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“Wake up. Wake up!” Someone was shouting hurriedly, and underneath him he could hear what sounded like sand trickling down. Fíli had a peaceful moment to open his eyes before the ground creaked, and he was dropped into nothingness.
The floor had given way to a long, sloping tunnel with ledges and steep drops, the clear and distinct smell of metal, blood, rot, and Orcs blanketing the Company as they tumbled into the depths of the Misty Mountains.
Fíli stuck out his arms as he fell, searching for Kíli, or even for Thorin. He’d no idea where they were, and was almost too focused on not whacking his head on the jutting stone that he couldn’t do much in terms of searching. Disoriented and still half asleep, he closed his eyes to try and quell some of the nausea quickly approaching.
It took a mere twenty or so seconds to hit the ground, piled on top of and underneath the dwarrows of the Company. Fíli winced gently as he took in his surroundings.
They were in a wooden claw-box, as it were. He recovered quickly enough, turning to help up Dori and Oín, when several members of the Company started to shout. He turned his head to see why, golden braids flying, and recoiled slightly.
Charging at them were dozens, maybe hundreds, of Goblins. Despite the fact that the Dwarves were both heavily armed and armoured, they leapt atop the group and began to grab them, dragging the Dwarves closer to the opening out of the claw.
Kíli was behind him, and their uncle was just ahead of them, facing them. He moved towards him and his brother, pushing them further back from the mob before being jumped on and dragged backwards himself. Kíli reached for Thorin, one hand curling in the metal of his arm-brace, and with his other hand, reached for Fíli’s hand.
He could tell Kíli was afraid, as this was the first time they’d seen this level of ferocity from Dark Creatures. Fíli held his brother close as a gobin descended on them and shoved them forwards.
Dwalin was right behind them and Thorin ahead, and Thorin turned as best he could and beckoned Kíli forwards, who let go of Fíli and went as best he could to be situated ahead of the two fiercest warriors of their Company, and his brother.
It was as a wave was pushing and pulling him, hands on his shoulders, back, head, and legs urging him on. He turned his head to look at Dwalin, who offered what little reassurance he could in the form of a nod, his mouth set in a grim line.
There was…singing from ahead. At least, it was supposed to be singing. It was discordant and off-key, and Fíli quickly saw what the source was.
It was a monstrous goblin. He assumed it to be the king or queen of the goblins writhing about.
They came to a quick stop, and Fíli was far in the back. Dori, Dwalin, Balin, Gloín, Thorin, Bifur, and Kíli acted as a barrier between the Goblin King, as he announced, and him. As the adrenaline from the inital fall wore off, panic set into Fíli’s heart as he realized that Kíli was directly in front of the King, but also directly ahead of Thorin. Stuck between a rock and well…a goblin.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Search them!” The King cried, and the goblins from behind him reached their claw like hands across his tunic and pulled out his sword and axes, leaving his many hidden knives, before leaving him alone again after Dwalin shook off some of the nastier ones.
He heard a clattering of metal and the crowd grew quieter as the goblins inspected Nori’s (most likely) stolen artifacts from the Elves in Rivendell and sneered. The King muttered something about it having no value and tossed it aside, then turned to face them once more.
“What are you doing in these parts?” He demanded, and from what little of Thorin he could see, he started forwards before Oín set a thick-fingered hand on his shoulder and stepped in front of him. With a dull stab of annoyance, he realized that no-one had hidden Kíli nor Ori—the youngest members of the Company—from the King.
“-Ah, what’s that? No tricks, I want the truth, warts and all!” The King declared as Oín stepped up.
“You’re going to have to speak up,” Oín began. “Your boys flattened my trumpet.” He stated, and the King stepped back down to glare at Oín.
“I’ll flatten more than your trumpet!” He announced, and charged forwards. Finally, someone shoved his little brother back towards Thorin and Dwalin. It was Bofur, who offered to parlay with the King. He began his usual ramblings to try and stall their probable doom.
It lasted for a glorious twenty seconds before the King shouted at him to shut up. They all winced and leaned away from him.
“If they won’t talk,” He began, looking around the room which was covered in teeming swarms of goblins, “we’ll make them squawk! Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the Bonebreaker! Start with the youngest!” He said, and a gnarled hand pointed at Ori, who paled. Fíli noticed Kíli’s head turn to look at the Dwarrow who was seven years his junior, and shouted back at the King.
Fíli could do nothing as he watched the attention of the King get drawn to the second-youngest Dwarf, his mouth twisting in a cruel smile.
“And who is this?” He demanded, stepping closer to Kíli. His tone indicated that the King knew who Kíli was, knew who they all were, but desired to hear him admit it.
Kíli did not respond immediately, still looking at Ori. With frantic eyes, he shifted his gaze to the King, and lied.
“He’s not the youngest.” He declared, and Thorin started forwards, but many hands held him back.
“Kíli…” Fíli said quietly, silently imploring his brother not to be the hero, that he had nothing to prove, for Mahal’s sake.
“No?” The Goblin King chuckled, leaning down even more to meet Kíli’s eyes. “Who is?” He drawled, and it was then that Fíli could tell Kíli regretted his decision. Presumably not wanting anyone (or himself) to give away who Thorin and the Company were, he proudly lifted his head and nodded. The Goblin-King grinned an evil thing.
“Come away then, your highness.” The King growled, then stood back up to his full height. He used a hand to beckon his subjects forwards, and five of them approached and took hold of Kíli’s arms and torso. He did his best to keep his face and body neutral, despite the confusion at his proper court title being thrown in his face. Fíli assumed it was so that Ori wasn’t targeted next, nor him, he realized.
“I can appreciate the gumption, but even we goblins do know where the sons of Durin tread.” He said with a sick sort of satisfaction and mockery. With another wave of his filthy hand, Fíli watched in absolute horror as his brother was roughly dragged down the steep steps of the throne area, and into the unknown depths of the mountains.
“No! Kíli! Hey!” His uncle roared, pressing against the several Dwarrows that had been restraining him the entire interaction. Fíli felt terrified, and pressed through the company to stand next to Thorin, who quickly moved away again. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and didn’t have to turn to know that Dwalin was also restraining him from chasing after his brother.
“Treacherous filth!” Thorin snarled, and the Goblin-King turned his cruel gaze towards him. He broke through the small crowd and stood in front of the King, head held high.
“Well…look who it is!” The Goblin-King said. “Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór! King under the Mountain.” He mock-bowed in front of Thorin, who took the moment to cast his eyes towards the set of stairs that Kíli was dragged away from.
“Oh, but I’m forgetting- you don’t have a mountain, and you’re not a King, which makes you nobody, really.” He said. Fíli couldn’t focus on the rest of the conversation, the gnawing fear growing a cold dread all through his body at Kíli being separated from them.
His fear must’ve been noticed by Dwalin, who grasped Fíli’s other shoulder in his hand, tugging his young cousin closer.
He heard ‘Azog’ and was somehow plunged into an even colder water. Thorin denied something, and the King laughed at him. It was a cruel sort of laugh, and one not-well used.
The Goblin-King descended into another song as Fíli heard machinery being brought up from the depths, pulleys and ropes going taut as massive machines of what could only be described as torture devices were approaching.
“Oh, and no need to worry.” The Goblin-King cut off his song mid-verse to sneer at Thorin.
“Your dwarf prince will be subject to something much worse. This, I can promise.” He said it with such finality and certainty that Fíli had zero doubts that Kíli would be alive long after they’d been killed, doomed to whatever experiments the Goblins desired to use him for.
Sometime during the rest of the song, Thorin had backed up back into the group and had taken Fíli from Dwalin’s fierce hold, taking him up in his arms. One hand cupped the back of his head and the other wrapped his shoulders, and he was speaking unheard words to Fíli.
Fíli barely registered him, mind running wild with terror for his brother. Was today the final time he had see him? Would Kíli die, afraid, alone, and probably injured, in the dungeons of the Goblins of the Misty Mountains?
“I know that sword!” Fíli heard from behind Thorin, who mostly let go of him to stare at the Goblin-King, who had scrambled back towards his throne as Thorin’s sword was displayed on the old wood of the throne area’s flooring.
“It is the Goblin-Cleaver! The Biter! The Blade that sliced a Thousand Necks!” He shouted, and sounded afraid. Thorin was torn from him as the whips of the goblins thrashed at the group of Dwarves, and Fíli did what he could to protect his head and face from the lashes.
Crouching down, he peered through his fingers and saw a goblin kneeling over his pinned uncle, a deadly blade poised against Thorin’s face, and Fíli realized with a start that he may very soon be the last in the line of Thrór.
Just as the goblin’s arm moved, the brightest light and strongest wind tore through the cavern, sending goblins flying in every direction, although every dwarf stayed rooted to the ground.
A tall, thin figure emerged from the fog, one hand clasped around the hilt of a sword and the other holding a staff in both an impossibly old and immensely powerful hand.
“Take up arms.” The wizard said, his deep voice ringing through the cave, every head turning to look at him.
“Fight.” He commanded, and started forwards.
“Fight!” Gandalf yelled, and raised his sword against the Goblins.
There was another scramble for the many weapons strewn across the throne area, and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield fought against their captors.
Gandalf was not but a whir of sound and grey as he struck the Goblins with shockingly ferocious attacks, Glámdring glittering in the dim light of Goblin-Town.
With a savage blow, Thorin raised his sword to clash with the oncoming charge of the King, who staggered backwards and tumbled off the side of the throne area.
Immediate threat out of the way, Fíli shouted for Thorin, who turned in a near-panic to find him.
“Fíli, namadul, we will find him.” Fíli damn-near crashed into him after dispatching a goblin with a sword to the gut, probably looking crazed.
Seeing no assurance on Fíli’s face and the initial battle slowing down, Thorin yelled to Gandalf.
“I noticed we were one or two short.” He said grimly, both face and sword splattered with black.
“I implore you, Gandalf, lead the others out. Myself, Fíli, Dwalin, and Bofur will find Kíli.” He near-ordered, now looking as panicked as Fíli felt.
“And what of our Burglar?”
“What?” Thorin asked, genuine confusion colouring his tone, before his eyes widened. In his panic for his nephew, he hadn’t even noticed that Bilbo was also missing from the fray.
“If he were smart, he would’ve left as soon as he could.” Thorin reasoned, spinning to meet an oncoming goblin with Orcrist.
“But Bilbo Baggins is but a Burglar, correct?” Gandalf pressed, staff swinging into two goblins. Thorin paused for a moment.
“Aye.” He realized. He knew what Gandalf was implying, that Bilbo would be dead on the return if he decided to turn away now, and that they needed him if they wanted to get home.
“Uncle.” Fíli interrupted, voice catching on the word. Thorin looked over at him, surprised at Fíli using that title for him, as it only came out of his mouth when he was very afraid or upset. Thorin then yelled out Dwalin and Bofur’s names as the second wave of goblins began to advance.
The two of them were quick to arrive, and Gandalf gave a curt nod to Thorin before running back into the fray and leading the rest of the company off of the throne area.
“We are not leaving until Kíli is back with us. I trust there’s no grievances.” Thorin commanded, and both Dwalin and Bofur nodded to him.
The four took off down the makeshift stairs, avoiding and dispatching whatever goblins came their way. Fear slowly gave way to anger, which was fueled into rage as they made their way further down and down. Fíli wouldn’t be stopped, and let no words of reassurance from Thorin dissipate his fury.
Kíli should not have said anything. He was acutely aware of that now, with more and more filthy and corrupt hands pressing him towards the stairs leading away from the throne. As he was pushed roughly down the stairs, he heard his uncle shout for him, but did not turn back.
At least Ori’s safe.
That voice in his head kept grounding him. Another thing that helped was knowing that if they had him, Fíli would likely be saved from whatever awaited him.
What did await him? He’d heard tales of orc-torment from those who’d known his grandfather after the battle to retake Khâzad-dum, but he didn’t know much more of it. Just that it was deeply unpleasant, and he was unlikely to survive it.
What was he supposed to do, really? Was he to let Ori be murdered? No one else was volunteering, were they? Besides, Kíli was no longer a mewling dwarfing, his uncle had accepted him onto the Company and on the journey to Erebor, he could handle himself. The battle with those Wargs had proven that!
All that being said, Kíli was afraid. That fear was not dampened when drums and another song began somewhere far above them, which was followed quickly by a burst of light and ensued with silence.
The goblins shoving him towards what he could only assume were the dungeons paused and looked up, as did Kíli, to hear a ragged shout and the sounds of a battle begin.
Kíli paled. Fíli. His brother was up there still, where now swords were being clashed against flesh, axes crushing through bone.
Using the momentary surprise the goblins were in, Kíli tore away from them and ran back up the stairs, doing his best to ignore the many goblins chasing back after him.
A crash sounded above him and the King tumbled off of the throne, falling down to where he was standing. Should he go on and risk being crushed? Or face the dungeons of the Misty Moutains?
Time quickly running out as the Goblin King and many smaller Goblins fell closer, Kíli allowed the many goblins grab him and throw him back down. Landing hard on the wood, Kíli covered his head as splinters flew from the steps now-destroyed by the fall of the King, and began to get up. He wanted to jump the gap, to get back to the Company, when a brutal blow fell upon the right side of his head, and he crumpled against the steps.
Head swimming and throbbing, he barely registered being pulled down the steps as he allowed his eyes to close, falling further into the belly of the Misty Mountains.
Cold was what he woke to. Cold against his face, his back, his head. Though, that cold may have been from the blood beginning to cool against his skin, not stone pressing him from all angles.
Had Kíli been a man, or an elf, or even a hobbit, he would be worried that the wound upon his head would be threatening to his life, but as a Dwarf, he had a certain durability that no other race did. A week of rest, maybe, and he would be fine.
Right now was sore, however. Kíli groaned as he brought a hand to the place on his head where what he assumed to be a club or the blunt edge of an axe was brought down upon it. His fingers came away lightly stained, his nausea growing as he opened his eyes.
He was certainly in a dungeon, and regrettably without his weapons. He wished for Fíli, and for his uncle, though with any luck they were already out, depending on how long it had been.
The cold wasn’t like the chill from wind, but rather a forge with no furnace to heat it. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Kíli pushed himself up and took in his prison.
There was a dim, old torch just beyond the solid bars, and he was otherwise surrounded by solid stone. Other than that there were no amenities in the cell. Kíli dragged himself towards the wall and leaned the uninjured part of his head against the chilled rock.
His mother’s voice rang in his ears in a warning she’d had to often give him in the past.
“Kíli, my daft boy, if you hit your head like that, your eyes cannot shut, how many times?”
Upon remembering this, Kíli’s eyes snapped wide open and he immediately wanted to take that action back as a wave of pain and nausea swept over him.
By Mahal, how was he going to be found down here?! If the King was dead, which he doubted, but if he were, then there would be no reason for him to be kept here. Kept here alive, at any rate.
Well…aside from his lineage, but why would goblins care about him, Fíli, and Thorin?
Perhaps for the legendary and mythical wealth of Erebor, you fool.
Quiet yourself, mind-Kíli.
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, willing to stay awake, but it was probably only a few minutes, before hearing shuffling along the corridor. Moving his head too quickly, Kíli looked up in time to see a goblin holding a torch and a knife approaching the cell door.
“You’ll pay for your crimes, you dwarvish filth.” It snarled, and Kíli looked on in confusion. Aside from unbeknownst trespassing, the Company had done nothing but defend themselves. If those were crimes, Thorin was an elf.
“I have…not done anything.” Kíli said truthfully, feeling like lead. The goblin growled at him, flashing rotten teeth. It clearly disagreed with him.
“I wonder what happens to a lying dwarf when we’ve ripped out his putrid little guts and fed him his fingers, don’t you?” It ground out, flashing the dangerous-looking dagger.
“What would your…King say, if he knew you’re threatenin’ me? Second heir to the throne of Erebor, hm?” Kíli tried in a defence, looking around for anything he could use as a projectile or something against the creature.
Erebor’s immense fortune couldn’t be lost on even in a place such as this, and Kíli knew that he could use his own future wealth as a bargaining chip for his life.
The goblin considered this, but just grinned back.
“His excellency is dead, and you’re alone in the mountains, with us.” It smiled, clawed hand gleaming in the dim light where it clutched the bars. Again, Kíli doubted that. Unease grew in the pit of his stomach as that settled in his mind. He was alone.
A shadow moved in the dark behind the goblin, and with a surprised, sudden, and a stifled cry, it sunk to its knees and then fell onto its stomach.
“‘Lo?” Kíli asked out into the darkness, because whatever had killed the goblin couldn’t have possibly been crueler to him.
What’s the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?
“Who’s there?” Someone unseen whispered.
Was he…going mad? It wasn’t impossible, he supposed, but he assumed it’d happen a bit later on, and surrounded by more gold.
Suddenly, someone appeared in the dark. It wasn’t as if they walked up, per se, but they literally…appeared. They were small, and didn’t have the air of a goblin, or even an orc. Kíli’s eyebrows shot up as much as they could without it being painful as he slowly recognized the other person.
“Mister Boggins?” He said, tongue moving as if honey coated his mouth.
“Kíli?!” Bilbo replied, hurriedly finding the keyring for the cell door. Small hands worked quickly to find the correct one and he opened it, stepping over the corpse of the goblin he’d slain.
“My goodness, thank heavens I’ve found you, it’s been an ordeal. Gracious, how have you found yourself in such a state-oh, you dwarves will drive me nutty before I’m back in bag end! I’ve not seen Thorin, nor anyone friendly since we all fell, if you even did fall, and I was beginning to worry you lot had forgotten me down here!” Bilbo rambled as he crouched in front of Kíli, who had such a struggle to answer the many remarks their Burglar had presented to him that he stayed quiet and awaited further ramblings.
“Goodness gracious, Kíli, your head! If that doesn’t do you in, your uncle just may!” He said it in the air of worry, but the message was no less harsh.
Seemingly regretting his choice of words, he wordlessly placed his hands underneath Kíli’s arms and allowed Kíli to brace himself on his own arms and shoulders, and the two of them dragged Kíli up.
Unable to stifle a groan as the sudden movement began, he leaned back against the wall to steady himself, sliding gently back down.
“No, no-no, Kíli! You are not to do that, do you hear me?!” Bilbo ground out in a half-shout, half-whisper, his hands tightening their hold and pulling him up as best he could.
“I’ll be fine in a day. Just…not yet.” Kíli told him, which just earned a concerned scoff from the Hobbit.
Finally at his full, strangely tall height, Bilbo moved so Kíli could lean on him as they exited the cell, careful not to slip on the body nor the blood which spilled from it.
Now up and in semi-proper light, Bilbo could see the blood staining Kíli’s otherwise unharmed person, and he made no mention of it, not wanting to upset the lad.
Kíli was the third-tallest of the Company, just falling behind Dwalin and then Thorin, who were both unnaturally tall Dwarrows. The height was especially noticeable with one arm slung across Bilbo’s much shorter frame, a lot of Kíli’s weight cast upon him.
From behind the two of them, Bilbo heard shouting. The voices were fierce and angry, and not wanting to risk a violent encounter with more goblins, he led them down a smaller hallway and turned away from the light, hoping it didn’t catch in his face or Kíli’s armour.
The voices didn’t sound…orcish, nor did they sound goblin-esque, and Bilbo gently let Kíli lean against the wall so he could quietly go look.
To his utmost delight and surprise, he saw four familiar retreating figures in the dim orange glow. One smaller than the rest, golden hair noticeable even in the darkness of the tunnel, and one with an unmistakable hat sat on their head.
“Fíli! Bofur!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and whisper-shouted, earning all four of them to stop and look back.
“Bilbo!” Bofur cried in relief, a warm, tired smile crossing his stained features.
“Yeah, don’t get too excited.” Bilbo replied, stepping aside and pointing down the narrow gap of a passageway. Dwalin was nearest the rear, so he naturally reached them first, and looked down the gap, then back to Thorin and Fíli.
He gestured for them to come over and stepped aside as Fíli hastily approached, peering down.
The relief he felt at seeing Kíli nearly knocked him over, but was replenished quickly by apprehension when he cast his eyes on the side of his brother’s head. He moved forwards in the cramped hallway, arms reaching up to hold Kíli close, and for once, he let Fíli worry.
Fíli checked him over for anything else that may have hindered him, but when he was unable to find anything he simply drew him into a tight hug.
Behind them, their uncle asked if Kíli could come into the light, as the passage was too narrow for him to go down very far. They both walked to him, and Thorin lay a large hand on the uninjured side of Kíli’s head, who did not look at his uncle.
“Kíli.” He gently commanded, turning the boy’s face to meet his own.
“I apologize, Thorin. I just…didn’t want them to hurt Ori.” He said weakly, feeling every bit of the youngest Dwarrow he’d claimed he were. Thorin, still careful of Kíli’s head, drew him close, holding him as though he was but twenty-four and had had a nightmare of his father’s murder.
“It was not of your doing, what happened up there.” He said raggedly, and though Dwalin could appreciate the moment, he pressed them on. The dungeons were getting no shorter, nor were they becoming any brighter.
Kíli was feeling marginally better, if he could disregard the pain. Less dizziness accompanied him, but he was reluctant to fully let go of his uncle. Fíli was holding him under one arm, pulling him away from Thorin, and they quickly made their way up to the second level of the tunnels, which seemed to be the residential quarters of the Goblins.
As they hurried, gaps above them appeared, showing what Kíli assumed to be bridges and points of connection for the upper reaches of the immense cavern.
“Thorin!” Dwalin yelled, pointing up through one of these gaps to reveal the Company, facing off the Goblin-King.
“What is that?!” Bilbo cried, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. Thorin made a sound of irritation before pressing them on, again sandwiching he and his brother between him ahead and Dwalin at their rear, having Bofur and Bilbo take the lead.
Another thunderous crash made them all look upwards, and Thorin grabbed Bilbo and Bofur by the arm, wrenching them out of the way of the bridge sliding and crashing down into the lower sections of the cave, right where they’d been standing.
Coughing away the dust, the now-broken structure showed the Company lying on it in various states.
Silence descended, but was quickly shattered by the corpse of the Goblin King falling heavily onto the bridge. Everyone groaned.
A quick once-over didn’t seem like anyone was injured beyond bruises and being winded, so Thorin began helping his fellows to their feet.
“Oh..uh, Thorin!” Bilbo shouted for him, and the sound of thousands of scuttling feet were coming towards them. Finishing helping up Ori, he urged them all on, and the Wizard took the lead.
“Come on!” Gandalf repeated, heading towards a pinprick of what Kíli assumed to be daylight. One by one, they filed through the tiny tunnel and out onto the rough terrain of the mountains, stopping in a clearing some distance away to regroup.
Fíli leaned Kíli against a tree, and the sudden shock of light was a dagger to his head and eyes after the long darkness of Goblin-Town.
Many of his companions were overjoyed at seeing him back and well, if they could ignore his head. Even Gandalf gave him an unnaturally warm smile, his great blue eyes twinkling.
“Bilbo! I’d not noticed you gone til just now, I fear! How did you manage those goblins?” Oín asked him, crushed trumpet held up to his ear. The hobbit seemed to hesitate, mouth open in a search for an answer to Oín’s question.
“I…uh…found…” He stammered, realizing he’d backed himself into a corner.
He dropped…something into his pocket. What it was, Kíli could not tell, but it was glinting in the setting sun with a distinct shine.
Gold.
“Well, what does it matter! He’s back!” Gandalf cried, looking around the Dwarrows. He noticed, too.
His uncle stepped closer to Bilbo, who looked right back.
“It matters,” he began, eyes searching Bilbo’s face. “I want to know. What got you past them?” He said, tone growing tense.
Kíli had half a mind to come to Bilbo’s defense, but ultimately stayed quiet.
Thorin opened his mouth to ask another question but fell silent as he strained to hear something far-off.
Whatever Bilbo was going to say was cut off with the howl of a warg pack, drawing near.
Fíli whipped around, looking for the beasts. The sun was setting quickly and they’d have an advantage there with their ability to see clearly in darkness, but the orcs would have numbers and wargs on their side.
“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin grumbled, Orcrist drawn proudly in front of him.
“And into the fire. Run!” Gandalf finished his sentence and began down the hill, the Company following suite.
Kíli would normally argue that they had Gandalf to fight them, but his head was keeping his quips at bay, presently.
Behind them, Fíli heard a guttural, monstrous roar of words he was not familiar with. Losing precious seconds, he turned around and saw a pale orc atop a white warg.
The orc was massive, at least twice his height and probably triple him in weight, and bore strange markings up and down his face and bare torso. Fíli was certain when those cruel eyes locked on his that this orc, like the King of Goblin-Town, knew who was of Durin’s line.
It then dawned on Fíli that this orc was the same one the King had spoken of in the cave. The name sent shivers through his body, and he turned back around, continuing the mad dash down the mountain.
Azog the Defiler was here, and he was going to kill them.
Once again on his seemingly never-ending search for Kíli, he nearly ran into Bombur, who had halted when a smaller and faster warg bounded into the clearing and charged them. A great swing of his clubbed staff felled the beast, and they moved as far down as they could, before becoming surrounded.
Cliffs that gave way to nothing ahead of them, Wargs bent on murder behind them.
“Up into the trees! Climb!” Gandalf told them, and Fíli looked around until he could see his brother, staring at Gandalf.
“Kíli! Come!” Fíli yelled across the clearing, and Kíli ran over as best he could. They chose a strong-looking tree, and found footholds and handholds in order to scale the tall thing.
He pushed Kíli up higher in the tree and perched himself with his sword facing the approaching enemy.
The night fell silently as they settled into their branches and leaves, waiting for the attack.
The rumble of many paws came closer and closer until at last, the Wargs broke through the treeline and began circling the bases of the trees.
Standing some fifty feet away was Azog.
If Fíli had any doubts of who the great orc was, that doubt was replaced with a terrible fear. The level of true hatred and contempt on the orc’s face and the immense fear and near-sadness on Thorin’s proved his identity.
“It cannot be..” Thorin whispered desperately, staring down the orc.
Azog shouted something then pointed at Thorin, and all of the Wargs attacked.
Avoiding snapping jaws and striking paws was difficult, as the Wargs seemed to be able to jump halfway up the trees to get to them.
“Kíli, we have to move!” He shouted, grasping the arm of his brother, who looked on in a daze at him. Fíli pointed to a nearby tree, furthest from Azog.
He knew that Azog knew the line of Durin wasn’t ended with Thorin, and desired to place as much distance between them and the orc as possible.
“Come on, okay?” He repeated, getting ready to jump across. Kíli nodded, hand on Fíli’s arm now very strong. They leapt across, arms colliding with the branches of the tall tree. He heard Kíli bite back a cry as his body hit the trunk, the sound dying in his throat as tears stung his eyes.
Whatever had happened, Kíli was severely understating it. His brother and Thorin were so alike, and he would never understand it.
Under them stood most of the rest of the Company, save for the ones above or behind them, all staring at the Wargs. Right next to them, Gandalf picked up a large pinecone and held it to his staff, before it became alight, and he threw it at the Evil Creatures.
Tossing them made the forest floor come alive with fire, crackling and burning the Wargs too-near to it. The Dwarrows cheered as their enemy retreated behind the line of fire, but their cheers died as Thorin stood and unsheathed his sword, facing Azog and his Warg.
Fíli knew why Thorin was a bit of a fable to some. This Dwarf-Prince, barely of age, had stood with not but a branch and a dagger to defend himself with and he’d taken the arm of Azog, securing their victory at Azanulbizar.
That Dwarrow stood in front of them now, walking purposefully towards their Bane, refusing to back down.
So alike, they were.
Azog charged as Thorin approached, knocking his uncle out of the way and quickly whirling back around. The tree that all thirteen of them were on began to creak and crack, leaning dangerously over the edge of the cliffside.
Fíli held tight, and the tree shuddered to a halt, hanging lowly.
His head whipped back around to see Thorin’s prone form on a slab of stone, the maw of the Warg steadily approaching. Fíli turned back to see Kíli, looking terribly angry and afraid.
No, he decided then, we will not lose another father.
Running back down the thick trunk, avoiding the licking flames, Fíli drew his axes. The focus of the orcs was on Thorin, and on Bilbo?!
The hobbit stood in front of Thorin, his glowing dagger held aloft. His hands shook but he was as rooted and steady as ever as he stood over Thorin.
The Warg lunged as Fíli barreled into it, hacking and slashing at its hide. A cry from behind him told him that the Company had followed his actions and were turning the tides of the ambush.
Their defense was joined quickly by massive, powerful eagles, shrieking as they countered their foes. Fíli felt a great talon sweep him off of the ground, and before he could register exactly what had grabbed him, he was dropped away into nothingness, the second time that day.
Kíli clung to Fíli, head drooping further and further onto his brother’s shoulder and back. They were riding one of the eagles that had rescued the Company. A shrill shout from Fíli roused him once more, and he lifted a heavy head to see what he was so focused on.
He’d yelled out for their uncle, unmoving and apparently deaf to their voices.
The sun rose as they landed gently on a lone, short peak at the end of the Misty Mountains, and they slowly slid off of the eagle’s back.
Gandalf was already crouched next to Thorin, murmuring something quietly.
“Gandalf, is he okay?” Kíli asked, standing next to Fíli. The Wizard finished his quiet words to Thorin and looked up, smiling.
“It will take more than just that to break Thorin Oakenshield, my dear Dwarrows.” He said, and Thorin’s eyes shot open.
Relief shot through both brothers like a spear as their uncle came to. They rushed forwards to help him up, taking him under each arm and allowing him to use them as leverage to stand.
He had a massive cut across his face and his eyes were bruised, but he nonetheless seemed content enough to place his hands on his nephews’ shoulders, smiling in reassurance down to them.
The exchange was wordless, but held enough weight to both Fíli and Kíli.
For months now, Thorin had been reduced to ‘Thorin’, not just their Uncle. They even, had been reduced to their titles as Thorin’s heirs, and could no longer just be Dís’ boys. To have even a small part of Thorin back like that meant everything to the two of them, and Thorin knew this.
Then, shockingly, he pulled his hands away from his boys and turned on Bilbo, who stood awkwardly a few feet away.
“You!” He shouted roughly, stepping closer to the hobbit.
“What were you doing?! You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” He said to Bilbo, who looked confused more than anything.
“Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” He continued, still walking slowly towards Bilbo. Bilbo did not look at Thorin’s face, focusing instead on his chest.
Then, tension seeped from Thorin’s frame and he sighed, drawing Bilbo against him.
“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.” He said, almost breathlessly. Bilbo hugged him back, arms barely circling Thorin. Both Kíli and Fíli smiled behind Thorin, sending happy glances towards Bilbo.
Thorin withdrew from him, and his expression morphed from happiness to complete awe, looking behind Bilbo.
“Is that…” Fíli asked, stepping forwards.
“Erebor.” Thorin breathed as Fíli stood to his left. Thorin looked down and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Our home.” Fíli replied.
Kíli needed to lie down, or at the very least, sit down before his head drew him to the ground. He used the sheer sides of the mountain to steady himself once more.
The day drew on, and they were climbing amongst the stone of the tail end of the Misty Mountains. By midday, Kíli’s eyes drooped, and it seemed that very few had taken heed of him.
Dwalin had asked him if he needed assistance a few times, Gloín was always good to check in with him, and Bofur stuck close to him.
He wanted a rest, he wanted his uncle, his mother, Fíli, food, a bow, a bed…the list drew on and on.
It neared evening as it started to get really bad. Gandalf said he’d seen an outcropping they could use for a shelter for the night, but it was another league to get to. So, on they trudged. His head felt heavy, his eyes were stinging, his face hot. He got slower as night drew nearer, and before long, he’d dropped to the rear of the Company.
They’d made it to the shelter without incident, and Kíli threw himself down next to his uncle on his left, and Fíli to his right.
Finally off his feet, Kíli slumped against Thorin, who wrapped an arm around him and dragged him back upwards, turning the bad side of Kíli’s head to face him more. Still at an awkward angle, Thorin kneeled in front of Kíli to observe his injury.
Kíli let him, though his hand shot up a few times to bat away Thorin’s when he prodded too hard. His uncle near-tutted in a way his mother also did, and Kíli resigned to letting him make sure his head wasn’t going to fall off, or whatever they all thought was going to happen to him.
Time passed, and a cloth was wiped down his face, where he assumed he was spattered with blood and grime. Then, Oín was in front of him, wrapping a (hopefully) clean bandage around his head. He avoided his eyes but Kíli still felt blinded, hindered, impaired by the thing.
Yet another thing to add to his constant state of being a burden. His uncle sat down heavily next to him, draping his arm over Kíli’s shoulders and pulling him to his side.
“I’m sorry we didn’t…” He began to say quietly, and Kíli could hear nothing but shame and guilt in his voice.
“I do not blame you, uncle.” Kíli replied, leaning further into his side. He couldn’t find it in him to be awake enough to presently care.
“I would have you blame me, if it would make you stop faulting yourself.” Thorin said to him.
“If that’s the case, we’ll be here for an age.” Kíli sighed, closing his eyes.
As Kíli’s breathing evened out, Fíli’s bunched shoulders relaxed under Thorin’s other hand. He’d moved away from Kíli so the other dwarrows had room to bind his head, and sat on Thorin’s left now.
“Are you alright?” He asked softly. Fíli turned his head to look up at him.
“Are you?” Fíli deflected. Thorin pinned him with a look.
“Fíli.” He whispered, drawing his eldest boy, his golden unday close as well.
“We have not reached Erebor, and we are already hindered. I worry, Thorin, that by the end of this, we will number but a few, not a Company.” He admitted, brow furrowed. He resembled Dís so much, Thorin always thought. Kíli looked like their father, though he shared eyes with Thorin, Dís always said.
“I fear it as well, Fíli. I worry for everyone here, everyone back in Ered Luin, should our Quest fail. But,” Thorin said, pausing to get Fíli’s attention further.
“We are sons of Durin. Erebor is mine, it belongs to our family. Courage, Fíli, is the best we can do.” He continued, smiling softly at Fíli, who did not look at him, but stared ahead.
“You almost sounded wise, there. Almost.” Fíli snorted. Thorin rolled his eyes.
“It has been known to happen.”