So it's been a while huh? Well, I'm hoping to get the done this year. (hahahahaha right) but I promise I will get it done! Wanted to post this because I'm gonna be busy as a bee for the next few days. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Middle-Earth and all its characters are not mine, they're J.R. (or Peter Jacksons). Only OCs like Magma and her mother are mine.


Chapter 12 - Down Down Down


There are a lot of ways to react to an unexpected situation. Realising you have feelings for your fearless leader, and that he returns them, is easily in the realm of the unexpected. Realising you only know of said feelings because a vision of your dead mother told you so...that could definitely count too.

When confronted with these sort of mind-altering situations, one has two choices. Ignore it and hope it sorts itself out, or you can face it head on.

Magma was of the "ignore it and hope it all works out for the best" variety. Though, she reasoned, I have no idea where I'd find the time, or privacy, to confront anything at this rate. Storms on mountain sides and stone giants. She was adding those to her mental list of things that she'd never actually intended to try, but she'll tick them off under "Do not do again!".

She collapsed onto the cave floor with an 'oomf'. Everything ached; the wonderful, well rested feeling she'd had in the morning was nowhere to be found. She was soaked, chilled to the bone, bruised, and only just starting to come down from the adrenaline rush that all the madness on this blasted mountain had caused.

She sighed when Thorin barked about not having a fire, but understood the need.

The stone giants had certainly been an unpleasant shock, she thought to herself, tugging at the lacing on her boots, though I think it was the lesser of the two evils here. That storm was ferocious. Tipping her freed boot upside down, she tapped and shook until a small shower of soggy grit rained out. Leaning back to place it back and repeat the motion with the second boot, she scowled when she thought of Thorins unneccassary 'talk' with Bilbo, after the poor Hobbit had fallen off the mountain. As though half the company hadn't failed to notice that they were standing on a giants leg. Who was more careless here?

Eyeing Bilbo, Magma began to work up the courage to move again so she could comfort her friend in the wake of yet another Thorin caused issue, when Bofur flopped down beside him instead.

Huh. She smirked playfully, sending a cheeky wink Bilbo's way when he turned to her. Magma delighted in his adorably reddened cheeks for only a moment before turning her attention to her varying pains.

Rather than waste precious light on healing herself magically, she wobbled to her feet. Twisting, turning, arching, and bending, she slowly stretched out each tired muscle and tightened tendon. The resulting pops echoed around the cave, and Magma slid back to the floor in a slightly looser pile than before. Though she knew any relief would be short lived.

She'd once, at Gandalf's insistence, performed a series of experiments to calculate just how much power she had. One such test had included a hike that lasted almost a week, covering a wide variety of landscapes, from wetland to shrub land, and even a small mountain. All without using any sunlight power to heal her wounds or relieve her fatigue. As a result, she knew that without sunlight to provide some alleviation, her muscles would soon cramp and turn to stone. Painful, aching, stone. It also meant she knew the best stretches to stave off the inevitable.

As the Dwarves arranged themselves in their usual sleeping piles, Magma thought back over the events of the last few days. True, she was still terrified of the heritage that had been revealed at the meeting with the White Council, and even felt a little betrayed by those she cared about. But after speaking with her mother she felt somewhat better.

Gods, my mother, she thought to herself, tilting her head back against the rough stone of the cave, rocking her head back and forth gently against a poorly placed rock. Closing her eyes, she couldn't help the small smile and sense of peace she found, concentrating hard on what she could remember. The long hair, the way she smelt like spiced fruit cake, the tiny crows feet around her eyes, and the way she'd held her. So tight, like Magma was something truly precious.

She'd shed her tears for her mother a long time ago, now there was only acceptance and gentle sorrow in having seen her again, even for so brief a time.

It was as she settled in to sleep against the wall that she felt the press of an object against her side, buried in the folds of her cloak. Frowning in confusion, she reached in and pulled out her beloved Flopsy-Bunny.

Stroking its soft fur, she felt the world blur around her. Snakes slithered through the vast, dark oceans of her mind to bind her in place, eyes stuck fast to the single intact eye. Shining black against the dank grey fur, the pull in her chest felt like the tide; impossible to resist. And why would she? The soft voices were whispering such sweet things as she held her most precious possession...

Bhul hoq dag.

Kramp nar maukum izish.

The memory of her mothers embrace faded beneath the force of the speech. Like an icy wind blowing away the last moments of autumn. She felt the echo down to her very bones, and still she stared into the perfect orb.

Skaat u latob got.

Nadal latob maukum kau izish.

The ocean in her mind, the place where she kept her nightmares contained, roiled and raged, a great storm troubled the waters, threatening to let loose all manner of beasts upon her safe shores.

The cave with her dwarves was a blurred illusion in the corner of her eye, if she were to turn its way, she knew it would disappear.

Bhul.

But why would she look away? Why would she ever want to look away from that wonderful piece of her past?

Thrak izish gazat.

Thrak izish kulkodar.

Ghash ob Mordor!

Mordor, she thought, her hands falling to her lap, Mordor...

I know that place...

It faded slowly, the influence. A gentle wisp quieted the storm in her mind, 'til Magma was unaware anything had happened at all. The scent of fruit-cake tickled her senses, and a gentle hand pressed against her cheek. She looked to the toy in her hands, and a toy was all it was. Tucking it back into her cloak, she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

She smiled gently when she realised that almost the whole company had fallen into an exhausted slumber. The Brothers Ri piled together, Ori between his elder brothers, their earlier squabbles put to rest. Dwalin and Balin near their king, propped upright. Balins chin rested against his chest, while Dwalin appeared to be cradling one of his axes in his arms.

Thorin lay on the floor, his back to the mouth of the cave, with his nephews cuddled against each other near his feet.

Several other piles could just be made out in the darkness, black shadows against the grey cave.

It was as she prepared to turn to the mouth of the cave, to check on Bilbo, that she heard the whispered conversation, and her heart dropped at what she heard.


The kiss was playing on his mind.

It was only a kiss. On the cheek no less.

Thorin Oakensheild, King Under the Mountain, would not be pushed so off balance by such an innocent little act.

He dropped his hand from his cheek. Again. Shifting against the stone floor of the cave they'd chosen for the night, he fought back the urge to turn and check on his little witch.

No, he thought, not witch. Kidhuzurâl men.

As a young prince, his education had included the importance of maintaining strong ties with his people. Not just the common folk either, but also the noble houses. The Dwarven nobility were just as canny and ambitious as any other in the land, and he remembered spending days memorising house names, words and colours, who was sworn to be a bannerman for who, the importance of certain families in terms of wealth versus terms of material production. And, more importantly, the influence a good marriage could have over ones reign.

All Dwarves were told from a young age of the legend of finding their One. The belief that when Aule first began crafting their people, he found that the raw soul that was to be used in all other life was too large to be contained in the bodies he had crafted for his children. So lifting his hammer, he struck a blow that severed each soul in half. The smaller fragments could fit inside his children's bodies, and rather than discard the other half, he eventually gave them to Illuvatar. Illuvatar decided the severed souls should be given bodies of their own, so that the two halves could find each other in life.

A sweet story, but they all knew that meeting your One was instinctual, though there were stories of the more bullheaded dwarves taking their time realising. This story also served to explain why not all Ones were Swarves, claiming that Illuvatar decided to place the severed souls into Man and Elves alike, in order to promote peace and unity among the races.

What it meant for the young Prince Thorin, was that he could have a place by his side for his One. But that place might not include the crown.

If, for example, his One was a pauper of good repute, who could learn the duties of a queen quickly...well, then the crown would be an option for her, it would certainly be a morale booster for the common people. If, however, she was of poor reputation, or Valar forbid, an elf, then Kings Consort was the better option.

That would then leave the crown open for a better candidate. A noblewoman. Someone the nobility would approve of wholeheartedly.

This hadn't bothered him much as a young dwarf, he'd easily assumed that one of the nobility would be his one. But as years of Royal Balls and Noble Ladies Seasons passed with no tingle of awareness, he resigned himself to waiting until he was King and ready for marriage, and choosing a political partner for the good of his people.

But now...

What would my father, my grandfather, think of her? he thought, What will the elders think, once Erebor is reclaimed? A young woman of the race of man, a magic user...

She'd never agree to the old arrangement...

He scowled again, shifted again, and resigned himself to a sleepless night of fretting over his One.

Or at least he had, when he felt a small foot dig a sharp kick into his back.

Rolling over, he raised his brows incredulously at Magma.

"Yes, Mim razdith?" He whispered, his Dwarven eyes picking her out easily in the gloom of the mountain cave.

He saw her pause a moment, a look of confusion sweeping across her face at the nickname he'd unintentionally given her. He found he liked it though, it suited her.

Much better than that Coldes nonsense.

She flicked her head over her shoulder, where the hobbit had huddled down, and pressed a finger to her lips, and then her ear.

That's when he noticed the whispering.

"...You're part of the company! You're one of us!"

Thorin recognised the impassioned whispering as Bofur, and found he wasn't surprised by the small voice that replied.

"I'm not though, am I? Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins, I don't know what I was thinking. I should've never run out the door." Bilbo's voice was resigned, the hurt clear beneath the firm tone.

Thorin found he couldn't help but flick his eyes to Magma's, and found her glaring at him, a slight golden glow flickering in their depths as she regarded him, waiting for his reaction.

She would be disappointed, he knew, because Thorin stood by what he said. Despite having some few instances of good fortune, the Hobbit was a burden. Bad enough that his nephews had been adamant in joining him, he couldn't spare the attention to take responisibility for the Hobbit as well.

He raised one eyebrow in defiance of her attitude, and tilted his head to listen again.

"...I understand..."

"No, you don't! You don't understand, none of you do, you're dwarves! You're used to…to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere!"

There was a pause, heavy with hurt at the realisation of what Bilbo had just said. Thorin took the slight personally, even if the Hobbit didn't know he was listening.

He had done everything he could to provide for his people after Erebor fell. They were not prepared to wander the world, jostling for space when no one wished to give them the time of day, everyone telling them to move on, move out, find their own space. As though the Dragon was something they'd brought upon themselves. As though they'd done it on purpose. As though they'd broken oaths, betrayed comrades. They were treated like lepers for what had happened to them, as if the slightest kindness would bring misfortune to the hand that extended it.

No, the Hobbit was wrong. Dwarves did beling somewhere. And they were going to take it back.

And they didn't need anyone but their own people to do so.

He turned angry eyes to Magma, only to find she'd closed her eyes. Her furrowed brow made it difficult to read her emotions. Was she hurt? Angry? He didn't know, and wouldn't have unless she'd chosen that moment to open her eyes again.

Thorin felt shivers of ice run down his spine at the sorrow there, frustration mixed in the back of her golden eyes.

"He's alone out here, Thorin. He came because he believed in you, believed that he should help you. That you deserved his help. After they way you've treated him, does it really surprise you that he wants to leave?" She whispered softly, leaning forward so as to not disturb anyone else.

He scoffed, realising that Magma expected him to feel guilty about the Hobbits descision.

"I've been waiting for him to leave since he first stepped out of his hole, Mim razdith. He's right. He's not built for this life of hardship." Spitting the last word like a curse, he began to turn over and put his back to the situation, when he saw the first of the cracks opening up in the floor.


Magma was not having a good day.

Week.

Maybe month?

Whatever the specifics, it started the moment she locked eyes with that arrogant, pig headed, asinine...

"Ouch!" she cried out, as a particular nasty stone jabbed into her spine. Spinning in the gradually fading gloom, she tried to make out who she was falling with. Unfortunately the speed with which they were falling meant that other than the occassional flash of colour, identifying who was who would be near impossible.

Admist the shouts and panicked calls asking what was going on, Magma found she really couldn't care less.

She'd really thought she was getting somewhere with Thorin. Maybe it was just her imagination.

Whenever she thought she'd gotten through his thick, gruff crust to the caring dwarf she knew to be deep, deep within, he pulled that insensitive nonsense again.

What wasn't her imagination was the sudden, harsh slam into the ground. Thanking the good sense her gaurdian ingrained into her, she had rolled away from her landing point before she began to groan her displeasure or pick pieces of gravel out of her chin.

Which turned out to be a good thing, since Bombur landed after her, in the same spot she'd just occupied.

That, she thought, panting, could have been very unfortunate.

She hissed in pain, pulling a few stray pieces of gravel from the palms of her hands. With no time to get her bearings she was hefted onto her feet and pushed around until she found herself at their mighty leaders' side.

"Where the..." Magma began, but was cut off by the pushing, prodding, and shouting of the company behind her. That's when she noticed the Goblins.

Hundreds of them. They crowded the shallow opening where they'd landed, hovered above them from alcoves, hung like from ropes like grotesque monkeys. Wherever she turned, the sight of the grey, ghastly creatures filled her vision.

And they stank. Everything from the tunnels to the creatures themselves reeked, and she couldn't stop herself from curling her nose, face wrinkling up in distaste. And she had been living on the road with thirteen Dwarves and a hobbit. All male.

As they made their way deeper into the mountain, Magma forced the disgust to the back of her mind, instead scouring their environment for any hint of an exit.

The town, if it could really be called such, was strung together with rope, rotting wood, and luck. Every bridge appeared to have been built with the word rickety in mind. Small torches shone dank orange light out of holes dug crudely into the sides of the mountain, and the only piece of architecture they appeared to have put any thought into was the acoustics.

Platforms dotted around the infrastructure appeared to have been erected solely for their instruments. Drums and symbols crafted from pots, pans, and old shields were hammered with large bones. Giant harps built with the frayed strings of longbows leant near giant horns, the latter of which were blown at random points in a shocking attempt at a tune.

When the singing started, Magma had to fight to keep the grin off of her face.

A giggle slipped out when she spotted Bifur slap his hands to his ears, and a disgruntled Thorin twisted to glare at her.

She could only shrug her shoulders in apology, biting down on her bottom lip to keep more laughter from escaping at the absurdity of the situation. Singing Goblins. Who knew?

Stumbling to a stop, Magma felt her eyes widen in horrified wonder at the sight of the gargantuan Goblin King. His double chin reached his belly, his belly dragged against his knees, and the way his entire grisly body swayed with his movements was almost hypnotic.

You know, in the way that makes you want to be violently sick.

When he bounced up onto his toes to perform a pirouette, she was sure magic had to be involved to keep his weight from breaking his toes, which she got an unnecessarily good view of due to ducking the swing of his "sceptre" .

Catching Thorins eye from their crouched position, she couldn't keep the grin from her face. Her lips stretched tight and caused her cheeks to ache, her shoulders shaking with the effort to not laugh, her arms wrapped around her middle to ease the aching cramps that effort caused. Grinning into the face of the horrified Dwarven King, the look on his face conveyed concern for her mental state.

"Did that really just happen?" she choked out in a stage whisper, letting a few giggles slip at at the way he rolled his eyes as he straightened.

She spotted the small smirk at the corner of his mouth though.

"Catchy, isn't it?" The Goblin king said, his voice a deep gurgle, "It's one of my own compositions."

"That's not a song," jeered Balin, stepping forward, "that's an abomination!"

The Goblins crowed and jeered in triumph, whether in celebration or anger was up for debate. The start of the Kings response was lost in the racket, Magma used the opportunity of the noise and the Kings speech to shuffle closer to Thorins side.

"What's the plan?" She asked, shifting to lean against him, her lips barely moving as she tried to speak loud enough for him to hear without stepping onto her toes to reach his ear.

He shifted his weight slightly to press his arm against hers comfortingly, something that managed to set Magma's pulse to a funny rhythm despite the situation.

"We wait." he murmured. Magma nudged him with a huff, unimpressed with his lack of creativity.

Before she could verbally communicate her displeasure at his "plan", she was pinched quite soundly on the rear.

"Hey!" she squawked, aiming a kick at the handsy Goblin who'd appointed himself as the lucky guy who got to search her. Catching her foot in his back, another swept forth and grabbed her ankle, removing the knife she had tucked there before releasing her roughly, her paltry collection of knives soon found themselves new homes on the floor. She glared at the growing pile of weaponry in front of them, flinching at how the Goblins handled the beautiful weaponry so roughly. Thorin nudged her again, hard and sharp, shoving her between himself, Gloin and Dwalin.

The pair seemed to take this as instruction to hide her from sight, and she glared at the mane of black and silver hair in front of her.

Her gaze was quickly torn at the sound of cutlery spilling onto the floor, the clatter almost musical in comparison to the barrage of noise they'd been subjected to so far.

"It is my belief, your great Protuberance, that they are in league with Elves!" Snorted a nasally Goblin, holding up an intricate candelabra. One that Magma was quite sure she'd last seen on a table in one of Rivendells Libraries...

"Made...in...Rivendell!" declared the King, examining the object. He scoffed, throwing it over his shoulder to clatter its way to the depths of Goblin Town.

"Second age, couldn't give it away!"

The entire company, Magma included, had turned to stare at Nori. The Dwarf looked positively sheepish in the face of so much scrutiny.

"It was just a couple a' keep sakes..." he admitted, guilty eyes darting from face to face. Magma was the first to look away, her eyes rolling.

Bloody kleptomaniac.

Through the stench of sweat, blood, and Valar knows what else, Magma noticed another scent.

It was hard to miss it, the gentle breeze that ruffled through her hair, smelling of warmth, spices, and fruit cake.

He can see you my love... and it was her mothers voice in her ear.

Listen...

So she did.


"If it's information you're wantin', I'm the one you should speak to!"

The voices seemed so far away. So slow. Like an echo.

Magma knew she was still in the cave with the Dwarves, could hear Bofur trying to distract the Goblin King.

But at the same time, she was back in her mothers kitchen.

The witch King can see you.

He's been able to for a while now, sweet one.

"Why is it different?" Magma asked, running a finger through some flour dusted on the side. It didn't stick to her finger, looking as though she'd not touched it at all. Her mothers voiced seemed to echo, as if she was standing from far away. Her small smile was sad as she reached forward to caress Magma's cheek, but all she felt was a soft breeze.

The magic and memory that I use, is fading...

But listen...

She turned, tipping an empty bowl over another that was filled with batter. As she started to mix, lumps of mixed fruits appeared.

He's been speaking to you...

She bent down and placed the bowl in the oven.

You can use it against him. He doesn't know that. You don't have to listen to him, my love, you can accept it, and use the knowledge he gives you for yourself.

She turned to face Magma again, a complete fruit cake in her hands. Tearing off a chunk, she held it to Magma's lips.

"But how can I fight him? I didn't even know he was speaking to me?"

Her mothers smile remained, though tears pooled in her eyes.

Everything can be made better... she began.

"...with cake." Magma finished. Closing her eyes, she said a last goodbye to her mother, and accepted the piece of fruit cake.

Suddenly, with a rush like winds roaring, she remembered every time the Witch King had spoken to her. Tried to manipulate her. No more.

"Start with the youngest!"


Thorin barely had time to shove Magma back. He knew, as soon as the words had left that creatures vile mouth, that she'd throw herself in harms way.

That, however, was not her responsibility.

"Wait!" he ordered, stepping into the light, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin at the gargantuan oaf before him.

"Well, well, well! Look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain."

The Goblin sketched a mocking bow as Thorin stepped closer. He knew his face would not betray his innermost thoughts, for which he was thankful, knowing the mockery that was sure to follow.

"Oh! But I'm forgetting you don't have mountain, and you're not a king. Which makes you... nobody really." He continued, pursing his lips in a parody of sympathy as the Goblins cackled around them.

The Goblin King leant forward, Thorin fought not to lean away from the stench, and softened his voice.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak," he straightened, voice deepening with malice, "An old enemy of yours. A pale Orc astride a white Warg."

Thorin felt his composure break. Memories of bloodshed and battle, heartbreak and fear, hatred and anger...all of it coursed through him at the thought that he could possibly still be alive. His voice shook as he glared up at the Goblin, hands clenched tight in fists by his side.

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed." He choked out, "He was slain in battle long ago."

"So you think his defiling days are over, do you?"


The bloody Goblin was singing again.

The first time was funny, but now she was keenly aware of his high pitched squeal. Perhaps her mood had soured after having realised she'd been being manipulated this whole time.

Perhaps it was that she now had an awareness of abilities she'd never thought possible.

It was probably because of the barely concealed pain in Thorin's voice when he spoke of the monster that killed his family.

Either way, when she saw the torture devices wheel their way up the ramps, saw how the older Dwarves squared their shoulders, how Kili and Fili mimicked them with fear in their eyes, when she saw Ori cower into his brothers...she decided she'd had enough.

"Nadal!" She roared, the coarse language scratching her throat as she pushed her way forward. Dodging Gloin and Dwalin, she side stepped a shocked Thorin.

The look in his eyes told her he knew what language she'd just spoken, but she couldn't worry about that now.

"Nadal! Izg urdan lat." She spat, glaring up into the face of the loathsome Goblin King.

His singing stopped, as did the music, and all the Goblins quietened as they stared at her in confusion.

"Madurz izishu rad." She growled, allowing her eyes to glow slightly.

"Who are you, little girl, to give me such orders?" The King scoffed, "Bring the whip! We'll start with her!"

Magma felt the anger fill her, the memories of a whips sharp sting, of beating and bruises and blood and magic unlike anything these foul creatures could hope to unleash. She fed that fury to her voice, and felt it rock the unstable flooring.

" Izg Magma, ghash ob mordor! Ghash ishi tholl! Lub ob Shatraug King ob Angmar!" She could feel what little light was left in her flow through her body. The sting and burn of the power as it raced through her, and she knew her eyes glowed like molten gold, that her veins and scars were alight and could be seen through her clothes.

She exhaled, almost collapsing before catching herself. She couldn't bring herself to look at her company, her friends, or Thorin.

"I am worth more to your master," she panted, "To his master, than some Dwarves. Release them, and I'll go with you. I won't fight. Let them go and you can have me."

Magma heard shuffling and whispered arguments behind her, and before she could stop herself, turned. Nori and Dori were holding a struggling Ori back, Balin and Oin were pale. The rest...she couldn't tell.

"No Magma! Don't do it!" cried Ori, before being pulled back and hushed by the others.

Thorin...She couldn't read his face. He stared at her as though he didn't know her.

Turning back to the problem at hand, she straightened as best she could, and hoped he wouldn't call her bluff.

"But if you don't free them, if you keep them here, if you hurt them...I will bring this mountain down on your heads!"


Drama.

Sorry this is so terrible, but more is coming, I promise! I used a lot of phrases in here, and I apologise if they're wrong (they probably are) but it's the best I could find.

Translations (in order of appearance)-

Orc/Black speech

- Bhul hoq daq - Accept the pull child

- Kramp nar maukum izish - Do not fight me

- Skaat u latob got - come to your master

- Nadal latob maukum kau izish - Stop your fight against me

- Bhul - Accept

- Thrak izish gazat - Bring me the dwarves

- Thrak izish kulkodar - bring me the dragon

- Ghash ob Mordor! - Flame of Mordor!

Dwarvish

- Mim razdith - Little sun

- Kidhuzurâl men - My golden one

Orc/Black speech

- Nadal! - Stop!

- Nadal! Izg urdan lat - Stop! I command you

- Madurz izishu rad - Free us immediately

- Izg Magma, ghash ob mordor! Ghash ishi tholl! Lub ob Shatraug King ob Angmar! - (roughly) I am Magma, The Flame of Mordor! The Fire in the Deep! The daughter of the Witch King of Angmar!