Something was about to happen, Kili could feel it. The orcs in the camp were beginning to shift and shuffle, Azog had got up from the fallen log he had been sitting on and was rummaging through a threadbare sack made of leather and burlap. One of the orcs cackled, nudging the one beside it. Both looking over at Kili with chilling, flashing sneers. Kili felt a shiver run up his spine. It was as though a winter gale had washed through the forest, but the leaves on the trees were as still as they'd been since Kili had roused. He'd angered them when he'd struck out, and now he was going to be punished. Why did you fight back? He asked himself. He closed his eyes and made himself breathe deeply. He focused on the scent of the trees. There were different types all around him, Oak, Birch, Ash, Evergreen, Fir and Pine. They all smelt different, some were earthy, others fresh and airy. Most dwarves were most at home in the depths of caves but Kili favoured the woodlands and fells, where the air was crisp and fragrant. But that was probably due to growing up in the village in Ered Luin, where the caves weren't deep enough to set up home and where the trees spread out across the hills and gave way to large, open plains where there was plenty of room to run.
Kili was disturbed from trying to relish in the familiar scents of home by approaching footsteps. His eyes flicked open once again to Gurlak approaching him, one hand wrapped around a dull-brown clay cup, with another orc, whose skin was yellow as the bile Kili had been spitting into the grass. This one looked excited, his long, bony fingers twitched impatiently at his sides. It made Kili tense. Bile – as Kili decided to name him - hung back as Gurlak knelt in front of the dwarf, raising the cup to Kili's lips. Kili eyed it suspiciously, feeling the cold clay against his skin.
"Water." Gurlak said, "Drink." Unlike the meat, Kili didn't hesitate to accept. He gulped the water down greedily, some of it dripped down his chin and onto the collar of his tunic. The water was warm, but he didn't care. He let it rush down his throat and wash away the remaining aftertaste of the raw venison. After just a few long sips, Kili already felt revitalised, his strength restored. He never used to think water tasted of anything, but at that moment it was the most wonderful thing he'd ever tasted. When Kili slurped the last drops of water, Gurlak took the cup away and placed it on the ground. The one-eyed orc then proceeded to cut the rope that kept Kili tied to the tree. Kili's torn skin had numbed to the rough twine that dug into him, but as the pressure was released his wrists began to sting. He hissed in pain as the rope was pulled away and he was yanked to his feet. Then his coat and tunic was torn from his back – leaving his upper half bare, - he could feel the chill of the air now, and tossed into Bile's arms. Bile's nose scrunched up in disgust as if the fabric was smeared in excrement.
"Throw them on the fire." Gurlak ordered. Bile nodded and, with one last glance at Kili, trudged away towards the newly lit campfire. He dropped the pieces of Kili's clothing into the flames and wiped his hands on the leather he wore as a vest. Kili felt his heart drop as he watched his items begin to burn, the geometric patterns being eaten away into ash and the blue fabric splitting and turning black. Kili had worn the clothing with pride; it was well made, made with some of the finest fabric in the Ered Luin. "Nothing more than what an heir of Durin deserves," his uncle had said. Bile reproached Gurlak and the two orcs marched Kili through camp. Kili felt unprotected now that his upper half was bare, the last time he had been beat, despite the fact that it had hurt and left harsh bruises on his skin, which Kili could see as he glanced down at his chest and arms, his thick layers of clothing has hindered the full force of the steel-toed boots and wooden clubs. Now there was nothing to stop his bones from buckling beneath the power. The orcs laughed more than before. Kili had felt that something was about to happen and as his eyes fell upon the whip, made of fierce looking leather and coated in dry blood, he was proved correct. Kili's own blood ran cold.
If Kili wasn't afraid before, he was now. As he looked at the whip in Lazgarl's claw-like hand, dried blood caked onto the scuffed leather, he was most certainly afraid. His breath caught in his throat and his heart drummed rapidly beneath his ribs. He dug his feet into the dirt, futilely trying to push back against Gurlak and Bile and away from the lash. But the two orcs were much stronger than him and kept him moving forward, their dirty fingernails digging into the skin on his shoulders. Kili was beginning to feel sick with dread as he got closer to Azog, stood beside Lazgarl, with his arms crossed over his chest and fingers drumming keenly on his muscles. He looked crueller and more threatening, if that was possible. Perhaps it was the way he dwarfed Lazgarl, the green-skinned orc looking very small indeed beside his leader's huge form. Or maybe it was the way Azog's eyes stared hungrily at Kili, obviously eager to begin his torturous hunt for information. As Kili stared at the cruel-looking whip, as he envisioned the hundreds of other prisoners who had suffered at the end of the lash, he wondered how long he would last before he began to crack, before he would do anything to make the pain stop. If a rescue is coming, he thought, now would be an excellent time. But no aid came bursting through the trees, no dwarfish swords and axes flashing or raging battle cries. No Fili. No Thorin. As he was thrown to his knees, Kili knew he would have to endure. For as long as possible. Please, Mahal, he begged, save me.
Azog crouched low, his face level with the dwarf, who had now turned suddenly pale. He could see the boy's rapid pulse in his neck, the quick breaths that escaped him as he looked with wide eyes at the whip. Not so brave now, Azog thought with a slight sneer, his sharp, yellowing teeth flashing. He saw his prisoner gulp as he looked from the lash to the pale orc.
"I will get what I want." Azog said, "You will tell me what I want to hear." There was no doubt in his voice, no doubt that the dwarfling would be unable to hide what he knew any longer. He looked up at Gurlak and Bile, nodding his head as he stood up. Then Kili's arms were outstretched to his sides, one of the orcs' hands on his shoulders, keeping him kneeled on the ground, and the other hand wrapped tightly around his wristed, keeping his arms elevated and still. It was an uncomfortable position, his shoulders still ached and his raised arms were pulling at the bruised muscles, and his scratched and torn wrist was burning beneath the orcs' palms. But that, Kili realised, as Lazgarl began to walk around him and out of sight, was nothing compared to the pain that he undoubtedly about to endure. Kili closed his eyes and dragged in several quick breaths, trying to ready himself. But the whip came down too quick, it whistled down and struck him with an agonising crack. He cried out against the pain before he could stop himself, his eyes filling with tears. Kili squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting the orcs to see how they watered. Another whistle. Another crack. Another involuntary yelp.
"We will begin where ended before." Came Azog's voice. Kili pulled in sharp, whistling breaths through his teeth, and, after blinking away the tears, stared up at him through the gaps in his hair. Azog was sat upon a tree stump, hand resting on his knees, the orcs around him jeered and howled at Kili's pain.
"What is your name?" Azog leaned forward in expectation, but Kili simply shook his head. Hold on, he thought to himself, say nothing. He heard Azog growl as he waved his hand. Kili closed his eyes again, knowing what was coming. The whip struck harder this time, beating down on his back with great force and more times than before. The leather ripped at his skin, he could feel the open wounds burning, and blood begin to run gradually down from his shoulders to his waist and onto the ground. The whip came down a sixth time. But Kili did not cry out, he bit down on his lip, tearing at the flesh and bringing back the familiar metallic taste. "The more you defy me," Azog said as Lazgarl took a step back, "The more lashings you will receive."
"Then so be it." Kili replied, somehow succeeding in hiding the tremor in his voice. Azog's face reddened and he lunged forward, a huge hand wrapping around the dwarf's throat, lifting Kili slightly from the ground. Gurlak and Bile let go of Kili's arms and Azog tightened his grip, preventing any air from reaching his prisoner's lungs.
"YOU WILL ANSWER MY QUESTIONS, BOY!" Azog bellowed as Kili began to gag and cough, fingers uselessly tried to pull the orc's hand away. He could feel and smell Azog's foul breath on his face, it reminded him of the raw meet. Kili's vision began to haze, a low rumble in his ears, if Azog didn't let go he'd surely suffocate, his young life literally squeezed out of him. He didn't know what hurt more; the lashings or the lack of air. "YOU WILL OBEY!" Finally Azog released his grip and Kili slumped to the ground, gasping and rubbing his neck, feeling his pulse beat manically beneath his palm. The young dwarf coughed and let brilliant air rush to his lungs, his chest rising and falling as though he had been running for miles.
It was like there was a thick fog hanging in front of Kili's eyes, the shapes and colours of the forest were distorted and blurred together. It was like he had opened his eyes whilst submerged in murky water. He felt lightheaded as he dug his nails into the dirt, panting quickly to replace the air that Azog had squeezed from him. Every breath stung in his throat as though he was breathing in nothing but smoke. Kili's breathing was almost back to normal when Gurlak and Bile grabbed his arms and rose them again. It was even more uncomfortable this time, the fresh wounds on his back felt like they were being torn all the more. A groan escaped Kili's lips.
"More lashings." He heard Azog command, as he sat back down on the tree stump. Kili didn't need to understand the Black Speech to guess what was said. And as the lash came down once again, the young dwarf's prediction was confirmed. Another one of Kili's cries rang through the trees.
The sounds of the whip whistling through the cold air rang out for what seemed to Kili like an age, wounds were layered upon wounds, open cuts burning with pain and spilling rivers of dark blood onto the ground, where it was quickly swallowed up by the dry earth. But despite this, Kili remained wordless, still refusing to comply. Every time Azog, who was becoming more and more infuriated, his fists so tight that the skin on his knuckles was even paler than usual, demanded his name, the young dwarf merely shook his head. Denying the pale orc the satisfaction. But as the lash came down, the leather connecting with the already torn skin, the agony worsened. It was hard not to produce more than a muffled yelp.
Kili looked through the gaps in his raven hair, he could see Azog begin to shift irritably, his brows were furrowed and his nostrils were beginning to flare. If Kili continued to defy him, the orc would surely kill him the next time he lost his temper. The next time, Azog would keep his hands wrapped around Kili's throat until he hung limp and lifeless in his grasp. At first, Kili almost desired to be taken away from the agony and terror he was feeling, at first he almost welcomed the idea. He was probably going to be killed when the orcs were finished with him anyway. At least this way he would die without betraying Thorin and Fili. Fili. The name stung Kili more that the whip, that beat down upon him for what felt like the hundredth time, it pained his heart. No, Kili couldn't leave him. Fili was coming for him, he knew he was. He had to be. Fili wouldn't abandon him, and Kili could not leave him either. What would Fili do if he reached the orc camp only to find him strangled to death or gutted like the deer? What would he do if his brother, was so suddenly ripped away from him and could not be put back? Kili did not want to think what would happen to him, not want to envision the bitter, empty shell that Fili would become should Kili die at Azog hand. For the entire time when Kili was marched for leagues and leagues across an unknown land, when he was tied to a tree with only the sounds of the orcs and the cold wind for company, he thought only of being with his brother again. And he wasn't going to let Azog take that, or his life, away from him. Even if it meant letting go of his pride and stubbornness. Even if it would keep Azog happy long enough for the company to find him.
"Kili." He groaned finally. What could Azog do with a name? For now, it would be all Kili would give him. "My name … is Kili." In his gut Kili knew that he was doing the right thing, he was saving himself. He was saving Fili. But he could not shake the feeling that he was surrendering to the enemy.
Azog smiled. Kili. The dwarf was beginning to give in to the torture, and there was more information that he would soon obtain. He looked down at Kili from where he was sat, his body was trembling and his skin had paled, sweat kept his hair stuck to his forehead. It seemed to Azog that Kili was close to collapse, one more strike of the whip and he would fall unconscious. Finally he was weakening. But he would be of no use unconscious. Azog rolled his eyes.
"Tie him back up. We will begin again in the morning."
AN.
Poor, poor Kili :( He stuck it out for a while mind.
I hope you enjoyed this part and as usual favourites, follows and reviews are very much appreciated!
Unfortionaly the next chapter will be a little late as I'm heading to a music festival this weekend *excited squeal*
