- Author's Note -

So, I was reading your reviews and many of you have said that you found this chapter hard to read due to lack of paragraphs, so to had a look and BOOM! All my paragraphs had disappeared and transformed into one long, nigh on un-readable chunk! There were most certainly chapters when I wrote it and they were there before I posted cause I checked. There's only one explanation; SORCERY!

Anyway, I've sorted it now and put the paragraphs back where they were so hopefully (unless the sorcerer isn't done messing up my work) you should be able to read this better now.

Enjoy! :)


The sun rose red that morning, as Fili was stirred from his slumber buy the shuffling about of the company, Thorin readying them for yet another long day of walking and climbing, he was aware of a strange pink light shining through his lids. And as he stood close to the cliff edge, fields and forests stretching out as far as the eye could see below him, his fingers twitched nervously by his sides. He couldn't forget the old myth he once heard, that when a red sun rises, blood has been spilt. Fili never believed in tales such as that, he thought they were silly superstitions, but now he wasn't so sure. As he stood eyes watching to the cherry-coloured sky, crowded with early morning birds searching for their first meal of the day, he tried to make himself believe that the red sun meant nothing, no blood had been spilt. But however hard he tried, something deep inside him told him something was wrong.

"It doesn't mean anything." Thorin said, coming to stand beside him. He had seen the way his nephew observed the sunrise, muscles stiff and his posture rigid. "It is just an old wives' tale." Fili did not turn to face his uncle, nor did he shift his eyes to stare at him. "And if it's not?" Fili's voice was little more than a whisper and was almost carried away on the breeze. Thorin paused for a moment, and looked towards the sky, the pink light reflecting in his blue eyes. "Then it is not a sign that Kili has been hurt." The exiled king wished he had faith in his statement, but it had been three days since his youngest nephew had been taken prisoner, and there was very little chance that the orcs would have left him unscathed for so long. 'Finding him well? That is quite another thing,' he recalled Gandalf saying the previous day, the wise wizard's words lingered in his thoughts. They made his chest feel tight. "What if we don't find him, uncle? Or what if we're too late?" Fili's fists curled and he squeezed his eyes shut, but Thorin saw the tears. "I don't know what I'd do if … if he's…" Dead. Fili couldn't even let the word pass his lips, just thinking of it made him feel like he was being torn apart. Simply contemplating that they would not find his little brother alive made him feel like it had already happened. "We will find him, Fili." Thorin said, attempting to sound reassuring. "I promise." Empty promises, He thought, he was making a promise he was unsure he could keep.


At first Kili thought that perhaps he was dead, but the immeasurable pain that he was feeling told him otherwise. When he opened his eyes, dim golden light was bursting through the trees, he was indeed still alive. It was early morning as far as he could tell, there was still a thin layer of mist clinging to the tree roots and most of the orcs were still snoring loudly. It was a colder morning that the ones that had come before it, the air was sharp and sent violent shivers through his weak and aching body. Each shudder caused another wave of pain to assault him. He tried to sit up and straighten his back, but the movement pulled at the lash wounds. He dragged in a sharp, whistling breath through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

For some moments his breathing was shaky and deep as he tried hopelessly to relieve the sting in his torn flesh. When he opened his eyes again, the world around him blurred and swayed for a little while, the fresh light of early morning made him feel slightly lightheaded and dazed. Blood loss? He wondered. He remembered Oin talking about how losing a lot of blood could cause these effects, and he supposed a considerable amount of blood had left his body as a result of the harsh, relentless whippings. After a few minutes the trees around him stilled, their thick and strong trunks were as motionless as they normally were. But he still felt weary, and his head felt full of fog. One by one the orcs began to rouse, noisily getting to their feet with loud yawns that bent and twisted their already grotesque faces. Kili listened as they shuffled around, conversing in black speech and cackling amongst themselves as they shared jokes that he was sure was about him. But he didn't look at them, or their wargs that he could hear snarling, but rather tried to pretend that they weren't there.

Azog had been awake long before the others, and was sat watching the dwarf – Kili - intensely, as he had since he had awoken. There was something about Kili that intrigued him. He knew well the stubbornness of dwarves, but this one was particularly staunch. In past times, his prisoners had taken much less time to crack, after only a dozen strokes of the lash they would have been begging for the torture to stop and would start revealing what they knew to prevent another blow. But Kili had remained unwavering for longer than Azog could recall another prisoner ever doing. He wasn't sure whether he was impressed or frustrated. Azog recalled the resolute look in Kili's eyes, his determination to stay silent, and was reminded of another dwarf. An old enemy. Thorin Oakenshield. His brow creased and his eyes narrowed as thought hit him like an apple falling from the branches above.

Kili could smell smoke, and turned his head to see that the orcs had lit a small fire on the edge of the camp. His brows creased in confusion. Why did they need a fire when the sun was shining? It was not dark amongst the trees and the sunset was not for hours. At first Kili supposed they were going to eat again and had lit the fire in order to cook, but then he remembered the vile raw meat that he had been force-fed, and how the orcs ate the deer so uncooked that the blood still seeped from the meat and onto their hands. Orcs, it had seemed, did not need to cook their food. And so the reason behind the fire remained a mystery to Kili, unless they planned on burning his trousers and boots too. Kili shifted, biting down on his lip as his back pressed against the tree trunk, now with a bare and lashed back he could feel every notch and bump in the bark. It felt like hard, coarse rock against his skin. He wished that his tunic hadn't been burnt, not only would the fabric had kept the chilly breeze at bay it would have also presented a slight barrier between his back and the tree.

Kili sighed, Day three, he thought, although it felt a lot longer than three days. It felt like ages ago that he and the company were in Rivendell, even though it was probably less than a week. Yet, he could still remember the way the Elven valley seemed to glisten in the sun, the marble and white rock gleaming as though it was layered with sparking white gems, and the sound of the rushing waterfalls flowing through the vale like ribbons. It was far different from his home in Ered Luin but he found it no less pleasant and inviting – all except the food that was more like the stuff he fed to rabbits. Too green for his liking. He closed his eyes and recalled the last blissful day he could remember, for then came more arduous hiking, thunderstorms and grotesque goblins. And he could not forget the Thunder Battle, he could still see the huge stone giants beneath his lids, he could still see Fili crashing down against the rocks, could still feel the fear and dread in his heart. He had thought his brother dead, and he could not recall a time where he had been so worried and afraid. He wondered if Fili was feeling the same way, wherever he was. Of course he was, Kili only had to scrape his knee and Fili would begin to fret, Fili always worried for him, was always trying to protect him. Although he sometimes found himself irritated with his Fili's fussing, Kili always felt safe when he was with his brother, because he knew Fili would never allow him to be harmed. And now, tied to the tree, beaten and bloodied, as the fire began to burn higher, Kili longed for his brother's shielding arms.

Not many moments passed before Gurlak's heavy footsteps and raspy breaths opened Kili's eyes. Bile was there again too, and once again the yellow-skinned orc's fingers twitched excitedly at his sides. Kili's chest tightened in all too familiar unease.

"Time to talk, dwarfling." Gurlak said, untying Kili from the tree and heaving him to his feet. Bile cackled beside him like an overactive child, his feet stamping in the dirt. Kili wondered what the orcs had planned for him this time. He was marched through the orc camp like he had been many times before, and just like before he felt like he was walking towards the gallows and the orcs were lining up to witness. His feet dragged more than they had last time, he had no energy to pick them up. He stumbled over a rock, he would have fallen if it weren't for Gurlak and Bile's hands on his shoulders. But he received a stern shove in the small of his back none-the-less. He bit back a cry as the rough palm of the orc's hands pressed against his wounds.

"Kili." Azog said when he was finally at a standstill. The sound of his name being spoken by the pale orc made Kili's blood run cold, it sounded sharp and cruel. Bile pushed down on his shoulders and he dropped to his knees. "Look at me." Kili obeyed, his worn brown eyes meeting Azog's icy blue ones which were narrow in obvious and intense dislike of the young dwarf. For a moment Azog's lips were a thin line, as though he was considering what to say first, then the orc's sharp, yellow teeth revealed themselves in a malicious, satisfied smile. "Tell me, Kili. Why would Thorin Oakenshield allow a dwarfling to accompany him on such a dangerous journey? Goblin town is perilous for a child, I hear they like to interrogate the youngest first."

"I'm not a child." Kili said sternly.

"You're not of age, that I can tell. So what else are you other than a child?" Kili said nothing, his brows knitted together with frustration. Ever since the company had left Bag End, he had been treated like a child, being given menial jobs and being scolded. He did not appreciate being babied, and even now, as an orc prisoner he was being called 'dwarfling.' Azog's eyebrows raised, "You do not like being called that do you, boy? Well, perhaps if you answer my questions I will stop." Kili looked at him and scoffed.

"You're right I don't like being called child or dwarfling, but that is a terrible deal. If you think I would betray my friends just so you can stop calling me a name, then you are as foolish as you are ugly." Azog's heavily scarred face contorted into an angry glower.

"Very well, we'll do this the hard way." Azog snarled. "Gurlak, hold out the dwarfling's arm." The one-eyed orc complied and straightened Kili's arm in front of him, underside pointing upwards to the afternoon sky, his grip was tight around Kili's wrist. The dwarf's fists curled, his limp tensing.

Azog had walked towards the fire, for a moment Kili thought he was warming himself in front of the flames, the light of which danced across his pale flesh. But then he turned and Kili felt his heart stop mid-beat. In his hand Azog held a long piece of metal which glowed red from the heat of the flames, smoke lifted from the searing hot iron as the monstrous orc returned, a cold smile spreading across his face with each step. Kili desperately tried to back away,

"Now then," Azog said callously before pressing the red-hot metal rod against the skin of inner forearm. Kili screamed out in agony, the pain was like nothing he had never experienced, he could feel his flesh burning and beneath the metal, could hear it scorching and hissing. Kili's howls of torture resonated throughout the camp, accompanied with the delighted cheers and hoots of the orcs and they clapped their hands joyfully, until Azog raised the rod from his prisoner's arm, leaving behind an angry red burn. "Why did Thorin chose a dwarfling to accompany him?" He asked again. Kili said nothing, he bit down on his lip, drawing blood and kept his eyes closed. The burning sensation came again as the scolding hot iron, still glowing a fierce red, was pressed down on his arm again. Kili cried out again, the sound of agony causing half a dozen birds to flee from the trees with loud shrikes. Tears filled his eyes and, despite how tight he kept them shut, threatened to creep down his cheeks with every moment that the metal burnt the tender flesh of his underarm. "You are stubborn, Kili." Azog growled, lifting the rod and turning away, back towards the fire.

Kili breathed deeply, chest rising and falling rapidly, his body trembling, trying to wash away the lingering pain that remained like lazy winter snow that refused to melt when spring came. He hoped beyond hope that there would be no more burns, he didn't want to feel the pain a third time, but he knew it was a fool's hope. He watched, with dread and with eyes blurry with the tears he tried to blink away, as Azog held the iron rod in the fire until it glowed as bright as the flames again. The orc pulled it out and examined it, as though checking to make sure was hot enough, before turning back to Kili once more. With every step the he took closer to him, Kili's heart beat faster, and so hard he thought it would crash through his already broken ribs. He tried to shuffle back where he was knelt, but went nowhere. This time Azog pressed the metal against Kili's abdomen, the rod going from the left side of his chest to the right side of his waist, inches above the edge of his trousers. This was even more unbearable than the pain that had come before, a white hot pain that darkened the edges of his vision and made his head feel full of fog. The high-pitched buzzing in his ears was so loud it blocked out the sound of any screams, but he could feel them by the way his throat stung.

"Tell me Kili," He heard Azog yell as the pressure of the iron was lifted, leaving behind the sensation that the flesh was melting from his bones, "why did Thorin Oakenshield allow you to join him?" Say something, Kili shouted inside his head, anything. Anything to make the torture stop.

"My bow." He gasped, his voice sounding hoarse. "You saw … my bow, I watched … you inspect it." The words were hard to say, his throat hurt to speak, and every letter left him light headed. "I'm an archer, and Thorin thought I would come in useful." It wasn't all lies, Kili supposed. That, he'd thought, was one of the reasons he was on the journey, and for a moment it seemed like Azog believed him, his eyebrows raising and mouth a thin line.

"Indeed, your bow is of good quality, if useless for us."

"It wasn't made for orcs." Kili spat. Azog ignored him.

"And I agree that archers are useful, I have seven with me here. But I do not think that is the only reason." Kili stared up at him. "In fact, I don't believe you at all. Tell me the truth."

"I did."

"Lies." Azog hissed. He pressed down the rod again, harder so it burnt deeper into the flesh of Kili's chest.

"Stop, please!" Kili cried.

"The truth, Kili. Tell me the truth!"

'No." Kili shook his head, "I won't!"

The rod was pressed harder, Kili could feel Azog's frustration as though it was heating the iron further. The way the pain spread across his entire aching and weak body he may have well have been thrown in the fire itself. Kili could feel the scolding in all his limbs, it felt like his very bones were being scolded, like his very insides were burning away to ash. He couldn't breathe with the pain and his head was swimming, this, and the blood rushing around his ears, made him feel like he was drowning. When the metal was lifted, Kili's flesh tingled and ached. He felt like he was being assaulted by hundreds of knitting needles like the ones his mother used. He heard the rod fall to the ground with a clatter, the red light had faded and was replaced by a dull, cool grey. Azog knelt in front of him, his eyes level with Kili's, which were finding it hard focus, all light and shape melding together. He panted, dragging in deep, cold breaths. He could taste a mix of smoke and pine on his tongue and could smell burnt flesh.

"Who are you, Kili?" Azog asked.

"What do you mean?" Kili groaned, "You just said my name, you tortured it out of me. I didn't lie, I swear." He stared at Azog through the gaps in his dark hair, which clung to the sweat on his forehead.

"I want to know who you really are. Your weapons weren't the only things I examined, your clothes, before they were burnt, I noticed were finely made. And not made for just any dwarf. Why would you have such good-quality garments if you are merely some dwarven archer?" Azog enquired. "Tell me."

"My father is a merchant," Kili lied, the tale coming to him quicker than he thought. "He deals in fabrics, he has produced clothes for the rich and so he comes across fine materials. When he learnt that Thorin wanted me to join him on his journey, my father used the best that he had to make my garments. He wanted me to look smart." For a moment Kili thought he had presented a good enough lie to fool Azog, who simply stared at him, nothing in his expressionless face suggested that he disbelieved Kili's tale. For a moment Kili thought that he had Azog convinced. That was until Azog shook his head. The back of the orc's hand connected with the side of Kili's face.

"I don't believe you." Azog spat. "Do you want to know why?" Kili stared at him, eyes hard and jaw tense. "Because you remind me of him, of Thorin. You remind me too much him for me to believe that you are simply a merchant's son. Are you his kin? Are you his blood?" Something in Kili's eyes must have broken, a glimmer that told Azog what he had already guessed. The orc smiled and Kili's heart stopped. "So you are. What are you, Oakenshield's son?"

"Thorin has no sons." Kili said, hoping to alter what Azog was thinking, he couldn't find out that he was of the line of Durin. It would be a death sentence.

"A nephew then?" Azog's eyebrow's raised, "You could not be the son of the other son of Thror, that runt perished long ago. I do not even recall his name, he was weak and foolish. He deserved the death that came to him." Anger boiled in Kili's gut, he had never met his uncle Frerin, but he recalled the way Thorin and his mother spoke of him, with such love and joy that he felt like he had known him all his life. How dare Azog defile his name!

"Do not speak of my uncle that way!" He snapped, "He was honourable, and worth a hundred of you!" Kili's blood run cold, he had given it away. There was only one sibling remaining. And now Azog now.

"So you are offspring of Thorin's sister." Azog cackled. Well done, Kili, Kili scolded himself, fool. "Then that would make you his heir. Well, well, well."

Azog turned to the orcs, "My friends, we have royalty in our presence. The nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, Heir to the throne of Erebor." The orcs hissed and jeered, eyes shining. A prince, this made the torture even sweeter to witness. "Tell me, Kili. Are the any other heirs on this company with Thorin?" Fili, Kili thought. He could not give Azog any reason to suspect him, he could not bear for Fili to endure the torture he had been subjected to. He would accept a million more lashes and have the scolding iron rod pressed against him until all his flesh had melted away.

"No." He shook his head, "there is only me." Not Fili, not Fili.

"I hope you are not lying to me, or I shall heat up the rod and bring back the lash."

"No, I swear. My father died before he could produce any more sons or daughters. There is only me." I looked Azog square in the eyes, he did not allow any hint of the lie flash in his own gaze. Azog would not, would never, harm his brother while he drew breath.

"Very well." Azog said, shrugging. Kili allowed the smallest sigh of relief escape him. His brother was safe, "Only one heir I need. And now I know exactly what to do with you." Even if, it seemed, he had sealed his own fate.


AN-

To make up for the late update (due to the music festival I was at - which was AWESOME btw!) here's a nice (or not so nice if you take it from Kili's perspective) long chapter, mainly of of our favourite Dwarven archer. Poor Kili :( orcs are such meanies.

More From Fili next time, promise!

As always favourites, follows and especially reviews, are welcome. I love hearing what you think!