20

Goblins and the Greyflood

"It's okay Ori, it was only a skunk you have nothing to be afraid of."

Millí sighed as her young cousin Ori tried to stop himself from shaking. Fíli, Kíli, and Gimli stood a bit of the way back with ales in their hands and suppressed laughter in their mouths. The caravan they were leading to Brendor was preparing to rest for the night, or at least, it had been until Ori's cry roused them. It was early evening now and the sun was beginning to set, casting a beautiful golden light on the surrounding trees. The high peaks lay before them and the dignity of their quest still fresh in their minds.

And a rodent had gone and frightened Ori.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Millí," Ori whimpered, hanging his head in shame. "It just came out of the trees like a ghost!"

"Say Ori," Kíli called, a smirk on his face. "It stinks to be scared, doesn't it?"

"Aye, it's foul business," Gimli contributed, "The air around here just reeks with danger!"

"Pungently!"

Even Fíli couldn't resist putting his word in.

Millí whipped her head around, throwing daggers from her eyes. "Would you three mind shovin' off a moment?" she growled through her teeth. Ori wouldn't look at them, still trying to dab at the shameful tears on his face.

"Oh we're just playin' with him Millí," Kíli chuckled, waving her off. Millí huffed and turned around to Ori again, biting her lip as she heard her friends' distant mutters.

"I mean, it's not like it's the first time…"

"…skunks are cute for Durin's sake…"

"Ori," she said curtly, shutting out her friend's voices. "You've got to stop being so scared of everything."

"I kno-ow, I'm p-pathetic."

Well, I bit. "No you're not."

Ori looked at her with his shaking bottom lip and Millí's hardened exterior melted. She threw her arm around her cousin and turned him to look at the sun setting over the trees. "Y'see that, Ori? How beautiful the sun is?"

"What's she sayin' to him?"

"How should I know?"

"You've got really big ears."

"Do not!"

"What a-about it?"

"Well," Millí persevered, clenching her fist to stop herself from responding to the three jackasses in yonder trees. "It's beautiful isn't it? It's illuminating an enormous world for us to explore. That sun has seen the most horrible things ever to have happened, and it's seen the best of things. And still, it rises and shines on us every single day. Now, so far, nothing that has ever happened was so awful that it stopped the sun from rising, and so it's safe to presume nothing so awful will ever happen to you. So you've got to be a bit braver, alright? So that you can explore all that the sun touches and preserve it forever in those little scrolls you carry."

Ori sniffled and nodded, his face a little pale at the thought of having to explore the vast world in front of him. "I can try, Millí."

"That's all I ask."

Suddenly three bodies crashed into them and Gimli's tickly red beard wriggled between their heads. "Come on now ye saps, have an ale and forget the horrors of black n' white rodents."

"I BET YOU WISH WE WERE RUNNIN' FROM SKUNKS NOW, DON'T YA ORI?!"

Ori's answer was only a strangled squeal as the three young dwarves crashed down the mountainsides. The three wolf pups that had been left with them were not far behind, yipping and howling with excitement. Millí laughed in spite of herself, using the weight of her hammer to increase her momentum as she ran. The sun was still in the sky, but it was dipping low. The pale light, it seemed, was not enough to deter many of the hungriest goblins that came scuttling out of the cave mouth like scabby cockroaches. There was far, far too many to fight regardless, so the dwarves opted to run for their lives.

The festival was not far off, so that's where they aimed. The company had abandoned them a fifteen-minute ride from the festival, and a half hour walk. They hadn't been left with a horse because the company feared they would need all of them to rescue the captives. So they were going to have to go it all the way on foot.

Dwarves are natural sprinters after all.

Very dangerous over short distances.

"Should we climb a tree?" Ori shouted, his eyes bulging as he glanced behind them.

"Goblins can climb, so no! Just keep running! We have to get to the others!"

"And what happens if we can't get that far?!"

Millí leapt over a tree trunk that was in her path and rolled back to her feet. "Then we fight!" she replied. Wasn't it obvious? "An' if you happen to fall," she grinned impishly at Gimli, knowing that he welcomed the thrill more than Ori, "Make a lot of noise. Maybe they'll hear us!"

It was quiet. Too quiet. The noise of the trades fair echoed like a dissonant note on the wind, but from the forest all else was silent.

Thorin ran his hand over his horse's neck, unconsciously taking out his nerves by stroking the soft hide. The festival lay before them through the trees, a splendid and colorful affair that seemed to stretch for miles. A buffer of wagons lay between them and the main festivities; no doubt where the more nomadic traders could sleep after the day was over. A few men could be seen walking around, guarding the assorted wagons, but they were otherwise completely empty.

Thorin's legs and back ached from the constant riding, but he welcomed the dull pain. It kept him focused on the task at hand. Some of the dwarves unfortunately, such as Nori, were having a difficult time not walking bowlegged.

"What's the plan, Thorin?"

Dwalin was radiating with energy beside his friend, his axe gripped tightly in his fist.

"There's innocents in there," Thorin said, spotting a shabby carpenter's booth in the distance. "We will have to find the bastards before we attack."

"We don't have much time," Brent growled, "The sun is beginning to set, they may have already sold the children at this point."

"Have a little faith, brother," Kendrick assured him.

"I've sold my wares here before, as have you," Bifur contributed, "The auctions don't start til' the evening, after all the viewings are over. And they go one for days, after all. We have a bit of time."

Thorin closed his eyes, giving himself one moment to worry for his kin. A moment to worry that they were not present at the festival. A moment to worry that Kíli had succumbed to his illness. A moment to worry that Fíli had lost his life somewhere between the camp he abandoned them in and the slavers.

And then the moment was over and he stepped forward.

"Come along then friends, we've kept our young ones waiting long enough."

The small caravan proceeded on foot with their horses' reigns in hand. They could travel easier this way once in the dense crowds of the market. They weaved through the empty wagons of various sizes, shapes, and colors. It was impossible to tell which belonged to their target slavers, as nearly all the wagons were extraordinary in their own way.

Nomads, it would seem, have a thing for color.

"Thorin."

The king stopped, his name on the air making his ears twitch. Dwalin stopped too and held up his fist to warn the others of their halt.

"What is it?" Era hissed, brandishing her weapon.

"Th-Thorin!"

This time it was louder. The dwarf's head whipped to the left and in an instant, his heart stopped at what he saw.

"Kíli?"

A small figure was laid out on the grassy hill just outside the camp, struggling to sit upright as it waved a dizzy hand in their direction. The others turned as well, shocked at this revelation. The figure propped itself up and lurched towards them before it collapsed entirely.

"Kíli!"

Thorin ran forward, not believing his own eyes. In a few short seconds he was on the grass hill as well, falling to his knees beside his youngest nephew.

Or what was left of him.

"Oh Kíli," Thorin gasped, "Durin's beard, I can't believe my eyes."

"Uncle," the boy rasped, desperation making lines in his features. Thorin gaped at the numerous injuries scoring the boy's body, silently cursing the births of every creature that did this. Unaware of his nephew's weak attempts to get his attention, Thorin pulled him into his chest and pressed his forehead to Kíli's. Instantly he winced, taken aback by the furnace in the boy's skin.

"Unc-le, listen to me please."

Thorin pulled back enough to see Kíli's thinned and weary face looking at him with determination. "They have Fíli. They're taking him away."

"Where is he?"

"The port," Kíli wheezed, using Thorin's help to sit up. "We made of mess of things. They're going to sell him downriver."

Thorin grimaced, pity and guilt consuming him at the sight of Kíli's bright, feverish eyes. "And they just left you here?"

Kíli smiled sheepishly, waving his hand at the blood stained on his peculiar shirt. "They think I'm dead."

"You look it laddie," came Dwalin's voice. There was no mistaking the smile in it as the warrior stood beside them. "It's good to see ye alive."

Kíli smiled at him, swaying dangerously beside his uncle.

"Fíli wasn't able to give you the Mallos then? What stage are you in?" Thorin inquired, pushing the sweaty bangs off of Kíli's forehead.

"No," the young dwarf replied. "But he did try. The red heads sold Fíli and he—well, it doesn't matter now. They're on our side I think. We have to help Fíli and Bofur."

"We can spare some time to find you Mallos in this vast place if we need to. What stage are you in, Kíli?"

His nephew fell silent, his eyes flicking to the tents not far away.

"I don't know the stages," Kíli offered finally. "But I…um, I'm cold. Very cold. That's something, right?"

"Stage three," Thorin sighed.

"So we have time. Let's go get the others then."

He's lying.

Thorin glared at Kíli, but the brown eyes staring back at him held nothing but determination. He was shaking…

"If we don't start moving in the next thirty seconds, I'm going on alone," Brent warned.

"Can you lead us to where they are?" Thorin asked, unsure with Kíli's condition. If only the blasted Mallos hadn't been so expensive! He would have bought more to keep just in case. But he'd never dreamed that Fíli would recklessly run off with it, companioned by two strangers. This was all so wrong.

But as always, Kíli's sheer resolve to prove himself and the love for his brother got the better of him.

"I'm able."

"Thorin, the lad can't even stand up—"

"No, I can!" Kíli set his mouth into a determined line and nodded his head. "I can."

And after a brief and shaky moment, Kíli was on his feet. The company wanted to embrace him, welcome him back and throw him around, but the boy looked ready to blow away should a fast enough wind come. Thorin swallowed his concern and looked at Dwalin, signing discreetly in iglishmêk.

Help me keep an eye on him.

Dwalin gave a deep, affirming nod before they looked back to their young companion. Kíli examined the company and a sad shadow fell over his face. "They didn't make it," he muttered. Thorin gripped his arm, confused.

"What was that?"

The lad shook it off and raised his chin. "Come on," he called to them in a hoarse voice. "We don't have time to lose."

Bofur watched in despair as the ship containing Fíli and many of the other captives began to leave port. The river was massive and slow, but he knew that soon it would disappear entirely and all would be lost.

He himself was in a group of slaves intended to be auctioned off tomorrow evening, once the shock of the viewing died down. They were all chained together and tethered to trees by the port so that other customers could come and examine them in case they were interested in buying. Daren, Tobias and Rodney stood guard over them, the whipmaster rather impatient while Rodney looked pale and worn out. Other merchants from the caravan stayed near to help them if required and to sell Demetrius' other wares.

"How are you feeling, Master Rodney?" Daren asked with a mild smirk. "Should you really be on your feet?"

Rodney smiled back, but without his usual jubilance. "I'm still recovering, it would seem," he sighed, "And in case you didn't notice earlier, the viewing was ruined and my cousin executed my other cousin. It's not been a great day."

"It's not been a great day for me either," Bofur added, not really caring if he got in trouble. Rodney looked at him, a ghost of genuine amusement on his face.

"I like you dwarf," he said finally, "You're funny. I would keep you around if I wasn't under the impression that every dwarf in all of Middle Earth was determined to turn my world upside down."

"Says the lad who took our worlds away," Bofur shrugged.

"Oi well he's cheeky," Daren scoffed, untangling his whip from his belt.

"Oh, leave him Daren there's no use whippin' them now. It would look bad for the buyers."

"He's got a bum leg, Master Rodney. All due respect he should've been taken on the ship with the rest of the spoiled lot."

"The dwarf's an entertainer, can't you see that?" Rodney replied simply, "They don't look for entertainers down river. They look for hard laborers and coal miners. He's a better sell here."

"I can hear ya, y'know."

Rodney looked back at Bofur, who was getting hissed at by the other slaves to shut his stinkin' mouth. But that never has been nor ever will be his forte.

"What was your trade, dwarf? Before you came to be with us?"

"What's it matter?"

"I'm curious."

"Coal miner, mostly," Bofur answered. Daren smirked at Rodney, who shrugged him off. "But I also played the flute. And helped my cousin make toys. Now that I'm thinkin' on it I spent a good amount of time eating whatever my brother Bombur could cook up—he's brilliant at cooking and he's got the girth to prove it—and drinking ale at the local pub."

Bofur was smiling in spite of himself, longing wistfully for the dwarven mead back in the Blue Mountains. This was not his idea of an adventure. He still had Rodney and Daren's attention and suddenly a distant memory struck his heart, the pain of it making his eyes drop down to the shackles on his hand.

"And…lookin' after the little ones that would come trotting into my cousin's shop while their parents were at the market. Show them which toys were the best, which would spin and whistle and whatever not. Which ones were made for the mightiest for dwarfling warriors. I can still remember those little lads and lasses come in with their eyes shining and their laughter at the simplest of toys. All of them barely higher than my knee if you can imagine it. One of which you killed today." Bofur didn't have to glance up at them to see the stricken look on the men's faces. He knew he'd reached whatever tiny shred of consciousness they had left.

He'd always been an optimistic dwarf, but it was more difficult now than it's ever been after witnessing the death of Kíli. What would Thorin say? Or the boy's mother for that matter? Bombur had children of his own, and Bofur could not imagine what it would be like to lose one of them.

"Well, best forget them now," Daren growled, folding his arms over his chest. "You'll never see them again where you're going."

Bofur sighed, staring out at the water. He was going to have to think of something…

"STOP THAT SHIP!"

The angry voice came from a distance, but it rang clear over the port. The guards were on their feet in an instant, searching for the source. But Bofur would know that voice anywhere.

"OY LADS! OVER HERE!"

There they were. A mass of angry dwarves with red faces and brandished weapons, charging through the dense crowd of the festival. Thorin and Dwalin were at the head, rage in their eyes.

Distracted by this turn of events, neither Bofur nor any of the merchants noticed to rising smoke coming from the far part of the camp.

"The ship that a one Master Demetrius would be on, heading downriver," Thorin urged, impatiently drumming his finger's on the merchant's counter. The merchant's eyes flicked to the blood-covered dwarf behind him, most clearly dressed in slave garb.

"Bought yerself a lemon, did ye? I don't know much on slavin, but that one doesn't look fit to do much of anythin'. Ye should've saved yer money—"

"I didn't ask for your advice," Thorin growled, gripping the counter to refrain from strangling the bloke, "Do you know where the ship is or not?"

"The port."

"Yes we imagined that, but where in the port?!"

"Why, it's gettin' dark. From what I reckon it's already left," the man shrugged, indifferent to Thorin's urgency. "But he usually docks right in the middle. Flashy colorful sails with gold trimmings, can't miss it."

Thorin spun around, ready to command them to run when his eyes fell on Kíli. The boy was trying to hide it, but his entire body was shaking and his shoulders were slumped in exhaustion. With a pained grimace for time lost, Thorin turned around again.

"Mallos. Where can we find it?"

"Mallos?"

Oh, confound his bones to an early grave.

"Yes. Golden flower. Healing properties."

"Uncle, I'm fine—"

Thorin held up a hand to silence him while the man pondered the request. A moment later a smirk fell across his daft face.

"I can tell ye, but it'll cost ya the purchase of one of my fine scar—"

"Do we look like we're in the mood to make deals?" Dwalin cut in, leaning over the counter until his nose was an inch away from the tradesman.

"N-no. Sorry. There's a m-merchant in the eastern section who sells medicinal herbs. She should have some. B-beyond Master Demetrius himself, of c-course."

Dwalin grunted and pulled away and Thorin tore the remaining gold from his pocket and shoved it into Kíli's hand.

"Go, find the Mallos and take it," he ordered, ignoring the look on Kíli's face. "Then take this horse and ride west until you reach the rock mountain with the open cave. It's the largest one closest to here. There will be others waiting for you."

"But Thorin—"

"You're in no condition to help us right now," the king cut him off, "And I won't lose you. We will help your brother and Bofur, I promise."

Kíli didn't have time to protest. The minute his hand was closed over the gold coins, Thorin ripped out his sword—managing to startle a few villagers that nearly got in its way.

"The ship is leaving now. RUN!"

The caravan drew their weapons and charged, impervious to the shocked faces of the shoppers and merchants alike. Thorin made sure Kíli didn't follow as they departed.

You did the right thing.

Probably.

They barged their way through the entire festival until the water was in view once more. They breached the main tents and sure enough, a colorful ship was on the water floating away from shore. Thorin raised his sword and bellowed a command. "STOP THAT SHIP!"

The company roared with him until another voice caught their attention.

"—OVER HERE!"

They glanced over to see Bofur and several other slaves chained to trees and heavily guarded by the surrounding merchants under Demetrius.

"Brent, that's Aliza back there!" Avery cried, gesturing to a sandy-haired girl who was nodding sleepily from her post. A ripple of furious energy ran through them and the company began their charge forward.

Arrows landed around them, all of which they managed to blow with curses and solid shoulder armor. And then the merchants rushed forward and metal struck metal, sending sparks to the grass.

Kíli was muttering angrily under his breath, dragging his horse and himself through the bustling crowds in search of this particular medical tent. The beast was huffing and stamping nervously and Kíli had to grip the reigns extra tight to keep it from bolting. Curious eyes looked him over, but no one stopped the wearied dwarf with a blood stained slave uniform and a nervous horse. He had a sword, perhaps he was already bought?

Thorin's right. You'd be a burden.

As if to exemplify that point, Kíli suddenly realized he was tipping forward too far and suddenly the grass met his face. He grunted with surprise at the impact and his hand released the reigns for a second.

Just a blasted second.

The horse reared, whinnying in nervous fright and scattering the people before bolting into the crowd.

"No!" Kíli scrambled to his feet, only to find it immensely difficult to stay there. He cursed, slamming a weak fist on the barrel he was using to support himself.

"Pardon you! That's expensive wine your punching there," the trader snarled, "Buy it or get out of my sight, lest I tell your master." Kíli glared at him and stumbled on, resigning himself to using his feet. The tent had to be around here somewhere…

The world pitched with dizzy sleepiness, but Kíli refused to fall again. In his effort, he spotted a booth that was covered head to toe in glass vases filled with flowers. And in the very was a blue vase packed with golden flowers.

Finally.

Kíli stumbled over to the tent, leaning a little too hard on the table where the trader was sitting. She blinked at him in surprise.

"Can I…help you?"

"Mallos," Kíli said, fighting to keep his eyes open. "I need to buy your Mallos."

"Mallos?" the girl looked confused.

Stupid girl.

Kíli dropped the gold coins on the table and plucked one of the gold flowers from the vase, promptly sticking part of it in his mouth and chewing.

"Hey, what are you doing…Stop!"

The girl slapped the flower from Kíli's hand, still leaving traces of yellow petals on his lips.

"The Mallos!"

"It's not Mallos you imbecile, that's chrysanthemum! It's toxic you should spit it out."

Kíli was confused, but obeyed, wiping the trace of flower from his mouth.

"You…you don't have Mallos?"

"Mallos is used for medicine, I sell flowers. So no."

Kíli looked crestfallen, but scooped up his coins and began to leave.

"Wait a second," the girl called, "You can't just chew on my flowers and leave without paying!"

"This is all I have, it's too much for one flower!" Kíli returned. The girl frowned and folded her arms.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Where's your papers?"

"Papers?"

"Yes, your papers. To show you bought you."

Kíli was now very confused. But next thing he knew, three patrols were surrounding him along with the florist, arms folded and demanding papers that he didn't have.

"I forgot them, I told you! I belong to Thorin Oakenshield, he's…he's at the port you can ask him!"

"Sounds like a runaway to me," one of them remarked, grabbing Kíli firmly by the arm.

No.

"Let's take him back to the lot then. See if anyone claims him."

No no no.

"Let me go!" Kíli cried, trying to pull his arm away. The patrol who had him looked ready to strike him, when suddenly something very peculiar caught his eye.

Three dwarves came barreling through the festival with arms raised and mouths open, shouting, "RUN! RUN ALL OF YOU! GOBLINS!"

Kíli gaped, not believing his eyes.

"Millí! GIMLI! ORI!"

They're alive!

But the three were too far away and too distracted. In the next moment, an entire horde of goblins leapt over and through the tents, scattering people and products alike.

"GOBLINS! RUN!"

"You will release my kin, and all the others!" Thorin commanded, bringing his blade down on the weak metal of a guard's sword. He twisted it so that the weapon flew from the boy's hand and soon found himself shoved roughly aside and Thorin stormed towards the waiting Daren. The dwarf king didn't like the man's sinister face, nor the weathered whip he hand on his belt. The condition of his nephew would suggest that he has a lot of business to attend to with that particular individual.

But then a chorus of horrified screams tore through the festival. The company and the merchants all paused, utterly perplexed as they looked over to find the front end of the camp in flames and the rest running and screaming for their lives. Then haggard, frantic voices broke over everyone else.

"THORIN! NORI-OIN-ERA-BIFUR-GUINN-GUYS-WE'RE SO SORRY BUT HELP!"

Three and utterly wild looking dwarves came barreling through the scattering crowd, their faces flushed and bewildered eyes bugging out of their heads.

"What in Durin's name—"

"GOBLINS! GOBLINS FROM THE MOUNTAIN!"

One such creature leapt out and wrapped its gangly limbs around Ori, bringing him slamming to the ground and proceeding to trip his two companions in the process.

Kíli.

Thorin growled in rage at the sheer absurdity of it all. Millí picked herself up and slammed her hammer into the offending goblin before any more damage was done.

"Dammit all," the merchant cursed, "First a mob of angry dwarves and now goblins?! After this season I'm taking my wealth and going rogue, mark my words."

Thorin spun around, torn between the goblins and wiping that self-assured smirk off the whipman's face.

"Thorin, go help 'em. We can manage here," Bofur called from his post. Honestly, they weren't going to have a choice. Dispute or no dispute, there was no spotting a swarm of goblins until they're dead. Thorin's eyes flicked to the dwarf. He didn't know Bofur very well, but he'd heard lots about him from the younger ones. Perhaps at one time he would have regarded him as too silly to be taken seriously, but he could see now that he was truly a stout heart. With one more look at Daren, Thorin turned on his heels and took a step forward.

But not before bringing his other fist around and slamming it into Daren's un-expecting jaw.

Dwalin laughed appraisingly before joining his companion in the charge against the goblins overrunning the festival like a swarm of bees. The ship would surely pause when seeing the fight. There would be time to find Fíli before it was too late.

There will be time.

Chaos. Whoever had Kíli dropped him and ran as the creatures descended upon the festival like vultures to a carcass. The torches fell and lit rows of tents on fire within an instant. Kíli fumbled to make sense of what he was seeing. Goblins. Here?

The old bite on Kíli's shoulder itched with warning and suddenly a heavy mass landed on Kíli's back, sending them both into the grass. It's sharp, poorly crafted armor scraped and skidded over him as it attempted to get the upper hand.

"No!"

The dwarf drew his sword and twisted around, stabbing the beast before it could harm him. The light went out in its haunting yellow eyes and Kíli sucked in his breath before throwing it from him. Upon standing he could feel blood running down his back, the attack having opened up all manners of wounds there.

Find Thorin.

Kíli stumbled forward, only to be knocked down again by a group of fleeing merchants. He grunted, trying to pull himself up when something else put its cold slimy hands in his hair and pulled.

Hard.

Kíli gasped and lashed out with his sword, slashing the belly of the offending creature. It fell to its knees and reached out with a final effort, raking its claws frantically over Kíli's ragged skin, opening whatever hadn't been open before. The dwarf cried out in pain and drove his blade into its neck.

Run.

Kíli stumbled to his feet and took a moment to figure out which direction to go. Nearly everything was in flames now and the screams of fear, surprise, and pain were deafening.

"Get to the water!"

Kíli's head snapped left to see several merchants fleeing, screaming about the river. Determined, he followed them, only fighting when absolutely necessary.

"Thorin!" he called, his voice unable to breach the surrounding noise. "Thorin!"

Someone knocked into his side, sending him veering left until his hand collided with a pile of burning vegetable crates. He yelped, pulling his hand from the intense heat and cradling it to his chest. The sword was still clutched in the other, serving as his only defense against the crowd and goblins alike. More running, more stumbling and falling. But he was closer now.

Then Kíli watched in horror as a goblin leapt upon a running man and snapped his neck with it was made of twigs.

Mahal…I'm not going to make it.

Hey folks, I posted two new drawings, one depicting the scene from the very beginning of this chapter (part of it's on the cover of the story right now, actually!) and the other featuring Dis and the young Durins. Check them out on Deviantart, my name on there is L-Rose-C.

Thanks for all the lovely comments on the last couple chapters, you guys are the best! And I hope you continue to enjoy! I'm super tired now. Gonna sleep.

Read, review, bake some ego cookies.

Happy New Years, you delicious little lemon drops.