OF FIRE & BLOOD, thorin oakenshield

18. Down in Goblin Town

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?"

"Dwarves, Your Malevolence," said one of the smaller goblins. "And two women."

"Dwarves and two women, you say?"

"We found them on the Front Porch," the goblin explained to his King.

"Well, don't just stand there. Search them! Every crack. Every crevice," the Great Goblin demanded as he looked over his intruders. "Even the women. Pretty as they may be, looks can be deceiving."

The goblins howled in response and began searching the Company thoroughly, throwing away whatever they found. As the last of Aninth's weapons were pulled from her body, she could only be glad that Ryvniss seemed to be aware of what was going on and kept moving under her shirt to stay out of sight and grasp of the goblins.

"What are you doing in these parts? Speak!" The Goblin King demanded answers, and when none of them spoke, he became irritated. "Very well. If they will not talk, we'll make them squawk. Bring out the Mangler. Bring out the Bone Breaker. Start with the youngest." 

He pointed at Ori with his staff, and Aninth's face dropped into a scowl, her hands clenching into fists at the audacity of what the Goblin King was trying to do. She had half a mind to tell Ryvniss to burn the lot of them, but before she had a chance, Thorin pushed his way forward.

"Wait!"

The Goblin King looked down at Thorin. "Well, well, well. Look who it is. Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." He bowed exaggeratedly. "Oh, but I'm forgetting. You don't have a mountain. And you're not a king, which makes you nobody, really."

Though it shouldn't have given it wasn't aimed anywhere near her, that comment struck a chord with Aninth, just as she was sure it did with Thorin. Her scowl dropped straight into a glare.

Not having one's home didn't mean that they were stripped of who they were. Her own people had lost one of their homes, the very same as the dwarves around her, but that didn't change who they were. All of Aninth's people were dead now but her, did that mean that she wasn't the Champion of Dragons anymore? Did that mean that her people's legacy didn't live on in her?

No. And no one else got to decide what it meant. If she still had a home to help reclaim, a legacy to carry, it meant something. As long as Thorin wanted to still be the King Under the Mountain, he would be. And he always had been.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head," the Goblin King went on. "Just a head. Nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak. An old enemy of yours. A pale Orc, astride a white Warg."

Thorin's expression turned to one of surprise and disbelief. "Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago."

"So, you think his defiling days are done, do you?" The Goblin King chuckled, before turning to face a smaller goblin sitting in a basket and holding a slate. "Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize."

The smaller goblin excessively wrote down the message on the slate as his King commanded. Then, with a cackle, he pulled on a lever, causing the basket to slide down a system of ropes and pulleys into the darkness and out of sight.

Only a few moments passed before dozens of goblins entered the throne room, carrying massive instruments of torture on their shoulders and backs, which they brought before their King, who had begun dancing and singing lustily.

"Bones will be shattered
Necks will be wrung
You'll be beaten and battered
From racks you'll be hung
You will lie down here
And never be found
Down in the deep of Goblin­-town."