Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

30. To Dungeons Deep

Thorin flinched as a crash sounded from just in front of him, where he and the others had been about to exit the ancient tomb and head back to the path of the troll to resume searching. It was as well that Nast had left several minutes prior, or he might have been caught in whatever had just given way, reminding the king once again how dangerous this could be without Kíli. Beside him, Fíli lifted his lantern to illuminate the multi-level crossing area, beam easily showing where the bridge directly above them had given way, dropping debris to block their path. They could try to clamber over it, but it was risky; treacherous footing and loose rock could too easily send them falling into the abyss.

"Uncle…"

The king nodded, waving the others back into the room housing Durin II's tomb. He had not liked the smell or feel of the other direction out of it, leading them deeper into the catacombs, but there was no longer a choice. Beside him, Fíli fished the Arkenstone out of the pouch at his waist to check on it, as he did whenever they paused, only to blanch. The pulsing light was slower and the colors faded, washing out. They could only speculate, but his nephew was certain that it meant that his brother was fading.

Thorin dreaded the moment that it became simply a dull lump of stone; yet in a way, he also had to wonder if it would be a blessing at this point. He had seen the havoc wreaked by the power coursing through Kili's body time and again, noted with dread how remote and cold the young dwarf could become as he subsumed himself in the rock. How much longer would it be before the core of 'Kíli' was lost and they were left with nothing more than an animate statue?

The small group turned, making their way past the heavy stone tombs adorned with carvings depicting events in the lives of those within. Each room down here would hold another such monarch and those closest to him, mostly family, a place few would willingly visit, even dwarrow. Long ago, powerful spells of protection had been laid on these tombs, affecting any who entered who were not dwarrow. Proof that the spells were still effective lay in the pristine, unspoiled state of the place.

It also made it much more likely that their unknown thief really was a dwarf from Balin's colony. What better place to hide than where it was known those with the taint of Mordor in their blood would not dare to tread? It was also why Thorin had planned to use them as a safe, albeit uncomfortable, retreat for the search teams venturing into the orc and troll tunnels.

From the corner of his eye, the king could see that even the elves, Faramir and Frodo were shifting nervously, glancing around as if they wished to be anywhere but where they currently were. Well, they would soon be at the far end, leading downward to where Kíli had believed the catacombs intersected with natural caverns. Hopefully, those would include a way up to the exit that the troll had used, on the other side of the fallen bridge. Otherwise, they would have to continue to the west until they found the path leading to the Endless Stair and find a way out from there.

"Stop!"

Thorin's arm halted both Dwalin and Fíli as his eyes hooked on faint marks on the stone floor. Dust had gathered thickly here, and it aided them now, allowing the passage of someone to be clearly seen. Unfortunately, the stone did not preserve more sign than that, so it was impossible to tell what race had made the footprints. They only knew that it had been none of their own patrol, as none had reported venturing this deep.

"It could be another trap."

Predictably, it was Dwalin who gave the warning.

"Or it could lead to Kíli!"

Fíli objected, the strain of his emotions putting unusual heat into his tone.

"Whichever it is, this is the only way down. Stay alert and together, no matter what."

Thorin's words put an abrupt end to the incipient argument.

It was a tense trip, hands clenching weapons at every stray sound or skitter of loose rock down the corridor. This area was clearly not made for the living, with small rooms, dead ends, and illogical double backs as each generation had added space for their royals. Thorin recognized several of the statues that they passed, but was careful not to allow the memories to hold sway over his mind. A moment's lapse now could cost too many lives. Not to mention amuse Dwalin when he walked into a wall he did not recall being there!

As it was, the path twisted and turned randomly. Had they not been led by dwarrow, with their innate sense of direction underground, the group would soon have been hopelessly lost. As lost as he had been on a moonlit night walking through the gentle rolling hills of the Shire, Thorin thought, catching an amused quirk of Dwalin's lips at Frodo's frustrated curse. The hobbit had been using one of his recovered sketch pads to try to create a map as they walked, but it was obviously not going so well.

There did not seem to be an easily discernable end to the tombs other than the sudden absence of burial vaults, as if the chambers had long been prepared for occupants that never came. Thorin was certain that they had now circled back around beneath the southeast section of the city, water having bored natural passages through the limestone. It was clear, though, that other hands had also aided the process, as some areas were strewn with rough cut boulders. Bofur made a sound of disgust as he surveyed one of the huge waste pieces.

"No dwarrow would be so sloppy, even an Ironfist!"

"Orcs are hardly craft masters, Bofur."

Einarr told the Broadbeam, rolling his eyes at him.

"Yes…" Frodo's tone was thoughtful, attention locked on the boulder so that he did not note the king's concern. "Sam and I saw many such crude examples in Mordor. I remember thinking how offended Gimli would have been, like a hobbit who encounters a careless, haphazardly thrown together dinner. The air has a familiar taint to it, as well."

Now that the hobbit had drawn his attention to it, Thorin had to admit he was right. The air was heavy and musty, but there was an occasional whiff of something else that made his gut twist in discomfort. Coppery blood and rotting flesh! Much as he would like to rush ahead, fearing the worst, he knew they had to proceed with caution. There were foul things that lived in places where the smell of death lingered so strongly, and they would not take kindly to intruders. It was a sullen, quiet group that slowly moved forward, lanterns heavily shielded to avoid giving away their presence to an enemy.

A splash made Thorin glance down with his own muttered oath, Fíli making a noise of disgust next to him. The king had been so caught up in his musings that he had not watched where he walked, stepping into a stagnant pool of foul smelling water that had not only soaked his own boots, but splashed onto his nephew as well. Thorin sighed, knowing from long experience that his feet would soon feel like two blocks of ice. Nearby, a rodent scurried away from his lantern light, chattering its discontent at the invasion.

Twice, they had to make choices as to which path they would follow, and the king choose by which bore the heavier stink, praying he was correct. Time seemed to drag as every foot fall echoed off the stone like a thunder clap, and each drip of water caused hands to tighten on weapons held to the ready. The dim light was making every shadow and malformed rock seem menacing, a tension that grated on the nerves and exhausted the body. Even Legolas and Tauriel had begun to flinch! Thorin was about to call a short halt when the silence was broken.

"Stay still!"

Dwalin's harsh whisper stopped the king in his tracks, swallowing hard when a swing of the lantern still in his hand gave a glimpse of a large coiled body directly in front of him. Had the warrior not warned him, he might have stepped on the thing! He made a move as if to edge backward, but the rock viper hissed, and Thorin tensed, preparing himself to feel the strike of fangs entering his leg. Before he could decide what to do, someone's hand grabbed the back of his collar.

"Ready."

Fíli's words were barely a stir of sound as the king willed himself to slow his too fast heart. Panicking would aid no one, and neither would barking at his nephew, no matter how he wished the fool had been pushed safely to the back of the group. The king caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but he dared not turn his attention from the serpent to discover who else would be so bold. He would not ask that another's life be traded for his! Sweat made Orcrist's hilt slick as he tried to gauge when his foe would strike. If he could but bring the blade around in time… Before he could bring voice to the thought, however, another's rang out.

"Go!"

The bark was accompanied by a swift jerk, pulling Thorin backward to tumble onto someone else as steel sparked against rock. Whoever he landed on gasped in pain as everyone froze for a second, waiting, harsh breathing the only sound. What had just happened? He did not feel as if he had been struck…

"Clear!"

Dwalin's deep rumble immediately had the king rolling to one side, then upright with the help of Bofur, still breathing heavily from his close escape. He had been certain that no one could be fast enough to stop a viper's strike! He was about to interrogate his rescuers on that very fact when he realized that the one he had landed on did not immediately move to also climb to their feet. Thorin dropped his gaze in alarm, newly unshielded lights falling upon golden hair, as he had feared.

"Fíli! Where is our healer?"

Thorin knelt by his nephew, eyes running over his torso, searching for any sign of a new wound. The prince shook his head, one hand grasping his uncle's as he struggled to pull air into his chest.

"NO! F-fine… I'm fine. Knocked… breath out."

Fíli batted away the hands that moved to aid him in sitting up impatiently, earning a scathing look and a firm "Stay put a minute!" from Senata. Thorin stood reluctantly and allowed the healer to look Fíli over quickly, assessing his nephew's condition in his own way. The answers to Senata's questions were still staccato, but strong enough to be heard, and the pained grimace could be previously bruised muscles protesting another assault. Or Fíli's already strained ribs could have given way under the weight of his uncle's body and armor.

"If you are injured further…"

The king trailed off, purposefully not extending a hand to aid the younger dwarf to his feet so that he could watch how the prince moved on his own, noting Senata followed suit. Fíli flashed them both an exasperated scowl, clambering to his feet with a minimum of grimaces.

"Just more bruises, Thorin, I promise."

The king was not certain he believed that, but Fíli stood sturdy on his feet with no further sign of discomfort, so there was little else he could say right now. There was no way that the prince would consent to being poked and prodded further in the middle of the corridor, delaying their search. Senata threw up her hands in annoyance, stalking away to collect her pack when Thorin gave a discrete shake of the head, ordering her to let the prince be. Instead, the king returned his attention to the creature that had started the whole mess.

Uncoiled, the dead rock viper was the largest such Thorin had ever seen, probably surpassing the tall Prince of Men were Faramir to lay next to it. Fortunately for the dwarrow king, its tail had been neatly pinned to the floor by an elven dagger and its head taken off by a dwarrow ax, or it almost certainly would have driven fangs right through the leather protecting his legs. Legolas wrenched his dagger free of the rock with a grunt, lips pursed at the damage done to the blade.

"Vipers lurk in death's shadow."

Someone in the group softly voiced the ancient dwarrow warning as others shifted restlessly, eyes darting to peer into every shadow, as if awaiting the arrival of more of the cursed serpents at any moment.

"Unfortunately, it also means that we're likely on the right path." Einarr elbowed his way forward to nudge the dead thing with his toe. "Well fed, too. That's not good."

"What do you mean?"

Dwalin huffed, a dagger gleaming in his hand as the warrior deliberately stepped between the Blacklock and his king. Einarr huffed in exasperation before taking an exaggerated step to the side and around the other.

"If I had wanted to harm your king or prince, I would have done so by now, you fool. I'm trying to help, but I can't do that if I'm to be tripping over you every time I'm to turn around!"

Thorin frowned, but gave his friend one short nod, leading Dwalin to take a single, and exceedingly grudging, step back. An irrelevant observation that the eastern dwarf shared some of the odd turn of phrase Frey had momentarily distracted him as Einarr rolled his eyes.

"Really!" The Blacklock snapped, then returned his attention to the king and prince. "Some Blacklocks did openly practice the cult rituals, backed by Mordor, and we were not strong enough to drive them out as we should have. That doesn't mean that every Blacklock is a traitor, are we clear on that?"

From the expression Dwalin had, he wanted to dispute that, but settled for impatience, instead.

"Ya going to waste our time jabbering, or tell us something helpful?"

"It's one of the rituals worshiping Sauron, a blood sacrifice. The prisoner is left to bleed slowly to death so that Sauron could revel in his pain. The vipers always lurk nearby because they know they will have a meal soon. Unfortunately, the higher in rank the prisoner is, the more powerful they believe the sacrifice to be, so they will be more likely to hold the ritual instead of keeping him for other… amusements. We must follow the path of the serpents. Look."

Raising his lantern, Einarr gestured at the trails left by serpentine bodies making their way across the wet limestone floor.

"Ya want us to follow the creatures? When Thorin was almost bit just walking the path?"

Bofur made clear the idiocy of that idea with his tone, but one of the others made a rude noise in his throat.

"You northerners have become soft, living where it's too cold for the things. Give me a lantern."

At Thorin's nod, Fíli passed over the requested item, which the gruff dwarf, a Stiffbeard named Baldur, quickly fastened to the end of his spear. As he watched, the king's mind was able to supply half a dozen instances where Durin had watched this technique used, he had simply been too focused upon Kíli to think straight.

Baldur thrust the spear and lantern forward, grunting in satisfaction as a blur struck the shaft just behind the light, splintering the wood. Another elven knife cut through the air to skewer the beast right behind the head, making Dwalin whistle and give the Mirkwood captain a tiny nod of respect.

"You see?" Einarr rumbled, gesturing at the other to lead the way. "The snakes know that what they seek is behind the light, and so they strike there. Always you are to remember they are Sauron's creatures, not ordinary snakes who act upon nothing but instinct."

"Won't your spear shaft break before long?"

Frodo asked, staring at the wood with a half-fascinated, half-repulsed expression. Obviously, he and Sam had been lucky enough not to encounter the creatures in their travels through the Black Land. Most likely, Sauron had already summoned his pets to him to accept the offerings of his gathering armies.

"Unlikely." Baldur shrugged. "It's made of ironwood. They'll get a few splinters off it once in a while, but naught else."

It would be slower going, but safer, the king grudgingly noted as they began to pace forward. Three times more, the pole was struck by a serpent before it retreated from the light or was killed by a thrown blade. The stench also began to lay heavier in the air, the distinct smell of rotting meat.

Thorin wrinkled his nose, but refused to allow any greater reaction as Kifir began coughing and someone fought off retching with soft strangling noises. They continued on, until, one by one, they were forced to give in, pulling scarfs and handkerchiefs out to tie over their noses and mouths. No one spoke beyond absolute necessity, sucking air noisily through open mouths.

Finally, a doorway came into view as the smell heightened to the point where even Dwalin, Thorin and Einarr were having difficulties. The frame around the opening was black rock not native to Khazad-dûm, crudely shaped into two grotesque serpents with open mouths forming a hole directly over the center of the walkway. None of them moved, uncertain if they could stomach what must lie inside.

"Here."

Senata whispered, pressing a small green sprig into the king's hand before passing some to the others. Dwalin refused to take it, receiving a roll of the eyes from the healer.

"It's mint! To calm your stomach and help with the stench."

"Chew it, Dwalin."

The king was quick to cut off further protest from his old friend, knowing the warrior's intense aversion to all things green. He quickly lifted the cloth covering his nose and mouth to place his own piece in his mouth, sighing as a burst of flavor overwhelmed the rotten smell. Muffled murmurs told him the others where finding it just as refreshing.

"Thorin!"

The hale from down the hallway was soft, but penetrating, making the group turn as a lone dwarf hurried toward them, his own dim lantern swaying on the shaft of a familiar iron bound staff.

"Nori! You should not have come alone!"

The dwarf snorted, straightening as he accepted the hand clasp of his king and then his prince in welcome. Nori had changed little from the time of the quest, save that his hair was now almost all white, making his hairstyle all the more startling to those not used to his ways. The only sign of his prosperity and high station was the finer quality of his clothing evident even now, in traveling leathers partially covered by light, flexible armor.

"I had a much better chance alone then with any of that lead-footed bunch! Sounded like a herd of oliphaunts wherever they went, the lot of them! Nast stayed behind to get some rest."

"Nice to know at least one of you will follow your king's commands."

Thorin quipped, not truly angry. He had long known and approved of where Nori's loyalties lay.

"And ruin my reputation, Thorin? Besides, it's not your image on my Lord's Coin."

No, that honor belonged to the princes of Erebor, one of whom was still missing as the other shouldered his way forward.

"But what are you doing here?"

Fíli demanded sharply, handing his spymaster a water skin.

"Joining you."

Nori retorted in a tone that made clear he thought such a thing was obvious. Then, in a single instant, his hand blurred as a dagger flew through the air above Fíli's head to skewer the serpent that had tried to strike from its hiding place within the stone mouths.

"Wasn't hard to work out another way around the debris, then follow the trail of dead snakes." Nori wrenched the wicked, curved dagger loose and kicked the body to one side. "I need to speak with you two, along with Bofur and Dwalin, urgently and privately."

"I do not know how much privacy we dare to afford you here, Master Dwarf, but we will do our best. Come."

Legolas beckoned to the others in their group, drawing them down the hall slightly, where the air was better, if Thorin was reading Frodo's sigh of relief correctly. Nori, unsurprisingly, did not seem affected by the putrid smell, but was as tense as Thorin ever remembered seeing him.

"What is it, my friend?"

He asked softly, taking the lead since Fíli was distractedly still darting glances at the doorway they had been about to enter.

"Nast told me what has been occurring, and Thorin… The body in the Chamber of Records isn't Ori's."