DISCLAIMER: SAME AS BEFORE, SEE EARLIER CHAPTAHS. DANKE.
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Bilbo slowly opened his eyes. There was still no light of any kind. He was only barely able to distinguish a few shapes and blurs in the darkness, and even then it did little good.
. It had perhaps been but half an hour since he had become conscious, but he might as well have stayed unconscious, as awake did little to improve the situation. He could not see in front, next to, or behind him. A feeling of claustrophobia had been slowly growing on him. Seeing and hearing absolutely nothing was enough to drive anyone mad. He shivered, the air was quite cold, having a distinct deathly feel to it, as if the Hobbit was trapped in a tomb. But then again, perhaps it was a tomb, Bilbo was buried alive far beneath the surface without hope of rescue. The feeling of nothingness about him crept into his heart, pouring its deadly cold despair mercilessly.
It was over. That was it. Over and gone. Like a page of a book, he had been turned and now his part in this tale was over.
He let his hand fall limply to his side, but felt the cold smooth feel of metal at his side. It was his sword. Like a shimmer of hope, he felt the chill from the cold metal. He pulled it out slowly from the scabbard, holding it in front as it gleamed dully. The orcs were not close thankfully. But perhaps that was a bad thing, because the blade produced little light at all. Bilbo then almost wished to have the hostile creatures near for sake of some light.
"Confusticate and all bother to it!" the Hobbit exclaimed out loud.
The echoes of his voice bounced along the cavern walls, far down the passageway and through the halls. Growing ever fainter as they disappeared. Bilbo was slightly taken aback, not having expected his voice to be at the volume that it came at nor the eery echoing.
Feeling blindly, he felt for the bars once more. Finding them strong and smooth as ever. Suddenly, a sharp and ringing voice disturbed the silence.
"Put your weapon away!" a mutter was added, "Or I'll do something dreadful..."
Bilbo turned with a start, unable to tell from which direction it had come from. Keeping his sword before him and glancing wildly about.
"It's no use I say. You'll see nothing, so there's less chance of seeing me." The voice reasoned in its peculiar penetrating tone. .
"Who and what are you?" The Hobbit demanded.
"That's mine to know and yours to find out." The voice snapped. "An' besides, I could ask the same of you!"
"Well..." Bilbo thought for a moment, "I asked first! It's only polite to answer my question!"
"An' if I'm not polite?" The voice laughingly countered.
The Hobbit shifted, whatever this thing was, he didn't think it sounded all that dangerous. No, it was worse. It was downright annoying. There was no menace to it, more like curiosity. But now, how to deal with it? Would it even allow him to deal with it? Also, if Thorin had said these halls were deserted, how and why was this creature here?
"You don't have an answer to that eh?" The voice seemed to have an almost childish tone to it with its small victory. Bilbo smirked as he decided to play along.
"No. No I don't have an answer to that."
"Then since I'm not polite, you stop talking and answer my questions." the voice commanded. Bilbo frowned, he disliked taking orders, from an invisible voice even more so. However, it seemed his only hope for the moment.
"Alright...We'll do it your way." The Hobbit answered.
"Good!" The voice sounded almost childishly jubilant, "Name!"
Bilbo raised an eyebrow. Name? Really...Were it him he'd be more concerned whether he was an orc or not. But then again this was a peculiar voice, with seemingly peculiar fancies. Best to humor it.
"My name is Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo answered, rolling his eyes.
"Bilbo Baggins?" The voice repeated, "Funny name that."
"Anything else you want to know?" The Hobbit answered in an impatient voice.
"Oooh, impatient are we?" The voice jeered.
"Well you would be too!" The Hobbit answered hotly, "Sorry if sitting in a cage, prison, or whatever it is isn't exactly my idea of a pleasant way to spend tea!"
"It's a trap." the voice corrected, "And of course there's more! Where's the fun if it ends this soon?"
Bilbo muttered something quite threatening under his breath, he did not enjoy this game the creature was playing. It was enjoying it much too much for the Hobbit to be comfortable.
"Fine. Fine then. Ask away. Just hurry." The Hobbit sighed. This might be longer than he thought.
"What are you?" the voice prodded.
"A...Hobbit of the Shire." Bilbo answered.
There was a silence for a few moments, as if the creature was thinking over what had been said. Bilbo for a brief moment thought it had left, and had begun to voice then came in a suspicious tone.
"A Hobbit? Shire? Ne'er heard of them. Bet you're lying."
"I'm not!" Bilbo declared in exasperation.
"Bet you are."
"I'm not! Why would I lie?" Bilbo attempted to reason.
"I don't know. Lot's of reasons to lie." The voice countered. Bilbo was really unable to argue with this, and with a tired sigh began a different approach.
"Look...will you please let me out from this pri-"
"trap." The voice quickly interrupted.
"Yes, trap. I meant that. Will you please let me out?" The Hobbit pleaded.
"Don't think I want to. You might be an orc. Nasty creatures."
Bilbo frowned. This was going to be very, very long. He sat himself down in a comfortable corner, and continued the most interesting (and he would later say vexing) conversation with a creature he could not see.
"Will you tell me your name and what you are?" The Hobbit tried.
"Don't want to."
"Can I have some light?" The Hobbit asked. Perhaps if he could see the creature he could tell what it was. Not to mention that being able to actually see it would make him feel much more at ease.
"No." The voice came.
Bilbo smirked as an idea hit him.
"How are you going to see what I am without light? You'll need light to make sure I'm not an orc."
The voice was quiet for a moment, hesitating.
"You can always leave me in here if I'm an orc." The Hobbit added. This seemed to give the voice the push it needed to decide, as it finally said.
"Alright..." it said slowly, " I'll get a light. But if you are an Orc, I will leave you in there forever." The last threat had a deep tone of menace to it, and Bilbo shuddered. The creature that the voice belonged to clearly had no qualms about leaving him there if it was required. He heard the soft patter of feet as the creature left to fetch what Bilbo had requested. Leaving him once more in the darkness.
'I hope I haven't botched this completely...' the Hobbit thought miserably.
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Thorin pulled himself forward painfully, forcing his aching and heavy limbs to move forward and trying his best to keep himself from groaning. The noise would only attract enemies, which he was clearly in no condition to fight off.
Blast the Burglar! Why was he always wandering off?!
He leaned against the wall to gain his breath, which came in deep and ragged gasps. He furrowed his brow as suddenly a new realization hit him. When he found the Halfling, who would undoubtedly be in trouble of some sort, how on earth was he going to help him? As much as it pained him to admit (if only to himself), he could not fight off any enemies if the Hobbit was in danger, and could not carry him if he was injured. The Dwarf was having a difficult enough time staying on his own two feet.
He had been traveling about the corridors for little more than an hour, and had found no trace or sign of the Hobbit. A feeling of panic had begun to hit him as he could feel his body slowing down to the inevitable. They had to get moving soon if they were to meet the company before it was too late. If he did not find the Hobbit soon...
He closed his eyes, allowing the dull throb in his body to wash over him. He was weary, and doubted he could keep this up much longer.
"Come on Thorin! You're too slow!" A Dwarfling laughs back at his trailing sibling.
Thorin laughs as well as he gives an extra spurt to catch up with the wild dark haired youngster ahead of him. Reaching his brother, his face takes a gleeful look as he begins to pass him.
"Oh no you don't!" Frerin grins, "I'm winning this race brother!" Pulling ahead, with wild hair flying, he giggles uncontrollably.
"No...you don't!" Thorin shouts playfully. He attempts to push by his brother, who in the spirit of competition gives a playful shove, trying to keep him from gaining any more speed.
With a yelp, Frerin trips on a loose stone, and losing his balance. With a cry, he falls back along the steep incline, as the sharp and cruel edge seems to beckon with open jaws.
"Thorin!" He shrieks in fear.
Thorin's eyes widen as he sees what is happening, he dives expertly grabbing the side of the cliff and anchoring himself among the shrubbery. Digging his feet in, His hand latches out, catching Frerin's just as he begins to fall. Frerin meets Thorin's hand with an Iron grip, gasping with terror.
"Thorin! Help me!" Frerin's eyes are wide with fear.
"Frerin! Hold onto me!" Thorin wildly shouts, he can feel the roots of the shrubs just beginning to give way.
He turns his head as far as he is able, calling for help. There is no answer. No Dwarf is on this road but the two Dwarflings. Frerin gazes down at the long drop before him and whimpers.
'Be strong. Don't let go. Be strong. Just hold on.' Thorin mentally repeats to himself over and over, praying for help.
"Frerin! I can't pull you up! You've got to help me!" Thorin urges his frightened brother.
"I can't!" Frerin's lip trembles. "Don't let me go!"
"I've got you Frerin! I'm not going to let go!" Thorin tightens his grip. He shouts for help again, still no answer.
"Can you dig your feet in Frerin?!" He shouts.
Frerin attempts to find a hold, but cannot among the loose stones and soil. Thorin gasps as Frerin's hand slowly begins to slip from his.
"Thorin!" Frerin shrieks, trying frantically to find something, anything to hold on to.
"NO!" Thorin yells. Frerin swings his other arm up in an attempt to catch Thorin's. It misses, flying wide. Shifting, Thorin wedges himself into the mountain, grabbing out with his other hand. He catches Frerin's arm, stopping it from slipping, and begins to pull his brother up.
Frerin feels like a heavy weight, slowly wrenching his arm out of its socket. Thorin's face is contorted with the exertion. A muscle in his arm protests, sending a searing pain through his arm. The sort of pulled muscle that will last for days.
'just a little longer! Keep going! Don't stop!'
With a gasp, he pulls his brother safely out of harm's way. Both the Dwarflings fall on their backs, panting in relief. Noisily pulling in lungfuls of air, the brothers are happy to be alive, and remain quiet and respectful in the face of near death. Frerin is the first to break the silence.
"Thanks."
Thorin smirks and lands a playful slap on his brother's shoulder.
"Teaches you to shove in races! You really owe me for this! You're lucky I don't tell!"
Frerin giggles, possibly in relief from his close shave with death.
Thorin suddenly adds on a more serious note, "You should try to be more careful you know. Really."
Frerin smirks, "That's what I have you for. To get me out of jams."
Thorin rolls his eyes, honestly. He could not be there all the time.
All the time...
All the time...
All the time...
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, Thorin eyes snapped open. He had to keep going. He had to find the Halfling. Bilbo. Whatever it took. Back then in Erebor he had performed a deed far beyond his years and ability. Despite the odds he had saved his brother. With a strong look of purpose and determination he banished the memory. He would find Bilbo. He remembered Frerin's terrified features as they seemingly came before his eyes, swirling about and reminding him that he could and would hold on. Whatever it took. With a groan he pulled himself forward again, disappearing down the long and dark halls.