Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns all save for the characters not in his works.

"Bring me home in a blinding dream,
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again"

~Castle of Glass, Linkin Park

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Misty Mountains- Cave

There was no fire. No warmth. Even as their clothing dried in the air, in the protection of the cave, they felt little comfort from it. No words were spoken. Not when the leader of the company sat on a boulder near the entrance of the cave, staring blindly out into the raging storm. The darkness in his eyes made them shy away from him, his aura of simmering anger was suffocating. Not even his closest of kin, his nephews could stand to be in his presence.

How long had it been?

An hour?

How long had it been since they had all been looking over that ledge, watching a woman fall to her death, her face forever etched into their memories?

It had taken Dwalin, and both Fili and Kili to move Thorin into the cave. He had roared into the howling wind, fighting them, wanting to throw himself over, but they had stopped him. Now he sat. A resolute and lone statue.

How long had it been since anyone had spoken?

They knew not.

They only knew that the chill in their bones was lessening. But the weight of a loss, sunk them deep into the darkness of silence. They were helpless to save her. Unable to catch her. It had happened all so fast, and their admiration at saving the hobbit had soon turned to horror.

And they had lost her.

Bilbo lay on his side watching the dwarf king. He felt the worst of all, knowing it had been his fault she had even went over the edge. His fault she had fallen. Guilt weighed heavy in his chest and he felt like he couldn't breath. Every time the dwarf king moved, it was with anger, or with pain. Bilbo wanted to curl away and hide.

If only he had been stronger.

A little more braver.

Then maybe she would be sitting here with them, offering words of comfort, bringing a smile to their faces. But she wasn't. She was gone. Down to the bottom of the ravine. There would be no funeral, no body. Bilbo swallowed, shutting his eyes as the sting of salty tears filled them.

He should never have come on this quest, never set foot out his front door. What had he been thinking? There was only one solution to this horrible mess, even though it was too late, he wouldn't be the cause of any more deaths on his behalf.

He had to leave.

Thorin knew . . . he didn't know what to think. Where his heart lay in his chest it felt as though it had been ripped out. There was a cold weight, a hollow feeling. Like stone. He had always heard of dwarves loving once, that when they found their One, that was it. For a time he only let himself think that his love for her was nothing more than an infatuation. Until he grew to know her more, until she filled him with hope and he had let himself dream that she would, could one day be his wife.

His hope was now despair. Desperation turned to anger, and anger in a deep seeded hate. Thorin glared at the night, the howling wind and the thundering sky as it flashed with lightning.

Was he cursed?

Had he incurred the ill will of Mahal? Was he being punished? To him he felt that nearly his whole life had been a punishment. His grandfathers sickness, the loss of Erebor to the dragon Smaug, the death of his brother. Betrayed by a lover as fair as the golden sun, and now he had lost the one thing that had made him believe he had a future beyond this quest. No. That belief had been dashed to the rocks along with the one who held that dream.

He hated that he had been so helpless, hated that he had been dealt this hand of fate. Hated himself for not acting sooner. Then she wouldn't have fallen, or put herself in that dangerous situation. She didn't think, she just acted. Part of him kept hoping that he would turn around and see her in the cave, wrapping a blanket around his nephews shoulders or ruffling the burglars hair. Thorin knew she would not be, but he could just imagine it.

Thorin did look over his shoulder at his nephews though. He gazed at them for several long moments, taking in their disheveled state. Fili had put his arm around Kili's shoulder and the younger was staring at the far cave wall with a look that would be enough for anyone to know what the young dwarf was thinking. His eyes were red and Thorin knew that Kili had been crying. Fili had rested his head against the wall behind him, nose red from the wet, eyes on the roof of the cave. Thorin could not spare his nephews, and there was nothing for it. They had seen her fall, been so close yet unable to save her.

He wouldn't chastise them for their tears. Even though they were grown. It was a hurt so deep that even he could feel the sting of salt in his own eyes. But he didn't weep, wouldn't weep. He was a leader of a company, they needed a level headed king. If it was possible his face darkened further.

She was gone. Never would he hold her in his arms. Feel the soft silkiness of her hair. Gaze into those alluring eyes. He would never feel her, the heat of her warmth and the burning of her skin after he had showered her with his love. She was gone.

Broken somewhere below them.

Thorin's shoulders hunched, the pain in his chest building. Where is heart lay, he felt nothing. He would be the very stone they sheltered in. Hard, cold and unyielding. He had nothing now. Only the quest to reclaim Erebor. He would bring his people home. It was all he could do. The throne would go to Fili when he died.

He would never see her again.

But she would have no resting place of honor.

And it broke him.

It was this dwarf, who had cursed his blood and lineage that the gods took pity on. The dwarf who cursed his creator. The dwarf in agony. They took pity, and did something that had not been done since the first age.

They didn't hear the low grinding of rock, the storm outside the safety of the cave drowning out all other sound, as the company slept. Not even Bilbo, with his acute hobbit hearing, heard it. They slept until the floor beneath them began to tremble.

Thorin jerked awake, from dreams that would only leave nightmares. He was vaguely aware of a low grinding noise, and as he opened his eyes he saw a faint blue glow coming from the far side of the cave. It took him several long moments to recall what it was exactly: Bilbo's sword. Another painstaking moment to remember that it only glowed blue when orcs or goblins were near.

By the time he realized this, it was too late. The ground beneath them began to shift, the sand covering the floor sifting down into the crack forming in the rock. Thorin raised his head, jerking as the floor of the cave dropped suddenly. He was only able to open his mouth, before the darkness of the mountain reached out with its searching claws, and they were swallowed by the mountain.

Down into the darkness they fell, yelling as most of them woke from the sudden plummet. They hit the walls of the tunnel, losing track of which way was up or down, and it seemed the tunnel was never-ending. Until at last a light flared up in the distance. Warm and orange, flickering. It was almost a relief, to get out of the darkness of the tunnel, despite being a dwarf.

A relief until they fell from the tunnel into a cage at the bottom. Several collective groans filled the air, and they struggled to get to their feet. Luckily for most of the company, Bombur landed on the bottom with only Dwalin beneath him.

"Oh! Get off ye' oaf!"

Bombur rolled off Dwalin with only a huff of annoyance. Kili reached out his hand and helped Dwalin to his feet.

"Where are we?" Fili asked as he brushed himself off. He raised his eyes to the cage and went pale. "Oh."

Thorin stood staring at the bars of the cage, his stomach dropping.

They were standing in a cage of bones. Human bones. Long femurs, and humerous's, crisscrossed held together by course thick rope that was fraying. It would be so easy to climb through the large holes in the cage, except for the shock of seeing the bones. That and the dried remains of skin and blood clinging to the yellow looking bones.

But they couldn't stay there, that Thorin knew. He turned to his company with a sick feeling rising up his throat. "Quickly. We must get out of here." The urgency in his voice seemed to wake them up. With varying looks of disgust they set to work cutting the ropes and squeezing through the holes.

But it was too late. Screeches tore through the air, that sent chills up their spines. Thorin straightened, turning towards the rope bridge, with a look of resignation.

Fantastic.

Goblins.

They were roughly pushed along, the fingers of the goblins digging into their clothing and skin, pulling at their hair. Oh, they shouted and fought, but their captors had strength in their emaciated limbs, and they were easily pushed and shoved along each rickety bridge until they entered a large cavern. It was lined with the same bridges, parts missing, and the many goblin filled platforms. In the very center lay the largest of platforms, with a great throne on it. The throne was made from pieces of wood and skulls roped together, and on it sat the largest goblin of all.

His stomach was his most prominent feature, round and rotund, and covered in a sheen that made it shine in the torchlight. Most of the goblins skin was covered in sores and pustules. Whenever he moved many of them would open and spurt out yellow or slightly green pus. His eyes were large and under his chin lung a long flap of skin that could almost be called a beard. A scrotum beard. The goblin rose as they were shoved to the center of the platform, and it shook with each of his steps.

"Who dares enter my domain?!" He asked loudly, eyes flashing. Several of the goblins licked their lips, hoping for an easy meal. "Spies! Thieves! Speak!"

The company stayed resolutely silent. A goblin hobbled forward.

"Dwarves, your benevolence," it simpered.

"Dwarves!" The goblin king exclaimed. "Well, what is your business here?"

Again they stayed silent. With a scowl the Goblin king's eyes flashed over them furiously. "Very well then, if you will not talk, we'll make you squawk. We'll break your bones, and cut your skin, until you are begging for mercy." His eyes flashed gleefully. Thorin fully expected to be the one they started with. He was after all the leader, and he deserved it. It was his fault they were here,he had chosen that cave.

"Start with the youngest."

They were shoved around as the goblins searched for what the king wanted. Thorin felt his heart creep into his throat as they spotted Ori, trembling beside his brothers with fright. But to his horror, Kili was yanked forward by the scruff of his tunic. He dug his heels into the wood, only to be shoved down, hands shooting out to catch himself.

"No!" Fili yelled, pushing against the goblin restraining him. Thorin saw the blow before it hit, but his shout was too late as Fili staggered, using Nori to stay upright fists clenching on the front of his cloak. A thick line of blood worked its way down the side of his face, from where his brow was split.

"Fili!" Kili cried turning, only to be shoved forward. The Goblin Kings hand shot out, catching the younger dwarf by his neck. Kili choked, kicking his legs out as he was lifted into the air, hands scrabbling wildly at the meaty hand slowly squeezing the air out of him. The Goblin King grinned, turning his eyes back to the company.

"Shall we see how long it will take for his eyes to pop out of his head? Or if I crush his neck first?"

"Ack! Calch-!" Kili spluttered, his face turning red while his lips took on a nasty purple color.

"Stop!" Thorin roared, stepping forward. His eyes were on Kili, watching his feet twitch as he suffocated, bile rising up his throat. The Goblin King turned his yellow jaundice colored eyes towards him, his grin widening. Mahal help him, he wanted to kill the goblin. He would not lose anyone else tonight.

"And who might you be, hm?" His eyes brightened. "Could it be Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror? King Under the Mountain?" His eyes narrowed gleefully.

"But wait, you don't have a mountain. Which means you're not a king at all."

Thorin grit his teeth, stung by the words. It was true. "Let him go."

"And why should I? When you lurk about my mountain, and will not explain as to why? Tell me why I shouldn't just snap his neck and feed him to my goblins."

Thorin had no words, nothing to say other than the feeling that he should beg. And he know he should beg for the life of his nephew, but to lower himself to the same level as a goblin- he was hard pressed to do so. He could feel Fili's eyes boring into the back of his head. The Goblin King saw his hesitancy and Thorin cursed his own hesitation. The Goblin King smirked.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head." He watched a frown creep onto Thorin's face. "You know him, a pale orc astride a white warg."

He was lying.

"Azog was killed," he ground out.

"Quite the contrary," the Goblin King said. "He is coming for you Thorin Oakenshield."

I know that this is the middle of the story, but bear with me. I've actually been planning this for awhile, to tell the truth. Plus, I couldn't think of any way that Nuil fitted into the Goblin Town scene. It was like my mind went blank.

So . . . let me know what you think. I'm pretty terrible at surprises so, yeah. And since I'm not following the books/movies all the way I've taken some liberties with the story I guess.

Thank you to my lovely reviewers, Queen of Erebor, kandy2431, and Just4Me. And to those who read my story, thank you as well. I'll try not to cause too much trouble. I may post another chapter today, so keep an eye out. (I can't believe that this story has 37 chapters. Geez.)

Read and Review!

~filimeala