#aupt

In retrospect, telling the entire Company that Bilba should not have come on the quest with them was a bad idea.He didn't really know what had made him say it, but he had. He'd spat it at her, throwing up a wall by saying those dreadful things - she's been lost ever since she left home. She should never have come. She has no place amongst us.

It had almost been as if he couldn't control his own tongue, words that were not his own flying from his mouth in his frustration (was that what writers felt like?). He was just so impatient - impatient to actually get somewhere, impatient to conquer a kingdom that should never have been lost, and just impatient in general. Thorin had been waiting for too long (around a hundred and seventy-one years, to be exact), and their burglar was only slowing them down through her inexperience with adventures.

They had crossed into the Misty Mountains several hours after their departure from Imladris, having traversed the varied lands of Middle-earth. Bilba had stared at each and every one with awe, head turning as if she could not get enough of what she was seeing. The weather could not have been more perfect - until they clambered onto the steep mountain paths, clinging to the sheer cliffs and praying to Mahal that they would not fall into the chasms below.

Then the storm had come.

Thorin didn't mind rain - no dwarrow did, they were all used to it on their many travels - but he despised thunder. He would never care to admit that he was deathly afraid of it.

And when he said deathly, he meant deathly.

It had tormented him as a child back in Erebor. The sound of it had echoed through the fabled halls and reverberated with a thousand times more sound. He had utterly hated it, choosing to take shelter deep in the mines with Dwalin and excavate crags stuffed with gems until the storm passed. Focusing on the reflective, kaleidoscopic surfaces of crystals such as tanzanite or jonquil calmed him - he would softly mumble one of the old, improvised Lists that his mother and Dís had taught to him as soon as he could talk.

"They were given to us by the Ents," Madelgarde had said, "especially for us. We are the only race that has ever been given their own Lists."

"How many are there?"

"Two. One for precious metals, and one for precious jewels. Do you remember them?"

"Um... I only remember the second one," he had said, afraid that he was about to be berated. But his mother only smiled, her teeth flashing as brightly as the ibriz - a trait that he had inherited.

"Go on, then."

"Learn now the fables of glit'ring gems!

Cast from Aulë's hallowed halls for khazâd to use:

First comes crystal, shattering and capturing the hearts of merry men;

Then is alabaster, whiter than the snow-capped peak of Erebor;

Diamond comes next, its shimmering hue unmatched by element of nature;

Zircon, aquamarine, and sapphire (just to name a few), blue as the sky that dwarrows seldom see;

Next come chrysolite, erinite, and peridot, greener than the Shire's uncut grass;

Jonquil, chartreuse laced with black, a most curious cabochon;

Emerald merging with topaz, the color of Erebor's great gates fading into autumn-brown;

Fireopal to siam to ruby to garnet, varying shades of red to match the dwarves' flaming forges;

Here's a hard one to pronounce: padparadscha, as pink as rose petals;

Amethyst, lilac, and tanzanite, tinted royally purple and made for kings' crowns;

And last of all, jet, as black as night and the twisting tunnels of the Lonely Mountain."

Thorin had always hated that last part, for the halls of Erebor weren't dark. They had lanterns and torches that made the walls dance with soft light. But apparently, that hadn't meant anything to the Ents - the great tree-creatures that wouldn't step foot into a mine if their Entwife was trapped inside.

And they had the fireflies that flickered on and off at the top of the mountain. Thorin had thought they were stars, naive in his youth and never having seen actual stars. When he had come across the great balls of fire the first night after they had been exuded from the mountain - his father and grandfather had never allowed him to patrol or go on missions during nighttime before, deeming it too dangerous - he had been slightly disappointed. They neither twinkled nor danced, like his stars had.

He rather liked his stars better.

Dwarven verse and fireflies flitted through his mind as the rain gushed down on them and the thunder cracked harshly (it was too close, too close for Thorin to function, but he forced himself to keep moving). He gritted his teeth each time it sounded, and he nearly found himself clutching at the person nearest to him for comfort.

Thank Mahal Bilba had taken steps to avoid him as soon as they left Rivendell.

"Hold on!" Thorin cried to the Company as the downpour increased in intensity. He craned his neck and did a headcount to make sure that no one had accidentally slipped down into the chasm below, and glanced back to ensure that he had counted correctly. There was a sudden cracking sound, and he watched, horrified and completely frozen, as the stone Bilba was standing on crumbled beneath her feet. She cried out, and Thorin surged forward, knowing that he wasn't going to make it in time -

Dwalin grabbed her arm in an insanely fast motion that seemed almost reflexive - perhaps he had been expecting something to happen, given Bilba's lack of shoes and surplus of ways to slip. Thorin stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily, and turned around again, even though he wanted nothing more than to run to the burglar and comfort her.

"We must find shelter!" he cried (his nephews, despite the situation they were currently facing, were staring at him with malicious grins on their faces, and he felt the need to excuse his awkwardness).

"Watch out!" Dwalin bellowed, and they looked up to see a gargantuan boulder hurtling towards them. It collided with the stone above them and shattered, hailing pieces of rock big enough to kill all fourteen of them.

"This is no thunderstorm, it's a thunder battle!" Balin cried as the avalanche subsided.

How utterly reassuring.

An impossibly huge giant rose up from the crest of a mountain nearby and literally ripped the peak off.

Thorin had never felt so small.

"Well, bless me, the legends are true!" Bofur yelled, slightly hysterically. "Giants. Stone giants!"

"Take cover, you'll fall!" Thorin shouted, struggling not to show how scared he was. Azog was nothing compared to this, nothing at all...

"What's happening?" Kíli said, and Thorin didn't blame him - in all honesty, he was pretty damn confused himself.

They braced themselves as a second giant appeared behind them, the mountain peak slamming into its head with a tremendous crash that was louder than a clap of thunder. The path beneath them gave way from the sheer force of the impact, and the ground split in two, separating the Company almost equally.

"Kíli!" Fíli shouted, stretching his arm out towards his brother. "Grab my hand! Kee -"

They were flung around like rag dolls as the giants engaged in combat, and the other group managed to clamber onto a wider precipice nearby, safe for the moment. A third giant - the largest one so far - reared up and inched towards its two brethren, but its head was knocked clean off its shoulders by a stray boulder. Its body toppled and fell over, and the other members of the Company were... smashed.

Thorin couldn't breathe as a shout tore from his lips. "No! No! Kíli!" he screamed, thoughts racing through his head impossibly fast. He said his nephew's name, but he was thinking of Bilba, feeling more guilty than he had ever felt in his life for being more worried for an acquaintance than his own nephew.

He was in the lead as they rushed to where the other group had last been, pushing his friends, his kin aside in his panic.

They were safe. Somehow, through some miracle, they were safe.

"We're all right!" Balin said, a bit weakly. "We're alive!"

Thorin forced himself to breathe again, and realized that he'd forgotten to.

"Where's Bilba? Where's the hobbit?" Bofur shouted frantically, his hands scrabbling against the stone as if expecting to find her splayed on the ground.

"There!"

"Get her!"

She was hanging onto the edge of the cliff, feet kicking, hair falling out of its neat queue, and her fingers slipping against the wet rock. Ori flung himself down onto the ground and reached for Bilba's arm, but she slipped and fell another few feet.

Thorin's heart was in his throat, and he shoved through the crowd of twelve just in time to see the hobbit find another handhold again before she plummeted into the chasm. Others were on the ground, too, reaching for Bilba in vain, but she was too far.

He spotted an outcrop of rock that looked sturdy enough to hold him for a few moments, and swung himself down. Bilba turned her head to look at him, her pupils dilated with fear.

His hands were fumbling with her pack, and he half pushed, half pulled her back up to the cliff's edge, the Company's hands snatching feverishly at hers and finally grabbing hold. Dwalin reached out to Thorin to pull him back up, and their hands clasped, and oh, how glad Thorin was that the person he trusted most had chosen to come with him on this godforsaken journey -

The stone supporting Thorin's feet cracked and crumbled, and Dwalin increased his pulling tenfold, wielding enough strength to wrench Thorin's arm out of its socket. He clambered back onto the cliff, his knees wavering and collapsing under him as he found sturdy ground again.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar," Dwalin panted, relieved, next to him, gasping for breath.

It was then that Thorin raised his head, water dripping from his temples, and uttered the words that he would regret saying so badly later. "She's been lost ever since she left home. She should never have come. She has no place amongst us."

The immediate guilt from his words felt like a punch to the gut.

She wasn't angry anymore, he could tell that; just hurt. Saddened. Disappointed in him, even. Had she thought that he believed in her, that she could survive on the quest?

Thorin wasn't sure if he ever had.

"Where do yeh think yeh're going?"

"Back to Rivendell."

"No, no, yeh cannae turn back now, yeh're part of the Company. Yeh'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."

Thorin shouldn't have been listening, but how could he sleep when there was a hurried discussion taking place just feet from him?

"Yeh're homesick, Bil," Bofur said in a soothing tone, trying to calm Bilba down. "I understand."

"No, you don't, you don't understand!" she retorted, her voice raising from a whisper to its normal tone in her frustration. "None of you do, you're dwarves. You're used to - to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere."

Thorin hated that she was right.

"Bo, I... I'm sorry, I didn't -"

"No, yeh're right," Bofur said, his tone suddenly so sad that Thorin felt the toymaker might start crying. "We don't belong anywhere." There was a short silence, and he suddenly said, "I wish yeh all the luck in the world. I really do."

There were barely audible footsteps as Bilba turned a few moments later - presumably after a hug or something of the like - to leave.

"What's that?" Bofur asked, a blueish glow flickering on the walls of the cave.

At that, Thorin raised his head, tensed for any danger that might have entered the cavern they had taken shelter in. Bilba drew her sword half out of its sheath, lighting up the cave with an even brighter blue light. He knew what his grandmother would have said to him if she had realized that they hadn't examined the cave closely enough - "Me asnân tada Mahal duhû kansu tah."

She would have been right, of course.

"Wake up," he hissed, his voice rough from disuse. An ominous crack appeared in the sand on the floor, and he pushed himself up. "Wake up!"

They did not hear him.

The floor of the cave collapsed, and they were tumbling down, head over heels. All of the Company was awake now, but too late, too late...

A giant cage that was made of what felt and looked like aged bones awaited them, along with a few hundred gairurakhâs.

Perfect.

The impatient mob of goblins rushed forward and clutched at the dwarves, prying weapons from their hands and gnashing their misshapen teeth at them. Two rough sets of knobbly fingers that couldn't seem to stop twitching snatched at Thorin, and he shoved the goblin away. Nevertheless, the dwarves were tugged down the network of creaking bridges that surely couldn't hold their combined weight at once - yet, the worn, mismatched wooden planks yielded.

Nori suddenly bumped into Thorin with a grunt and grabbed his hand for support. He pressed something small and round into the flat of his palm, and Thorin ran his thumb over the embossed metal that he quickly identified as brass.

He shoved the button engraved with an acorn - Bilba's button engraved with an acorn, he had noticed them on her waistcoat the day she'd come running after their party - into his pocket and heard it clink against his father's key.

The hobbit's buttons were engraved, and as he slipped his hand into his pocket and turned the button over between his index and middle fingers, he realized that he was engraved himself - with the words that had been drilled into his head since he said his first word ("azdun binfikhib - aslub nar zirin namnâg"), with the many faces of the hopeful dwarrows that turned his way as he passed in Ered Luin, and with the weight of an entire kingdom on his shoulders.

Oh, he must surely be going mad now, he was comparing himself to a button...

Notes:

Dedicated to the lovely Alanna!! Thanks for being so supportive of this fic and pointing out all of my typos. You're such a great friend, and I was so blessed to have met you. Thank you so much, darling, you're amazing!!! I hope you like this chapter, I wrote it especially for you :)

Thorin felt he couldn't stand another day of counselling from Elrond and hurried discussions with Gandalf, but somehow, he endured.

"Now, you'll have to find a way up the mountain somehow, and, if I remember correctly, insert the key into the lock exactly when the last light shines," Elrond said at one point, and Thorin had nearly scoffed at that. What did the elf know about dwarf doors? (Then again, it wasn't as if Thorin knew much about dwarf doors - they had been considered something that he would never need to know how to open or create. They were a thing of the past, something that Thorin's great-great-grandfathers had known about. And so, his father and grandfather had neglected to educate him in them, deeming the matter unnecessary and tedious. How Thorin regretted that they had never taught him about them...)

It had been a long and busy day, and what he had really been aching to do was get out of the cramped council room and take a walk, perhaps alone, or perhaps with accompaniment. Bilba was on his mind; he couldn't help it, Elrond had mentioned her several times in the discussion, speaking about how important her role was to the Company and that they should not underestimate her value. And Thorin had found that to be an insult to his character: how dare he, Elrond Half-Elven of the Last Homely House, accuse Thorin of looking down upon Bilba just because of her status? It was - it had been his responsibility as a prince to treat each dwarf he encountered, male or female, peasant or noble, rich or poor, with the utmost respect and politeness that he treated his grandfather with.

Frerin had been the more joking, casual one; and oh, how he and Dís had teased their older brother for it, mocking the stiff way he stood when bowing, adapting thick, deep voices and saying ridiculous things in Khuzdul to each other, and laughing softly at Thorin each time he rose from his seat to greet an official that had entered the room. But it had been required of him from his father, and also by the ancient dumsêl that governed his people.

"Carved into tablets of stone," his mother, Madelgarde - a curiously un-dwarvish name - had told him when he was a boy, "by Mahal himself, and given to Durin for his descendants to follow."

"Where are they now, 'amad?" he had asked her, climbing up onto her lap. She smiled and fondled the small, stubby uzbadkayyal on either side of his head.

"Gone," she said sadly, as if she had been there when they had been lost. And that had been all that he could get out of her.

Thorin touched one of his uzbadkayyal as he approached the dwarves' joined quarters, the Company's laughter echoing from inside. It reminded him strongly of the night he had approached Bag End, which seemed as if it had been years ago. How was it that the meeting had only been a few weeks ago?

He pushed through the door just in time to hear Bilba say, "I would say thanks, but Nori's touched it, so I'd rather not."

That prompted another roar of laughter, and Thorin found himself smiling, as well, even though he didn't know what they were laughing about.

"Thanks for the beads, though, really," Bilba said warmly to Nori, "they're quite pretty. Stole them from our hospitable hosts, did you, then?"

Nori grinned sheepishly and dropped three silver beads onto Bilba's palm, the firelight glinting off of them and catching Thorin's eye.

For some reason, that was enough to wipe the smile off his face.

"You shouldn't have stolen from them," he found himself saying, taking a few steps to the right and leaning against a pillar in the corner.

Bilba raised an eyebrow at him bemusedly, the corners of her mouth raised slightly, and said, "Why not? I should have thought that you, Thorin, would be the last to object to robbing the elves."

He wet his lips with his tongue and rested his head against the stone behind him, not wanting to continue the conversation - you'll only make a fool of yourself, Oakenshield, just stop, he told himself. But something in Bilba's daunting stare made him ignore himself and keep going. There was something in her gaze that made his skin crawl; but not in a bad way, more in a "wow-you-look-like-you-could-actually-destroy-me-with-words-and-I-sort-of-like-that" way.

"I would not have you soil your good name, Mistress Baggins," he said, choosing his words carefully, "for a few mere souvenirs and trinkets."

"You do realize that you're currently contradicting every belief of elves you've ever had, correct?" She didn't look shocked or outraged; if anything, she looked even more amused.

"Based on your knowledge of Sindarin," he drawled, "you're close with the elves, which I disapprove of. And I should think that you wouldn't want to make them angry at you for any reason, no matter how petty, in case you should be visiting Rivendell on any other occasion, correct?"

Bilba's pleasant smile was gone now, and Thorin found that he had rather liked her more when she hadn't been wearing that severe glare that seemed like it was piercing him. She held out her closed fist, letting two of the beads fall to the ground and roll to a stop near Thorin's feet.

"For your uzbadkayyal," she said harshly. "I wouldn't dare wear royalties in front of a prince, anyway."

She stalked out of the room, slamming her door behind her, and Thorin stared around at the Company.

"Who told her?" he asked in a low voice, and his nephews shifted across the room.

Time passed, as it often does, and Bilba somehow maintained her grudge against Thorin. (Hadn't Gandalf told him that hobbits were creatures that quickly forgave and forgot? What a horrible old prankster that wizard was.)

He had instantly regretted his little spat with their burglar, of course, and had made to go apologize to her, but she wasn't in her room (that, or she was ignoring him), and apparently, she had taken to eating meals at strange times (blatantly avoiding Thorin and the rest of the Company).

"Bofur, have you seen the burglar?" he asked on the third day, absolutely fed up with chasing her around the whole valley.

"Just a mo' ago," Bofur had said, adjusting his hat with a jovial grin. "She's speaking with Lord Elrond on the westernmost terrace, something about staying in Rivendell, maybe?"

"That can't be good," Thorin muttered, and set off to wander through the twisting bridges and paths that made up Rivendell. He had no luck, however, and did not get the chance to speak with Bilba.

Oh, he had found her just fine - back in her Shire clothes, but with Nori's bead clasped to the end of a simple, three-strand braid in her hair.

(Thorin would never admit it, but he had actually switched out his regular karth for the beads that Bilba had given him.)

"...aica," Bilba was saying to the elf next to her. "Ro il..."

She stopped speaking and looked at Elrond helplessly, struggling, perhaps in her anger, to find the words that described her emotions. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of Thorin, standing at the end of the hall, out of the corner of her eye.

"Ego, mibo orch," she hissed, and Elrond laughed at that. "Boe i 'waen, heru."

"Lle aa' auta," he said, and she scurried down the hallway without a backward glance at Thorin.

"Were you looking for someone?" the elf asked Thorin as he approached. "You have a determined look in your eye."

"No," Thorin said after a pause. "I am not looking for anything."

With that, he resolved not to trail Bilba any further, and headed back to his quarters.

Two weeks, and Thorin had had enough.

Gandalf and Elrond were still discussing the matter of the quest, but it was not their decision to make. Thorin was the leader of the Company, and thus, he was responsible for them - all of them.

Even Bilba.

He went from room to room in the early morning of the fourteenth day, knocking on the door of each dwarf's room and announcing that they would be leaving.

"Pack everything," he concluded, leaning in Balin and Dwalin's doorway. "I've had enough of elves to last me a lifetime."

"Have you told the hobbit?" Dwalin asked gruffly, tossing a shirt at his brother. Balin caught it without turning around.

"No, not yet. I've left her for last."

"I'll tell her," Balin said flatly, sending a pointed look at Thorin as he made for the door. "She's terribly upset, you know. Apparently, your little exchange with her the other night troubled her greatly. She's been avoiding you, I presume?"

"What?" Thorin asked, distracted by what the elder dwarf had said - your little exchange with her the other night troubled her greatly. Had he really upset her that much? He thought she was just holding a grudge, as he was now aware that many hobbits were fantastically good at; he had ridden through Bree and the Shire multiple times on his travels from Ered Luin and the other, smaller dwarf kingdoms, and he had witnessed many an argument over a pittance or a bit of food.

His thoughts wandered to the Shire and Bilba, and he suddenly remembered where he had heard the name Belladonna before.

"Master Dwarf!" someone had called after him one day (nigh on forty years ago, if his memory was correct; and a dwarf's mind was never spotty) in Bree as he exited The Prancing Pony and made his way towards the stables. He had turned to see a pretty, long-haired hobbit lass standing in front of him. She was wearing half of her hair pinned back, the rest of it trailing down her back in thick, brown curls. Her dress was red and spangled with stars, obviously well-made, and gave her the air of someone who was very well taken care of.

"Come, Master Dwarf," she repeated, her eyes shining with mirth, "you must be tired, even after the amount of sleep you had last night at the Pony. Wouldn't you like a nice, warm bed for a change, and a hot meal of Shire-food? That's real food, and you've never lived until you've tried it. Much better than that nasty ration nosh you travelers seem to particularly enjoy, and I should know; I used to have many a fine adventure back when I was young."

She was certainly very charming, Thorin had to admit, and he would have loved the chance to sleep deeply and soundly without any disturbances - but he had to turn her down. He was in a hurry, and her family would most likely shame her for bringing a dwarf home, if he knew anything about hobbits.

He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly, the door of the Pony swung open again, and a hobbit man a bit taller than the woman stepped outside, a faunt in his arms. Hobbit children were so tiny that Thorin wondered how they never broke them - a little thing like that could surely be crushed in a dwarf's iron grip.

The faunt stared up at him, her - it was a girl, wasn't it, he could never tell with all that curly hair - eyes wide and the color of them hard to discern. Blue and/or brown and/or green, or perhaps just a mixture of all three. Her gaze was unnerving and like nothing Thorin had ever felt before.

How could he not have known the second he had laid eyes on the owner of Bag End?

"See you've found the wife," the hobbit man had said cheerily, adjusting the faunt as if it was nothing. "Donna spotted you last night at the inn, said you looked to be the tiredest dwarf she'd ever seen. And Donna loves dwarves, don't you, dear?"

"Don't call me that, Bungo," she said, her voice utterly lacking the irritation she was trying to convey, "I've been asking you not to for the last fifteen years. This is my husband, Bungo," she added, turning back to Thorin again with a smile on her face, "and our lovely daughter, Bil. I'm Belladonna, by the way."

"Hold her for a mo', would you?" Bungo said, and pushed the child into Thorin's arms without waiting for an answer. Thorin sucked in a breath and held the faunt as gently as he could, not wanting to accidentally break any of her bones or squeeze the breath out of her.

Bungo rummaged through a pack that was loosely slung over his shoulder and pulled a neatly folded map out of it, exchanging the parchment for his daughter in an instant. He set Bil on the ground, and the girl rushed to her mother, clinging to her skirts and looking at Thorin with fear in her eyes.

"You'll need that if you're to get out of the Shire again," Belladonna said, shushing Bil and pointing at the map in Thorin's hand. "Are you sure you won't be staying with us?"

"I never said I wouldn't -"

"No, you're right, you didn't," she said, "but I could tell from the look in your eye."

He didn't say anything.

"Are you quite sure?" Belladonna continued. "Being stuck in these parts for a while isn't really all that bad." She said the word stuck strangely - the u was entirely too short, the k too sharp, but he found that he could not imagine her saying it in any other way.

"Yes," he said hesitantly, "I'm sorry. I've got somewhere to be."

"Come and visit sometime," Bil suddenly said, peering out at Thorin from behind her mother.

He nodded, not knowing at the time that he would someday be fulfilling his promise.

Thorin suddenly saw the intricate details of Rivendell more sharply than he ever had before, and he gasped slightly, realization coursing through his veins.

"You all right, laddie?" Balin asked, frowning slightly at him. "Yeh look pale."

"I will tell Bilba myself," he said to the older dwarf. "I wish to make amends with her."

"I don't think that's the best -"

"I don't care, Balin, I will do it anyway," Thorin told him, setting his jaw. He turned and paced down the hall to Bilba's room, knocking impatiently on the door.

"Bilba," he called, "I know you're inside. I haven't seen you in days, please just -"

"There's nobody in there."

He turned around to find Bilba leaning against a pillar, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. She walked towards him, opened the door, and made to shut it again, but he stopped it with his foot.

"I just wanted to..."

He didn't know what to say.

"Yes?" she said, irritated, and pushed harder against his boot with the door.

"I wanted to tell you that we're leaving soon."

"Good," she snapped, "I'm quite sick of all you dwarves."

He stared at her. Her eyes were blue and/or brown and/or green, or perhaps just a mixture of all three.

"Someone help," Bilba deadpanned, "there's a prince" - she said the word with as much contempt as possible - "stuck in my doorway."

She said the word stuck strangely - the u was entirely too short, the k too sharp, but he found that he could not imagine her saying it in any other way.

That shocked him enough to make him take a step back, and she slammed the door shut.

"So you are coming with us, then?"

"Of course, Bo, I could hardly leave you behind. Not when there's still a job for me to do."

"Well, I'm glad, Bil," Bofur said, grinning. Thorin watched them embrace from across the courtyard.

"Gandalf is still at the council," Dori said anxiously, standing next to him. "He told us to wait for him..."

"He's a wizard, he can catch up," Thorin replied, his eyes still trained on Bilba and Bofur. He had called her Bil...

"I see you kept at least one of the beads," Nori said, sidling up to Bilba and tapping the bead entwined in her hair with his finger. She laughed at him and slapped playfully at his hand.

"Stop it, Nori," she scolded. "It's quite pretty, though."

"They're called karth," Kíli said from nearby, "which means 'rune beads'."

"Fancy," Bilba grinned, pulling her familiar red blazer on. Thorin was glad that she had changed back into her regular clothes from the Shire; she would have looked quite pretentious if she had decided to set out on their journey again in full elvish wear. The Company would have mocked and ridiculed her, and Thorin would not have been able to stand it - for they would have expected him to join in, and he just couldn't bring himself to anger Bilba any more than he already had. He wasn't even mad that his nephew had just given Bilba another word of Khuzdul to add to her growing vocabulary.

"Let's move out," he called, his voice resonating around the courtyard. There were a few cheers from some of the more enthusiastic dwarves, and they quietly left the way they had come through the Hidden Pass, careful not to make a sound that might alert the elves that they were leaving.

"Be on your guard," Thorin said as they tread the path, Rivendell shining behind them. "We're about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths. Lead on."

"Aye."

Thorin stopped to let the rest of the Company pass and noticed that Bilba had stopped to look back at Imladris. "Mistress Baggins," he called to her, "I suggest you keep up."

She did not meet his gaze as she walked past him, her steps silent.

Notes:

Sindarin translations were found at this translator and from this site.

“We are ithk id-‘ân, Gandalf,” Thorin muttered as they passed through the two cliffs. He saw Bilba glance back at him from ahead, curious about the strange, harsh language of Khuzdul that she had heard the dwarves speaking in a few times. He had heard her talking with the wizard in Sindarin, the blasted elf tongue, at one point during their journey, and she seemed to be well-versed in it. And anyone educated in the elvish tongue didn’t deserve to be granted the extensive knowledge of the workings of Khuzdul.

She stood aside to let Thorin pass, and fell into pace beside Gandalf, her voice lilting in the flowing tones that the elf tongue was composed of. “I’ tella eska kard?” she asked joyfully.

“Uma, Bilba.”

“Ier lye omenta sen? I’ quessir?” she asked, and when Thorin looked back, her eyes were bright with excitement. “Ron ier il ve’ apononar, ier ron?”

“En’ rant il,” the wizard responded as they drew near the end of the passage. Thorin blinked in the sudden sunlight, and found that they were standing in an open courtyard overlooking a shimmering valley encircled by cliffs. Buildings carved with what was obviously elvish architecture lined the ravine, displaying balconies, fountains, and arches. He had to admit that it was all solidly built, and a lot of work and time had obviously gone into it.

Nothing compared to Erebor, though, Thorin thought proudly as he surveyed their surroundings.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf said. “In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.”

“Rivendell,” Bilba said breathlessly, the wonder in her voice irking Thorin. “Vanima. Ikotane lirima. Ve’ dulinlina ar’ alu ar’ iluve kalina. Ve’ Belladonna, atara en’ haba. He vanim: vee’ tiri vee’ i’ anar. Bungo, atar en’ haba, ho mela ten’ he…”

She trailed off, unable to finish, and her gaze met Thorin’s. He suddenly realized that he was staring at her, distracted by the way she lovingly said the words. He wondered what she was talking about; she had mentioned the words “Belladonna” and “Bungo”, which certainly weren’t any elf words that he was familiar with. They must have been names - friends of hers? Her family?

“Lirima quena, Arwen Baggins, ten’ er ikotane ai,” said a light, musical voice, and they all turned to see a dark-haired elf descending a flight of stairs in front of them.

Bilba blushed. “Le fael, heru.”

The elf smiled at her, bowed his head - making Bilba blush even more and sending a pang of jealousy down Thorin’s spine - and turned to Gandalf. “Mithrandir!” he greeted.

“Ah, Lindir!”

A collected murmur of distrust spread through the Company, and Thorin leaned towards Dwalin to whisper, “Stay sharp.” Dwalin nodded, his eyes narrowed at the elves that milled around the courtyard.

“Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen,” Lindir continued, pacing forward to stand near Gandalf.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond,” Gandalf responded, his tone urgent.

“My lord Elrond is not here.”

“Not here?” Gandalf said, his brow furrowed. “Where is he?”

The elvish horns from earlier suddenly sounded again, and Thorin whipped around to see a group of armed horsemen galloping along the bridge they had crossed earlier.

“Ifridî bekâr! Hold ranks!” he shouted to the dwarves, and they formed a tight circle with their weapons pointing towards the elves. Bofur grabbed the back of Bilba’s waistcoat and pulled her into the middle of the ring, but she protested indignantly.

“Now, hang on, they’re elves, they won’t hurt anyone! Stop, this is ridiculous! Tua, Mithrandir!”

Gandalf suddenly strode into their midst and guided Bilba out of the ring of dwarves, a look of relief and exasperation on her face. Thorin scowled as she took her place next to the wizard; they had only been trying to protect her from the elves, who could easily trampled her underfoot without a second thought.

A single rider separated himself from the other elves, who had been circling around the courtyard, and directed his horse towards Gandalf, saying the wizard’s name. Gandalf bowed graciously and said, “Lord Elrond. Mellonnen! Mo evínedh?”

“Farannem 'lamhoth i udul o charad,” the elf lord said. “Dagannem rim na lant Vedui.” He dismounted from his steed and strode forward, giving Gandalf a quick embrace. “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near.”

“Ah, that may have been us.”

Thorin took that as his cue to step away from the ring of dwarves, drawing the attention of Elrond. “Welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin,” the elf said.

“I do not believe we have met,” Thorin said. But we do not have to have been introduced for me to know that all elves are dishonest and untrustworthy, he thought.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” Elrond told him. “I knew Thrór when he ruled under the Mountain.”

“Indeed. He made no mention of you,” Thorin said. Bilba sucked in a breath next to Gandalf, and he looked at her. He couldn’t tell if she was horrified or amused with his insult, but he decided that it did not matter.

“Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor,” Elrond said in Sindarin, turning to the dwarves behind Thorin. “Boe i annam vann a nethail vin.”

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?” Glóin said suspiciously, and the Company gripped their weapons uneasily.

“He’s offering your food,” Bilbo said quietly.

Thorin leaned over to Dwalin and muttered, “Amhul ammâ karât izdnu?”

“Baggins ra Gandalf karât izdnu,” Dwalin responded, “ra kana amhul e.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Thorin nodded, and the other dwarves, who were also conversing in Khuzdul, finished speaking. “Ah, well, in that case, lead on,” Glóin said decisively, and Gandalf smiled.

As the elves lead them out of the pavilion, Thorin saw Elrond fall into place beside Bilba. “Heru Elrond,” she said, bowing her head, “ni 'lassui tanya lle creoso lye ikotane eithel. Vasa ar’ esta ier il rimba no’ lye lema.”

“Lle ier creoso, ai er,” Elrond said, smiling, and more snatches of their Sindarin conversation reached Thorin’s ears.

His dislike of elves was only increasing.

Over the next two weeks that they stayed there, Thorin caught only a few glimpses of Bilba, whom he was concerned was bonding more with the elves every day. On the fourth day, he saw her walking alone in the halls of Rivendell, admiring everything she laid eyes on. Her hair had been let down and was straight - no doubt some elvish trick or spell for vanity - making her look more mature. She wore a simple blue dress that was much more revealing that anything Thorin had ever seen her in, causing him to blushed furiously as soon as he saw her. No dwarrowdam would ever dare wear something that exposing, and as far as he knew, no hobbit would, either.

But then again, their quest had certainly brought something daring out in Bilba Baggins - something very un-hobbitish indeed.

She smiled when she saw him, her eyes lingering on his broad frame that been exaggerated by his fur cloak. “Hello,” she said cheerfully, “are you enjoying our stay in Rivendell? It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” he said gruffly, cursing every vein in his body that was currently pumping blood to his cheeks.

“Bo says he doesn’t mind elves as much as the others, so he likes it,” she told him, “but I heard him laughing about how they bathed nude in a fountain the other day.”

“Bo?” Thorin repeated, confused. “Who’s - ?”

“Oh, I mean Bofur,” she said. “Sorry, I should’ve explained. We’ve been very friendly to each other and I’ve given him a nickname.”

“Ah.”

There was an awkward silence, as Thorin tried to look anywhere but at her chest, and Bilba clasped her hands behind her back. Thorin actually enjoyed talking to her, and was loathe to let the conversation end, so he quickly ran over a few topics in his head, deciding to ask her about the names he heard her say a few days ago.

“Who are… Belladonna and Bungo?” he asked, trying to hide his curiosity. “I heard you say their names a few days ago, in Elvish, and… they do not sound like any Elvish words that I have ever heard. Were they your friends? Other hobbits from the Shire?”

She smiled sheepishly at him and let her hands fall to her sides. “My parents. Belladonna was my mother, a Took if ever there was one, and Bungo was my father. He built Bag End for her instead of proposing, like I think other races do.”

If anything, that only increased his sense of inquisitiveness, so he asked, “Is that a hobbit custom? Building a house for your intended?”

“It still is,” she said, “but it’s hardly done anymore. We hobbits have gotten too lazy, I suppose, and oftentimes, we just move into our intended’s current house.”

“Is Bag End… your… husband’s?”

Bilba laughed, a clear sound that sent a warm tremor through Thorin. “Let’s sit down somewhere, eh?”

“There are no chairs or benches,” he stated blankly, quickly scanning the area for a place for them to sit comfortably. Do elves not enjoy comfort? Thorin mused. Do they just stand around all the time till their backs ache and their feet nearly fall off?

“Here.” Bilba strode to a nearby balcony and quickly swung her legs over it, sitting on the railing. Thorin hesitated to join her as she looked back at him; his added weight might cause the structure to collapse if he sat on it.

“It’s all right, it’s quite sturdy,” she said. “And I won’t let you fall.”

Somehow, that last part reassured him - “I won’t let you fall.” Even though he hadn’t been afraid of tipping forward into the river below them, her words comforted him. She was looking out for him, as dwarrows did for each other every day. He found himself trusting this little hobbit; she would not let him fall, even though if she reached out to grab him, she would probably tumble down into the stream with him.

He sat next to her, taking pleasure in using elvish architecture for what it wasn’t intended for, and looked inquiringly at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I don’t have a husband, actually,” she said, grinning. “You probably think of me as an old maid, don’t you?”

“No,” he said simply, earning himself another smile.

“I’m still a bit old for a bachelorette. Fifty, which, in the years of Big Folk, would be… about thirty-two. I’ve heard that most women marry around the age of twenty-two, while they are still fertile.”

“In dwarf years, you would still be eligible for marriage,” Thorin told her. “You would be only… twenty-six. And three-quarters. In the years of men.”

She looked away, out into the Valley of Imladris, probably admiring its splendor again. “Who says I’m marrying a dwarf?” she muttered, a small smile dancing on her lips, and Thorin blushed again.

“I didn’t… I was only -”

Bilba chuckled. “I know, it’s okay.”

There was a brief silence, and Thorin suddenly said, “You don’t have to answer, but… how long are hobbit women… fertile?”

She looked at him with a strange expression on her face, and he panicked, thinking that he had offended her. “I apologize,” he said brusquely, “it was not my place to -”

“I don’t mind,” she interrupted him, “I really don’t. It’s fine. All hobbit women remain fertile until they reach their mid-seventies to eighties. We’ve got a much longer fertility period than other races, I think, which is how we’re so long-lived.”

“I see,” he murmured, still flustered. She didn’t honestly seem to have been bothered by it, however, so he decided not to pursue the matter.

They sat in silence for a while, staring out into the valley, until an elf attendant cleared his throat from behind them. They both turned, and Thorin noticed a subtle change in Bilba; she had been relaxed and confident in her words when she had been talking with Thorin, but now she seemed rigid and on guard, as if expecting an attack from someone.

“Lotesse amin tua lle?” she asked. Her tone was pleasant enough, but Thorin knew that she was hiding something - perhaps an old fear of being verbally assaulted by a bully or some nasty relative? He could definitely relate to that.

“Tolo ar nin,” the elf replied. “Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you, hiril vuin.”

“Of course. I’ll see you later, Thorin.” She climbed back over the railing again and followed the elf lord, leaving Thorin with a sort of empty feeling in his gut.

Perhaps he had enjoyed talking with her more than he had thought.

Notes:

Khuzdul Translations (in order of appearance):

ithk id-'ân - mining the river (looking in the wrong place)

Ifridî bekâr! - Ready weapons!

Amhul ammâ karât izdnu? - Do we trust them?

Baggins ra Gandalf karât izdnu, ra kana amhul e. - Baggins and Gandlf trust them, and so (lit. thus / so that) do I.

Sindarin Translations (in order of appearance):

I’ tella eska kard? - The last home house? (Bilba’s rendition of “the last homely house”)

Uma, Bilba - Yes, Bilba.

Ier lye omenta sen? I’ quessir? - Are we meeting them? The elves?

Ron ier il ve’ apononar, ier ron? - They are not like men, are they?

En’ rant il. - Of course not.

Vanima. Ikotane lirima. Ve’ dulinlina ar’ alulina ar’ iluve kalina. Ve’ Belladonna, atara en’ haba. He vanim: vee’ tiri vee’ i’ anar. Bungo, atar en’ haba, ho mela ten’ he… - Beautiful. So lovely. Like birdsong and water and everything light. Like Belladonna, mother of mine. Her beauty: as bright as the sun. Bungo, father of mine, his love for her…

Lirima quena, Arwen Baggins, ten’ er ikotane ai. - Pretty speech, Lady Baggins, for one so small.

Le fael, heru. - Thank you (lit. “You are generous”), lord.

Mithrandir - Grey Pilgrim / Grey Wanderer

Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen. - We heard you had crossed into the Valley.

Tua, Mithrandir! - Help, Grey Pilgrim!

Mellonnen! Mo evínedh? - My friend! Where have you been?

Farannem 'lamhoth i udul o charad. - We’ve been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the south.

Dagannem rim na lant Vedui. - We slew a number near the Hidden Pass.

Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor. - Light the fires, bring forth the wine.

Boe i annam vann a nethail vin. - We must feed our guests.

Heru Elrond, ni 'lassui tanya lle creoso lye ikotane eithel. Vasa ar’ esta ier il rimba no’ lye lema. - Lord Elrond, I am glad that you welcome us so well. Food and rest are not numerous on our journey.

Lle ier creoso, ai er. - You are welcome, small one.

Lotesse amin tua lle? - May I help you?

Tolo ar nin. - Come with me.

The sledge shot out of the forest, the orcs on their warg steeds in hot pursuit. "Come and get me! Ha ha!" Radagast shouted, shaking the reins and urging his rabbits to go faster.

Gandalf watched them go from behind a rock, then said, "Come on!" to the Company, who quickly followed in his wake. Thorin took the lead, listening to the wargs howling and the orcs shouting to one another. They dashed across the plain, searching for any sign of Radagast.

Thorin stopped, breathing heavily, and watched as the wizard rode by, the orcs still chasing him. Somehow, they didn't notice the dwarves at all.

"Stay together," Gandalf said.

"MOVE!" Thorin shouted, and they turned and ran in the other direction.

They sprinted across the plains, all breathing heavily. Thorin could tell that some of the Company - Bombur and Balin especially - were quickly tiring. He looked around wildly, making sure that everyone was accounted for, and saw Bilba sprinting next to Bofur, his hand resting protectively on her arm. He felt a sudden jealousy and protectiveness, but he ignored it; it was not the time to be wondering how close Bilba and Bofur were becoming.

They stopped behind an outcrop, but Ori, the youngest member of their party, kept going. "Ori, no!" Thorin said, pulling him back before he gave them away. The wargs thundered past, still ignoring them.

"Come on! Quick!" Gandalf said, and the dwarves ran past him and Thorin.

"Where are you leading us?" Thorin asked him, but the wizard did not answer. Looking troubled, he ran after Bilba, who had been last. Thorin cursed under his breath and followed him.

They careened down a hill and, seeing the wargs, veered to the left, taking cover behind a huge, rocky bluff. The Company leaned, spread-eagled, against the stone, not daring to make a sound. Bilba, who was standing next to Thorin, was frozen with fear.

A warg and rider leapt onto the top of the rock, and the sound of a sword being unsheathed could be heard. The warg growled and paced around, and Thorin looked up to find that its back was turned to them. He slowly looked over at Kíli and nodded. Kíli silently pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and stepped away from the boulder, shooting the warg in the neck. Quick as lightning, he loosed another arrow, this time hitting the orc. They fell to the ground near the dwarves, and the orc rose. Dwalin struck it twice with his mace, and a few other dwarves attacked it, too, finishing it off.

Thorin strode forward and slashed at the orc, and suddenly there was a hand tugging at his sleeve. He turned to see Bilba, who was shaking with what looked like rage. "Fool," she hissed, "fool, what were you thinking? Now they know!"

He stared down at her, confused, then suddenly realized his mistake as more wargs howled in the distance.

"Move," Gandalf suddenly shouted. "Run!"

Bilba flung his arm aside angrily and fled with the rest. Thorin cursed himself silently as he went after her, determined to apologize to her later.

They ran over a more hilly part of the plains, and Thorin was dimly aware that they were completely exposed. They stopped, and Glóin, having caught sight of the orcs, yelled, "There they are!"

"This way! Quickly!" Gandalf called, and he led them into a clearing - not the best idea. They were surrounded on all sides by wargs. Thorin stopped, uttering a cry of frustration.

"There's more coming!" Kíli, who had come last, cried.

Thorin turned in a circle, surveying the numbers, and shouted, "KĺLI! SHOOT THEM!"

"We're surrounded!" he heard Fíli yell. Kíli shot arrows into the midst of the orcs, killing a few - but not enough, Thorin found himself thinking.

"Where is Gandalf?" someone cried as the Company grouped around Thorin.

"He has abandoned us!" Dwalin said harshly. Ori shot a rock at a warg with his slingshot, to no affect, and the orc astride it snarled with amusement.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin ordered, drawing his gleaming sword. He saw that Bilba had drawn hers, as well, its blue sheen barely visible in the sunlight. She caught his eye, and Thorin saw a blazing, determined look on her face. She wasn't going without a fight, and neither was he.

Suddenly, Gandalf popped up from a hole in the rock behind them. "This way, you fools!" he called, and ducked back down into the rocks again.

Relieved, Thorin shouted, "Come on, move!" He rushed forward and stood on a small rock so that he could count the dwarves that were running towards him. "Quickly, all of you!"

Bofur was the first to tumble into the hidden cave. Thorin was impressed at Gandalf's quick thinking; the wizard had been the only member of the Company to have noticed it. "Go, go, go!" Thorin said, pushing Bilba after Bofur. She glared up at him once she had gotten to her feet, a murderous glint in her eye, and he turned away nervously, unsettled by her fury that was obviously meant for him.

The other dwarves slid down into the crack in the rock, and Thorin lashed out with his sword, killing a warg that had come too close. Kíli felled another warg with an arrow, and Thorin looked around, realizing that only he, his nephew, and the orcs were standing in the clearing. "Kíli! Run!" he shouted, and they jumped down into the cave, the orcs right behind them.

A strange horn suddenly blew behind them, and the sound of bow strings twanging could be heard. The dwarves listened intently; from the growls and roars of the orcs, Thorin assumed that they were being eliminated.

A huge orc suddenly fell into the cave, and the Company reeled back so as not to be crushed. Gandalf poked it with the end of his staff, and it did not react, confirming that it was dead. Thorin strode forward and plucked an arrow out of its carcass, examining it. "Elves," he spat, and flung the arrow on the ground.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," Dwalin called from the end of the passage. "Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" said Bofur, and he led them all towards Dwalin.

Thorin awoke to the sound of thunder.

He sat up slowly, creasing the waistcoat that covered him. Bilba was standing a few feet away with her back to him, tying her hair up. She had already changed into a pink skirt and a cream-colored, short-sleeved petticoat.

She turned around to see that Thorin had gotten to his feet, her coat folded carefully in his arms. "Oh, good morning," she said cheerfully.

"Why was this on top of me?" he asked as she reached forward and took it from his outstretched hands.

"You were shivering in your sleep," she told him. "Shouldn't have taken off that nice cloak of yours."

"Weren't you cold?"

"No, of course not," she said, and wiggled her toes. "Furry feet. Keeps us hobbits warmer than you'd expect."

He didn't dare say that he had seen her shivering before he had fallen asleep; that would have meant telling her that he had given her more than a few glances.

"Anyway, it's about to rain, so Gandalf says we should be on our way soon. Your cloak's there" - she pointed to where it lay on a nearby tree stump - "I washed it for you in the stream, it got all dirty on the ground."

"Thank you," he said, surprised that she had thought of him so much while he was asleep. So she isn't as annoyed with me as I thought, he mused. Just shy. What strange creatures hobbits are.

A single raindrop fell on Thorin's cheek, and he quickly began to bark orders at the members of the Company so that they could get a head start on the rain.

They didn't.

"Here, Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" Dori asked as they rode through a muddy forest, all of them soaked to the bone.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done," Gandalf replied. "If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find find yourself another wizard."

"Are there any?" Bilba suddenly asked, her voice raised so as to be heard through the downpour. Thorin glanced back at her and saw that she looked quite miserable; her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her skirt was sopping. She at least had had the good sense to wrap her blazer about herself, but it didn't do much good. She was forced to ride side-saddle because of her dress, which just made her even more muddy and miserable than the others.

"What?"

"Other wizards?"

"There are five of us," Gandalf said. "The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the two Blue Wizards; you know, I've quite forgotten their names."

"And who is the fifth?"

"Well, that would be Radagast, the Brown," he said.

"Is he a great wizard, or is he... more like you?"

Thorin knew that behind him, Gandalf was probably looking quite offended. "I think he's a very great wizard, in his own way," he said after a moment. "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."

After a long, muddy trek, and more talk of such things as wizards and Erebor, they arrived at an abandoned farmhouse that appeared to be in ruins. "We'll camp here for the night," Thorin announced. "Fíli, Kíli, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

"A farmer and his family used to live here," Gandalf muttered from inside the deserted building, but Thorin payed him no mind.

"Óin, Glóin!"

"Aye?"

"Get a fire going."

"Right you are."

"I think it would be wiser to move on," Gandalf said. "We could make for the Hidden Valley."

"I have told you already, I will not go near that place," Thorin said firmly.

"Why not? The elves could help us," the wizard countered. "We could get food, rest, advice."

"I do not need their advice."

"We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond can help us."

"Help?" Thorin said, his tone scornful. "A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the elves looked on and did nothing. You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and betrayed my father."

"You are neither of them," Gandalf said. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past."

"I did not know that they were yours to keep," he retorted, and Gandalf stormed away.

"Everything alright?" Bilba called after him. "Gandalf, where are you going?"

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

"Who's that?"

"Myself, Miss Baggins! I've had enough of dwarves for one day," he answered hotly.

"Come on, Bombur, we're hungry," Thorin called to the largest of the dwarves, still irritated from his spat with Gandalf.

"Is he coming back?" he heard Bilba ask Balin. Balin did not answer, but looked uncertain.

The sun set, and Bombur quickly made them a dinner of soup, which they all passed around and began to eat ravenously.

"He's been gone a long time," Bilba said, almost to herself.

"Who?"

"Gandalf."

"He's a wizard!" Bofur said. "He does as he chooses. Here, do us a favor: take this to the lads." He handed two bowls of soup to the hobbit to take to Fíli and Kíli, and she immediately left for where they stood guard. Thorin noticed that she had forgotten to take some for herself, and contemplated going after her to give her some, but thought better of it. His nephews would no doubt tease him endlessly if he did.

Bombur, seeing that there was still some soup left, tried to ladle some more out of the cauldron he had cooked it in. "Stop it, you've had plenty," his brother Bofur scolded, and he reluctantly dropped the spoon again.

After a few minutes, Fíli and Kíli came tearing back out of the forest, panting heavily. Thorin immediately stood, sensing that something was wrong. "Where's the burglar?" he asked, surprised by the blatant concern in his voice.

"Trolls... took... ponies... sent... Bilba," Fíli gasped.

"You did what?" Thorin asked. "Why?"

"Thought... she was... small enough... hasn't... been... caught yet..."

"Gather your weapons!" Thorin ordered, and most of the Company immediately complied.

"Do you intend to save our burglar without Gandalf?" Balin asked him sharply, and Thorin hesitated, realizing the rashness of his decision.

"Yes," he said, and drew his dwarvish sword from its sheath.

Once they were ready, Fíli and Kíli lead them over to where they had left Bilba, and they hid in the bushes, waiting for the chance to attack the trolls.

"What are you, then?" one of them asked Bilba. "An oversized squirrel?"

"I'm a burglar - uh, hobbit," she replied, nearly giving them away.

"A burgla-hobbit?" another troll asked, obviously confused.

"Can we cook 'er?" the first asked.

"We can try!" The second troll went to grab Bilba, but she dodged around him, only to find herself face-to-face with the last troll.

"She wouldn't make more than a mouthful, not when she's skinned and boned!" he said.

"Perhaps there's more burgla-hobbits around these parts," one of them said. "Might be enough for a pie."

"Grab her!"

"It's too quick!"

Bilba dashed around the campfire faster than Thorin could have believed, dodging around the trolls as quick as lightning. One of them hit his brother with a ladle instead of Bilba, and she would have escaped then, if not for the first troll, who had cornered her. "Come here, you little - gotcha!" She shrieked and writhed as he picked her up and dangled her in the air. "Are there any more of you little fellas 'iding where you shouldn't?"

"Nope."

"She's lying," said one of the trolls.

"No, I'm not!"

"Hold her toes over the fire. Make her squeal."

"Kíli, now!" Thorin whispered, and Kíli instantly ran out of the bushes, cutting one of them on the leg and making him fall.

"Drop her!" Kíli shouted at the first troll.

"You what?"

"I said, drop her," he ordered, swinging his sword confidently in his hand. The troll surprisingly obeyed, but not in the way Kíli had intended; he threw Bilba at the dwarf, and they were both knocked down as Bilba collided with him.

The Company charged out of hiding, Thorin in the lead, brandishing their weapons and yelling at the top of their lungs. They hacked, slashed, and swiped at the trolls, fighting as a well-oiled machine. The trolls roared and squealed with pain, most of their injuries inflicted by the older, more experienced members of the Company. Thorin caught a glimpse of Bilba on the other side of the fire, holding up a large, crudely-made knife that belonged to one of the trolls. She dashed over to the pen where the ponies were being held and sawed at the ropes. They burst out of the corral, and the hobbit stood aside to let them escape.

Unfortunately, one of the trolls had seen her.

Thorin stood facing their opponents, the dwarves gathering around him. He stared grimly up at them, his broadsword lowered towards the ground. Kíli ran to his side, glanced at his uncle to see what he was staring at, and yelled, "Bilba!"

"No!" Thorin cried, grabbing Kíli to keep him from running at the trolls again. They were holding Bilba suspended in the air, gripping her arms and legs. She looked terrified, but was still struggling, putting up an immense fight for someone so small.

"Lay down your arms," one of the trolls ordered, "or we'll rip hers off."

"No, Thorin, don't - !" she said, but the other troll placed his hand over her mouth to keep her from talking. She choked and looked repulsed.

Thorin planted his sword in the ground without hesitation. The others followed suit, Kíli dropping his sword with a grim smile on his face. The trolls leered at them, and Thorin felt a twinge of annoyance towards their burglar. If she couldn't even escape a couple of trolls unnoticed, how would she manage to steal from a dragon?

He was lucky, in that he hadn't been chosen to be placed on the spit.

Dwalin, Bofur, Bifur, Dori, Ori, and Nori weren't as fortunate. The six of them had been tied to a long wooden pole that the trolls had then set over the fire, and were now being turned over and over so as to be roasted evenly. Fíli, Kíli, Óin, Glóin, Bombur, Balin, the hobbit, and Thorin had been tied up in sacks and tossed over by a tree. Thorin glared at Bilba; if it hadn't been for her, they never would have been taken captive...

"Don't bother cooking them," said a troll. "Let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly."

"They should be sauteed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage."

"Is this really necessary?" cried a muffled Dori from the spit as the other dwarves, Thorin included, began to yell and protest. Thorin grabbed at the rope binding the sack with his teeth, attempting to somehow break it or pull it off. But their attempts to escape were in vain; the sacks were tied too tightly.

"Ooh, that does sound quite nice," the first troll said, completely ignoring them.

"Untie us, you monsters!" yelled Óin.

"Take on someone your own size!" his brother shouted. The rest of the Company immediately began hollering at the trolls again.

"Never mind the seasoning; we ain't got all night! Dawn ain't far away, so let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone," said the other troll. His words were obviously significant, and would have been extremely helpful if they hadn't been tied up, but as of the moment, there was no way they could act upon it.

Bilba suddenly sat up, as if struck by an idea. "Wait!" she cried, addressing their captors. "You are making a terrible mistake."

"You can't reason with them, they're half-wits!" Dori told her.

"Half-wits?" Bofur said indignantly. "What does that make us?"

Bilba somehow managed to stand up, the sack hanging loosely on her shoulders. "Uh, I mean with the, uh, with, uh, with the seasoning."

"What about the seasoning?"

"Well, have you smelt them?" she said sardonically, and Thorin had a feeling that she was only half pretending to be irritated with the dwarves' hygiene. "You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up." All of the dwarves began yelling at her, the ones nearest to her attempting to kick her.

"What do you know about cooking dwarf?" a troll asked her.

"Trust me, I've thought about it," she said, earning herself another furious roar from the Company.

"Yes, but 'ave you actually done it?"

"Shut up and let the, uh, flurgaburburrahobbit talk," one of them said, leaning down to listen to what she had to say. Bilba smiled politely for a brief moment, which irked Thorin; how could she be worried about manners when they were about to be eaten?

"Uh," she started, "th-the secret to cooking dwarves is, um -"

"Yes? Come on."

"It's, uh -"

"Tell us the secret," the troll urged.

"Ye-yes, I'm telling you, the secret is... to... skin them first!" she said, sounding proud of herself.

"NO!" Thorin bellowed, even as the other dwarves objected noisily and shouted insults at her.

"Tom, get me the filleting knife," said the troll, actually believing her.

"If I get you, you little -" Glóin yelled.

"I won't forget that!" Dwalin said ruthlessly from the spit.

"What a load of rubbish!" said the troll on the left side of the spit. "I've eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all."

Thorin watched as Bilba suddenly glanced at something to her left, and a curious look appeared on her face. He wondered what she had seen that could make her look so relieved.

"'E's right! Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy."

The troll who had just spoken picked up Bombur, who jerked around wildly, and held him over his open mouth. Bilba looked horrified, and quickly shouted, "Not - not that one, he-he's infected!"

"You what?"

"Yeah, he's got worms in his... tubes," she invented wildly. The troll quickly dropped Bombur back onto the pile of dwarves, looking disgusted. "In - in fact, they all have, they're in-infested with parasites. It's a terrible business. I wouldn't risk it, I really wouldn't."

"Parasites, did she say parasites?" Óin said.

"We don't have parasites!" Kíli shouted. "You have parasites!"

"What are you talking about, lass?"

Bilba rolled her eyes as the others chimed in, and Thorin suddenly understood what she was trying to do. He stretched a leg out in the sack and kicked the others. They fell silent, realizing Bilba's plan, then began exclaiming about how they had all been struck by parasites.

"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, let 'em all go?" one of the trolls said. He seemed to be the leader of the trolls, and the smartest.

Bilba grinned mischievously. "Well..."

"You think I don't know what you're up to?" the troll asked. "This little ferret is taking us for fools!"

"Ferret?" Bilba said, sounding extremely offended.

"Fools?" said another troll.

"The dawn will take you all!"

They all looked up to see Gandalf standing on a large rock overlooking the clearing.

"Who's that?" asked one of the trolls.

"No idea," said the smart one.

"Can we eat 'im, too?"

Gandalf raised his staff into the air and cleaved the rock in half. The sunlight that it had been blocking lit up the entire clearing, turning all three of the trolls into stone as they howled with pain. The dwarves cheered for Gandalf as they surveyed the new statues that stood before them.

"Oh, get your foot out of my back!" Dwalin suddenly yelled from the spit, and there was a peal of laughter from Nori.

Bilba shrugged the sack off of her shoulders - she probably could have escaped a long time ago, but she had stayed behind for the Company - and walked with Gandalf towards the pile of sacks, helping the dwarves get out and stand. Bilba reached Thorin last, her nimble fingers lightly brushing his shoulders as she leaned over him to untie the rope.

"Would you rather I stand?" he asked, slightly blushing. Mahal had blessed him; she had taken the time to button her waistcoat back up before coming to assist the dwarves.

"We're all adults here, Thorin," she said crossly, but she fumbled slightly with the knot, and her face was tinged with pink. "Damn," she hissed, and pulled her hand back. One of her fingers had gotten cut on the dry rope and was bleeding.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, and pulled the sack down his shoulders. He stepped out of it and took her outstretched hand, taking care not to touch her cut. She pulled him to his feet and turned away, sucking on her bleeding finger.

"Are you sure you're all right? Óin is our healer, he could -"

"It's just a scrape," she said, and went back over to Gandalf, who was standing at the spit and trying to get the others down.

After everyone had been rescued, the wizard walked between the troll statues looking pleased with himself, thumping one of them with his staff.

"Where did you go to, if I may ask?" said Thorin, approaching Gandalf.

"To look ahead," he replied.

"What brought you back?"

"Looking behind," Gandalf smiled. "Nasty business. Still, they are all in one piece."

"No thanks to your burglar," Thorin said, glancing over at Bilba, who was standing with Kíli and thanking him for his attempted rescue.

"She had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that," said Gandalf.

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it.

"They must have come down from the Ettenmoors," Gandalf said thoughtfully, turning and inspecting the statues again.

"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?"

"Oh, not for an age," the wizard said, "not since a darker power ruled these lands."

Thorin felt a shiver run down his back, and decided not to press the topic.

"They could not have moved in daylight," Gandalf deduced.

He looked around. "There must be a cave nearby."

The smell was the first thing they noticed.

"Oh, what's that stench?" Nori said as they entered the cave, wrinkling his nose. The other dwarves coughed as the odor reached their noses.

"It's a troll hoard," Gandalf said. "Be careful what you touch."

Piles of treasure gleamed on the ground, cascading out of caskets and trunks. Thorin was bitterly reminded of Erebor, but the gold that remained in the Lonely Mountain was more than a hundred times more plentiful than the small collection that had belonged to the trolls.

"Seems a shame just to leave it lyin' around," said Bofur craftily. "Anyone could take it."

"Agreed. Nori, get a shovel," Glóin said, and Nori quickly ran out of the cave.

Something caught Thorin's eye, and he made his way over to the corner of the vault to examine two cobweb-covered swords. "These swords were not made by any troll," he said to Gandalf, who was standing next to him. He handed one to the wizard, keeping the other one.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men," Gandalf said, and he drew the blade a few inches out of its sheath. "These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age."

Thorin went to put it back where he had found it, but he was stopped by Gandalf, who stated, "You could not wish for a finer blade." He kept the sword, reluctantly, and followed Gandalf's suit, pulling it out of its scabbard. He was forced to admit that it was, indeed, a finely-crafted weapon.

Over in the corner, Bofur, Glóin, and Nori had packed a small chest with treasure and placed it in a hole they had dug. Dwalin watched with contempt as they began to refill the hole. "We're makin' a long-term deposit," Glóin grinned.

"Let's get out of this foul place," Thorin said. "Come on, let's go. Bofur! Glóin! Nori!"

They filed out of the cave, Gandalf staying behind for a few moments, presumably to explore a bit more. Thorin stood near Bilba, who had changed into a blouse and pants, and sorted through his pack. He had meant to say something to her, anything; perhaps he apologize (although he didn't know what for), or remark about the weather. Anything to break the stark, awkward silence between them, anything to sate her anger towards him...

Before he could speak, however, Gandalf strode out of the cavern and walked over to where the hobbit was sitting, another sword in his hand. It looked rather small compared to the one Thorin had just taken - nothing more than a dagger, really.

"Bilba."

"Hmm?" She looked up absentmindedly and smiled at the wizard.

"Here," he said, and handed her the sword. "This is about your size."

She took it carefully, her eyes wide. "I can't take this," she said, flustered.

"The blade is of elvish make, which will make it glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby," Gandalf told her.

Bilba stood up rather suddenly, looking agitated. "I have never used a sword in my life."

"And I hope you never have to," Gandalf said. "But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."

Thorin was suddenly distracted from the conversation by a strange shape in the distance that was fast approaching. "Something's coming!" he shouted, dropping his pack back on the ground.

"Gandalf -" Bilba started, but the wizard wasn't listening.

"Stay together!" Gandalf shouted. "Hurry now, arm yourselves!"

The dwarves ran quickly into the woods, and Thorin looked back at Bilba as he stood back to let them pass. She had drawn her sword and was staring at it with a look of awe.

"Mistress Burglar!" he called forcefully. She whipped around and sheathed the sword, looking panicked. "Come!"

"Y-yes, right," she said quickly, and dashed in front of him into the forest. He glanced behind them, making sure that they had left no one behind, then ran after her, reaching out and pressing his hand against her back protectively. She did not protest; instead, she edged closer to him, nearly bumping into him.

A rabbit-drawn sled was hurtling towards them so fast that none of the dwarves had time to pull out their weapons. The rider screeched to a halt by the Company, crying, "Thieves! Fire! Murder!"

"Radagast!" Gandalf said, striding forward to meet the stranger. "Radagast the Brown. Ah. What on earth are you doing here?"

Thorin suddenly realized why the name Radagast sounded so familiar to him; it had come up in the conversation Bilba and Gandalf had had the day before concerning other wizards.

"I was looking for you, Gandalf," the wild-looking man said. "Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."

"Yes?" Gandalf urged.

He opened his mouth to speak and closed it twice, having forgotten what he was going to say. Thorin struggled not to sigh with annoyance; they didn't have time to deal with scatterbrained wizards.

"Oh, just give me a minute," Radagast said. "Um, oh, I had a thought, and now I've lost it. It was - it was right there , on the top of my tongue." He curled up his tongue, apparently taking the expression in a literal sense, and looked surprised. "Oh, it's not a thought at all, it's a silly old..."

Gandalf reached forward and pulled something out of Radagast's mouth.

"- stick insect!"

The dwarves recoiled with disgust. Bilba quickly turned around, looking as if she were about to throw up. The two wizards walked a short distance away to speak in private, and the members of the Company milled around, adjusting their cloaks and armor. Thorin saw Bilba examining her sword again with wonder while they waited for Gandalf and Radagast.

A howl suddenly sounded in the distance, and Thorin's shoulders tensed.

"Was that a wolf?" Bilba said. "Are there - are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves?" Bofur said in a tremulous voice. "No, that is not a wolf."

A warg leapt into the midst of the Company, knocking down one of the dwarves and snarling ferociously. Bilba shrieked and clambered onto a nearby rock, her sword waving in front of her as she pointed it towards the beast. Thorin unsheathed his new weapon and struck the warg twice, killing it on the second blow. Another warg attacked from the other side of the clearing, and stumbled as an arrow shot by Kíli found its mark. It stood again, only to be finished off by Dwalin.

"Warg-scouts!" Thorin shouted to the wizards. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?" said Bilba nervously, still standing on the edge of the crag.

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf asked Thorin roughly as he approached.

"No one."

"Who did you tell?"

"No one, I swear!" he said. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted," Gandalf said.

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin said frantically.

"We can't!" Ori cried. "We have no ponies; they bolted."

Radagast stepped forward, saying, "I'll draw them off."

"These are Gundabad wargs," Gandalf told him. "They will outrun you."

He hadn't expected her to come, which was why he had been so surprised when she had.

He had definitely appreciated his first warm meal in a long while, the chance to thoroughly discuss the quest with the other members of the Company, and, of course, her (begrudging) hospitality. But he had never for a moment thought that the quaint little hobbit with the spark in her eye would join them on their journey.

So when Bilba had come sprinting after them the following day, shouting, "Wait, wait!" at them, Thorin had nearly fallen off of his pony.

His nephews had been teasing him a few moments prior to Bilba's appearance. It had started with Kíli saying, "I've never seen you blush so hard, Uncle Thorin," and grinning like a mischievous dwarfling.

"What are you talking about, Kíli?" he had said, not bothering to look back at him.

"He means," Fíli said, "that you were quite taken by the hobbit last night, weren't you, Uncle?"

"She's quite good-looking," Kíli teased, and the rest of the Company chortled. "Are you trying to play matchmaker, Master Gandalf?"

"I must confess that I wasn't completely sure that Thorin would take a liking to her," Gandalf said bemusedly, "but he certainly lived up to my expectations."

"She's no dwarrowdam," Thorin grunted, glad that he was in the front of the caravan, since his cheeks had turned bright red.

"I thought she was quite lovely," Bofur said casually. "A kind host, once she had gotten used to us. And she's very pretty, isn't she, Master Thorin?"

"For a Zantulbasn," he said begrudgingly, earning himself many snickers and chuckles.

"It's too bad she's not coming along," Fíli said. "Who here thinks they would've been wed once we reached Erebor?"

All of the Company - even Gandalf - raised their hands, wide grins plastered on their faces.

Then a shout rang out from behind them, and the hobbit herself had come running up to the Company, much to Thorin's surprise.

The party stopped, and Bilba, completely out of breath, ran up to Balin and handed him the contract. Her hair was pinned up into a braid crown, revealing pointed, elf-like ears and a better look at her face, which was just as nice-looking as the rest of her. Her dress was similar to the one she had worn the day before, but had layered skirts and shorter sleeves.

"I signed it!" she said proudly, panting heavily.

Balin took out a pocket-glass, read it over, and smiled at Bilba. "Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Mistress Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

The dwarves cheered, and Thorin fought to keep from smiling, too. "Give her a pony," he called to nobody in particular, assuming that the hobbit was probably already tired from her chase.

"No, no, no, no, that - that won't be necessary, thank you, but I-I'm sure I can keep up on foot," she protested. "I-I-I've done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. I even got as far as Frogmorton once - aargh!"

She was interrupted from what was sure to be a long and dreary monologue as two of the Company caught her from behind and deposited her onto a pony of her own.

The clinking of coins whistled in Thorin's ears a few moments later as the dwarves tossed money bags to each other. He had known that some of them had made bets on the outcome of Bilba's decision, but that many? Nearly all of them were throwing sacks of gold to each other and demanding that others pay up.

Murmured bits of the hobbit's conversation with Gandalf reached Thorin's ears as they plodded on, and she suddenly sneezed. "Ohh," she groaned. "All this horse hair, I'm having a reaction."

There was a moment of silence as she checked her pockets and bag, and she suddenly cried out, "No, no, wait, wait, stop! Stop! We have to turn around."

To Thorin's chagrin, the other dwarves heard her plea and pulled to a halt. He sighed impatiently, pulled on the reins, and looked at the hobbit that he was slowly coming to think of as more of a burden than an advantage.

"What on earth is the matter?" Gandalf asked her.

"I forgot my handkerchief," she said, her tone dead serious.

Bofur tore a strip of cloth off of his tunic and tossed it to her, saying, "Here! Use this."

She caught the rag and looked at it with distaste. "Move on," Thorin called, and the Company continued.

"You'll have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs and a good many other things, Bilba Baggins, before we reach our journey's end," he heard Gandalf say. "You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you; the world is ahead."

Thorin was sure that more of those ridiculous affairs concerning such trivial matters were soon to follow.

They set up camp near the edge of a cliff, having passed through a forest, hills, and plains during the day. Bilba seemed not to have packed a nightgown (as he had expected her to), and Thorin was pleased that she hadn't complained. She was sitting across from a snoring Gloin, watching, repulsed, as he inhaled and exhaled a swarm of gnats every few seconds.

Gandalf, Fíli, Kíli, the hobbit, and himself were the only ones still awake. Thorin laid down, attempting to sleep, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to. After a few minutes of silence, Bilba stood up and wandered restlessly towards the ponies. Thorin watched from the ground as she fed hers, checking to see that no one was watching her. He remembered that she hadn't eaten her apple during lunch, and realized that the one she was giving to her steed must have been from her own rations.

This is the most unpredictable hobbit I've ever encountered, he thought. She had already surprised him twice today; first by joining the Company, and then by stopping the entire party for a handkerchief.

Indeed, Thorin suspected that the selfless gesture she was carrying out at the time would not be her last.

Bilba suddenly looked up at the sound of a distant scream. She patted the pony, whom he had heard her call Myrtle, and made her way back over to Thorin's nephews. "What was that?" she asked nervously.

"Orcs," Kíli replied as another scream could be heard.

"Orcs?" she repeated. She jumped as Thorin sat up suddenly, and their eyes met. She stared at him with an almost ferocious curiosity, as if she were ready to lash out at anything that scared her too badly.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there," Fíli told her. "The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood."

The brothers glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

"You think that's funny?" Thorin snarled. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kíli protested.

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world," he spat, and stomped off to stand at the edge of the cliff.

Balin approached the three of them and said, "Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thrór tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first."

Images of the Battle of Azanulbizar flashed before Thorin's eyes as he looked out over the valley, and he winced, feeling the lashes of the orcs' scimitars that had given him too many scars to count...

Thousands of dwarves and orcs fought in front of the gates of Moria, their battle cries still as fierce as they had been at the start of the fighting. Balin, Dwalin, Thráin, and King Thrór had fought at Thorin's side, cutting down hundreds of orcs and wargs. His most prominent memory of the battle was a massive, white-skinned orc wiped down dwarves with a heavy mace, slowly advancing towards the king.

He heard Balin's narration as if a long distance was between them as he watched the horrific scene play out in his head. "Moria had been taken by legions of orcs lead 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."

Azog roared as he held up the decapitated head by its hair. He flung the head across the battlefield, and it rolled to a stop at Thorin's feet.

"NOOO!"

"Thráin, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we do not know," Balin said. "We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."

The dwarves began to flee, completely overpowered by the orcs.

"That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc."

Overwhelmed with rage, Thorin stood opposite Azog. The mace came crashing down, knocking away his shield and sword. Thorin tripped backwards and fell down a ridge, landing hard on the ground.

"He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent... wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield."

The orc jumped up to smash him, but Thorin, reaching for an oaken branch lying on the ground, rolled away just in time. He deflected the mace with the branch, using it in place of a shield. As the monstrous weapon swung down at him one last time, he grasped the hilt of a sword lying nearby and struck, cutting off Azog's left arm below the elbow. The warrior howled with pain and clutched at the bleeding stump, finally having met his match.

"Azog, the Defiler, learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken," Balin said.

Azog was brought into Moria by the other orcs, and Thorin bellowed, "Du bekar! Du bekar!" The dwarves rallied to his cry, returning to battle and fighting harder than ever before. Slowly but surely, they began to gain the advantage, led by Thorin himself as they charged.

"Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, no song, that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."

The battlefield was covered with the corpses of dwarves and orcs alike, piled so high in some places that they reached Thorin's waist. The small number of surviving dwarves wept with one another as they surveyed the greatest loss they had ever witnessed. Balin and Dwalin embraced each other, stricken with grief. The elder brother, Balin, looked up to see Thorin framed in the sunlight, his oaken shield still in hand.

"And I thought to myself then, 'there is one who i could follow. There is one who I could call king,'" Balin concluded, his voice filled with admiration.

Thorin turned away from the cliff edge to find that the entire Company was awake and listening in awe. He walked between them to the fire, standing across from Bilba, who had remained sitting. "But the pale orc?" she said quietly. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came," he told her. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Thorin didn't sleep; he sat by the fire for the rest of the night. The hobbit pulled her hair down and remained in her place opposite him, staring into the flames. She did not rest, either, her eyes occasionally meeting Thorin's. Every time he stared back at her, she immediately looked away, displaying a timid, shy side of herself that she certainly hadn't shown to any of the other dwarves. He wondered what she thought of him as he twiddled a long stick that had fallen out of the fire in his fingers. He knew that he could be intimidating, but she acted almost as if she was afraid of him...

No, he thought. Just annoyed. He nearly grinned, remembering the "I'm-so-done-with-you" look that she had occasionally given him and the other dwarves the previous night. He didn't know why, but it seemed somehow endearing to him.

Bilba shuddered and pulled her burgundy blazer tightly around herself, and Thorin realized that he was staring again. He took off his heavy fur cloak, bundled it off, and set it on the ground, determined to get at least a few minutes of rest. He put his head against the cloak, using it as a pillow - he no longer cared how dirty it got - and closed his eyes.

He did not remember falling asleep.

Notes:

Khuzdul Translations (in order of appearance):

Zantulbasn - hobbit (common term)

Notes: This fic is also on my tumblr if you want to take a look at it! :)

Thorin had gotten lost twice.

A hobbit-hole with a karash on it shouldn't have been hard to find, and yet, he'd gotten lost twice. Twice. In this ridiculous country, with its strange houses set in hills and portly people who looked as if they'd never missed a meal in their lives.

The first time, he'd walked straight past it; he remembered that as he approached the familiar green door he'd seen half an hour ago. He'd been so set on asking the hobbit man a little ways ahead for directions that he had barely even noticed it. The man had sent him back the way he'd came, but he'd missed it again, seeing a dent on a nearby hobbit-hole and mistaking it for the mark. When he had approached the door, however, he had realized that it was, indeed, just a dent.

Raucous singing and laughing led him to realize that Bag End, the smial at the end of Bagshot Row, was the place he was looking for. He dimly recognized the mark - "G" for Gandalf - scratched into the base of the door as he drew near. He raised his fist and knocked three times, and the laughter quickly stopped. There were footsteps as, Thorin assumed, the host came to let him in.

Thorin stood back as the doorknob in the center was turned. His eyes fell upon the tall, familiar zardûn as he entered.

"Gandalf," he said by way of greeting. "I thought you said that this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. 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!"

A short hobbit woman stepped indignantly out of the crowd of dwarves and stood in the middle of the hall. She was not at all like any of the other Shire-folk Thorin had encountered so far; she showed no sign of having eaten too much, and had fair auburn hair that trailed down her back in tousled curls (he knew for a fact that most hobbits had hair that was always a varying shade of brown). She wore a dress with an embroidered green skirt, a red top, and cream-colored sleeves.

For as long as he could remember, Thorin had never been rendered speechless by anything. Yet, this one hobbit had put him at a complete loss for words in a manner of seconds.

"There is a mark," said Gandalf, bringing Thorin's attention back to him, "I put it there myself. Bilba Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield."

"So, this is the hobbit," Thorin said, stepping forward. She was noticeably shorter than him, which was a pleasant change from the dwarf-maids of Ered Luin who were all close to his height (or sometimes taller). "Tell me, Miss Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" she asked, her cheeks reddening.

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

"Well, I have some skill at conkers, if you must know," she said, "but I fail to see why that's relevant."

He couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"Thought as much," he muttered darkly, slightly disappointed. "She looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The others laughed, as he knew they would, and he was led into the dining room. A plate of food was waiting for him on the table. As he passed the hobbit, he felt a stab of guilt; she looked rather put out.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Balin asked.

"Aye," Thorin replied. "Envoys from all seven kingdoms."

The dwarves murmured their assent, and Dwalin said, "What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

"They will not come." Noises of disapproval sounded around the room. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."

"You're going on a quest?" the Baggins girl asked, sounding excited.

"Bilba, my dear girl, let us have a little more light." She obeyed, bringing a candle over to the Company as Gandalf brought out a map and spread it on the table. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak," the wizard said, staring down at the parchment.

"'The Lonely Mountain,'" read Bilba, and Thorin was suddenly aware of her at his shoulder, her eyes dancing in the candlelight.

"Aye. Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time," Gloin said.

"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,'" Oin added, quoting what had long been considered a prophecy about their quest.

"Uh, what beast?" Bilba asked, the curiosity in her eyes suddenly replaced by unsettlement.

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, cheifest and greatest calamity of our age," Bofur said. "Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals -"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," she snapped. Thorin was slightly impressed; she obviously knew more about these matters than the average hobbit.

"I'm not afraid! I'm up for it," Ori said boldly. "I'll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!"

Thorin rolled his eyes as the others began to shout. The young one should not have come, but Dori and Nori had permitted it, and Thorin at least respected them.

"Sit down!" Dori yelled, and the dwarves quieted.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest," Balin said skeptically.

"Hey, who are you calling dim?"

"Watch it!"

"What did he say?"

"We may be few in number," Thorin's nephew, Fíli, said over the crowd, "but we're fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf!"

"And you forget, we have a wizard in our Company," Fíli's brother Kíli interjected. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

"Oh," Gandalf said, "well, now, uh, I-I-I wouldn't say that, I -"

"How many, then?" Dori asked.

"Uh, what?"

"Well, how many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"

"Hm," the zardûn said, and began to cough. The dwarves stood up again, arguing about the number of dragons Gandalf had killed. Thorin smoldered for a few seconds, then got to his feet, fed up with the constant chatter and bickering that interrupted every word the older dwarves tried to say.

"Shazara!" he bellowed in Khuzdul, instantly silencing the crowd. "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 sixty 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? Du bekar! Du bekar!"

All the dwarves except Balin cheered, finally having found something to agree on. The eldest dwarf in the Company remained doubtful, saying, "You forget: the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin," Gandalf suddenly said, "is not entirely true."

He produced something from his robe and turned it in his fingers, revealing it to the Company. It was an ornate, beautifully-crafted silver key. Thorin stared at it in wonder, not daring to believe his eyes.

"How came you by this?" he asked.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thráin, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

Thorin took the key from the wizard and tucked it safely in his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Bilba was still looking at the map, an intense interest shining in her eyes again.

"If there is a key, there must be a door," Fíli said excitedly.

Gandalf pointed his pipe towards a set of runes on the map. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls," he told them.

"There's another way in!" Kíli exclaimed.

"Well, if we can find it," the wizard said, "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 it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori said.

"Hmm, a good one, too," said Bilba absentmindedly. "An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?"

She looked up at Gloin, who had just addressed her. "Am I what?"

"She said she's an expert!" Oin cried. "Hey, hey!" The dwarves laughed and cheered with him, but Thorin remained quiet, waiting for the girl to speak again.

"M-me?" she stuttered. "No, no, no, no, no. I'm not a burglar; I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Miss Baggins," Balin said. "She's hardly burglar material." Bilba nodded in agreement.

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin said. Thorin knew that he was not referring to the hobbit's gender; dwarves did not tend to think less of dwarrowdams.

To Thorin's dismay, the hobbit nodded at Dwalin's words, and the dwarves began to argue. Gandalf suddenly stood up and towered over the Company. A darkness began to fill the room as the zardûn spoke in a powerful voice, quieting the other conversations.

"Enough!" he thundered. "If I say Bilba Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar she is." He suddenly stopped, and the light returned to the room. "Hobbits are remarkably 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 hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this Company, and I have chosen Miss Baggins. There's a lot more to her than appearances suggest, and she's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including herself."

He took a long breath, then said, "You must trust me on this."

"Very well," Thorin agreed. "We will do it your way."

"No, no, no -"

"Give her the contract."

"Please -"

"Alright, we're off!" Bofur said giddily.

Balin stepped forward with a long roll of parchment. "It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth," he explained.

"Funeral arrangements?" she asked, stepping out of the dining room to read the contract. Thorin glanced back at her as she left, then leaned over to Gandalf and began a hurried conversation with him.

"I cannot guarantee her safety," he whispered.

"Understood."

"Nor will I be responsible for her fate," he added.

Gandalf hesitated, then said, "Agreed."

Thorin turned around again to look back at Bilba, who was reading the scroll out loud. "'Terms: cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any.' Seems fair... Eh, 'present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations'... 'evisceration'... 'incineration'?"

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," Bofur said cheerfully.

"Huh."

"You all right, lass?" Balin asked her, not unkindly.

She bent over, looking pained. "Uh, yeah... feel a bit faint."

"Think furnace with wings," Bofur added.

"Air, I-I-I need air," she said weakly.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You're nothing but a pile of ash."

She took a few heavy breaths, trying to compose herself. The others watched her, some of them looking entertained. Thorin couldn't help but be worried for the woman; she looked as if she were about to throw up.

"Hmm," she mumbled. "Nope."

And she fainted.

"Ah, very helpful, Bofur," Gandalf said sarcastically.

"It appears we have lost our burglar," Balin remarked to Thorin a while later, once Bilba had gone to sit down with a cup of tea. "Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend."

"There are a few warriors amongst us," Thorin replied.

"Old warriors."

"I will take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills," Thorin said, and he wasn't lying. "For when I called upon them, they came. Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart. I can ask no more than that."

"You don't have to do this. You have a choice," the old dwarf said. "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."

Thorin looked at the key he held in his hand, the emotional weight of it almost too heavy to bear. "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," Balin said. "We will see it done."

They congregated in the living room, silent at last. A haze of smoke from their pipes filled the room. Thorin leaned against the mantle and stared into the fire, thinking about the hobbit. Their quest was surely doomed if their burglar was unwilling to accompany them, but then again, Thorin did not think that Bilba was the hobbit they were looking for. Gandalf had faith in her, but she surely didn't have faith in herself - which was most definitely the turning point of the quest. If she didn't believe that she could meet their demands, then she wouldn't.

The buzzing of various low voices filled the air as the Company hummed, and Thorin's mind was flooded with memories of better times in Erebor. He hadn't meant to start singing the old song, but he was suddenly aware of his own voice rising above the rumbling.

"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."

Gandalf stood nearby, listening, and Thorin looked around for a sign of the hobbit, but she was absent, probably still recovering from her swooning episode.

The others joined in as he reached the next stanza, not one of them uncertain of the words or tune. The song was well-known throughout Ered Luin, as it foretold the quest that they were about to take.

"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."

Thorin had a feeling that somewhere in the twisting labyrinth of halls and rooms under the hill, Bilba Baggins was listening.

Notes:

Khuzdul Translations (in order of appearance):

karash - mark

zardûn - magic-man

Shazara! - Silence!