Chapter 5,
Hours bled into days, and days into weeks as the company continued their journey, the landscape changing with each passing mile. Rolling green hills gave way to rocky outcrops, dense forests, and sprawling plains. Despite the long road ahead and the weariness of constant travel, the company's spirits remained high, buoyed by their camaraderie and the occasional stops in nearby towns and villages to replenish their food, hygiene supplies, and other essentials.
Each stop was a lively affair. The dwarves bartered and haggled with enthusiasm, their booming voices and hearty laughter often drawing amused or bewildered looks from the locals. Bombur, without fail, would be the first to seek out the nearest food stall, while Dwalin gravitated toward the blacksmiths, inspecting every piece of steel with a critical eye. Gandalf would vanish into bookshops or libraries, if they existed, while Thorin often stood at the edge of the group, surveying the towns with a quiet intensity, his thoughts always on the road ahead.
During these respites, Elena often hung back, content to observe the bustling activity. She preferred the moments of peace to the chaos of bartering, though she'd occasionally step in when Ori or Bofur found themselves overwhelmed by a shrewd shopkeeper. Her presence, calm yet commanding, often resolved disputes before they began.
But it was during their time on the road that she truly shone.
As they rode, the younger dwarves would inevitably gather around her, drawn by her quiet authority and the air of mystery she carried. Elena would share stories to pass the time, her voice steady and engaging as she painted vivid pictures of ancient battles, fierce dragons, and the courageous warriors who dared to face them. She kept her words carefully measured, always removing herself from the tales, presenting them as stories she had heard or read rather than lived.
"And so," she said one sunny afternoon as they rode through a vast plain, her voice carrying over the rhythmic sound of hooves, "the great beast coiled around the mountain, its scales shining like molten gold in the sunlight. It roared so loudly that the earth itself seemed to tremble, and the knights before it could feel their courage falter."
Ori, perched eagerly on his pony, leaned forward with wide eyes. "What did they do? Did they fight it?"
Elena smiled faintly. "They did," she replied. "But not recklessly. They knew the beast was stronger than all of them combined. So they used their wits instead of brute force."
"How do you outwit a dragon?" Kili asked, his skeptical tone undercut by the curiosity in his expression. He rode closer, his pony matching Elena's stallion's stride.
"That," Elena said, her silver eye glinting in the sunlight, "is the challenge. Dragons are clever, but their pride often blinds them. Sometimes, it only takes a single word or a carefully planned move to turn their own power against them."
Fili, riding just behind Kili, raised a brow. "And did the knights win?"
"They did," she said, her voice softening. "But not without loss. Facing a dragon always comes at a cost. Victory rarely comes without sacrifice."
The group fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling over them. Even the ever-energetic Kili seemed contemplative.
"But," Kili finally said, his grin returning, "their story became a legend, didn't it?"
Elena chuckled, the sound light and warm. "It did," she admitted. "And perhaps, one day, so will yours."
Fili smirked at his brother. "One day, we'll tell our own tales—ones even grander than hers."
"Oh, definitely," Kili said with a playful wink at Elena. "And louder, too."
Elena shook her head, laughing softly. "Just remember," she said, her tone taking on a gentle seriousness, "the best stories aren't always about winning. Sometimes, surviving is enough."
From the front of the group, Thorin glanced back at them, his blue eyes catching the light. Though his expression remained stoic, there was a faint flicker of approval on his face. Gandalf, riding beside Thorin, puffed on his pipe, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he listened to the exchange.
Unbeknownst to the others, the stories Elena told weren't just legends. They were memories. The dragons she described weren't distant myths—they were creatures she had faced herself, the battles ones she had fought. But she kept that part of her hidden, unwilling to place herself at the center of their awe. She didn't want the younger dwarves to look at her differently, to see her as something larger than life. She preferred their camaraderie to their reverence.
The road stretched on, but the tales, laughter, and occasional teasing made the journey feel less burdensome. Bonds were forged in those moments, bonds that would prove unshakable in the trials to come. For now, the road ahead felt a little less daunting, and the weight of their mission just a little lighter.
The sun hung low in the sky as the company continued their journey, the soft light casting long shadows across the rolling fields. Elena, riding near the front of the group alongside Thorin and Gandalf, felt a flicker of anticipation. They were nearing a small farm she had visited during her earlier travels—a safe, welcoming place where she had often found rest and kindness.
The farm belonged to Adam and Rose, a hardworking couple with hearts as big as the open skies. Though life had dealt them the sorrow of being unable to have children, they had poured their love into their home and anyone who passed through it. Elena remembered the warmth of their hearth, the laughter that filled the air, and the smell of freshly baked bread that seemed to linger in every corner.
She turned to Gandalf, her silver eye catching the light. "There's a farm just ahead," she said, her voice laced with a faint smile. "Adam and Rose—they're good people. If we're lucky, they'll let us stay the night. They've always been welcoming to travelers."
Thorin glanced at her, his expression unreadable but his tone cautious. "Are they used to hosting a company of our size?"
"They'll manage," Elena replied confidently. "They've always been generous, even when they had little to spare."
The group pressed on, the path winding gently toward a hill that overlooked the farm. As they crested the rise, however, Elena's heart sank.
The sight that greeted them brought an eerie stillness to the group. Where Elena had once known a warm and welcoming farm, there was now only desolation. The farmhouse was little more than a shell of charred beams and collapsed stone. The barn had fallen in on itself, and the fields that had once thrived were overgrown with weeds, their crops long gone. No smoke lingered; whatever had happened here was not recent.
The group halted, their ponies shifting uneasily as the dwarves dismounted one by one, their boots crunching softly against the uneven ground.
Bilbo, still perched awkwardly on Myrtle, glanced around with growing confusion. "What is this place?" he asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "Did someone live here?"
Elena's chest tightened at his question, her gaze fixed on the ruins. She remained silent, her thoughts racing. Beside her, Gandalf dismounted slowly, his expression grim as his sharp eyes scanned the remnants of the once-thriving farm.
"Yes," the wizard finally said, his voice low and heavy. "Once."
The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances, the tension in the air palpable. Kili stepped forward, his keen eyes darting around the area. "Whatever happened here, it's been a while," he said. "No fresh tracks, no sign of fire or smoke."
"But something did happen," Dwalin said, his tone dark as his hand rested on the haft of his axe. "Look at it. This wasn't abandoned—it was destroyed."
"Whoever did this meant to leave nothing behind," Balin murmured, his voice somber as he surveyed the ruins.
Elena dismounted silently, her movements slow and deliberate as she walked toward what had once been the farmhouse. Her silver eye glinted faintly in the fading light, her jaw clenched as she took in the destruction. Memories of Adam and Rose flashed in her mind—their laughter, the warmth of their hearth, the kindness in their voices.
"They didn't deserve this," she murmured under her breath, the words meant more for herself than anyone else.
Bilbo frowned, still sitting astride his pony as he tried to piece together what was happening. "Who were they?" he asked, his voice tinged with both confusion and concern. "The people who lived here?"
Gandalf glanced briefly at Elena before answering. "Farmers," he said simply. "Kind people. Hardworking. They would have welcomed us."
Bilbo's face fell. "And now…?" He trailed off, unsure how to finish the question.
"No one knows what happened," Gandalf said, his tone grave. "But it is clear they are no longer here."
Thorin, who had been silent up to this point, stepped forward. His sharp blue eyes surveyed the ruins with a calculating expression. "Whatever befell this place, it happened long enough ago that we're not in immediate danger," he said firmly. "The structures are still standing enough to provide shelter. We'll set up camp here for the night."
Several of the dwarves shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting to the ruins and back to Thorin.
"Here?" Fili asked hesitantly, glancing around. "In a place like this?"
"It's shelter," Thorin said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And shelter is what we need."
Gandalf dismounted from his horse with a tired sigh, his boots crunching softly against the uneven ground. He moved purposefully toward the ruins of the farmhouse, his staff tapping rhythmically as he stepped inside what remained of the structure. The shadows of the charred beams and crumbling walls loomed around him, the air heavy with the echoes of what once had been.
The company watched him in silence, their earlier unease deepening as the wizard paused in the center of the ruins. He tapped his staff firmly on the ground, the faint reverberation carrying an air of finality.
"I think it would be wiser to move on," Gandalf said, his voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to Thorin, his expression grave but firm. "We could make for the Hidden Valley."
Thorin's face hardened immediately, his jaw tightening as he stepped forward. "But I've told you already," he said sharply. "I will not go near that place."
Gandalf turned to face him fully, his tone laced with exasperation. "Why not? The Elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."
"I do not need their advice," Thorin replied, his voice low and dangerous.
Gandalf's sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "We have a map that we cannot read," he reminded Thorin. "Lord Elrond could help us."
Thorin's face darkened, his blue eyes blazing with anger as he stepped closer to the wizard. "Help?" he repeated bitterly. "A dragon attacks Erebor—what help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls—did the Elves come to our aid then? No!" His voice rose, filled with the weight of old wounds. "The Elves looked on and did nothing! And now, you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather—who betrayed my father."
Gandalf's expression softened for a moment, but his tone remained firm. "You are neither of them," he said pointedly. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past."
Thorin's eyes flashed with defiance, his voice clipped. "I did not know they were yours to keep."
The tension in the air was palpable, the silence that followed heavy with unspoken anger. The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to intervene in the heated exchange.
Bilbo, standing off to the side, had been watching the argument unfold with growing concern. When Gandalf suddenly turned on his heel and began striding out of the ruins, his cloak swirling behind him, Bilbo hurried after him.
"Everything alright?" Bilbo asked nervously, his voice tentative as he tried to keep up with the wizard's long strides. "Gandalf, where are you going?"
"To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense," Gandalf replied curtly, not bothering to slow down.
Bilbo frowned, his brow furrowing. "And who's that?"
"Myself, Mister Baggins!" Gandalf snapped, his tone laced with frustration. "I've had enough of dwarves for one day."
Bilbo stopped in his tracks, watching as Gandalf disappeared around the corner of the ruins. The hobbit glanced back at the company, who were still standing in tense silence near the remains of the farmhouse. Unsure of what to do, he sighed quietly and decided it was best not to involve himself further, instead retreating back to his pony.
The group remained still for a moment longer, the weight of Thorin and Gandalf's argument hanging heavily over them. Finally, Thorin turned away, his expression unreadable as he muttered, "We make camp here. Rest while you can."
With that, the dwarves began to set up camp in the ruins, though the earlier lightness of their journey felt very far away. Elena, standing quietly near her horse, exchanged a glance with Gandalf as he reappeared briefly at the edge of the ruins. The wizard's frustration was clear, but so was the worry etched into his face.
As the company settled into the ruins for the evening, Bombur took it upon himself to prepare dinner. Despite the somber mood that had hung over them since their arrival, the portly dwarf hummed quietly to himself, his hands deftly chopping vegetables and adding them to a large pot. The familiar, savory scent of venison stew began to fill the air, mingling with the faint chill of the evening breeze.
Fili and Kili, tasked with tending to the ponies, were out near the remnants of the barn, ensuring the animals were settled and fed for the night. Their occasional bursts of laughter carried faintly over the camp, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, they could find something to smile about.
Closer to the fire, Sable had chosen her spot for the evening. The massive white warg lay near the flickering flames, her amber eyes gleaming as she watched over the group. Her ears twitched occasionally, her keen senses attuned to the slightest movement or sound. Though her posture was relaxed, there was an unmistakable air of vigilance about her, as if she were silently reminding everyone that no harm would come to them while she was near.
Elena sat on a fallen beam near the fire, her silver eye catching the light as she watched Bombur work. The rhythmic chopping of his knife and the bubbling of the stew provided a comforting backdrop to the otherwise quiet camp. She glanced at Sable, her lips quirking into a small smile. "You've got the best spot in the house," she murmured to the warg.
Sable huffed softly in response, her tail thumping once against the ground before she resumed her watchful stance.
Balin wandered over, his expression thoughtful as he sat beside Elena. "You've a fine companion there," he said, nodding toward Sable. "Not every beast would sit so calmly in a place like this."
"She's not like most," Elena replied, her voice warm as she looked at the warg. "Sable knows when to fight and when to rest. She's smarter than most people give her credit for."
Balin chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Smarter than some of us, I'd wager," he said with a , sitting a little apart from the group, clutched his cloak tightly around him as his gaze darted around the ruins. His unease was evident, his nervous fidgeting betraying his thoughts. "Are we sure it's safe here?" he finally asked, his voice wavering slightly as he looked toward the others.
Dwalin snorted, poking at the fire with a stick. "Safe enough," he said gruffly. "If anything's out there, we'll know soon enough."
"That's not exactly comforting," Bilbo muttered under his breath.
Balin, sitting near the fire with a bowl of stew in hand, glanced at the hobbit with a gentle smile. "You've no need to worry, laddie," he said reassuringly. "Sable would let us know if there was any danger."
Bilbo's gaze shifted to the massive warg, his unease not entirely abated. "Right," he said, his voice quiet. "Sable."
Elena, perched on a low stone near the fire, looked up from her own bowl of stew. Her dark hair caught the flickering light as she studied the hobbit for a moment. "You're safer here than most places we've passed," she said calmly. "The ruins are sturdy, and Sable's not one to let anything sneak up on us."
Sable huffed softly at the mention of her name, her tail thumping once against the ground before she resumed her watchful pose.
Bombur interrupted the conversation as he began ladling the steaming stew into bowls, passing them around with a cheerful grin. "Eat up, everyone," he said, his voice carrying the warmth of the meal he had prepared. "Nothing lifts the spirits like a good stew!"
The dwarves eagerly took their portions, settling closer to the fire as they ate. Even Thorin, who had been standing a little apart, finally joined them, his expression guarded but his posture less rigid as he accepted his bowl with a curt nod.
As the company finished their meal, laughter and the occasional clatter of bowls echoed softly in the ruins. Bombur leaned back with a contented sigh, while Bofur stood and began collecting the empty bowls. With his usual cheerful grin, he picked up two freshly filled bowls of stew and turned toward Bilbo.
"Be a good lad and take these to Fili and Kili, would you?" he said, thrusting the bowls into Bilbo's hands before the hobbit could protest.
Bilbo blinked in surprise but quickly nodded, a small smile breaking through his earlier unease. "Of course," he said, clutching the bowls carefully as he turned toward where the brothers had wandered off.
Elena, sitting nearby on her chosen seat of broken stone, watched Bilbo shuffle away with the bowls, his movements careful but purposeful. A faint smile touched her lips as she leaned back slightly, the firelight flickering over her face. Looks like he's finding his rhythm, she thought, her silver eye following the hobbit's retreating form.
Bilbo's small frame disappeared into the shadowy treeline where the ponies had been tethered for the night. Only Gandalf's horse and her own black stallion remained near the ruins, standing calmly within the soft glow of the dying firelight. Elena leaned back against her chosen seat of broken stone, her silver eye flicking toward the treeline now and then as the moments stretched on.
It was a bit surprising that Bilbo hadn't returned quickly. The hobbit wasn't one to linger unnecessarily, especially when he was so clearly trying to find his place within the group. Elena smirked faintly, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. Probably got roped into doing something childish, she mused, her thoughts drifting to Fili and Kili. The brothers had an unmistakable mischievous streak about them, and she wouldn't have put it past them to pull Bilbo into one of their antics.
The camp was settling down now, the warm hum of conversation fading as the dwarves began to prepare for the night. Bombur was already snoring softly, his head tilted back against a pile of supplies, while Balin sat nearby, polishing a small trinket he'd picked up in one of their last stops. Thorin was still near the fire, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the flames, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
Sable, lying by Elena's side, let out a low huff, her ears flicking toward the treeline. The massive white warg hadn't stirred from her relaxed position, but her gaze was sharp, her amber eyes glinting in the firelight.
Elena reached down, brushing her fingers over Sable's fur in a calming motion. "He's fine," she murmured, more to herself than to the warg. "Probably learning some trick or prank those two have thought up."
Even as she said it, a faint unease crept into her thoughts. Fili and Kili's playful nature was well-known, but they were also responsible—especially when it came to their duties. If they were truly up to something, Bilbo would have returned by now, laughing or grumbling about their mischief.
Elena's silver eye flicked toward the treeline again, her gaze narrowing slightly. Still, she thought, it wouldn't hurt to check. Her fingers tightened briefly on Sable's fur before she stood, brushing off her cloak. The air was cooler now, the fire's warmth fading as she adjusted her hood and stepped away from the group
The sound of Fili and Kili's panicked cries drew the attention of the entire group. Dwarves who had been lounging near the fire or preparing for the night froze, their eyes snapping to the brothers as they stumbled into the camp, their breaths heaving and their faces pale.
"Mountain trolls!" Fili gasped, still clutching the hilt of his sword.
"They've taken the ponies!" Kili added, his voice cracking with urgency. "And Bilbo—he went after them to try to get the ponies back!"
Silence fell over the group for the briefest moment before Thorin stormed forward, his blue eyes blazing with fury. "Bilbo did what?" His voice was sharp, each word cutting through the tense air.
"We couldn't stop him!" Fili said quickly, the guilt thick in his voice. "He thought he could sneak in and—"
"And you let him go alone?" Thorin barked, taking another step closer, his frustration barely contained.
Elena, standing a few steps behind Thorin, crossed her arms and fixed the brothers with a piercing look, her silver eye narrowing. There was something in the way Fili stumbled over his words, the way Kili glanced nervously at his brother, avoiding everyone's gaze. She recognized the telltale signs of a partial truth—there was more to this story than they were letting on.
"You're not telling us everything," Elena said sharply, her voice cutting through Thorin's reprimands. The group turned toward her, startled by her sudden interjection. She stepped forward, her gaze unwavering as she looked directly at the brothers. "What exactly happened?"
Kili hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Fili. "We… we were supposed to be keeping an eye on the ponies," he admitted reluctantly. "But we got distracted."
"Distracted how?" Elena pressed, her tone low and demanding.
"We thought we heard something," Fili said quickly, his voice defensive. "So we went to check it out. By the time we got back, the trolls were already there."
"And instead of getting the rest of us," Elena continued, her tone hardening, "you decided to try and handle it yourselves, didn't you?"
Kili opened his mouth to respond but shut it again, his guilty silence confirming her suspicions.
Elena let out a sharp breath, her jaw tightening as she shook her head. "This is why we don't act alone," she said, her voice heavy with frustration. "Now Bilbo is out there because of your mistake." Glancing down at Sable she gestured towards the woods. "Go find Gandalf, and bring him back." She whispered, the Warg looking at her before bounding off.
The brothers looked thoroughly chastened, their usual bravado replaced by guilt. Before Thorin could say anything further, Elena turned sharply toward the group.
"No point arguing now," she said firmly, her voice snapping everyone into action. "Bilbo's in danger, and we need to move."
Thorin's gaze lingered on Fili and Kili for a moment longer, his anger evident, before he turned to the rest of the company. "Dwalin, Balin—take point. Everyone else, weapons ready. We move now."
The dwarves scrambled into action, arming themselves as they prepared to leave the camp. Elena grabbed her swords, strapping them securely to her back before adjusting the cloak draped over her shoulders. Her bow and quiver of arrows, still strapped to her horse, were left behind—this wasn't the time for distance. Sable stood beside her, her posture tense and ready.
As the group moved into the treeline, the faint sounds of guttural voices and laughter began to filter through the forest. The trolls weren't far. Elena motioned for the group to halt as they approached the source of the noise. Crouching low, she peered through the underbrush, her silver eye gleaming faintly as she surveyed the scene.
The clearing was bathed in the flickering light of a crude fire. Three massive trolls stood near the center, their rough, stony skin catching the glow of the flames. The ponies were huddled nearby in a wooden makeshift pen with the gate held shut by a thick rope.
Elena's heart sank as her sharp gaze locked onto the sight of Bilbo, caught in the middle troll's massive, grimy hand. He was dangling helplessly, his small frame coated in troll snot, his face a mixture of terror and disgust. Her hand tightened instinctively on the hilt of her sword, ready to act, but before she could make her move, Fili burst out from the cover of the trees, his voice ringing with defiance.
"Let him go!" Fili shouted, his sword drawn and gleaming in the firelight.
The troll holding Bilbo, William, turned his grotesque head toward the young dwarf, his small eyes narrowing in confusion. "You what?" he growled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.
Kili darted out behind Fili, his bow drawn and aimed directly at the troll. "I said, drop him!" Kili demanded, his voice steady despite the danger.
William snorted, a deep, guttural laugh escaping him as he looked between the two dwarves. "Drop 'im? Sure thing!" With a malicious grin, he tossed Bilbo toward Kili like a sack of flour.
Kili barely managed to catch Bilbo, but the force of the hobbit's fall sent them both sprawling onto the ground in a heap. "Bilbo!" Kili shouted, scrambling to help the dazed hobbit to his feet.
"No!" Thorin's voice boomed from the shadows as he charged forward, grabbing Kili by the shoulder and yanking him back before he could get himself or Bilbo hurt further. "Stay behind me!" Thorin ordered, his blue eyes blazing with anger.
The trolls turned their attention fully to the group now, their crude laughter echoing through the clearing. "Lay down yer arms!" William bellowed, holding up a massive fist for emphasis. "Or we'll rip his off!"
"We don't need to bother cookin' 'em," Tom, the troll on the left, chimed in, licking his lips. "Let's just sit on 'em and squash 'em into jelly!"
At that, Thorin growled, stepping forward with his sword drawn. "We don't take orders from trolls."
The clearing erupted into chaos as the dwarves charged. Thorin led the group, his sword flashing as he drove forward, aiming for the trolls' vulnerable legs. Dwalin was close behind, his battle-axe gleaming as he swung it in wide arcs, forcing one of the trolls to step back with a grunt.
Elena moved swiftly, her twin long-swords drawn and glinting in the firelight as she weaved between the massive legs of the trolls. She aimed for William, her blade slicing deep into the thick, stone-like skin of his calf. The troll roared in pain, stumbling as he clutched at his injured leg, the ground shaking beneath his weight.
"Over here, you ugly brute!" she taunted, drawing his attention away from the others.
Meanwhile, the dwarves fought valiantly, their weapons striking true, though the trolls' sheer size and strength made them formidable opponents. Bombur and Bofur worked together to distract Tom, their quick movements forcing him to spin clumsily, while Fili and Kili peppered the trolls with arrows, their aim precise.
But the fight took a turn when William, enraged by Elena's strike, swiped at her with a massive hand. She barely dodged, rolling to the side as his fist slammed into the ground, sending dirt and debris flying.
"Enough of this!" William roared, his voice echoing through the clearing. He lunged forward and grabbed Bilbo again, holding the hobbit aloft like a trophy. "Lay down yer arms, or we'll rip 'is head clean off!"
The company froze, their weapons still in hand but their movements halted. Thorin cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on his sword. "Let him go, and we'll consider it," he growled.
William's grotesque face twisted into a grin. "No deal. Toss yer weapons, now, or he gets squished!"
Elena's heart pounded as she glanced at Thorin, their eyes meeting briefly. The fight had turned against them, and for now, Bilbo's safety had to come first. Reluctantly, she lowered her swords, the blades glinting faintly as she placed them on the ground.
One by one, the company followed suit, their weapons hitting the dirt with heavy thuds. The trolls grinned triumphantly, their cruel laughter echoing into the night as they loomed over the company.
Elena's gaze flicked to Bilbo, who was trembling in William's grasp but still alive. For now, she thought grimly, her mind racing as she began to calculate their next move.
The trolls wasted no time in taking advantage of their victory. With malicious glee, they rounded up the dwarves, forcing them into oversized sacks that looked suspiciously like they had been pilfered from some poor farmer's storage. The dwarves grumbled and struggled, but their efforts were in vain. The trolls' brute strength far outmatched them, and soon they were piled together in an undignified heap near the fire, each one wrapped tightly in burlap and barely able to move.
Elena, however, was given a different treatment. William, still furious from the deep wound she'd delivered to his leg, dragged her roughly to a nearby tree. He sneered at her, his foul breath reeking of rotted meat and filth as he tied her to the trunk with a length of rope so thick and tight it pressed into her chest and ribs. Her breathing was shallow, the constriction making it difficult to draw a full breath.
"There," William growled, yanking the knot with a final pull that made the rope dig even deeper. "Let's see you wiggle outta that, eh? Nasty little sword-wavin' runt."
Elena glared up at him, her silver eye blazing with fury. Despite her predicament, she kept her composure, her sharp gaze not wavering as she stared him down. "Enjoy this moment while you can," she said coldly, her voice low and edged with defiance. "It won't last."
William snorted, leaning down to sneer in her face. "Oh, I think it will. Ain't no one comin' to save ya now." With that, he turned back to his companions, leaving her bound and struggling to take even breaths.
The trolls resumed their crude banter, their voices booming as they discussed how best to prepare their unexpected feast.
"Roast 'em?" Tom suggested, licking his lips as he eyed the squirming burlap sacks.
"Too much work," Bert grumbled. "Let's just boil 'em. Easier, innit?"
William chuckled, his voice dripping with malice. "Nah, we'll squash 'em first, make 'em nice and tender-like."
Elena glanced toward the pile of dwarves, her mind racing. They were all still conscious, though thoroughly tangled in the sacks and unable to do more than grumble and shift slightly. Even Thorin, whose blue eyes burned with anger, was helpless in the crude bindings. Bilbo, to her dismay, had been tossed near the fire, still coated in troll snot and trembling visibly.
Despite her situation, Elena's thoughts churned with plans. Her swords had been confiscated, now lying near the fire where the trolls were lounging. Her daggers, hidden beneath her boots, were out of reach thanks to the ropes biting into her body. The trolls were clearly overconfident, too focused on their cruel plans to pay close attention to their captives.
The trolls' crude laughter filled the clearing as they finalized their twisted preparations for their meal. A few of the dwarves had been tied to a thick log, their arms and legs bound tightly to the wood. Bert, the troll with a particularly nasty grin, had fashioned the log into a crude spit. He cackled gleefully as he turned it over the fire, the heat beginning to lick at the edges of the dwarves' cloaks.
"Nice and slow," Bert said, his guttural voice dripping with malice as he cranked the spit. "Want 'em roasted just right—don't wanna waste good meat, do we?"
"Smells like mutton," Tom said, leaning in to sniff dramatically at the bound dwarves. "Bit gamey, though."
"Oi, you'll eat what you get!" William snapped, licking his lips as he prodded one of the burlap sacks with his filthy finger. "Ain't every day we get dwarf on the menu, eh?"
The dwarves bound to the spit struggled futilely against their restraints, their muffled grumbles of outrage barely audible over the trolls' banter.
"Get this log off me!" Dwalin bellowed, his voice laced with fury as he twisted against the ropes. The fire's heat was growing closer, singeing the ends of his beard.
"Stop squirming!" Bofur hissed from the opposite side of the spit, his face red from the heat. "You'll tip us right in if you keep that up!"
Bombur groaned miserably, wedged in the middle. "I'm gonna be the first to go at this rate…"
Bilbo, still trembling but trying his best to muster some courage, raised his voice. "Wait! You're making a terrible mistake!"
The trolls turned their grotesque faces toward him, their laughter momentarily silenced. The dwarves, still bound and struggling, looked equally bewildered.
"Bilbo, what are you doing?" Dori hissed, his voice muffled from within the burlap sack. "You can't reason with them—they're half-wits!"
"Half-wits?" Bofur interjected, his tone a mix of indignation and panic. "What does that make us?"
Bilbo ignored them, taking a shaky step forward. His mind raced as he tried to keep the trolls' attention on him and away from the helpless dwarves. "I mean with the…uh, with the seasoning," he stammered.
Bert, who had been happily turning the dwarves on the spit, paused mid-rotation and frowned. "What about the seasoning?" he growled, his massive head tilting toward Bilbo.
"Well…" Bilbo swallowed hard, his voice cracking slightly. "Have you…smelt them? You're going to need something much stronger than sage before you plate this lot up!"
Tom scratched his misshapen head, his confusion evident. "Stronger than sage? What's stronger than sage?"
William narrowed his small, pig-like eyes at Bilbo. "What do you know about cooking dwarf?"
"Shut up, William!" Bert snapped, waving a massive hand. "Let the…uh, flurgerburbur—hobbit—talk!" He leaned closer to Bilbo, his enormous, greasy face looming over the terrified hobbit. "Alright then, little one," he said, his voice dripping with mock patience. "What's the secret?"
Bilbo hesitated, his mind screaming at him to think of something—anything—that would buy them time. "Uh…the secret to cooking dwarf…" he started, his voice faltering.
"Yes?" Bert prompted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Come on, spit it out."
Bilbo's gaze darted to the dwarves, who were staring at him with expressions ranging from disbelief to outright panic. His hands clenched nervously as he stammered, "It's, uh…it's…"
"Tell us the secret!" Bert bellowed, slamming his fist into the ground for emphasis, the impact making the fire flicker.
"It's…to…skin them first!" Bilbo blurted, his voice rising in a mix of desperation and false confidence.
As the trolls continued to bicker over Bilbo's ridiculous claim about skinning dwarves, Elena's silver eye caught a flicker of movement at the edge of the forest. A familiar wisp of white fur emerged from the shadows, weaving silently through the underbrush.
Sable.
Her heart lifted slightly at the sight of her loyal companion. Though the warg couldn't match the raw strength of the trolls, Sable's presence meant something far more critical—help was likely on the way. If Sable had returned, it was a sign that Gandalf couldn't be far behind.
Elena's gaze met Sable's amber eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light. The warg was crouched low, her posture tense but controlled, her eyes locked on Elena. With a subtle nod, Elena issued a silent command: Stay put.
Sable stilled, her ears twitching slightly as she acknowledged the order. Elena knew her companion well enough to trust that Sable wouldn't act rashly. The trolls hadn't noticed her yet, and for now, her presence in the shadows was a valuable advantage.
The dwarves, oblivious to Sable's arrival, continued their protests against Bilbo's "advice." Their muffled shouts were half outrage, half confusion.
"Skin us?!" Dwalin bellowed, his deep voice still managing to convey fury despite the burlap sack muffling him. "I'll skin you myself, Baggins!"
Bilbo, standing in the thick of it, looked as though he might faint. His eyes darted nervously between the trolls, who were now growling at each other in frustration. Bert slammed his fist on the ground, causing the spit with the bound dwarves to wobble precariously.
"This ain't right!" Bert snapped. "Why're we takin' cookin' advice from a tiny little thing like him?"
"He's just stallin' us!" William barked, his piggish eyes narrowing. "We should squash the lot of 'em and be done with it!"
Elena took a shallow breath, the ropes around her chest still pressing painfully against her ribs. Her gaze flicked toward the treeline again, searching for any sign of movement. Come on, Gandalf, she thought, her fingers twitching slightly as she tested the bindings again. If you're coming, now would be a good time.
Sable's eyes never left Elena, the warg's body poised to act if needed. But Elena's silent command held firm: wait. If Gandalf was nearby, the timing would be crucial.
For now, the trolls' argument raged on, their booming voices echoing through the clearing. Bilbo's shaky attempt at stalling was working—for the moment. Elena's only hope was that it would hold long enough for their true savior to arrive.