**Warning: this chapter rated M for a brief bit of highly suggestive nasty goblin behavior in the second to last scene.**


Chapter 12

Kili tried to stay on his feet. His goblin captors made hurry-up gestures to their counterparts high up on the overhead bridge, and Kili could see a goblin holding tight to a newcomer. The goblin on the bridge stepped onto a rope lift, clutching a smaller figure.

Whoever it was, they likely found the ride down to the fight ring fast and frightening.

But before the newcomer landed, the lead goblin with the whip came for Kili. He strode straight for him, striking with the whip three times in quick succession, and Kili ducked. The lash struck his shoulder, his arm, and part of one thigh before he managed to tangle the rawhide with the foreign sword and pull it from the goblin's hand, but the angry goblin came on fast and kicked hard, sending both weapons flying.

A heavy fist backhanded him, and Kili was on the dirt before he knew it. Then the goblin caught him by the hair, pulling him up into a choke hold, filthy knife at his throat.

"Quiet, you."

The goblin dragged him now, though Kili tried to keep on his feet. His world became a sideways lurching across the ring, and he only caught glances of things around him. War goblins on the overhead bridge, rounding up spectators at spear-point; the blindfolded, captive man with a sword at his back. Kili had a sense of the third prisoner, but never saw who it was. Then he was pushed and shoved roughly to a new rope lift, this one a larger cargo contraption with a flat floor of wood, ropes tied to each corner.

His goblin handler had him firmly by the hair again, knife still against his throat.

The platform swung crazily away and dropped. Kili tried to press against the knife. Yes, he thought. Cut a vein, let me bleed to death.

No, Kili! Tauriel's voice echoed in his head again. Stay!

Then the lift landed with a jolt. The goblin pulled the knife away and pushed Kili onto the cold stone, then bent to grab the ankle cuff around Kili's right foot and locked it to a short chain anchored to a large bolt low on the rock wall.

Kili started to rise, realizing the goblin meant to abandon him here. Its foot shoved him back and it spat at him as it stepped onto the wooden platform. The rope lift whirred and the platform was lifted away, out of sight.

Kili blinked, getting up on one elbow.

So cold.

And he was alone on a small, flat oval-shaped ledge, with sheer rock going straight up behind him and a sheer dropoff into black nothing before him.

Across a deep chasm, maybe twenty feet away, two braziers and several torches burned on a long parapet, obviously connected to a tunnel. Two hunched goblins stood there. Sentinels, he realized. They watched him. He could already hear one of them laughing in a wheezing snicker.

The other one bared its teeth at him.


Aragorn stood with King Bard of Dale and watched the proceedings before him with a great sense of wonder and fascination. Erebor's King stood twenty feet away as if in a strange communion with something no one else could see.

"I saw him do something like this once before," Bard murmured, sounding worried.

Aragorn looked at the young King.

Bard looked back. "At the last battle after my father had been killed. I'm still not entirely sure what happened," he said. "But I swear the King summoned an earthquake." He nodded toward Fili. "Scared the Easterlings. Cleared the battlefield long enough for us to gather our dead and regroup." The young King of Dale looked wide-eyed in remembered shock.

Aragorn wondered what the lad would have made of the battle that same day at Minas Tirith, with legions of the Dead engulfing the white city.

"Gandalf always said this mountain was one of the most powerful places in Middle Earth," Aragorn said. "Many times he told me to mind what happened to Erebor…that it was best kept in the hands of Durin's folk and in peace."

Bard widened his eyes. "I'll vouch for that wisdom."

Aragorn smiled at the younger man. "Gandalf wasn't even sure the Kings of old fully understood this place. He said the very stone had been infused with a great spell worked long ago by masters of the art."

Aragorn watched as the dwarf King went to one knee as if in prayer, murmuring something Aragorn recognized as Khuzdul. He and Bard stood quiet, hands clasped before them in respect.

And then the King rose and turned to the crowd. He lifted his hand in invitation and Gimli, along with dwarves Aragorn recognized as Council members, came forward to join him.

And two smaller figures. Lads, Aragorn realized, trying to recall when he'd last seen a dwarf child.

"The King's older sons," Bard murmured. "That's Fjalar and the smaller one is Gunnar."

Aragorn watched them, so carefully minding their manners. It made him smile. The older one was a younger version of his father, sunny-haired but still slender with youth, wearing the formal braid and clasp of a royal prince. The younger one had a shock of copper-brown hair in a child's cut. The king made space for them at his side.

Finally, Aragorn and Bard were invited forward.

A silent line of guards in armor approached, each carrying something covered in dark cloth.

One warrior stepped forth first, going to his knee before Erebor's King. The cloth was let fall, and the warrior presented a weapon.

As Aragorn watched, King Fili, Son of Durin and King of Erebor, lifted the mighty warhammer, tested its weight in his hands, and then raised it up with one strong arm.

Erebor's people on the slope around them roared their approval. It was the warhammer of Thorin Oakenshield, himself. Brought back to service for one last battle.

And Aragorn felt the slight rumble of earth below his feet.

He and Bard looked at each other. The mountain, or Thorin, approved.

And then the soldiers presented weapons to everyone else in line.

Aragorn grinned with anticipation as a warhammer of exquisite make was presented. He accepted the weapon, surprised by its weight, and lifted it with both hands.

Beside him, King Bard of Dale did the same.

"Swing hard," Aragorn said, looking at the great jumble of dragon bones.

Bard looked grim. "I owe that dragon a thing or two, I think," he said. Then he lowered his voice. "For every ancestor he ever terrorized," he murmured, kissing the hammerhead.

"For every one," Aragorn answered.


Nÿr had been taken by surprise, stripped of Bruilan's sword, her short staff and her knife, and then hustled down a tunnel, down some stairs and onto a bridge that crossed a vast cavern.

Arms pinned, a brute of a goblin clutched her tight and stepped off the bridge before she realized he held onto a rope lift. She bit back a shriek and clenched her eyes closed, opening them only after the rough jolt of landing on solid ground. She fell to her knees, completely shocked and thoroughly frightened.

Then she saw Bruilan, tied and blindfolded. She tried to calm her heartbeat. Together. If they could just stay together.

Then she saw Kili.

Oh, beloved!

He was a mess. Feral, filthy…and faced by a goblin three times his size.

Her goblin brute shoved her hard toward Bruilan and Nÿr sprawled at the man's feet.

"It's just me," she said quickly to him, knowing he couldn't see her. "They have Kili-to your left."

"Quiet!" Her brute goblin smacked her hard on the backside with the flat of a blade.

Mahal! Nÿr's eyes nearly bugged out at the pain and she curled around herself while the sting lingered. She wanted to cuss like a lass in labor, but tried to stay focused on Bruilan instead, tears flooding her eyes. She saw him nod in a tiny motion. He'd heard her. He was listening.

Then the other goblins were busy, dragging Kili, a knife to his throat, across the dirt ring to another lift, this one something like a cargo loader.

She gasped. They were taking him away! When the lift descended out of sight, all she could do was stare in shock. Where had they taken him?

The lift returned without Kili…and Bruilan was grabbed by rough hands and shoved toward it. Someone grabbed her by the back of her cloak and pushed her forward, and Nÿr hastened to get her feet under her and go along willingly.

She was shoved on board and she reached for Bruilan, clinging to his elbow. No one stopped her. She felt his arm press her hands closer to his side and she held on, trying to brace her feet as the platform swung dizzily away and down.

Then a sharp bump and they were dumped off, the lift pulling away so fast that Nÿr couldn't get her bearings. They both lay in a pile, side by side, Nÿr still clutching the man from Gondor like he was a lifeline.

"Bruilan! Don't move!" she said, realizing they were inches from a dropoff.

She looked around. They were on a small ledge between a sheer cliff up and a sheer drop down.

And Kili was here—at the opposite end of the little area, his foot chained to the rock, his eyes clearly seeing Bruilan as a threat. If he could have lunged, Nÿr was certain he would have pushed them both over the edge without a second thought. But the chain held him tight, giving him little room to move.

Slowly, Nÿr reached up and pulled away the blindfold from Bruilan's eyes.

"Holding cell," Bruilan said. "That's what this is. Something's interrupted their fights. I'm betting it's Erebor's battalions on their doorstep."

"You mean they'll be back for us?" She helped him sit up.

"When they have time for fight rings again," Bruilan said. "Until then, they've just put us out of the way." Together they scooted away from the dropoff to put their backs to the rock wall. Bruilan worked his hands back and forth, hoping to loosen the rope that bound his wrists.

Nÿr edged toward her beloved. She almost couldn't recognize him. Shirtless, she could see his every injury from cuts, to bruises, to fresh slashes. A bloody line across one cheekbone. A dull sheen in his eyes. Her breath caught in her chest. Morgul fever.

"Kili," she murmured. "Kili, it's Nÿr and this is Bruilan. Fili sent us here to find you. Can you understand me?"

He didn't nod. There was no sudden smile of recognition.

Then he finally spoke.

"Fee...?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

"Fili," Nÿr repeated. "Fili sent me to you, love."

He seemed to sway, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Nÿr?" It was nearly a whisper.

"Let us help you, love." She inched toward him. "You're very sick."

"Cold," he said. She could see him shivering.

At least she could do something about that. She pulled off her cloak and held it out, moving forward.

Bruilan nudged her with his foot. When she looked around at him, he made a be careful face.

She nodded. It was a risk she would take any day.

But Kili didn't object to having her come closer, as if some part of him seemed to know her through his fever, and he seemed willing to accept help.

She got the cloak around him and tested the waters further by pressing her palm to his forehead. Hot.

"Why are you here?" he whispered, shivering. He looked at her, eyes watery, despair in his fever-ridden gaze.

"To safeguard you, love. Listen. Fili understands about the dragon. He's dredged up the bones and he's burning them at midnight. Do you understand? He's forcing the dragon's spirit death, once and for all."

Kili stared at her, as if trying to understand. "Tauriel..." he murmured.

Nÿr frowned, thinking he was confusing her with his past lover.

But Kili grabbed her hand, two of his fingers still with dried blood. "Nÿr…Fili doesn't know about Tauriel."

"What about her?" Nÿr was glad of his touch, even if his hands were covered in grime. Were his fingers broken?

"He's trapped her. Dragon trapped her, all these years…"

Nÿr's eyes went wide with the horror of that thought. "Mahal, Kili," she breathed.

Then his face went blank a moment, followed by the first hint of his old smile. "She thinks you're beautiful and very brave. And says she will kick my ass," he almost grinned, his eyebrows twitched up a bit. "If I can't see it."

Nÿr found this embarrassing. She might have laughed, had the situation been less dire.

"But my ass is kicked enough." He closed his eyes. He looked exhausted and slumped against the rock wall. "Sweetheart...you can't stay here."

Nÿr's heart nearly melted. He was battered and sick, and he was worried about her.

"Look in my boot," he said, swaying with his fever.

"Left or right?"

"Left."

Nÿr gingerly felt the boot above his ankle. "What am I looking for?" she asked.

"Knife. Small one…won't help much but it will cut his bonds," he said, letting his head tilt toward Bruilan. "But be careful," he whispered. "We have watchers."

Nÿr turned in the direction he looked and saw the two goblins on the ledge across the chasm. Her fingers found the little knife in a slit of leather just above his instep-a small, simple throwing knife. His weapon of last resort.

It would work. She palmed it, and shifted position. Kili closed his eyes in relief, letting his head fall back. He might have been feigning exhaustion for the goblins' sake, but Nÿr knew it was all too real. She touched his hand, saw his brows twitch in concern, and felt him gently squeeze back.

And Nÿr understood what he meant for her to do next: stay calm, move slowly, and free the man who could be their only defender.

She did nothing for a short while, then in a moment when the goblins were ignoring them, she leaned toward Bruilan and moved to his side.

The man of Gondor saw the knife, relief flooding his face. She held the blade and let him saw the cords against it until they snapped.

"Thank you," he said, quietly. "Where'd you find this?"

"Kili's boot," she said.

Then one of the goblins stood and threw a rock in their direction. It hit the cliff wall far to the right of them.

"That's enough chatter," it snarled. "Stay quiet, you."

Bruilan and Nÿr sat still. Kili remained where he was, feigning (or not feigning) exhaustion.

But the goblin peered at them. Then hobbled to a torch, picked it up and held it as if trying to see something.

"Feeeemale…" it said, licking its lips. "Look! Look!" it elbowed its partner. "Feeeemale!"

The other one stood.

"Oh, no," Bruilan murmured.

Nÿr agreed. Had she kept her cloak on, they might have never noticed.

The goblins shouted, calling down the tunnel. In a minute, a few more goblins stood on the overlook, hooting their approval.

Nÿr was aware of Kili sitting more alert, now. Their eyes met, a bleary what's this about expression on his face.

One of the goblins dropped his pants, showing her his maleness.

Bruilan moved himself forward. "Stay behind me," he said. "Don't look. They want you to see it and be shocked. If you ignore them, they can't have the pleasure."

"Nÿr," Kili murmured, getting her attention, glowering at the goblins through his fever. She took the chance to shift back to Kili's side of the ledge, sitting behind him. She wrapped her arms around to help him stay warm, and he got one protective arm around her knee.

But she could feel his swaying, even as he blocked her from view, and she could see that he struggled to focus his eyes, as if he saw things in several places at the same time.

The noise became more raucous on the overlook. Bruilan made a sound of disgust and turned his head.

And while she didn't look, Nÿr could hear the goblins admiring each others' crude displays, shouting obscenities and describing what they would like do to with her.

"Come wrap yourself around this little bed warmer…"

"Show us your stuff!"

"Don't look," Kili murmured, his words slurring. "Just keep your head down..."

One of them made sucking noises.

"When the battle's over," a squat goblin shouted, "And the boys are back…wait til fight ring opens again…!"

"Naked battle," several exclaimed.

"Put me in the ring with her…I'll give her a pounding!"

And then there were forty or fifty of them crowding the ledge. Someone threw a torch and it landed near Bruilan.

He kicked it away.

And in the moment when he moved, Nÿr could see them across the chasm and she gasped, turning her head against Kili's shoulder and clenching her eyes tightly shut. They were stroking themselves and shaking their tongues at her. And she realized suddenly that there were too many of them. Too, too many on that side of the chasm…and on this side: one man, one very ill and delirious dwarf, one lass, and one small boot knife.

At least there was a chasm between them.

Suddenly, the thing that had seemed such a danger was now their only protection.

In her arms, she felt Kili jerk upright.

"What?" she asked.

"The dragon..." he breathed, eyes staring at nothing. "They have him."


Fili could see the stars over the Mountain, a bright carpet of shining jewels in a clear midsummer night.

A bell had been brought to the lakeside to mark the hours. Some time ago, he'd heard the second bell past sunset.

The dragon's last hour.

Bofur and a couple of assistants finished walking the perimeter of the bones, drenching the dragon's remnants in flammable oil.

Fili could smell the sharp odor of the oil, almost as strong as the real dragon's odor had been.

A massive square of torches marked the perimeter.

"…like torches blazed with light," Fili said aloud.

Fjalar, next to him, looked up.

"Old line from a song," he said. And then he decided they had all waited long enough.

Fili, Son of Durin, King of Erebor, strode forward and turned to face his warriors and his people and the Kings of Dale and Gondor.

"This is Smaug," he cried. "Enemy of Erebor, of Dale, and of Laketown."

The crowd roared.

"I am told that his spirit lingers! That he would harm us still! To that, I say never!"

The crowd shouted, "Never!"

"I am told that we must destroy his very bones!"

"Destroy!"

"I ask you…shall I see this done?" Fili asked them.

More roaring. Cries of yes and demands of now.

And Fili raised his Uncle's warhammer. "Du bekar!" he roared.

"Du bekar!" the crowd replied, on its feet, hands raised in the air. "Du bekar!"

Fili turned and charged forward, raising the mighty warhammer and taking one spinning swing, striking the bone between the eye socket and the ear, and the air resounded with an audible crack and shatter.

His fury unleashed, Fili swung again.

"You have killed…" he grunted, breaking through the hollow skull.

"Enough of our people!" He swung overhand, chipping away at the bone above the eye.

"And you cannot have…" He crushed through the side, obliterating the ear.

"My brother!" Fili hacked at the bone, taking out the eye socket, bits flying across the snout.

He stopped and raised his hammer.

"Du bekar!" He roared into the night.

And the rest of the company surged forward, attacking the skull with death blows that they delivered over and over.

Fjalar and Gunz teamed up with hand-sized hammers to pound through a large rib bone.

Gimli stood next to his father, Gloin, and they raised their hammers together, smashing through the upper jaw as one.

Young King Bard went for the breastbone, pounding it as easily as he might chop wood, his face determined.

And Aragorn, as if he had the Sword of Elendil in his hands instead of a warhammer, sliced through the mighty fangs, knocking them loose and pounding them to dust.

But it was Fili, Son of Durin, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, his uncle's great warhammer in his hands, who smashed the neck and shoved the crushed pieces of the head away.

He didn't hear the roaring of the crowd.

He didn't even hear the first warnings from the miners when they started clearing the warhammer crew.

He did feel Bofur's hand on his chest, stopping him and handing him a torch.

Fili, sweat pouring from his face, handed Thorin's warhammer to his son, to Fjalar, who took his stewardship seriously and bore the heavy weapon back to the sidelines with honor.

Fili held up the torch. If he expected cheers, he didn't get them now.

The grounds had become deathly quiet. In the night air, the bell tolled midnight, and everyone watched, holding their breath.

Fili faced the remains of the dragon one last time.

"Leave, worm, and never come back," he muttered. He threw the torch into the pile of broken bones and heard the whoosh of oil as it flamed.

And then Bofur was there, a large cask in his arms and a wicked grin on his face.

Fili glanced at the cask, read the warning branded on the side, and saw long fuse dangling.

He cursed.

"Fire in the hole!" Bofur shouted.

Fili turned and spotted his sons. Fjalar was up the slope, safely away, but Gunz stood near his cousin Gimli. Fili ran for him, scooping him up as Bofur pitched his cask straight into the remains of the great skull.

Everyone ran.

It was sheer luck that all had cleared the perimeter when the cask's fuse reached its limit.

A flash like lightning and then the following kaboom ripped through the air, reverberating off the stone.

Fili threw himself on the grassy verge west of the fire, checked that Gunz was unhurt, and together they looked back, eyes wide. Bofur's explosives sent white-hot arcs high into the sky, reflecting brightly on the lake water, and the bones actually glowed blue at the base. Fili suspected that last part was a gift of the mountain stone itself.

His heart racing, Fili felt Gunz clutching his shirt even as the lad looked up in wonder.

But what, Fili wondered, had this done to his brother?