A/N: This chapter waited until the very last minute to let itself get written. Hope it's an enjoyable read anyways! Please tell me what you think about Beryl's handling of, well, everything!


For the longest time, Beryl couldn't make heads or tails out of what was going on. They were tumbled helter skelter down a chute, between the braying donkeys, roaring Dwarves, and more bumps and bruises than one Hobbit ought to have to count, she finally just laid panting a long while once they stopped in a pile. Unfortunately, they weren't going to be given that sort of reprieve. Before the world could stop spinning crazily before their eyes, they were grabbed and hauled down a rough ramp and thrown before a huge Goblin squatting on a pile of rubble that might be mistaken for a crude throne if you squinted very hard after a tun of good dwarven ale.

"Who are these miserable persons?" Beryl's ears wanted to crawl inside her bun and pull it in after them once that whiny, scratchy voice assaulted them. She might have heard something more unpleasant at one time or another, but it wasn't occurring to her right now while that grating sound lashed her poor eardrums. Even so, she was disoriented and angered enough she spoke before she thought, pushing herself up using her quarterstaff.

It was lucky they were thrown down atop their own obviously pilfered belongings. It vaguely registered that her staff's metalwork was glowing, proving it was proper First Era crafting. She pushed through the battered Dwarves to face down the Great Goblin.

"Well, we wouldn't be quite so miserable, if you were a better host! I mean really! No announcement, no warning, just dumped down a chute and pulled willy nilly till I know neither up nor down. Disgraceful!" Beryl pulled herself up to her full, unimpressive height, though the Goblins nearest her pulled back as if it were, and she shook her finger at the squatting toad of a Goblin king and delivered her most scathing insult. "Sackville Bagginses know more about hospitality than this!"

"What? You dare? What is this vermin before me?" Spittle flew as the Goblin's rage rendered him nearly incoherent. Dragons weren't the only thing in Beryl's studies amongst the many books of Rivendell. Goblins and Dwarves mixed like Aunt Bergamot's best brew and lit tinder. Explosively. The more attention she kept on her, the less they noticed just who they pulled into their mountain.

"I'm a Hobbit. Beryl Baggins of Bag End, but I'm most certainly not at your service. Hobbits have probably forgotten more about hospitality than you ever imagined possible. I mean really, was the pinching, pulling, and dragging necessary? Can you even speak without spittle flying?" That was probably the one thing too many. The Great Goblin roared, and backhanded Beryl with his clubbed scepter. She was able to duck most of the force, but it still clipped her hard enough she tumbled off the edge of the platform. The last clear sight she had was of Fili being dragged back from the edge after her.

Beryl slowly came awake, the aches and pains finally forcing her out of blessed oblivion. The mountain, apparently, is riddled with chutes. It was the only explanation Beryl had for her continued existence. Hobbits are sturdy folk, and Beryl had done her fair share of farm chores, but there's only so much sturdy can do against a drop from a great height. The pangs up and down her body made it clear it had come in rough contact with more than a few surfaces. She slowly made it to a sitting position, feeling the slow whirl that meant she'd given her head a good knock into the bargain. A faint blue glow a few yards from her let her know where her staff fell. As she crawled toward it, something small bumped her hand. It didn't feel like a rock or pebble, so Beryl tucked it into a pocket for later inspection.

She heard an odd sound ahead of her, and ducked into a shady crevice. She was thankful it was deep and tall enough to hide her staff from the whatever it was. A low muttering resolved itself into a voice that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a bullfrog and a snake.

"But no my precious. It wants to fights us and bites us, But we showed it didn't we? Little squeaker wasn't ready for how we squeezes it, no. Now we can eats and eats for a long long time!" the hissy croaky voice drew out the 'o' in the second long, almost warbling it into a song. Beryl's ears went on immediate protest, claiming that was too many distasteful voices in the space of a day, and threatened to go on strike.

She used the internal argument to pretend she didn't hear the sound of a body being dragged across the rough stones of the cave floor. What did catch her ear was the sound of splashing and paddling. Water! If there were a current, there was a chance it could show her how to get out, but how to get past the Hissycroaker?

Beryl waited until it sounded like the Hissycroaker had left the area, then tried to cautiously move out of her cubby.

"What is it, my precious? Is it another squeaker, come to be our dinner? Gollum! Gollum!" The horrid swallowing sound made the bile rise in the back of Beryl's throat.

Beryl stopped where she was, not even daring to breathe. She could see the thing's giant eyes glinting in the faint light her staff provided. Quickly, she whipped it around in front of her protectively. "Come no closer, unless you like getting thumped."

"What is it, my precious! I don't knows! It's not a squeaker, and it has a bright stick, a light stick. Oh the light burns us!" The thing scrabbled low behind a large stone, peeping carefully between fingers that shaded the oversized eyes from the enchanted lightsource. In the dim light, she saw a small, wiry frame of pale skin, which did nothing to alleviate the mental image of a frog crossed with a snake. Hissycroaker he would remain, 'till she knew any different.

"What I am, is lost. Will you show me out?" Beryl could tell she'd never find her way out on her own, and this thing was at least intelligent enough to gabble, though it worried her with this talk of squeakers and dinners. She didn't trust it as far as she could throw it. Which wasn't at all since she'd refuse to touch the scabby thing.

"Why should I, precious? Why help the bright stick?"

"Well, for one, I go, the light stick goes. So, if you don't like the light, I'll take it with me, and you can have your dark cave back."

"How comes it don't know the way out? Eh? It could be a nasty trickses on Gollum. Show his secrets, let the squeakers and the grunters has him." Gollum sneered at her over his protective rock, before ducking back behind its protective shade.

"Do I look like I hang out with squeakers or grunters? I'm down here because they knocked me down here, trying to kill me. Why on earth would I show them any of your secrets? They'd finish what they started if I dared try! " There was something very familiar in the way Gollum responded to her scolding. It made her study him closer, and what she saw made her heart bleed. Gollum was responding to her the way younglings all around the Shire would when she once again found where their latest game plowed through her garden. The shuffled feet, ducked head, and arms behind the back were all too familiar. What could possibly have turned a Hobbit into...into this? Beryl gritted her teeth, and firmed her hold on her staff as she squared her feet into a defensive stance. Whatever he had been, he was a demonstrated killer now, and if she weren't careful, she could easily be next on his menu.

"Gollum won't! He won't! My precious he won't lets it have his secretses."

"Is that a fact, then? I suppose I'll just have to convince you." A slow evil grin sprawled merrily across Beryl's face. Given the eerie glow from her quarterstaff, it gave even Gollum pause, as he crouched behind his rock

"and how is that nasty little light sticker going to makes us, my precious?"

"I'm going to sing to you, Gollum. Are you ready?"