A/N: Here it is Chapter 4 in all its glory. Looking over the goblin's song, I now realize why I didn't like it before. So, I just out and out created a new one. Goblins are not poetic creatures! Keep this in mind. Of course, there has been additions made to this chapter. So, I was in a naughty state of mind, and if I could write poetry, you would know the dirty limmerick that Bombur wrote about Bertha.

My thanks to my wonderful readers. I love you! My thanks to The Lady of the Light and Icy Sapphire. And Jareth the Monk, you know you had better!

Discalaimer: Tolkien's ghost is screaming in agony for the poetic misjustice I just dealt him!

Chapter 4: Over the Hill and Under the Hill

Upon Midsummer's Day, the elves gave Gandalf and Company a hearty 'goodbye.' They gave the dwarves plenty of free meals under the condition that they leave and never return. So, Gandalf, Bilbo and the dwarves headed off to the lovely Misty Mountains. The dwarves and hobbit enjoyed this part of the journey so much that they added many and various colorings to the trail to express their full hearted (or should I say their full stomached) opinion. Bombur happily contented himself with spray painting all his wonderful poetry about Bertha (and including his phone number with it) all along the mountain side. The others ignored him in hopes of keeping that full stomach.

When they reached one of the passes at the greatest heights of the mountains, a tremendous storm struck. The stone giants decided that this was a good time to play a game of baseball, and they played soooooooo well! The pitcher threw the ball a thousand feet away from the batter, who swung at all the same. The ball may have missed the batting box, but it nearly hit several of the dwarves. When by some strange twist of events the batter hit the ball, the fielders kept dropping the ball or running headlong into each other. (So much like the home team.) Thorin, in disgust with this disgrace to the game (and mainly because he was losing his bet with Fili and Kili), he sent the two younger dwarves to find shelter for them.

The party sheltered in a damp cave with dripping water that played out danceable tunes, where Oin and Gloin did a promenade to. They wanted to build a fire, but Gandalf claimed to be allergic to such comforts. So, they decided pull out their imported special pipe weed, that had been specifically shipped from some strange unknown place called Colombia. Bilbo recognized it as that expensive stuff that he saw in Belly Bellbottoms' shop, but he never bought it because it was too pricey for his tight wallet. The dwarves and wizard made all those interesting smelling smoke rings, that the hobbit had fallen in love with at first sniff. He went into a deep joyous sleep, where he dreamed that he was falling through the floor.

He woke to the sonorous snores of the dwarves and rubbed his head. "That's the last time I am going to smoke that stuff, much less eat it."

At that moment, Gandalf awoke. The goblins nearest to him that appeared in the illuminating lightning that he produced, were reduced to dust in the wind. (He was aiming at the hobbit for waking him up, but he missed.) The goblins shrugged and grabbed the dwarves and the dazed babbling hobbit, who needed a bed to crawl under for another nervous breakdown. With wicked gleams of mischief, the goblins snapped their whip and rattled their chains, and soon the party found them the center of the evening's entertainment. In the process of dragging these guests down to their pleasant little hole in the ground, they sang a nice little tune quite off key and totally unsynchronized with each other on a couple of other different songs, but one song prevailed through the slosh of words. (And the little people could have done without this poetic artistry, too!)

"O! We've caught ourselves some scum dwarves

Along with something utterly smelly and quite furry.

So what! Why should we really seriously care?

As long as these slimy critters cook up well!

And if things go well, you'll have a front row seat

At our roasting season.

Yum! Yum!

"Work all day, kick ass all night

Can make life really shitty,

But finding on your doorstep

Thirteen plump juicy dwarves,

Along with something that

Wins out on the smelly and furry,

Has a way of making us feel

High on the belly.

Yum! Yum!

"Now, our cook has lost all his cares,

And breakfast turned up quite inedible,

But we plan to fix him up right and well

Guess what, my dearest little dwarves,

He'll be joining you and that furry thing

In our special little roasting session!

Yum! Yum!"

As they sang their song that Bilbo thought was quite a catchy tune and the dwarves moaned, they entered a great chamber, where there was a great bonfire, burning things that no one really wanted to talk about at the moment, a vast throne with the goblin king (with his nose buried in his lovely magazine "Impious Imps"), and a prisoner of their own kind all chained up from head to foot.

"That was the dumbest, worst song that I have ever heard you guys sing!" the goblin prisoner complained.

"What do you know about singing and fine poetic skills! You can't even cook a meal that a goblin can digest!" answered the captain of the captors, who just happened to write the prominent tune.

"I know more about cooking than you do about singing," replied the prisoner.

One of the guard nudged the deeply engrossed in his reading material (Well, the pictures) Great Goblin to get his attention on the court at hand, but the goblin just gave a lecherous laugh and turned the page with strange unintelligible mutterings. The guard took the magazine away and if looks could kill, the goblin would be the next meal for this ravenous band. The guard passed the magazine to his underling, who immediately began to enjoy the fine art therein. The Great Goblin huffed and turned his attention to the court, since his fun had ended and he had nothing better to do. He narrowed his amber eyes at the two squabbling goblins and yelled, "Enough of this. Your arguing gives me a headache, and you wouldn't like me in a bad mood. What have you brought me today, Captain?"

"Thirteen dwarves and very high bunny rabbit," the captain answered proudly.

"That's nice. Well, it is a better catch than that basilisk you caught last week. You stoned two of my best citizens. Ah, my poor Helga and her voluptuous sister Delga, life won't have the same flare as it once did," the goblin king mused pleasantly. With a sigh of regret, he returned his attentions back to the captain. "So, what do you suggest that we do with 13 dwarves and a high bunny rabbit?"

"That's for you to decide, my lord," the captain replied.

"You didn't capture any girls! What good are they!" Complained the Great Goblin.

"Well, sir, if I may be so bold as suggest," started the captain, "We could make a good stew out of them. Haven't had rabbit in ages!"

"Ooo! Gross!" complained the ex-cook.

"What do you know of it? Your idea of a good meal is cereal and burnt toast!" the goblin captain pointed out.

"I never volunteered to be the cook! Just because my father did so well in appeasing your sick little taste buds, doesn't mean that I will. Besides, I know better than cook dwarves. They are all old and tough, and hobbit is poisonous!"

"Shut up, all of you!" Yelled one of the Great Goblin's guards.

"Thank you," the goblin king answered, as he popped two aspirins, "So, what did these fourteen interesting, but appetizing little morsels, do?"

"Trespassing on our front porch," answered the captain.

"All right, but that doesn't really seem like enough to want to have them over for dinner. By the way, what is my cook doing here? Who's doing the cooking with him in chains?" asked the Great Goblin.

"He can't cook!" cried out several goblins at once.

"And I caught him with my sister!" one goblin in the back complained. The prisoner goblin's face darkened as the blood rushed to his cheeks.

"That's a good enough reason to put him in the pot!" Agreed the king.

"Dear, sir," started Thorin, as he dug out his literary shovel (which was bigger than most), "We did not mean to trespass on your land. Believe me, if we knew your people were hanging about here, we wouldn't have come within 10 miles of this place."

"He's a fibber! Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!" exclaimed the captain, "He carries the sword Orcrist!"

"What's that? I'm a food connoisseur, not a historian!" the Great Goblin pointed out.

"It's the Goblin Cleaver," replied the captain.

"So, they're thieves?" inquired the Great Goblin, "They've been stealing from the royal kitchen. No wonder my cook can't make a descent meal! This is a serious offence indeed!"

"Uh, sir," answered the cook, "Orcrist is not that kind of goblin cleaver. It's a sword used to do rather nasty things to goblins."

"Why would anyone want to do anything nasty to us?" queried the Great Goblin in amazement.

"Well," answered the prisoner cook goblin, "My great great great great great great great great great great great great great great grandfather beat out the best elven cook in a cook off, and that rather pissed off the elves. So, they created these swords to knock us off as revenge."

"Oh!" answered the Goblin King slowly.

"So, my lord," remarked the captain, "Shall we cook up the cook with the dwarves and the bunny rabbit?"

"Ooo! I am a rotten cook, but you're talking about cannibalism! How sick can you get!" cried out the cook.

"Shut up!" Yelled one of the Great Goblin's guard.

"Oh, why not! It's got to be better than what we had for breakfast!" answered the Great Goblin.

At that moment a flash of lightning in the shape of a giant 'G' flashed across the cavern. Glamdring flashed, and the Great Goblin dropped dead. Gandalf would have been distressed to know this, but the cause of death was more due to food poisoning than it did with Glamdring, especially since the bolt completely missed him and incinerated the royal library. The dwarves and the hobbit (dragging the cook along with them) ran for it.

When they got a fair distance away, Gandalf cut the chains, (due to the fact that the clanging and clattering that was echoing loudly in the caves was getting on his nerves) until he came to the goblin cook. The goblin grinned and waved innocently at him. "Hi, there," he said and promptly wet his pants.

Gandalf shrugged a 'what the hell,' and cut him loose. He was a prisoner with the dwarves and the hobbit, and the wizard was sure that the goblin would meet a most gruesome fate at the hands of his own people. Not to mention, Gandalf was not really in the mood for goblin meat at this time. The goblin gave an elaborate bow of a thank you and scurried off in the opposite direction.

After several attacks ( about 187) by the goblins, the goblins got the idea that if they sneaked up quietly on the dwarves (instead of stalking them and singing several different songs off key all at once), they may be more successful in recapturing their dinner. So, in their third attack, they managed to grab the dwarf Dori ,who was graciously volunteered after he drew the shortest straw to carry the clumsy and a bit intoxicated hobbit (that's another long story). Dori dropped Bilbo on his head (Nothing important was hurt), and the hobbit bounced on down into the chasm. Now Gandalf was really ticked off!