It worked!
Keith successfully manifested the hulking, hideous form of a Troll. Without missing a beat, he lumbered out of the darkness and toward the campfire where the other three were bickering.
"Oho!" Keith roared, his voice deep and gravelly. "Looks like there's a feast going on. Mind if a traveler takes a seat?"
The three Trolls, who had been busy being hoodwinked by Bilbo's parasite story, froze. They blinked their large, stupid eyes, looking from one to another in total bewilderment. They didn't recognize this newcomer, but in the hierarchy of Trolls, size and confidence usually dictated the rules.
Bilbo, who had been using every ounce of his Hobbit wit to stall for time, felt a wave of despair. Another one? This is a disaster!
"Who are you?"
"I don't know you."
"Why should we share our meat with a stranger?"
The three questioned him in turn. Keith reached the fire and gave them a jagged, toothy grin. "The sun is coming up, lads. If we don't eat now, we don't eat at all. Let's stop the chatting and get to the carving!"
To a Troll, logic is a foreign concept, but hunger and the fear of turning to stone are very real. They looked at the horizon, then at each other, and decided that having a fourth mouth to feed was better than having an empty stomach when the sun hit.
"But the little squirrel-thing says they're full of worms," the dimmest Troll, William, grumbled. "Says we'll get the belly-ache and die."
"He's lying to you," Keith laughed, shaking his massive head. "If you don't believe me, I'll gut one right now and show you. No worms, just good, marbled Dwarf-meat."
Keith stepped over the logs and snatched Thorin Oakenshield up by his bound feet. "This one looks particularly choice. We'll start here."
The Trolls leaned in, their "clear and stupid" eyes wide with curiosity. It seemed a fair test.
Bilbo went frantic. "No! He's the worst of the lot! He's crawling with parasites! You eat him, and you'll be dead before the first light hits the trees!"
"Hah! I'm not afraid of a little stomach flu," Keith rumbled. He picked up a discarded sword from the ground, using it like a primitive razor. "I just don't like the hair. Hard to digest, and it makes a mess of the plumbing on the way out."
Thorin Oakenshield, the proud Prince of the Line of Durin, was currently dangling upside down, his face a mask of incandescent rage and burgeoning horror. "I will have your head for this! I will hunt you to the ends of the earth—!"
The other Dwarves took up the cry, wailing and cursing from their piles. For them, seeing their King treated like a side of venison was the ultimate defeat.
Keith ignored them, focusing on his "shaving." With a few expert flicks of the blade, he reduced Thorin's majestic, royal mane to a jagged, pathetic buzz-cut. Then, he began to slice through the Dwarf's fine traveling clothes.
In moments, Thorin Oakenshield—who had never known such utter humiliation—was left shivering and exposed.
"There," Keith chuckled, enjoying the "King's" fury immensely. "Now, let's see if he's got any of those worms the Hobbit mentioned."
He loosened his grip, letting Thorin drop to the dirt with a dull thud. The Dwarf's head spun from the impact. Keith crouched over him, the sword's tip hovering over Thorin's chest. The three Trolls crowded around, eager for the autopsy.
The tension was at a breaking point.
Bilbo, sweating despite the morning chill, saw a desperate opening. The Trolls were so fixated on Thorin that they had completely forgotten about the "squirrel" and the other prisoners.
It's now or never, he thought. I'm sorry, Thorin... but I have to save who I can.
Bilbo scrambled to action. He darted toward the pile where Balin and the others were tied, found a fallen dagger, and began sawing at the ropes of the nearest Dwarf. If he could free one, the rest would follow.
Meanwhile, Thorin was fighting for his life. Bound hand and foot, he couldn't do much but roll frantically across the dirt, trying to stay away from the "Troll's" blade. He had discarded his dignity; now, he only wanted to breathe.
"This one's a jumper," the dimmest Troll grunted. "Let me just smash him flat. We'll see the worms better when he's a pancake."
"If you turn him into mash, how will we see anything?" Keith countered, keeping their focus locked on him.
The Troll scratched his head. "Right. Good point."
But the other two were losing patience. "Hurry it up! The sky's turning grey!"
"Watch this then!" Keith shouted. He suddenly pointed toward the brush. "The little liar! The Hobbit is letting the others go!"
The Trolls roared in frustration, abandoning the rolling Thorin and lunging toward the prisoners. But Bilbo had been fast. Most of the Dwarves were already free. Two of them dove for Thorin, hauling him away, while the others snatched up their weapons and charged the Trolls with suicidal bravery.
It was chaos.
Fili and Kili slashed at the ropes on Thorin's wrists. The "King" surged to his feet, his eyes bloodshot with a murderous, humiliated rage. "Give me a sword! I'll kill that monster myself!"
"We have to go! Now!" the other Dwarves shouted, pulling at his arms.
"There is no retreat!" Thorin bellowed, his gaze locked on Keith, who was slowly drifting back into the dark woods, a low chuckle echoing from his Troll-throat.
Thorin grabbed a blade and charged toward Keith, flanked by two loyal Dwarves who had no choice but to follow their mad prince.
At that exact second, a voice like a thunderclap echoed through the clearing.
"The dawn shall take you all!"
Gandalf stood atop a high rock, his staff raised as he shattered a boulder to let the first rays of the sun strike the clearing.