to speak, and merely nodded at the young prince, familiar butterflies flying through her stomach. The young dwarf locked eyes with her for a moment, his expression very serious, before raising his dagger and exiting the hidden cave cautiously ahead of her.

Her shocked expression followed the young prince as he climbed out of the stream, looking around cautiously, before sheathing the dagger and motioning her to follow. She complied, shivering as her wet form encountered the early morning air. The butterflies in her stomach increased as the young dwarf helped her out of the water, before he led her upstream in the opposite direction that the wargs had gone.

It is only because Kili resembles him, nothing more, the young woman thought to herself over and over again.

She was sure of it.

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