At the foot of the mountain, Thorin Oakenshield stood his ground.
His skepticism wasn't entirely without merit. Fili and Kili had been on watch; if they had vanished without a single cry, surely it meant they were merely investigating a stray sound, not a catastrophe. In Thorin's eyes, a Dwarf's silence was reliable; a Hobbit's "raven-message" was a farce.
"For safety's sake, shouldn't we at least look?" Bilbo snapped, finally losing his temper with Thorin's arrogance.
Balin, ever the voice of reason, stepped in as peacemaker. "Thorin, caution is never a wasted effort. Let us see what has become of the lads."
"Very well," Thorin grumbled, rising to his feet. "If only to put Master Baggins' mind at ease."
The Company began to move. They had gone only a few paces when Fili and Kili hurried back from the darkness, looking pale.
"The horses," Kili panted, scratching his head. "Several are missing. We heard something and went to check, but the trail went cold."
Thorin's expression shifted instantly. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a cold, martial focus. He unsheathed Orcrist, the moonlight glinting off its Elven steel. "We see what took them. Now!"
Twelve Dwarves followed suit, drawing axes and hammers. Bilbo, having no weapon, could only follow with empty, trembling hands.
After several minutes of stalking through the brush, they found them. Three Trolls—massive, ugly, and smelling of wet dog—were huddled around a fire, roasting one of the ponies.
Bilbo had never seen a Troll. The sheer scale of the creatures made his stomach drop. "What... what are those?" he whispered.
"Trolls," a Dwarf hissed back.
"Quiet!" Thorin commanded from the front, his face grim. "Do not speak. We retreat slowly. We leave this place at once."
With Gandalf absent, Thorin knew the odds. Thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit against three Trolls was a losing gamble. Better to lose a few ponies than a dozen lives.
The Company began to back away, stepping as softly as shadows.
Perched in a nearby tree, Keith watched the retreat with a huff of smoke. This won't do, he thought. I came for a show, not a midnight stroll.
Keith acted. He glided down toward the remaining picket line and gave the nearest horse a sharp, painful peck.
The horse let out a panicked, high-pitched neigh that shattered the silence of the woods.
The three Trolls froze and turned their massive heads toward the sound. "Too much noise," the largest one grunted, standing up. "Go find the rest of 'em."
The Dwarves froze. Thorin Oakenshield was trapped between two choices: abandon the mounts and flee on foot, or fight. For all his faults, Thorin was no coward. Without horses, they would be slow, vulnerable, and likely dead before they reached the next valley.
"Kill them!" Thorin roared, leading the charge with his blade held high.
The battle ended with embarrassing speed.
From his branch, Keith watched with delight as the Dwarves rushed the Trolls, only for the monsters to snatch them up like dolls. One Troll grabbed a Dwarf as a hostage, and the rest were forced to surrender one by one.
Keith shook with silent, draconic laughter. And these are the ones who plan to reclaim my mountain? Incredible.
"Dwarves? Why are there Dwarves here?" one Troll asked, dangling a struggling Dwarf over the fire.
"Who cares?" another replied, poking at the hostage. "I'm sick of horse. I've never had Dwarf before. Wonder if they're chewy?"
"Better than pony, I bet," the third added. "But they're small. Hardly enough to get the taste out of me teeth."
"Hurry up then," the leader grunted. "Dawn's coming, and I don't want to turn back into a rock. I hate being a rock."
The Dwarves began to shout and wail. "We're not tasty! We're all skin and beard!"
Behind a nearby bush, Bilbo Baggins watched the scene with a buzzing head and a hammering heart. He hadn't been part of the initial charge—mostly because he hadn't known what to do—but now he was the only one left free.
He watched the fire, his mind racing. Then, an idea struck. He didn't know if it would work, but he had to try. He scrambled out from the shadows. "Stop! You're making a terrible mistake! You can't eat these Dwarves!"
The three Trolls stared at him, bewildered. They had never seen a Hobbit before.
"What's that then? A squirrel?"
"Does it talk?"
"Is it edible?"
Bilbo felt a cold sweat break across his neck, but he stood tall. "I am not a squirrel! I am a Hobbit, and I am most certainly not edible!"
Keith, watching from above, looked toward the East. The horizon was still dark; dawn was far away. He had accelerated the timeline. Could Bilbo truly stall long enough for Gandalf to return?
He looked at the Trolls again. I wonder... do Trolls count as beasts or Men? My shapeshifting only covers beasts. If I could turn into a Troll, I could really have some fun with this.
Keith glided into the deeper shadows of the forest.
Shapeshift!