(I'm back, thanks, Merry Christmas. ;) )
The Misty Mountains closed in around them, sheer walls rising on either side, the sky above reduced to a thin strip of gray. Sound carried strangely here; every footstep echoed, every clink of armor lingered too long.
Bilbo swallowed. "I don't suppose anyone knows a way around the mountains?""No," Thorin said flatly. "Only through." Edwen rode near the center now, eyes constantly moving. He disliked this place. The stone felt wrong underfoot, too hollow, too quiet.
"Stay close," he said. "No gaps." The company tightened instinctively. That was when the stones began to fall. Not all at once. Not loudly. Just a single pebble, skittering across the path, then another.
Edwen opened his mouth to warn them.
The world exploded, and rocks started to rain down from above, hurled with brutal precision. A pony screamed and went down, its packs spilling across the stone.
"Shields up!" Thorin roared. It was too late. Figures dropped from the cliffs like spiders, lean, fast, and shrieking. Goblins. Dozens of them, pouring from hidden cracks and ledges.
Edwen drew his sword and fired once with his off-hand pistol, the crack of it echoing like thunder in the pass. A goblin dropped mid-leap.
The dwarves surged forward, axes flashing. Gandalf's staff flared, white light burning through the gloom. But the goblins were ready.
Hooks bit into armor. Nets fell from above. A club struck Edwen's shoulder hard enough to send him to one knee. Something wrapped around his arm, cold iron etched with crude runes.
Pain flared in his body, his vision blurred for half a heartbeat.
"Edwen!" Bilbo shouted. Another blow caught him across the back of the head. Then his world went dark. As Edwen woke to pain.
The dull, grinding kind that settled into bone and stayed there. His wrists were bound behind him, iron biting into skin. His head throbbed. The air smelled of damp stone, rot, and something worse: Goblins. They were being dragged through tunnels downward, always downward. The dwarves struggled and cursed, but the goblins only laughed, sharp and cruel.
Bilbo stumbled beside him, pale and shaken but unharmed. "You're awake," Bilbo whispered. "That's… that's good." Edwen tested the bonds and felt the runes flare. Suppression. Crude, but effective. "Anyone badly hurt?" he murmured. "Just pride," Balin muttered ahead. "And Bombur's temper." Thorin was silent. That worried Edwen more than anything.
They were thrown into a vast cavern lit by foul torches and glowing fungi. Wooden bridges crisscrossed the open space, suspended over a dark chasm. Goblins swarmed everywhere, jeering, shouting, throwing scraps. A heavy silence fell as a massive figure emerged from the shadows. It was the so called The Great Goblin. Hes grinned was full of dirty, yellow teeth, glinting.
"Well now," he crooned. "What have we caught?" Thorin was hauled forward. "A king under the mountain," the Great Goblin said slowly, recognition dawning. "Or what's left of him."
Edwen stepped forward despite the chains. "You'll regret keeping us alive."
The Great Goblin turned, eyes narrowing. "And who are you, elf one?" Edwen met his gaze evenly. "Someone you should have killed when you had the chance."
The goblin laughed, loud and ugly. "I like him." Gandalf watched silently from the shadows, eyes sharp, waiting.
As the time stretched on. The goblins argued, mocked, and boasted. The company waited bruised, bound, but unbroken.
Edwen leaned slightly toward Thorin. "When it happens," he whispered, "don't hesitate." Thorin didn't look at him. "I never do." Somewhere in the dark, a sword began to glow, and the mountain held its breath.