✧

𝔄 𝔚𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝔊𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭

To say that sleep did not come easy to the thirteen dwarves, the wizard, and the hobbit would be an understatement. They had entered the cave discovered by Fili and Kili shivering and soaked to the bone, but Mithrandir would not let them light a fire. He simply wouldn't hear of it. When asked why, he only said that their party could never be too cautious. So they spread their wet clothes out on the rocky floor and put on the dry clothes that had been protected by their packs. Naerien, being an elf and female, found a dark nook in the back of the cave to change quickly while the others were occupied elsewhere.

The dwarves stayed up talking animatedly, their spirits rising now that they were now out of the storm. Mithrandir even entertained them by turning the rings of smoke he puffed out of his pipe into different colors and shapes. At last, however, they drifted off into sleep, with Bofur taking the first watch.

Naerien found herself coming as far from consciousness as an elf could, drifting into a daze-like state where she could no longer distinguish articulated words from the steady drumming from the rain outside. For elves do not sleep as mortals do, because they don't need to. An elf could slip into a daze that would rest their bodies while they walked for only a few hours, and would come to full awareness as if they had slept for ten hours or more. If one were to look over to her, they would see her staring off into dreamland, eyes glazed over and breathing even and steady.

There were voices, she could tell, not that her mind registered them. They were hushed, as if not to wake the others. Naerien couldn't tell what they were saying. She ignored them, willing herself to drift further and further from the waking world. That was, until a steady blue shine caught her eyes and she was slowly dragged out of her daze.

Bilbo and Bofur were speaking to each other, she noticed, and Bilbo had his blade and pack strapped to him. That was the glow, she realized. He had an elven blade with him, and it was now warning them that something was coming.
If crafted by the most skillful of weapon smiths, such as Naerien's father, elvish weapons would glow when orcs or goblins or other creatures of Darkness were nearby — Naerien had crafted her own sword to glow in the presense of orcs. Seeing as Bilbo's tiny blade was glowing and her sword was not, she knew that the danger that was arriving wasn't orcs.

It was goblins.

Thorin suddenly gave a shout, alerting everyone to the danger. Naerien grabbed her blade as panicked and confused sounds filled the cave, but they were far too late.

Vile and snarling, cackling and spitting, they came pouring from a crack that had opened up at the back of the cave. They had taken hold of the dwarves nearest to the new doorway — roughly six goblins to one dwarf — and started dragging them into the wicked-looking torchlight.
Suddenly there was a magnificent flash, like lightning had cracked within their cave, and several of the goblins fell dead. The stench of smoke and burned flesh filled the air and Naerien stumbled back. There was a firm grip on her arm and instinct took over. She thrashed around, but the torchlight had vanished, and she was fighting her captor standing in the dark, alone. The dwarves and the hobbit were gone, taken into the lair of the goblins.

"Naerien!" Mithrandir hissed in her ear, causing her to stop abruptly. She stood at her full height and the wizard's grip on her arm released. A small, blue light started to emit from within the tip of his wooden staff, illuminating the area around them.

"They're gone!" She whispered in shock, staring at Mithrandir. If she hadn't seen the four dead goblins at the back of the cave, she would have thought it was a dream. The dwarves were gone, the hobbit was gone, and all of their paraphernalia had vanished as well. Naerien was lucky enough to grab her blade when she did.

The Grey Pilgrim surged forward, lighting up the back of the cave as he searched for any sort of way to open up the crack that the goblins had come from. He was muttering to himself, fingers running across the rock.

Deciding that aiding him was better than standing still, she helped him search the back wall for some sort of crack or mechanism that would help them. Her heart thundered against her ribcage, threatening to burst from adrenaline, but she forced her shaking hands to be still.

They found nothing except the thin, near-imperceivable line that marked the outline of the door.

"Mithrandir, what should we do?" She questioned, her voice hanging in the thick air. Now that the alarm and panic that the goblins created was gone and the cave was silent once more, they could think more clearly. Thorin and his kin, along with poor Bilbo, couldn't have been killed a mere week after leaving Imladris, could they?

There was no answer from the wizard, so she called his name again, more urgently this time. "Gandalf."

He turned to her, the faint light from his staff doing little to light up the worry on his features. "Pray give me silence, my Lady," he urged her, his voice agitated and beyond troubled. "I need to think."

Naerien balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Her eyes scanned the room, still searching for anything that would grant them access, even though she knew there would be nothing there. She wanted to ask the wizard if he knew of any other way into the goblin tunnels, which there most likely were, but she didn't dare break the silence.

"Stand back," he commanded after the silence stretched on for what felt for an eternity. She did as he told her and stood near the entrance of the cave. Outside, the storm was calmer now, but still raging.

He muttered to himself what sounded like a spell and the sound of stone grinding against stone was heard. His staff was glowing much brighter, so much so that Naerien was tempted to close her eyes against it. She resisted the urge and watched as the crack in the wall grew and grew, expanding until it was large enough for the pair to fit though.

She let out a short, joyous laugh and looked to the wizard, whose face only showed grim determination. Her smile at his success faded as she turned back to the dark abyss that awaited them. The she-elf drew her blade and wordlessly followed Mithrandir into the dark.

✧

They walked into the choking darkness for what felt like miles — and it was. Nearly five miles into the darkness they ventured, the glowing of torchlight appearing in front of them roughly an hour later. They had caught up to the goblins.

Mithrandir stopped his steady pace on the edge of the darkness, extinguishing the light from his staff and hovering at the opening to a massive cavern. Goblins large and small were stuffed into the large space, circling around a mass of beard and dwarven anger in the center. At the other end, sitting atop a roughly-hewn throne, was a large and terribly horrid creature who wore a crooked metal crown and possessed a booming voice. He was no-doubt the Goblin King.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head," he was saying, speaking down to Thorin with sadistic glee in his tone. "Just a head, nothing attached."

Naerien almost ran out into the cavern right then and there, but Mithrandir stopped her with his hand. She turned to him with wide eyes. "Should we not save them? What are you waiting for?"

"The opportune moment," growled the wizard, eyes trained on the Goblin King. Having to choice, she went silent and sheathed her sword.

"Perhaps you know of whom I speak?" The Goblin King went on, standing back and pointing a giant finger at Thorin. There was a wicked glint in his eyes from the flames of his torches. "An old enemy of yours: A pale orc astride a white warg."

"Azog the Defiler," hissed Thorin in grim disbelief, "was destroyed." This seemed to please the King in a cruel, heartless way. "He was slain in battle long ago!"

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" The horrid creature questioned with a crazed laugh. He turned to the side of this throne, where a small, ball-shaped deformity sat. "Send word to the Pale Orc," he commanded the thing, who appeared to be writing something down with a quill and scroll of parchment. "Tell him I have found his prize." The tiny goblin giggled as it scampered off into the darkness of an off shooting path, while the Goblin King turned back to his guests.

"Mithrandir," whispered the she-elf, but the wizard let out a short, "not yet," so they continued to observe.

From a different passage across the cavern two large machines made of wood came rolling in and the sound of clinking chains and goblin laughter soon filled the large space. The Goblin King, seeing this, started to sing a disgusting, sadistic song as the wicked devices were stationed against the left wall. These were weapons of torture, it was an obvious thing to see, and they were to be used on the dwarves. They needed to do something, but Mithrandir was still unmoving, watching with careful eyes.

The Goblin King was halted mid song by a metallic clatter and stumbled back when he discovered the origin of the sound. The goblins had been rooting through the dwarves' paraphernalia and one had picked up Ocrist, Thorin's sword. The hate the elves had of goblins had been poured into the metal and all could feel it. Acting as if it were a blazing flame, the goblins scrambled back from it in fright.

"I know that sword!" Cried the Goblin Kind, overcome with terror. "It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks! Murderers and elf-friends!" He was howling, shaking in rage and fear. "Slash them, beat them, peel them! Kill them all!" His words egged the goblins on and they started hooting and laughing. They were whipped up into a frenzy and were mere moments away from tearing the dwarves and the half-ling apart.

"Now would likely be the opportune moment," Naerien muttered beside the wizard, glancing away from the Goblin King, who was so full of fury that he had jumped to his feet, to the wizard, who had pulled out his sword.

She had barely blinked when he slammed his staff against the stone floor and a powerful force shot from him in a wave. The goblins and their machines were dashed against the walls of the cavern as white-blue light spread throughout every inch of the space, then vanished. The torches and flames went out in an instant, but the cave was not dark for long. White sparks popped and cracked, snapping in the air and scattering the goblins.

"You couldn't have done that sooner?" The she-elf questioned; the wizard sighed.

In the chaos created by the firecrackers, Mithrandir surged forward, sword held aloft in preparation for cutting down anything in his path. Naerien needed no incentive to follow him, slicing though goblin flesh as she navigated through the shrieks, howls, curses, and shouts that filled the air.

The she-elf beheld the mystical glint of Glamdring, Mithrandir's sword, as it glowed with blue fire in the frenzy of battle. She watched as the Grey Pilgrim drove his blade through the stomach of the Goblin King as he stood in the center of the confusion. Without a single utterance, the great leader of the goblins fell dead with a mighty thud.

"Follow me!" Mithrandir cried, his voice both low and fierce. "Quick! Run!"

The company ran after the wizard, with the elf protecting their flank as they sprinted into another tunnel, out of the throne room and away from the hoards of goblins that were surely going to follow them. Mithrandir's staff lit the way as they ran, deeper and deeper into the mountain until Naerien was sure the dwarves would drop dead of exhaustion. But they did not stop. Not once did they waver. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, for her mind was preoccupied with other, more pressing things as she ran, but by the time they did stop, even her feet were aching.

Even then they did not stop for long. It appeared that Mithrandir had only paused to count heads. Quickly, he counted aloud: Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bomber, Oin, Gloin, Fili, Kili, Ori, Dori, Nori, and Bilbo. They were all accounted for.

As soon as they had caught their breath they were off again, cutting down any goblin who came close enough to feel the bite of elven metal. They pressed on, delving deeper into the rock, going as slow as they dared down the pitch black tunnels. They had gone so far that Naerien felt as through they had reached the heart of the mountain. It seemed as though the darkness would never end and they would be trapped in the goblin tunnels for the rest of their lives.

However, the goblins were just as relentless...and they were furious. Their king was dead by the hand of a wizard and they would not stop until they had taken their revenge. They also had the advantage, for they knew these tunnels well. They ran faster and were lighter on their feet than dwarves and for the second time since they had fled the great goblin hall they were gaining on them. Fear had kept them back — fear of Glamdring the Foe-Hammer and Ocrist the Goblin Cleaver — but a wild, burning rage soon took the place of that fear.

With the torches of the goblins nearing them, Mithrandir lead them around a sharp turn in the tunnel, then stopped abruptly. "Draw your swords, Thorin, Naerien!" He cried, his voice drowned out by the howls of the creatures that ascended upon them.

Two of the three elvish blades shone in the dim gloom, cold metal against the hot fire. The first goblins to rush them dropped their torches, the light being smashed out in an instant after being trampled.

There was a terrible confusion. Swords met goblin flesh and battle-cries clashed with pained shrieks. Goblins, after seeing the ones before them fall, spun around in fear of being next, scrambling madly through the mass of their kin to get away. It seemed that cold fear had washed away the fires of rage, and once again, they fled the wizard, the she-elf, and the dwarf prince.

Then they continued on, their pace steady but slower now. The tunnel was still sloping down steadily, with no indication that it would turn upwards. Mithrandir still had his staff to make a way through the black, the light splitting the darkness like an axe through wood. Thorin and Mithrandir's swords were glowing only faintly now. The goblins were close enough for the elvish magic to sense them, but it seemed they were only following them, waiting for something. They couldn't see the torches any longer and Naerien started to wonder if they had left them behind in order to somehow catch them unawares.

The light from the Grey Pilgrim's staff started to grow brighter, causing her to look ahead. It was then she realized that it wasn't the staff. It was the end of the tunnel. Cheers erupted from the dwarves, but Mithrandir silenced them with a quick, "we are not out of this yet!"

They had arrived at a small room that signified the exit of the goblin tunnels. There were a few goblins guarding a gate — guarding their freedom. But with the force of a tidal wave, they were upon the goblins before they knew what was happening. Howls of panic arose but were silenced swiftly, Glamdring and Ocrist ending their pitiful, vile sound before they could alert other goblins in other caves. They did fight back, however, though not all that well.

Naerien felt something sharp cut across her arm, ripping through fabric and into skin. She let out a soft yelp, but the pain only fueled her to keep going. With a swift and sharp jab, the offending goblin dropped dead.

Thirteen dwarves, the wizard, and the elf exploded from the cave, meeting the kind and warm embrace of the sun. She hadn't abandoned them after all, it seemed. They barreled down a stone staircase that ran across the wall of a valley. Fresh air streamed through their hair and across their faces, giving them new life.

Mithrandir skidded to a halt, watching the others blow by him as he counted them. "Five, six seven, eight," he was saying to himself. "Bifur, Bofur, that's ten...Fili, Kili, that's twelve — and Bombur, that makes thirteen. Naerien and—" He froze in his counting. "Where's Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?" He demanded, looking around at them all. Naerien spun on her heels, searching for the smallest of their group. But sometime between getting attacked by goblins for the second time and getting out of the tunnels, Bilbo Baggins had vanished.

a/n: this chapter was a good nine hundred words longer than I usually put in, but I felt this was a good place to end. What are you're thoughts so far? If you liked it, hit that little star or drop a comment :) if you didn't...well, I'd love to know why. Anyway, happy Halloween and Reformation Day to those who celebrate it!