The tunnel was massive, and bitterly cold. The walls were a mix of soil and stone but they, and the presence of the orcs, were more than enough to raise flashes of Moria in her mind.

A pale light flared ahead and she looked up to see the crystal at the top of the wizard's staff glowing. With a start, she suddenly realized why she'd thought one of the crystals Gothmog had thrown to Saruman had seemed familiar. She'd seen it before, adorning the head of the staff carried by the old man from the goblin caves, Gandalf.

A sick feeling settled in her gut. She'd liked that wizard far better than she'd ever liked Saruman, who'd always seemed perpetually sullen. She desperately wanted to hold out hope that Gandalf was somehow all right but could think of no good reason for Gothmog to have had the crystal.

Yet one more thing the bastard had to answer for.

A clawed hand in her back shoved her forward and she stumbled, catching herself on Frerin who was a few steps ahead. He shifted his balance, bracing her until she could get her feet under her. Bilba gave him a brief smile in thanks and fell in beside him. Thranduil was a few feet behind and all three of them were surrounded by orcs.

Gothmog walked at the front, with Azog near him. Saruman was there as well but he was several feet back and couldn't quite get up next to Gothmog no matter what he did. It didn't seem to be sitting well with him, judging by the glare on his face, and Bilba suspected this wasn't what he'd imagined when he'd set out to betray Middle Earth.

A second, massive tunnel opening came into view on the side wall and Bilba guessed that was where the worm creature had gone after creating the one they were in. She strained to see down it as they walked past but all she saw was darkness.

"Ugh," Frerin said suddenly from beside her, "what in Durin's name is that smell?"

Bilba frowned at him, wondering how he could smell anything over the stink the orcs gave off. Then the smell hit her as well, a thick, oppressive stench like that of rotting meat, and she jerked back as if she'd been physically struck.

"It's that monstrosity of his," Thranduil said coldly from behind them. "The smell isn't as bad outside but builds up quickly within the tunnels."

Monstrosity? Something large shifted in the tunnel ahead of them, still lost in the dark past the wizard's staff, and she tensed. A few moments later the light fell on a creature that was like some horrible bastardization of an orc dragon and... something she didn't want to think about.

"Mahal have mercy," Frerin breathed, horrified. "What did you do?"

"Oh, I assure you," Gothmog said with amusement, "there was very little mercy involved."

An almost red hot heat began to build inside Bilba's veins and it took all she had to hold herself back from physically lunging at him.

Frerin did not have the same control, as he gave a snarled, "You bastard," and proceeded to lunge at Gothmog.

A second later he was on the ground, screaming in pain as he clutched his head without Gothmog having laid a hand on him.

Bilba darted forward as the attack ended and dropped next to him, grabbing his shoulder and resting a hand on his chest. Azog started to step closer but Frerin gave a near snarl and struggled up to a sitting position and then, with Bilba supporting him, stood up.

Gothmog had already turned his back on them and was studying the hybrid. As the thing, which appeared to have no more intelligence than a simple beast, swayed and moved Bilba caught sight of orc dragons crouching behind it.

As if by unseen orders, an orc grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her to one of the foul creatures. Her hands, which had been unbound until then, were roughly tied in front of her and she was dragged onto the orc dragon, in front of the orc that had grabbed her.

Frerin and Azog mounted another while Gothmog got on the large hybrid with Thranduil. The elven king, Bilba noted for the first time, looked ill. His face was washed out and she'd noticed earlier he had odd, almost burn like blisters on his wrists where the ropes he was bound with met his skin.

She didn't have any more time to focus on it as the orc behind her forced the orc dragon around and her view was blocked. The small dragon, that barely deserved the distinction, surged forward at an awkward, shambling run. After a few moments, it started leaping, wings snapping out as it tried to get up in the air. Unlike the intelligent dragons, like drakes, who were taught by their parents to fly, orc dragons were trained by the keepers who raised them.

Clearly, whoever had trained this one had been an idiot.

The thing finally managed to get off the ground and into a low flight through the tunnel. Behind them the others had also gotten up, including the hybrid.

They soared through the tunnels, covering ground at several times the rate they would have on foot. It set her nerves off; wherever they were going, they would get there long before help could come after them. Assuming there was any help left to come.

Bilba clenched her teeth and firmly banished that thought. They - Fili would be okay. Syrath would be safe in Mirkwood and Kili had his father looking over him in Dale.

Father.

A sudden sense of fatigue and resignation washed over her.

She wanted her father. It was the same feeling she'd had when she was very young, during times when she'd been at her weakest and every step, every breath was near torture.

Taking a deep breath, that almost led to her gagging at the smell even flight didn't diminish, she forced herself to focus on more positive things.

With great dedication and detail, she proceeded to imagine killing Gothmog, Azog and every last orc that had dared lay a dirty claw on Erebor. She knew full well Gothmog could see what she was picturing and soon felt a wave of amusement that verified it.

She didn't particularly care if he was amused or not.

He wouldn't be when it all came to pass.

She couldn't say how long they traveled through the tunnel. They stopped several times to allow the dragons to rest but it was impossible to know if it was on any kind of cycle or simply at Gothmog's whim. Bilba did know it felt as if her stomach were chewing on her spine, a feeling which grew steadily worse, but she'd been hungry before they left. It wasn't a feeling she'd felt in a while but it hadn't been so long that she'd lost the ability to deal with it. Saruman was clearly not used to it, judging by the way he continually hinted at eating but, seeing as there didn't appear to be any food present, it was a waste of time. The best they were given was brackish water that all of them drank without comment, except Saruman, again, who complained as if it would somehow magically change things.

To the surprise of none save Saruman, it didn't.

Eventually, they rounded a curve of the tunnel and she spotted a distant spot of light. The spot was higher than they were, the tunnel sloping sharply upward to meet it. As they traveled, it grew rapidly larger and brighter until, suddenly, they burst through and up into the sky.

Bilba leaned forward, studying the landscape below. She had no idea where they were, but it wasn't a place she'd have ever willingly chosen to go. She'd always believed Moria to be a dreary and desolate place, but that was only because she'd never seen or known about this place.

Everywhere she looked was brown and arid. A dry, hot wind blew over the landscape, piling up sand into small hills and valleys. Every so often a withered looking tree came into view, struggling in vain to survive.

With nothing to orient herself, Bilba had no way of knowing which direction Erebor lay in. She twisted, searching, but found nothing. In the far-off distance, she could just make out the faint outline of a mountain range but it wasn't familiar to her, certainly not the Withered Heath or Iron Hills. She saw no hint of smoke, heard no sound other than the roar of the wind past her ears.

The orc dragon began to spiral, heading down toward a large, flat rocky area. The creature landed with a thump a few minutes later and the orc pushed her off. She landed awkwardly on her side, unable to catch herself with her hands. Heat burned through her clothes from the rock and she scrambled up onto her hands and knees. Sand and grit dug into her palms and what felt like a veritable wall of oppressive heat dropped on her, raising an almost instant sweat and making her long for the rush of wind from being on a dragon.

She'd seen evidence of wind from overhead but there was none in this place, the high dunes surrounding them blocking it. Not too far away she could see the ground appearing to ripple, a common mirage in extreme heat.

She pushed up onto her feet. She'd only been there only a few minutes and was already miserable and desperately ready to leave.

The others landed about her. The dragons, as they let people off, took up spots just off the rock in the sand. It must have been near scalding, even with the protection of their scales, but they didn't seem to notice or care.

The orcs, she noted, seemed as miserable as she was. Frerin was already sweating while Thranduil, aside from how ill he already looked, seemed as unaffected as if he were standing under the trees of Mirkwood.

Gothmog, in contrast, was in his element. Tongues of fire were running along the lines of his body, flickering amongst his fingers and licking up his sides. The shroud of shadow that seemed to cover him was darker and thicker and he seemed to have grown taller, and stronger.

"What do you think, my dear?" he asked her, pointing toward the mountain range still in the distance.

Am I supposed to think something? Bilba thought in annoyance. I've seen mountains before.

"Not these you haven't," Gothmog said casually. He went to talk to Azog and Bilba took the opportunity to go to where Frerin was standing near the edge of the rock. In the sand the orc dragons, and even the hybrid, were panting heavily and she hoped it was from heat and not exhaustion. Already, she could feel beads of sweat trailing down her face and her shirt was sticking to her body. The less time they spent here the better.

Where are we? she asked Frerin, using her hands.

"The Brown Lands," Frerin responded. "Not exactly a fun place."

And the mountains?

Frerin grimaced. "Mordor. Morgoth once ruled from there. His presence poisoned the land and it never recovered."

Bilba frowned. Would the cage be there?

"You would hope they would have picked somewhere a little less obvious," Frerin said dryly. "Then again, I suppose it's so obvious no one would think of it, right?"

He shot a look back toward Thranduil who gave a casual shrug. "I was not present at the caging of Morgoth."

Frerin scowled. "Mordor is huge. Here's hoping the bastard doesn't have a specific location and plans to spend the next century digging."

It was a false hope, and they all knew it. Gothmog had put far too much effort and planning in to have left so great a detail out.

"Why does he want you?" Frerin suddenly asked Thranduil. "What purpose does it serve?"

"I wouldn't know," Thranduil said, but there was an odd note to his voice that suggested he wasn't being entirely truthful.

The three fell into silence after that, the heat so overbearing even the simple act of communicating was exhausting. Finally, Gothmog declared the dragons had rested enough and then they were heading out. To Bilba's surprise, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the hybrid, changing up the order of who was carrying what.

For the first time, as he led her back, she noticed Saruman was being forced to ride an orc dragon. The thing was much too small for him and he clearly had no idea how to control it, creating an almost comical image. He tried several times to complain to Gothmog as they passed but was roundly ignored.

Gothmog swung her up onto the hybrid's back and easily mounted behind her. Thankfully, he banked the flames spiraling around his body to prevent her being burned, though she had a feeling it was more that he didn't want to deal with her screaming in pain.

A long hand with skinny fingers appeared in her range and she saw that he was showing her the ring he'd taken from her. He'd put it on at some point, which was odd as she wouldn't have thought it large enough for him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he nearly purred. "Granted, I could have opened the cage without it but it wouldn't have been near as much fun."

The hand vanished and then they were lifting off, Bilba forced to scramble for a hold on the hybrid before she fell off. The rush of air in her face was a sharp relief and she relaxed in spite of the circumstances.

The mountain range of Mordor grew steadily closer. They stopped twice more to let the dragons rest and, with each stop, Gothmog grew more and more excited. Now that she knew where they were, Bilba looked several times in the direction of Erebor, futilely hoping for some sign of pursuit, but each time the sky was blank.

As they neared the mountains, Bilba realized what she'd thought was a low portion of the mountain range was actually an enormous gate set into the wall of rock. It was black and made of what looked like solid iron with a wide walkway on the top and a balustrade comprised of squat, spiked towers. It was patrolled by several rows of orcs who turned to watch as they neared but gave no other reaction.

Her stomach dropped as the hybrid began to beat its wings harder, lifting them up to clear the gate. Past it, Bilba caught sight of a lone mountain and what looked like the ruins of a tower. Of the landscape she saw little more than flat land covered in what looked like some sort of black sand.

They rushed over the gate, heading toward the mountain in the far-off distance. They were high, the hybrid having overshot the gate by a significant amount. The orc dragons were unable to follow and were struggling along below them. Past that, was the flat, dead landscape and...

Bilba blinked, shook her head a bit and looked again.

Was the earth moving?

Gothmog's mouth was suddenly right next to her ear. "Are you beginning to realize, my dear?"

He shifted and then the hybrid was flying lower, angling toward the ground. It shot past the orcs and, as it fell lower, the ground began to come into clearer view.

Bilba felt her heart freeze in her chest. She knew her eyes had gone wide and her breathing was suddenly sort and rapid.

Sound began to reach her ears, the march of feet upon hard earth, and the clack and clatter of armor.

The landscape wasn't moving.

It was covered.

With orcs.

Thousands of them.

Tens of thousands.

More than she'd ever seen or known even existed in all of Middle Earth. They crawled over the land like a parasite, each and every one outfitted with armor and weapons.

"Now do you see?" Gothmog asked, right in her ear. "Your precious dwarves and elves and humans. They locked the cage, turned their backs and never looked again. I have had this entire land to myself, for hundreds of years."

Bilba was on the edge of hyperventilating. She curled her fingers into the fabric of her trousers, tensing until her body was shaking from tension.

She'd never seen such a gathering.

Not at Moria, or Erebor, ever.

Gothmog hadn't been lying or exaggerating when he'd claimed the force at Erebor was nothing, and she could see why he'd abandoned it with such ease.

It was barely a fraction of the army he had at his disposal.

It was far bigger than anyone could need and the fact Gothmog had bothered to make it so large could only mean one thing.

It wasn't meant for one battle, or even for a war.

It wasn't even meant for a single race.

It was meant for annihilation.

Total and complete, of every race, every kingdom, every elf, hobbit, dwarf, dragon...everything.

Gothmog did not intend to simply take over Middle Earth.

He planned to destroy it.