Disclaimer: I claim or own nothing. It all belongs to J.R.R Tolkien.


Kíli heard voices in his head.

Not cruel voices belonging to orcs, or kind voices belonging to those he might never see again. These were new voices, and they were so soft that Kíli could almost feel the words brushing against his cheeks. It took him some time to realise it, but he had heard these voices before. Close your eyes, they said once more, and he listened this time.

As the cool, sweet voices beckoned to him to come with them, to take the hand that was only just out of his reach and come with them to a peaceful rest, Kíli listened. He did not fight this time for he was too tired to muster the strength. Kíli was tired of this world and all that haunted him in it, he was tired of fighting when it seemed that fighting led him only toward more darkness and more danger.

Kíli closed his eyes and that was when he saw him; Fíli, standing atop the Carrock on his own. A soft light cascaded down upon him like a golden waterfall, and for a moment Kíli allowed himself to believe that this was true, that his brother might be at peace. But this moment soon faded away as the gold that fell upon Fíli was replaced with red. It was a dull, dark red and it soon covered Fíli. His hair was no longer golden, but a sickening shade of red.

The coldness hit Kíli harshly and he opened his eyes, soon realising that he was being dragged across the ground. He no longer stood on his own legs, and the orcs did not seem to care if he was able to walk or not. It all begun to return to Kíli slowly, pieces and fragments hitting him with every surge of pain that went through him.

They had walked through most of the night, only stopping once. Azog had not yet joined them, but Kíli had soon decided that they were headed towards Azog, that was why the orcs moved with such haste. They wanted to bring the pale orc their prize, the head of a Dwarf prince. Kíli felt sick at the thought of seeing the Defiler, who would be beyond pleased at the sight of the heir of Erebor, the supposed Prince and son of Thorin Oakenshield, crumpled on the ground before him. He would surely smile at the mere sight of the bruises and blood that clung to Kíli's body.

These thoughts gave Kíli the small urge to do something, to not remain weak and feeble on the ground, allowing the orcs to believe that they had won. Knowing that he would not give up while there was still a breath left in his body, Kíli tried to grab a handful of the ground as he was dragged across it, hoping it might help him up. It didn't. Despite the small strength he felt in his legs, his arms were far too weak to do this on their own. Kíli hadn't yet seen the markings on his skin, but he could feel the blood on his wrists as he was dragged along.

A voice that didn't come from his head came next, and Kíli felt sick when he realised he had spent that much time with the orcs that he could recognise their voices. The unsettling feeling in his stomach grew when he stopped moving, and despite the thought in his mind that urged him to close his eyes he kept them open. If they were going to kick or beat him for struggling, or just for the fun of it, then he would keep his eyes open again. He would not show weakness to these foul creatures.

Kíli felt a tiny amount of strength returning to him when he moved his foot and felt the knife move. He had almost forgotten about it entirely. Then he thought of Fíli and his eyes burned with tears. How could he consider giving up? How could he selfishly think of the death that might await him, when his brother might have fallen to his wounds?

The guilt fell upon Kíli as he was dragged up from the ground and forced on to his feet. A sudden, painful rush hit him at the sudden movement, he hadn't been on his feet for quite some time. When Kíli stood he felt a whimper rising in his throat, the pain in his side was beyond unbearable. It was beyond anything he could imagine, yet he didn't care about the wound on his side or what was inside of him. He cared only about the company.

When Kíli's eyes became clearer he saw it; the pale orc astride a Gundabad warg. He rode towards the pack quickly, with a bunch of scattered orcs behind him. The sight of the Defiler soon took from Kíli the small shred of hope he had kept, for he knew there was no chance he would get out of this now. Perhaps if he were to pull the blade out on the orcs he had spent the last day with, he could have won. But he would not win against Azog, and the orcs that came with him. The wargs soon met with the group, and the Defiler slowly slid down from warg. The eyes that stared at Kíli were wide, and filled with a sick pride.

"Uu." Azog said, and walked toward him slowly. "Eem pulga."

Kíli stayed silent as he raised his head up to Azog, and stared back at him. He seemed to look carefully at Kíli, and he knew what he was doing. The pale orc was imagining how he would take off his head, and now Kíli could not fight the feeling of fear the rose up inside of his stomach. Thorin would not come, Kíli could not let himself imagine what would happen if he did, but still his thoughts were of his Uncle and the company. If Thorin came to Azog, and offered himself in place of his nephew, they would both lose their heads. It would be safer for all if Thorin did not come, and despite knowing this there was a small part inside of Kíli

"Oakenshield's heir." said the Defiler, as he walked closer.

"The dwarf-scum bleeds. It won't be long..." another Orc said.

Kíli smiled without realising it, catching the attention of Azog. He regarded him with suspicion at first.

"You won't win." Kíli said, the words effortlessly passing his lips. "If he comes..You will never win."

"Oakenshield. He rides in from the North."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

After shouting at the orcs, in words that Kíli didn't understand, they begun moving slowly and soon a small group of orcs disappeared from Kíli's sight. However, Azog remained behind, staring at Kíli with the same maddening, cruel look in his eyes.

Kíli closed his eyes and breathed in a small breath of air, not feeling any relief now that he knew Thorin had come. He felt frightened for his uncle, and saddened because they would not both get out of this. When Kíli closed his eyes he waited for something more, for the voices to return to him and to take him away. He wanted to leave now because he didn't want to see Thorin, he couldn't, not like this.

He didn't want to look at his uncle, to look deep in to his eyes, and know that this was it, this was the way they would both die. He couldn't look at Thorin knowing that this was his fault, that if he had been less reckless they would not be in this situation to begin with. If he had not run off in to the forest, convincing his brother to come with him, he would not have dragged the company in after them and they wouldn't have wasted more time resting. The time that they had wasted allowed the orcs to find them, and so Kíli felt it was only right that he shouldered all of the guilt. This was his doing, his mistake, and he saw no escape.

A voice came next, filling the silence, but it was the voice of an orc and it held something Kíli had not expected to receive; the orcs voice held a sign.

"We have spotted him, Oakenshield. Riding in from the East."

Kíli's eyes flew open and he stared at Azog, watching closely as the pale orc shouted again, angrier than earlier, and then looked at him. He shot Kíli a look, shouting more instructions at the orc beside Kíli, who then pushed him down on to the ground. Azog climbed on to the back of the warg, and a moment later he disappeared, along with orcs upon wargs, leaving behind a small number of orcs.

From the ground Kíli could count the orcs; there were five, and all of the wargs were gone. Thorin could not be riding in from the North and the East. It was a trick, or a distraction, Kíli believed. He did not care what it was, all that he cared was that it had been a sign for him not to give up yet.

How could he give up when he still had a breath left in his body, and a knife on him?

Kíli tried his hardest to ignore the pain in his body, as he slowly begun to pull himself up from the ground. With a small cough, followed by a sigh that shook his chest, Kíli moved on to his knees and rested his palms flat on the ground. To the orcs he seemed like he was knelt over in pain, and while he could not see them he knew they would be watching him closely now, ready to act if he did anything wrong. Kíli knew that he had one chance to do this right, and so he had to try his hardest to think clearly, But his mind was not clear, not right now, and he could not see things as clearly as he would have liked to.

Slowly, Kíli lifted his head up from the ground and looked closely at the orcs. His plan was to start with the strongest orc, to take them out and then move on to the weaker ones, but Kíli knew that he did not have the same strength as he usually did and even the weak orcs would be stronger than he was.

Then Kíli remembered when they had been captured by the orcs, and they had stripped them of their weapons. They had taken Kíli's bow and arrow, just as they had taken most of Fíli's knives, but he had not seen them destroy the weapons. Kíli took another look at the orcs, knowing that he was already running out of time to act without the worry that Azog would come back, or that they had captured Thorin, or another member of the company.

His eyes darted over the orcs, and he soon found what he was looking for; strung over the shoulder of one of the orcs, only several feet away from him, was his bow and arrow. He did not know why they had kept it, perhaps as a trophy for catching and killing the heir to Erebor.

Kíli faltered as his eyes settled upon the familiar face of an orc, the one that had not paid him much attention since his capture. The orc that had stabbed Fíli twice remained behind with the group, and stood so close to Kíli that he could almost imagine how it would feel to jump to his feet and kill the orc filth with his brother's sword. Kíli knew that this would be a mistake, that he should try to go for the orc with his bow and arrow because then he could use those to take down the orcs, but he feared that even if he had the bow and arrow he would not be able to shoot straight. His body ached from kneeling, and from simply standing, and he worried that he would not be able to shoot as well with his body still feeling raw.

In his mind Kíli heard the painful sound of Fíli screaming out in agony, as he was stabbed in the leg, and this was all Kíli needed to know that he would kill this orc. His plan be damned, he wanted to watch the filth die at his hands, he wanted to hear its scream and watch as it bled from wounds he would inflict using his brother's blade.

Kíli reached into his boot and pulled on the knife, before he moved weakly to his feet and moved to attack the orc, who was only a few feet away from him. But he was knocked down by the orc behind him, and the knife went flying from his hands. Kíli fell on to his side and groaned, biting down on his bottom lip as he was kicked again.

There was movement in the bushes around them, and Kíli's heart sunk because he thought that Azog, and the orcs, had returned but no orcs came through the bushes. He could hear the orcs speaking but didn't listen to what they were saying. Movement came bursting from the shadows and out into the light, and when Kíli managed to look up he saw through his hair familiar faces, with weapons in hands and brave looks in their faces. Screaming battle cries, they immediately jumped into action. They moved too fast for Kíli to count how many were here, or who was here, but he knew that it was not all of the company.

Kíli tried to move to his feet but he knew that it was pointless. He had fallen so many times in the past days, and now he knew he could not get up, even though he wanted to. The sound of clashing metal and more cries rang through the air, and even though Kíli tried to look he found it too difficult. His entire body ached, and he felt that he could succumb to the weakness now.

Kíli's eyes were still opened when the orc appeared above him, and it held the same determined look in his eyes that Azog had shown him. The determination to kill the heir to Erebor. In its hands the orc wielded a long, curved blade and it rose it up high, like it was preparing to take off its head. A flash of movement darted before Kíli, and it didn't take him long to realise who it was. Dwalin knocked the orc to the ground with ease, before he swung his axe down on it, killing it with ease.

When Dwalin turned back to him, and allowed himself a moment to really look at Kíli, his eyes widened slightly and he almost forget what their purpose was here. Quickly, Dwalin rushed to Kíli's side where he knelt down.

"Hold on, laddie. We'll get you out of here."

Kíli's lips parted but when he tried to speak nothing came out, only a small squeak, so instead of speaking he remained silent and watched as Dwalin shouted out. Suddenly, Bofur and Fíli appeared before Kíli next. Fíli.

He couldn't believe it, that his brother was here and moving. He was alive, and here with him. This was the moment that Kíli convinced himself that this wasn't real, that he was either dead or dying, because Fíli was here.

"Fee?" he said, or thought he did.

After he received no answer to his words, Kíli was convinced that he didn't speak and it was in his head.

"We must move quickly!" shouted Gandalf.

Dwalin knelt down and lifted Kíli up from the ground, putting half of his weight off on to Bofur. Then they were moving, and Fíli was gone from Kíli's sight. He couldn't see Thorin either, and his doubts about this being real only deepened. The doubts were followed by darkness, and it finally claimed him.


A/N: I'm sorry about the long wait for this chapter, I planned to update it much sooner but I had to deal with some stuff..Then when I had the time to write this, I couldn't do anything good. If I'm being honest, I'm not happy with this chapter. The start is okay because I wrote that a few weeks ago, but I don't like the rest. I'm sorry, I wanted to put something good up for you considering I made you all wait so long but this was the best I seemed capable of producing...Don't hate me. I'll get the next one on soon, and there will be a proper reunion...

eem (my)
pulga (slave/prisoner)
uu (you)

A very special thanks to; GregsMadHatter, IfixD, Arekkusu Naitofaia, LRoseC, Lennelle, Beccmoor, Allegra, Oblivian03, T.A.R.D.I. . , centaurdy jackson007, Mzzmarie, Zeephyre, jaymzNshed, Sentinelle, Alicia457 and Beccmoor for your very kind review. I appreciate them so much.

x