A.N.: Hello, dearest readers, I hope you're all safe and sound and not a fraction as tired as I am. Thankfully all my close family is fine so far, taking measures to avoid this pest, and hoping against hope it will keep this way. I'm on vacation from uni, but must hurry to finally vacate the old house while juggling clients, husband, kids, pets and life as whole. So, this chapter will be a bit short, but the next is almost out of the oven, so you'll have at least two chapters before Christmas!
Thank you again for your patience!
Mizz Alec Volturi, there will be more than just bantering, I promise!
Celebrisilweth, Thorin knows his sister-sons well, and loves them well too; I'm sure he regrets having given in to the Council about marrying Kíli against his will.
Mustard Lady, Legolas can be helped yet, keep the faith! Dís and Thorin have a dwarwish way of showing how much they care for each other, that's all!

Teeter-Totter

As they got closer, the stench of burned flesh became more poignant. More like the stench of burned rotten flesh. The word 'nauseating' would be an understatement, and more than one younger and less experimented fellow threw up the contents of their frugal lunch.

"A miracle the fire didn't spread to the whole forest."

Bilbo's remark was met with sceptical glances, mainly by the Durin's closer offspring.

"This forest isn't subordinated to ordinary laws of nature. This much should be clear from when we came through, that time."

It wasn't necessary to state which time, both Bilbo and Thorin knew very well what they were talking about.

"But… wasn't it due to that dark… force… being… thing… in Dol Guldur?"

"Maybe." Thorin wasn't willing to accept any good coming from the elves under Thranduil, so, in his twisted logic, all evil that befell them whilst crossing Mirkwood should be due to the elven king. "But this forest answers to its self-declared king, or I'm a squirrel."

"Well…" The hobbit scratched the back of his head, afraid to enrage his… friend. "It would mean that Thranduil's influence was a good thing, for once? Don't take me wrong!" He cried at Thorin's enraged glare. "If it prevented Kíli from being roasted in a spreading fire, it was a good thing, wasn't it? And us too, by the way…"

Thorin heaved a sigh and shook his head, as defeated as he was when Gandalf pointed out that it was Bilbo who bought them time in the troll shaws.

"I still don't stomach my… neighbour… but aye, if it spared Kíli from a cruel death, I'll acknowledge it. If I find Kíli safe and sound, mind you."

Bilbo chuckled silently, and dismounted. The scenery was desolating, but didn't he face Smaug, the greatest calamity of his time, and survive? He could endure some ashes under his furry feet. Especially if his investigation could help his fiancé to find her wayward son and stop this mad endeavour. Respectable hobbits should court properly, not on the road as a band of homeless dwarves. No, wait! Not on the road as… Bugger it all, he still had tons of prejudices to overcome. Also, he still had to remind himself that respectable people in the Shire called him 'Mad Baggins' at his back, for the sole reason he left everything behind to follow a company of dwarves who sought only what was their only right, their due home.

"I hope he'll be, Thorin. I hope he'll be."

A jolst in her shackles caused Tilda to look up. She was tired, she was hungry and thirsty, and she was in pain. Several frustrated attempts to escape, followed by beatings and assorted kinds of torture, left her hollow and hopeless. Her determination was still there, but her body didn't match it, it wasn't capable of it. She knew she would try again, and again, and again… but her muscles didn't have the stamina for it, and failed her. The healer in her tried to assess the situation, and found her wanting.

Legolas resumed his (now almost) usual routine of shivers, heat waves and convulsions. Which could come in assorted frequencies, repetitions and interspacing. Along with incapacitating cramps, of course. And the orcs rejoiced in using those incidents to beat him when he wasn't able to try and defend himself. Because, even shackled, the elf was a warrior of high stature, and to inflict pain to the prince of the elven realm granted the orcs lots of pleasure.

Kíli brought a tiny piece of bread to her mouth, urging Tilda to eat.

"I lost my hunger."

Those dark eyes considered her with a mix of disdain and care.

"I know you didn't."

"My mouth is dry. It's hard to swallow."

"I know."

It was true. The prisoners were spared a minimum of water, barely enough to grant their survival. Tilda didn't know what awaited them in Dol Guldur, but she knew part of the torture was already in course.

She nibbled at the dry piece of bread, if bread it could be called, only to appease Kíli's worries. Tilda knew they would be dead soon, that if they weren't able to escape while Legolas was strong, it wouldn't be with him weak as a poppy-milk rehab that they would. The dwarf tried to cheer her up, unaware of what was in her head.

"See? Half a moldy bread is better than no bread at all. We will make it through, Tilda, I know we will."

The hope and certainty she felt in his words and saw in his eyes was completely incongruous with what Kíli really felt. Beside the physical pain, he knew no one of his people would move a straw to find him. He was a runaway, someone who forsook his duties, and now whatever happened to him was his own lot. He deserved to be starved and beaten and killed by the Enemy and his minions, he was a failure and a shame to Durin's line.

But he wouldn't allow any harm to come to Tilda, even if he were to die in the process. Her human life was frail, the fluttering of a hummingbird in the storm, and more precious because of it. She didn't have the endurance of dwarves, yet she endured. Children of the human race weren't known to have the wisdom of the elves, yet she was wise, beyond her years. At least, beyond Legolas' years, sometimes.

So, Kíli had to help her to find her inner power, the same she showed just one day ago, and all the days before.

"You are tired, Tilda. We must rest. It's not the best or safer place, but you must rest. I'll watch over you. When I see any chance of escape, I'll wake you and Legolas up, and then we run. Like we did yesterday."

"Aye, yesterday." Her eyes dropped to her bare feet, robbed of her boots she didn't even recall when. "And the day before. And it didn't work. Here we are, Kíli, trapped, like rats in a sinking boat."

The dwarf mustered the remaining of his cheering power to try and make his beloved one to recover what hope there was.

"But we are no rats, and we know there is hope, Tilda. While there is life, there is hope."

Her voice cracked when she tried to counter him without claiming too much attention to their little corner of the orc camp. Any attention they gained used to mean beatings, to say the least.

"It's only a fool's hope, Kíli!"

"Yet, a hope it is." Kíli touched her face with a shackled hand, ignoring the weight of the iron cufflinks. "And I will stay by you to the last scrap of hope. Let us be fools together. Have faith, amralimë."

"Faith." Her eyes searched for some light or signal in the dark tree canopy, and found none. "I lost it. I can't find it anymore."