Morning dawns bright and clear and Thorin rouses them just as the sun peers over the horizon, spreading tendrils of yellow light across the land. Fíli glares at the mountains balefully, for all he has longed to see them for most of his life he had not thought to do so when so much rested on the success of the trip. Nor had he thought to do so without his brother. Kíli, he thinks morosely, would have loved this no matter the reason for the journey. He would have loved the view and would likely have been awake long before Thorin had woken the rest of them. For Kíli there had never been enough hours in the day to do all he wanted. Not enough time to practice his archery, not enough time to make and mend his arrows, not enough time for his music. Kíli would play his fiddle and compose at every opportunity, would have done it all day if it would have brought in any coin. Instead he had been forced to take the path of the blacksmith as his uncle and brother had, and although he was a fair hand at it they had all known that it wasn't his passion. Fíli had played as well, once, but now both of their fiddles were still in the little house in Bree gathering dust and cobwebs. Fíli hasn't played since Kíli was lost and his brother's fingers, always more nimble than his own, had fallen silent.
Kíli would have seen this and the music would have poured out of him.
All Fíli can feel is apprehension.
"You're thinking about your brother," Bilba says from beside him and he startles. "You get this look on your face when you do."
He smiles at her, but it is a tight and brittle thing that doesn't reach his eyes. It can be the most surprising of things that make his grief, even after nearly eight years, suddenly become a crushing weight rather than a vague sensation that he can ignore. For some reason this is one of those times, standing at the foot of a mountain range Kíli longed to see that Fíli knows would have had his brother composing some wonderful tune. Bilba's cool hand slips into his, just for a moment, and she squeezes in brief understanding. Perhaps, he muses, she is thinking of her parents, or her mother who would have visited these mountains during her own visit to Khazad-dûm. He squeezes back, mindful of her more delicate bones, and she leans into him for such a brief time he almost believes he has imagined it. Then she slips away, as though this moment of mutual, if unspoken, vulnerability has proven to be too much. Before he knows it they are all proceeding, single file, into the pass.
Their ponies are all the hardy, stocky kind that are most at home in the mountains and purchased with that in mind. They aren't quite as sure-footed as mountain goats, who Fíli is told are capable of scaling all but the most sheer of rock faces, but it will be enough to keep them on the path unless something goes drastically wrong. They ride carefully, occasionally coming across sections of path where rock slides have made the way difficult for their ponies and almost impassable for Legolas and Gandalf's horses. Bofur and Bifur, who are apparently miners, will clear the path when that happens with enviable speed and skill. It delays them, however, and as the day passes Fíli can see his uncle growing more concerned about it.
It is made worse by the heavy clouds that block out the sun a few hours after they have paused long enough to eat a quick lunch of hard tack and dried fruit. The wind, which has been little more than a strong breeze all morning, picks up and howls around them, whipping hair into faces and snatching hoods from their heads. Dwarrow are designed to withstand extremes of temperature but the sudden drop makes Fíli shudder all the same.
"We need to find shelter," he hears Balin shout as the driving rain starts, soaking almost everyone before they can pull their oilskins about them against the wind. "We cannot continue in this, the path is too treacherous."
For a moment Fíli thinks that Thorin will order that they all press onwards regardless, even as his pony slips and skitters in the wet while the others stamp and toss their heads nervously. Then the sky lights up with an almost blinding flash and thunder rolls around them like a rockslide.
"Dwalin, Nori, find us some shelter," Thorin orders over the storm and the pair slide from their ponies, disappearing into the darkness on sure feet.
The rest follow at a slower pace and Fíli begins to feel the odd prickle on the back of his neck that tells him he is being watched. He shifts in his saddle but by this point the rain has rendered it almost impossible to see further than Ori ahead of him and Adra behind. He puts the feeling out of his mind, unsure what he would do about it in any case. It feels like an age before Nori comes back, but Fíli suspects that it cannot have been more than fifteen minutes, and he leads them to a cave that is large enough for all of them and the ponies. It takes a bit of effort to encourage the ones purchased in Bree inside, being unaccustomed to caves unlike the ones belonging to Adra and her uncles. Eventually, however, they are all inside and even though Thorin forbids the building of a fire they all change into dry clothes and huddle together for warmth.
"You checked the cave thoroughly?" Fíli hears him ask Nori and Dwalin as they all disperse to their bedrolls.
"Aye," Dwalin replies. "I dislike caves this far north of Khazad-dûm as much as you do. There's no goblin sign, but we'd do well to set a watch all the same. No sense in getting caught with our trousers down."
"As if that would cause you any problems," Thorin snorts. "Set a watch," he orders then, all mirth gone from his voice, and Fíli settles into his bed once more.
The goblins come in the night. Fíli wakes to the stamping and squealing of the ponies and Dwalin's roar to arm themselves. The cave entrance is wide, too wide to prevent the goblins from streaming in and Fíli quickly finds himself fending off opponent after opponent, his duel swords singing with every slash and thrust, block and parry. His muscles ache and sweat trickles down his back, but he is a dwarf and his maker created them to endure.
"Bilba!" He hears Adra shout, breaking his focus as he turns to look for their reluctant hobbit and only avoiding a goblin knife at the last second. He cannot see her, though she and Adra have obviously been separated and worry gnaws at him.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Legolas turn away from the goblins, seeming to dance out of reach of their blades and their hands, his daggers nearly black with goblin blood as he darts to the back of the cave. There is no time to think on what the elf is doing, though the numbers of goblins are greatly reduced by this point, and his focus turns back to keeping himself alive. It is not the easiest of tasks, there are fewer goblins than there were at the start, but he is young, and youth doesn't always equal stamina. The remaining goblins look like they are ready to break and flee, but none of them escape. Dwalin, Nori and Thorin make sure of that and those goblins that haven't been killed by the company have been trampled by the terrified ponies. They are lucky, Fíli thinks, that their mounts didn't attempt to stampede their way out of the cave during the attack.
"Are you well?" Thorin approaches him, face soft with concern under the splatters of goblin blood that mar his skin and beard.
"Yes, Uncle," Fíli nods, limbs trembling now that the fight is over, and his breath is coming hard. There is a difference, after all, between sparring and fighting for your life.
His attention turns to Adra, who has hurried towards Legolas at the back of the cave. Fíli hasn't forgotten her shout of concern and fears that his cousin is going towards the body of the hobbit. It makes something icy curl in his gut, and it isn't until he sees Bilba, her face noticeably pale even in the near darkness, that he feels relief settle through him and he lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He blinks and curses when someone finally manages to get a torch lit, his stone sight pierced by the light.
"You're hurt," he hears Adra say as he approaches them. "I should have stayed closer." Something Fíli not only agrees with but thinks of himself as well.
"You had no reason to think I wouldn't be safe hidden there," Bilba replies and her voice rasps a little as she does so. Fíli sees the stark marks on her throat, bruises beginning to form made by long thin fingers, "and Legolas was quick enough."
"How did a goblin get past us?" Fíli asks. "And why focus on Bilba rather than killing the rest of us?"
"I do not believe it is a goblin," Legolas replies, his face troubled as he nudges the corpse with his foot.
It's an emaciated thing, skin pale and sickly grey. Fíli realises he can count every bone in his ribs, spine, hands and feet. Its head is over large, bald but for a few wisps of hair, eyes bulbous appearing and not just with the wideness of death. It is the feet which catch his attention, however, they are too long, too large, even with how skeletal the rest of the body is.
"It's a hobbit!" He exclaims and Bliba startles, her gaze turning to do an inspection of her own. Then she crouches, apparently without thinking, fingers digging into the dirt next to her attacker as she stares.
"No hobbit has passed this close to the Misty Mountains since the Wandering," she mutters, eyes staring and unseeing. She flinches when Adra touches her shoulder but allows herself to be led away.
They will have to move on, Fíli realises, even though they will have little more than moonlight to see by. There are now upwards of thirty goblin corpses in the cave with them, some of which are in multiple pieces. Even if they get rid of the bodies the stone is slick with black blood and the air is thick with the stench of them. The group will get no rest as long as they are here and a moment later Thorin has ordered them to gather their belongings and lead their ponies out. It will be slow going and, to Fíli's irrational irritation, Bilba sticks close to Legolas. Her exhaustion is clear, and her eyes are wary, but Fíli is forced to turn his attention from her in favour of keeping his eyes on the path.
They lead the ponies and walk in silence, the pace so slow as to feel almost as though they are standing still. Every time Fíli wonders why they do not pick up the pace someone stumbles or something in the mountain shifts and he hears muffled curses from in front and behind. They will have to stop soon, he knows, Bilba and the ponies don't see well in the dark at all and the darkness of the sky is not the same as the deep dark under stone. Their stone sight is too sensitive, even the moonlight is a harsh glare, and so they do not see as well in the dark of night as they would under a mountain or in the light of day. At least the rain has stopped, he thinks absently as he notices the first tendrils of sunlight touching the horizon. By the time the light has begun to spread they have reached a wide point on the path, wide enough for them to stop and rest for a couple of hours before continuing on. Exhaustion claims them all quickly enough, but it isn't long before they are roused once more and moving again.
With the sun shining once more they can ride, and Fíli knows he isn't the only one to be glad for it. The day is quiet, though Legolas and Gandalf seem to be holding up better than the rest of them (and isn't it marvellous that wizards and elves need less sleep than everyone else). They push on in silence, too tired to trade stories of home or the old tales that all dwarrow enjoy. Thorin wants to be out of the mountains by nightfall and even though everyone is tired no one else is averse to the idea either. Fortunately, the path is easier and even Fíli's exhausted mind begins to wonder whether the rock falls which had hindered them all the previous day might have been deliberate. Thorin voices something similar as they exit the pass just as the last of the sun's light vanishes and camp is set quickly, too close to the pass for real comfort but they are all too tired to go further.
Fíli moves, by habit, to help Bilba from her pony and is disconcerted to find that Legolas has already done it. In fact, the elf seems to hover over the hobbit for much of the evening, even going so far as to bring her meal to her as though he doesn't trust the dwarrow to take care of her or watch for her well-being. Perhaps he is right to wonder, Fíli thinks morosely, given that their lack of care almost got Bilba killed only hours ago. Much as Bilba insists Adra bears no blame for it, that the creature had appeared out of nowhere, Fíli also knows that his cousin is still blaming herself for what might have been. They have forgotten how utterly vulnerable Bilba is, even with her lessons, and they will need to discuss how to handle such a situation should it arise again.
He dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it comes. His uncle is the one in charge of the group, their leader, it will be down to Thorin to ensure that they have a plan going forward. Now that they have crossed over the Misty Mountains, after all, it will only get more dangerous as they get closer to their goal. It isn't a comforting thought to fall asleep to.
A.N: I don't have much to say about this one, except "Poor Gollum" maybe... One of these days I'll run out of new and interesting ways to run the quest.
