Author's Note: So here is the first chapter for Arc Two! YAY! Though I admit I was starting to hate Arc two as it was being such a pain to write. Thankfully after a long, involved discussion with my step-dad (I've confused and intrigued him with this fic.), I might have found the light in darkness with this arc, so hopefully it will now give me no more trouble to write.
This chapter is bringing to head what I've been hinting at since Chapter 4 of this fanfic. I'm also introducing a whole cast of new characters with this Arc, some being introduced with this chapter.

Chapter Eighteen

A Truly Unlucky Fellow

The wind was bitterly cold as the storm raged over head and not for the first time Radin son of Runira regretted coming along on this venture. This business truly has nothing to with him and his younger brother Ranon, so why must they be the ones to repay the debt that their foolish and greedy uncle had created?

Because if you don't, everyone in the family will be in danger, a voice whispers in Radin's head and he angrily follows the dwarf in front of him.

He has no idea where they are going and he doesn't like that it is just the two of them, too easy to picked off by bandits or a pack of goblins. He had heard there were more of both appearing all over the country these days and it disturbed and worried him deeply. And with his infamous luck it would be one or the other that would descend upon them.

He wishes and not for the first time that he and his family could be safely tucked away in one of great dwarven strongholds that still exist around Middle-Earth. It needn't be one as grand as Erebor, the recently reclaimed kingdom of Durin's line; his family would happily move into one of small strongholds belonging to the Ironfist clans or maybe to the Iron Hills even. But his family are outcasts, traitors even to some and all because of one incredibly stupid ancestor.

Radin wasn't exactly sure what it was his ancestor actually did to get his whole line labelled as outcasts and traitors, but whatever it was, his stupidity was clearly hereditary or else Radin wouldn't be in this mess.

Stupid, useless ancestor! Stupid, useless uncle! Radin thought bitterly as he hunched further into his fur coat made from the skins of rabbits. The coat was made for him by his mother and usually did a good job of keeping him warm but on a night such as this one it felt as if he was walking completely naked.

Where were they going?

Radin moaned as the roaring skies above them opened and rain belted down upon them. This was ridiculous! No job, no matter how good the gold was, was worth being drowned over.

Radin muttered angrily under his breath, cursing the weather, the situation he was currently in, his family's ill luck, his own ill luck when he suddenly bumped into something solid causing him to almost slip down the steep, rocky path he had just climbed up.

"This is place the contact said we're to meet our business partner." Radin rubbed his weeping nose as he blinked through gale force wind and pouring rain, trying to see exactly what their "meeting" place looked like. He saw nothing but blackness and it hurt his eyes to look too hard at anything but his feet.

"How can you even tell?" Radin yelled over the rain almost gagging as rain water entered his mouth as he spoke.

"Can't you smell it?"

"Smell?" Radin yelled down at his feet, "My nose has been doing its best impression of a raging river since this bloody storm hit us. I can't smell a damn, bloody thing!" he rubbed his running nose in aggravation.

His companion made to no sign he had heard a word Radin had spoken and instead simply stood silently in the pouring rain and gushing wind. If Radin's nose was doing its best to appear that it was river than his companion's whole body was doing its best to appear to be made of stone.

Radin continued to rub his nose, his shivers now turning into full body shakes as he searched for a place to sit, hopefully somewhere sheltered from the blasting wind and torrential rain.

He thankfully found himself such a place only a short distance from his stone like employer and settles himself against the rock that was currently giving him shelter from the horrid weather.

Now if only he had some kindling to start a fire, then things would truly be looking up in his favour. But no, all he had in the pack on his back was some spare clothing (wet), a blanket (also wet), his water skin (which is now wet inside and out) and some beef jerky (which is of course wet as well).

He chews on some of the beef jerky as he contemplates just how truly unlucky his family really is and wonders if things could possibly get any worse.

He winces almost immediately after thinking that last thought as he remembered something his old granddad used to say fore he died.

'Never say 'things can't get any worse', the Gods take it as a personal challenge.' Was what his old gramps used to say or did he say destiny? Either way, it didn't matter, what did matter was accepting things as they were and to always expect the unexpected or it might just stab you in the back… like it did with his Uncle Rudon a few years back.

They never did discover which of the drunkard it was who stabbed Rudon in the back after he had apparently won a particularly fishy card game.

Not, Radin reminded himself, that they had tried particularly hard to find out who'd done it. No one was particularly fond of Uncle Rudon. Nor were they of his brother, the one who had landed Radin into this mess to begin with.

Why hadn't the drunkard who had stabbed Uncle Rudon gone ahead and done them all the big favour and stabbed Uncle Rundan while he was at it? Honestly, it would have done the whole family a great service, killing the two brothers in one go instead of killing just one and leaving the other to continue causing issues and problems that the family had to solve because Rundan had no means to do so himself. And if they didn't… well, they'd all end up like Uncle Rudon, wouldn't they? A knife sticking out of their back as they lay face down in an over flowing with garbage and other waste gutter.

No, Radin knew well enough that when it came his time to die he would not die a great war hero by any means but that didn't mean he wanted to end his life face down in a waste filled gutter. He wanted to do something good with his life, so that when it did come his time to die he would have no regrets only… he had never really had a chance to do anything good with his life.

He mulled once more over his own ill luck when he heard his employer suddenly call out to something or someone over the gale force winds and rains. Radin wasn't sure how the person, whoever they were, had heard his employer over the storm – or saw him for that matter – but suddenly he saw another dwarf standing with his employer.

"Mongrel, get over here." his employer belted out and Radin gritted his teeth against both the cold wind and cold fury that curled around in his gut. He should be used to this kind of treatment by now, he really should, but…

Wrapping his arms closely around his torso, Radin moved to stand with the two dwarves, trying not to smirk too hard as he towered over them. A silly thing really to find amusing but he took what he could get when it came to dealing with these types of people.

"Mongrel, this is our contact, Bovin. Bovin this is the mongrel of a lad I told you about, nephew to the fool Rundan." Radin bit down harder upon his tongue to keep his mouth firmly shut to make sure he didn't say anything that he would most certainly regret.

"Wasn't the only fool in the family by the looks of things?" Bovin snorted, "Father or mother?"

"Mother, I believe. Rundan younger sister. Thought she was the only one in that whole damnable family with some brains but," Radin's employer looked him up and down through the still torrential weather, "clearly not."

Radin bit even harder down upon his tongue, tasting the copper taste of blood in his mouth. Thankfully the two dwarves moved on to talking about their business partner.

"He'll be along soon." Bovin was saying as they stood beneath the rock that had sheltered Radin earlier.

Radin was once more sitting against it, not really paying as much attention as he probably should have been as to what was being spoken between the two dwarves but he was simply the grunt, the pack donkey.

What point was there in listening to a job? You'll only find yourself becoming depressed over how much you're going to be carrying all by yourself. Not to mention the depressing thought of how valuable whatever it is you are carrying. The more valuable the thing on your back is, the more your life is in jeopardy from bandits or goblins.

Though with goblins, Radin supposed it didn't matter one inch of your life if you had something valuable on your back or not, goblins would kill you all the same.

And let's not get into the moral qualms about his various jobs. Radin never felt good about carrying stolen goods on his back, but if he raised a word of complaint about it, he'd be out of a job now, wouldn't he?

He was just starting to doze off when he heard what sounded like a howl. And then another and another.

He jumped to his feet, almost clocking himself on the roof of their rocky shelter, his fingers moving to grasp the large hammer that his gramps had made him before the old man had finally died of shame. Shame of what his two sons had become or shame over his daughter and her children, Radin was never really sure, but hoped with all his heart that his gramps had died from the shame of his uncles and not over the life choices his mother had made.

He held his hammer up high, ignoring the annoyed snorts beside him and peered into the heavy rain, hoping to see the wolves before they were close enough to rip out his throat.

"Oh Mahal…" he whispered as he finally saw exactly what creatures were making the horrible howls. His heart shuddered in fear as he saw what was riding them.

He gripped his hammer all the tighter in his hands for despite his terror and the desire to wet himself he refused to go down without a fight. He refused to make this an easy feed for the evil creatures stalking towards them through the rain and wind.

"My lord." Bovin cried and Radin felt like gagging when Bovin went down upon his knee, a gesture that was quickly followed by Radin's employer.

What were they DOING! Had they no pride as full-blooded dwarves? These were orcs and wargs they were bowing to! BOWING!

"Kneel, Mongrel," Radin's employer hissed. "Kneel!" Radin yelped as he was yanked bodily to the stone ground, almost breaking his own hand with his own hammer as he tried to catch himself.

He kept his head down, refusing to look at the evil, snarling creatures around him but he refused to let go of his hammer.

He held it tightly and prayed that he would be able to take out a few of the foul creatures before they tortured him to death.

He bit down hard upon his bottom lip, fighting back useless, frighten tears.

He didn't want to die, especially not at the hands of Orcs. All he had ever wanted was for his family to live comfortably and safe. That was all, nothing else. That was all he had ever wanted, all he had ever prayed to Mahal for.

"You have, information, I believe." Radin felt his spine stiffen at the sound of a cruel, silky voice speak clearly despite the terrible weather.

Radin lifted his head slowly and blinked through the rain and wind to try and see the speaker more clearly. He soon wished he hadn't.

At the centre of the warg ridding Orc pack, was a huge, pale orc with frighteningly bright blue eyes that seemed to burn holes into ones very soul.

"Yes, my Lord Bzog," Bovin cried, " I have information concerning the Halfling who denied your father, Azog the Defiler, his rightful trophy of the head of Durin's King and who also helped to bring about your father's untimely demise."

"Speak."

"He-he lives in a place known only as the Shire, in a section that is known as Hob… Hobbiton, I believe, my lord."

"And where did you get this information from Bovin?" the pale, orc sneered, "As the last time you said you had information about the Halfling it was to only inform me that the wretched creature was indeed dead. A fact that I knew to be quite false for my wargs could smell the wretched scent leaving the battle very much alive. They smelt the scent right up to the trees of Mirkwood before it was lost. The Halfling is alive, this I know. What I want to know is where."

"The Shire, Hobbiton, my lord. He's been living there comfortable for the last eleven years."

"And you know this from where?"

"From the very mouth of the Durin's King's nephew, my lord. I heard him and another dwarf, speaking of the place and of the hobbit during the last trading mission between Erebor and Ered Luin."

"And you are certain that they were speaking of the Halfling I seek?"

"Baggins, sir, they said the Halflings name was Baggins. And I did a little digging, my lord, and have discovered that the only Halfling known to have left the Shire for a grand period of time and returned in the past years goes by the name of Bilbo Baggins. And that was the name I heard mention by the King's nephew. He is alive, my lord, and living comfortably and…"

"And still in communication with the Durin King." The foul pale, orc smirked widely as he stroked the head of his white warg, "this is very good, very good indeed. Better than I had ever hoped, in fact. Bring me the Halfling." He snarled at Bovin, "alive… and unspoilt."

"Of course, my lord, of course." Bovin said bowing deeply to the pale orc.

The pale orc sneered at them before shouting something horrible in orcish before he and his terrible pack once more disappeared into the darkness of the storm.

"What are you doing?" Radin all but shrieked once he had found his voice and his feet. "Those are orcs! Our business partners are ORCS!"

"Anyone can be business partners with anyone… as long as they pay the right price." Bovin replied as he dusted himself down.

"But they're ORCS!" Radin cried.

"Oh hush it Mongrel, you're not paid to complain or to speak for that matter. You're paid for bodily labour and occasional mercenary work that is all. So unless you and your mongrel of a brother want to return to that pitiful family of yours with no money and no way of repaying your uncle's debt without using your own lives to do so, shut it!"

Radin opened his mouth to protest before falling silent. He didn't like this; he didn't like this at all.

Becoming business partners with Orcs? If his mother were here she'd be telling him to forget all about the debt, all about their money problems, they'd figure it out somehow, and that the only thing she wanted him to do right that very moment was to grab his brother and come straight home!

But he couldn't.

If he did that than his employer and Bovin would tell everyone who might just look the other way when thinking about employing him that he had skipped out on a job simply because it was a bit fishy around the edges and dealing with some disreputable folk, he would never work again and his family would be a good as dead.

No, he had to stick with this job, he had to. Anyway, it might not be so bad, deliver the Halfling, hobbit thing to the pale orc, get paid, go home, that's it.

Radin frowned, what was a hobbit anyway? Some kind creature? Halfling made it sound like, well, one thing crossed with another, sort of like…. well, him, but he had never been called something as simplistic as Halfling. No he had words like mongrel and half-breed thrown at him.

Lucky sod, only getting called Halfling when he got called all kinds of names under the Sun. But still it made his gut curl at the idea of delivering any kind of creature, Halfling or not, to the pale orc, Bzog was it?

He hoped the Halfling was a truly evil and disreputable little creature itself so that Radin wouldn't feel any guilt when delivering it to Bzog.

Somehow, deep in his gut, he knew this wouldn't be the case. It never was, not with him. Nothing was ever simple or harmless or in any way uncomplicated when it came to him. He wasn't sure if this was due to his mixed human/dwarf blood or because fate simply loved fucking with him, either way Radin son of Runira always seemed to find himself in the worse possible situations to be in and he had feeling that this mess that he was currently in was the worse by far.

Author's Note: Ok, so first things first, I've given Azog another son as I'm figuring that Bolg was probably killed during the Battle of the Five Armies. Why did I do this? The simple reason is that when I first thought up this fanfic, I forgot the Bolg name was Bolg, I thought it was Bzog and when I discovered that it wasn't, I was kind of attached to the name and attitude that I have for him and thought what the hell, Azog can have another son, what difference will another AU character make?
Anyway, oooo, the plot thickens... well it does kind of. Just so you know, I was hinting that this was going to happen since chapter 4 of this fic, so this isn't something I've suddenly thought up and dumped in here to make poor Bilbo's life even more difficult. This has been planned since the beginning.

Next Chapter we'll be back with Bilbo and Frodo. The chapter title is called 'Family Matters' but I might change it.