Kings and Masters

Chapter One

Note: this was an old fic I wrote many years ago that I had always meant to write a sequal for but never got around to it. Well now, my crossover fic "Parallel Realms" has become the sequel so I am quickly posting this up as it will be necessary to read it in order to understand "Parallel Realms."

Trigger warning for: traumatic injury, temporary paralysis, attempted suicide, PTSD, trauma, implied abuse, and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or any of its world.

Kíli's heart stood still when he saw his brother's broken body before him. A thousand thoughts went through his mind. His brother, his Fíli, has just been taken from him. The orcs had just robbed him of his very soul. At that moment, Kíli too had ceased to live.

He had heard the commotion from where he had been hiding, was down below the fortress at Ravenhill. Thorin had sent them to the fortress to scout for the enemy, a task generally assigned to them and one that they did well. He and his brother had separated, and now he was berating himself for letting it happen. He had gone below, and Fíli had gone above. He was exploring the area around him when he heard his uncle's cry from above and across the deep ravine. The one word out of Thorin's mouth froze Kíli in his tracks. "Fíli!" at that moment, Kíli's whole world turned on end. He ran to the stone opening and tried to crane his head up to see what was above him. But he couldn't. He could hear, though. The shuffling of metal and the pounding of feet as the orcs stood at the top of the complex and grinned at Thorin and Dwalin as they stood on the plateau, too far away to do anything but watch.

Despite the distance, Thorin tried to get to his nephew. He paced back and forth at the ledge like a caged bull. His eyes were wide with terror as he fixated on his eldest nephew who dangled helplessly in the pale orc's cruel grip. He growled in desperation and agony, knowing that Azog was about to rob him of his heir.

"Run, Thorin!" Fíli choked out, his body already hurting from the abuse he had suffered upon capture. He had tried to fight but was surrounded and overpowered. He was going to die; he knew this. He didn't see Azog pull out his sword, but he saw Thorin scream his name. He knew what was coming before he felt it. He locked eyes with his uncle, one last time.

Azog drove the sword into the side of the blonde dwarf, and Fíli cried out in pain. His body erupted in pain, and his knees buckled. He was being held up entirely by the pale orc.

Fíli was thrown from the ledge and landed on his back just out of reach of his brother. Kíli felt tears well up in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to run to his fallen brother laying right in front of him. But they were still up there, and they'd see him if he came out of where he was hiding. They'd catch him and kill him just as they had done to Fíli. Kíli wasn't too afraid of that possibility. He was dead inside now anyway. But there was something he needed to do first. He had to survive long enough to take revenge for his brother. They had taken his Fíli from him, and now Kíli would take their lives. All of them, as many as he could catch. Then, and only then, could he join his brother.

With a mighty war cry worthy of a son of Durin, Kíli charged up the ramparts towards the orcs above. The orcs reacted to him immediately and charged to meet him. He wasted the first few of them as soon as they reached him, slicing one in half and beheading the other. He let his raw emotions drive him. He growled and roared as he ran up onto the upper level of the complex. With every kill, he worked himself into a fighting frenzy spurred on by hate, anger, and the need for revenge.

Once at the top, Kíli caught sight of Thorin and Dwalin on the plateau a distance away. His uncle was trying to get to him, he knew, but he was being prevented from getting to the complex by the pale orc. Kíli gasped when he saw Azog charge Thorin and the two engage in a desperate hand to hand combat. But he had his own battle. He had to trust that Thorin would be victorious.

Kíli dropped all the orcs that came to him. After a while, they stopped coming. He panted, adrenaline surging through his body. When he whirled around, looking for more orcs to fell, he came face to face with Bolg, son of Azog. The large gangly orc approached menacingly, sword at the ready. Kíli took a breath and approached, his own sword ready. The two circled one another, locking gazes, feeling a cold mutual hatred for one another.

The grotesque orc attacked first. He charged Kíli, but the dwarf swiftly dodged out of the way and landed an attack of his own. He swung his sword, but Bolg turned and blocked with his own. He grabbed the little dwarf and flung him hard into the wall of the complex. Kíli grunted, the wind knocked out of him from the impact, but he was on his feet before Bolg could reach him, ready to continue the fight.

This carried on for a while; block, parry, dodge, swipe. Kíli found himself getting tired after a while. The massive orc was powerful and large and a challenge for a small dwarf. Wounds and bruises appeared all over his body as Bolg threw him and kicked him with every opening he got.

But Kíli wasn't finished quite yet. Just as his uncle had faced down the pale orc in battle long ago, and just as he was doing so again at this very moment, Kíli was holding his own. He was proving his might in battle. He would not be an easy kill for this orc.

It came down to the last assault. The orc was surprisingly cut up, Kíli had landed a hit on his giant arm and across his face. Black blood spilled into his eye as he turned on the dwarf and prepared for a kill.

Kíli was in much worse shape. He limped, he could hardly stay upright. He felt the intense agony of cracked ribs, and he tasted blood in his mouth. But he was still standing. As the orc charged him, Kíli braced himself. He watched as the orc barreled towards him at lightning speeds. Then, just as Bolg raised his sword to finish the dwarf off, Kíli dodged out of the way. The next move was his. He thought about his brother, his uncle, and everything this orc had done to him and his family. He swung his sword with every inch of strength he had, so hard that when his blade impacted with Bolg's arm, he sliced it clean off, and his own arm sprained from the sheer force.

Kíli winced as he watched with satisfaction as Bolg roared in agony and surprise. Black blood spurted from the stump that was now what was left of his right arm. Kíli moved back and watched as the orc knelt on the ground, cradling his injury. The dwarf gripped his sword, ignoring the pain that shot up his arm. He moved in for the killing blow. As he approached, the orc glared up at him.

"This is for my brother, Orc Filth," Kíli growled, his voice low and dangerous, "Imrid amrad ursul!" Kíli raised his sword above his head, ready to bring it down on Bolg's massive head, but as he did so, Bolg suddenly produced a dagger from his belt and darted forward, burying the blade deep into Kíli's stomach.

Kíli gasped as pain spread through him. He glanced down at the dagger now stuck in his gut. He looked forward and met Bolg's gaze. Mutual hatred burned in both expressions. Bolg still had his remaining hand on the hilt of the knife. Kíli mustered up the strength, and as Bolg yanked the dagger out of Kíli's body, the dwarf swung his sword one last time and impaled it in the orc's face.

Bolg and Kíli both collapsed backward. When Kíli weakly rolled onto his side, he felt satisfied when he saw the lifeless body of Bolg, son of Azog laying before him.

Blood flowed from the gaping wound in Kíli's stomach. He gripped the injury as he struggled up to his knees. He was dying; he knew this. He could feel the life draining from him just as his blood stained the frozen stone below him. But he couldn't go now. Not here. He rolled onto his knees and hands and began to drag himself forward, heading back down the way he had come.

Kíli crawled down below the complex. He moved slowly; every inch was agony. The effort took every bit of strength he had. He tasted blood in his mouth. But finally, he made it back to his brother. Fíli lay where he had fallen in the snow. His body was cold, as cold as death. Kíli crawled to him and put his head on his brother's chest. Now, he could go, he thought. Now that he was with his brother. He lay there, listening to the world around him. He waited for the darkness to descend. He thought of Thorin. He wished he could see his uncle one last time, but he had finished what he set out to do, and now he could join Fíli.

As Kíli finally gave into the darkness, he was unaware of the very faint thump underneath him. The soft, very weak, but the steady beating of Fíli's heart.