A.N: Hello, dearest readers, this chapter took a little more time to finish but the scenes in Kíli's mind just came and came and I couldn't ignore them. So, even if the chapter is late, at least it's a bit longer than I was being able to achieve.
Yep, I use personal the pronouns 'he' or 'she' when writing about an animal that is known to someone. Throw me stones if you will.
More notes at the end of the chapter, especially for my cherished reviewers – I hope you are all healthy and well cared for, in the safety or your homes.
But… Mustard Lady, you got it!
"Ablinnan!"
Dunwine shouted to the raging horse, at the same time gesturing it to halt and preparing to act. His second-in-command already held his leader's stallion by the reins, and the other equines were dealt as well as their riders could.
Which could or could not mean Bilbo was in dire straits, and that Thorin wasn't or was indeed keeping the hobbit's pony in check , singlehandedly, whilst trying not to fall off his own beast.
As the whole searching party was busy with their own horses and ponies, expecting what the Rohirrim marshal would do, none was really paying attention to anything beside the thunderstorm on hooves approaching. So, if keeping Bilbo's horse in check included holding the hobbit by his waist or not, none ended the day any wiser.
Dunwine's stallion pranced slightly, neighed with a bugling ring, and then stood still, ears pricked forward. More a captain angry with his subordinate than an ordinary horse waiting for something to happen. Then, to happen it did.
"Ablinnan!"
The repeated shout was answered by a loud neigh of the hazelnut horse, confused hooves undecided if to follow the momentum that urged them ahead or to obey the voice that commanded them to halt.
Some dry leaves on the ground were all it took to make the horse glide, careen and almost topple right in the middle of the narrow road. Dunwine had the loose reins in his hands in no time at all, a sure leap landing him on the saddle and muscular thighs holding the beast tight between them. Some more imposing words in Rohirric had the equine finally (almost) still, nickering, yet with his ears flicking back and forth. The marshal's stallion stepped forward, touching noses with the newcomer.
Soothing words had it still at last, and Dunwine dismounted.
"That was reckless!" Demanded Thorin, dismounting his own pony. "All the horses and ponies could have bolted!"
"But they didn't, did they?" The marshal answered with a proud smile, caressing the neck of the hazelnut horse. "And now we have information!"
"What?"
"How?"
Were some of the questioning words said at the same time by more than one man and dwarf. And a single hobbit, just for the record.
Dunwine allowed the nervous horse to touch noses with him too, and then to rest his head on the man's shoulder, eyes closed as if finally finding some peace. Carding the stallion's mane, the marshal stated to his fellows.
"This good lad here is Broda, whom we believed to have been stolen. I gifted him to my wife at our wedding. Whatever he's carrying, besides his proper saddle and reins, will tell us something. Also, his eyes have seen things we didn't, and he can show them to us."
"Like what?" Asked Bard, hoping beyond hope.
"Like where he escaped whomever stole him, if stolen he was. Or where he escaped your younger daughter's kidnaper, if it was the same person. Let us peruse Broda's saddles."
=^.^=
To be shoven onto a pile of wood was not the most comfortable thing even happened to them, but it was also less hard than to being piled with other luggage at a rocky corner of the path, as had been the usual since their capture. Instinctively, Kíli put his hands up to prevent Tilda's head to hit a log behind them, but she was too limp to anything make a difference, which worried him.
"Tilda." Kíli waited a minute to whisper again. "Tilda, can you hear me?"
"Hmm?" She moaned, tilting her head toward his shoulder. "Are we home?"
"No." He regretted to inform. "Tilda, we're still captive. Can you hear me? How do you feel? Please talk to me!"
"Wh.."
Her eyes widened with realisation as her mind flew back to consciousness, and her mouth shut up. The orc camp frightened her, as it should, and she tried to scramble backwards. Everything she saw with her waking eyes was worse than her recent nightmare, and Tilda shut her eyelids in a vain attempt to gain some time before facing reality.
"Shh… I'm with you…"
It was not much comfort, as he was shackled up like her, but last recent times it helped to keep her from shouting, and being quiet seemed to be best for their health. At least, kept most of the beating away, and he would be glad for preventing her to take any more slap, punch or lash he could.
"Ahn…" Tilda tried to keep quiet, but a swelling eye prevented it, and a small moan escaped.
"Tilda, we're doing this together. I'm with you. Are you with me?"
It was not a real question, but a tactical one. A long as he could keep her sane, they'd have a chance. If he lost her…
The dwarf was not ready to consider that option, so he ignored it.
The woman took in a deep breath, and heaved it out slowly, so very slowly. How many times did she use it to calm her patients, to help them to deal with overwhelming pain, fear or tension. To smell a flower, to blow out a candle. Once. Twice. Once more. Until her eyes focused again, until who she was became more real than the circumstances she was in.
"I am."
Kíli let out a breath he didn't notice he was holding. Which showed either how much strain he was under the last days or how much he cared for Tilda's wellbeing. Or both.
Most probably, both.
"Are you in pain?"
"I'm the healer here, Kíli, it's me who should be asking this, not the contrary."
Their conversation was held in quiet whispers.
"It doesn't take a healer to worry about the one you love."
He tried to touch her chin with his bound hands, knowing her cheek would be too hurt for any contact to be comforting. She half nodded, half rested her chin on his fingers, seeking reassurance as well as assuring him his care was welcome. How hard was it to deal with a freshly discovered passion when they couldn't as much as exchange a caress!
"My eye still hurts." Tilda stated, keeping her voice as low as possible. "It could get better with some ice, or some eyebright, or even chamomile. But I doubt our lovely hosts would provide us some." The woman got silent for a moment, surveying the surroundings to make sure it was safe to keep talking. "And you?"
"Oh, my eyes are fine, thank you." Kíli answered, nonchalantly. Then he supplemented, before she could clarify her question with a 'You know what I mean, insufferable dwarf!' as her one-eyed glance promised. "My side and legs hurt, but not as much as yesterday. At least they're not bleeding."
"Your back…"
"Oh, nothing remarkable. A few stitches will make the tunic as good as new."
"And how many stitches to your skin?" Tilda whispered, the closest to angry she could be to him. "If it festers I'll just bit every orc's nose out until I feel revenged for you!"
"Don't." The dwarf warned. "Last time you bit one of their noses out they slammed your face onto a tree trunk, and your eye is swollen since then. Don't take more chances. When we are free and you're able to smile again, I want it to be with all of your teeth in due place."
He said 'when', not 'if' they'd be free again, and it didn't go unnoticed by the woman. And yet…
"I know. I want to see you smile again, too. But they beat you so hard… my teeth were the only weapon I had! I couldn't comply, they were punishing you like they did and…"
"Shh, shh… Don't let them hear us."
Tilda swallowed dry. The orcs had not given them a single sip of water since they had been captured. Last time they had been caught talking it meant no food too. Their starved bodies could not afford it, and she knew.
"They were flogging you. How could I not react?"
The woman had a point. It was hard for him, too. He had been the first to command the trolls to drop Bilbo, had he not? Despite being alone and unsure if his uncle and the remaining of the Company would come to any kind of rescue… What would have become if Thorin had just said 'no' to the endeavour? The Longbeard king in exile was not very fond of the Halfling at that time, not that Kíli was aware. But he trusted Fíli would come back, at least.
"Amrâlimë…"
The dwarf called her by the Khuzdul endearment, but had to fight for words afterwards. How could he demand Tilda to preserve herself when…
The river sent the barrels crashing like ice cubes in a Forge Fire drink cup, in what could maybe be made into a sport in more peaceful times, but not yet. Both elves and orcs shoot their bows at him and the remaining of the Company, with special attention to Durin's line, for all he knew. Their burglar managed to smuggle them out of the dungeons, but how could the Halfling foresee the blockage to their river-ride? Yet it was there, a bridge over the troubled waters, guarded by well armoured and armed elves, ready to kill him, his family and his friends, as if they were mere thieves. Actually, even thieves had more forgiveness amongst his own people, if Nori's presence in the Company was anything to go about.
But he could see the lever, and how it worked. If it closed the sluice gates, it should be able to open them again, if Fíli's kind of logic was due to this elven artefact. So, if he knew how the lever worked and what had to be done for the Company to get free…
It cost him a shot in the thigh, and almost his live due to poisoning, but it had been worth it.
"You could not." Tilda shot her one-eyed doe gaze to him, as if waiting for further clarification, which came with no delay. "Because we are the same."
She heaved out a sigh, as if his backing were utterly necessary to retrieve Tilda from her misery. It was guilt, and Kíli knew it. First hand.
It was cold, icy cold atop Ravenhill. He felt guilty for leaving Uncle Thorin and Dwalin to deal with a hundred goblins on their own, despite knowing they were more than capable. He followed Fíli to the ruins of the guard-post, only to see his brother fall from its heights. He should not be so innocent as to believe they could split inside the enemy's hideout with no consequences. It could have been Fíli's death, and it would have been his fault. His beloved brother lived, Mahal knew how, and after several months of daily efforts and otherworldly determination, he managed to walk again. He would probably be known to future generations as Fíli the Hobbler, which would be better than Fíli, the deceased Heir, but if Kíli just were there to fight along his brother…
"You and me, Tilda, are prone to go to extremes for the ones we love. But right now we must ponder our will to fight with what our fight will actually achieve. A brave corpse will do no good to our future together."
And he knew it. When he was almost out of breath under the smothery grasp of Bolg, black and golden dots fluttering before his eyes, it was the bravery of Tauriel that rescued him. Her prowess also meant her death. And for her death, and his survival, he felt guilty, and that guilt haunted him every day of his life since then. He would not forgive himself if Tilda met the same fate as Tauriel. It would be unfair, to say the least. He would rather throw himself between any of them and danger than to be guilty of his One's demise. Again.
"I must confess… I don't have much bravery in me anymore. M'a thirsty, hungry, exhausted, bruised… I just want it all to end…"
She would have shed a tear if there were water enough in her body to grant it. As it was, just a dry sob managed to find its way to her throat.
"We will escape, Tilda. Trust me. We did it once, we'll do it again." He tried to find any other topic to divert her mind from their predicament. "How is our elf?"
The healer inside the captivated woman resurfaced in an instant, as soon as required. Just like she used to wake up at the minimal whisper of 'master healer' when she was working in the Healing Houses and someone called her from the short naps Óin or Hilda allowed her or the other apprentices to take during their shifts.
"No sign of fewer or hypothermia since we've captured." She informed, and then presented her less than rational musings. What was there to be lost, anyway? "It's almost as if the spider poison soothed him. Have you ever seen something like this?"
"Nay…" He mumbled after a little thought. "We have not this kind of spider in the Blue Mountains. And I don't know how elven bodies work, obviously."
"Aye, that might be the main problem. I've worked with men and dwarrow, but the elves that visit us are never sick."
Tilda pushed Legolas' arm with an elbow. He had been walking in a kind of trance state they learned was usual for elves to be instead of fully sleeping, when a rightful sleep wasn't possible. Now that they stopped he seemed to be beyond trance, if his snore was to be taken into account. A second push was needed to wake him up, though.
"Legolas…"
"I'm here."
His words didn't match his forlorn gaze. Actually, if someone wanted to depict someone who wasn't there, the elf's face would be the perfect model.
"We too. And we must get away from here. How're you feeling?"
"Sick."
The woman and the dwarf exchanged a meaningful look. Never sick as an adjective automatically applied to elves was past reality, and they had to reckon it.
"Legolas, we must find a way to escape. We need you to cooperate. You know this forest better than any of us. Where are we? What can we use in our advantage?"
The dwarf urged his companion in misfortunes to rationalize, to make his brain work, and hoped it would go better than last tries. At least the elf seemed to be getting better, it only puzzled Kíli that he had been having such a harsh time overcoming the poison when he himself and Tilda were quite fine after two days.
The elf closed his eyes. After some time his two enquirers were in doubt if he was meditating or sleeping again, but kept their silence. It would do no good to interrupt their chaperone, even if none of them were thinking about the need of a chaperone at this point. They barely exchanged whispers, or a fleeting caress with iron bound hands. The state of dirt their captors left them inspired no closer interaction, too. If they allowed no water to drink, what about water to any other need? They felt dirtier than the orcs themselves.
At last, Legolas uplifted his eyes again, but the haunted look it provided was no comfort to his friends.
"We're in the narrows of the forest. Many miles south of the Old Forest Road you wished to travel, and too many miles closer to Dol Guldur than anyone would wish to be. We must escape soon, or not escape at all."
"I feel weak, but we won't get stronger with little food and no water." Tilda stated the obvious, making Kíli remember his brother. "What do you suggest?"
"We keep looking for chances. Even if…"
The faraway look was there again. Haunted, hurt. So many times defeated he could not confide in his own strength anymore.
"If what, Legolas?"
"They're sworn to take us to Dol Guldur. They'll die before we escape. It's not simple dedication, it's fear. There's a mightier power at work, it wants our death and will have no excuses from our captors."
Kíli frowned.
"Then why don't they kill us at once? Not that I wish for them to hurry, but… Is it for ransom? To questioning, inquisitioning?"
Legolas shadowed his eyes, worrying what his companions in captivity would make of it. To know the facts for himself was one thing, but to expose it to mortals worried him. Mortals were prone to panic. Yet, to deny them the information would be counterproductive.
"They need our blood." The elf looked at both dwarf and woman before continuing. "As an offering, a ritual to bring back one of the accursed Nine, the mannish ring-wearers of old, the Enemy's most feared allies."
"They were destroyed thousands of years ago!" Countered Kíli. "In the Siege of the Dark Tower. So was their dark master, so legends tell."
"How… How do you know it?" Asked Tilda, chin trembling with horror. Even as a little girl in Lake Town she had heard about those terrible beings, but believed them a story to scare misbehaved children. "How can you be sure?
Legolas heaved a sigh, pondering how much to tell, and how. Also, keeping quiet enough so the orc pack wouldn't hear them.
"Tilda, the Black Speech is the foulest language I'm acquainted to, but to know what your enemy speaks is quite useful. I heard their leader talk… No need to tell you the whole conversation. It was disgusting." The elf turned to the archer. "Kíli, it is no legend. My father was there, my grandfather was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad. How is this that the dead don't care to remain dead is yet a mystery to me, but around the time your people came to reclaim your mountain it was rumoured to be a Necromancer in Dol Guldur. If this Necromancer is back, he might be the one trying to arise the servant of the Dark Lord."
"And why do they want our blood?"
Legolas turned his eyes down and translated the words he heard from the orc leader.
"The blood of three princes to bring back one king."
=^.^= =^.^= =^.^=
More Notes:
pallysd'Artagnan¸Legolas has a long way to find his health again, but you're right, he's adorable all the way! And things are going to be far, far worse…
Mizz Alec Volturi, I'm trying really hard to update more frequently, I swear on Durin's beard!
Mustard Lady, albeit the Mirkwood elves being known as "more dangerous and less wise", they're still fair people, and not evil. I can't stand the idea of Thranduil being simply bad. The movies portrayed him according to the need to show an adversary to the dwarves, but I believe him far deeper than what was shown to us.