Of Dragons, Dwobbits and Dwarves

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Gothmog strode over and grabbed Frerin's arm, dragging him unceremoniously to his feet and over to the chest. The creature then proceeded to kick Frerin in the back of the knees, knocking his legs out from under him.

Frerin grimaced in pain and let out a soft grunt as his knees impacted the stone. He looked over his shoulder toward Bilba and, in a surprisingly conversational tone, said, "you know, in hindsight, the whole blood seal thing might not have been quite the failsafe my ancestors thought it was."

Gothmog grabbed Frerin's hand and proceeded to drive a talon straight through the center of his palm. Frerin tensed and clenched his jaw but made no sound as blood welled up from the puncture, slipping into the various lines and cracks of his skin until finally squeezing between his fingers to drip onto the stone.

Gothmog forced Frerin's bloodied hand down on the lid of the chest. White light shone out from under his palm, tracing an intricate crest into the wood. A second later there was the unmistakable, soft sound of the lid unlocking, the quiet noise sending a bolt of panic through Bilba.

Gothmog threw Frerin back with one arm and he landed heavily near Bilba. She helped him struggle to a seated position and, together, they watched as Gothmog knelt and threw back the lid. His back blocked her view but she saw bright light shining around him, a sharp contrast to the darkness and flame that covered him like a shroud.

The creature stood, clutching something in his hand. Beside her, Frerin scrambled to his feet and lunged forward, only to instantly fall to his knees clutching his head in agony. Bilba scrambled to his side and held his shoulders as Gothmog turned to face them, one hand outstretched toward Frerin and the other clutching...a ball of light?

Bilba had never seen anything like it before. Whether it was a gem or a stone of some kind or something else entirely she had no idea but it was certainly beautiful. Gothmog swept his cloak back to slide the gem into an inner pocket. As he did, Bilba caught sight of three oddly shaped crystals strapped to his belt just under his cloak. One looked strangely familiar as if she'd seen it before but she couldn't begin to imagine where.

With a swift kick, Gothmog sent the chest scraping off the edge of the platform where it plummeted into the abyss below. He then turned and threw himself into the throne again, sprawled across it with one leg over the armrest. He gave an idle wave of his hand and Frerin sagged to the ground with a gasp, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Bilba leaned over to rest her head on his back, her arms wrapped around him as best she could. It was what her mother had used to do for her as a child when she'd been scared or in pain. It hadn't changed her circumstances but it had helped her just the same.

Footsteps signaled the arrival of an orc, the panicked look on its face suggesting it had been summoned by Gothmog.

"Go find that woman," Gothmog said, sounding bored, "and bring her to me."

The orc nodded and scrambled away, off the bridge and into the depths of Erebor. Bilba helped Frerin back into a seated position again. As she did it occurred to her she wasn't hearing the sound of fighting anymore. Either it had all moved too far down for her to hear, or there was no longer any going on.

Either scenario did not speak well to Erebor's efforts to hold onto the mountain.

Footsteps heralded the arrival of Azog, walking with the swagger he always got when confident of his own victory. Beside him walked a smaller figure. Bilba thought it was an orc at first but, upon looking closer, she felt her mouth gape open at the sight of Beryl hurrying alongside the giant orc.

The woman looked wildly different from the last time Bilba had seen her. Her dress was filthy and torn in places and she was covered in what seemed like layers of dirt. Without her Ladies in Waiting it was clear she had no idea how to dress her own hair leaving it in matted tangles with jewels stuck about haphazardly. Bilba wasn't entirely sure if they were being held in by some sort of mesh or simply by the overall mess of hair.