You finally gave up and leaned your forehead against the bars of the cell in Mirkwood, and your joint prisoner was Thorin Oakenshield, who had already been with Thranduil and returned blacker than storm clouds, and was now muttering in Khuzdul, clearly not a good word in the direction of the elves. At the same time, the entire squad was either cursing the elves or talking to each other

“Aren’t you going to search me? Maybe I have something in my pants,” said Kili, who was Thorin’s younger nephew and looked at the elf who was already locked in the dungeon

“Or nothing,” Tauriel said and went after the rest of the elves, and Dwalin said something towards the elves, and Gloin and Dori repeated and all the dwarves began to shout, and you, having covered the eyes and clenched the bars until your knuckles turned white, did not know what to do with yourself, in front of you have a grate, on one side there are dwarves, and behind you Thorin is more gloomy than a cloud*