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Chapter Ten

Miluiel stumbled forward into the dim cave, her hand still firmly on Bilbo's shoulder as he moved to sit down. Her stomach jolted when she glanced up to see the Dwarf prince watching her carefully, but she dismissed it as more annoyance directed at her, Bilbo, or the two of them together. She felt connected to the bumbling, gentle Hobbit in a way which she did not think any of the Dwarves would understand; the two of them were the outsiders, drifting along the fringes of a well-established group, and they would probably never become truly accepted due to their perceived lack of use within the company. And there was also the fear that they both shared. The fear of being in the unknown, of being alone despite being surrounded by others, and possibly most importantly, the fear of never returning home. There was a chance that either one of them would not survive the wilds of the world outside their own safe havens, or an even greater chance that the Dwarves would press on regardless of their fates. After all, the Dwarves were travelling to reclaim their lands, and once there, it was doubtful that they would have reason to leave; where would that leave a Hobbit and an Elvish Dwarf? How would they return home?

"Right, let's get a fire going!" Gloin rubbed his frozen hands together and shrugged his pack off his back. The other Dwarves murmured in agreement, wanting to warm themselves on dancing flames, but Thorin's voice rumbled from his chest.

"No, there will be no fire; not in this place. Get some rest, for we leave at first light."

Balin moved closer to his friend, brow furrowed. "Gandalf said we were to wait for him in the mountains," he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Miluiel and Bilbo had moved away from the others, sitting together near the mouth of the cave for fear of incurring Thorin's wrath with a wrong movement. They both turned to listen to the exchange as Balin spoke, and Miluiel's eyes glittered with something akin to triumph when she heard that. So they had been instructed to wait for the wizard! He would be a fool to neglect this; surely he was not so headstrong that he would press on with his journey without the help of their most useful member?

"Plans change," Thorin replied shortly, his voice tight. "Bofur, you take first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep!"

The Dwarves moved silently to set up sleeping areas, unfurling their damp bed rolls and fluttering out cloaks as blankets, before settling down to try and sleep. Miluiel curled her lip at the Dwarf prince and flicked her own cloak out in front of her angrily, showering Fili with droplets of water. He turned back to glare at her, but his lips twitched playfully as she winced, mouthing her apology across the semi-darkness. As Fili moved out of her eye-line, she realised that she was staring straight at Thorin, with his stormy blue eyes almost black in the dim light. Colour rushed up her neck as she held his gaze, not daring to look away when his glower was so deep. Her breath caught in her throat as he continued to stare, sitting completely still across the cave; her hands were gripped on the edge of her cloak, the knuckles turning white with the exertion. His silence only intensified his brooding air of arrogance, as if he expected her to bend to his soundless will by dropping her gaze first, but for some reason she felt compelled to continue staring. His face was expressionless, but hers had emotion playing over her features dizzyingly. It was as if he was watching fireflies in the early evening, dancing and flitting through the air; her eyes were wide in the dim light, but her mouth was tight, as if she wanted to speak but was trying to keep in her words.

Eventually, she dropped her eyes to her hands, which were beginning to hurt. She released the cloak and lay down, pulling the material over her shoulder as she turned away from Thorin, facing the back of the Hobbit's curly head. She could feel the movement of air as Thorin mirrored her actions, lying down and roughly pulling his furs up to his neck to keep out the chill of the cave.

He lay in the darkness, his annoyance festering like an infected wound. He did not understand why he felt it necessary to watch her movements, and to cast his eyes over her face at any opportunity. He despised the way he felt his stomach plummet to his boots when he could not find her russet curls in the crowd of Dwarves, and the sudden skip of a heartbeat when he did see her large grey eyes staring around her in fear or wonder made his head ache with unanswered questions. No wretched woman should hold such a sway over a man, and a Dwarven prince at that! Her hold over him only fuelled his suspicion of sorcery; after all, had it not been the wizard whom had brought her to join their company? He exhaled angrily, flaring his nostrils and shaking his head to clear the image of her rain-lashed face from dancing in front of his eyes, but before he settled to slumber, he could not help shifting slightly and glancing over his shoulder. There she still lay, her small form shrouded in her damp cloak, with her back to him in a silent act of defiance. The woman was infuriating, and to that end, Thorin decided in his pique that despite Gandalf's insistence, he would find somewhere for her to stay at the earliest opportunity, and relinquish her from her ideas of assisting with their quest. For what use was this woman, other than to distract his kin?

She sighed softly, her head aching from when it had collided with the mountain side during their struggle with the giants, and her eyes felt gritty with dirt and sleep. Her body felt limp, like wet leaves lying on the forest floor, but the dull throb of her tired muscles ensured her that she was in fact still alive. Visions of soft, damp fur swam before her eyes as she tried to drift away into sleep, and the feeling of calloused palm pressed against her cheek made her stomach twist. It had been a small act of unexpected kindness, and it unsettled Miluiel; Thorin had made it abundantly clear that he did not want her accompanying the group, and yet he had not only saved her, but ensured she was kept swaddled in safety like a child in soft blankets. It puzzled her, and only served to intensify the ache in her head, so she resolved to put away all thoughts of the handsomely brooding prince, and try to sleep. The last sound she heard before drifting into dreams was a scuffle of feet next to her, and the rustle of material moving, before she welcomed the soft arms of slumber.

It was not long, however, before she stirred at the sound of hushed voices; she opened her eyes to slits and rolled over gently to see Bilbo standing next to Bofur, his pack over his shoulders and his hands on the hilt of his small sword.

"What's that?" Bofur asked, pointing to the blue glow from Bilbo's blade. Miluiel felt her heart still in her chest as she remembered Bilbo recounting what Gandalf had told him. His blade would glow blue if there were orcs or goblins nearby.

The floor beneath them shook and groaned, and she sat upright, throwing her cloak off her legs as she struggled to stand. Her frightened face turned to see Thorin, who was looking straight at her. His eyes widened as they followed the crack which was rapidly forming between them, and his jaw grew slack.

"Wake up!" he shouted, alerting the rest of the company, "Wake up!"

But it was too late, for seconds later, the floor beneath them gave way and caved inwards, dropping them down into the bowels of the mountain. They landed together in a heap on what appeared to be a stone bridge. The Hobbit landed near to Miluiel, who kicked her way out from underneath Bombur. She tried to stand up, but as she got to her knees, a dirty blade whipped up to meet her chin. She stopped moving, her eyes travelling up to see the leathery skin of a goblin; as she glanced around, she noted that they were surrounded, and the Dwarves were being forced to their feet roughly.

"Up!" the goblin before her croaked, his dagger gesturing towards the rapidly closing trap door which had dumped them into Goblin Town. She staggered to her feet and was roughly pushed forward, jostling into Kili, who glanced at her and with a movement almost too quick to catch, pushed her between himself and Nori as they moved along. She scanned the group quickly, panic rising in her chest as she found she couldn't lay her sight upon the curly haired hobbit. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure that someone would hear it, but none of the Dwarves seemed concerned enough to look for him. Just as that errant thought crossed her worried mind, Bofur nudged the back of the Dwarf in front of him, and whispered softly.

"Where's Bilbo? Has anyone seen Bilbo?" he asked, his voice brimming with concern. He glanced backward and met Miluiel's eyes as she shook her head slowly. Their expressions of horror were mirrored back to them in the other's eyes, before their eye contact broke with a swift jolt of goblin elbow.

The cackles and hoots of the goblins echoed down around them as they were forced along wooden walkways, towards a large platform which lay before a throne decorated with bones. There, upon the throne, sat a great beast of a goblin with a swinging chin and a rough crown atop his grey-skinned head. His swollen belly protruded so far that Miluiel wondered, in a flash of frivolity, if he could see his own feet.

"And who comes armed into my kingdom?" he cried, his glassy eyes bulging as he surveyed the gathered company, "Thieves? Spies? Assassins?"

One of the goblins surrounding them stepped forward, cowering before the great creature as he stared down at them all. "Dwarves, your malevolence," he replied, his voice high.

"Dwarves?" The voice was full of questions as he heaved himself forward in the throne, to better survey his captives.

"We found them on the Front Porch."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Search them! Every crack! Every crevice!"

The goblins swarmed the group again, pushing and pulling at the company as they stood powerless to resist. Miluiel felt hands dart over her body gleefully, pressing grubby fingers against her flesh and searching for her weapons. She let out an involuntary and indignant squeak as one goblin tried to slide his hand into her tunic, for which he got the heel of her boot on his dirty toes. The goblin reared back, hissing his discontent and glaring at her, before lunging forward again.

"Wait!" the goblin king called, his eyes lighting on Miluiel. He smacked his lips and gestured towards her. "Bring her forth to me."

The other Dwarves started to shout their protest as many hands grabbed at the frightened female, pushing her away from the relative safety of the group and into the open. She glanced back, her eyes wide as she whipped around again to face the hulking, wobbling form of the huge goblin as he watched her like a toad on a log. His tongue darted out to moisten his rubbery lips as he ran his eyes over her frame.

"What have we here? You are no Dwarf, my dear," he said, his voice sweetened by curiosity. He heaved himself to his feet and approached her; she turned her head away and flinched as she felt his dank breath crawl over her skin. She met the furious eyes of the Dwarf prince as he stared at her, a vein pulsing in his forehead with the effort of remaining in place, rather than leaping forward and wrenching the foul creature's head from his shoulders for daring to breathe upon their pretty companion. Her more than generous lower lip seemed to quiver for a mere second, and her grey eyes spoke of true fear, before she turned back to the great goblin and met his gaze silently. The goblin king peered at her through his great eyes, seemingly pondering his malevolent thoughts, and then reeled back.

"What would have you Dwarves travel here, and with this woman no less?" he thrummed. He looked expectantly at the company, who all remained silent. Miluiel gasped softly as he brought his face close to hers again. "Well, if you will not talk, then I shall have to make you squeal. And perhaps we shall begin with this one; bring the Mangler! Bring up the Bone Breaker! We'll start with the female!"

"Wait!"

"Ah!" The goblin king swung himself around to face Thorin, his face alight with fiendish delight. "Well, well! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror! King under the Mountain!" he dipped his gelatinous body into a mocking bow. "Oh, but I forget! You have no mountain, and you are no King! So really, that makes you nobody. I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head; just the head, nothing attached! Perhaps you know of whom I speak? An old enemy; a pale orc astride a white warg!"

Thorin paled at the mention of his old adversary, but inwardly shook himself, "Azog the Defiler was slain in battle long ago!"

"Oh ho! So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" the great brute of a goblin turned slightly to a scribe, his smile making Miluiel's flesh crawl. "Send word to the pale orc. Tell him I have found his prize."

Thorin moved forward quickly, grabbing at Miluiel and pulling her body behind his own. She gasped at the tightness of his fingers around her arm, but clamped her lips shut as the goblin king turned to face them again. He grinned, showing yellowing teeth at Thorin's movement, and clapped his hands together as wooden apparatus was suddenly swung into view, suspended on thick ropes and lowered onto the platform they were held on.

Thorin could feel the tight swallow of the woman behind him, and she gripped the back of his cloak momentarily, as if to give herself courage. He could feel the heat of her slim body as she pressed herself against him, away from one of the goblins who reached out towards her with inquisitive fingers, and she shifted her weight to kick out at it. He felt his lips quirk slightly at the thought of her indignantly curled lips and flashing eyes, before returning his attention to the situation around him at the sound of a shriek.

It came from one of the smaller goblins who had been rifling through the pile of weapons, its hand now clamped around Thorin's sword. It drew the blade from the scabbard, yelping as it encountered shimmering blue metal. It dropped the sword as if burned, and skittered away from the weapon.

"I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! That sword has slashed a thousand necks!" the goblin king cried, his eyes bulging from his head as he stumbled backwards towards his throne. "Kill them! Kill them all!"

One of the goblins grabbed at Miluiel and yanked her backwards, making her fall against the wooden planks. Thorin turned quickly to see her frightened eyes as she was dragged away towards the company and the oncoming goblins, before he felt slimy fingers clutch at him from all directions. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to fight off the hideous creatures whilst looking for Miluiel; a flash of her hair caught his eye and he grunted in relief as he saw her hurl a goblin over the side of the platform, away from Ori. Her eyes were narrowed and in the light of the dancing torches he saw a flash of true dwarven resolution; her fists were clenched tightly as she fought off goblins that yanked at her hair and skin.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the platform, and a blinding light pulsed around them, knocking them down to their knees. In the blaze of light, the silhouette of the wizard could be seen, holding his staff and sword aloft as he urged them to get up.

"Take up arms! Fight! Fight!" he yelled, his voice seeming deeper and more urgent than any had ever heard before. Scrambling towards the pile of weapons, they each reached for something familiar to their hands, trying to fight off the few goblins that were getting in their way.

The goblin king croaked in fear, "He wields the Foe Hammer! The Beater, as bright as daylight; kill them all!"

The company had crowded together, their weapons flashing as they brought them down upon goblin skin, and Thorin closed his hand around Miluiel's wrist, yanking her into his chest as a goblin slashed at the air she had been occupying moments before. She squeaked softly as he gripped her tightly, before bringing her own small sword up under his arm and plunging it into the concave chest of the goblin behind him. He jerked his head to see the blood on her blade, before pulling her closer and touching his forehead to hers briefly.

"Follow me," Gandalf shouted, watching as the Dwarves tried, unsuccessfully, to defeat the amassing hoards of foul creatures. "Run!"