Sylven yelped as the enormous hand plucked her up off the ground by her hands, bound in thick prickly twine. The hand was so large, that when it lifted her it used only two fingers, pinching her like one might pick up an unfavourable article of clothing.

Her arms yanked painfully as her ascent halted suddenly, and she found herself dangling dangerously high above the ground, on level with the single ugliest face she had seen in the relatively brief expanse of her life. With one eye the silver of pale stone, and the other completely mucus white, the troll tilted its head slightly to get a better look at her. "Gah, stop wigglin will yeah? I'm hungry, and just cause William's out findin food don't mean you ain't good enough for the appetizer!"

She had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out as Bert the troll gave her a good shake, forcing her to swing like a pendulum from her wrists, all the while she joints threatening to pull from whatever it was holding her all together.

Three weeks. Three weeks they had been traveling. Twenty days in caves that smelt even worse than the trolls themselves, and this was the twenty first night of being dangled and manhandled, threatened and brutalized. And in all that time, they had found no one. When the trolls had set upon her camp, Sylven had been asleep in her tent by the side of the woman she had been serving since near childhood. Lady Seibel was old and kind and sharper of wit than any woman of wealthy stock that Sylven had ever seen, and it was Lady Seibel she had to thank for surviving this long. While the men fought Seibel grabbed Sylven and stuck on her every bit of jewelry and finery she could find. Just as the roof of the tent twisted in the fist of a troll, Lady Seibel thrust her hand mirror into the hand of her serving girl, then shoved her under the bed.

Sylven had been uncovered shortly after, and as the trolls Tom and William squashed the knights and Sylven stood paralyzed, Seibel spun a tale of how it was Sylven who was the lady, of a great house that had fallen from fortune, and that they had been on their way to uncover the great treasure horde of her ancestors in order to get the coffers flowing once more. So for all this time Sylven had been directing them in utterly nonsense directions, praying they'd come across someone who could save her. They had come across a wealth of wildlife, and the night before a farmhouse with an elderly man and his wife, instead. She'd spent last day awake, their screams rattling around her mind. She didn't dare sleep, she knew their faces would join those she had traveled with – bloody and mutated and rotten. Worst always was when she came face to face with her Lady, and Seibel would look at her sadly.

"Do you have no guile of your own? Where you so indifferent to all that I taught you, than now you continue to survive on my lie? How much longer, do you suppose it will sate them?"

Not one more night, Sylven expected.

"I think she's stringing us along!" Tom whined as Bert dropped her unceremoniously into the pen they had constructed for her to share with this night's catch. "Let's just eat her!"

"How about it, Lady? Should we just eat you instead?" Bert grinned at her, and that by far more terrifying than the scowl.

"But we're almost there!" She said, trying to make herself sound more disappointed than terrified. "Two days, and you'll have more valuables than that cave can contain!"

Bert grunted and Tom complained loudly. Bert jabbed at the fire angrily, eyeing the massive pot of what these things passed for stew. She had survived on rations she'd taken from her friend's packs, but she'd run out two days ago and the hungry was drawing her thin. Still, not even that could make troll food appealing.

The ground trembled, and she looked around her as little pebbles leapt like tiny pond fish as William came lumbering out of the woods, and large struggling creature under each arm.

"Mutton yesterday, mutton tonight, and blight, if it don't look like mutton again tomorrow!" Bert snarled, glowering at William as he moved past toward the pen.

"Quite your whining! These ain't sheep!" William snorted. "These is Westnads!"

"Oh I don't like horse, I never have! Not enough fat on them." Tom shook his head morosely, turning his back on the pen. They'd all but forgotten her already. Sylven stayed absolutely still as William plunked the terrified ponies down into the pen. When he'd moved away to sit down, she leaned forward to examine the animals. Four ponies? And so well groomed?

Despite herself, she felt a lurch of hope. She looked around the dark of the forest, trying in vain to see anything.

"Well better than some leathery old farmer." Bert pointed out. "All skin and bone he was. I'm still picking bits of him out of my teeth."

Tom let out a loud gasp and then sneezed, and all Sylven had to hear was the plunk to understand the loud complaining from Bert that followed. She watched Tom stiffen as he went to add some more snot to the dinner, before Bert clamped down on his nose. Tom began wailing, and Bert shoved him back barking, "Settle down!"

It was as Tom whipped out a large mass of cloth to blow his nose that she saw him – the tiny figure at the edge of the pen. The moonlight made his small hands pale as they worked against the thickly tied ropes trying to undo the pen door. The ponies snorted and threw their heads in agitation. Sylven almost didn't dare to move, till she saw his little face. A child?

She scrambled across the pen, giving the frightened animals a wide berth. The child flinched as she fell onto her knees in front of him. She had no idea what she looked like, but she must have been hideous. The weeks hadn't been kind – she had a cut above her brow where she'd hit the wood fence of one when with Tom had dropped her lazily, and weeks of spending time in troll caves made her rich purple clothes go a distinct shade of dried blood – something she'd never before been able to name the color of. Her hair was matted, her face streaked with dirt, she must have looked scarce better than the company she'd kept. No wonder he lurched back when she whispered franticly, "Please help me!"

After a moment of staring, he took a step closer. That was when she noticed the ears – pointed, like elves were supposed to be. His face held none of the roundness of a child, and his clothes were adult in their cut. The little man came towards her, and whispered back, "Who – are you alright?"

She scrambled back as Tom came lumbering over, examining the horses. "Are we gunna gut these nads? I don't like the stinky parts."

A loud ting noise as Bert clubbed Tom over the head with a pot, and whimpering Tom returned to his seat as Bert growled, "I said sit down!"

Sylven rushed back to the man as he returned to the corner. She shook her head, glancing nervously at her captors as they began discussing Bert's culinary abilities. "Get me out, then I will be."

The man tugged fretfully on the ropes. "I can't get them off."

She looked around desperately, looking for anything.

"Oh." He said softly, and she looked up to find him watching Tom. She followed his gaze, and felt her breath flood out between her lips. He had a makeshift blade – a hooked sharpened shard of metal thrust into a long branch. Sharp enough for rope cutting.

"There has to be something else." She hissed, crouching to scour the ground.

"It's alright – I'm a burglar." The little man tried to smile at her, but it wilted.

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "Don't. They'll eat you if they catch you."

"What's your name?" The little man leaned forward. With her crouched, they were on level with each other.

"Sylven." She did then what she never expected to do again. She smiled.

He smiled to, and offered out his hand. "My name is Bilbo Baggins. And I'm here to save you."

She took his hand in both of hers, since they were bound, and shook. "Well then, that makes you either the biggest liar I've met, or the best friend I've ever had."

He laughed faintly, looking at the trolls. "Alright."

"Wait!" She begged, but little Bilbo Baggins was already moving forward. He whispered comfort to the ponies, crawling over the bone littered ground. He froze as Tom reached a hand out blindly, skimming the air above him before snatching up the little pot off a rock beside Bert. Bert gnashed his teeth. "Hey! That's my grog!"

Tom warbled out, "Sorry!" then Bert struck him sending him teetering onto his back, falling against the ground before he righted himself again. Sylven couldn't breathe, watching out close he came to flattening poor Bilbo. She couldn't focus on what they were saying anymore as he scampered over behind Tom, examining the blade.

Bilbo started doing strange things with his hands, tilting them this way and that. He went to grab it, and then ducked down as Tom stood up to scratch himself. The little man shuttered, looking away until Tom righted himself and settled down. Sylven pressed herself against the pen, leaning forward as she stood slowly, gradually, hands reaching towards the blade and –

She had to cover her mouth to stifle the scream as Tom reached back and grabbed Bilbo in his handkerchief, and lifted him forward and blew. As he pulled the handkerchief back, Tom shrieked. "Blimey! Look! LOOK! Look what's come out of me hooter! It's got arms and legs and everything!"

The trolls crowded round, examining Bilbo now no doubt covered in slime.

"What is it?" Bert wondered.

"I dunno! But I don't like the way it wriggles around!"

Tom chucked Bilbo, and he flew through the air onto the ground on the other side of the fire. He landed in a roll, and staggered quickly to his feet, wide eyed and frantic as the trolls began to spread out. William picked up his cleaver, brandishing it at the Halfling. "What are you then? And oversized squwel?"

"I'm a burgl – a – a hobbit." Bilbo bleated.

Tom craned his neck back. "A burglahobbit?"

"Can we cook him?" William suggested.

Tom lips pulled back in a gigantic grin. "We can try."

He took a swipe and Bilbo ducked, trying to make a run for the trees, but there was Bert – huge even as he crouched, ready to grab Bilbo if he tried to dodge around. "He wouldn't make more than a mouthful. Not when he's skin an' bone."

He swiped forward with the spoon he was using on the stew, hitting Bilbo in the stomach and knocking him back towards William. Bilbo turned, throwing up his hands as William jabbed at his stomach with the blunt end of the cleaver. "Perhaps there are more burglahobbit's around these parts. Enough for a bite!"

He shoved and Bilbo staggered back, ducking at Bert went to hit him again and then running through Tom's arms as he tried to scoop him up. Sylven looked around wildly for something, anything to get her hands free. She dropped to her kneels, running her hands around in the darkness. She looked past the gate, to the series of bones littering the earth.

"It's too quick!" Tom howled. Bilbo ran between Tom's legs, and just as he ran past the pen William stuck out his arm and grabbed the Halfling in a fist, lifting him into the air triumphantly. He had Bilbo by the legs, so he dangled him upside-down over the stew pot as his friends gathered. "Are there anymore of you fellas hiding where you shouldn't?"

Bilbo looked around. "Nope."

"He's lying!" Tom hissed.

"No I'm not!"

"Hold his toes over the fire!" Tom cackled, as Sylven wedged a bone shard between her feet and began sawing her bindings with it. "Make him squeal!"

That was when there came the swish and thunk of sword severing flesh, and in a dark blur another half man drew an ungodly wail from Tom as he sliced the back of his leg. Tom lifted the injured limb and the man swung again, slicing open his foot and sending him tumbling down. The half man ran to the opposite side the fire, holding the sword at his side as he roared, "Drop him!"

"You what?" William squinted at him.

The half man smiled, his long dark hair half in his face. He swung his sword in a circle, fluent and easy as if he'd carried the sword his entire life. "I said, drop him."

William sneered, and threw Bilbo at the warrior. Bilbo cried out as he hurtled through the air, the other man dropping his sword in order to catch the flying Halfling. But as he went down, from the woods came a stream of little men. Little men, with swords and axes and hammers.