Author's Note: Liberties have been taken with ages and the average lifespan of Dwarves.

Please remember, reviews are greatly appreciated!

4

FROM MOUNTAINS COLD

The next morning, the sun seemed to rise with great reluctance, hiding behind a thick cloud cover. The rain had stopped, but the gloomy dreariness put a damper on spirits just as effectively. Kíli, son of Torvi and Dís, was not one to stay abed long past dawn, but waking to the thin sunlight made him groan and turn over in his bedroll, determined to go back to sleep until the sun decided to shine properly. He had been plagued the night through by nightmares and a pesky cough left over from his swim in the river, and he saw no reason to rise if no one was rousing him to pack for their departure. Instead, he buried his face in the back of his brother's hood and drifted off once more.

When he woke again, Fíli was gone and there was a bustle of movement in the little camp as some of the others packed their gear. Yanking himself from yet another dark dream of watery depths, the raven-haired archer scrambled up into a sitting position and glanced around the campsite for his brother's golden head. A calming hand landed on his shoulder a moment later, and he looked up into Trisk's concerned gaze.

"He's with Thorin," the silversmith told him, jerking a thumb in the direction of the road. "They are discussing the path with Gandalf. I think the Wizard's plan differs slightly from your uncle's."

Kíli sighed and nodded, getting to his feet. "That means they're arguing," he replied. "I'll leave them to that. Any idea of when we are leaving?"

"Soon," Trisk answered, tying the binding on his bedroll and setting it aside with the rest of his gear. "Fíli has you nearly packed, he just left the bedroll to you. Said you probably needed the extra sleep."

"Mahal's blessing on big brothers," the younger prince replied, shooting his friend a grin as he shook out his bedroll in preparation for rolling it up. "How is Visk?" he asked, sobering slightly, his thoughts going to the events of the previous evening. "At least I went into the river of my own accord, even if it did not go quite as planned."

Trisk shrugged his pack into place, glancing over to where his brother seemed to be communing silently with his pony. "Well enough. Bit of a cough, like yours. It's bothering his throat, with the smoke damage that was already there, but Óin gave him something to soothe it. More damage to his pride than anything else, I think."

Kíli nodded absently and finished tying up his bedroll. "A feeling that I know well," he agreed with a grimace, hoisting the roll to his shoulder. "Just ask my brother. No, actually, don't ask him. The last thing I need is Fíli starting a round of 'what's the most foolish thing you've ever seen Kíli do?'"

"This week, this year, or ever?"

The dark-haired prince groaned and turned to find his brother behind him, wearing a smirk that never boded well for the dignity of...well, anyone in the vicinity, honestly. Kíli shook his head and turned back to Trisk.

"What I find unfair," the young archer explained breezily to the silversmith, ignoring his fair-haired shadow with an air of nonchalance, "is that everyone always thinks they know how we work. Thorin, Balin, Dwalin – ask any one of them, and they'll tell you that I'm the hellion, and that Fíli just follows along to mitigate the damage. Fíli's the responsible one, the elder brother, Thorin's heir, the golden child of Durin." He grinned at the gagging noise behind him, but did not glance back, focusing instead on his companion as he snugged his burden behind his saddle. He paused to scratch his pony behind the ears, Brownie's favorite form of affection, and smiled slightly when the bay whuffled at his pockets looking for a treat. "No one ever stops to think that, perhaps, Fíli was the mastermind behind the exploding fish bladders under the cushions in the council chambers," he continued indignantly, warming to his complaint. "Or that he might have been the one to suggest 'borrowing' shields from the Warrior's Hall to go sledding at Midwinter..." he trailed off, turning a look of suffering on Trisk as the other Dwarrow laughed. A few steps away, Fíli was chuckling and shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Lies and calumny, nadadith. Is that how you talk about your own blood?" he asked, blue eyes twinkling. "The loving brother that pulled you from the river not twenty-four hours past?"

Kíli grinned at his brother, but Fíli's words had wakened the memory of those brief moments of eternal terror in the water, and he hoped the expression did not look as strained as it felt. "I have done many foolish things in my life," he admitted after a long moment, much of his good humor draining away and leaving chilling realization in its wake. "But few so foolish as leaping into a river nearing spring flood stage. I think I might need to work a bit more at being a 'responsible adult.'"

Fíli, bless him, heard the words he did not say and was suddenly standing in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders as he leaned in to touch his forehead to Kíli's own in a brotherly gesture of support and love.

"You scared a year off my life, I think," the swordsman stated, his voice a low rumble. "But you are safe. We are safe."

"Thanks to you," the archer mumbled, shame creeping through him. "I did not even help you rescue Visk, just gave you someone else to rescue. Mahal, Fíli, you could have died coming back for me!"

"But I didn't," came the firm reply, accompanied by a tightening of the gloved hands on his shoulders. "I found you, and Dwalin helped me pull you ashore, and Thorin got you breathing again, and Óin checked your lungs and said all would be well. You acted before you thought, as is your wont, but you acted in good faith and with selfless intent, to save a friend, and that was the act of a Son of Durin, nadadê."

"And one that I, certainly, cannot condemn," Trisk added, offering a twisted little smile when Kíli glanced at him. "You were trying to save my brother, and even..." he faltered slightly, then nodded firmly. "Even if you both had failed – even if Visk had been lost, I would honor you for that."

Kíli nodded, bumping his forehead against Fíli's briefly before he straightened, a little of the burden falling from his heart. He had been raised to know his worth, to honor his ancestors, and to prove himself worthy of the Line of Durin, but it was difficult to be the youngest scion of such a high house. Of his elders, he had only his brother to show that he was not alone in his struggles to be what was expected. Only Fíli confided his misgivings, his questions, his mistakes. Dís, his mother, was supportive to her brother and hid her sorrow from her sons, while Thorin showed only strength to his people. Balin's history lessons told much of deeds, but little of the doubt that must surely have plagued even the great kings of Durin's Folk when they were young and untried

"Ahkminruki astnu," he said quietly, a little of his normal cheer returning as he clapped each of them on the shoulder with a smile. "Mahal's blessing on big brothers, indeed."

They had no chance to respond, for Thorin returned then, a dark glower on his face that reminded the young archer that his uncle had been arguing with the Wizard regarding the next part of their route.

"Mount up," the leader of the Company ordered, pulling his pony up short and nodding approvingly at the fact that most of them were clearly ready to leave. "We've lost a good part of the day already, and there are still decisions to be made, so we'll not be going far, just well along the Trollshaws. That will put the Last Bridge and the river behind us for the night, and we'll start out again with the dawn."

Kíli saw Thorin's eyes flicker toward where he and his brother stood, and thought he could see a certain softening of the exiled king's dour demeanor.

"You lads could use a bit more rest, Óin tells me," he added with a glance at the healer, who nodded as he swung into the saddle.

"Rest today to prevent relapse tomorrow," the elder Dwarf replied seriously, peering at each of the younger Dwarrow with a critical eye. "Should be no lasting harm, though. Tough as any of Durin's Folk, the lot of 'em, and young enough to recover at speed."

"Very well, then we will..." Thorin trailed off, turning that formidable sapphire gaze on the unfortunate Hobbit, who was sitting his pony with only a little more ease than he had first shown, a concerned look on his expressive face. "Yes, Master Burglar?" the dark-haired Dwarrow asked, a rumble of irritation in his voice. "You have something you wish to say?"
"Well, I only wondered...Trollshaws?" The slight squeak on the last word was inquiry enough and Kíli stifled a laugh as he settled into his saddle.

"It's the wood on the far side of the river," Ori explained, eager to share his knowledge. "Stretches from the Hoarwell to the Loudwater."

"Someone studied the map," Nori teased his brother, grinning as the young scribe blushed and ducked his head.

"Which is just as well, since Mahal knows you have no idea where we are or where we're going," Dori countered, earning a shrug and shake of the head from the younger Dwarf.

"That's what you lot are for," came the unrepentant reply. From the look on Bilbo's face, however, his actual question had not yet been answered, and Kíli took pity on him.

"It's just a name, Mister Boggins," he assured the Hobbit, ignoring Fíli's hissed "Baggins, you nungbâha!" "There haven't been any Trolls in the 'Shaws in ages."

"Ah. Well, that's good, then." The Hobbit relaxed slightly and the young archer smiled brightly at his brother as Fíli rolled his eyes.

"If that is settled, we will be leaving," Thorin commented dryly, turning his mount with a flourish. "Kíli, Fíli, Visk, and Trisk – stay close to Óin so he can keep an eye on you for today. Nori, Dori, you two are on rearguard. Dwalin and Balin, with me. This Wizard is determined to test my patience."

"Wasn't aware you had any," Dwalin commented with a broad grin. Kíli enjoyed the rare treat of seeing his uncle's impressive glower turned on someone other than himself.

True to his word, Thorin kept them on the road for only a few hours before turning aside to set up camp well within the tree line. His debate with Gandalf had lasted the entire trip, and the Company had barely begun to dismount when the Wizard turned abruptly and strode back to his horse, muttering under his breath about stiff-necked Dwarves who held grudges for far too long. Kíli watched him go and exchanged a puzzled look with his brother before Fíli shrugged and began unsaddling his pony. Following suit, the archer glanced up toward his uncle, spotting him consulting with Óin. The healer nodded and the king looked up, catching the younger prince's eye.

"Fíli, Kíli, take the ponies to the clearing through the trees there," he ordered, pointing to where a patch of brighter sunlight showed a thinning of the forest. "It will do them good to have a bit of freedom to graze and rest. Bifur and Bofur will replace you shortly after sundown."

The brothers nodded and finished stripping the gear from Misty and Brownie. With the help of the others, they tended and settled the ponies in the broad clearing and then took up a position on a little hillock at the edge to watch over their mounts. Humming tunelessly, Kíli rested his back against a small tree and drew his belt knife as he picked up a piece of fallen wood and began whittling at it aimlessly as the last of the sunlight faded and the moon's silvery gleam filled the meadow. After a few minutes, he glanced up at his brother, noticing for the first time that Fíli seemed unusually distracted. The elder prince's brow was furrowed and he looked as though he was trying to figure out one of the twisty logic puzzles that Balin had delighted in posing when they were Dwarflings. The dark-haired lad put his knife away and reached over to poke him in the side.

"You alright, Fi?"

His brother took a deep breath and nodded, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. "Yes, just thinking."

"What about?"

There was silence for a long moment, before Fíli turned to look at him, eyes shadowed.

"What do you think of Triskel and Viskel?" he asked abruptly.

Kíli stared at him, wondering what had prompted the question. Had the lads from Emyn Uial given him reason to distrust them? Or was this some thought of Thorin's that had his brother concerned? He concentrated for a long moment, going back over the past days of travel and conversation.

"I like them," he replied finally. "Visk is a bit quiet, of course. Trisk is quite pleasant – he seems to get on with everyone, but I think there is a bit of mischief in his heart, too. Why? Do you not?"

Fíli shrugged and shook his head. "No, I like them. It's good to have others close to our age – I don't feel so outnumbered by Thorin and the older guard. And both of them have that bit of mischief. It's just...there's something odd about Visk. Not bad, just...different. Like there's something he is concealing."

Kíli tensed. "Do you think he's a danger to the Company?"

"No." Fíli answered instantly and Kíli relaxed. He trusted his brother's judgment – Fíli had always been good at reading people.

"Gandalf seems to like them, too," he offered with a grin. The swordsman nodded.

"Like I said, I don't think they are dangerous to us, there's just something strange about Visk. When I hauled him out of the river yesterday...it just...blast!" Fíli groaned dramatically and ran a hand through his hair. "It's impossible...never mind."

"Now you have me curious, and you know what that means. Just say it, nadad."

"Let me think about it a bit longer, see if I can put the pieces together. No more than a day or two, I promise."

Kíli shrugged and glanced back toward camp as the sound of rustling foliage drew his attention. A moment later, Bilbo stepped into the little clearing, looking around curiously. The dark-haired archer grinned and waved at him.

"Over here, Mister Boggins!" he called cheerily, laughing as Fíli thumped the back of his skull. The burglar, for his part, simply gave a slight smile and shook his head as he walked over to join them.

"It is a bit confusing," he commented genially, "that you have twenty-seven years more than I, yet you act like a mischievous Hobbit-lad twenty years my junior." There was a thoughtful look on his face as the burglar glanced back toward the camp. "What of the others?" he asked with a frown. "Trisk and Visk are close in age to you lads, yes?"

"The four of us are the youngest of the Company, save yourself," Fíli replied with a nod. "Trisk is the eldest of us and he's not even ninety. Next youngest would be Ori, and he's, what, a hundred and thirty?"

"A couple of years more, I think," Kíli agreed, watching Bilbo's brows climb toward his hairline in surprise. "He's just so quiet and meek most of the time that he seems younger. Balin is the eldest, overall."

"Two hundred and one," Fíli stated confidently.

"What is the general lifespan of a Dwarf, then?" the Hobbit asked faintly, his eyes rather wide.

"Perhaps three hundred years," Kíli answered.

"If he's so lucky as to die from old age, rather than in battle or disaster," Fíli added, his blue eyes darkening. "Which hasn't happened for any of our ancestors in many years."

"Not since Thrór's grandfather," Kíli agreed thoughtfully.

"Do you know, my grandfather lived to be one hundred and thirty," Bilbo murmured. "No other Hobbit on record had ever lived that long."

Kíli glanced at his brother uncomfortably, unsure what to say, or if he should just keep quiet. Fíli shrugged, but watched their companion closely for a long moment. Finally, Bilbo seemed to shrug it off and glanced back at them, smiling.

"And Elves live forever, or so I've heard. Seems a bit exhausting to me. I think I'd rather know that there will be a little rest waiting at the end," he concluded with a small laugh. "And that's not really what I came out to ask you."

"Oh?" Fíli cocked an eyebrow at the burglar and Bilbo shrugged.

"I wondered if I could ask you lads a few questions," he explained. "Without causing offense, I mean. I know very little about Dwarves, you see. There aren't many books about your culture, not that I have found, anyway, and, well, I'd like to know enough about my traveling companions that I understand more than one comment in ten."

Kíli laughed brightly as his brother smiled.

"We'll do our best, Mister Baggins," the elder prince replied. "I doubt you can offend either of us, but there may be some things that we simply cannot answer. Dwarves are a very private people, and we keep our secrets close. What we can tell you, we will."

"What is the Line of Durin?" the Hobbit blurted without preamble. "Balin mentioned it during the tale of that battle, and it seems to mean something very important to all of you."

"An easy question, with a rather long answer," Fíli said, meeting Kíli's eye.

"The shortest answer is us," the raven-dark prince answered. "Thorin, Fíli, me. And our mother, of course. The short answer, since I'm sure that explains very little, is that Durin was one of the first kings of the Dwarves. His line has continued, unbroken, eldest son to eldest son, down to Thorin. Thorin has no children of his own, but our mother is his younger sister, so he has named us his heirs."

"Which means little in Ered Luin, where Thorin has led simply as first among many," Fíli countered.

"But if we retake Erebor, and Thorin becomes King Under the Mountain, like his grandfather?" Bilbo asked, glancing at the golden-haired swordsman.

"Fíli will become king after Thorin," Kíli confirmed, chin raised proudly.

"That will be a long time yet, I hope," his brother muttered.

The younger prince nodded slightly, but did not reply. He knew of Fíli's reservations and concerns for the future, the insecurities and even fears that were kept concealed from their kin.

"What else might we explain for you, Master Hobbit?" he asked, taking the chance to shift the focus of the conversation. Bilbo blinked and thought for a moment.

"Well, this might be a bit personal, but...I wondered...your braids? Do they have meaning? Some are so elaborate, while others seem very simple. And you wear none at all."

Fíli chuckled. "Again, you ask a simple question with a complex answer, my friend. Many braids have meaning, yes, but often that meaning is personal to the Dwarf that wears them."

"And others can be read by any with a knowledge of our culture," Kíli added. "You noticed that Thorin only wears the two, one at either temple?"

"That's why I wondered. They seem almost plain, for the rightful king."

"Yet they mark him as the leader of a high house, and the beads bear the sigil of Durin's Line," the elder prince replied. He indicated the matching braids that he wore, then the secondary plait that ran behind each ear. "These mark me as his heir. When Thrór and Thráin lived, Thorin wore these as well."

"But Kíli has no braids," the burglar commented, looking a big confused. "Is he not also an heir?"

Kíli grinned and shook his head. "An heir, but not the heir," he explained easily. "And, in all honesty, my hair does not hold braids well. It is too fine. Oh, I manage if they are needed for a ceremony, but the clasp is all that I generally use."

"And your beards?"

"Again, a personal choice, though they are a matter of great pride. The loss of a beard is generally a mark of shame," Fíli explained. "Traitors are shaved, once they are convicted, to show that they are dishonored."

"That is why Visk conceals his face," Kíli murmured, a surge of sympathy welling up for the lad. "His injuries in the raid meant his hair was cut back to let it regrow, and his beard will have been burnt off in the fire. He will wear the scarf and hood until they have grown back enough that he does not look like one who has been cast out in disgrace."

"We wear ours short by choice, however," his brother continued. "Thrór had a mighty beard before Erebor fell, adorned with chains and precious stones. Like Visk, he lost most of it to flames when the dragon attacked. As a gesture of mourning, for him and for the countless wounded and dead, Thráin and Thorin trimmed theirs short as well."

"Although, I have an additional reason," Kíli admitted. "Few Dwarrow wield a bow as a primary weapon, because a beard is dangerous around a bowstring."

The archer grinned and stood to do a headcount of the ponies, hoping that Bifur and Bofur would be arriving soon to take over pony watch, so the princes could get dinner and the extra rest that Óin had recommended. Sixteen? He frowned, eyes searching the clearing, counting once more. And a third time.

"What's wrong?" Fíli's voice was sharp, having noticed the younger prince's stillness as he frantically counted yet again.

"Didn't we have eighteen ponies?" the dark-haired lad asked.

"Yes."

Kíli turned wide eyes on his brother. "Not anymore."

Fíli swore luridly as he scrambled to his feet and looked out over the clearing.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo was staring at them in concern, looking from one to the other.

"We are short two ponies," the younger prince replied, hurrying down the hillock and over toward where he had last seen the two vanished mounts, the elder right on his heels. "Daisy and Bungle are missing."

"Oh dear."

Kíli crouched at the edge of the clearing, studying the ground. He was a hunter, accustomed to tracking game through the wilds of the Blue Mountains, and the signs of the shod ponies were easy to read, even in the dim light.

"The others aren't anxious," Fíli noted behind him, patting Bifur's Baffle on the nose as he walked quietly among them.

"They wandered off," the archer responded, irritated with himself for missing the animals' restlessness. "That way." He pointed to a patchy trail that was just visible, long abandoned by the look, but clear enough to be followed for a short way.

"Lads?"

They turned at the sound of Bofur's voice, raised with an edge of concern. The miner and his cousin had just arrived to take their turn at pony watch. Kíli groaned, knowing that meant dinner was waiting back at camp. A dinner that was likely to be cold when they returned.

"A couple of strays, Bof," Fíli replied, waving at him. "Ki and I will fetch them. You two stay and watch the others, if you would."

"D'ya want us to alert Thorin?"

Kíli felt his stomach plummet and fought to keep from shooting his brother a pleading look. A second later, Fíli spoke up, sounding rather embarrassed himself.

"Uh, no. Let's not worry him. We'll handle it." Reaching out quickly, the golden-haired prince snagged Bilbo by the elbow and pulled him along toward the edge of the clearing. "Come along, Mister Baggins. You are our official burglar, after all. Who better to help us find what is lost?"

"I'm not sure what that has to do with being a burglar," the Hobbit answered, looking rather nonplussed. "But I'll help you, if you wish."

Kíli led the way along the thin path, crouching frequently to make sure the hoofprints did not wander off into the forest. Several twists and turns from the clearing, he halted abruptly, barely noticing when his brother crashed into his back.

"Ki?"

The archer's hand moved quickly, warning the swordsman to silence and stillness, then he crept forward slowly, eyes on the confusion of tracks and broken foliage ahead. He retched as a foul odor teased his nose, chasing away his earlier hunger. He glanced back at his brother, then turned to peer ahead at the newly-widened path, where the waxing moon's light was filtered by the leaves above them.

"Something took them," he murmured, starting forward once more. "Something big."

"Something quite probably very dangerous," Bilbo muttered behind him, although he did not protest as they continued their progress. Kíli stopped again, checking the ground before him, only to glance up as Fíli pushed ahead, his eyes on something off in the trees.

"A light," the elder prince whispered, hand on the falchion hilt that rose above his right shoulder. Following his gaze, Kíli spotted it. A campfire, not far ahead. Shadows shifted around it, and he drew his sword as he fell in behind his brother, Bilbo hurrying along behind them on silent feet. At the edge of the firelight, Fíli dropped behind a fallen log and carefully raised his head to look over it. As the raven-haired prince joined him, he glanced up with a hint of humor in his eyes.

"Trolls."

"What?"

Incredulous, Kíli stared as a massive, squash-faced Troll lumbered in front of the fire, Daisy struggling under one arm. As he watched, the pony was deposited in a pen with Bungle and the Troll turned to its two companions. At his side, Bilbo was pale.

"You said there weren't any Trolls in Trollshaws!" the Hobbit hissed. Kíli grimaced and shrugged apologetically.

"I was wrong, apparently," he muttered.

"Apparently!"

Fíli hushed them with a raised hand and fierce glare. "They are here, and they're going to eat two of our ponies," he ground out.

"There are three of them. If they spot us, we won't stand a chance," Kíli replied.

"I don't think we would stand a chance against one," his brother said. "Their hides are tough, and look at the size of them!"

"So what do we do?" the Hobbit asked, a determined set to his face. Fíli studied him for a long moment.

"Gandalf says Hobbits are light on their feet," he finally commented. "Do you think you might be able to sneak over and free the ponies? Without being seen?"

Bilbo blanched, but leaned forward to study the scene before them. "Possibly," he allowed. "Where will you be?"

"Right behind you," Fíli assured him, ushering the Hobbit toward the campsite. Looking resigned, the burglar disappeared into the underbrush and the elder prince's hand landed on Kíli's shoulder.

"Follow him, but stay out of sight," came the order. "I'm going back for the others. If our burglar is successful, well and good. If not, I'd rather we had a backup plan in motion."

Kíli nodded, eyes wide as he tightened his grip on his sword and started forward.

"Kíli!"

He glanced back, reading the warning in his brother's face.

"Don't do anything foolish," Fíli warned. "I'll return with the Company. Wait for us!"

"And if I can't?"
Fíli set his jaw, his face grim. "Then do as much damage as you can, nadadith."

Kíli blinked and nodded, and his brother was gone, moving back along the path as quickly and quietly as he could. Taking a deep breath, the archer hurried after the burglar.

In the end, Bilbo was almost successful. The Trolls were squabbling over their planned meal, and the Hobbit was trying to get the gate to the pen unlatched when the purest bad luck led to one of them glancing over at the wrong moment. The Troll lunged and Bilbo was caught, and the youngest heir of Durin held his breath as the burglar was held aloft and studied through tiny piggish eyes.

"What's this, then?" one of the other Trolls asked. The one holding the Hobbit shrugged rounded shoulders.

"Dunno, do I?" it responded. "Never seen a bite like this a'fore. Don't smell like Dwarf, too small to be Man. What are you, little morsel?" This last question was accompanied by a shake that had Bilbo looking rather nauseous.

"I'm a bur-a Hobbit!" he answered.

"Never heard of it," the third Troll declared. "Maybe it's a kind of Goblin?"

"I am no such thing!" Bilbo protested.

"Nah, smells better 'n a Goblin," the one holding him stated, holding the burglar close to its nose for a good long sniff. By the look on the Hobbit's face, the Troll's stench was much worse up close. "Looks like it might be tasty, though," the Troll continued.

"Bah, no more'n a mouthful by the time he's skinned and boned," one of the others replied.

"But if we had some more like 'im, we could make a pie!" came the suggestion of the third.

"Any more of you out there?" the one holding Bilbo demanded.

"Yes, lots!"

Kíli winced, even as Bilbo seemed to realize that perhaps he shouldn't give up the existence of his companions quite so easily and corrected himself.

"Actually, no. None at all. Just me."

"I think he's lying," stated the tallest Troll, drawing himself up slightly, brutish features contorted with the effort of thought. "What's 'e mean by 'lots' and 'none at all'? Hold 'is toes over the fire, and see what 'e says then!"

The Troll holding the burglar nodded agreeably and reached out to do just that, and Kíli could wait no longer. Praying that his brother and the rest of the Company were close, he lunged into the little camp, striking at the closest Troll ankle and rolling clear of a huge hand that reached out for him. Standing just out of reach, he leveled the full force of the Durin glower on the massive creatures, hoping it hid the fear that was coursing through him. He didn't stand a chance – he knew that. Against a single Troll, his best strategy would be to flee. Against three, and unwilling to leave the Hobbit to their mercy, there was no strategy at all, save one.

Don't get caught.

"Let him go!"

"That 'un's a Dwarf," one of the Trolls commented. "Mayhap that's what 'e meant. 'Lots' and 'none at all,' eh? No more 'burrahobbits,' but lots o' Dwarves."

"Sounds better 'n pony for dinner," another replied.

"Ay, that it do," the third agreed.

Well, this wasn't going very well. At all.

"I said, let him go!" the dark-haired prince snapped, taking a step closer to the Trolls, his eyes flickering to Bilbo and wishing he could apologize for the rather poor job he was doing of rescuing the Hobbit.

"What you gonna do if we don't?"

Kíli didn't get a chance to answer, which was just as well, since he had no idea what kind of threat he could offer. He had no more than opened his mouth when a shout rang out from the foliage behind him, only to be taken up by a dozen more voices ringing the campsite.

"IGRIBI! DU BEKAR!"

Startled, the Troll holding Bilbo dropped the Hobbit, sending the little fellow rolling across the clearing toward the pen that held the ponies. Kíli hesitated just long enough to see that the burglar was back on his feet before charging in to join the fray, instinct bringing him to his brother's side within moments.

"Thought I told you not to do anything foolish!" Fíli shouted, stabbing down at a massive hand that was trying to grab Ori.

"No choice!" the younger prince replied, dodging a huge foot and jabbing his sword toward the back of a Troll knee. "They were going to start toasting Bilbo's feet!"

Then there was no more time for words, only the relentless dance of dodge and strike, duck and swing. The sad truth was that even the entire Company, fifteen brave and daring Dwarves, were no match for three Trolls, with hides so thick that even the sharpest blades rarely drew blood. They could not win, and they all knew it, so Kíli was not surprised to hear Thorin's voice rise again, echoed by Dwalin and Glóin within moments.

"IKHRISHABÎ!"

Shooting a glance toward the pen, the archer was relieved to see that Bilbo had managed to get the ponies out and was ducking out of sight in the foliage. Satisfied that the ponies were freed, and the burglar was safe, he dove between the feet of the nearest Troll, aiming for the relative safety of the undergrowth. If they could scatter into the woods, they could flee and regroup, hopefully loosing the enemy in the process. He had nearly reached his goal when he heard it – a hoarse cry of fear torn from an already damaged throat, the voice unfamiliar but instantly recognizable, for it could only come from one of their Company.

"TRISK!"

Skidding to a stop, Kíli turned to see the auburn-haired silversmith in the grip of one of the Trolls, the Dwarf's arm held between the fingers of the creature's other massive hand.

"Throw down yer arms, 'fore I rip his off!"

There was a scuffle off to the dark-haired prince's right and he glanced over to see his brother bodily restraining Visk. Fíli had one hand clamped on the wrist of the young Dwarrow's sword hand, even as the older prince turned urgent eyes on Thorin. To his credit, the exiled Dwarf lord hesitated for only the briefest of moments before he threw his sword to the ground and ordered the rest of the Company to do the same. One by one, they dropped their weapons, instinctively gathering close around their leader. Kíli stared in dismay, his hands flexing helplessly on the grip of his blade before he followed suit. With their weapons, their only chance had been escape. Without them...

Wherever Tharkûn has gone, Mahal send him back to us, else our quest will end here, in the bellies of these beasts, he thought grimly.

* X *

Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, son of Bungo and Belladonna, crouched in the undergrowth and watched in horror as his companions were stuffed into filthy burlap sacks. The drawstrings were pulled tight above their shoulders so that they could not work themselves free, only their heads left uncovered. This, of course, did nothing to muffle the shouts of anger and promises of retribution, of which there were many, but the Trolls seemed to pay little mind. Instead, they were rummaging through their supplies, discussing the best way to prepare their dinner.

The Hobbit wasn't entirely certain what had gone wrong. When the Company had come to his rescue, he had quickly gotten out of the way, completing his initial goal of freeing the captured ponies, then making a hasty retreat under the assumption that the others would join him. He had, in fact, been headed for the path that he and the young Dwarves had followed to the Trolls' campsite when a scream of rage had stopped him in his tracks. When it was quickly followed by the clatter of weapons being dropped, he had reluctantly backtracked to the campfire. Just in time to watch the Dwarves being bagged neatly, one after another, and set aside to await their fate.

"Easy enough," said one, holding up a packet. "Skin 'em, rub on a bit o' sage, and roast 'em til they's nice and tender, I say."

"Quicker to just eat 'em raw," another grumbled. "Ain't nuthin' wrong wif a bit o' raw Dwarf."

"Could sit on 'em, squash 'em into jelly and eat it wif toast," offered the third.

"Whatever we do, make it quick. I'm so 'ungry me guts is grumblin'," the second added.

"The two of you've eaten a village 'n a half between ya since we come down outta the mountains," the first Troll countered, irritation in his voice. "I does the cookin', you does the eatin'. So quitcher gripin' and let me cook!"

"Fine, Bert," the third replied, obviously trying to placate him. "Roast 'em, boil 'em, whatever. Just so's we gets to eat. And you shut yer gob, Bill," he added as his other companion muttered under his breath. "I don' wanna be here all night!"

The one called Bert nodded and produced a nasty, curved blade from his belt. As he reached for the nearest Dwarf, Bilbo suddenly realized that his companions were not biding their time, awaiting the perfect moment to strike out and escape. They were well and truly caught. And unless something was done, they would all be dead quite soon, their quest ended before they ever even reached the Misty Mountains.

"Wait!"

The three Trolls turned, surprise scrawled across their blunt features, as he charged into the clearing. And to be fair, they were no more surprised than Bilbo himself, for he did not remember making the decision to...do whatever it was he was doing.

"It's the burrahobbit!" Bill made an expression that might have been a smile and the burglar felt his stomach turn over. "Come back for dessert, 'ave ya?"
"Mister Baggins, run!" Kíli yelled, struggling in his bag. Next to him, his golden-haired brother was also shifting around, a look of deep concentration on his face. When he caught Bilbo's eye, Fíli winked, tilted his head in the direction of the Trolls and nodded slightly. Hoping that he had caught the older prince's message correctly, the Hobbit focused on keeping the attention of the massive creatures fixed on himself, while also staying out of easy reach.

"I've come to point out out that you've no idea what you're doing," he countered, his mind racing. "You think a little sage will make this lot palatable? You probably want to wash them thoroughly first. I mean, have you smelt them?"

Several cries of protest met his comment, but he could see Thorin watching him with narrowed eyes, as though waiting to see what his plan might be. Wish I knew, he thought briefly, fighting the nervous laughter that threatened to escape every time he opened his mouth.

"I think I knows how to cook Dwarf," Bert replied.

"Mince 'em fine and boil 'em!" the third Troll said. Or, at least, it sounded like the third Troll. Bilbo, who had been watching all of them rather closely, hadn't seen any of their lips moving.

"Blast it, Tom, let's not start that again," Bert argued. "I'm the cook!"

"I didn't say anyfin'" Tom told him, looking rather confused.

"We ain't got enough water to boil 'em, not wifout goin' to the well," Bill chimed in.

"Roast 'em, then," Tom grumbled. "Just so's we gets dinner a'fore sunrise."

"No time for that now. Dawn's nearly here."

This time, it sounded like Bert, and the other two glared at him. Bilbo, meanwhile, was staring at all of them in confusion. Once again, he had not seen any of their mouths moving, but the voice was loud and clear. Whatever the source of the irritating comments, however, the effect was clear. The three Trolls were soon arguing loudly and Bilbo began to cautiously edge his way over to the Dwarves.

"Untie the bags, quick!" Kíli hissed, dark eyes fixed on the Trolls. Bilbo struggled with the knot on the archer's bag for a long moment, the rope pulled tight by massive fingers.

"Here, Mister Baggins. This might help."

The burglar glanced over to where Fíli sat next to his brother. The bag that held the young Dwarf appeared to have been sliced open just enough for him to work his hand out into the open air, and with it, a small knife. Taking it, Bilbo was able to make short work of the drawstring on the older prince's bag as the sky began to lighten. Once Fíli was free, he moved to help Kíli and Bilbo went to the nearest Dwarf (Nori). Soon, nearly all of the Company was unbound, moving quietly toward where their weapons had been cast aside.

Which is, of course, when the Trolls noticed that their dinner was trying to escape.

"Look at these little rats, taking us for fools!" Tom cried, lunging for Bifur. The fierce-looking toymaker dodged aside, and an immense crack sounded from the eastern edge of the clearing. Everyone turned to find a large boulder there had split down the middle, and a tall figure stood next to it.

"The dawn will take you all!" Gandalf cried.

For just a moment, the Trolls hesitated, staring at him in confusion. Then the first rays of sunrise shot through the cleft in the rock and fell upon the massive creatures, and they began to wail in pain. Bilbo could not move, or even look away, but only stood frozen in place, watching the Trolls' hides turned to stone before his eyes. Never had he seen anything like it, nor did he ever wish to see its like again. Around him, the Company was cheering and whooping, but the Hobbit simply stared.

"Are they dead?" he finally asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Mountain trolls cannot stand the sunlight," Trisk explained with a grin. "Thanks to your cleverness, Mister Baggins, they lost track of time and did not realize that the sun was on the rise. How did you manage to mimic their voices so well?"

"That wasn't me," the burglar told him, glancing over toward the Wizard. "I rather think it was Gandalf."

"It was, but I think you had something to do with delaying them long enough for me to find you, my dear fellow," Gandalf agreed, tapping one massive stone Troll with his staff as he approached. "Is everyone in one piece, then?"

One after another, the Dwarves agreed that they were all well and whole. All save Thorin, who was watching the Wizard through narrowed eyes.

"We thank you for the assistance," he finally said, nodding incrementally. "Where did you go, if I may ask?"

"To look ahead," Gandalf answered enigmatically.

"And what brought you back?"

"Looking behind." This time, there was a small smile on the aged face.

Thorin nodded, then his expression darkened as something occurred to him. "Since when do mountain Trolls come this far south?"
Gandalf shook his head, a look of concern in his kind blue eyes. "Not for an age. Not since a darker power ruled this land." He stood in silent thought for a long moment, then glanced at Thorin. "They could not have moved in daylight."

Thorin nodded. "There must be a cave nearby."

* X *

Bifur, son of Drobur, was not afraid of death – but he was also just as glad that he would not die to fill the belly of a mountain Troll. He was even more relieved that his younger cousins would not be subjected to that fate. The erratic toymaker was not always completely connected to what was going on around him, but any threat to his kin tended to bring the world into clear focus, if only briefly. Bofur and Bombur were his only remaining blood relatives and he was fiercely protective of them. The Company was quickly becoming his extended family, as well, and he watched with quiet affection as they gathered up their gear and possessions from around the Trolls' campsite before setting out to find the Troll cave that Gandalf was certain would be nearby. His cousins were unharmed, thanks to the quick thinking of their burglar. Dori was fussing over Ori as their middle brother rolled his eyes and sharpened the blades of his wickedly curved knives. Óin was going from Dwarf to Dwarf, checking for injuries as his brother hovered at his shoulder. Balin was looking a little worse for wear, but had waved off Dwalin's concern, insisting that it was nothing that a full night's sleep couldn't remedy. Thorin strode along next to Gandalf, deep in quiet conversation, as his heirs trotted close behind them. Fíli seemed lost in thought, with his brother shooting him quick glances. Kulvik's sons brought up the end of the procession and Bifur signed briefly to Visk as they passed, asking the lad if he and his brother were alright after their little adventure. Visk nodded, adding an emphatic tired. Which only made sense – the difficulty with the Trolls had kept the entire Company awake all night, and Thorin did not seem inclined to let them make up the rest before continuing on their way. Bifur sighed quietly and took up his place as rearguard with Bofur. The irrepressibly cheerful miner seemed much the same as usual, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face as he hefted his mattock and led his pony after the rest of the group. He shot his older cousin a smile and Bifur could not help returning it.

"That's another bit of excitement safely over," Bofur commented genially. "On to the next!"

Bifur shook his head with a rueful grin. Careful what you wish for, cousin.

Translations:

nadadith – little brother (Khuzdul)

nadadê – my brother (Khuzdul)

Ahkminruki astnu – Thank you [both] (Khuzdul)

nungbâha – lovable idiot

IGRIBI! DU BEKAR! - ATTACK! UP AXES! (a battle cry of the Dwarves) (Khuzdul)

IKHRISHABÎ! - SCATTER! (Khuzdul)

Tharkûn – Gandalf's name among the Dwarves