Return to Me (Kili)

Chapter Ten: Into the Frying Pan

The entire Company fell down a chute, slid through a tunnel, and landed in a giant wooden cage. Priscilla struggled to get up, but a horde of goblins attacked from everywhere, took all their weapons, and dragged them all away. The dwarves around her kicked and yelled, and she struggled to pull her arms from two goblins who were dragging her along. 

She looked over her shoulder to the cage to kind of see where they were, and noticed Bilbo crouched on the ground, head down. The mass of goblins and dwarves passed, and he stood and scampered off behind a railing, where she couldn't see him anymore. She turned forward again, tripping over her feet as she was dragged along quite quickly, and prayed that Bilbo found a way to help them, and quickly. He seemed like their only hope, now. 

The goblin horde brought them through a vast network of tunnels and wooden bridges to a large room. A platform led up to a massive throne, occupied by an equally massive goblin with a skull-headed mace, sporting ugly warts all over his face and hanging chin. 

The smaller goblins piled up the Company's weapons together, and the Great Goblin jumped off his throne, approaching them. "Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Theives? Assassins?" He screeched at them, spit flying. 

"Dwarves, Your Malevolence." A smaller goblin came scurrying forward. "And a wizard, and this." He gestured disgustedly at Priscilla. She only frowned at him, slightly offended but too on edge and nervous to care. "We found them on the front porch."

"Well, don't just stand there; search them!" The Great Goblin cried. The goblins immediately started to search the Company, throwing away whatever they could find. 

The Great Goblin started to shout order to bring out what sounded like absolutely horrible torture devices, but Thorin stepped forward. "Wait." 

"Well, well, well, look who it is. Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror; King under the Mountain." The Great Goblin bowed exaggeratedly. "Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain, and you're not a king.  I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Perhaps you would know him... a Pale Orc, astride a white Warg." Thorin only gaped, disbelieving at the Goblin, who laughed and turned to a tiny goblin with a slate. "Send word to the Pale Orc; tell him I have found his prize."

The tiny goblin scribbled the message down, then scurried away into the darkness below the platform.

"As for you all..." The Goblin started, skimming his eyes over the group. "I should think we'll have a fun time tearing you all to bits one by one. Search their weapons." He grinned malevolently, apparently excited. His eyes stopped on Priscilla, then he saw her ring. "Why... it's been a great many years since I've seen one of those." He pointed to her. "Take it."

Thorin turned, looking at Priscilla, confused. Gandalf glanced over worriedly, and the goblins were too eager to grab her and force her arm out, reaching for it. She managed to elbow one goblin in the face, clenching her hands into fists with a sudden feeling of defensiveness over the ring. 

"Oh, come. Give it up and we won't hurt you... much." The Great Goblin leaned in, eyeing the ring and chuckling. "I thought we'd gotten rid of you lot. Looks like we, ah... missed one." He hissed, eyes gleaming. Priscilla suddenly grew furious, yanking her arms back and causing more goblins to grab her, trying to get at her finger. 

One of the goblins inspecting the weapons suddenly screeched, throwing a sword down. It landed in view of all the goblins, who howled in fear and retreated, trying to get as far away as possible from the weapons. The Great Goblin ran rapidly back to his throne, and they all seemed to forget about Priscilla, now focused on the sword. Orcrist, Thorin's sword, lay half out of its sheath in front of the group.