You scream in shock and fear as the world drops from beneath you, jolting you from your sleep. The world is a blur of dim and darkness, with white specks rushing past you as you and your companions plummet down the tunnel. A second later, you realise they're torches jutting out from the roughly hewn walls.

Your screams cease and you look around, coming to your senses. You spot Thorin falling beside you. Hes shouting something, but you can't make it out above the wind roaring in your ears. His hand stretches out in an effort to grab yours, but you're distracted when the end of the dim tunnel comes into view.

Everyone tumbles through the end of the tunnel, and into a hapzard pile. You're contained inside some sort of catching device made of scraps of timber roughly cobbled together. You land at the very top of the pile of dwarves, groaning in pain and shock, and it takes you a second you realise that you're perched on top of Thorin. And, you realise, blushing, in different circumstances, from past experience, its quite a compromising position to be found in. Looking down, you meet Thorin's eyes to see he's giving you that look again, like the look he gave you mere hours ago. For one crazy second, amoidst all the chaos and fear, you think he's going to kiss you.

But you only have another second to be embarrassed before Bombur lands on top of you, crushing you into Thorin. All the other dwarves groan as the rotund dwarf's weight squishes them even more, and colourful curses reach your ears. Meeting Thorin's eyes again, you chuckle slightly, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. He too has a ghost of a smile on his face, but it's quickly wiped when screeches and shouts can be heard nearby.

"Goblins!" You shout, and the Company springs into action, untangling themselves and grabbing their fallen weapons. The horde of creatures came into view, and their sheer numbers overwhelmed you swiftly. For every dwarf, there were ten goblins. There was no way you could win this fight.

The creatures rush along a path of ragged floorboards towards you, and you brandish your sword, opting for a defensive stance. But when they get close enough to strike at they grab you, fencing you in with their bodies. Chittering growls and foul breath filling your ears, and you struggle futilely against their greasy, grime-streaked forms. They shuffle you all forward, and begin to frogmarch everyone down the rickety path they had came from, down into the bowls of their accursed kingdom.

As you and your Companions are shoved onward by the hissing and shrieking goblins, you try and get a better look at your surroundings. Rotting floorboards and pieces of wood are haphazardly connected to the walls, making pathways and shelters. There are hundreds of little pathways, held up only by filth, the rock walls and whatever materials the goblins could find. More ominously, most of the structures are decorated with bones that look suspiciously humanoid.

Raucous, screeching singing can be heard as you are roughly herded down the path, thousands of goblins crowding their dilapidated shanties to point and jeer at you. At first, the words are a jumbled mess, but soon you make out some lyrics.

"Pound pound, far underground,

down, down, down, in Goblin Town!"

A chill seeps through your bones as the end of path comes into view. A hapzardly constructed deck of wooden planks makes up a receiving area, and a large, roughly erected throne. Threads of bones and oddments are grisly ornaments, and a smell of death and filth hangs in the air.

But nothing is as foul as the creature that emitted the terrible singing just moments earlier.

A gargantuan, morbidly obese goblin sit atop the throne, basking in his own filth. Fat rolls and boils cover his mishappen body, and a bobble head sits atop his shoulders, a huge wattle dangling from his neck. Thin locks of long greasy hair hangs lank to his shoulders, and a grimy bone crown sits upon his head. His face is the ugliest part- beady little eyes, a pointy carrot nose, and buck teeth.

"Who would be so bold to come armed into my kingdom?!" The goblin roars, dismounting his throne and crushing several of his smaller kin in the process. "Spies, thieves, assassins!"

"Dwarves, your Malevolence," hisses a goblin a short distance away from you. "We found them on the front porch!"

"Well dont just stand there," the abominable goblin shouts, leering at you and your companions. "Search them! Every crack, every crevice! "

Filthy, thieving hands seize your weapons, casting them down on the floor, and start rifling through your clothes. They jostle you roughly and you grow even more irritable, slapping their hands away when they get too handsy for your comfort. One hand grabs at your talisman, and you twist it so the wrist cracks, sending the goblin tottering away, snarling and clutching his wrist.

"Now, what are you doing in these parts?" The Great Goblin questioned when all the bodysearching was complete.

Oin steps forward from the throng, and held up his ear trumpet. "Don't worry lads," he reassures you all, "I've got this."

"No tricks," the Goblin King warned, beady eyes glinting in the dim light. "I want the truth, warts and all."

"You're going to have to speak up, your boys flattened my trumpet," Oin explained, holding up his rather squashed ear trumpet. One of the goblins must have stepped upon it in the chaos. You felt a pang of sympathy for the other dwarf. His hearing was already poor; how was he going to cope with it all squished like that?

The Goblin stood up, rage boiling within him. "I'll flatten more than your trumpet!" he threatened, throwing things and smashing them against his massive hands as he advanced toward you all.

"If it's more information you want, then I'm the one to speak to!" Bofur squeaked quickly, stepping in front of everyone, forcing the Great Goblin to come to a halt. The creature looked questioningly at the diminuitive dwarf as he began to speak.

"We were on the road," Bofur begins, and you tense your muscles, ready for a fight. It was highly unlikely that the Goblin was going to believe anything Bofur said, as goblins were not the sharpest of creatures, and tired of conversation easily. This was likely to end in a fight.

"Well it's not much a road as a path, actually its not even a path come to think of it," Bofur continued, and you see Thorin roll his eyes. Meeting his gaze, you try to silently communicate to him that something needs to be done. He looks at you questioningly, and you sigh in frustration.

Turning your attention back to the conversation, as Bofur add another unccessary detail to the conversation, the Goblin suddenly bellows "Shut up!", slamming his staff to the floor.

Silence falls in the cavern as the sound echoes off the rock walls, and the goblins all cower at the ear-piercing noise. "If they'll not talk, we'll make them squawk!" He declares, a menacingly evil glint in his piggy eyes. "Bring out the mangler! Bring out the bone breaker!"

"Start with the youngest!" He points at Ori, who gulps, and you move to stand protectively in front of him. Ori is such an innocent young dwarf, so delicate and sweet-tempered, and something about him always causes your maternal instincts to kick in.

"WAIT!"

A voice calls, and the cavern falls silent again. Thorin has stepped from the crowd, looking up at the behemoth of a goblin before him, head held high, pride sitting on his shoulders.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," the Goblin murmurs, a sly smile crossing his hideous features. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror... King Under the Mountain". He bows mockingly as the other goblins cackle, then straightens up, a look of fake surprise on his face.

"Oh wait, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain! And you're not a King, so that makes you... nobody, really."

Thorin stiffens, and his eyes narrow with anger. Without thinking, you step forward.

"He may be nobody to lowlives like you, but to our people, he is everything".

You approach so you stand just behind Thorin, glowering up at the disgusting goblin. His eyes widen slightly, and Thorin turns to whisper furiously to you.

"What are you playing at?!" He glares at you, but you stand your ground.

"Buying you some time," you murmur, and turn back to face the goblin, seeing the surprise appear quickly on Thorin's face.

"So the King has brought his precious Queen," The Goblin drawled condescendingly, a greasy smile contorting his face.

"Many believed you to be dead for some time, Y/N. And now her Majesty is back among us! I almost didn't recognise you, due to that ridiculous glamour someone has cast to hide your ruined face."

You gasp aloud.

"Not so pretty are we really, dearie?" The goblin's grin widened at you frozen expression as he paused for suspense.

"For I think you've quite forgotten. Your shallow enchantment only works on the races of men, dwarves and elves." Horror dawned upon you as you realised what he was implying.

"We goblins cannot be embezzled by such charms," he continues, as the goblins around you titter nastily, all eyes on you. "And I wonder what your little friends would say if they were to see you as you truly are?"

The fear had truly set in now. Could the goblin truly take it away? You grip the talisman around your throat tightly, and find your voice.

"But no matter if they did see, I'd still not be half as ugly as yourself, Master Goblin. And no enchantment far and wide could manage to hide that," you say boldly, and the Goblins eyes narrow.

"Interesting," he hisses, and reclines back upon his throne. "Oh I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head, Oakenshield," he addresses Thorin.

"And the head of your Queen would only sweeten the deal. Just a head, nothing attached". He laughs chillingly, and you wonder for a second before you realise who he is talking about. But the villainous scum implied was surely dead...

Thorin stiffens again, and the Goblin continues. "Perhaps you know of whom I speak," he offers, rotten teeth showing as he smiles greasily. "A pale orc, astride a white warg."

No, it couldn't be. Thorin's adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. "Azog the Defiler was destroyed," Thorin muttered "He was slain in battle long ago!"

But behind his tone you hear a touch of uncertainty, and you can tell that this news has shaken Thorin to his very core.

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" The goblin says evilly, amusement in his eyes. He turns to a tiny little goblin sitting in a small basket, frantically scribbling on a piece of dirty parchment. "Send word to the Pale Orc," he orders. "Tell him I have found his prize!"

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