You were like the mother, the caretaker of your companions on the quest to Erebor. The rest of the Company had seen firelight in the distance and rushed to it much too quickly. They, of course, had gotten themselves captured by trolls, and it was now up to you to save them. You shook your head in exasperation and readied your double-bladed war axe. Time to get rid of three stupid lugs- and scold the smaller lot of 'em later.

"'Ey! Nasty fellas over there!"

"Who's that?"

All of the trolls looked over at you, pausing in their slow cooking of a few still-wriggling dwarves. Everyone's eyes were on you as you tilted your head at the dull-brained creatures and added;

"Yes, I'm talking to you."

One troll asked, "Can we cook it?" The other two shrugged and one made a swipe at you- subsequently losing a hand. He gave a shriek of pain and so your quick disposal of the lumbering beasts began. By the time you finished, the trolls were very much dead and you were helping some dwarves down from the spit and the others out of sacks. Gandalf showed up, fully ready to turn the trolls to stone and save everyone, but no need. The dwarves and hobbit were rightfully embarrassed at their capture and you shook your head in exasperation.

"What would you imbeciles ever do without me?"