Shamakh, my fellow citizens of Middle-earth. I don't even know if anyone is still following this story - it's been almost two years since I posted a chapter (I honestly did not think it had been that long). I know some folks gave up on this one a long time ago, thinking I would never finish it, and I am truly sorry they feel that way, but abandonment never was and still is not my intention. I will finish the story; it's just taking me far longer to do than I could ever have thought it would. As I have mentioned before, I suffer from clinical depression, and that too often stifles my drive to be creative - too often, it stifles my desire to do anything at all. And when I am feeling creative, I have to go where my brain will focus, and of late that has been on fiction I can actually sell. In order to make writing my career, I've had to put aside my love for Middle-earth and Star Trek and focus on Regency England. I have been trying very hard to fix things in my life to where I can make room for writing for fun, it just hasn't worked out yet. But I am trying. I really want to get back to doing stories for fun as well as stories for money. I'm confident I will get there one day, hopefully within the next year.

Until then, I can only beg continued patience. Anyone who has unfollowed this story, i hold no ill will. Maybe they'll come back someday. If you are reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart.


92. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape


Tilda had tried counting the minutes until her abductors at last stopped the wagon, but she'd given up after losing count twice.

She was almost relieved when at last the vehicle lurched to a stop, though it did knock her head against the sideboard once more. She heard one of the men hurry off—while the second on the seat climbed down more slowly.

"There's no one 'round, you can take the tarp off," he said.

Quickly Tilda closed her eyes and feigned sleep, praying her breathing was even enough not to alert them that she was conscious. She heard the voice of the third man at last when he said, "Shouldn't she be awake by now? How much of that stuff did you put on that rag?"

"I don't know, I just poured some on," said the second man who'd spoken before; in her mind, Tilda named them One, Two, and Three in the order she'd heard their voices.

"I suppose I'd better check and make sure she's still breathing," said Three. "You'd better hope she's still alive—getting' the rest of our pay ain't the only thing we gotta worry about if this bird dies."

"Yeah, I dunno 'bout you," came One's voice, "but I don't really fancy having the Dragonslayer King chasing me all over Middle-earth, thank ye very much."

Tilda felt fingers pressing on the pulse at the base of her throat, and figured now was as good a time as any to "wake up". With a low moan, she began to blink her eyes slowly.

"Oi, she's all right," said Two. "Welcome back, Princess."

Tilda scowled at his leering grin, and all three of them laughed. Three took her by the arm and pulled her into a sitting position, pointing his finger in her face as One and Two climbed back into the seat and started the wagon going again.

"Now don't you go getting' any ideas, Princess. You behave yourself and you'll get out of this with nary a hair out of place."

Scowling again only earned her another laugh, so Tilda decided she would best put her energy to use attempting to memorize her surroundings, as well as trying to loosen the rope around her wrists. They were now in the woods, bringing to mind the foothills that surrounded Minas Tirith, the sides of which were heavily forested—but were they to the north or south of the city? There was no way for her to tell.

The rope that bound her hands was tight, and she soon gave up trying to free herself when the pain became too unbearable. She hated being so helpless but was forced to admit she could do nothing unless one of these men loosened her bonds. She wanted to ask them questions, but the gag prevented speech. Something told her they'd hardly be forthcoming with the truth, anyway.

Twilight was descending when next they stopped. "All right, let's get her out of there," said One. "From here we go on foot."

Three reached for her feet, and squeezed her calf tight as he said, "Remember what I said, Princess—behave yourself."

Tilda cast him as withering a stare as she was able, and though she longed to kick that smug look off his face, she nevertheless remained still while he untied the rope around her ankles. It felt good to have it gone, and she wished she could rub her stocking-clad legs to help boost the circulation to her feet. Three then stood and helped Two lift her out, before he jumped over the side himself. The three men each grabbed a traveling pack from the back of the wagon and slung it over a shoulder, then Three took her by the arm and pushed her forward.

"Where are we going?" she tried to say, though of course her words were muffled.

"What's that, Princess? Gag got yer tongue?" said Two with a laugh as he looked over his shoulder at her.

"I'll take the gag off on two conditions, Princess," said Three. "You don't scream, and you don't bite me. Got it?"

Tilda replied with a curt nod; Three reached over and tugged the gag from her mouth, leaving it hanging around her neck.

"Where are we going?" she asked again when she had taken a couple of clear breaths.

One glanced back at her. "What's it matter, honey? Not like you'll be able to tell Daddy where you are."

"Or those ruddy dwarves you been 'angin' 'round with," added Two.

"Perhaps I'd just like to know the location of the hovel you expect me to spend the night in," Tilda snapped. "And what of my needs, hmm? You gave your friend here a chance to relieve himself, what about when I need to go? And what about food? Have you anything to eat and drink, enough for all of us, or do you intend me to starve?"

Three gave her arm a shake. "All in good time, love. Now keep quiet."

"No point in talking to you anyway—clearly none of you are educated enough to know better than to kidnap a visiting dignitary's daughter, let alone carry on an intelligent conversation."

Three jerked her roughly to a stop; the others paused a few steps away.

"What did I tell you about behaving, Princess?" said Three, his rancid breath blowing hot on her face and making her stomach heave. "Anymore smart-mouthin' like that, and I'll stop bein' so nice."

The look in his eyes, what she could see in the fading light of day, told her he was serious. Now afraid that she might bring violence if she let her mouth run away with her again, Tilda conceded with a nod. It was near pitch black in the woods, with only the smallest amount of moonlight breaking through the treetops by which to see, before the men agreed it was time to hunker down for the night.

"Do we risk a fire?" queried One.

"I would advise it, if you want to keep the wolves and bears at bay," Tilda muttered. "Unless, of course, you want them to come along and snack on you and your friends while you sleep."

"Lippy little thing, aren't ye?" said Two.

"She's right—we can't see well enough to keep animals at bay without a fire," said Three. He gestured to One, who immediately set about starting a fire, then walked Tilda over to a tree and forced her to sit at the base of it.

"I have to go," she said, looking up at him.

"You're lying," he said with a snort, and turned away.

Tilda awkwardly maneuvered herself to her feet. "I'm not lying! I've not had a chance to relieve myself since this morning—if I don't pass water soon, I'll soil my dress."

Three looked at her, his expression impassive, then turned his head to look at his compatriots. "Hurry up with that fire, I need a torch."

Several minutes passed before a decent fire was going in a small circle of stones. Two was preparing a torch as Three turned to Tilda and said, "I'm going to untie your hands so you can do your business. Don't try anything foolish, Princess."

She bit back the scathing retort that came to mind as she turned around for him, not wanting to press her luck. Besides, where was she to go with no light to guide her or weapon with which to defend herself? With her hands freed, Tilda brought them around and rubbed her writs fervently to get the feeling back in her fingers. Three took the torch from Two in one hand and her arm in the other, then led her some feet away from the camp.

"Hurry up," he told her.

Tilda scowled. "Turn around."

"And have you clock me in the back of the head? Not a chance, Princess."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, what good would that do me?" she cried in an exasperated tone. "I can't see any better in the dark than you, and your friends would come after me in any case. I may be at your mercy, sir, but you can at least allow me to retain some modicum of dignity by giving me what little privacy there is to be had!"

Three snorted derisively, but at last he turned his back. Tilda sighed in relief, then stepped a little further away to the other side of a wide tree. After emptying her bladder, she carefully tore a bit of her petticoat to clean herself, then left it on the ground as she stood.

"All right, I'm finished."

Three immediately turned around and took her by the arm, then guided her back to the camp. A waterskin was passed to her that contained a bitter ale, but it was better than going without. Tilda drank three deep pulls from it, then accepted the small bread roll that One passed her. Though she had spoken of food earlier, she found she wasn't very hungry, and only consumed about half of it. Three, after about half an hour, bound both her hands and feet again, told her to get what sleep she could, and ordered One to take the first watch.

Tilda leaned against the tree at her back, but she knew sleep would elude her. Once more she let her mind wander to Kíli, wondering if he'd already begun to search for her. She wondered if he was worried, or angry, or desperate, and so prayed that Túrelië's assurance that he would save her brought him some comfort—it was all that kept her from giving in to fear and panic, the knowledge that her dwarf prince would save her from this nightmare.

-…-

Kíli, who took second watch, woke Bard before dawn. The two broke camp in silence, mounted, and rode on until low-hanging branches forced Bard from his saddle; in solidarity, the dwarf also took to his own feet. As light at last began to clear the dark of night from the woods, they came upon an unusual sight:

A perfectly good pony cart, horse still hitched, abandoned in the midst of a clump of trees.

Kíli felt bad for the horse, having been left to fend for itself yet unable to go anywhere without dragging the cart behind it.

"Let's stop a moment and unhitch the poor fellow," said he.

"Aye, at least then it will be able to graze," said Bard, who moved to help him with the task. After a moment he said, "At least we know we're going in the right direction."

Kíli nodded his agreement. "Who else would have left this here? No hunter of sense would leave their transportation unguarded without at least releasing the horse."

He looked around them then and noted that the trees were indeed getting thicker; it was no wonder, then, that the cart had been left behind. "I think maybe we should leave our mounts as well," Kíli suggested. "They're on foot now, and you can't ride without risking your head."

"Agreed. They cannot be more than a few hours ahead of us, half a day at most," said Bard. "On foot, we'll move faster because there are fewer of us."

Not to mention we haven't a female with us wearing the wrong footwear for such an excursion, Kíli added silently.

"Do not be concerned for your pony, Master Kíli," Bard said then. "Huron will make sure he stays near, and when we have Tilda safely with us, she can take the other horse."

Again, Kíli inclined his head in agreement, and once the abductors' horse was released from its harness and their own mounts freed of their burdens, the two set off at a brisk pace. Hope that they would find Tilda soon, or at least some other sign of her, was some hours later bolstered when they came upon what appeared to be a crude campsite. Looking around the area for some other clue that his One had been there, the dwarf soon found a small strip of white cloth. He picked it up and sniffed it, realized what had been done with it, and dropped it again.

"This is definitely their camp," he said as he wiped his hand on his trousers and headed back over to Bard. "I found a bit of cloth—they're at least allowing her to relieve herself."

Bard was just standing near the base of a tree with something in his hand. "I found a couple of hair pins as well. So bloody close!" he said as he wrapped his fingers around them.

They started off again in silence, and as they alternately jogged or walked through the trees, Kíli replayed the conversation with Bard from the night before over again in his head. He thought of how hard it would be for him if the man insisted on taking Tilda back to Dale—and why wouldn't he, if she'd not be of age to marry for another year? Would he remain in Dwarrowvale to keep his distance, or would he do as Balin believed and join the king's party when they returned to the north?

He wanted to do both, so was unsure of doing either. It would ultimately depend on whether Tilda made a clear declaration of her feelings—not just to him, but for all to see. Especially her father.

Kíli had thought for certain that they could not be too far behind Tilda and her abductors, but though he and Bard encountered signs of their passage, they did not catch up to them before the day's end. His anxiety increased the more time that passed and they didn't find her, his mind going from hope to imagining all sorts of evil deeds being perpetrated on her. He vowed to himself that if she had been in any way molested—if even one hair was pulled from her head—he would kill them all without a second thought.

Night was falling again, and their pace had slowed to a walk. Kíli began to search for a suitable campsite when Bard nudged his shoulder.

"Look there," he said, pointing up the barely discernible hillside.

Perhaps a hundred yards high from where they now stood, he could see the orange-yellow glow of a campfire. It outlined what looked to be the mouth of a small cave.

Tilda, he thought, feeling hope surge through him again. I am coming, mamarlûna.

"We must make an effort to be silent," Bard said then. "There's no telling how many there actually are. Let us get closer that we may assess their numbers first."

"Very well," said Kíli as they started off. "But just so you know, Your Majesty, they are none of them leaving these woods alive."

"Are you certain it is wise to just kill them?" Bard countered. "Believe me, I'm angry enough to do it myself, but we've no idea if these men have acted on their own or if another party is behind the scheme. I want to find out which."

Kíli snorted. "I should think it obvious who is behind it. That brat of Ecthelion's didn't get what he wanted, either from Tilda or from having me arrested. His pride's been hurt, so he's done this to get back at both of us."

"Master Dwarf, I understand that he may be wounded by my daughter's rejection, and he was angry enough at your interference to abuse his position and have you arrested and falsely charged," Bard began, "but what purpose would having my daughter abducted serve?"

"Perhaps he figures some time away will change her mind," Kíli replied. "Or perhaps he meant to 'rescue' her himself, thinking that his swooping in to save the day would make her so grateful that she'd rescind her rejection. What the bloody hell do I know about how that demented boy's mind works?"

Now it was Bard who snorted. "If either be the case, he clearly doesn't know Tilda well at all. Should he prove to have any involvement in the scheme, this is only going to make her more resistant, not less."

"Tilda herself called him arrogant and self-centered, so I wouldn't put it past him to think playing the hero would get him what he wants."

They fell into silence again as they trudged nearer the cave, moving around so that when they approached, they could do so directly. Kíli, being heavier of tread than Bard, stepped as lightly as he could, and said a fervent prayer to Mahal that any sound he made was mistaken for an animal.

Three men dressed in dark clothing sat near the fire, and he could see Tilda just beyond it. It appeared that both her hands and feet were bound; Kíli felt his rage resurface in a rush to see his One trussed up like a hog.

He and Bard knelt beside one another some feet outside the range of the firelight, though close enough that they could still see what was going on inside the cave.

"We can take them easily," Kíli said in a low voice. "Won't even have to wait for daylight—I can see well enough to use my bow."

"I do not doubt you," Bard replied in a similar tone, "but remember we need at least one of them alive if we're to learn anything. Let us observe them a while, see if they say anything useful."

"Like who hired them, thereby eliminating the necessity of the survival of all?"

Bard looked to him. "You're awfully intent on killing these men, Master Dwarf. It concerns me how determined you are."

"They took my One," Kíli said with a soft growl. "A dwarf will kill to protect what is his."

His companion lifted an eyebrow, then it seemed some realization dawned. "You're not just angry they took her. You're angry because you weren't there to stop them."

Kíli growled again, as Bard's words brought forth the guilt he'd thus far successfully battled. "I should have been. This never would have happened if I'd been with her."

"Believe it or not, I understand how you feel," Bard said. "She is my child, and I wasn't there to defend her. But as much as it pains me to say so, this was always going to happen no matter what precautions we took. Each of Túrelië's visions have proven true."

Kíli looked at him. "How the razâd can she be so gifted? I know some elves have such abilities, but she's only a half-blood, and not even a year old at that."

Bard shrugged. "I haven't the slightest idea, though Tauriel and I suspect her lineage has something to do with it."

"What about her lineage? She's a Silvan elf, and even I know they're the least powerful of her kind."

His companion scoffed. "That's where you'd be wrong. In the year after the Battle of Five Armies, when she had run from me, Tauriel discovered that she is not Silvan after all, but Ñoldorin and Teleri. Her maternal grandfather was—is—the last surviving son of Fëanor."

Kíli's eyes widened in shock—the Sons of Fëanor, and their ill-fated quest to recover the Silmarils, were known by reputation throughout dwarfdom. The sheer number of dwarrow that had fallen in the many conflicts over those wretched stones were one of the reasons dwarves and elves typically did not get along. He had long understood the feeling to be mutual, as neither side was free of guilt.

He was prevented making any further conversation on the subject when suddenly one of the men in the cave stood and stretched. "I've got to go take a piss," he said.

"No need to make an announcement," said one of his compatriots.

"Indeed," came Tilda's voice. "I certainly don't want or need to hear about your bodily functions."

Kíli couldn't help but smile. The snark in her tone was music to his ears; beside him, Bard also grinned.

"Unless, of course," she was saying, "you intend to take a bath. That would certainly be worth hearing about. The three of you smell bloody awful."

"Oi, yer not scented like a bouquet of flowers yourself at the moment, Princess," said the third man.

"And I wonder whose fault that is?"

"Enough!" said the second man. "You, go take a leak. You, stop baiting the girl; and you, Princess, had better shut those lips of yours lest you want me to gag you again."

Kíli suppressed a growl as he watched the first man stretch again and walk away. He then gestured to Bard that he intended to follow him and was grateful to receive a nod in response. This one would die.

Moving more stealthily than he ever had in his life, Kíli circled around to where the man stood aiming his stream at a tree. He carefully lifted his bow over his head and pulled an arrow from the quiver, nocking it and aiming as the fellow began to redress himself.

He never finished tying his trousers—and didn't even fall to the ground, as the arrow went straight through his head and into the tree, keeping the twitching body upright as life left it.

Satisfied with his work, he made his way back to Bard, using the edge of the firelight as a guide. "That's one," he murmured when he reached he man's side.

They watched and waited in silence for the other two to notice their friend had been gone longer than he ought. Kíli counted nearly ten minutes before the second man stood and moved out of the cave, looking around as he called out, "What's taking you so long, you idiot? I thought you only had to piss?"

"You might as well go look for 'im," said the other. "You know he's blind as a bloody warg in the dark."

Wargs could actually see very well in the dark; Kíli knew this from experience. Shaking his head at the man's ignorance, he waited to see what the apparent leader of this group would do.

"You're right—the fool's probably gotten himself lost," said the first man, who made himself a torch before heading off in the direction of his friend.

"This one's mine," Bard muttered, moving to go after him without waiting for a response.

Kíli didn't bother to give one. He knew that even Bard, who had advocated for leaving one of the men alive, would need to exact some form of vengeance. Whether he actually killed the man or not was moot; he was certainly going to suffer for daring to lay hands on the King of Dale's child.

Bard had just moved out of sight when the dwarf's attention was drawn back to the cave by the sound of the last man's voice.

"Alone at last, Princess," he said as he moved toward the bound Tilda. "I've been waitin' for this."

It was then that Kíli noticed he held a knife, and for a moment he was certain the man intended to kill his captive. Instead, he knelt down and used the knife to cut the rope around her ankles, then tossed it aside as one hand slithered up Tilda's leg and the other went to the tie of his trousers.

Tilda tried vainly to back away. "Oh, come now, Princess—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. An arrow through the ear silenced him; Tilda's head whipped toward the cave entrance as the body of her would-be rapist fell to the ground beside her.

"Kíli?" she called out. "Da?"

He ran through the trees at breakneck speed, and her face lit up the moment she saw him.