Ch. 18: Both Sharp and Dull

The wind gnawed at Fili's exposed flesh with icy teeth as he pressed his back to the rock face. Just moments ago he had been thinking absently about how he was grateful that his beard was not so long as he watched the others fight to keep theirs from pushing into their faces. Now he was concerned only with keeping his skull uncrushed as large fragments of the mountain came raining down on them. He tapped his brother on the elbow for his attention. Kili glanced over at him delicately, careful to keep his head back to the wall, squinting through the rain, nodding to confirm that he was indeed still alright. Fili nodded back, and for a brief moment both brothers were relieved as the shower of stone seemed to ebb above them.

Then Bofur stepped forward at his right.

"Bless my beard," he roared into the wind so that all might hear as he pointed out to a strangely shaped peak.

A peak that moved.

"Giants! Stone giants!"

The ponies bucked and screeched as the great creature hurled what could only be described as the top of a mountain above its massive shoulder and launched it with impressive, elemental force towards them. Fili watched in cold horror as the boulder drew closer with remarkable speed, and then he realized it was not coming directly at them, but just past them as it blew past and connected with the head of another of the monstrous creatures he had not even known was there. The boulder rolled across the giant's face, sending shards of stone in all directions and the shower of rock recommenced. Some of the trailing ponies bolted but the company could only jump back to the wall and hug it even more tightly as the falling stones eroded the path at their feet. Fili watched helplessly as the ground began to crumble and fall away and he watched two of the ponies roll down the side into the blackness of the gorge. He reached for his brother blindly and instinctively.

But Kili had grown further away, and Fili's eyes darted across the crack that divided them as it widened, each inch profound. His heart froze in his chest when he realized it, trying to lean out and take ahold of Kili, for surely no harm could come to them if they were together.

"Grab my hand!"

But there was nothing he could do, and Kili's hand pawed hopelessly in the space between them, unable to reach him.

Kili looked so frightened.

Fili steadied himself against the wall with his free hand as he felt the ground wheel beneath his feet.

He pressed himself against the stone for dear life, clinging so hard and deep that blood seeped from his cracking nails. He worked his eyes closed; knowing there was nothing he could do as he was pelted by rain and felt his stomach lurch as the sensation of being thrown about overtook his equilibrium. He could hear screaming, and he felt the others clinging onto him and to each other. But he focused only on breathing. He tried to send himself outwards, tried to probe with his heart and draw strength from memory. He tried to feel his mother, and his uncle, and his brother. He tried to think of what had been good. He was not giving up, but rather drawing faith from an old source of strength.

He felt Bofur's elbow digging into his side as they all began to lunge forward and his body was thrown from the wall despite his desperate grip. He landed in a heap among the others, moaning and groaning like the towering beast they had but moments ago been inadvertently riding. He watched the mighty thing as it fell, rolling back and over into the chasm of the mountains.

He heard his uncle's voice, a guttural roar amidst the wind as he rounded the corner to them.

He could see his uncle's relief, but he could not move yet without retching, his stomach had not seemed to realize he was stationary just yet.

Kili bounded up to him and smothered him in an embrace that gave no thought to his possible injury; only to their separation and that Kili believed it may have been permanent. The entire ordeal had taken less than two minutes, yet it had felt much longer. Fili smiled into his brother's damp embrace, relieved but somehow not surprised that he was still alive.

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur yelped, alarmed.

There was no rest to be had it seemed.

There was a great mass of shoving as the company pitched over to grab the fallen hobbit who now dangled helplessly. Fili thoughtlessly pushed and elbowed to get forward. He could not let the hobbit die. He could not let anything happen to Bilbo.

If Bilbo went over that cliff, she could be lost.

But it was his uncle who in an act of thoughtless heroism threw himself over the edge to retrieve him.

Indeed his uncle must have carried in him the strength of kings, for he threw the hobbit up to them as though he were a sack of flour, pulling himself up with Dwalin's aid.

Fili was unsurprised (though he bristled some) when his uncle berated the hobbit for his apparent uselessness.

Fili's lips pursed tightly as he watched the hobbit's pained face. He hated Bilbo in that moment. He hated him for helping Eily lie to him; hated him for his treachery, but most of all he hated him for nearly dying, and maybe taking Eily with him. He hated Eily, and in this moment he hated that he cared so much for her.

He looked to his brother, who smiled at him with an ignorant, loving bliss, happy that everyone was safe. Fili exhaled sharply but returned it, though his was a thin smile dotted with drops of rain gathering in his mustache.

His uncle continued to fume ahead of the party, barking for them to gather what ponies had not bolted or fell from the cliff. Their supplies would be short now, and they would have to make the next leg of the journey quickly lest they starve in the mountains.

"Fili! Kili! Scout ahead: find shelter!"

Kili leaped to serve their uncle, but Fili lagged somewhat, peering back at Bilbo, whose round face was sullen even as Gandalf prodded him forward.

Praise Mahal, for it was not long until Kili found a cave which he eagerly investigated. Fili was a tad more thorough, groping the walls for hidden gaps as the others pulled in the trembling ponies and gathered up the gear, distributing damp, ungenerous rations.

Nori sighed miserably when Thorin declared that there would be no fire, and the moments that passed before the party fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep were few and quiet. Fili lay with his back to Kili's, pressed together for warmth, their arms crossed tightly across their chests. Fili frowned to himself as he felt Kili squirm in discomfort, but their blankets and sleeping mats were lost when Fili's pony fell from the cliff and Kili's bolted to who knows where. He wriggled closer, his back tight against his brothers and despite his discomfort it wasn't long until Kili was asleep, snoring and twitching as usual. Fili wondered a little if he would ever be able to sleep without the sound of Kili's snoring, as surely one day he would have to.

Somehow, even despite the day's events, and where they were and why, it was that thought which scared him.

Bilbo fidgeted against the thin mat, his eyes peering out to judge who (if anyone) was still awake.

He wanted to leave.

All truths be told, he wanted to scramble from the cave without a second thought to who saw him go. To run all the way back to his lovely armchair in the Shire. But in order to help Eily, he must employ stealth. It would not do to have the dwarves follow him out and catch him meeting with her. He would have preferred to meet her once the mountains were behind them, but it seemed Fili would not allow it. And after Thorin's reprimanding of him, Bilbo had no doubt Thorin would throttle him himself for his part in the plot. He wriggled a little at the thought of what Gandalf might do if he found out that his hobbit and the lady of the Vividstone had been cavorting to circumvent his plans.

He could hear Bofur breathing, slow and steady, he must have fallen asleep.

Finally.

He scrambled up and gathered his belongings as quickly and silently as possible, rolling up his bed mat and tying it tightly. As he fastened his bag, his eyes met Fili's.

The blonde dwarf was wide awake and staring daggers into him.

Fili did not make a sound, simply nodded tightly to Bilbo.

Get going, his eyes said, before I make you go.

Bilbo swallowed the dry lump in his throat and broke the eye contact with Fili as though he hadn't noticed it, trying to seem brave and nonchalant.

He was so busy making his steps unbothered that he did not notice Bofur standing up to stop him.

Or the crack in the wall, or the shadow that moved inside it.

It had been over a week since the last rune, and Eily was near tears.

She must have done something wrong; missed a sign, gone the wrong way, something. Now she had no way of knowing if she was going in the proper direction at all. She could very well be headed towards a dead end in the mountains, and need to turn back. But how could she? The party would be so far ahead of her, if she lost her way now she may never catch them in time. And what about Bilbo? What if she missed the sign to wait for him? What if he was alone somewhere looking for her?

What if there were no markings? What if he had been discovered?

Or worse.

She took a pull from her canteen if only to keep from weeping, panic setting in again that day. She could not afford to let her emotions stir her up. Her hands shook slightly as she replaced the cork; she had been rationing her meals for some days now, uncertain that her supplies would last her until she was out of the mountains, and she had become weak as a result. But she would rather be a little weak now than starving to death later if indeed she found she had taken the long way round.

It was laughable really, she was a dwarf, yet looking around her she became intimidated by the unfamiliar mountains. Their peaks like unfriendly razors looming over her, she had slept little and was seldom at any kind of ease. She had never been alone before, and found she disliked it more acutely than anything she had ever experienced. She felt like an exposed nerve: raw and undulating.

Her inability to rest compounded her physical weakness, for her will was strong enough to deny herself food but her body was incapable of functioning without rest or sustenance; but she was too frightened to relent her rationing. Her pony plodded forward, aimlessly following the track. In an attempt to comfort herself she thought of Fili, but found that doing so only circled her back to her anxiety. It was strange; when she was in his presence she felt so at ease, but once parted, the full weight of her secrets bore down on her. Instead she tried to focus her breathing, for she felt strangely dizzy.

In. Out. In. Out. In…

Her head felt achy and heavy, her stomach cramped. She was exhausted. Her vision spun.

She had allowed herself to become anemic with her rationing, and now her body was lethargic and noncompliant.

Her eyelids were so heavy.

It was a culmination of nearly two weeks without proper nourishment or sleep made worse by the stress of her uncertainty. Her body slumped in the saddle, barely erect, unconscious.

Her pony plodded on, scarcely recognizing the shift in weight.

There were no eyes to witness how far she wandered, but when her spooked pony reared and threw her she awoke with a blazing headache, convinced she would vomit had she any food in her cramping belly. She was lucky the pony hadn't bolted, but it danced and whinnied on the trail, nearly crushing one of her hands under its hooves. She scrambled away at the last moment, scrambling to her feet to take ahold of its bridle before it decided to run. Even when she had taken ahold of it the animal continued to fidget anxiously.

Though she was still weak on her feet Eily looked about cautiously. What could have frightened it so? There was nothing but rock in all directions.

Then the wind turned, and she smelled it.

Something befouled the air ahead. She had never smelled anything like it, but it must have been close. And something about that smell made her nervous. The longer she smelt it, the more it was somehow familiar.

It wasn't until she heard them speaking that she realized it.

Orcs.

They were headed this way, and neither she nor her pony was fresh enough to outrun them. She was not confident she could kill more than a single orc in open combat, especially not given her condition.

So she made a quick decision; a gamble for her life.

She quickly unstrapped some of her supplies from the pony and slapped its flank with what strength she had left, sending it bounding up the trail directly toward the orcs. Meanwhile she hobbled, nearly falling over twice and sliding down the side of the trail, obscuring her footprints with a few strong swipes of her cloak and hiding herself under an overhanging outcropping of stone.

She heard the pony's hoof beats thundering further down the trail, and then she heard it cry out loudly, painfully. She heard low growls and a guttural, ugly language. She knew they would kill her pony, and follow its trail back down the path towards her, she just hoped it would provide enough distraction to allow her an escape.

She waited some long moments, listening to the not-to-distant sounds of the snarling wargs and their riders feasting on her pony. Eventually she heard the hobbled footsteps of a particularly bow legged orc as he investigated the trail above her.

"I don't see no rider, or no tracks," the creature sneered, observing the path quickly, "Only pony tracks. Must have lost its rider long ago and been wandering."

She could smell the pony's entrails in the fog of his fowl breath even from this distance.

"No dwarves?" the other snarled.

Eily's muscles tensed, they were looking for dwarves specifically? Why? Did they somehow catch wind of Thorin's quest?

She could hear footsteps approaching the edge of the trail directly above her.

She held her breath and fixed her eyes closed, her trick had failed, she was doomed.

She could hear one of them smelling the air, taking loud, doglike snorts.

"I can almost smell dwarf flesh," he gurgled, "But it reeks of mountain."

She was ruined. She curled her fists weakly around the hilt of her knife and axe.

"You're picking it up from that pony! I don't smell anything cept rock and dust. Let's go, maybe we can find that rider," the creature smiled wickedly at the prospect.

Eily tried not to move or make any sound, though she was confused. That orc had been right on top of her and had somehow not smelled her? Did she not smell like a dwarf? For some reason that thought bothered her deeply even as she heard the orcs mount their wargs and ride back up the path the way she had come.

Before doing anything, she sat and ate liberally of her remaining food, wanting to regain whatever strength she could for the trek out of the mountains. The orcs had been good for one thing; their presence signaled that she must be nearly clear of the Misty Mountains, for Orcs rarely traveled in the territory of Goblin Town.

While Eily was hiding for her life, Bilbo was clinging for his. The most he could piece together was that the party had been swarmed by goblins while they slept, and his escape had been thwarted. He had no idea where the ponies were, he had hardly any idea what was going on beyond the crack and sting of the whips. He was in a cavern, he could gather as much even in the faint light that the torches supplied. He had little time to think on his situation, as the party ran past the jeering goblins with their stones and clubs and lashes. Hundreds, thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, he couldn't tell. Each lash felt like a burn, rapid and agonizing. But every so often he could feel the stripes meeting his back fully, tearing neat gashes in his clothes as he dodged the rocks they threw down at the party. The dwarves barreled ahead, knowing they were being herded but having no choice but to push forward.

Then he felt a rock connect with the back of his head, and his vision blurred as blood beaded down his forehead. He stumbled and fell as a result, scraping his knees open on the rotting wood and pressing splintering pieces into the wound. He tried to pull himself up, but his trip had caused him to fall behind, and the goblins focused their abuses on him. Their lashes drew blood and each time he hobbled up they beat him down again with their clubs, enough to hurt but not to kill. He heard only taunts and skittering squeals, he felt only pain, both sharp and dull.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to crawl his escape on his hands and knees.

He never should have come here. He never should have left his home. What was it about Eily that made him volunteer himself as he had? Why did he agree to aide her in this inane quest? What was the Arkenstone to him? Would the world really change of Thorin Oakenshield never reclaimed his throne, or if he was a tyrant king?

"Your right, we don't belong anywhere."

Bofur's words made his heart sink even further. He didn't understand how or why he should be fixating on any of this. It wasn't as if it mattered; these goblins were going to beat him to death and these dwarves didn't even care. Fili and his wretched uncle would probably celebrate their liberation from their furry footed burden.

He felt strong hands heft him up, but refused to open his eyes. He didn't want to see the face of the goblin that would end him, though under the darkness of his eyelids the face he imagined was much more horrifying than anything life could conjure.

"Are you alright Mr. Bilbo?"

Bilbo opened his eyes, wide and blinking with confusion. Dori was hoisting him up onto his burly dwarven shoulder like a lumpy bedroll, shielding him from the stones and blows as best he could. He was talking, but his words were fuzzy, sounding more like noise than the conception of language.

"He's in some kind of shock! I can't stir him!" Dori shouted as he went into a run to catch up with the others.

Fili used all of his weight to shove and heave a clear path for Dori; pushing as many goblins off of him as he could manage.

"Just keep going forward!" he roared as a goblin came at his face with its splintering nails.

He planted his palm square into the creature's face, holding it at a distance and knocking it back somewhat. He wanted to draw his sword, but he had no room with all the bodies pushing against him. It was all he could do to hold his ground against the tide of their boil covered bodies as Dori scrambled off with Bilbo in his arms. Fili hissed in pain and indignation as the crack of a whip sounded, its tip connecting painfully with his shoulder. The lash couldn't penetrate his leathers, but the blows were not so soft as to go unnoticed. He deftly dodged a rock the size of his fist, narrowly escaping what would surely have been a broken nose. He kept his eyes forward, trained on Bilbo, who eyes stared emptily outward like a strangled chicken.

He had no time to wonder about Bilbo's condition, they had bigger worries, which loomed large atop a ramshackle throne and crowned with talons and teeth.

The King of Goblin Town.

Bilbo couldn't tell how long or far he was carried, but he could hear his rescuer grunting in pain and exhaustion, he could feel the dwarf using his wide hands and body to protect him from the goblins abuses. He was aware of the blows which were striking the dwarf in the back and the head; again and again, over and over, yet he kept going.

Bilbo scarcely recognized the dwarf cry out when a particularly vicious blow was dealt to the back of his knee, making him crumble and Bilbo to trundle from his grasp onto the fracturing boards that twisted and shook from the shifting weight. The goblin's ignored his prone body, probably because it was poor sport compared to the willful dwarf, who batted away their blows as he tried to rise.

Bilbo did not even bother to scream when his body rolled from the path into the boundless dark.

.:Author's Note: UGH! We're not going to talk about how long it took me to get this up. Life, am I right? So inconvenient. Follows, reviews, show me love! lol :.