All language subtitles for The.Hobbit.An.Unexpected.Journey.2012.Extended.Cut.UHD.BluRay.2160p.TrueHD.Atmos.7.1.DV.HEVC.REMUX-FraMeSToR-English

My dear Frodo:

You asked me once

if I had told you everything
there was to know about my adventures.

And while I can honestly

say I have told you

the truth

I may not have told you all of it.

I am old now, Frodo.

I'm not the same Hobbit I once was.

I think

it is time for you to know

what really happened.

It began

long ago

in a land far away to the east

the like of which you will not find
in the world today.

There was the city of Dale.

Its markets known

far and wide.

Full of the bounties of vine and vale.

Peaceful and prosperous.

For this city lay before the doors

of the greatest kingdom in Middle-earth:

Erebor.

Stronghold of Thror

King Under the Mountain. Mightiest

of the Dwarf Lords.

Thror ruled with utter surety

never doubting his house would endure,

for his line lay secure

in the lives of his son,

and grandson.

Ah, Frodo. Erebor.

Built deep within the mountain itself

the beauty of this
fortress city was legend.

Its wealth lay in the earth

in precious gems hewn

from rock and in great seams of gold

running like rivers through stone.

The skill of the Dwarves

was unequaled, fashioning objects

of great beauty

out of diamond, emerald,
ruby and sapphire.

Ever they delved deeper

down into the dark.

And that is where they found it.

The Heart of the Mountain.

The Arkenstone.

Thror named it "The King's Jewel."

He took it as a sign,
a sign that his right to rule

was divine.

All would pay

homage to him.

Even the great

Elven King, Thranduil.

As the great wealth of the Dwarves grew...

their store of good will ran thin.

No one knows exactly what began the rift.

The Elves say

the Dwarves stole their treasure.

The Dwarves tell another tale.

They say the Elf King
refused to give them their rightful pay.

It is sad, Frodo, how old alliances

can be broken.

How friendships between peoples
can be lost.

And for what?

Slowly the days turned sour,

and the watchful nights closed in.

Thror's love of gold

had grown too fierce.

A sickness had begun to grow within him.

It was a sickness of the mind.

And where sickness thrives

bad things will follow.

The first they heard was a noise

like a hurricane coming down

from the North.

The pines on the mountain
creaked and cracked

in the hot, dry wind.

Balin, sound the alarm.

Call out the guard. Do it now!

What is it?

Dragon.

Dragon!

He was

a firedrake from the North.

Smaug

had come.

Such wanton death

was dealt that day.

For this city of Men was nothing

to Smaug.

His eye

was set on another prize.

For dragons

covet gold

with a dark and

fierce desire.

Aah!

No!

Come on.

Erebor was lost.

For a dragon

will guard his plunder

as long as he lives.

Run for your lives!

Ah! Help us!

Thranduil would not risk
the lives of his kin against

the wrath of the dragon.

No help came from the Elves

that day, nor any day since.

Robbed of their homeland

the Dwarves of Erebor
wandered the wilderness

a once mighty people brought low.

The young Dwarf prince took work
where he could find it

laboring in the villages of Men.

But always he remembered

the mountain smoke beneath the moon

the trees like torches blazing bright.

For he had seen dragon fire

in the sky,

and a city turned to ash.

And he never forgave,

and he never forgot.

Far away, in another corner of the world

dragons were

only make-believe.

Up they go!

A party trick

conjured by Wizards

on Midsummer's Eve.

No more frightening

than fairy dust.

Bilbo!

And that, my dear Frodo

is where I come in.

Bilbo! Bilbo.

It was the beginning
of an unlikely friendship

that has lasted all my life.

But it is not the start of my story.
For me, it began...

Well, it began as you might expect.

In a hole in the ground, there lived

a Hobbit.

Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole
full of worms and oozy smells.

This was a Hobbit hole.

And that means good food, a warm hearth,

and all the comforts of home.

Thank you.

What's this?

That is private.

Keep your sticky paws off.

It's not ready yet.

Not ready for what?

Reading.

What on earth are these?

Replies to the party invitations.

Ah. Good gracious. Is it today?

They all say they're coming.

Except for the Sackville-Bagginses,
who are demanding you ask them in person.

Are they, indeed? Over my

- dead body.
- They'd probably find that

quite agreeable.

They seem to think you have tunnels
overflowing with gold.

It was one small chest,
hardly overflowing.

And it still smells of Troll.

What on earth are you doing?

Taking precautions. You know

I caught her making off
with the silverware once.

- Who?
- Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

She had all my spoons
stuffed in her pocket. Ha!

Dreadful woman.

Make sure you keep an eye on her
after I'm...

When I'm... When I'm...

When you're what?

It's nothing. Nothing.

You know, some people are beginning
to wonder about you, Uncle.

- Huh?
- They think you're becoming odd.

Odd? Oh. Hm.

Unsociable.

Unsociable, me? Nonsense.

Be a good lad and put that

on the gate.

Do you think he'll come?

Who?

Gandalf.

Oh-ho. He wouldn't miss a chance to
let off his Whizpoppers. He'll give us

quite a show, you'll see.

- Right, then. I'm off.
- Off to where?

East-farthing Woods.
I'm going to surprise him.

Well, go on, then.
You don't want to be late.

He doesn't approve of being late. Oh, no.
Not that I

ever was.

In those days, I was always on time.

I was entirely respectable.

And nothing unexpected

ever happened.

- Good morning.
- What do you mean?

Do you wish me a good morning or
do you mean that it is a good morning

whether I want it or not?

Or perhaps you mean to say that you
feel good on this particular morning?

Or are you simply stating
that this is a morning to be good on? Hm?

All of them at once, I suppose.

Hmm.

Can I help you?

That remains to be seen.

I'm looking for someone
to share in an adventure.

An adventure?

No, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree
would have much interest in adventures.

Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things.

Make you late for dinner. Heh, heh.

Mm.

Huh.

Hmm.

Oh. Ah.

Good morning.

To think that I should have lived
to be "good morninged"

by Belladonna Took's son
as if I were selling buttons at the door.

Beg your pardon?

You've changed,
and not entirely for the better

Bilbo Baggins.

I'm sorry, do I know you?

Well, you know my name, although
you don't remember I belong to it.

I'm Gandalf.

And Gandalf means...

me.

Gandalf?
Not Gandalf the wandering Wizard

who made such excellent

fireworks? Old Took used to have them
on Midsummer's Eve. Heh, heh. Ahem.

No idea you were still in business.

And where else should I be?

Where else...? Ahem.

Well, I'm pleased to find you remember
something about me

even if it's only my fireworks.

Yes. Well, that's decided.

It'll be very good for you,

and most amusing for me.

I shall inform the others.

Inform the who? What? No. No. No... Wait.

We do not want

any adventures here,
thank you. Not today. Not...

I suggest you try Over the Hill
or Across the Water.

Good morning.

Morning!

Twelve. There we go. Have a very good day.

Chum.

Hello, Mr. Bilbo. Here.

Have a feel of me tubers.
Nice and firm, they are.

- Just come in from West Farthing.
- Very impressive, Mr. Worrywort.

Now, I don't suppose you've seen
a Wizard lurking around these parts?

A tall fellow.

Long, gray beard.

Pointy hat.

Can't say I have.

Dwalin, at your service.

Hm. Uh...

Bilbo Baggins, at yours.

Do we

know each other?

No.

Which way, laddie?

Is it down here?

Is what

down where?

Supper.

He said there'd be food and lots of it.

He... He said? Who said?

Mmm.

Mmm.

Very good, this. Any more?

What? Oh, yes, yes.

Ah.

Help yourself.

Hmm. It's just that, um,
I wasn't expecting company.

That'll be the door.

Balin

at your service.

Good evening.

Yes. Yes, it is.

- Though I think it might rain later.
- Hm?

Am I late?

Late for what?

Oh!

Ha, ha!

Evening, brother.

By my beard

you're shorter and
wider than last we met.

Wider, not shorter.

Sharp enough for both of us.

Uh, excuse me? Sorry, I hate to interrupt.

But the thing is, I'm not entirely sure
you're in the right house.

- Have you eaten?
- It's not that I don't like

visitors. I like visitors

as much as the next Hobbit.

But I do like to know them
before they come visiting.

- What is this?
- I don't know.

- I think it's cheese. Gone blue.
- It's riddled with mold.

The thing is, I don't know either of you.
Not in the slightest. I don't mean

to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind.

- I'm sorry.
- You think...?

Apology accepted.

- Ah.
- Now, fill it up, brother

don't stint.

- You wanna get stuck in?
- I could eat again if you insist, brother.

- Fili.
- And Kili.

At your service.

You must be Mr. Boggins.

Nope! You can't come in.
You've come to the wrong house.

What?

- Has it been canceled?
- No one told us.

No, nothing's been canceled.

That's a relief.

Careful with these.

I just had them sharpened.

- It's nice, this place.
- Yeah.

- Did you do it yourself?
- What? No, it's been in the family for years.

That's my mother's glory box.
Can you please not do that?

Fili, Kili. Come on, give us a hand.

Mr. Dwalin. Ha, ha.

Shove this in the hallway.
Otherwise we'll never get everyone in.

"Everyone"? How many more are
there? - Where do you want this?

- Oh, no.
- It's really heavy.

No. No. There's nobody home!

Go away and bother somebody else.

There's far too many Dwarves
in my dining room as it is.

If this is some
clot-head's idea of a joke

I can only say it is in very

poor taste.

Get off

you big lump!

Gandalf.

Excuse me, that's my chicken. Um...

If... If you don't...
That's my wine. Excuse me!

He's got an injury.

You mean the ax in his head?

Dead? No, only between his ears.

His legs work fine.

Put those back.

Put that back.

Put that back.

Not the jam.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

It's a tad excessive, isn't it?
Have you got a cheese knife?

- "Cheese knife"? He eats it by the block.
- Ugh.

No, that's Grandpa Mungo's chair...
No, so is that. Take it back, please.

I cannot hear what you're saying. BILBO:
It's an antique. Not for sitting on.

That is a book, not a coaster.
And put that map down.

- Excuse me, Mr. Gandalf?
- Yes?

May I tempt you with a cup of chamomile?

Oh, no, thank you, Dori.
A little red wine for me, I think.

- Whoop! Mind out.
- Yes. Ah.

Uh, Fili, Kili. Uh...

Oin, Gloin.

Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur

- Dori, Nori. Ori!
- No. Not my prizewinners, thank you.

No, thank you.

Yes, you're quite right, Bifur.

We appear to be one Dwarf short.

He is late, is all. He traveled north
to a meeting of our kin. He will come.

Mr. Gandalf? A little glass of red wine,
as requested.

It's got a fruity bouquet.

Oh. Cheers.

Bombur's on his
second leg of lamb already.

Hmm.

No chance. Not from that distance.

Wanna bet? Bombur

catch!

I'll help you with that.

Oh, you great

galumphing git!

Who wants an ale? There you go.

Over here, brother.

I said have another

drink. Here you go.

Ale on the count of three!

One

- two...
- Up!

I knew you had it in you!

Excuse me, that is a doily,
not a dishcloth.

But it's full of holes.

It's supposed to look like that.
It's crochet.

And a wonderful game it is too,
if you've got the balls for it.

Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves!

My dear Bilbo,
what on earth is the matter?

What's the matter?
I'm surrounded by Dwarves.

What are they doing here?

Oh, they're quite a merry gathering
once you get used to them.

I don't want to get used to them.

Look at the state of my kitchen.
There's mud trod into the carpet.

They've pillaged the pantry.

I won't tell you what they've done
in the bathroom.

They've destroyed the plumbing. I don't
understand what they're doing in my house!

Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt,
but what should I do with my plate?

Here you go, Ori. Give it to me.

Take that back.

Excuse me.

That's my mother's

West Farthing pottery. It's over

100 years old!

And can you

not do that?

You'll blunt them.

Ooh. Do you hear that, lads?

He says

we'll blunt the knives.

Blunt the knives, bend the forks

Smash the bottles and burn the corks

Chip the glasses and crack the plates

That's what Bilbo Baggins

Hates

Cut the cloth, tread on the fat

Leave the bones on the bedroom mat

Pour the milk on the pantry floor

Splash the wine

On every door

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl

Pound them up with a thumping pole

When you're finished

If they are whole

Send them down the hall to roll

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates

Bilbo.

He is here.

Gandalf.

I thought you said

this place would be easy

to find. I lost my way, twice.

I wouldn't have found it at all
had it not been for that mark on the door.

Mark? There's no mark on that door.
It was painted a week ago.

There is a mark. I put it there myself.

Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce
the leader of our company:

Thorin Oakenshield.

So

This is the Hobbit.

Tell me, Mr. Baggins,
have you done much fighting?

- Pardon me?
- Ax or sword?

What's your weapon of choice?

Well, I do have some skill at conkers,
if you must know,

but I fail to see why that's relevant.

Thought as much.

He looks more like a
grocer than a burglar.

What news

from the meeting in Ered Luin?
Did they all come?

- Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.
- All of them!

And what did the Dwarves
of the Iron Hills say?

Is Dain with us?

They will not come.

They say this quest

is ours and ours alone.

You're going on a quest?

Bilbo, my dear fellow,
let us have a little more light.

Far to the east

over ranges and rivers

beyond woodlands and wastelands

lies a single, solitary peak.

"The Lonely Mountain."

Aye, Oin has read

the portents,
and the portents say it is time.

Ravens have been seen

flying back to the mountain,
as it was foretold.

"When the birds of yore return

to Erebor

the reign of the beast

will end."

- Uh, what beast?
- That would be a reference

to Smaug the Terrible

chiefest and greatest

calamity of our age.

Airborne fire-breather.

Teeth like razors

claws like meat hooks.

Fond of precious metals.

I know what a dragon is.

I'm not afraid. I'm up for it.

I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron
right up his jacksie!

Good lad, Ori!

Sit down.

The task would be difficult

with an army behind us,

but we number just 13.

And not 13 of the best,

nor brightest.

Here, who are you calling dim?

Sorry, what did he say?

We may be few in number,

but we're fighters, all of us

to the last Dwarf.

And you forget,
we have a Wizard in our company.

Gandalf will have killed
hundreds of dragons.

Oh, well, no. I wouldn't say...

- How many, then?
- What?

How many dragons have you killed?

Go on.

Give us a number.

Excuse me. Please.

If we have read these signs

do you not think others
will have read them too?

Rumors have begun to spread.

The dragon, Smaug,
has not been seen for 60 years.

Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing

wondering, weighing the risk.

Perhaps the vast wealth of our people
now lies unprotected.

Do we sit back while others claim
what is rightfully ours?

Or do we seize this chance

to take back Erebor?

You forget, the Front Gate is sealed.

There is no way

into the mountain.

That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.

How came you by this?

It was given to me

by your father.

By Thrain.

For safekeeping.

It is yours

now.

If there is a key

there must be a door.

These runes

speak of a hidden passage
to the Lower Halls.

There's another way in.

Well, if we can find it,
but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed.

The answer lies hidden somewhere
in this map,

and I do not have the skill to find it.

But there are others in Middle-earth
who can.

The task I have in mind
will require a great deal of stealth,

and no small amount of courage.

But if we are careful and clever,
I believe that it can be done.

That's why we need a burglar.

Hmm. And a good one too.
An expert, I'd imagine.

And are you?

Am I what?

He said he's an expert. Hey.

Me? No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar.
I've never stolen a thing in my life.

Well, I'm afraid I have to agree
with Mr. Baggins.

He's hardly burglar material.

Nope.

Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who
can neither fight nor fend for themselves.

He's just fine.

Enough!

If I say Bilbo Baggins

is a burglar, then a burglar

he is.

Hobbits are light

on their feet. In fact, they can pass
unseen by most, if they choose.

And, while the dragon is accustomed
to the smell of Dwarf

the scent of a Hobbit is all but

unknown to him,
which gives us a distinct advantage.

You asked me to find
the 14th member of this company,

and I have chosen Mr. Baggins.

There's more to him

than appearances suggest.

And he's got a great deal more to offer
than any of you know.

Including himself.

You must trust me on this.

Very well.

- We will do it your way.
- No, no.

- Give him the contract.
- We're in. We're off.

It's just the usual. Summary

of out-of-pocket expenses, time required

remuneration

funeral arrangements, so forth.

Funeral arrangements?

I cannot guarantee his safety.

Understood.

Nor will I be responsible for his fate.

Agreed.

"Terms: Cash on

delivery, up to but not exceeding
one-fourteenth of total profit, if any."

Hmm. Seems fair.

"Present company shall not be liable
for injuries inflicted by,

or sustained as a consequence thereof,
including, but not limited to lacerations

evisceration..."

- Incineration?
- Aye.

He'll melt the flesh off your bones
in the blink of an eye.

You all right, laddie?

Huh? Yeah.

Feel a bit faint.

- Think furnace with wings.
- Air.

I need air.

Flash of light, searing pain, then:

Poof.
You're nothing more than a pile of ash.

Hmm.

Nope.

Oh, very helpful, Bofur.

I'll be all right.
Just let me sit quietly for a moment.

You've been sitting
quietly for far too long.

Tell me

when did doilies and your mother's dishes

become so important to you?

I remember a young Hobbit who was always
running off in search of Elves in the woods.

Who would stay out late,
come home after dark

trailing mud and twigs and fireflies.

A young Hobbit who would have liked
nothing better

than to find out what was beyond
the borders of the Shire.

The world

is not in your books and maps.

It's out

there.

I can't just go running off into the blue.

I am a Baggins of Bag-end.

You are also a Took.

Did you know

that your great-great-great-great-uncle

Bullroarer Took was so large

he could ride a real horse?

- Yes.
- Yes

well, he could.

In the Battle of Green Fields,
he charged the Goblin ranks.

He swung his club so hard, it knocked
the Goblin king's head clean off,

and it sailed 100 yards through the air
and went down a rabbit hole.

And thus, the battle was won.

And the game of golf invented
at the same time.

I do believe you made that up.

Well, all good stories
deserve embellishment.

You'll have a tale or two to tell
of your own when you come back.

Can you promise that I will come back?

No.

And if you do

you will not be the same.

That's what I thought.

Sorry, Gandalf, I can't sign this.

You've got the wrong Hobbit.

It appears we have lost our burglar.

Probably for the best.

The odds were always against us.

After all, what are we?

Merchants, miners

tinkers, toy-makers.

Heh, heh. Hardly the stuff of legend.

There are a few warriors amongst us.

Old warriors.

I would take each and every one
of these Dwarves

over an army from the Iron Hills.

For when I called upon them,
they answered.

Loyalty, honor

a willing heart.

I can ask no more than that.

You don't

have to do this.

You have a choice.

You've done honorably by our people.

You have built a new life for us
in the Blue Mountains.

A life of peace,

and plenty.

A life that is worth more than
all the gold in Erebor.

From my grandfather to my father,
this has come to me.

They dreamt of the day

when the Dwarves of Erebor
would reclaim their homeland.

There is no choice, Balin.

Not for me.

Then we are with you, laddie.

We will see it done.

Far over

The misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep

And caverns old

We must away

'Ere break of day

To find our

Long-forgotten gold

The pines were roaring

On the height

The winds

Were moaning

In the night

The fire was red

It flaming spread

The trees like torches

Blazed with light

Hello?

Yes.

Yes.

Here

Mr. Bilbo, where are you off to?

- Can't stop, I'm already late!
- Late for what?

I'm going on an adventure!

I said it. Didn't I say it?
Coming here was a waste of time.

That's true enough.

Ridiculous notion. Use a Hobbit?
A Halfling?

Whose idea was it anyway?

Wait!

Wait!

Whoa, whoa.

Whoa, whoa.

I signed it.

Here.

Everything appears

to be in order.

Welcome, Master Baggins

to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Give him a pony.

No, no, that won't be necessary.

Thank you. I'm sure I can keep up on foot.

I've done my fair share of
walking holidays, you know?

Even got as far as Frogmorton once. Aah!

Come on, Nori. Pay up.

- One more.
- Thanks, lad.

What's that about?

Oh, they took wagers
on whether or not you'd turn up.

Most of them bet that you wouldn't.

And what did you think?

Well...

My dear fellow,
I never doubted you for a second.

It's horse hair. Having a reaction.

No, wait, wait, stop.

Stop! We have to turn around.

What on earth

is the matter?

- I forgot my handkerchief.
- Here.

Use this.

Move on.

You'll have to manage
without pocket handkerchiefs,

and a good many other things,
Bilbo Baggins

before we reach our journey's end.

You were born

to the rolling hills
and little rivers of the Shire.

But home is now behind you.

The world is ahead.

Hello, girl. Who's a good girl?

It's our little secret, Myrtle.

You must tell no one. Shh, shh.

What was that?

Orcs.

Orcs?

Throat-cutters.

There'll be dozens of them out there.

The lone-lands

- are crawling with them.
- They strike

in the wee small hours when everyone's
asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams.

Just lots of blood.

You think that's funny?

You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?

We didn't mean anything by it.

No, you didn't.

You know nothing of the world.

Don't mind him, laddie.

Thorin has more cause than most
to hate Orcs.

After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain

King Thror

tried to reclaim
the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria.

But our enemy had got there first.

Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs

led by the most vile

of all their race:

Azog

the Defiler.

The giant Gundabad Orc

had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin.

He began

by beheading the king.

No!

Thrain, Thorin's father

was driven mad by grief.

He went missing.
Taken prisoner or killed

we did not know.

We were leaderless.

Defeat and death

were upon us.

That is when I saw him.

A young Dwarf prince

facing down

the pale Orc.

He stood alone

against this terrible foe.

His armor rent

wielding nothing,

but an oaken branch

as a shield.

Azog

the Defiler learned that day

that the line of Durin
would not be so easily broken.

Our forces rallied,

and drove the Orcs back.

And our enemy

had been defeated.

But there was no feast,

nor song that night,

for our dead
were beyond the count of grief.

We few had survived.

And I thought to myself then...

there is one who I could follow.

There is one

I could call king.

And the pale Orc?

What happened to him?

He slunk back into the hole
whence he came.

That filth died of his wounds long ago.

Here, Mr. Gandalf

can't you do something about this deluge?

It is raining, Master Dwarf,

and it will continue to rain
until the rain is done.

If you wish to change

the weather of the world,
find yourself another Wizard.

- Are there any?
- What?

- Other Wizards.
- There are five of us.

The greatest of our order
is Saruman the White.

Then there are the two Blue Wizards...

Do you know,
I've quite forgotten their names.

And who is the fifth?

Well, that would be Radagast the Brown.

Is he a great Wizard?
Or is he more like you?

I think he's a very great Wizard,
in his own way.

He's a gentle soul

who prefers the company
of animals to others.

He keeps a watchful eye
over the vast forest lands

to the east. And a good thing too.

For always evil will look to find
a foothold in this world.

Not good. Not good at all.

Eww.

Oh, no. Sebastian.

Good gracious.

Come on. Move back! Give him some air,

for goodness sake.

There. There.

I don't understand why it's not working.

It's not as if it's witchcraft.

Witchcraft.

Oh, but it is.

A dark and powerful magic.

Where on

this good earth
did those foul creatures come from?

The old fortress?

Show me.

We'll camp here for the night.

Fili, Kili, look after the ponies.
Make sure you stay with them.

A farmer and his family used to live here.

- Oin, Gloin. Get a fire going.
- Aye.

Right you are.

I think it would be wiser to move on.

We could make for the Hidden Valley.

I have told you already

I will not go near that place.

Why not? The Elves could help us.

We could get food, rest, advice.

- I do not need their advice.
- We have a map

that we cannot read.
Lord Elrond could help us.

Help?

A dragon attacks Erebor.

What help came from the Elves?

Orcs plunder Moria

desecrate our sacred halls.
The Elves looked on,

and did nothing.

And you ask me to seek out the very people
who betrayed my grandfather.

Who betrayed my father.

You are neither of them.

I did not

give you that map and key
for you to hold onto the past.

I did not know
that they were yours to keep.

Everything all right?
Gandalf, where are you going?

To seek the company of the
only one around here who's got any sense.

And who's that?

Myself, Mr. Baggins.

I've had enough of Dwarves for one day.

Come on, Bombur, we're hungry.

Is he coming back?

He's been a long time.

- Who?
- Gandalf.

He's a Wizard. He does as he chooses.

Here, do us a favor.
Take this to the lads.

Stop it. You've had plenty.

Aye, it's not a bad stew, Bombur.
I've had worse.

Dori could've cooked it. Ha-ha-ha.

Hilarious.

What's the matter?

- We're supposed to be looking after the ponies.
- Only we've encountered a slight problem.

We had 16.

Now there's 14.

Daisy and Bungo are missing.

Well, that's not good. Ha, ha.

And that is not good at all.
Shouldn't we tell Thorin?

Uh, no. Let's not worry him.

As our official burglar,
we thought you might like to look into it.

Well, uh...

- Look, something big uprooted these trees.
- That was our thinking.

It's something very big
and possibly quite dangerous.

Hey.

There's a light.

Over here.

Stay down.

What is it?

Trolls.

Oh.

He's got Myrtle and Minty. I think they're
gonna eat them. We have to do something.

Yes, you should.

Mountain Trolls are slow,

and stupid, and you're small,
they'll never see you.

It's perfectly safe. We'll be behind you.

If you run into trouble,
hoot twice like a barn owl,

and once like a brown owl.

Twice like a barn owl.
No, twice like a brown... Once like a...

Like a...
Are you sure this is a good idea?

Mutton yesterday, mutton today,

and, blimey, if it don't look like
mutton again tomorrow.

Quit your griping.

These ain't sheep. These is fresh nags.

Oh! I don't like horse. I never have.

- Not enough fat on them.
- Well, it's better

than leathery old farmer.
All skin and bone, he was.

I'm still picking

bits of him out of me teeth.

Well, that's lovely, that is. A floater.

Might improve the flavor.

Ah. There's more where that came from.

- Oh, no, you don't!
- Ow!

Sit down!

Well, I hope you're gonna gut these nags.

I don't like the stinky parts.

- Ow!
- I said sit down.

I'm starving!

Now, are we having horse tonight or what?

Shut your cakehole.

You'll eat what I give you.

How come he's the cook?
Everything tastes the same.

Everything tastes like chicken.

Except the chicken.

What tastes like fish!

I'm just saying,
a little appreciation would be nice.

Oh. "Thank you very much, Bert.

Lovely stew, Bert."

- How hard is that?
- Shh. Shh, shh. Shh.

Just needs

a sprinkle of squirrel dung.

Here

that's my grog.

Sorry. Ow!

Ooh.
That is beautifully balanced, that is.

Wrap your laughing gear around that, eh?

Good, isn't it?

That's why I'm the cook.

Oh, me guts are grumbling.
I got to snaffle something.

- Flesh, I need flesh.
- Ah! Ah!

Blimey!

Bert. Bert!
Look what's come out of me hooter.

It's got arms and legs and everything.

- What is it?
- I don't know.

I don't like the way it wriggles around.

What are you, then? An oversized squirrel?

I'm a burglar... Uh, Hobbit.

A burglar Hobbit?

Can we cook him?

We can try.

He wouldn't make more than a mouthful.

Not when he's skinned and boned.

Perhaps there's more

burglar Hobbits around these parts.
Might be enough,

for a pie.

- Grab him!
- He's too quick.

Right. Come here, you little...

Gotcha.

Are there any more of you little fellas

- hiding where you shouldn't?
- No.

He's lying.

- No, I'm not!
- Hold his toes over the fire.

Make him squeal!

Drop him!

You what?

I said

drop him.

Get the sacks!

Stick them in the sacks!

Ow!

Come on!

Get up!

- Bilbo!
- Don't!

Lay down your arms,

or we'll rip his off.

- Oh! That's hot, that's hot, that's hot!
- Don't bother cooking them.

Let's just sit on them
and squash them into jelly.

They should be sautéed and grilled
with a sprinkle of sage.

Is this really necessary?

That does sound quite nice.

- Untie me, mister.
- Eat someone your own size.

Never mind the seasoning.

We ain't got all night. Dawn ain't

far away. Let's get a move on.

I don't fancy being turned to stone.

Wait!

You are making

a terrible mistake.

You can't reason with them.

- They're half-wits!
- Half-wits?

What does that make us?

I meant with

the seasoning.

What about the seasoning?

Well, have you smelt them?

You're gonna need something stronger
than sage before you plate this lot up.

- Traitor!
- What do you know

about cooking Dwarf?

Shut up.

Let the flurgaburburhobbit talk.

The secret to cooking Dwarf is...

- Yes? Come on. Tell us the secret.
- It's, uh...

Yes, I'm telling you. The secret is...

to skin them first.

What? Skin us?

Tom, get me filleting knife.

I'll skin you, you little...!

I won't forget that. I won't forget it.

What a load of rubbish.

I've eaten plenty with their skins on.

Scarf them, I say

boots and all.

He's right.

Nothing wrong with a bit of raw Dwarf.

Nice and crunchy.

Oh, not that one.

He's infected.

Huh?

You what?

Yeah, he's got worms in his tubes.

Eww!

Aah!

In fact, they all have.

They're infested with parasites.
It's a terrible business.

I wouldn't risk it. I wouldn't.

Parasites?

Did he say "parasites"?

We don't have parasites.
You have parasites!

What are you talking about, laddie?

I've got parasites as big as my arm.

Mine are the biggest parasites.
I've got huge parasites.

- We're riddled.
- Yes, I'm riddled.

Yes, we are, badly.

What would you have us do, then?

Let them all go?

- Well...
- You think

I don't know what you're up to?

This little

ferret is taking us for fools.

Ferret?

Fools?

The dawn will take you all.

Who's that?

No idea.

Can we eat him too?

Get your foot out of my back.

Ah.

Where did you

go to, if I may ask?

To look ahead.

What brought you back?

Looking behind.

Nasty business.

Still, they're all in one piece.

No thanks to your burglar.

He had the nous to play for time.

None of the rest of you thought of that.

They must have come down
from the Ettenmoors.

Since when do Mountain Trolls
venture this far south?

Ooh. Not for an age.

Not since a darker
power ruled these lands.

They could not have moved in daylight.

There must be a cave nearby.

Oh, what's that stench?

It's a Troll-hoard.

Be careful what you touch.

Seems a shame just to leave it

lying around.

- Anyone could take it.
- Agreed.

- Nori.
- Yeah?

Get a shovel.

These swords were not made by any Troll.

Nor were they made
by any smith among Men.

These were forged in Gondolin

by the High Elves of the First Age.
You could not

wish for a finer blade.

- Set it down.
- That's good.

All right, come on. Quick.

We're making a long-term deposit.

Let's get out of this foul place.

Come on, let's go.

Bofur, Gloin, Nori.

- Bilbo.
- Hmm?

Here.

This is about your size.

I can't take this.

The blade is of Elvish make

which means

it will glow blue
when Orcs or Goblins are nearby.

I have never used a sword in my life.

And I hope you never have to.

But if you do, remember this:

True courage is about knowing
not when to take a life,

but when to spare one.

Something's coming!

Gandalf.

Stay together!

Hurry now!

Arm yourselves!

Thieves!

Fire! Murder!

Radagast.

It's Radagast the Brown.

Well...

What on earth are you doing here?

I was looking for you, Gandalf.

Something's wrong.

Something's terribly wrong.

Yes?

Oh.

Just give me a minute.

Oh. I had a thought and now I've lost it.

It was right there

on the tip of my tongue.

Oh.

It's not a thought at all.

It's a silly old

stick insect.

The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf.

A darkness has fallen over it.

Nothing grows anymore.

At least, nothing good.

The air is foul with decay.

But worse are the webs.

Webs? What do you mean?

Spiders, Gandalf.

Giant ones.

Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant,
or I am not a Wizard.

I followed their trail.

They came from Dol Guldur.

Huh?

Dol Guldur?

But the old fortress is abandoned.

No, Gandalf.

'Tis not.

A dark power dwells in there,

such as I have never

felt before.

It is the shadow of an ancient horror.

One that can summon the spirits

of the dead.

I saw him, Gandalf.

From out of the darkness

a Necromancer

has come.

Radagast.

Quick! Quick, quick! Quick, quick!

Wait for me!

Sorry.

Try a little Old Toby.

It'll help settle your nerves.

And out.

Now

a Necromancer. Are you sure?

That is not

from the world of the living.

Was that a wolf?
Are there wolves out there?

Wolves? No, that is not a wolf.

Kili! Get your bow!

Warg scouts.

Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.

Orc pack?

Who did you tell about your quest

beyond your kin?

No one.

Who did you tell?

No one, I swear.

What in

Durin's name is going on?

You are being hunted.

We have to get out of here.

We can't. We have no ponies.

They bolted.

I'll draw them off.

These are Gundabad Wargs.

They will outrun you.

These are Rhosgobel rabbits.

I'd like to see them try.

Come on! Come on!

Come and get me! Ha, ha!

Come on.

Stay together.

Move!

Ori, no! Get back.

All of you, come on. Quick!

Where are you leading us?

Move!

Run!

There they are!

This way!

Quickly!

There's more coming!

Kili!

Shoot them!

We're surrounded!

Where's Gandalf?

He's abandoned us.

Hold your ground!

This way, you fools!

Come on, move!

Quickly!

All of you!

Come on!

Go, go, go!

Eight, nine, 10.

Kili!

Run!

Elves.

I cannot see

where the pathway leads.
Do we follow it or no?

Follow it, of course.

I think that would be wise.

Gandalf.

Where are we?

You can feel it?

Yes. It feels like...

Well, like magic.

That's exactly what it is.

A very powerful magic.

There's light ahead.

The Valley of Imladris.

In the common tongue,
it's known by another name.

Rivendell.

Here lies the Last Homely House
East of the Sea.

This was your plan all along.

To seek refuge with our enemy.

You have no enemies here,
Thorin Oakenshield.

The only ill will to be found

in this valley
is that which you bring yourself.

You think the Elves will give our quest
their blessing?

They will try to stop us.

Of course they will. But we have questions
that need to be answered.

If we are to be successful,
this will need to be handled with tact.

And respect.

And no small degree of charm.

Which is why you will leave
the talking to me.

Mithrandir.

Ah.

Lindir.

Stay sharp.

I must speak with Lord Elrond.

My Lord Elrond is not here.

Not here?

Where is he?

Close ranks!

Gandalf.

Lord Elrond.

Strange for Orcs to come
so close to our borders.

Something or someone has drawn them near.

Ah. That may have been us.

Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.

I do not believe we have met.

You have your grandfather's bearing.

I knew Thror when he ruled

- Under the Mountain.
- Indeed? He made no mention of you.

What is he saying?

Does he offer us insult?

No, Master Gloin, he's offering you food.

Well

in that case, lead on.

Hey. Come on.

Try it. Just a mouthful.

I don't like green food.

Where's the meat?

Have they got any chips?

Kind of you

to invite us.

Not really dressed for dinner.

Well, you never are.

I can't say I fancy Elf maids myself,
too thin.

They're all high cheekbones,

and creamy skin.

Not enough facial hair for me.

Although that one there is not bad.

That's not an Elf maid.

That's funny.

This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver.

A famous blade

forged by the High Elves
of the West, my kin.

May it serve you well.

And this

is Glamdring

the Foehammer. Sword

of the King of Gondolin.

These were made for the Goblin Wars
of the First Age.

I wouldn't bother, laddie.

Swords are named
for the great deeds they do in war.

What are you saying,
my sword hasn't seen battle?

I'm not actually sure it is a sword.

More of a letter opener, really.

- How did you come by these?
- We found them

in a Troll-hoard on the Great East Road

shortly before

- we were ambushed by Orcs.
- And what were you doing

on the Great East Road?

Excuse me.

Thirteen Dwarves,

and a Halfling. Hm.

Strange traveling companions, Gandalf.

These are the descendants
of the house of Durin.

They're noble, decent folk.

And they're surprisingly cultured.

They've got a deep love

- of the arts.
- Change the tune, why don't you?

I feel like I'm at a funeral.

- Did somebody die?
- All right

lads. There's only one thing for it.

There's

An

Inn, there's an inn
There's a merry old inn

Beneath an old gray hill

And there they brew a beer so brown
The Man in the Moon

Himself came down One night

To drink his fill

Oh

The ostler has a tipsy cat

That played a five-stringed fiddle

And up and down he saws his bow

Now squeaking high

Now purring low

Now sawing in the middle

So

The cat on the fiddle

Played hey-diddle-diddle
A drink that'll wake the dead

He squeaked and he sawed And he quickened

The tune And the landlord

Shook the Man

In the Moon "It's after

Three!" he said

Our business is no concern of Elves.

For goodness sake, Thorin

- show him the map.
- It is the legacy

of my people.

It is mine to protect, as are its secrets.

Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves.

Your pride will be your downfall.

You stand in the presence
of one of the few in Middle-earth

who can read that map.
Show it to Lord Elrond.

Thorin, no.

Erebor.

What is your interest

in this map?

It's mainly academic.

As you know

this sort of artifact
sometimes contains hidden text.

You still read ancient Dwarvish,
do you not?

Moon runes?

Of course.

An easy thing to miss.

Well, in this case, that is true.

Moon runes can only be read
by the light of a moon

of the same shape and season

as the day on which they were written.

Can you read them?

These runes were written
on a Midsummer's Eve

by the light of a crescent moon
nearly 200 years ago.

It would seem you were meant
to come to Rivendell.

Fate is with you

Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon

shines upon us tonight.

"Stand by the

gray stone when the thrush knocks,

and the setting sun with
the last light of Durin's Day

- will shine upon the keyhole."
- Durin's Day?

It is the start of the Dwarves' new year,
when the last moon of autumn,

and the first sun of winter
appear in the sky together.

This is ill news.

Summer is passing.
Durin's Day will soon be upon us.

We still have time.

- Time? For what?
- To find the entrance.

We have to be standing in exactly
the right spot at exactly the right time.

Then, and only then,
can the door be opened.

So this is

your purpose, to enter the mountain?

What of it?

There are some who would not deem it wise.

What do you mean?

You are not the only guardian
to stand watch over Middle-earth.

Not with your

companions?

Uh, no, I shan't be missed.

The truth is that most of them
don't think I should be on this journey.

Indeed?

I've heard that Hobbits
are very resilient.

Really?

Mm.

I've also heard they're fond
of the comforts of home.

I've heard that it's unwise
to seek the council of Elves.

That they will answer with yes and no.

You are very welcome to stay here,
if that

is your wish.

No, you did the same thing.
It's not like you didn't do it.

Dori! Here, take that.

Bombur!

Of course
I was going to tell you. I was waiting,

for this very chance. And really, I think
you can trust that I know what I am doing.

Do you? That dragon has slept,

for 60 years.

What will happen if your plan should fail

- if you wake that beast?
- What if we succeed?

If the Dwarves take back the mountain

our defenses in the east
will be strengthened.

It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.

It is also dangerous to do nothing.

Oh, come, the throne of Erebor is
Thorin's birthright. What is it you fear?

Have you forgotten?

A strain of madness
runs deep in that family.

His grandfather lost his mind.
His father succumbed to

the same sickness.

Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield

will not also fall?

Gandalf, these decisions
do not rest with us alone. It is not

up to you or me to redraw
the map of Middle-earth.

With or without our help, these Dwarves
will march on the mountain.

They're determined to reclaim
their homeland.

I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield
feels that he is answerable to anyone.

Nor, for that matter, am I.

It is not me you must answer to.

Lady Galadriel.

Mithrandir.

I had no idea
Lord Elrond had sent for you.

He didn't.

I did.

Ah.

Saruman.

You've been busy of late, my friend.

Tell me, Gandalf

did you think these plans
and schemes of yours

would go unnoticed?

Unnoticed?

No.

I'm simply doing what I feel to be right.

The dragon has long been on your mind.

That is true, my lady.

Smaug owes allegiance to no one.

But if he should side with the enemy

a dragon could be used
to terrible effect.

What enemy?

Gandalf, the enemy is defeated.

Sauron is vanquished.
He can never regain his full strength.

Does it not worry you
that the last of the Dwarf rings

should simply vanish

along with its bearer?

Of the seven Dwarf rings,
four were consumed by dragons

two were taken by Sauron
before he fell in Mordor.

The fate of the last Dwarf ring
remains unknown.

The ring that was worn by Thrain.

Without the ruling Ring of Power

the seven are of no value to the enemy.

To control

the other rings

he needs the One.

And that ring was lost long, long ago.

It was swept out

to sea by the waters of the Anduin.

Gandalf, for 400 years
we have lived in peace

a hard-won

watchful peace.

Are we? Are we at peace?

Trolls have come down from the mountains.
They are raiding villages, destroying farms.

Orcs have attacked us on the road.

Hardly a prelude to war.

Always you must meddle

looking for trouble where none exists.

Let him speak.

There is something at work
beyond the evil of Smaug.

Something far more powerful.

We can remain blind to it, but it will not
be ignoring us, that I can promise you.

A sickness lies over the Greenwood.

The woodsmen who live there now
call it Mirkwood.

And they say...

Well?

Don't stop now.

Tell us what the woodsmen say.

They speak of a Necromancer

living in Dol Guldur.

A sorcerer who can summon the dead.

That's absurd.

No such power exists in this world.

This Necromancer is nothing more
than a mortal man.

A conjurer dabbling in black magic.

And so I thought too.

- But Radagast has seen...
- Radagast?

Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown.

He's a foolish fellow.

Well, he's odd, I grant you.
He lives a solitary life.

It's not that. It's his excessive

consumption of mushrooms.

They've addled his brain,

and yellowed his teeth.

I've warned him.

It is unbefitting one of the Istari
to be wandering the woods...

You carry something.

It came to you from Radagast.

He found it in Dol Guldur.

Yes.

Show me.

Listen to me.

I would think I was talking to myself
for all the attention that he paid.

By all means...

What is that?

A relic of Mordor.

A Morgul Blade.

Made for the Witchking of Angmar.

And buried with him.

When Angmar fell

the Men of the North took his body,

and all that he possessed and sealed it
within the High Fells of Rhudaur.

Deep within the rock they buried him

in a tomb so dark

it would never come to light.

This is not possible.

A powerful spell lies upon those tombs.

They cannot be opened.

What proof do we have this weapon
came from Angmar's grave?

I have none.

Because there is none.

Let us examine what we know.

A single Orc pack

has dared to cross the Bruinen.

A dagger from a bygone age
has been found.

And a human sorcerer who calls himself
"The Necromancer"

has taken up residence
in a ruined fortress.

It's not so very much after all.

The question of this Dwarvish company,
however

troubles me deeply.

I'm not convinced, Gandalf.

I do not feel I can condone such a quest.

If they'd come to me, I might have
spared them this disappointment.

I do not pretend to understand your reason
for raising their hopes.

They are leaving.

Yes.

You knew.

No, I'm afraid there is

nothing else for it.

My Lord Elrond.

The Dwarves, they're gone.

Be on your guard.

We're about to step over
the Edge of the Wild.

Balin, you know these paths. Lead on.

Aye.

Master Baggins

I suggest you keep up.

You will follow them.

Yes.

You are right to help Thorin Oakenshield.

But I fear this quest has set in motion

forces we do not yet understand.

The riddle of the Morgul Blade
must be answered.

Something moves in the shadows unseen,
hidden from our sight.

It will not show itself.

Not yet.

But every day it grows in strength.

You must be careful.

Mithrandir?

Why the Halfling?

I do not know.

Saruman believes
that it is only great power

that can hold evil in check.

But that is not what I have found.

I have found it is the small things

everyday deeds of ordinary folk

that keeps the darkness at bay.

Simple acts of kindness and love.

Why Bilbo Baggins?

Perhaps it is because I'm afraid,

and he gives me courage.

Do not be afraid, Mithrandir.

You are not alone.

Hey! Hold on!

Aah!

Bilbo!

We must find

shelter!

Look out!

Look out, brother!

Hold on!

This is no thunderstorm.

It's a thunder-battle!

Look!

Well, bless me.

The legends are true.

Giants! Stone-Giants!

Take cover, you fool!

Hold on!

What's happening?

Grab my hand!

Go, go, go!

Run! Get off!

Get off!

- Run!
- Hold on!

Look out!

Jump!

Come on!

Hold on!

No!

No!

No!

Kili!

It's all right! They're alive!

Where's Bilbo?

Where's the Hobbit?

There!

Get him!

Aah!

Grab my hand!

Bilbo!

Ori, be careful!

Take it!

I've got you, lad.

Grab on! Grab on!

Come on.

Get him.

Come on, lad. Up you get.

I thought we'd lost our burglar.

He's been lost ever since he left home.

He should never have come.

He has no place amongst us.

Dwalin!

It looks safe enough.

Search to the back.

Caves in the mountain
are seldom unoccupied.

There's nothing here.

Right, then. Let's get a fire started.

No. No fires. Not in this place.

Get some sleep.

We start at first light.

We were to wait in the mountains
until Gandalfjoined us.

That was the plan.

Plans change.

Bofur, take the first watch.

Where do you think

you're going?

Back to Rivendell.

No, no, you can't turn back now, eh?

You're part of the company.

You're one of us.

I'm not, though, am I?

Thorin said I should never have come
and he was right.

I'm not a Took

I'm a Baggins.
I don't know what I was thinking.

I should never have run out my door.

You're homesick. I understand.

No, you don't. You don't understand.
None of you do.

You're Dwarves.
You're used to this life.

To living on the road

never settling in one place,
not belonging anywhere!

Oh, I am sorry. I didn't...

No, you're right.

We don't belong anywhere.

I wish you all the luck in the world.

I really do.

What's that?

Hmm?

Wake up!

Wake up!

Whoa!

Look out! Look out!

Get away!

Filthy scum!

Get back!

You'll pay for this!

Got you.

All right, all right.

Get off! Get your hands off me!
Get off me!

Get off me!

I feel a song coming on.

Clap, snap The black crack

Grip, grab Pinch and nab

Batter and beat

Make 'em stammer and

Squeak

Pound, pound Far

Underground

Down, down, down in Goblin-town

Down, down, down in Goblin-town

With a swish and a smack
And a whip and a crack

Everybody talks When they're on my rack

Pound, pound Far underground

Down, down, down to Goblin-town

Down, down, down to Goblin-town

Hammer and tongs
Get out your knockers and gongs

You won't last long
On the end of my prong

Clash, crash

Crush and smash

Bang, break Shiver and shake

You can yammer and yelp
But there ain't no help

Pound, pound Far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin

Town

Yeah!

Catchy, isn't it?

It's one of my own compositions.

That's not a song.

It's an abomination!

Abomination.

Mutations. Deviations.

That's all you're gonna find down here.

Who would be so bold
as to come armed into my kingdom?

Spies?

Thieves?

Assassins?

Dwarves, Your Malevolence.

Dwarves?

We found them on the Front Porch.

Well, don't just stand there. Search them.

Every crack.

Every crevice.

It is my belief

your great protuberance, that they

are in league with Elves!

"Made in Rivendell." Ah.

Second Age. Couldn't give it away.

Just a couple of keepsakes.

What are you doing in these parts?

Uh, don't worry, lads. I'll handle this.

What's...? What's that?

No tricks.
I want the truth, warts and all.

You're going to have to speak up.

Your boys flattened my trumpet.

I'll flatten more than your trumpet!

If it's more information you want,
I'm the one you should speak to.

Mm-hm.

We were on the road.
Well, it's not so much a road as a path.

It's not even that, come to think of it.
More like a track.

Anyway, the point is, we were on
this road, like a path, like a track.

And then we weren't, which is a problem,
because we were

- supposed to be in Dunland...
- Shut up.

...last Tuesday.

Visiting distant relations.

Some inbreds on me mother's side.

Shut up!

If they will not talk,
we'll make them squawk.

Bring up the mangler.

Bring up the bonebreaker.

Start with the youngest.

Wait!

Well, well, well.

Look who it is.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror

King Under the Mountain.

Oh, but I'm forgetting.
You don't have a mountain.

And you're not a king

which makes you

nobody, really.

I know someone who would
pay a pretty price for your head.

Just a head.

Nothing attached.

Perhaps you know of whom I speak.

An old enemy of yours.

A pale Orc, astride a white Warg.

Azog the Defiler was destroyed.

He was slain in battle long ago.

So you think his defiling days are done,
do you?

Send word to the pale Orc.

Tell him I have found his prize.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes!

Gollum, gollum!

Aah!

Nasty Goblinses!

Better than old bones, precious.

Better than nothing.

Too many boneses, precious.
Not enough flesh!

Shut up! Cut its skin off.

Start with its head.

The cold hard lands
They bites our hands

They gnaws our feet

The rocks and stones
They're like old bones

All bare of meat

Cold as death Without no breath

It's good to eat

Bless us and splash us

precious.

That's a meaty mouthful.

Gollum, gollum! Aah.

Back. Stay back.

I'm warning you

don't come any closer.

It's got an Elfish blade.

But it's not an Elfs.

Not an Elfs, no.

What is it, precious?

What is it?

My name is Bilbo Baggins.

Bagginses?

What is a Bagginses, precious?

- I'm a Hobbit from the Shire.
- Oh.

We like Goblinses, batses and fishes.
But we hasn't tried Hobbitses before.

Is it soft? Is it juicy?

Now, now

keep your distance!

I'll use this if I have to.

Aah!

I don't want any trouble.

Do you understand?

Just show me the way to get out of here
and I'll be on my way.

Why? Is it lost?

Yes. Yes, and I want to get unlost
as soon as possible.

Ooh, we knows!
We knows safe paths for Hobbitses.

Safe paths in

the dark. Shut up!

I didn't say anything.

We wasn't talking to you.

Oh, yes, we was, precious. We was.

Look, I don't know what your game is,

but I...

Games?

Oh, we love games, doesn't we, precious?

Does it like games? Does it, does it?

Does it like to play?

Maybe.

What has roots as nobody sees?

Is taller than trees?

Up, up, up it goes

And yet

Never grows

The mountain.

Yes, yes.

Oh, let's have another one, eh?

Yes! Do it again.

Do it again. Ask us.

No! No more riddles.

Finish him off.

Finish him now! Gollum, gollum!

No! No. No.

No. I want to play. I do.

I want to play. I can see

you are very good at this.

So why don't we

have a game of riddles? Yes?

Just you and me.

Yes. Yes, just us.

Yes. Yes.

And if I win

you show me the way out. Yes?

Yes. Yes.

And if it loses?

What then?

Well, if it loses, precious,
then we eats it.

If Baggins loses, we eats it whole.

Fair enough.

Well, Baggins first.

Thirty white horses on a red hill

First they champ

Then they stamp

Then they stand still

Teeth?

Teeth!

Oh, yes, my precious!

But we... We

only have nine.

Our turn.

Voiceless, it cries

Wingless flutters

Toothless bites

Mouthless

Mutters

Just a minute.

Uh...

Oh. Oh!

We knows! We knows!

Shut up!

Wind.

It's wind.

Of course it is.

Very clever

Hobbitses.

Very clever.

Ah-ah-ah.

A box without hinges

Key or lid

Yet golden treasure

Inside is hid

Box.

Oh, um...

Box. The lid and a key.

Well?

It's nasty.

Box. Key.

Do you give up?

Give us a chance, precious!
Give us a chance!

Eggses!

Eggses!

Wet, crunchy

little eggses. Yes.

Grandmother taught us

to suck them, yes!

We have one,

for you.

All things it devours

Birds, beasts

Trees, flowers

Gnaws iron

Bites steel

Grinds hard stones to meal

Answer us.

Give me a moment, please.
I gave you a good long while.

Birds, beasts... Beasts?
Trees, flowers.

I don't know this one.

Is it tasty?

Is it scrumptious?

Is it crunchable?

Let me think.

Let me think.

It's stuck.

Bagginses is stuck.

Time's up.

Time.

The answer

is time.

Actually it wasn't that hard.

Last question.

Last chance.

Okay.

Ask us.

Ask us!

Yes, yes. All right.

What have I got

in my pocket?

That's no fair.

It's not fair! It's against

the rules!

Now ask us another one.

No. No, no, no.

You said ask me a question.
Well, that is my question.

What have I got in my pocket?

Three guesses, precious.
It must give us

three!

Three guesses. Very well, guess away.

- Handses!
- Wrong.

Guess again.

Fishbones, Goblins' teeth,
wet shells, bats' wings...

Knife! Oh, shut up!

Wrong again. Last guess.

String.

Or nothing.

Two guesses at once.
Wrong both times.

So...

Come, then. I won the game.

You promised to show me the way out.

Did we say so, precious?

Did we say so?

What has it got in its pocketses?

That's no concern of yours.

You lost.

Lost?

Lost?

Lost?

Where is it?

Where is it?!

No!

Where is it?!

No!

No!

Lost!

Curse us and splash us!

My precious

is lost!

What have you lost?

Mustn't ask us! Not its business!

No! Gollum!

Gollum!

What has it got

in its nasty

little pocketses?

He stole it.

He stole it!

He stole it!

Bones will be shattered

Necks will be wrung

You'll be beaten

And battered From racks you'll be hung

You will die down here

And never be

Found

Down in the deep

Of Goblin-town

I know that sword!

It is the Goblin-cleaver!

The Biter!

The blade that sliced

a thousand necks! Slash them!

Beat them! Kill them!

Kill them all!

Cut off his head!

Take up arms.

Fight.

Fight!

He wields the Foehammer! The Beater!

Bright as daylight!

Thorin!

Follow me.

Quick!

Run!

Give it to us!

It's

ours.

It's ours!

Thief!

Baggins!

Quickly!

Faster!

Post!

Charge!

Cut the ropes!

Come on, quickly!

- Come on, move!
- Bombur!

Go, go, go!

Jump!

Jump, lad!

Come on!

Push!

Come on!

Come on!

Watch your backs!

You thought you could escape me.

What are you going to do now, Wizard?

That'll do it.

Well, that could have been worse.

Haver!

You've got to be joking!

Gandalf!

There's too many. We can't fight them.

Only one thing will save us, daylight!

Come on!

Here! On your feet.

- Balin.
- Come on!

Wait!

My precious. Wait!

Gollum, gollum!

Quick, quick!

This way.

- Come on.
- Come on, come on. Quickly.

Right, good!

Baggins!

Thief!

Curse it and crush it!
We hates it forever!

Five, six, seven, eight.

Bifur. Bofur. That's 10.

Fili, Kili! That's 12.

And Bombur. That makes 13.

Where's Bilbo?

Where is our Hobbit?

Where is our Hobbit?

Curse that Halfling!

Now he's lost?

I thought he was with Dori!

Don't blame me!

Where did you last see him?

I think I saw him

slip away

when they first collared us.

And what happened, exactly?

- Tell me!
- I'll tell you what happened.

Master Baggins saw his chance,

and he took it.

He has thought of nothing
but his soft bed and his warm hearth

since first he stepped out of his door.

We will not be seeing our Hobbit again.

He is long gone.

No.

He isn't.

Bilbo Baggins.

I have never been so glad

to see anyone in my life.

Bilbo.

We'd given you up.

How on earth
did you get past the Goblins?

How, indeed.

Well, what does it matter? He's back.

It matters.

I want to know.

Why did you come back?

Look, I know you doubt me.
I know you always have.

And you're right.
I often think of Bag-end.

I miss my books.

And my armchair and my garden.

See, that's where I belong.

That's home.

And that's why I came back. Because...

you don't have one. A home.

It was taken from you.

But I will help you take it back if I can.

Out of the frying pan.

And into the fire. Run.

Run!

Go!

Up into the trees!

All of you!

Climb! Bilbo, climb!

Quickly!

They're coming!

- Hang on!
- Hold on, brothers!

Azog.

It cannot be.

It's going!

Fili!

Yeah!

No!

Oh, no.

Mr. Gandalf!

Oh, no, Dori!

Help!

No!

Thorin! No!

Look.

Thorin!

Thorin!

Thorin.

The Halfling?

It's all right.

Bilbo is here.

He's quite safe.

You!

What were you doing?

You nearly got

yourself killed!

Did I not say

that you would be a burden?

That you would not survive in the Wild?

That you had no place amongst us?

I have never been so wrong in all my life.

I am sorry I doubted you.

No, I would have doubted me too.

I'm not a hero,

or a warrior.

Not even

a burglar.

Is that what I think it is?

Erebor

the Lonely Mountain

the last of the great Dwarf kingdoms

of Middle-earth.

Our home.

A raven!

The birds

are returning to the mountain.

That, my dear Oin

is a thrush.

But we'll take it as a sign.

A good omen.

You're right.

I do believe the worst is behind us.

Far over

The misty mountains rise

Leave us standing

Upon the height

What was before

We see once more

Is our kingdom a distant light

Fiery mountain beneath the moon

The words unspoken

We'll be there soon

For home a song

That echoes on

And all who find us will know the tune

Some folk we never forget

Some kind we never forgive

Haven't seen the back of us yet

We'll fight as long as we live

All eyes on the hidden door

To the Lonely Mountain borne

We'll ride in the gathering storm

Until we get our long-forgotten gold

We lay under

The misty mountains cold

In slumbers deep

And dreams of gold

We must awake

Our lives to make

And in the darkness a torch we hold

From long ago when lanterns burned

Until this day

Our hearts have yearned

Her fate unknown

The Arkenstone

What was stolen

Must be returned

We must awake

And make the day

To find a song

For heart and soul

Some folk we never forget

Some kind we never forgive

Haven't seen the end of it yet

We'll fight as long as we live

All eyes on the hidden door

To the Lonely Mountain borne

We'll ride in the gathering storm

Till we get our long-forgotten gold

Far away

From misty mountains cold