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Their weapons are taken away, and after the elves find the knife hidden in Fili's tunic, they are stripped to the skin. The elves lock them up in pairs. Fili does not let go of him, his hand tight around Kili's wrist, and they end up in the same cell. The ground is cold and dry. Their clothes are returned, although not all are their own. The coats are Balin's and Oin's, and Kili does not know whose shoes they were given, but they are certainly not theirs. They provide warmth, at least.
There is the sound of careless footsteps. Kili and Fili look up. And up, and up.
She is very tall, even for an elf.
The one who carelessly twisted Fili's arms behind his back called her Captain, Kili remembers. Her eyes are dark and calculating and she regards them in a way that has the hairs on his neck rising, gooseflesh rippling over his skin. His bow is in her hands.
"Is this yours?" she asks, holding it up.
He hesitates. She cocks her head, the slightest frown creasing her brows.
"You," she says, pointing at Kili, "show me your hands."
"Why?" Fili glares at her, wrapping a protective arm around Kili's middle.
"It was not a request, little one," the elf states, her gaze fixed on Kili.
"It's all right," he murmurs, disentangling himself from his brother's grip. He holds his hands out between the bars, palms up, ready to yank them back within an instant. The elf only looks at first, gaze roving. Then she abruptly grasps his right hand. Kili flinches, without effect. Her grip is sure, her fingers long and slender, the strength of steel contained within.
She silently examines his hand, tilting it this way and that, and lets him go.
Kili's skin tingles.
.
The guards do not lead Kili on the way to the audience hall, where he has been interrogated before.
"Where are you taking me?" he demands hotly, mostly on principle. They have not been very forthcoming in the past. This time however, a more giving one seems to be among them, tall and flaxen-haired.
"Captain Tauriel wants to see you," the elf tells him.
Tauriel.
It is strange, to think of their warden by name. The guards drag him through a set of thick wooden doors. The room beyond is small and high ceilinged, a desk and single chair as furniture. Tauriel is leaning against the desk, her arms crossed. Kili is shoved into the middle of the room and one of the guards loosens his shackles behind his back.
The guards leave, closing the door after themselves, and he is alone with the elf captain.
"You can look up, little one," she says. Kili bites his lip and keeps his eyes trained to the ground. He can hear the soft sound of her soles on the stone floor as she steps closer, the silken hiss of steel on steel. She has drawn a knife, and gooseflesh breaks out on Kili's skin. He prays she does not notice his shiver.
The elf curls her hand under his jaw and forces his chin upwards until his neck aches with the strain.
"I won't say anything," Kili grits out.
She smiles. "You're not here to talk."
Aimless fear curdles his blood. The knife's blade glints in the low light as she twirls it in her other hand. It seems to be freshly sharpened. What else is there? he thinks frantically. Blood, merely for the sake of blood?
Her grip on his chin shifts, and her thumb presses into the corner of his mouth, insisting until his lips edge apart under the pressure. Her nail digs into his gums. Kili's eyes clench shut with the sudden pain, but he does not flinch.
Tauriel's smile widens and she bends down.
"However, I do intend to make use of your mouth," she whispers.
He stares at her. Comprehension dawns, and it feels like someone reached into his ribcage to crush his heart. He stumbles backwards, knees weak, but she grabs the front of his tunic and he remains on his feet.
"You can't—"
"Of course I can. I'm the one with the knife, little one."
The blade is cold against his cheek.
.
"You're learning quickly," she says after the third time. She pets his hair.
Kili's calves have gone numb, so long has he knelt between her legs. He tried to fight her off at first because she had not bothered with a weapon, though it was in vain. She held him down easily while he thrashed and cursed and snarled, until exhaustion took a merciless hold of him. It was like trying to bring down the Lonely Mountain with a single pickaxe.
This time, he does not have to retch once he is alone. Kili refuses to contemplate whether this is a good or a bad sign.
.
"Stop," he begs, "please, I don't want—"
"I know," Tauriel whispers, her voice silk-smooth. "I know, little one." Her hand curls around his prick, warm and gentle, her fingertips rough with arrow-calluses. Kili whimpers and tries to twist away, but it is no use. Her body is as strong as a mountain and as inevitable as a glacier.
"But you will enjoy this, I promise you," she adds. She kisses his neck and the back of his shoulder like she intends to soothe him. He thinks he would shudder if she did not hold him so tightly.
Too few minutes later, she is proved right, and Kili buries his face in the sheets to smother his cries. There is only a hint of swiftly fading pain, which feels like the most damning detail at first, until she drives his body down against the bed and he is shoved over the edge. Shame burns like dragon fire in his belly.
He does not count how often she takes her pleasure, but it seems to be a lot. At one point her teeth sink into his shoulder. It hurts, and Kili wants to sob with relief.
Afterwards, the sheets are torn.
.
In the morning, there is a pot of thick, golden honey on the tray with their food.
Fili and him share it, both starved for sweetness. It burns as it slides down Kili's throat and because there was no spoon, their fingers are sticky with it once they are done. Kili bites his fingers as he licks them clean, memories welling up with bruising force. Fili watches him.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
Kili cannot meet his gaze. "Considering the circumstances, yes." He glances up at his brother. "You?"
Fili cannot, either. "I'm fine."
Liar, Kili thinks bitterly. Liars, the both of us. There is dark blood crusted on Fili's wrist. The wound might well be infected, but he does not dare give voice to that fear. It could be true.
Time passes in fits and starts. Fili scoots closer, until their thighs are touching, and slings his arm over Kili's shoulders, dragging him close like he did when they were children. Kili lets himself be moved, albeit stiffly, his face pushed into the crook of his brother's neck.
Fili's skin is warm there.
His body is nothing like Tauriel's, thin skin over hard bone and the softness of atrophied muscles in place of flesh and sinew unyielding like rock. If Kili shakes with sobs, the collar of Fili's tunic growing damp, no one but them knows it.
.
Anger never seems to take hold of Tauriel.
He pleads, and she gentles him like he is a skittish horse to be shoed for the first time. He struggles, and she holds him the closer. He lies still, endures her attentions and her attentions increase until they force noises from his throat. It does not matter what he does, she never stops. Her body is always warm.
Once, he insults her, her lineage and her king. She merely chuckles and pins him to the wall with hands like cast iron and uses him like that. Kili's breath is pressed from his lungs, over and over. The skin of his back is chafed afterwards, small spots of blood seeping through his tunic. Tauriel strips him and spreads balm over the raw skin and nuzzles his neck.
"You're very sweet, little one," she says into his ear, quietly, like it is a secret. "Like honey."
.
Fili has grown feverish with his wounds. The guards snigger when Kili asks for medicine.
"Seems fine to me," one declares. "Still breathing, is he not?"
Tauriel remains silent, but she watches him. She stays, after the other guards leave, steps close to the bars and watches him with cold fire burning in her eyes.
He swallows heavily. "Please," he begs. She is motionless. She will take him again, the certainty of it is like lead in his gut, but when? When festering poison fills Fili's veins, when he is too sick to heal? The thought of losing his brother has bile rising in Kili's throat, sharp and burning, like honey gone foul.
And in his desperation, he offers.
.
Her bed is so soft.
Kili would gladly spend the rest of his days sleeping on cold hard ground if he never had to feel that softness again, but this is a deal struck. There are no shackles, this time, neither metal nor muscle and bone. This is a deal to be kept.
"'Anything'," Tauriel reminds him. "On your back, little one." She does not push him, simply waits for him to comply.
It is a deal, Kili tells himself. A deal to be kept. Her knees and thighs make a cage over his head while her hand pushes against his ribcage. The pressure is slight, yet Kili's heartbeat trips and races like he is close to choking.
"Breathe," she tells him. "Open your mouth."
It was easier when she held him. He did not think he could be bruised like this, but he is, superficial and yet reaching down to the marrow of his bones. Later, when he straddles her lap, hands braced on her belly, her hipbones meeting the back of his thighs, the bruises darken to ink.
His legs begin to tremble with the strain. "Keep going," Tauriel murmurs. "I want to see if you can do it."
"I can't," he gasps, even though he does not know what she means.
She shows him then, his body bent almost in half under hers. An edge of violence has slithered into her movements, and he clings to that as she makes him keen, clings to that hint of viciousness like a lifeline.
"I knew you could," Tauriel says afterwards, when Kili's belly is slick and every inch of him aches. He feels like an accomplice. She gives him a smile, a wicked gleeful cut of a smile, and something small, hot and terrifying blooms in his chest, something like pride.
.
The smell of the salve smeared over Fili's wounds is pungent and borders on nauseating. His fever has gone down.
"Kili," Fili croaks. "Kili."
"I'm here, brother," Kili whispers, squeezing Fili's hand between his own. "You'll be fine."
"What… what did you do?"
Inexorable cold claws its way beneath Kili's skin. "It's nothing," he says. "You will be fine."
.
They have been dragging Fili away for interrogations, but his health has improved nonetheless. His eyes are clear again. The others are alive, and Bilbo is free, roaming invisibly amongst the elves. A hope for escape kindles in Kili, despite his best intentions.
It is dark when they put him in shackles, blindfold him and drag him through the halls. At first he thinks that Tauriel wants him again. He does not resist.
A voice calls out in the elves' strange tongue and he stumbles as his guards come to a sudden stop. The voice speaks again, coming closer. It sounds like a question. It sounds like her. A shudder runs through him, dread and resignation and awful, elated anticipation.
There are hands on his face, pushing down the blindfold. Tauriel's face is tense, her eyes thinned to slits. She barely spares him a glance before she turns back to his guards. They exchange several quick sentences, and then one of the guards grabs Kili's hair and forces his head back. Another hand pushes inside his tunic, the thumb digging into the groove above his collarbone, hard. Kili gasps, while the guard spits something at her.
"Do not touch him." Tauriel's voice is like ice.
"Being Captain does not grant you exclusivity, you—"
There is a blur of movement, and then the guard lets out a choked scream and crumples to the floor. Tauriel turns her gaze on the second guard, who backs away instantly. She wipes her knife clean on her sleeve, sheathes it and nudges the fallen elf with her foot.
"Laying hands on what is mine when I order you not to is inadvisable. I do not tolerate disobedience."
He whimpers. She heaves an exasperated sigh, hands on her hips. "Get him to the healers," she mutters. "Don't let them give him a remedy for pain." Her eyes find Kili's face again, and his throat clams up. He cannot speak, nearly cannot breathe. His heart beats in his throat and his skin is clammy with sweat.
"Are you well?"
He can only nod. Tauriel leads him back to his and Fili's cell and as she fiddles with his shackles, he finally finds his tongue again.
"Thank you," he manages, the words torn raw somewhere between his lungs and mouth.
Tauriel takes his face between her hands and kisses him. She tilts his head up to do it, uncomfortably far. Kili's shackles fall to the ground, his hands are free and he—he means to push her away, he does; yet instead his fingers claw into her shoulders and hold on.
He holds on for the longest time.