Fili heaved for breath as he dragged his sword out of what felt like the thousandth orc he'd killed.

For all he knew, it was the thousandth.

He staggered, legs shaking under him. He planted the point of his sword in the dirt and went to a knee, one hand holding the hilt, the other draped across his knee. He kept his head down as he pulled air into burning lungs. He dragged an arm across his face trying to clear the sweat from his eyes but all he managed to do was smear it into the blood and grime coating his skin.

Around him, the battle raged. They'd successfully surprised the orcs from behind, driving like a spear straight through their back ranks and slaughtering scores before the creatures realized what was going on and countered. At the same time, the dragons overhead and those fighting on the ground had taken advantage of the confusion to launch dual attacks, boxing the orcs in from three directions.

It had been effective, but not enough.

Since then things had settled into a grind. Kill orc, kick the body out of his way, turn to face the next one, or three. It was a constant dance, an unending need to keep moving, watching, not let his guard down for even a second or risk paying dearly for it.

Sort of like right then.

A shadow loomed over him and Fili cursed, heart leaping in his chest. He struggled to pull his sword free but his arm screamed at him and the blade felt like it weighed a ton. He shoved upward, trying to regain his feet, but they buckled and staggered beneath him. He was never going to get up in time.

The orc coming at him sneered, axe already descending toward his head and Fili cursed that he was about to be killed by some nobody, nameless orc that would probably spend the rest of its pitiful, and hopefully short, life crowing about it.

A whistling sound and suddenly a fountain of black blood was spurting up from the orc's neck, right where its head had just been. The corpse stood there a moment before slowly falling with a thud on the bloodied dirt.

A new shadow fell over him and Fili looked up to see Dwalin, and his brother, standing over him. Dwalin held one of his battleaxes in hand, the other presumably wherever it had gone after decapitating the orc.

"Sitting in the middle of a battlefield," Dwalin drawled. "Don't remember teaching you that one."

Kili, his back to them as he surveyed the field with an arrow nocked and ready, glared at his brother over his shoulder. "Wait until Amad hears about this."

Dwalin snorted. "Wait until my daughter hears."

Fili flinched. "Please don't. I enjoy living."

"Funny way of showing it." Dwalin grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet. As he did, Kili let loose a barrage of arrows that laid out several orcs that had been heading their ways. Others, witnessing the assault, suddenly decided it was vitally important they attack other targets.

"I wasn't sitting," Fili muttered, taking the opportunity to pry his hand off the hilt of his sword. He'd held it for so long his fingers had locked into position and were unwilling to release. He shook his hand out, grimacing at the pain. "I was kneeling."

"Oh, well, that's so much better," Kili mocked. He turned and sent an arrow flashing past his brother, so close Fili felt the wind of its passing on his face. A thunk sounded from behind him, followed by a thud. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

The look he gave Fili should, by all rights, have killed him where he stood. Dwalin shoved him on the shoulder, pushing him back toward Erebor, and Fili scowled, resisting. "I'm not going back. I can still fight." Kili barely looked winded, the bastard, and Dwalin was clearly tired but still strong.

"You can fight again after you've eaten and rested," Dwalin said shortly.

Overhead, a loud boom echoed across the sky and the eyes of every orc, human, and dwarf nearby immediately looked up to see if they needed to dodge out of the way of a falling drake or orc dragon. Instead, they were treated to the sight of Xalanth boiling through a group of orc dragons as easily as a fish would through water. The massive black and gold dragon turned back at an angle that would have snapped a rider's neck, and screamed in rage at a new approaching wave. Quinlan and Barahir swooped into view on either side of him and Fili smirked as the orc dragons, far too late, recognized the trap and scrambled to flee. The three dragons let loose pillars of fire that turned the orc dragons and their riders into a cloud of ash drifting lazily above the battlefield.

"I was slowing him down," Dwalin said, pride shining in his voice, before Fili could say anything. "Sort of like how you're slowing me down. Hurry it up, brat. Faster you're inside, faster I can get back to killing what needs killing."

A few more arrows whipped past them and then Kili was grabbing Fili's sleeve and physically turning him around and shoving him toward the mountain. "I'm going to shoot you if you keep standing around talking in the middle of a battle."

Fili frowned at his brother, who rolled in eyes in response. "In the foot. You'd survive, and I wouldn't have Bilba and Syrath on my tail for it. They'd probably thank me."

I would thank him, Syrath informed Fili calmly and, for not the first time, he wondered about the intelligence of leaving his links and bond constantly open with the dragon.

Traitor, he returned without heat. He wouldn't shut off the dragon and they both knew it. Fili needed Syrath as much as the dragon needed him right then. It had been days since Gothmog left with Bilba, Frerin and Thranduil. Days of endless fighting, breaking to rest and eat and then heading back out to fight again. Syrath was going stir crazy with worry in Mirkwood, as Fili would have done had he not the distraction of trying to stay alive. Now that he thought about it, Lyth was no doubt going crazy with worry over her rider as well, which probably explained his brother's mood.

I think his mood is explained by you being stupid, Syrath responded sagely.

Fili ignored him. They were at the gates of Erebor and he allowed his brother and the Captain of his uncle's guard to usher him inside, past the rows of soldiers guarding the entrance. Once they were sure he was in an area where collapsing wouldn't get him killed, they headed back out again, but not before threatening him with wildly creative forms of punishment if he tried to head out before he'd eaten and slept.

Inside, the area that once housed the markets of Erebor had been turned into a camp. Refugees from Dale, and others who hadn't been able to make it to Mirkwood, huddled in one corner, fear in their eyes as they watched battered and bloodied soldiers fight for their survival.

Another area had been dedicated to the wounded, while a third stood vigil to the fallen, laid out in rows and covered with whatever blankets they'd been able to find. They would need to be buried, soon but there had been no time, space, or people to spare, to get it done yet.

Fili went to the small area near the base of the ramps leading to the upper levels. It was here that his uncle had ordered the storehouses of Erebor be opened and the food brought out to both those fighting and those they were fighting to protect. Many people, unable to fight for one reason or another but still in reasonable health, were on a brigade bringing in buckets of fresh water and whatever other supplies they could scrounge from farther in the mountain.

The sight of so much food caused Fili's stomach to twist in fear of what they would do once winter set in, but there was nothing to be done for it. The kingdom needed saving now, and that meant the stores had to be opened now.

Someone handed him a plate with meat, bread and cheese on it and he ate without really noticing, chasing it down with a mug of water before heading to a row of pallets laid out for people to rest on before returning to the battle. Someone recognized him and tried to offer the option of having a private space set up, befitting his rank or some such nonsense, but he waved them off, tossed his sword down, and collapsed on the nearest empty pallet.

He was pretty sure he was asleep before he'd fully laid down.

He was standing in the doorway of Bag End.

Fili frowned in surprise. A glance down showed he was barefoot and wearing a simple tunic and trousers, not a weapon in sight.

He turned and saw the Shire laid out behind him, light breeze dancing through the grass and flowers. Birdsong rang out from nearby trees and he could hear the distant laughter and chatter of people at the market. A shadow flashed by overhead and he looked up in time to catch sight of a Shire dragon soaring past. A male hobbit sat on the dragon's back but they were gone too fast for Fili to identify them, if they were even anyone he knew.

A rattle of pots and pans caught his attention from inside Bag End and he leaned forward, bracing a hand against the doorframe. "Primula? Are you home? Frodo?"

There was no reply but, now, as he leaned further in he could hear the faint sound of someone humming. Another noise, followed immediately by the clatter of pots hitting the floor.

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" a woman's voice exclaimed.

Fili hesitated, and then stepped a few feet into the home. "Primula? Are you all right?"

"Come on in," a voice he realized didn't sound at all like Primula's called. "You're just in time!"

Fili's eyebrows knit in confusion but he obediently headed toward the kitchen. As he entered he caught sight of someone bent over, just behind the table, gathering things up off the ground. Without hesitating, Fili walked around and knelt to grab a pan just before she could and lifted it to hand to her.

"Oh, well don't you have manners?" a cheery voice exclaimed. Â She straightened to put the pan back and, for the first time, Fili got a good look at her. The young woman smiling brightly down at him was definitely not Primula. She was smaller, her frame slender and rather short even for a hobbit. Amber locks of hair, held back by combs, tumbled about her shoulders and she wore a simple, dark purple sundress that complemented the blue of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Fili said, pushing to his feet and stepping back so he didn't tower over her. "I'm afraid we haven't met."

"Haven't we though?" she replied, raising one eyebrow as if daring him to challenge her.

Fili hesitated. He'd met a lot of hobbits in the Shire and it stood to reason he might not remember them all. Still, he couldn't begin to imagine why his mind would think to conjure up the Shire or some random woman he didn't even consciously recall meeting. "This is a dream," he said slowly. "A very odd one."

"Most dreams are, to one extent or another," she replied casually. She didn't offer her name and Fili wondered if he'd simply never heard it, leaving it a blank spot in his mind. A teapot on the stove behind the woman whistled and she clapped her hands and spun around to grab a few potholders and carefully lift it off the stove. She turned to set it on a tray Fili hadn't noticed, next to a plate filled with scones. There was an also a small pot of jam with a knife sitting next to it, and two empty plates along with two cups turned upside down on saucers. Humming under her breath, the woman grabbed sugar, cream and spoons to add to the tray before turning to him with a brilliant smile and gestured to the tray. "Would you mind?"

"Of course not," Fili said, training firmly instilled in him by his mother kicking in. She moved out of the way and he picked the tray up and held it carefully.

She nodded and gestured to a hall he remembered leading toward the back of Bag End. "Thank you, Fili. This way."

She started off, nearly bouncing with carefree abandon, and he followed with the tray. As they walked through the home he noticed that, oddly, every single door and window was wide open and all the curtains had been removed. The woman didn't seem to notice, or care, and he'd already accepted the dream he was having had gone well into the realm of strange so he put it out of mind and carried on.

The back door, similarly open, came into view and they walked out onto the far side of the hill the home was cut into. Here, there was a truly stunning view of the rolling hills and fields of Hobbiton, and the river winding lazily through it. A circular, metal table with chairs set at an angle, to allow a view into the field, was set up and, when directed, he sat the tray down on its surface.

The woman dropped into a chair and began serving the tea and scones, setting a plate and cup in front of him and offering him the jam and knife to prepare his scone in whatever way he saw fit.

Fili hesitated. "Not to sound rude, but I'm a bit busy at the moment."

He was apologizing to a dream, his mind informed him bluntly. Perhaps he'd taken a blow to the head during the battle and failed to notice. He called out for Syrath, hoping the dragon might be able to wake him up, but heard nothing in return. Perhaps the dragon was asleep; a fact which, in hindsight, might be a good thing. The last thing he wanted was it getting out that he was dreaming about tea parties in the midst of battle, and keeping things to himself wasn't exactly one of Syrath's strengths.

The woman gave him a strangely knowing look and calmly grabbed a scone and smeared it liberally with jam. "Nonsense. There's always time for tea and scones."

Fili sighed in resignation, shook his head, and leaned forward to take a scone and accept the cup of tea she held out to him.

She picked her own cup up and held it in both hands, staring idly into the fields. Fili could see a few green lumps he took to be sleeping dragons, and spotted several children along the banks of the river flying kites or attempting to sail small, toy boats in the lazy current.

When it became apparent the woman had no intention of speaking, he politely cleared his throat and asked, "What are we doing?"

"Enjoying the peace and quiet," she responded softly. She turned her head to look at him and, for the briefest of seconds, the expression on her face was strangely familiar, eliciting a flash of recognition though it was gone too fast for him to place. "It never lasts long enough, does it?" she inquired, shifting back to look out again.

"No," Fili agreed. "It doesn't."

She smiled without turning her head again. "Then let us enjoy it while it lasts."

He hesitated but, as the dream clearly had no intention of letting him wake up any time soon, finally shrugged and reached for a second scone. "All right."

He settled back in his chair, surprised at how comfortable it was, and watched the world slowly pass by. It was peaceful, he had to admit. There were no orcs to fight, no creatures from Ages past threatening to wake up the source of all evil and enslave the world. He doubted very much that the Shire was even aware of what was happening on the other side of the world. They lived in their sheltered corner, protected by elves, dwarves and humans alike, at peace and content.

He sighed, something in him relaxing, and reached to refill his tea cup. On the riverbank, he spotted a young boy attempting to fly a kite and took to watching him, mentally cheering when the lad finally got it up and going. After that, he watched a few of the younger dragons wrestling in the field and then it was back to a group of children playing king of the hill with a small pile of dirt they'd built up.

Before he knew it, the sun was dropping down toward the horizon, painting the sky in vivid hues of purple, orange and gold. He took a bite of the final scone, and set his tea cup down next to the now empty pot. On the other side of the table, the woman sighed and gently placed her cup down on its saucer with a quiet clink of porcelain. "There now, you see?" she whispered. "Gone already." She stood and, for a few seconds, stayed where she was. The setting sun bathed her in vibrant hues that faded until she was little more than a shadow standing in the dark. Only once the sun was gone entirely did she turn toward the door. Fili got up and, once again, followed, leaving the tray and its contents behind him.

The lanterns were all lit inside the home, and a comfortable fire snapped and crackled in the fireplace. Rather than sit as he'd expected, the woman retrieved a shawl tossed over the armrest of a chair and carefully draped it over her arms. She added a large, wide brimmed straw hat with a flowing yellow ribbon for a band, before twirling in a circle and asking, "How do I look?"

"Lovely," Fili said and she beamed at him in response. She went to the large bookcase in the corner and stood, rocking up on the balls of her feet and clutching her hands behind her. She finally selected a volume and then headed for the front door.

Fili frowned, wondering how she planned to read in the dark, only to reach the foyer and find it filled with light shining through the windows and the sound of songbirds drifting through the windows.

As the woman reached the front door, he made to go with her only to have her stop on the threshold and turn to face him. "I don't think so," she said, gently. "Not yet anyway." She studied him before the light faded a bit from her eyes and her gaze turned serious. Again, he felt the odd feeling of recognition, as if he did know her, but didn't at the same time. "Would you walk the same road if you knew the darkness it would lead you into?" she asked, gaze suddenly sharp and intense as if she saw straight into his soul and would know the truth no matter what he said.

"I would walk it no matter how dark the end," Fili answered immediately. "What I've gained along the way has made it more than worth it."

The worry in her eyes lifted, and she smiled. "Who said anything about the end?" She tilted her head, studying him for a moment though, for what, he had no idea, and then nodded once, sharply. "Yes," she said, clearly speaking more to herself than him, "you'll do nicely, I think." She spun, and stepped through the door, feet firmly planted on the same stone step Fili had been on when he'd first started this bizarre dream.

"Wait." Fili took a step forward with one hand raised. "Where are you going?"

She looked back over her shoulder at him and joy poured off her in such strong waves it was nearly palpable. "To an unexpected meeting of course." She then tucked the book more securely under her arm, put a hand on her hat to keep it in place, and turned her back to him. The door slammed shut on its own accord, and Fili flinched in surprise.

Around him, the lanterns slowly began to dim, and he hesitated before reaching for the door. His hand found the handle, and he pulled -

And his eyes snapped open. He was on his feet before registering what had awakened him, grimacing as sore muscles protested and what felt like layers of dried sweat, blood and grime cracked and pulled at his skin. A vile odor that he quickly realized was him reached his nostrils and he wondered if he could simply stand near the orcs and have them drop dead from the smell instead of any sort of physical attack.

Surprisingly, in spite of how awful he felt physically, inside he felt strangely at peace, calm even in a way he wouldn't have thought a simple rest and meal would have provided.

Syrath? he asked. Is everything all right?

I don't know, the answer came back. Everyone seems very excited all of a sudden but no one is saying why.

Fili nodded. The dream he'd had while asleep came back to him, and he frowned but had no time to dwell on it as he finally caught what it was that had pulled him out of his rest.

There was a buzz going on around him, people chattering excitedly and gesturing toward the front gate. Several people rushed past him to join a large crowd gathered at the gate, swarming over it and trying desperately to see out even as guards and soldiers tried to pull them back before they got themselves skewered by an arrow.

Fili knew he could just call on his brother or father for information but he had no idea what they were currently doing and feared distracting them at a critical moment.

Instead he stiffly retrieved his sword from where he'd tossed it next to the pallet and shoved it in its sheath as he lumbered his way toward the gates. As people recognized him and word spread, a path opened, allowing him passage. Normally, he wouldn't care for such things but this time he was simply glad he didn't have to try and shove his way through. For the first time, he found himself missing his personal guard, who'd been absorbed back into the main guard or Vanguard after Nar had been dealt with. If they'd still been there he wouldn't have had to worry about the crowd parting for him, or about kneeling in the middle of a battlefield to catch his breath.

A few people reached out to grab his arm or touch him and he made sure to smile at them in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Morale was everything in battle, his uncle had drilled into him time and time again, and the people needed to see their leaders strong and unwavering. Many a battle had been lost in history due to the faltering of a leader, who'd taken his people's hope with him when his own had flagged.

Fili reached the steps leading up to the battlements, trying not to think of what had happened on them not so very long ago. As he did, his eyes narrowed at the sound he could hear drifting in from outside.

Was that...cheering?

It must have been for, suddenly, the guards lining the top of the battlement joined in, throwing their arms up and roaring in joy, so exuberant they forgot where they were and risked getting shot in their excitement.

"What's going on?" Fili demanded from the top step. "What's happened?"

One of the nearest guards looked down at him. "Reinforcements, your Highness!"

"Reinforcements?" Fili echoed in disbelief. "From where?" They had everyone he could think of. The forces of Erebor, Mirkwood, Dale and even Lake-town had been there nearly from the start while Gondor and Rivendell had joined in later. More had continued to come as word had spread and, only a day and a half earlier, Dain had arrived from the Iron Hills with a full contingent that had taken some of the pressure off. The only kingdoms still left would be -

"Rohan, it looks like," the dwarf cut in, "and Lothlorien with them."

"How is that possible?" Lothlorien had few dragons, none of whom fought or even carried riders as the elves of that wood felt it improper, while Rohan had no dragons at all. To muster their army, on horseback, and arrive in any time to render aid they would have had to ready themselves and marched out days ago, possibly before the attack had even started.

"I don't know," the guard said, waving a hand at him, "but you can see for yourself. It's them, my Lord."

Fili went up and knelt so he could peer out without risking an archer taking him out. The battlefield looked as bad as he remembered, littered with piles of corpses and exhausted men, elves, dwarves and even orcs doing their best to kill one another. Overhead, dragons still swarmed but their movements were slower as well. Even with rest breaks and rotating fighters in and out, there was only so much constant fighting one could take.

He raised his eyes toward the far end of the battlefield, in the direction of Dale, and felt his heart jump.

Just as the guard had said, there were not one but two armies charging headlong into the battle. Astride both horses and massive elk, the elves of Lothlorien and the men of Rohan plunged into the remaining ranks of orc, shattering them under their hooves and swords as they charged forward. At their helm, Fili caught sight of what looked like the Lord and Lady of the Silver Wood, Celeborn and Galadriel, both famed warriors in their own right. With them he caught sight of the familiar gold of the king's armor, Thengel and beside him... Fili's eyes narrowed, and then widened with shock.

For riding beside Thengel, staff in hand, and blinding white robes replacing the traditional gray ones he was known for, was none other than Gandalf, the wizard everyone seemed to have been searching for the last few months.

The guards were still cheering, and the people down below were beginning to join in as well. Fili, however, could not quell the disquiet inside him as he watched the new armies begin to rout the remaining orcs. Already the creatures were breaking and running, retreating in the face of two new, perfectly fresh, forces.

Forces that had to have been put together before there was ever a threat to Erebor. Had they known about the attack ahead of time? If so, then why had no warning been sent? Both kingdoms were near enough to Gondor that one could have been relayed. And if they hadn't been put together because of the attack on Erebor...

He swallowed past a rock suddenly lodged in his throat and struggled to keep his face blank, projecting an aura of strength and grace under pressure even when it was the last thing he felt. His eyes ran over the field where soldiers were sagging to their knees in exhaustion, and to where dragons were near falling to the ground more than landing, sides heaving and heads hanging as they struggled to breathe.

Mahal help them all, he thought. They'd barely made it through this battle. If there were still another ahead of them, aside from Gothmog who was bad enough alone...

The peace he'd been feeling inside vanished.

"Peace and quiet. It never lasts long enough, does it?"

No, he thought, not nearly long enough, and now he wasn't sure when he'd feel it again.

If ever.

Gothmog was whistling.

Bilba hadn't thought the creature could get more annoying but he was clearly out to prove her wrong. They'd gone straight to a small ledge jutting from the side of a solitary mountain, the base crawling with orcs like maggots on a corpse, and been carefully let off by the dragons.

Now Bilba stood next to Frerin and Thranduil while Gothmog led the way inside, Azog next to him. Behind them, Saruman was still being let off but they made no attempt to wait for him.

Incredible heat slapped her in the face as they entered, and she scowled as a heavy sheen of sweat immediately rose on her skin and plastered her hair to her neck and face.

"Pleasant," Frerin muttered next to her. "Always loved the thought of melting, didn't you?"

Bilba shook her head at him and frowned at Thranduil, who walked in silence next to them. He seemed pale, his back almost unnaturally straight and a grim, fixed expression on his face. He reminded her of some of the victims of the Arena, those who knew full well where they were going and were doing their best to face it stoically. From the look on Frerin's face, he saw it too.

There was a large chasm in front of them with an outcropping jutting out over it. Just before the outcrop, stood a column of rock. It was here that Gothmog stopped and spun to face them. "I almost feel as if I should say something to mark the occasion, don't you?" he asked, clapping his hands. When none of them responded, he raised an eyebrow and said, "What? No threats of doom? No promises of retribution?" He tsked and then unceremoniously grabbed Thranduil's arm and dragged him out onto the outcrop, shoving him to the very end where it was barely a few feet wide before grabbing his arms and easily breaking the ropes binding his wrists.

Bilba leaned forward as far as she dared to look over the edge, and gasped at the sight of a river of a thick, roiling, red liquid far below. She'd never seen anything like it but, judging by the way the heat intensified when she leaned forward, she guessed she wouldn't like falling in.

Frerin grabbed her shoulder and tugged her away. "You're making me nervous."

As he spoke he nudged her farther away from the edge and behind him. Bilba saw him shooting a look at Azog, who was studying them both speculatively, and tensed.

"Are you sure this will work?" Saruman asked, coming up beside Gothmog. He looked drenched in sweat and was flagging, the heat clearly having a severe effect on him. Thrandiul looked the least affected, somehow, the barest hint of a sheen on his face and his breathing no faster than it had been outside. He stared at Gothmog unflinching and Bilba felt her heart surge with admiration for him. She wished now that she'd spent more time trying to get to know him as well as his son and vowed to rectify the error, if given the chance.

"Watch and see," Gothmog murmured, barely acknowledging the wizard. He reached inside his cloak and withdrew the objects from before, the sword, necklace and Arkenstone. The ring, she noticed, he still wore on his hand, metal gleaming in the flickering light from the flames below.

As he hefted the Arkenstone, Bilba noticed, for the first time, two indentations in the top of the stone column, one at the top and one at the bottom. As she watched, Gothmog easily fit the Arkenstone into the top, round indent, and then placed the necklace in the bottom one, the indentation the perfect size and shape for it.

An odd shimmer seemed to cross the face of the pillar, and suddenly a thin slit appeared in the rock, dead center between the other two objects.

Without warning, Frerin gave a shout and lunged forward, yelling something intelligible. Gothmog never even reacted and Frerin barely made it a foot or two before he found himself flat on his face, with Azog's foot placed solidly in the center of his back.

Don't, Bilba sent toward Gothmog in a panic, knowing he was the only one who could hear her now. She tried to run forward, only to have Azog lift his foot of Frerin's back long enough to kick her full in the chest. She didn't have her armor and it had, by now, been years since she'd been kicked like that so she was ill prepared. Pain exploded in her chest and the air in her lungs fled. The force of the blow sent her flying back, right off her feet. She hit the ground hard and skidded across the rock, rolling to a stop on her side.

She choked, struggling to get air as she rolled partway onto her stomach and braced on one elbow. At her neck, she felt the chain with her mother's ring slip out from under her shirt and she wrapped a hand around it until she could feel the metal, heated by her skin and the air, pressing into her palm. The orcs had either not noticed it when they'd taken her gear, or hadn't cared, for which she was grateful.

She lifted her eyes in time to see Gothmog raise the sword and slot it into the small opening in the stone, driving it in until the blade was completely encased in stone. He sneered at Thranduil. "What? No final words? A message to pass onto your precious son?"

"There is nothing I need to say that he does not already know," Thranduil said flatly. "And, if there were something, I will tell him myself."

The sneer on Gothmog's face widened into a sick parody of a smile. On the surface of the pillar the rock seemed to suddenly waver and turn molten, slowly swallowing the Arkenstone, necklace and sword as they watched.

The cave went black.

Bilba gasped, eyes straining to see in the dark, but there was nothing. No light from outside, no glow from the flames below or flicker from the torches set into the wall.

Nothing at all.

It grew cold, a bare hint of it at first as if her mind played tricks on her, then rapidly increasing until her entire body shuddered and her teeth chattered.

And then it came.

It was slow, sneaking up on her like snakes to coil about her ankles. It rose as if she stood in water, past her knees, up to her waist and, then, in a sudden rush, up past her head, barely allowing her the time to gasp in surprise and terror before she was swallowed.

And then she was surrounded by evil. Raw, pure evil.

It could not be reasoned with.

It could not be bargained with.

Goodness and light withered and died in its wake.

Gothmog was but a mere shadow in its presence.

Dimly, Bilba was aware of falling to her hands and knees and leaning forward until her forehead touched the floor. She closed her eyes, and screamed.

She couldn't hear it, only feel the pain in her throat as her vocal chords were overtaxed and torn from the strength of her screams.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

Bilba sucked in a harsh breath, her body shaking so violently it was all she could do to keep on her knees. Around her she could hear similar sounds and looked up to see Frerin in no better shape than she was. Azog and Saruman were both still on their feet, though they looked a bit on the shaky side while Gothmog...

Gothmog looked positively gleeful.

Bilba followed his line of sight to the outcropping where Thranduil was standing, head down, and swaying lightly on his feet.

Gothmog leaned against the pillar, folding his arms and casually watching the scene as if waiting for a grand trick to be performed. Azog, too, seemed captivated, to the point he barely noticed as Frerin shoved his foot off and scrambled free. He made it to where Bilba was still kneeling and crouched next to her. No one was watching them but neither made any attempt to escape. They wouldn't make it five feet before the orcs outside would be all over them, and neither of them had weapons or armor.

On the outcrop, Thranduil swayed again, one leg buckling briefly before he regained his footing. The movement slowed, before finally stopping entirely. His back straightened and his hands idly opened and closed into fists at his side, though his head stayed down.

No one in the chamber moved and it seemed the air itself went still.

The scrape of a shoe on stone rang out and suddenly Saruman was pushing past Gothmog and Azog to stand before the outcrop.

"My Lord," he said solemnly, bowing slightly at the waist. "I am Curumo. I was sent by Mahal but soon saw the error of my ways, and his. It was at great personal peril that I provided aid and was promised great rewards in return." As he said this last, he sent a glare at Gothmog, who merely raised an amused eyebrow in return.

Thranduil, finally, raised his head, and Bilba felt her heart stop in her chest. Beside her, Frerin breathed out as if someone had punched him in the chest and driven the air out of him.

Morgoth, the Dark Lord and Master of Lies, simply smiled.