#starterdrabbles

In a darkened pub deep under the kingdom of Erebor, a hobbit and a dwarf squared off. The waiting crowd was near silent as they waited to see what would happen next. The dark haired beast of a dwarf looked fairly confident as he shared a smirk with his two friends directly behind him.

“What’ll it be, Took? Fold or settle?”

The hobbit nonchalantly lifted his overturn cup to sneak a peek at the two dice lying inside. 

“How about I raise you instead?”

It was silent for a moment before the dwarf, Drulik, burst into laughter followed by his cronies.

“Raise? You have nothing left to bet with.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bilbo stated before pulling out a silver harp-shaped brooch with thin golden strings.

The dwarves surrounding the gamblers all began murmuring at once, some trying to lean in for a closer view.

“Is that…?” One of Drulik’s dwarves gaped.

“Yes.” Bilbo announced calmly. “The Courting Gift of our dearly departed queen, Mahal rest her soul.”

“How did you get that?” Drulik demanded.

Bilbo gave him a wane smile as he tucked back into his vest with a pat. “It doesn’t matter. The question you should be asking is how much do you think it’s worth?”

The gambling den awaited Drulik’s long drawn out answer. It almost made the hobbit want to roll his eyes at the melodrama. However, after years on the streets, he knew a good show could sometimes be the difference between success and failure. And Bilbo didn’t fail. Finally, Drulik pulled out another bag, spilling the golden coins onto the pile between them.

“Settle.” Drulik demanded before revealing the contents under his cup.

The crowd cheered and whistled much to Drulik’s ego at the combined total of eleven from his dice. Nine Rings was a gambling game loved by Durin’s Folk and Men alike with a very simple premise. Highest total won. So you bet and bluff to convince your opponent that you have as close to twelve beneath the cup as possible. However, there was one small exception. Nine always trumped any other number. Therefore, when Bilbo lifted his cup to reveal the five and four, there was a near frenzy of excitement. Drulik was rendered speechless as Bilbo lifted his pint in cheer before downing the ale all in one go. Producing a sack from his coat pocket, he raked all the golden coins towards him.

“Well lads, this has been more excitement than any hobbit can take, but I think I’m going to leave now while my fortunes are in my favor.”

“You cheated.” Drulik growled. “You had to have.”

“Check my dice if you wish.” Bilbo offered with a shrug.

The tavern owner, Nifror, who ran as honorable a den as one could for thieves and ruffians was at their table in a flash. Bilbo had heard a tale that the last dwarf who cheated at the game got their loaded dice pinned, one to each hand, with a knife made by Nifror’s wife. He threw the dice a few times and each time they landed with a different number. He shrugged.

“The hobbit’s clean.”

“But that’s impossible.” One of Drulik’s own gaped.

“Yeah, we loaded them ourselves!” The other snarled.

There was a pause and then Old Nifror was on them in a flash. Some moved to help the old barkeep out. The rest roared and placed bets on the winner. Meanwhile, Bilbo used this as the perfect opportunity to sneak away. He dropped the loaded dice he had smuggled into his pocket on the ground with a snort. Like he would be that stupid. Now most would have worried walking around with that much gold around the dregs of Erebor’s underworld. Fortunately, Bilbo was a professional at remaining quiet and unseen. A talent he had been forced to pick up early in his life. Which is why he nearly screamed when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Make a good haul?” The dwarf smirked.

Bilbo turned around with a glare. “You know you don’t have to be so smug every time you manage to catch me off guard.”

Nori, Bilbo’s oldest and dearest friend, just raised an eyebrow as he tried and failed to hide the mischievous superiority oozing from his every pore.

“Just like to remind you, you’re not the best just yet.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he continued on his way knowing the dwarf was following.

“We both know I was headed to your place eventually so is there a reason you’re bugging me now?”

“Can I not worry over the sake of my friend?” Nori gasped overdramatically.

Bilbo snorted but made no arguments or agreements.

“Well, if I were coming to find you, it might have something to do with the fact that your husband finished up his duties early today to surprise you.”

The coin he was holding nearly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

“Valar above!” Bilbo swore. “That dwarf. He’s positively incorrigible!”

“He’s in love.” Nori pointed out.

Bilbo scoffed. “Love. Well shit, looks like you’re going to have to take this to our hiding place for me.”

Bilbo shoved the bag of gold into the dwarf’s chest before power walking towards the secret tunnels. Nori kept stride with him, clearly not done delivering bad news.

“Are you anywhere close to the right amount?”

“I’ve nearly two-thirds at this point.”

“Bilbo, you only have a week left.”

“I’m well aware, Nori! Maybe it's enough to...buy me more time.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the whole point of you marrying some rich noble supposed to give you easy access to the treasury?”

“It was, but there was one teeny detail we didn’t take into account.”

“What’s that?”

Bilbo paused, his face falling into a grimace. “In-laws.”

***

One of the first things Bilbo and Nori did upon their rushed and unplanned move to Erebor from Ered Luin was scope out the best places for a quick getaway. They just so happened to make kind with a chatty miner named Bofur who, while deep in his cup, told them that the royal wing originally was meant to be on the other side of the mountain. When the architects realized the disadvantage of having the royal family so far from the guards’ posts and war meeting rooms, rather than just move the furniture back down only to go back up on the correct side, they cut unmapped tunnels around the outside of the mountain. It also had the added advantage of getting their monarchy out quicker in the case of a coup if the knowledge hadn’t been lost through time. It was perfect for the thieves’ needs. In almost no time at all, Nori and Bilbo had found the tunnels and utilized them fully. 

Something the hobbit was thankful for now as he flew down the tunnel to get back to his room. He welcomed the blast of mountain wind to rapidly cool the sweat on his face before ducking back into the opposite entrance. There was a small alcove where Bilbo’s fancier clothes lay and he all but threw himself out of his worn threads for the finer silks and cotton. The last thing he did was pocket the brooch before sprinting back down the tunnel braiding and beading his hair on the run. Once he was back in the royals’ wing, he ducked his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and then silently made his way to his suite. After closing the door behind him, Bilbo relaxed against it, heaving a sigh of relief.

“And just where have you been, Husband of Mine?”

Bilbo prided himself on the fact that he did not squeak even if he did jump nearly two feet in the air. Thorin, Prince of Erebor, was lounging in the armchair by the fireplace looking rather pleased with himself. Bilbo attempted to calm his racing heart as he stepped forward, plastering what he hoped to be a loving grin on his face.

“Just a walk on the cliffs with Nori. Surely, you would not deny this hobbit the feel of fresh air and sunshine?”

Thorin stood at that point, meeting him about halfway. His thumb gently caressed Bilbo’s cheek.

“If I had it my way, I would deny you nothing, ukradê (my greatest heart).”

Bilbo hummed in practiced delight as he met his husband’s lips with his own. The hobbit was at least content with the knowledge that as far as dwarves went, Thorin was stunningly handsome. Not a sentiment necessarily shared with others of his race. Which worked out just fine for Bilbo as it left a prince of all things, uncommitted and available.

“By the way, look what I found this morning.” Bilbo stepped back with a teasing smile as he produced the brooch from his pocket.

“My mother’s brooch!” Thorin gaped as he took it reverently. “Where…?”

“It was under my bed. You must have dropped it when you paid me a surprise visit last night.”

Thorin smirked as he latched onto Bilbo’s hips. “I remember the night well.”

Oh, and he was a really, really good bed partner. No, Bilbo was well aware he could have it much worse. It was just the dwarf’s nauseating romanticism that nearly caused him to roll his eyes more than once. Thorin gave him a long lingering kiss before he bent forward to press his forehead against Bilbo’s own. Their hands found their way into each other’s naturally interlocking.

“I promise, it won’t always be like this.” Thorin murmured when he finally pulled away, his blue eyes shining brightly.

Like this. The dwarf was so dramatic. It constantly made Bilbo feel like some player performing for the court. Heaving a sigh as he looked down between their conjoined hands. 

“We’ve been married for eight months, and two of those have been spent here in Erebor. If your family was going to accept me, they would have done so by now.”

Thorin released his hands so he could lift Bilbo’s chin to look at him.

“Don’t lose faith yet, amrâlimê (my love). I have a plan.”

It was a good thing Bilbo was a talented actor. He laughed, causing Thorin to smile.

“You have a plan? That sounds dangerous.”

“Tease all you want, but I have all the confidence in this plan.”

“Well, out with it. What have you come up with?”

Thorin shook his head teasingly. “You’ll have to wait. I want it to be a surprise.”

Bilbo linked his arms around the dwarf’s neck for leverage as he started showering him with kisses at his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and his throat.

“And I couldn’t persuade you to tell me any sooner?”

“You are cruel, thundanûd (tiny embrace).” Thorin moaned, his hands resting on Bilbo’s arms.

“It’s only cruel if you don’t accept the invitation.” Bilbo teased back as he pulled at the prince’s tunic to allow him access to his collarbone.

Thorin shuddered once with want before finding the strength to pull away. He grasped Bilbo’s hands again as he kissed him deeply as an apology.

“Later. There will be time later. But now...we are having dinner with my family.”

Bilbo’s building fire of lust was immediately doused, a small frown settled on his forehead that Thorin attempted to kiss away. Lovely, the in-laws.

It certainly wasn’t that Bilbo wanted them to like him. He could honestly care less. It was just their dislike of him that made it really difficult for him to do...well, much of anything. Thrain, still mourning the loss of his dead wife, remained suspicious and hardened against Bilbo for the sheer fact that he was a hobbit. Their marriage had yet to be announced to the Council or even the mountain in general. Keeping Bilbo out of the public eye was Thrain’s number one priority which was certainly no hardship. It was Frerin and Dis he had the biggest problems with. Thorin’s brother and sister, ever loyal to him, seemed to think Bilbo wasn’t good enough for the dwarf, and constantly had Balin, the royal advisor, keeping tabs on him. Bilbo was reluctant to admit the dwarf’s keen eyes and sharp wit, but it had taken quite a few of Bilbo’s best moves to lose his tails before entering the secret tunnels.

Therefore, coming together in the Royal Dining Room for “family dinners” was a...stilted affair. There were only two redeeming features to those evenings. One, it was always the best food Bilbo had ever eaten in his life. And two, Thorin’s nephews, Fili and Kili, were not the least bit bothered by him and had some story worth telling that took the edge of him for a little bit at least.

“And then the axe sailed through the air and straight into the boar’s head. So technically, technically we aren’t responsible for the mess in the trophy room.” Kili finished.

“No.” Vili, their father snorted. “Just responsible for startling the poor guard that set off the chain of events.”

“Well how were we supposed to know he was right there?” Fili defended.

Bilbo snorted in spite of himself. “Watch the shadows.”

He immediately tensed after he said it as he waited for the barrage of insults to be hurtled his way.

“Spoken like a true thief.” Dis sneered.

Yep, right on cue.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t corrupt my sons.” She continued.

“Namad…” Thorin warned softly.

Thrain’s hand met the tabletop in a harsh bang. “What have I said about speaking our language in front of the Halfling?!”

Bilbo sighed and turned his attention to his soup as the line of Durin flexed their tempers. Thorin rising to his defense, Dis and Thrain attempting to argue their points louder, Frerin leaving snide quips here and there, and Vili trying and failing to keep the peace. The joy of family dinners.

“Actually, while we’re on this subject, I have something to say.” Thorin demanded, his voice low and regal. “I will be gone the remainder of the week.”

Everyone, including Bilbo, froze and stared up at Thorin in relative confusion and outrage. The prince’s eyes were boring holes straight into his father whose scowl would be enough to frighten wargs off at this point.

“And just where will you be?” The king finally spat.

Thorin reached down for Bilbo’s hand making the hobbit supremely discomforted. Thorin’s eyes were soft and pleading though as they met his.

“We will be taking the Trial of Souls.”

“We’ll be doing what now?” Bilbo questioned.

“Thorin…” Dis murmured at a surprisingly subdued volume, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Finally! A sensible idea!” Frerin declared. 

All eyes rested on the brunette as he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think? I mean, to put it bluntly, everyone at this table has been trying to convince Thorin out of this marriage in some way. When they don’t emerge from the tunnels together, that would be a pretty good indicator of the truth.”

“We haven’t. We like Bilbo.” Kili reminded softly.

Bilbo shot the troublemakers a quick smile of thanks. They were idiots, but they were sweet. Meanwhile, Thrain was rubbing his beard in thought before nodding once.

“Yes, this will do well. In fact, if you make it through all five chambers, I’ll hold a feast in honor and publically accept your union.”

Thorin nodded, still looking rather cross with his father. “As I’d hoped.”

Bilbo found he couldn’t take it anymore. “Now, wait! Wait just a minute! What is this...Trial of Souls?”

Thorin stared at his father for permission, and the king granted it almost the picture of satisfaction. Being a gambler, it made Bilbo largely nervous as Thorin turned back towards him.

“It’s a series of tests to prove two dwarves...or in our case, a dwarf and a hobbit, are Ones.”

Bilbo’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but no words were able to come out.

“Problem, Halfling?” Dis questioned with mock innocence.

“Thorin, a moment if you please.” Bilbo was finally able to say as he pulled his stone-headed husband out into the hall.

“Are you serious?!” He finally rounded on him.

“What?” Thorin questioned.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo fought for the right words without making this worse. “I don’t understand. What exactly do we have to prove? We’re married. Shouldn’t that be enough?!”

Thorin sighed. “It should. You are correct, ibinê (my gem). But don’t you see? It’s perfect! My family will be satisfied by our success at the Trials, and it’ll be irrefutable evidence to the rest of the mountain if any rose to challenge us. And politics aside, I want this for us.”

“Us?” Bilbo repeated too numb to be completely in control of his mouth.

“Yes!” Thorin nodded eagerly. “Couples that pass the Trials of Souls find they become closer than ever. Our...relationship hasn’t been for very long, and I respect that your past is painful to you, but I want to know you azyungel (love of loves). I want to know everything there is to know about my husband, and share myself in return. What do you say?”

Tharkun has always been a curious character. Thorin may only be twenty-three, but he knew enough to recognize at least this fact. First off, he carried himself as neither man nor elf. Thorin has always been amicable to the men of Dale, much to his grandfather’s chagrin. Even to a lesser extent, his own father seemed hesitant over his friendship with Girion’s son. Flawed they may be, Thorin would describe men as a race as being unchiseled rock. Rough, but hiding their true value deep within. He would never use this to describe Tharkun.

Likewise, the elves had an almost ethereal, and in Thranduil’s case, haughty air about them that also didn’t apply to the wizard. Tharkun carried the same wisdom and experience as the ageless race, but he was also warm and wizened like he came to expect of men. He could even argue that Tharkun was secretive and stubborn like his own people if his battle of wits with his grandfather was any indication. Yes, Tharkun was odd. However, he was also kind. He encouraged Thorin’s curiosity of what lay beyond the gates of Erebor with tales of stone giants and great eagles. Battles fought long ago, and hidden lands of green hills and little people.

Thror may look at the eccentric being and sneer, but Thrain and Thorin were in near agreement that Tharkun was a true Khuzdbâha (dwarf-friend). That’s not to say Thorin was blind to the fact that Tharkun was a meddlesome interloper who preferred to speak in riddles. Thorin was third in line for the throne after all, and he knew how to watch for a politician’s half-truths. Still, when the herald rushed into the throne room to announce the arrival of the grey wizard, Thorin found himself fidgeting beside his grandfather’s throne in excitement.

Thrain’s eyes were twinkling as he looked over his father’s head at him. Still his words were reprimantory. 

“Thorin, behave.”

The young prince ducked his head trying his best to calm himself. He still wasn’t quite used to throne room behavior, and was constantly being reminded to behave. His mother was in fits that he had to attend open court at all thinking him still too young. He was proud of the fact that his father was already training him in his duties to the crown. However, he knew his father wouldn’t have sprung it on him at all if it wasn’t for his grandfather’s declining health. 

It was something Thrain and Fris did well to hide from their children, but Thorin wasn’t blind. The days of Thror encouraging Thorin and Frerin in their mischief as they tried to sneak by his office or taking him into the forge to experience his first taste at smithing were far behind him. Now, he could barely catch his grandfather’s attention so absorbed was he in his gold. Even raised to appreciate the might and beauty of Erebor, Thorin had a hard time understanding why his grandfather spent so much time with his gold and gems. Even his smiles and laughter were now replaced with ice glares and harsh words. Thorin loved his grandfather, but he was not so sure that his grandfather loved him anymore. Whatever strange inflection has taken Thror, Thorin hoped Tharkun held the cure.

The doors to the throne room were thrown open once more as Tharkun was escorted down the path with four guards stationed inside. A new precaution his grandfather deemed important to take as of late. Tharkun made no motion that the blatant display of distrust bothered him as he swept his way to the bottom of the steps with a deep bow and wide grin.

“Hail Thror, son of Dain. Hail Thrain, son of Thror. Hail Thorin, son of Thrain. It pleases me greatly to see the sons of Durin in good health and prosperity.”

Thror was content to glare down at the wizard so Thrain took it upon himself to greet their guest.

“Hail Tharkun! If we had known you would be arriving, we would have already pulled out the good mead. As it is, if you intend to join us for dinner tonight, I would see it done.”

“You do know how to tempt me, dear friend. As much as I would like to revel in pleasantries, I believe business must come first.”

“Yes, what storm follows in your wake this time, Tharkun Amsâlakhzar (bringer of bad luck)?” Thror mused.

The room was immediately filled with tension as Tharkun’s eyes narrowed on Erebor’s king in tight scrutiny. He’s never actually seen it in action, but Cousin Fundin, used to tell Thorin stories of Tharkun’s raw power, and how you never anger a wizard. The dwarf prince was half-afraid he was about to get a firsthand account.

“Ha!”

The sudden noise seemed to startle everyone in the room as Thorin turned his head just noticing for the first time that Tharkun did not arrive alone. The strangest being Thorin had ever seen in his life stepped out from behind the wizard. He stood merely an inch or two taller than Thorin which was on the small side for a dwarf. His beardless face, large wooly feet, and slightly pointed ears hidden by bronze curls stood in stark contrast to what Thorin was used to with his own kind having never seen another species of their height. Even his fashion was bizarre with the short trousers, perfectly tailored vest, and a velvet jacket of all things. That’s when Thorin remembered Tharkun’s stories of the little people on the other side of the world. This creature must be a halfling!

“I suppose you had every reason to fear, Grey Wizard, I’ll give you that much.” The halfling snorted, deriving some sort of depravatated humor from the situation.

“And what is this?” Thror demanded.

“Not what, Your Majesty, who. You can be knee deep in a dragon spell, and still have some manners about you.” The smaller male mocked.

Thorin had a detached bewilderment as he watched the impending mine-collapse. His own father didn’t speak to Thror so brazenly, and by the tightened grip on the stone throne, this matter would not be taken lightly. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘dragon spell’?

“How silly of me!” Tharkun forced the diversion even as his hands tightened on his staff. “King Thror, Prince Thrain, Prince Thorin, allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

At this the halfling gave a small nod of his head raising the ire of his grandfather. The smaller male would be lucky to leave with his life if he continued on this way. However, Master Baggins' attention then swept over to Thorin himself, and the halfling seemed caught off-guard for the first time tilting his head just slightly as he blinked slowly. The halfling’s hand immediately went to the golden band on his right hand, and he began to fiddle with it while narrowing his eyes on Thorin. 

“Why is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire in my mountain?” Thror snarled, pulling Thorin’s attention back to his grandfather and the wizard.

“Bilbo has been my traveling companion as of late.” Tharkun smiled, seeming to think the conversation was back on his terms.

“Not voluntarily, mind you.” The halfling grumbled earning a small whack on his back from the wizard’s staff.

Thorin had to duck his head to hide his mirth at the scene, but when he looked back up the halfling was watching him again. This time with more fondness, as he gave the prince a wry grin and a quick wink.

“You see, I asked Mister Baggins to join me because I noticed stirrings to the north.” Tharkun remarked casually enough.

“Stirrings of what?” Thrain asked curiously.

“That my Prince, is the right question.” Tharkun smiled brightly before his face and tone fell grave in the blink of an eye. “The fire-drake, Smaug, is awakening from his slumber, and he seems to be sniffing out a new hoard to bed in even as we speak. If you do not take precautions, I fear his sights may fall to Erebor.”

The wizard’s warning was met with silence. Thorin wouldn’t lie. There was a small part of him that thought this was fantastic news. Nothing exciting ever happens in Erebor! The entire time he’s shadowed his father, it’s been nothing but boring council meetings, numbers and figures, even their trips down to Dale had become tedious. Now, though, there was something exciting to occupy his attention, and he couldn’t deny that part of him that wanted to charge headfirst and face down a dragon to earn his epithet. Thorin Dragonslayer, they would call him!

Outwardly, he portrayed the same concern he could see on his father’s face. Then his grandfather burst into fits of laughter.

“You have told some tall tales, Wizard, but this one steals the prize! A dragon! Next you’re going to tell me Durin’s Bane itself is knocking on my doors.”

“It is no jest, King Thror.” Tharkun insisted with a tight expression.

Thror sobered up some, but still seemed to discredit the grey figure’s words.

“I have been chased from my home by a dragon before. I know the signs. Erebor is prosperous, it will not fall. Especially to a fire-drake that has been extinct for ages!”

“You ignore the signs.” Mister Baggins stepped forth once more. “They are all here, King Under the Mountain, and the fire-breather Smaug lives as well as a few that your people refer to as cold-drakes. Why, it wouldn’t shock me to find Eisigem still sleeps in Dain’s Halls.”

“Enough, you impertinent imp!” Thror cried, jumping to his feet.

Thorin’s hand fell to his sword at his waist along with the other guards even though he was conflicted about attacking Tharkun and his companion. Still, the hobbit offered his grandfather great insult, and he was not about to deny that.

“Who are you to question the word of the king?” Thror demanded.

Mister Baggins’ lips were pressed in a tight line, and once glance at the dark look from Gandalf sealed his sour mood.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Mister Baggins replied in a clipped tone. “I am but a simple hobbit, and it is clear that I overreached my station.”

“A simple hobbit, in the service of this ustar (interferer).”

“Gandalf is an...old friend. He called on me for a favor, and I found myself in the position of being able to fulfill his request.” Mister Baggins offered in response.

Thror gradually seated himself once more, and Thorin relaxed the grip on his blade. Tharkun stepped in at that point, half shielding the smaller being behind his person.

“Bilbo, you see, is something of a dragon expert.” The wizard offered. “I thought his knowledge would benefit Erebor well with the terrible news I’ve brought.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo with renewed interest. A dragon expert? How many of the beasts had he slain to earn such a title? Thorin found himself hungry for the halfling’s story perhaps more so than he ever yearned for Tharkun’s own.

“Aye, a dragon expert.” Thror huffed wryly. “Why he looks more grocer than warrior. Axe or sword, Mister Baggins, what is your choice?”

He smirked darkly in response to the king’s blatant mocking as he continued to fiddle with the ring on his finger in agitation. “Neither. I’m more fond of using my bare hands and teeth.” 

Thror huffed, not impressed with the hobbit’s jest even as Tharkun shifted uncomfortably. 

“Your Majesty, I have not brought Bilbo to advise you on how to slay dragons, but on how to prevent their arrival because Smaug is coming. Perhaps not any time soon, but the treasure beneath your feet will be far too alluring, I fear.” 

A tense silence fell over the room, and Thorin wanted to shut his eyes against the storm he knew to come. If there was one thing he had learned very well, it was that you did not mention gold in Thror’s presence.

“I see.” Came the unexpectedly calm reply. “You have not brought a dragon expert, but a burglar in my mountain. And use your insane theories of dragons as a front to rob me blind!”

“Your Majesty…” Tharkun began before Thror cut him off, banging his fist on his throne.

“SILENCE!” Thror roared. “I ought to kill you now for such insolence.”

“DO NOT THREATEN ME, THROR SON OF DAIN!” 

Like everyone in the room, Thorin shrunk away from the shadows that manifested outwards from Tharkun. Thrain broke protocol to place himself protectively in front of Thorin, and the guards stepped in front of the royal family. None approached Tharkun as they were quickly reminded the wanderer was in fact a wizard of great power.

“I’m not here to rob you!” Tharkun continued before the shadows suddenly died down, and his expression turned soft. “I’m trying to help you.”

There was no movement that followed as all eyes watched the king to see what he would do next. Thorin’s grandfather looked taut as a rope in a pulley. His eyes narrowed as if weighing his chances against the wizard in battle. Thrain’s hand squeezed Thorin’s arm in a reassuring manner, but his eyes remained on Tharkun just as his war hammer remained in his other hand. Thror finally got up and walked to the edge of the dais using its height to tower over Tharkun.

“Get out of my kingdom. You and your abrâfu shaikmashâz (descendent of rats).”

Tharkun’s chin jutted out proudly at the king’s order. Thorin’s eyes sought out the halfling to see how he would react to the slur. Only, the smaller being was no longer behind Tharkun’s cloak. He seemed to be the only one to realize this as his eyes darted over the chamber before finally landing on the halfling’s form. Thorin made a strangled sound in surprise as he jumped away from the throne. All eyes, including Master Baggins’, fell on Thorin as he merely stared in open mouth shock at the being standing on the king’s throne holding the Arkenstone close to his mouth. Almost as if he were speaking to it though Thorin couldn’t make out the words.

“T-THIEF! H-HOW DARE...AKLÂF MENU (curse you)!” Thror sputtered before coming to life and heaving his sword high above his head to smite the halfling.

Thorin could only watch in horror as Bilbo Baggins, dragon expert and friend of Tharkun, remained resolute in his execution, still whispering to the gem. Just when he was about to be struck down, the halfling’s eyes bore into Thror’s own, stopping Thorin’s grandfather in his tracks. It was as if time had been frozen around them. Thorin felt the itch to take a step forward, but Thrain still had his arm securely wrapped around the other. The guards also seemed uneasy about this strange spell being wove around their king and whether they could interfere. Tharkun only watched on with a narrowed, but unsurprised gaze.

Only a few seconds had passed, though they felt like a lifetime, when the Arkenstone’s light dimmed, and iron clattered against the ground. Thorin looked around wildly, but every adult had dropped their weapons and were staring at each other and the halfling with an awed fascination. Thorin looked up at his father as even he loosened his grip breathing deeply as if it were his first out of a long sleep.

“What did you do?” Thrain murmured softly.

The halfling merely hopped off the stone throne, straightening out his vest and jacket before approaching Thror. The king had sunk to his knees, but his blue eyes, the same eyes Thorin had inherited, looked brighter and troubled all at once.

“This is not a jewel, Your Majesty.” Master Baggins began still looking only at the king as he held out the Arkenstone. “This is a petrified dragon heart.”

Gasps rang throughout the room.

“While not as potent as a real dragon heart, it’s been weaving its spell over you all the same. The effects will lessen, though not disappear completely until it’s destroyed. At the very least, I wouldn’t advise putting it back above your head.” The halfling continued to explain as he shoved the stone into Thror’s hands.

“Don’t dragon spells come from locking gazes with the beast?” Thorin asked curiously.

Master Baggins flinched before turning to Thorin with a hard look. His voice, however, was soft and encouraging.

“No, Your Highness. That’s unfortunately a myth. It’s the heartbeat that lulls you.”

“Yes, but...what did you do?” Thrain repeated again.

“I spoke to it in its language and convinced the heart to sleep. Like I said, not a permanent solution, but I do hope it stops the irrational yelling and weapon drawing.”

Thror and Thrain just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You spoke to it…” Thror repeated.

“I did say our friend here was a dragon expert.” Tharkun used this moment to speak up, surprising many who had seemed to forget he was still there.

Thorin watched the hard glare that passed between the two before Master Baggins walked right past the wizard.

“Right, well, if you need me to silence any other madness-inducing gems, I’ll be down in the market. I’m famished.”

The halfling spun on heel, gave a deep bow to the royals, before disappearing out of the hall before anyone could so much as say a word in protest.

“Now, about Smaug…” Tharkun began.

Thror winced as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. 

“Peace Tharkun, it’s been a rather...eventful morning. If you are willing to wait until tomorrow...Erebor would be proud to host you and Master Baggins.”

Thorin stared at his grandfather in shock before a small smile began to split his face. Could it be? Did Tharkun and Master Baggins truly fix Thror? Tharkun’s approving smile managed to give Thorin hope that they had achieved the impossible.

“As His Majesty wishes.” Tharkun bowed.

Thror looked to be trying hard not to roll his eyes as he stepped out through the side entrance. Thrain immediately followed, dragging Thorin along behind him even as the younger prince turned to wave goodbye to Tharkun. Once they were in the relative privacy of the royal halls, Thror wrapped Thrain up in a hug.

“Makkê, birashagammi (My son, I’m sorry).”

Thrain didn’t say anything in return. Just clutched his father a little tighter and if either of the dwarrows were crying, Thorin pretended not to see. Instead he was practically vibrating in his desire to be dismissed so he could tell Frerin, Narvi, and Falvi. Obviously something as amazing as meeting a dragon expert was too big to keep from his best friends in the whole mountain.

“I have no patience to keep up appearances for the rest of the day. I would like to retire and actually enjoy my family once more.” Thror’s voice brought Thorin back to the present conversation just in time for a large grin to split his face.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Each of the races have their own views on soulmates and how you go about finding them. However, all seem to agree that to find a soulmate is a very special thing. To find the one person who you can trust with your whole heart and soul. That’s why to the dwarves, they called these people, Ones. None would ever consider betraying their Ones as that seemed a cruelness beyond even that of the orcs. Which is why King Durin stood in the high chamber of the court of Khazad-dûm staring down at the small figure below with such shock and fear, many feared a light breeze could topple their usually infallible king.

The curly haired creature in chains returned the king’s stare with heartbreaking indifference. Many of the court began to chant prayers to Mahal that this was not to be so. That the One of their dear king wouldn’t dare do that which he was accused. Durin’s flat and breathless voice finally spoke, silencing all in the hall.

“Madoc son of Maloch of the Holbyta Tribe Fallohide, you stand before the King of Khazad-dûm as the sole conspirator and thief of the Arkenstone. One of the great treasures of our kingdom. What plea do you make in your defense?”

With no hesitation, no change in emotion, the small being stated the same line Durin’s heard since his capture.

“I love you.”

The king leaned forward to bow his head as he gripped the stone podium tighter. 

“Madoc, this is serious!” Durin’s most trusted advisor, Gelbim, spoke up. “You have taken a sacred relic from our halls, and not just any, but the one that has the power to bring ruin upon our city and our people! Your crime is punishable by death. For the love of Mahal and the great Valar, please, tell us where you’ve hidden the Arkenstone.”

Durin slowly brought his eyes up as the silence persisted to see a small break in Madoc’s mask. His jaw trembled and a single tear leaked from his soft hazel eyes that Durin had loved from the moment he met him. 

“I...love...you.” He sobbed.

That was the moment Durin’s heart broke. Not shattered completely though. No, unfortunately that particular pain would come later that week when Madoc’s sentence was being carried out. But this...this was the first of a pain that would never desist.

“How can you when you hurt me so?” Durin asked softly, yet his words carried through the chamber as Madoc bowed his head in defeat. “You are given a traitor’s sentence. Death with no chance to appeal. Your name will not be spoken aloud again, your hair will be shorn and removed of any braids and beads, and your body will be burned rather than returned to the land and stone. In the Eyes of Mahal, so mote it be.”

Gelbim, his dear friend, told him he didn’t need to attend. None would think less of their king. Durin wished he had listened. He couldn’t bear to watch, but the sound of the axe going straight through his One’s neck would haunt him for the rest of his life. As it was, he stumbled to his chambers to fall and not rise from their marital bed for weeks after. When he resumed his reign, the toll of losing heart and soul was apparent to all. 

Durin became hardened in the final years of his reign. He demanded every ounce of mithril in the mountain to be pulled up and sold it to his allies for too high a price. What he didn’t sell, he forged. Weapons, jewelry, a particular handsome mailshirt, and if it were all the same size as his beloved holbyta? Well, none had it in them to point it out to their fading king. As demanded of a traitor’s death, the name Madoc was stricken from all records and replaced with the Amrâb Hufrel or “the soul’s betrayal of all betrayals”. The rest of the Fallohide tribe which was camped near the Misty Mountains was forced to pack up and resume their nomadic lifestyle west or face war with the dwarves. The sorrows of Durin were not to stop there. 

“The goblins of the Deep grow bolder.” Gelbim remarked as they watched the latest battalion return battered and worse for wear.

“Without the Arkenstone, they will not stop.” Durin growled.

“Durin, my friend, we’ve sent quest after quest after the gem. Wherever M-the Amrâb Hufrel has hidden it, we may not ever find it. It may be time to consider...alternatives.”

“What alternative is there aside from leaving my mountain and my mithril!” Durin spat.

Gelbim raised an eyebrow at his answer. “And is that worth more than the lives of your kin?”

Durin froze before spinning around quick as a flash. “Leave if that is your wish! This has been the home of MY line since the reign of Durin I and I WILL NOT GO!”

Go, Gelbim did taking a third of his kingdom with him including the young Prince Thrain and his mother. Crown Prince Nain, Durin’s only stone son, could not be moved to leave his father to his fate even as he saw the heartless path he wrought. For in their quest for more mithril, an ancient evil slumbering deep below the rock was awoken. The king led a frantic charge against the beast and was slain almost instantly. The war against Durin’s Bane lasted a year longer, but when the newly instated King Nain, was slain, the mountain and its riches were abandoned. In the lore of Durin’s folk, this was the first great curse of the Amrâb Hufrel’s theft.

Durin, who welcomed his death with open arms, awoke expecting to find the Halls of His Father. Instead, the nervous face of his treacherous One amongst a starry plane was the first sight he was graced with. 

“Oh Durin, my heart…” The holbyta began taking a step forward.

“You!” The king snarled, moving away as quickly as he could.

The Amrâb Hufrel looked miserable as his face twisted in anguish. “Please let me explain…”

“NOW YOU WISH TO EXPLAIN!” Durin boomed. “You had your chance! You had every opportunity to tell of your nefarious schemes, and instead you mocked me. You mocked my kingdom, a kingdom you once called yours. Well look at it now! All because of you!”

The creature before him was truly wretched and small as he hunkered against every blow Durin dealt. And the dwarf was yet to be finished.

“Peace, my son.” Came a great voice from above that Durin instantly recognized as His Father even having never heard it before. “You have made your point. Now let your Sanâzyung (Perfect/True Love) say his piece.”

“NO!” Durin roared against the very heavens themselves. “I don’t want to have anything to do with this...this...Amrâb Hufrel!”

Thunder rumbled, shaking the entire platform they stood upon. And while the holbyta trembled in the face of such power, Durin’s anger was too great to be cowed.

“You would reject this gift we offer, son of Aulë?” A female voice demanded, icy and iron.

“What gift?” Durin sneered. “Unless you offer me the chance to sever his head myself this time, I see no gift here.”

The other creature of blood released a gasp that was more like a sob, but Durin had no more patience for the likes of him. In fact, he had nothing left to give to him. Something that became apparent to the Valar watching.

“You have become cruel.” Another, softer female voice soothed. “You know only the truths you have seen with your own eyes.”

“And it is enough for me to condemn that thing and the Great Valar that thought to join my soul with it! Damn him and DAMN ALL OF YOU!”

If Durin expected the same booming show of power he received previously, he was sorely disappointed. Instead, it just all seemed to fade away. The stars, the platform, and the holbyta. His sorrowful face full of tears was the last thing Durin saw before he was swallowed by the darkness. The darkness allowed no sound, not even from Durin’s own voice, and no escape. He was unsure how long he wavered in that place: hours, weeks, years? He was utterly and completely alone until finally the voice of His Father broke through.

“You have shamed me, my uzfakuh (great joy). You have shamed me, you have shamed yourself, and you have shamed your Sanâzyung.”

Durin knew he could not speak back, but he still fumed at the Great Smith’s words. 

“We have thought long and hard on how you can atone for the atrocities you’ve committed today.”

And what of the Amrâb Hufrel’s atrocities?

“Your path will not be an easy one, especially if you hold tight to the stubborn slights of your mortal heart. For a soul is worth so much more. You and your Sanâzyung shall be reborn over and over as many times as needed until you can right the wrongs between you and hear the truth of his soul.”

Durin felt a burning on his breast and looked down to behold a glowing oak tree being inked in chains.

“You shall carry this mark in every life of yours henceforth, and it shall know the mark of Madoc in return. Only free of the chains that bind your soul, will you be welcome in my Halls.”

The legend of Durin’s curse and the theft of the Amrâb Hufrel passed down through the centuries until it had inscribed all dwarven mothers with fear. For any child to bear the mark of Durin was to lead a loveless and empty life. Likewise, any “hobbits” as they preferred that met with the dwarves were met with open hostility. Especially if they bore their own mark, though none knew for certain if it was Madoc’s or not. Still, the hobbits learned fast and stories of their own circulated that any child bearing an acorn on their palm would be hunted and killed by the dwarves. So as the stories grew wilder and edged with desperation, Durin and Madoc were reborn again and again just as Aulë promised, but were no closer to breaking the curse that bound them so.

Bilbo may be back in the Shire, but he was far from feeling at home. He would NEVER interact with dwarves again. What did this adventure get him anyways? Back pain that continued to flare up, a tighter belt, an unfortunate wariness of the outside world, and a heartache that seemed to cut deeper and bruise wider than when his own parents died. Because Bilbo would overlook everything, the complaints, the harsh elements, the danger, if the sons of Durin had lived. But they hadn’t. Bilbo would have to go forward in this world knowing that every timeless rescue mattered to nothing in the end. Thorin does not get to walk the mountain halls he fought to reclaim as king. Fili and Kili do not get to carry their unbridled enthusiasm into future adventures of their own. It wasn’t fair. Yet, somehow life went on.

Resuming his life in the Shire didn’t happen overnight. To start with, Bilbo had to hunt down, barter, bribe, and in some cases, threaten to get all of his possessions returned to Bag End. It was nearly a month before everything was back in its place from before the adventure. And he made sure of that. He couldn’t take a single reminder of that awful battle. He squirreled away the chest, the shield, the chainmail, the coat, his sword, all into his mother’s glory box. Only his ring which sat snugly in his waistcoat pocket was allowed to remain in his life.

Yet, the memories still flooded him. Haunted his dreams, oozed out of his dining room table, his front door, his fireplace. Sleepless nights became a dear friend, and nightmares his well-acquainted nemesis. Gandalf said he wouldn’t be the same when he came back, but he had hoped for...something more. He was starting to become unsociable, and quite frankly, he didn’t care. The nearly hostile indifference of missing parties and tea invitations was probably what his fellow hobbits were most put-out about. That and the fact that he disappeared so suddenly and was still unmarried.

No, it was another three months before Bilbo could find solstice in gardening again. He sobbed the entire time he planted that damn acorn, and it was another week before he felt brave enough to tend to it. His books and his armchair, on the other hand, he threw himself into with great abandon. Let him be carried off to places where the heroes didn’t die. Where the adventure led to love and happiness. It soothed his mind, but it wrecked his heart. 

Bilbo’s birthday came and passed without any fanfare much to his neighbors’ and relatives’ ruffled feathers. Weeks later, he got his first letter from Bofur in congratulations. Bilbo became immediately familiar with his father’s vintage. He didn’t dare write back.

Durin’s Day, a dwarvish date he will now never forget, came about a month later along with more letters from Balin and Ori. He nearly broke then, but a reminder of what happens when you let dwarves into your life convinced him to leave that chapter of his life closed. 

Bilbo could not remember a more miserable Yule, but at least Bombur’s children and Gimli seemed to enjoy it if the letters he received were any indicator.

It took a year. An entire year of existing in Bag End watching the little sapling out front grow for Bilbo to finally return correspondence. Dori made it relatively easy for him asking about the tea blends he had noticed when they pilfered his pantry. After that, easing back into his friends’ lives just seemed to be the next logical step. Especially when unwritten ground rules were firmly established: no mentions of the quest, no mentions of Dain’s rule over Erebor, no mentions of who they lost. Yet, he needed some form of closure. Something to allow him to move on. So after returning letters to the remaining ten members of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company (and wasn’t that a surprise to receive Dwalin’s letter), he decided he needed to write three more. Three letters that would never reach their intended audience. 

Fili and Kili’s letters were...relatively smooth. It was like playing a game of pretend. Asking after their adventures, wondering how they were taking to court life, asking Kili about that elf guard. Yes, it hurt. It hurt terribly, but it was also somehow therapeutic to his soul. Then, he pulled over that third parchment and his hand shook leaving a rather large drop of ink on the page. There was a gasping, wounded animal somewhere outside distracting him, and it took far longer than he was proud of to release it was coming from him. He let the quill clatter on the desk as he put his head in his hands. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pretend that Thorin was alive and well in Erebor, and he wasn’t there with him!

A shaky, rather hystic laugh bubbled out. He never admitted that to himself before. Bag End was always the endgame, but somewhere along the way, it had changed to Thorin. Perhaps that’s why he still struggled with the concept of home. His was gone forever. It was with that unpleasant thought that Bilbo retired to bed, twelve complete letters and one not started. Perhaps never to be written. 

Yet, fate seemed it was not quite through with Bilbo. Looking back, Bilbo deemed it a rather ironic twist. Upon the next day, Bilbo received a knock on his door and opened it to reveal three unfamiliar dwarves.

“Good morning.” He greeted with narrowed eyes.

The three exchanged glances and turned towards the blue sky before nodding in agreement.

“So it is.” The larger one on the left huffed. “Are you, by chance, Mr. Bilbo Baggins? The one who helped reclaim Erebor?”

Bilbo almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Instead, he balled his hands at his hips as he raised himself as tall as his three foot ten frame would allow.

“No. My answer is no.”

“Master Baggins?” The dwarf in the middle gasped. “I don’t think we…”

“You are here to invite me on some whirlwind adventure. That’s all any dwarves that appear at my door want, and I’ll not have it! I had my adventure, and it’s left me none the better. I dare not imagine what another would do to me, so go and bother some other hobbit!”

Bilbo moved to slam his door shut when the last dwarf stopped it with his foot. The hobbit glared at his audacity. Yet, the red-haired dwarf pushed his luck.

“Please Master Baggins. We’ve traveled far, and the King of Erebor told us you’re the only one who can help us.”

“Dain sent you?” Bilbo scoffed.

“No, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo felt his limbs go limp and the air disappeared from the room. Everything seemed to fall away except for the fast pace his heart set in his chest. 

“That’s impossible.” He finally croaked, his voice sounding dead and flat to his own ears. “Thorin Oakenshield is dead. I saw him die with my own eyes.”

“No, Master Baggins.” The first dwarf stepped in at this point. “He lives...though he couldn’t return to Erebor. We can take you to him...if you agree to help with our plight.”

“THORIN OAKENSHIELD IS DEAD!” Bilbo wailed. 

He was certain all of Hobbiton could hear him at this point, but impropriety was the furthest thing from his mind. Tears spilled from his eyes blurring the faces of the unknown dwarves. Three faces he was already learning to hate. How dare they say something so cruel. How dare they deliver news that, if true, belonged to his Company to divulge. How dare they allow hope to root in his battered heart. He squeezed his eyes shut pleading that when they opened these awful dwarves would be gone.

“Master Baggins,” the middle one sighed. “We know our words will not reach past your grief, no matter how true they are. So we bring this. Thorin told us it would convince you.”

Something small, round, and smooth was pressed into his hand. He knew the texture immediately and nearly fell over from the shock that rocked him to his core. When he looked back up at the dwarves, they were watching him with knowing smug looks.

“We’ve made camp at the bridge just east of town. If you decide to hear us out, you can find us there.”

Finally, finally, the dwarves took their leave like the thieves they were. They robbed Bilbo of his morning, nicked at his sanity, and now they’ve stolen the truth with them. For in his sweating palm was the one object that would sway Bilbo to the idea Thorin may still live, and left him with more questions than ever. Slowly, he dared to look down at the acorn in his palm.

“It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire.”

“Plant your trees and watch them grow.”

Thorin was the only one who had seen his acorn, and both conversations had been private between the two of them. It could be a trick. A supremely lucky guess. After all, he was “Oakenshield”. However, if Thorin actually did live, was it not plausible he would use such a sign? Bilbo clenched his fist and shook his head. He couldn’t allow such thoughts to fester. Thorin was dead. Thorin was dead. Thorin was dead...but what if he wasn’t?

Bilbo paced back and forth with his pipe for the next three hours, but ultimately, he knew he had to speak to those dwarves again if he wanted answers. He took the mail and his sword because he didn’t trust them completely. He stuffed a pack because there was the possibility of not making it back to Bag End before dark, and he may have to make camp. If he overpacked like he was going on a journey, it was simply to be overly prepared. Before he stepped out his round door once more though, he had one last piece of business to take care of. He returned to his writing desk where his unfinished letter sat blank and ink stained. He dipped his quill in the well and wrote three simple sentences.