Gandalf slumped against the bars of his hanging prison, listening to the calling of the crows and the tapping of their beaks against the metal. Exhaustion creeping over him, his body cried out for sleep but it would not come, nor would he welcome it if it did. He did not wish to leave his mind and body vulnerable in this place. How long had he been there? The sky above the ruined fortress never gave any clues, for it was always dark. Like a storm preparing to unleash its fury. But the fury never came. Now, however, that fury seemed closer than ever as he glanced up to sky above him, the clouds swirling darkly and angrily. He wrapped his grey clock around him tighter for the air had suddenly grown much colder, it pierced his skin right down to his weary bones. The air had grown thicker too, even from his confines on the edge of Dol Guldur's rotting walls, he could feel its heaviness and it's bitterness. Something had changed in this place. The shadows that made their home in the fortress seemed to creep ever closer, swallowing up light as they came, slithering across the walls and floors like black serpents. Suddenly, the crows who had been perched on the cage and surrounding rock took flight, cawing loudly in panic. Gandalf watched them soar away towards the clouds, listening to them until they were just dots in the sky. Then came the sound of footsteps. Gandalf straightened his back as best his undersized prison allowed as two shapes emerged from the shadows. Two shapes but only one pair of footsteps. The Wizard frowned. Even before the first shape came entirely into the dim light, Gandalf recognized it. Azog. He would recognise that monstrous form anywhere. And his pale skin was already visible through the gloom. The second shape, however, puzzled him. It did not seem like an orc, for its form was very human, if small, and he recognised the outline of hair. Gandalf narrowed his eyes. And then felt his breath hitch.

"Kili?" He gasped, leaning forward and wrapping his hands around the cold metal bars. The boy was dead, killed by orcs, body devoured by wargs. He had seen his brother broken down with his unparalleled grief, watched as the company fell into a sorrow filled silence. Had felt his own sadness for the mischievous young dwarf he had grown fond of.

"Guess again, old man." The voice that came from Kili's lips was double-layered. It was harsh and spectral. It sent a cold shiver up Gandalf's spine. He looked into Kili's eyes not to be greeted with those cheerful brown eyes he remembered, but with orbs as black as the darkest shadow.

"What have you done to him?" He demanded, for he knew that it was not Kili to who he was speaking, but the Necromaner himself.

"I needed a vessel." The Necromancer shrugged casually before walking soundlessly towards his prisoner.

"Is he dead?"

"No. The dwarfling is very much alive." At first, Gandalf felt his shoulders relax at this. He had felt the supposed death of the boy harder than he would have guessed. But his relief went as soon as it came, as a question lingered on his lips. He stared at the Necromancer and at the twisted smile he wore.

"Is he aware?"

"Very." He hissed, his grin twisting even more. "And would you like to know what I'm going to make him do?" The Necromancer chuckled. Gandalf said nothing, his eyes narrowing beneath his thick eyebrows. The Necromancer moved nearer, Kili's heavy boots making no sound against the stone floor, and leaned in close to the cage. Gandalf felt his body tense, he wanted to look away from those black eyes but found himself unable to avert his gaze. They were so cold and inhuman. "I'm going to make him destroy everything, he's going to make kingdoms fall and crumble, thousands will die. Including Thorin Oakenshield and his brother, and the rest of that bothersome group of Dwarves. And he'll be able to see it all." The Necromancer wrapped a hand around the metal bars and glared at the wizard within. "They were counting on you, you know, to be on that overlook to set poor little Kili free. You were their last hope. Perhaps I'll make him kill you first." He flashed his teeth in a vicious grin. "But not just yet. I have an army to build." He let go, the hanging prison rocking slightly, and turned away. Once again, no sound of footsteps echoed off the walls as he walked away – it was as though he was a ghost. Azog smiled at Gandalf, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth, and followed along behind his master. Then, once again, Gandalf was left alone.

He felt his tense body slump and he released a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. What a mess, he thought. The Necromancer could not be able to carry on with this plan. Gandalf sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A crow came to rest on the upper bars and began to tap at the metal again.


Fili stood tensely, looking out of the window of his room, eyes staring at the shape of the Mountain beyond as his fingers twitched at his sides. He could hear the crowds outside. Today was the day the company left for Erebor, and it seemed the whole town had gathered for the occasion, the promise of riches for their town excited them. Fili, however, was not excited. He was tired. His entire body felt heavy and numb. He couldn't remember the last time he slept the whole night through without being awoken by a bad dream. Usually it was his brother, sometimes with brown eyes, sometimes with black, and other times it was his uncle. Last night it had been both. Fili sighed, letting his eyes close as he breathed. He had avoided his uncle over the last few days, sitting apart from him when they ate, evading eye contact and walking some paced behind him. He did not trust himself to speak, he did not trust the words that may come out. And so he didn't. At least, not to Thorin and not unless he was spoken to first. He sat with Bofur and the hobbit mostly, Ori too. And he knew Dwalin was watching him, always stepping between nephew and uncle. It seemed, he did not trust Fili, either. There came a knock on the door.

"Are you ready to go, lad?" Dwalin asked. Fili dragged in a deep breath and, after one last glance at the Mountain, turned to face the warrior. Dwalin was stood in the doorway dressed in cloths so 'generously given by the Master' though not that generously. The cloths were old and worn, they smelt of dust and were far too big – even on Dwalin. Fili, too, was dressed in 'new' cloths. He rubbed the thick fur cuffs of the jacket he was wearing between his fingers. He couldn't quite figure out what animal it was, but the fur felt rough and dirty – he could feel grease on his fingertips. He missed his jacket, the one the elves took. The fur was much softer. And it was warmer. Dwalin cleared his throat.

"Yes." Fili said, nodding once. "Lets go." Dwalin stepped to the side to let Fili exit the room and then followed him, falling into step beside him. Neither said anything for a time, just walked the crooked corridors of the Master's house in silence. The sound of the crowd outside didn't reach into the hallways. There was very little sound to be heard at all, in fact, apart from the footsteps of the two dwarves. Sometimes someone could be heard moving about in one of the adjoining rooms and a miserable looking servant would duck out of one of the doorways and scuttle away into the next. The two continued down the stairs, each step creaking with their weight.

As usual, the lower level was lighter, the glass in the windows was not coated in dust and the curtains were pulled back. Instead of turning left, to the kitchen and dining hall, as they usually did, they turned right and headed towards a large open door, sunlight burst through it, bright and warm, and flooded the hallway with golden light. The sound of the crowds came again, growing louder with each step. Fili's heart began to thunder. He stopped, fingers rubbing at the fur cuffs again. He wanted to turn around and shut himself back in that dreary room again. This was all wrong, carrying on as if nothing had happened, as though everything was fine.

"Lad." Dwalin was stood in front of him, blocking the light from the doorway. He placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Everyone is waiting. We can't linger." Fili looked up at him. The warrior's face was soft as it had been a lot lately. In fact, it had been soft more in the past week than it had in the whole time Fili had known him. Ever since the meal with the Master, when Fili said he had no brother, when he wrecked his room in a fit of rage, Dwalin watched Fili with a cautious and sensitive eye. Not out of fear that he'd get angry again, but out of concern for the young dwarf he'd watched grow up. Fili knew he was looking after him. And for that, Fili was grateful. The blonde nodded and moved around Dwalin and, with a deep inhale, continued towards the door.

Fili tried not to look at the crowd as he walked, he kept his eyes firmly downcast. It was a cold morning, he could feel it on his cheeks and tip of his nose. He had curled his fists to keep his fingers sung under the thick fur. A wind rolled off the lake and through the town, bringing with it the stench of fish. He looked up despite himself, and in lines and lines of people, the first face he saw was that of Bard, stood slightly elevated, though Fili couldn't see what it was he was stood on. Beside him stood Bain, with his father's arm's wrapped around him. It was the boy's eyes whose Fili's met, Bard, it seemed had his own pinned on Thorin, his face hard and resentful. Fili had been told how the bargeman had stood before the house of the Master and told the gathering crowd that helping the dwarves would only lead to ruin, not to riches as Thorin promised. But the people, clearly, had not listened to him. Perhaps they should have, Fili thought as he recalled the Necromancer's promise to kill any man, woman and child who would get in his way. He was still looking at Bain, when the boy nudged his father. Bard followed his son's gaze and looked upon Fili, who felt his breath catch in his throat. But Bard's hard stare softened, he almost looked sympathetic, sad. The bargeman couldn't hold his gaze for long before he looked away, eyes falling to the ground. Bain offered a small, sympathetic smile, before he too looked away. Fili turned his head from the crowd and carried on walking until they reached the waiting boat.

The Master was already there, standing with an air of exaggerated grandiose. He had dressed himself in a fur coat and hat, and had adorned his fat fingers with jewellery. He smiled and waved, looking proud of himself, as though he himself was to be the one to fight a dragon and reclaim a kingdom. Fili hadn't grown and fonder of him over the last week, if anything, he disliked him more. But even so, he shock the Master's hand, when his turn came, and forced a smile before taking his place in the boat. Thorin had already settled at the boat's bow, and so Fili settled at the opposite end, beside Bofur, who half-heartedly waved at the crowd. Fili looked about him, back in the direction where Bard and Bain had been stood, only to see that they were no longer there. He sighed, feeling his heart sink slightly. Despite the fact Bard now disliked the company, for the danger they had put his children in, he had once been a friendly face.

The rocking of the boat shock Fili from his thoughts. All of he company were on board now, Nori, Dori, Bifur and Dwalin each had a oar in hand and began to move the boat through the water. He steadied himself as it bobbed along, broken sheets of ice shifting away with the ripples. The crowds waved as the company floated passed and Fili watched as the groups grew more sparse and the noise petered out, and with a heavy heart watched as the houses began to shrink. He sighed and turned away, only to be greeted with the sight of the Mountain starting to loom ever closer. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat.

Bofur rested his hands on his hips. Laketown seemed to be shrouded in mist now, he could only just make out the box-like buildings, only the tiles of the highest roofs seemed to reflect any light. Glistening every now and again. At least the smell of fish and damp wood had gone now. He turned his head to see Erebor creeping ever closer, but even it's huge dominating shape still seemed far off. This lake was cold and lonely, he felt miles from anywhere. Nothing but water stretching out for miles. He looked down to see Fili sat with his back pressed against the side of the boat, he sighed an sat beside him, pulling his knees in –there wasn't much room on this boat, even for dwarves. Surely the Master with his 'vast wealth' could have provided something with more leg-room. He shifted a little and gave Fili a sideways glance. The lad seemed faraway, as he had for some days.

"No, wonder they call it the Long Lake," he said. "It seems to go on for miles." Fili said nothing. Bofur shifted again, feeling the damp wood of the boat press against his back. He continued to study the prince, he looked thinner than he had when they set off from the Shire – no doubt they all did, somewhat – and paler too. There were dark circles under his eyes, which in themselves looked dull and somber, the blue of his irises a different shade than it once was. Grey now almost. Old. Bofur sighed sadly. Fili had once had such high spirits, he had once been excited for this journey – for weeks before they left the Blue Mountains he had been giddy with it, though he tried to contain it – now he simply seemed to resent it, all of it. Bofur had seen the way the lad had looked at the Mountain, at Thorin, animosity burning in those dull, tired eyes. Bofur couldn't blame him, though. There had been times where he, too, had wondered if it was all worth it. All this pain and sadness. He tried to tell himself that it was, but now, looking at Fili, he was still unsure.

"The longer the better." Fili mumbled, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin atop them.

"Well I am quite looking forward to getting out of this boat, the rocking is making me queasy." The hatted dwarf tried to lighten the mood, rubbing his stomach dramatically, but Fili's lips did not turn upwards. Bofur wasn't even sure if the lad had heard him, seeming to retreat into himself again. Blocking out everything but his own thoughts. Something, Bofur thought, he shouldn't be left alone with. He sighed and looked away. He found Bilbo staring at him from across the boat. The hobbit offered him a sad smile, to which Bofur simply shrugged. What could he do? Only one thing, one person, could make this better, and that option was, it seemed, impossible.


Fili tilted his head back, eyes staring up at the Lonely Mountain. Mist and cloud swirled about its snow-tipped peaks, and a crow called from somewhere in the rocks. Behind him, Dwalin and Gloin dragged the boat onto the bank as the others fell into a silence, staring up at the formidable form before them. All these months of travelling had led them to this, and nobody could find anything to say. It was as though the mountain had rendered them all mute. Even in his detest for the journey, Fili still found himself in a state of admiration. This was the core of all those stories he had grown up hearing, this was the home it was promised he would always return to. A home he had never known, a home, quite frankly, he didn't want anymore. The admiration did not last much longer before it fell away and it was replaced with an all too familiar resentment.

"Let's go." Thorin said, leading the way to the foot of the mountain, "we only have until sunset. We can't waste time." The others quickly followed. Fili, however, lingered for some moments, feeling the cold breeze from the lake wash through his hair. The crow called again. He closed his eyes, dragged in a deep breath and began to walk.


-AN-

Guess who finished their dissertation and finally has time to write more chapters? Me, that's right! And it feels good. I've been doing little else other than writing, sleeping and playing video games for the past week. Lovely!

So, here's chapter 41! Thanks everyone for your continued support, you're awesome!

We've finally reached the Mountain, which means Toothless' richer and more angry cousin will be making an appearance soon.

As usual, faves, follows and (especially) reviews are welcomed and appreciated.