- Just another reminder Bold Italics means the Orcs are talking in black speech -
It was the longest night and the slowest sunrise Fili could ever recall as he lay on his back, eyes staring into the inky sky, waiting for sleep to come. But, despite his wearied mind and heavy eyelids, he remained awake, tossing and turning as the hours dragged slowly by. Every lingering moment beneath the dark sky, as the rest of the company slept around him, felt endless and Fili became more and more anxious. It was far easier, in the silence of the night, for Fili's mind to wander, for him to overthink every possible, terrifying thing his younger brother could be facing. He tried to ignore his own thoughts and squeezed his eyes shut willing, begging, sleep to come, to take him away from the loneliness and dread he was feeling. The worst part about that long and cheerless night was not feeling Kili's sleeping form beside him. They always slept beside one another, close enough so that, even in sleep, they were aware of each other's presence. How much Fili wished to reach out and pull his little brother close, to brush his untidy brown locks from his face as he slept, to watch his chest rise and fall in steady breaths. But instead the space beside him was cold and empty. Fili dragged his eyes away from unoccupied spot beside him and looked back up towards the sky, stars partially covered by thin grey clouds. Slowly, mercifully, the sun climbed from behind the mountains, carpeting the land with a golden veil. And with the light, the prince was filled with confidence, confidence that he would reach his brother, however far away he was, and that all would be as it should be – with Kili beside him once again.
"Get up." Fili growled, nudging Thorin in the side with his boot. Thorin stirred, feeling a throb of pain engulf his tender ribs, he batted Fili away with a wince. He looked up at his nephew silhouetted against the glow of the sunrise, his hands resting impatiently on his hips. Fili sighed and moved off to wake the other members of the company, walking with heavy steps and not taking much care to avoid kicking the rousing figures, who groaned and blinked against the light. Thorin pushed himself onto his elbows, seeing Fili's sleeping mat and blanket already packed. It seemed that he had been prepared for a long time. Thorin yawed, clasping a hand over his mouth. Sleep hadn't come easy, the sound of Fili's restless fidgeting kept him awake until even the owls, who had hooted steadily throughout the night, had fallen silent. But even when the exiled king had finally fallen asleep, his dreams were unsettling, driven by his inner panic, and sent his heart racing. As he slept, Thorin envisioned his youngest nephew suffering at the hands of Azog, of Azog stealing away yet another member of his family. So that when he was roused, he shared Fili's desire to begin the journey. Thorin pushed his hair from his face and stood stiffly up, biting down on his lip to prevent a groan from escaping him.
"Everyone," He said, as the company began to wake, rubbing their bleary eyes against the intense morning sun and stretching their arms above them, "pack your things away quickly. Soon we leave to find Kili." There came a hum of low groans from the still half asleep dwarfs, the prospect of beginning such a long journey before they had even had time to awaken properly was not an attractive one. Bofur, eyes still half shut, collapsed back onto his bedroll.
"Thorin." Balin's soft voice thwarted the King's advance to kick the hatted dwarf back up, "perhaps we should eat first, finish the leftovers from last night." Balin could see the anxiety in Thorin's eyes, his eagerness to retrieve his nephew shining. "And perhaps that would give us time to look over the map, to plan the quickest route." He suggested. Thorin's eyes closed in thought and he pinched the bridge of his nose, considering the elder dwarf's suggestion. His own desire to find Kili burned in his gut like a furnace, but, like he usually was, Balin was right. Thorin sighed and nodded.
"Very well," He said, "Bombur, see what is left from last night's meal."
"Thorin, we can't delay any longer," Fili strode over, gaze flicking from his uncle to Balin, "We have waited long enough. Too long." Thorin observed Fili as he approached, his blue eyes were dark and weary. The night's rest seemed to have no effect on the young dwarf, who looked as exhausted as he had the previous day. The respite appeared to have been lost on him.
"Lad, we are going to look at the map, we need to plan a course." Balin said, pulling the folded map from his pocket, "we don't have the benefit of the eagles this time. Our journey will prove too lengthy if we take the wrong route."
"Fine," Fili nodded, "but please, let's do this quickly." He crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't think we can afford to wait."
Kili's shoulders were hunched as he sat, arms tied awkwardly around the thin trunk of a grey-barked tree, with his eyes lightly shut. He could see the gradual glow of steady sunrise below his lids as the sun fought its way through the leaves above. He hadn't slept, of that he was sure. For he had heard each snore and snort, each grunt and groan, of the orcs and wargs as they slept around him. As the cold night drew on, Kili, too far away from the campfire to feel any warmth, let his mind wander over mountains and rivers and forests, back to safer times in Ered Luin. Back when the only danger was falling from a tree and orcs where simply stories told by parents to make children behave. Kili sighed and let his eyes flick open. Whilst he had been lost in his musings of home, a mist had rolled through the trees, wrapping around the feet of the trunks. Glistening dew had settled on the foliage. Gurlak was watching him, sharpening one of his dirty knifes. Half of his face was still in shadow, making him seem even more intimidating. Kili wondered how long the orc had been observing him. The flash in Gurlak's remaining eye, when he noticed the dwarf rousing from his thoughts, unnerved him, and even when Kili looked away from him, he could feel the cruel stare boring into him. The rope keeping Kili restrained against the tree felt even tighter around his wrists than it had the previous day, he must have been subconsciously pulling against it as the lonely night lingered on. His arms had begun to ache as well, his shoulders in particular, as they remained uncomfortably wrapped around the tree. He had shifted his position often over the last few hours, switching from leaning as far forward as his bonds would allow to sitting up straight and pushing his back into the rough bark. He had stretched his legs out in front of him, pulled them to his chest and crossed them. But as time passed, none of this kept the aching at bay. At least the leafy ground was soft, he supposed.
When Azog woke, he woke with satisfied feeling in his gut; for he had taken prisoner one of the company of Thorin Oakenshield. And he was pleased, for he had not seized a stern warrior who would keep his secrets hidden, but rather a young, inexperienced dwarfling who would undoubtedly crack and reveal all he knew. Soon Azog would know the location of the exiled dwarven king. He strode through the camp, which was beginning to stir and come alive, and approached a smaller green skinned orc.
"Lazgarl," he said. Lazgarl started at his leader's voice, spinning where he was crouched. "Let me see his weapons." Lazgarl nodded and approached the dwarf's weapons, which had been tossed in a pile the night before. He passed Kili's sword to Azog first, who took it with narrowed eyes. It was a fine, well-crafted blade, he thought as he inspected the shining blade. He ran a finger along the sharp edge, the point cutting his pale skin, feeling the quality of the metal. He studied the geometric dwarfish designs on the silver base and head and gripped the leather-bound handle. It had a good weight to it, but was too small for his orcish hands. Next Lazgarl handed Azog the bow. As he looked upon this delicately made weapon, running a hand over the sweeping curves of the bow and plucking at the string, Azog's brow creased, he could not recall the last time he had witnessed a dwarven archer – bows were hardly a dwarf's weapon of choice, for they favoured swords and axes. It was peculiar, Azog thought, bows were considered the weapons of elves. Azog recalled how he thought the features and slightness of the young dwarf made him appear almost elven. Intrigued by this un-dwarven choice of weapon, Azog looked over at Kili who had been watching him inspect his equipment with a burning hatred – his weapons were special to him, for they were a gift given to him off his uncle before they left the Blue Mountains on their quest. Both he and Fili had been presented with new weapons that day. Dropping the items back to the ground Azog pointed at the dwarf, "Bring him to me."
- AN.
Thanks guys for all the reviews, It's great knowing you're enjoying my work! You guys rock! -
