Sounds of battle echoed through the dark woods. The flickering light of a fire guided Bell toward the fracas. She approached cautiously, careful to make no sound.
She ducked down behind a fallen tree and edged closer until she could go no further without being seen, then inched upward until she could peer out at the battle.
Stars! Those were trolls? They were so big. Three massive, thick-hided creatures, laying about among the Dwarves with sticks and what looked to be a ladle taller than herself.
Her fingers curled in the bark of the tree. There was so much happening she couldn't take it all in. Kili firing off arrows. Dwalin slamming his mace onto bare troll toes. Ori, armed with nothing more than a slingshot, aiming for their eyes.
One of the trolls picked up Bifur and dangled him upside down.
Thorin appeared from the thick of the melee. He slashed the troll's heel, then leapt aside when it dropped Bifur. Thorin narrowly avoided the troll's swinging fist and deftly braced the falling Dwarf's shoulders so that Bifur landed feet-first rather than breaking his neck.
Bell sucked in a breath.
The Dwarves ducked beneath blows, wove between legs as broad as tree trunks, hacking and slashing. How they managed to avoid hitting each other, she couldn't fathom.
For a little while, she thought maybe the battle might be swaying in the Dwarves' favor, but the trolls were simply too big. It was like watching a battle between a Man and a swarm of bees. They might sting, but no more. Not unless they could get one on the ground where they could reach its vitals.
Ori with his slingshot had the right idea. Bell ducked down behind the tree and fumbled on the ground for anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers found a stone the size of her fist.
She squeezed her eyes shut, blew out three quick, sharp breaths to gather her courage, and surged to her feet, ready to launch her missile, but the fighting had come to a halt.
The trolls and Dwarves faced each other across the clearing, with Bell off to the side, out of the lines of sight of both. The trolls held something squirming between them. Bell dropped down again and maneuvered closer to the Dwarves. She glanced out and finally saw what the trolls had captured.
Bilbo.
"Lay down your weapons, or we'll tear his arms off," one of the trolls growled.
Her heart thudded so hard she could feel it against her breastbone. She caught a glimpse of Thorin's face. Frustration and impotent rage raced across it.
Oh, Thorin, do what he says.
But what if he didn't? What if he wouldn't set down his pride to save Bilbo?
Bell didn't want to doubt him. He seemed to be an honorable man, but his fits of temper were fickle and she didn't know him well enough to rely on him humbling himself before a foe.
Her fingers tightened on the stone. If Thorin hesitated, she'd have to try to save Bilbo herself. She couldn't watch him torn limb from limb. She couldn't.
Sick dread churned in her belly. The moment stretched like cold molasses.
With a decisive motion, Thorin thrust his sword away. It clattered to the ground.
Bell sucked in air, her head spinning. Her legs threatened to give out, so she leaned against the rough tree trunk and slid down it until she reached the earth, then laid her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins, trembling.
The sounds that rose from the clearing were terrifying. Trolls laughing and bantering about the first good meal in weeks. Dwarves shouting, sometimes in protest, sometimes in pain.
Bell couldn't bring herself to watch. Could she have done something different? Would joining the fray have made a difference? Were they all going to die?
Eventually, the sounds of struggle faded. Whatever the trolls were doing, it appeared it was done, at least for the moment.
Bell lifted her head. What a fine coward she was. What would her Took-ish ancestors have thought to see her now, cowering like a kitten when a lynx was what was wanted?
This wouldn't do. Not knowing what was happening had to be worse than knowing, didn't it? She hadn't heard any shrieks among the shouting. Surely they were still alive, at least.
Even more carefully than when she'd approached before, Bell levered herself up. She didn't dare risk any sounds that might alert the trolls to her presence.
The Dwarves had been separated into two groups. One group had been tied hand and foot, and the trolls were lashing them one by one to a thick branch that had been whittled free of bark and bore a disturbing resemblance to a spit. The rest were piled against a gnarled tree root, stuffed into burlap sacks tied at the neck.
She spotted Bilbo in that pile, along with Fili, Kili, Balin, Oin, and, at the far back, directly against the root, Thorin Oakenshield. For the moment, the trolls ignored the bagged Dwarves, their attention on the rest, who it appeared were to replace the ponies as the main course for the night.
One little hobbit with a rock wasn't going to be able to save the spitted Dwarves, but a hobbit with a knife just might be able to do something for the rest.
Bell skirted around to the far side of the clearing. The ponies snorted and nickered when she passed near them. She bit her lip and hurried on, hoping the trolls would take no notice.
She drew near to the back of the gnarled tree and its protruding root. The fire's crackle intensified.
"Pick up that lot and put them over the fire," said a troll. "Make sure to put the spit on the higher poles. I don't want them to cook too fast. The flavor's better if you roast them slow-like."
A chorus of shouts rose up.
Bell used the cover of their racket to scamper the last few steps to the back of the root. She leaned up against it, panting. When she'd caught her breath, she scooted just far enough that she could see Thorin's dark hair and the edge of the sack draping from his broad shoulder.
"Thorin," she hissed as quietly as she could, "it's Bell."
His body stiffened at the sound of her voice.
Bell pulled out her knife and slipped it through the heavy threads of the sack. The sound of the fabric tearing was louder than she'd imagined. She'd have to move slowly if she wanted to avoid being heard.
Slowly, so slowly, she worked the knife up the back of the sack toward Thorin's neck. His body shielded her from the trolls' sight. Her hands shook so hard she was afraid she'd slip and accidentally stab him. His hair hung over the sack, making it impossible to see what she was about. With the hand closer to the tree root, she brushed it aside. The earthy scent of him filled the air and his body heat warmed her chilled hands.
Bilbo was talking, but Bell couldn't spare the attention to listen, too intent on her work.
At last, she reached the top of the sack. It was threaded with a rope that bit tight against Thorin's neck. "Don't move," she whispered.
She slid the knife between the rope and his skin, angling it so that it wouldn't draw blood. If she yanked, she'd choke him. Instead, she sawed. It was a painfully slow process but, finally, the rope gave. Thorin's partially reclined body did not allow the sack to fall, but he was nearly free.
"Hands," he said, so quietly Bell felt it more than heard it-a low rumble that shivered through her.
His hands had been tied behind him. Bell set about cutting through the rope, her skin grazing his palms with each movement.
Finally, the last strand snapped. Thorin caught her fingers and squeezed. Then, one more word. "Weapon."
Bell pressed his hand in response, and backed away. The Dwarves' weapons were piled near the ponies. She snuck through the trees, trying to keep something between herself and the animals, for fear of another clamor.
"I haven't got parasites!" yelled a Dwarven voice. Kili, Bell thought. Parasites? What under the stars was he talking about?
Numerous voices joined in the shouting. Bell stopped listening to what they were saying. This was a chance.
She sped forward and grabbed the first thing she reached, a long-handled axe half as tall as herself.
Scuttling back under the cover of the noise, she returned to her hiding place behind Thorin. "Take this," she whispered, pressing the handle into his hand. "I'll see who else I can reach."
Unfortunately, none of the other Dwarves was as easily accessible. Balin lay nearby, but apart from the rest. Bell didn't think she could get close to him without being seen. Maybe Oin, on the far side of the pile.
While she was making up her mind, Gandalf's voice burst out, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "The dawn take you all!"
There was a crack and blinding flash of light. Bell flung her arm up in front of her face to block the glare.
The trolls froze. Their skin hardened. Petrified.
Bell stifled a hysterical sob. She'd never been so happy to see another soul in all her life.
Thorin surged to his feet, upending Kili who had been lying across his legs. The sack fell at Thorin's feet. "Gandalf!" he called, gesturing to the Dwarves on the spit. "Help me get them down."
Bell stepped from her hiding place and, without having to be afraid of making a sound, she sawed through Kili's sack. Once he was free, he gathered his own blades from the pile and helped her free the rest of the bagged Dwarves.
They gathered around, slapping each other on the back, exchanging relieved embraces. Fili picked Bell up in a bear hug and swung her around so that her feet flew out behind her, then planted kisses on each of her cheeks.
She sputtered and smiled and was passed from Dwarf to Dwarf in the general celebration of still being alive. Gloin pumped her hand as if it were the handle of a water-spout, then spun her away.
Bell thudded off a broad chest, and nearly fell backwards, but quick hands grabbed her by the arms. She looked up and found Thorin staring down at her with an inscrutable expression. Her laughter faded into nothingness.
"I told you to stay put," said Thorin. His fingers dug into her arms, almost painfully.
"You did," she said, tilting up her chin.
"It was foolish of you to come after us. You could've been killed."
"You could all have been killed." Bell trembled under his hard stare, but she was not going to apologize for trying to save them. "And if Gandalf hadn't come? What then? I freed you, Thorin. I might have freed more. Given you a chance to save yourselves."
The corner of Thorin's lips twitched upward. "You did, at that. There's more to you than meets the eye, Bell Goodchild. I am in your debt."
Bell dug her toes into the dirt. Everyone was watching her again. Why did they keep doing that?
"It was nothing."
Thorin shook his head, then pulled her close and gave her a short squeeze. "It was everything," he said, so quietly none of the others could hear, his lips a breath away from her ear.
Bell stopped breathing. Time stilled and all she knew was the thud of her pulse and the feel of the Dwarf king's arms around her.
And then he was gone, replaced by Dwalin giving her a congratulatory pounding on the back so hard she thought he might crush her lungs.