DISCLAIMER: SAME AS BEFORE, SEE EARLER CHAPTAHS. DANKE.

Hullo everyone! Sorry I took so long uploading this, life got a bit crazy for a while. Argh. Well, here's the next bit! Hope you all enjoy! Don't forget to review & comment! :)

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"Bilbo!" Thorin called loudly, grimacing as his body shot out fresh waves of pain at the exertion.

Blast it all. Where in all of fair Arda was the Hobbit? The caverns echoed eerily back at him as his deep voice was carried far away into the darkness. He had searched for what seemed hours, and there was no sign of the Burglar. His Burglar. The one Gandalf had insisted they take along. The one that was proving to be worth far less then what the dwarves were paying. Of course, of all the people in this world, only Bilbo could manage to lose himself so hopelessly. It was at times like these that Thorin questioned Gandalf's wisdom in bringing the Halfling along.

He stiffened as he heard a sound, listening intently. He could not risk a fight, not in his condition. Who knows what creatures dwelt in these caverns? Glancing slowly about, he was satisfied that the sound had been nothing to be concerned again. His breathing came out loud and labored, and the Dwarf winced at the sound. The caverns were bare and cold, but Thorin felt as if he were burning. He had to find Bilbo, get out of these cursed caves, and then find the company. He had a very uncomfortable amount of finding to be done, and Thorin had never been very good at this skill. The Hobbit was by no means making this an easy task.

Walking seemed to do him some good, as the nausea was not quite so strong as it had been earlier. Perhaps the heightened blood flow was responsible, or perhaps it was because the Dwarf was more occupied with the stinging barbs of pain coming from his wound. No matter, as soon as he found the Hobbit they could be on their way. The sooner the better.

But, a gnawing doubt had been growing up in him. Was he even going to walk away from this? He could feel how his body was slowly succumbing to whatever poison he suffered from, it would not be much longer. He had no idea how much longer he had. At the least he would need two more days to reach the designated place in which he hoped to meet the company. Time was short.

He growled to himself. He would probably not even be in this position had he been lucky enough to have been lost with anyone else, but fate had given him Mr. Baggins. The other Dwarves would not be so foolish as to wander away, they knew the importance of staying together. Mr. Baggins on the other hand seemed to leave whenever it suited him, and did not seem to learn frolearn from the consequences.

His bad luck had all started when they had become separated from the company. An Orc raid on the camp had thrown everything into chaos, with the Dwarves attempting to regroup while fleeing the Orcs. With no losses, save perhaps their dignity, they had managed to put some distance between themselves and the Orcs. Thorin, upon looking about found that they had left the Burglar behind, again. He had turned back and crashed through the foliage only to find the Hobbit looking utterly forlorn with a few bruises on his face. Barking sharply he had ordered the Hobbit to follow him to catch up with the others, and the poor fellow had only been too willing to follow him anywhere if it only meant getting away from that place.

They had run on for hours, unable to discover the whereabouts of the others and finding themselves the Orc's new targets. Bilbo had found it quite difficult to keep up with the Dwarf Lord, but he had forced himself and had managed fairly well despite the difficulties. Dwarves can go at a great pace when pressed, and there are few that can compare in their speed and endurance. Hobbits on the other hand, run rarely, and this only when late for a meal. The two travelers had been lucky to escape with their lives. Not all who had traveled that way could boast the same. Thorin's luck however, had recently taken a bad turn, and was slowly but surely running out.

Although Thorin was quite angry with the Hobbit, and had a good right to be so, he was also very worried. He did not like to think of anyone dying alone in these caves. The Hobbit could easily become lost in them, or worse find himself trapped somewhere. Either fate promised a slow and painful death. Thorin knew well that halls that had been empty as long as these, would only be treacherous to the living. There were many horrible stories told of monsters and tragedies in old mines. He shuddered, remembering a particularly gruesome tale his cousin had told him long ago in their childhood about a mythical beast with great size and eyes burning like coals. Claws it had to match the greatest of spears, and teeth to splinter the keenest of swords. But of course it was no more than a childhood tale used to frighten Dwarflings from wandering off on their own. He doubted there was any truth to such a story.

Lord Durgol smiled from beneath his snowy white beard as Dis and her brother clamored for yet another tale of wonder. His eyes twinkled seeing how deeply enthralled young Frerin was.

"Do you know a scary one?" he asked wide-eyed.

Chuckling, the old fellow answered, "Do I? Young Lord Frerin, I'm surprised you have so little faith in me!"

"Tell me one!" Frerin begged. "Please!"

Thorin smiled from his corner and rolled his eyes. He sincerely doubted that Durgol's imagination could come up with anything nearly scary enough to frighten him. he gave out a snort a Frerin's request, and Dis shot him a warning glare.

"Well," Durgal slowly said, stroking his great beard, "There is one that I know. But I think it might be too frightening of a tale for you."

"Oh no!" Frerin and Dis said in unison.

"We're brave!" Dis declared.

"I don't frighten easily at all!" Frerin added.

The storyteller raised an eyebrow mysteriously, "Very well then." he said, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. "If it becomes scary, you go ahead and tell me."

"Nothing frightens me!" Frerin smirked. Durgol laughed.

"Well said lad! If only we were all as brave as you!"

"The story!" Dis reminded.

"Oh alright then. This tale has its beginnings back in the ancient days..."

Thorin shifted into a more comfortable position in order to listen. Although he would not admit it, Durgol was a master at his art. Weaving the words so finely and saying them with such animation completely enthralled his listeners in any tale. This was no different than with the Dwarflings, even Thorin found himself captivated by the story. Durlog launched into a bone chilling narrative, causing the children to gasp in fear with horror of the foul beast he described. The Gurgbuzal.

Thorin shuddered at the end of the tale. Rising to take Frerin and Dis home. He was perhaps only thirteen at this time, but considered himself his siblings' caretaker.

Thorin did not think of the mythical beast again until he was walking the dark streets with his siblings on the short walk home. Every shadow seemed to grin with great rows of teeth, rising in order to pounce on the children. Thorin walked cautiously, glancing in back of himself every now and then to make sure they were not followed. Frerin and Dis discussed the story with great enthusiasm.

"And it swallowed eight full grown Dwarves in battle armor whole!" Frerin said, waving his hand as if to further drive the point.

Dis gasped, "I didn't like that part. I thought it was stupid of them to charge it like that. They should have done something clever."

Frerin grinned, "That's what makes it a good story Dis! The Gurgbuzal ate them all, teeth crunching-"

Thorin, sensing where Frerin was going with this decided to interrupt.

"Frerin! Stop it!" He said, frowning. The picture in his head was a gruesome one, and it did not help that the monster was supposedly most active on nights like this with a full moon. He shuddered.

"HA!" Frerin crowed, "You're just scared!"

"I am not!" Thorin retorted sharply. "You're scaring Dis."

"He was not!" Dis turned on her brother furiously.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Frerin interrupted, loudly shouting the words out on purpose and causing Thorin and Dis to become petrified with fear. Seeing their faces was too much for Frerin, who began giggling.

"You should just see yourselves! You're scared stiff!" Frerin laughed. "After all, it's just make believe. It's not as if anything like that could ever happen."

A clatter was suddenly heard from behind the trio, who all turned sharply looking terrified. A wooden bucket rolled out and stopped by their feet, causing the Dwarflings to look at it and then back to the source again. A queer moaning was heard.

"Did any of you do that?" Thorin asked quietly, eyes wide.

"N-n-no!" Frerin stuttered.

Dis whimpered, "Let's go home Thorin!"

The moaning grew louder, accompanied now by a queer gurgling sound. A large and hairy shadow began to take shape on the wall, and two clear sets of tusk stuck from its lumpy face. Just as Durgol described the Gurgbuzal.

"It's the Gurgbuzal!" Frerin squeaked in dismay.

Without further ado, the royal trio turned and raced as fast as their legs could carry them. They did not stop until they were well within the palace, when they were stopped and questioned sternly by Thror himself. Who was very upset indeed at having nearly been bowled over by his young heirs.

But back to where the moaning had been heard, now came the sound of laughter. Three older Dwarflings, perhaps in their twenties were grinning at the success of their prank. Durgol's youngest son grinned with satisfaction as his comrades slapped him on the back in congratulations. The sounds he had made had truly been exquisite.

Thorin shivered. The air suddenly felt very cold. Worse still, he could almost swear the shadows were moving whenever he turned his back. Glaring at them he growled, as he marched resolutely onwards. The dark gloom seemed to envelope him like a great blanket, as the shapes seemed to dance in mockery at his efforts to find the Hobbit that refused to be found. The ancient carvings and runes on the smooth walls seemed to stare down at him cold sense of reproach for disturbing their slumber, unconcerned with his troubles.

It was then that Thorin actually began to feel that he missed the Hobbit, and his senseless chattering and constant bumbling. The lonely forsaken aura of the old halls and their complete emptiness made him only more aware of it. The great extent of these rooms and passages that should have housed the laughter of children, now housed only ghosts of a long gone age. A crumbling and aged book that lay in a dirty corner was only a grim reminder of the past and its golden dreams.

Without even meaning to, he found himself thinking once more on Erebor. The great splendor of its peak rising out of the land about like a majestic spiral of gold. The lands about green and flourishing, only adding to the Mountain Kingdom's glory. He could almost feel the fresh wind of the cool mountain air, with its purifying touch. The proud banners, unfurled and displaying their symbols to all from their great and strong towers, that rose from the mountain like so many pinnacles of strength. The laughter of the children echoed along the streets and seemed to be of a fairy quality, of a by gone day whose like would never grace this world again. Eagles soared through the sky magnificently, bearing themselves with such state and serenity. The memory seemed far away, as if it could not be touched by mortals and was but a dream. A dream that had once existed, that despite the many calamaties his people had suffered, here was a beacon of hope. Here, the future would be shaped anew.

Thorin gazed with new awe on the resplendent archways and intricate designs of the halls that had housed a people so like his own. They too, had hoped to build a golden future. They too, had fought against the darkness that sought to destroy them. But they had failed. All that now remained to stand testimony of their efforts were the ruins of a once proud people.

Would his people share the same fate as the Petty Dwarves? Would they fade away into the pages of time, never to be seen or heard from again? Thorin did not know. They were scattered. Leaderless. Without hope of a new dawn. The once mighty house of Durin had been brought down so low, that the Kings of old now earned their bread working at a forge for those that despised them. Every great house and treasure had been taken from them. Their people were now like so many leaves on the wind. Was there any hope? Perhaps. Like far off Erebor, it shimmered as the weakest ray of sunlight. It was in Erebor that their hope lay, to rebuild the dream of their forefathers. To make into reality what they had hoped for.

The Khazâd, his people, looked to him as their only hope of a better future. Their King in all but name. Their hope lay with the Line of Durin, unbroken from the beginning of days despite the Dark Lord's hate. They would continue, as they always had, and lead the Dwarves like the Lords of old. The burden of this duty lay heavily with Thorin.

But how could this all be achieved if that bumbling Burglar did not take care to keep himself from getting lost? Thorin frowned. If anything, The Hobbit certainly knew how to keep hidden and make things difficult.

The Dwarf suddenly tensed as he felt the low moanings of the earth. Inaudible to Man or Elven (and Hobbit) ears and senses, Dwarves were attuned to the sounds and warnings the ground gives, able to tell easily the safety of a situation. While any other creature would more than likely miss the signs of such danger, Dwarves are particularly sensitive to it. Everything in Thorin screamed for caution as he felt the creaking and protesting rocks. Something was not right.

Gingerly, he placed a foot forward. It would not do for any rash moves now; he had to find Bilbo. The soil seemed to groan but held, as he cautiously inched his way forward. Farther ahead he was able to make out a shape, which seemed to grow larger the closer he came to it.

With a gasp, he realized it was an ugly pit lined with a wooden mechanism that operated a sort of trap door. The wood was dark with age, almost black, and seemed to grin maliciously at him. Daring him to take a step closer into its gaping jaws. Fresh, soft soil lay around it, having been turned and disturbed by whatever had sprung this deadly trap. Clearly this had happened recently. It lay across the passage, sitting in the dark waiting for another victim. Thorin stroked his beard, frowning all the while. There would be no going around it.

The Dwarf turned to go, but gave a start as he noticed a very distinguished footprint in the soft earth. He bent down to view it more closely, but gave a yelp as a sharp wave danced through him, causing him to crash to his knees. Taking a deep breath he willed himself to ignore the pain, and slowly but surely it died down to a throb. Examining the footprint he found it only to be as he feared. It was unmistakably the same size as Bilbo's.

"Bilbo!" He shouted frantically, the sound of his own voice echoing back as if to taunt him.

There was no answer.

Was the Hobbit dead? Had he been too late? Did Bilbo meet his end here?

"I've failed you Bilbo..." Thorin whispered to the darkness. Bilbo was dead, Thorin was probably as good as dead, and he had failed. Was this how the Quest was to end? In ruin?

"No!" The Dwarf set his jaw grimly. Bilbo was not dead. There was no proof of such a thing. The Quest would not end in ruin. Not while there was breath in his body.

He began to stand up, as his aching body begged for rest, but suddenly felt a queer sensation. The world about him began to spin, and he felt incredibly dizzy. A fire seemed to ignite within his very veins, burning with a fiendish fury. His breath came slow and ragged. Perhaps it was because he had stood up so quickly...

He leaned against the wall for support, holding his head as the world danced insanely about him in colors and shapes scarcely imaginable. What in Durin's name!? He stumbled back away from the fissure; he had no wish to be near it while he felt so unsteady. Gasping he faltered forward, calling the Hobbit's name once more. Catching his boot on an ill-fated rock, the Dwarf crashed heavily to the ground. A sickening crack echoed through the passage as his head met with the smooth cold stone. The world about him went dark, and Thorin knew no more.