The fact that the good things in life can disappear before you know them was a lesson that Elsa had learned the hard way, and yet could never get quite used to; Rivendell, with its fine beauty, warm foods, soft beds, and pleasant music, already seemed like a distant dream here on a path alongside the edge of a steep cliff. The morning cold, even in the shadows, did nothing to waken her senses; her body still longed for sleep, and it was only their march that kept the blood flowing.

Only been a few hours ago they departed Rivendell; Elsa, after her conversation with Elrond, had returned to her guest room to get some much needed sleep with the coming of the night. That period of bliss had been brief, however, when one of the dwarves knocked on her door, informing her that the company was leaving right then and there, much to her surprise and great reluctance. What made it even stranger was that Gandalf was not coming with them, though she had been informed that he would catch up with them later on. Still, it seemed very strange to her for them to leave him so abruptly; what was he doing, anyway?

Thorin, at the head of the group, barked out, "Be on your guard; we're about to step over the edge of the wild." He, out of all of them, seemed to be the most eager to depart.

Bilbo, a little further ahead of her, took a moment to look back at the elven dwelling. She saw in his eyes a sad longing for a taste of what they had experienced, up until the moment Thorin's words compelled him on again. Elsa managed to catch up with him, and when the other dwarves couldn't hear them, whispered, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, fine, fine. It's just…" Bilbo stammered, "That was the closest I've ever been to home."

She smiled sympathetically. "I don't blame you," she said.

And thus, their journey continued; Thorin and Balin led the way towards the Misty Mountains that, as they stepped closer and closer, seemed to become more and more massive and threatening, more so than even the great mounts of Arendelle, it seemed. Over the course of the passing days, the landscape around them became harsher and more uninviting, changing from soft green forests to rugged hills of dry brush. Further on, even the vegetation disappeared as they came upon the mountainside itself; here, stone and snow held sway in the windswept landscape. Again, the cold did not affect Elsa in this harsh land, but she could see that the others, even in their coats and furs, shivered when a chill breeze swept through; her heart yearned for some way to comfort them.

The further they went, the more brutal the weather seemed to become, culminating in a furious thunderstorm that rumbled above while raining down and making the thin path of rock slick and slippery beneath their feat one dark and fearsome night. All in all, it was probably the worst time and place to be outside, even for Elsa. The company stuck as closely to the face of the cliff as much as possible, shielding their faces from the wind and rain.

"Miss Elsa," Dori called out from behind, "You seem to have a knack for meteorological talents; could you do something about this tempest?"

"If by that, you mean turn it into a blizzard and make it worse," Elsa shouted back, "then I'd probably be able to do that, but I don't think it would be prudent to our cause." Just then, the stone beneath her feet crumbled away, and Elsa found herself staring down at a hundred mile drop, restrained only by the hands of the dwarves closest to her. They graciously pulled back onto the path as she heaved a sigh of relief.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin shouted up ahead, as the storm roared overhead with a flash of lightning.

Suddenly, a huge blast came overhead, and everyone ducked for cover as a shower of rocks and boulders came pouring down the cliff. Motivated by the desire to stay alive, the company hastened their way down the path, only for more and more stones to come hurtling down their way, some even managing to obliterate what might've been decent footholds. Half of the group managed to get further ahead than the one Elsa and Thorin were in. In the midst of all the chaos, Elsa couldn't help but wonder if they had been caught in the middle of a battle between giants…

As if to answer her question, the lightning flashed, briefly revealing the silhouette of a massive figure in the distance, about to hurl an equally massive stone towards them.

Or more specifically, the half of the group where Bilbo was.

She gasped as the boulder smashed into the cliff face above them, shattering it into huge chunks that came rolling down in a huge avalanche, blocking them from view. When it had parted, they were nowhere to be seen.

Thorin voiced Elsa's thoughts as he charged ahead and shouted in despair. Elsa and the other dwarves were right behind him. Turning the corner, they were all relieved to find their companions all in a pile, safe and sound and getting back on their feet, heaving after what was surely a near death experience.

But then Elsa noticed that one of them was missing. "Where's Bilbo?" she asked, "Where is our hobbit?"

A yell below answered her question; the hobbit was hanging off the side of the cliff, clinging on to the rock for dear life. He slipped, and she moved forward, clasping his hand in hers. With all her strength, she started to hoist…but then Bilbo started shouting in pain. She felt his hand turn cold in hers, and at the shock her grip loosened. He fell, but managed to grasp onto another ledge below.

Thorin himself jumped down to a nearby ledge, grabbed Bilbo by the back, and hoist the hobbit back towards the hands of the others, himself coming back up with the help of Dwalin. Once he was back in safety, Elsa went straight to Bilbo. "Are you alright? Your hand…I'm so sorry…"

"Don't worry about me," Bilbo assured her, "I'm fine, and so is my hand."

In huge sighs of relief, Dwalin said, "I thought we had lost our burglar."

"He's been lost," Thorin said, "Ever since he left home. He should never have come; he has no place amongst us."

The words, though not directed at her, hit Elsa with as much force as they must have hit Bilbo, and she felt as though they applied to her as well.

Fortunately, Thorin discovered a small cave in the cliff wall, and almost in an instant, everyone managed to get inside, grateful to be someplace where, at the very least, they could avoid getting any wetter than they already were. Elsa managed to dry off the fastest by turning the rainwater on her skin into ice and sending it away in a puff of powder; she did the same for everyone else, which, while leaving them a bit colder, left them far drier than before. It was decided then that they would stay there until dawn, but no fire would be lit, out of concern of what other dangers might dwell nearby.

If Elsa had hoped for any sleep this night, she was sorely mistaken; the snoring of the dwarves, exaggerated by their own echoes, kept her awake in the dark cave, alongside the thundering of the storm outside. It was incredible how quickly she had gone from sleeping in a soft, quiet bed to…this. Not that she had anything personal against the dwarves or anything like that.

She heard the sound of bags being closed, the rustling of cloth, and footsteps padding their way across stone and sand. Turning herself around, she saw the shape of a very small person tiptoeing his way over the sleeping forms of dwarves.

"Bilbo!" she whispered, "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

He turned to her, very solemnly. "Back to Rivendell," he answered.

Getting onto her feet, Elsa made her way over to him, saying, "You can't quit! Not now!"

"What difference would it make?" he responded. "Thorin was right; I shouldn't have come out here to begin with."

"That's not something the Bilbo I first met would say."

"No, that wasn't me. That was a Took talking. I'm not a Took, I'm just a Baggins. I should never have run out my door."

Elsa knelt down to his eye level, and grasped his arms. "You listen to me, Bilbo Baggins. You're needed here; you are a part of this company."

"No, Elsa, I'm not. I'm not a dwarf; I'm not even a burglar. I feel more like a spare wheel than anything else, and you have no idea what that feels like!"

"Actually, you're wrong," Elsa admitted, "I do."

"Are you joking? You're the most useful out of all of us!"

"I've seen the way that Thorin looks at me," she said, "the way he looked at me before I joined this quest and ever since then. It makes me feel very much like a spare wheel."

"Well, at least you can handle yourself," Bilbo stated, "I'm just not used to this kind of life; running around, always on the road, never settling down, not belonging anywhere…"

Those last notes struck a chord with Elsa; she remembered what Elrond had said to her back in Rivendell, of being lonesome in a world you weren't born in…suddenly she felt more alone than ever before.

Bilbo saw the look on her face. "I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

"No," she said quietly, "You're right." Looking back at the sleeping dwarves, she added, "At least they had a home, once."

There was a moment of pained silence in that cavern between them. Then Bilbo clasped Elsa's hands into his own. "Come with me," he said, "Come with me back to Rivendell, maybe even back to Bag End."

"What?"

"Neither of us belongs here," he said, "and I realize what you mean. We can leave together, and put this whole mess behind us. I doubt that anyone would notice we were gone."

Elsa's emotions were swirling like a whirlpool inside of her. This offer came out of nowhere for her; on one hand, she didn't want to abandon Thorin and the company, but on the other hand…she thought of how Bilbo had described the Shire, and the images rolled by in her mind. She thought of peace, quiet, maybe even freedom…

"Bilbo," she started, "I…what's that?"

She had noticed a light emanating from Bilbo's scabbard. He drew out the blade by the handle, and a blue light glowed from it in the dark.

"Oh, that? Gandalf said that it would glow like that when…," Bilbo started to explain, but then paused, a look of fear coming over his face.

Suddenly, a sound like a huge rumbling crack shook the floor beneath them, waking up the dwarves. Then, it disappeared, and Elsa tumbled down a huge tunnel, losing orientation as she slid down the walls and into the air, until at last she found herself lying on top of a pile of dwarves. Pulling herself together, she saw that they had landed in some sort of large basket above a massive chasm, lit by the flames of torches and lanterns lining a wooden plank bridge running from their basket to a pathway carved out of stone…where a horde of horrible screeching creatures were coming straight at them. Brandishing hideous weapons, they seemed to her some especially degenerate form of orc, their bodies twisted and malformed, with pale skins riddled with sores and lesions, mouths lined with diseased and broken teeth, and eyes that glared with hatred and malice.

Instinctively, Elsa leapt off of the dwarf pile and raised a barricade of razor sharp icicles, halting most of the heathenish creatures in their path (some were unfortunate enough to run themselves through). But then, something hit her hard in the back, throwing her to the floor. She felt cold, grimy hands tie hers together, and saw as larger creatures used their clubs to smash their way through her barricade. A foul-tasting gag was forced into her mouth, and a foul-smelling sack was forced over her head, blinding her to what was going on around her.

She felt herself being raised to her feet and forced to walk amidst a cacophony of screeches and growls; she could hear the protests of the dwarves as they went along. With her head stuck in that bag, she was lost and confused as the sounds around her changed; constant were the dwarves and their refusal to back down, but their enemies cries seemed to multiply as they went, and became accompanied by wretched noises attempting to be a grating imitation of music. At last, she heard the sounds of something coughing and gurgling…something big.

Forced onto her knees, the bag was taken away from her head, and she could see again—but she wasn't sure that she even wanted to. Sitting on a tall throne with a pile of hapless creatures as his footstool was easily the biggest and foulest of them all; a corpulent beast with innumerable sores and lesions across its body that easily towered above them all. On its scalp was a crown topped with teeth, bones and claws, and in its gnarled hand it held a staff topped with the skull of some horrendous horned beast and tipped with razor sharp prongs. The sight, along with the gag, was almost enough to make her retch.

"Welcome to Goblin Town, ladies and gentlemen!" the huge creature bellowed, "Don't expect to get out alive or intact anytime soon."

Elsa looked around, and saw that the dwarves were with her, but they were all surrounded by legions of these goblin creatures. Beyond that, the cavern they were now in was massively huge, with the walls lined with wooden shacks and such. High above them, a chandelier made out of a wagon wheel hung precariously above, lighting the place in golden light.

The subservient goblins, having taken their weapons, piled them onto the floor before what she could only assume to be their king.

"Who would be so bold as to come ARMED into MY kingdom?" the Goblin King demanded upon seeing all the swords and axes, "Spies? Thieves? Assassins?"

"Dwarves, your malevolence," one of the smaller goblins answered, "We found them on the front porch."

"And they've got a WITCH with them!" another shouted, pointing at her and sending the vile crowd into a riot.

"How do you know she is a witch?" the Goblin King questioned.

"Well, she turned me into a NEWT!" one really small goblin squealed.

"…A newt?"

Silence hung in the air for a moment as everyone looked at that particular goblin questionably. He then whimpered, "I got better."

The Goblin King, after giving the small goblin a foul look, then turned his attention to the dwarves. "What are you doing in these parts?"

Thorin started to step forward, but then Óin halted him. "Don't worry boys," he said as he came to the front, "I'll handle this."

"No tricks! I want the truth," the Goblin King demanded, "Once and all."

"You'll have to speak up, lad," Óin requested, displaying his flattened hearing aid, "Your boys flattened my trumpet."

"I'll flatten more that YOUR TRUMPET!" The Goblin King started to charge towards them, ready to crush them with his mace. But then Bofur came to the fore.

"If its information you want, I'm the one to talk to," he said. With a small nod from the Great Goblin, he went on. "You see, we were on the road—actually, it's not so much of a road as a path—actually it's not even that, come to think of it, it's more of a track. Anyway, point is, we were on the road like a path like a track, and then we weren't, which is a problem because we were supposed to be in Dunland, last Tuesday…" he started to waver in his alibi. It was very clear to Elsa that the Goblin King didn't believe a word of what Bofur was saying.

"Visiting distant relations!" Dori added.

"Yes!" Bofur said, "Some inbreds on me mother's side—"

"SHUT UP!" the Goblin King roared hideously, silencing them before Bofur could go on any further.

"If they will not talk," he said, "We'll make them SQUAWK!" The entire crowd of goblins went into a wild frenzy at the thought of torture. "Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bone-breaker!" He then pointed his crooked finger straight at Elsa. "Start with…the prettiest!"

"WAIT!" Thorin shouted from behind. The crowd became silent as the Dwarf King stepped forward to face the Goblin, who appeared to recognize him.

"Well, well, WELL!" the great fiend smiled, "Look who it is! Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór," He then displayed a mocking curtsy. "King under the mountain…oh, but I forgetting you don't HAVE a mountain, so you're not a king, which makes you…nobody really."

The fiend slowly lurched over towards him, speaking very softly. "But do you know what? I know someone who'd pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. I do believe you know of whom I speak of, no? A certain pale orc, astride a white warg?"

Elsa saw fear in Thorin's eyes at the goblin's words, followed by denial. "The Defiler was destroyed; he was slain in battle long ago," the Dwarf King insisted.

"So you think his defiling days are done, do ya?" The Goblin King chuckled. He then turned to an especially deformed looking goblin perched like a bird on a plank with long, claw-tipped fingers that it used as a writing utensil. "Send word out to the Pale Orc," he commanded. "Tell him, I have found his prize."

As the scribe slid away, Elsa's mind was flooded with questions, but the most important one of all now was, "How are we going to get out of here?"