Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝔄 𝔚𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝔊𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭
To say that sleep did not come easy to the thirteen dwarves, the wizard, and the hobbit would be an understatement. They had entered the cave discovered by Fili and Kili shivering and soaked to the bone, but Mithrandir would not let them light a fire. He simply wouldn't hear of it. When asked why, he only said that their party could never be too cautious. So they spread their wet clothes out on the rocky floor and put on the dry clothes that had been protected by their packs. Naerien, being an elf and female, found a dark nook in the back of the cave to change quickly while the others were occupied elsewhere.
The dwarves stayed up talking animatedly, their spirits rising now that they were now out of the storm. Mithrandir even entertained them by turning the rings of smoke he puffed out of his pipe into different colors and shapes. At last, however, they drifted off into sleep, with Bofur taking the first watch.
Naerien found herself coming as far from consciousness as an elf could, drifting into a daze-like state where she could no longer distinguish articulated words from the steady drumming from the rain outside. For elves do not sleep as mortals do, because they don't need to. An elf could slip into a daze that would rest their bodies while they walked for only a few hours, and would come to full awareness as if they had slept for ten hours or more. If one were to look over to her, they would see her staring off into dreamland, eyes glazed over and breathing even and steady.
There were voices, she could tell, not that her mind registered them. They were hushed, as if not to wake the others. Naerien couldn't tell what they were saying. She ignored them, willing herself to drift further and further from the waking world. That was, until a steady blue shine caught her eyes and she was slowly dragged out of her daze.
Bilbo and Bofur were speaking to each other, she noticed, and Bilbo had his blade and pack strapped to him. That was the glow, she realized. He had an elven blade with him, and it was now warning them that something was coming. If crafted by the most skillful of weapon smiths, such as Naerien's father, elvish weapons would glow when orcs or goblins or other creatures of Darkness were nearby — Naerien had crafted her own sword to glow in the presense of orcs. Seeing as Bilbo's tiny blade was glowing and her sword was not, she knew that the danger that was arriving wasn't orcs.
It was goblins.
Thorin suddenly gave a shout, alerting everyone to the danger. Naerien grabbed her blade as panicked and confused sounds filled the cave, but they were far too late.
Vile and snarling, cackling and spitting, they came pouring from a crack that had opened up at the back of the cave. They had taken hold of the dwarves nearest to the new doorway — roughly six goblins to one dwarf — and started dragging them into the wicked-looking torchlight. Suddenly there was a magnificent flash, like lightning had cracked within their cave, and several of the goblins fell dead. The stench of smoke and burned flesh filled the air and Naerien stumbled back. There was a firm grip on her arm and instinct took over. She thrashed around, but the torchlight had vanished, and she was fighting her captor standing in the dark, alone. The dwarves and the hobbit were gone, taken into the lair of the goblins.
