Thorin Oakenshield was perfectly capable of following directions thank you very much. He could still tell you every possible route to get around in Erebor, even after a century of not being there. It was complete poppycock that he was unable to use a map, these people just didn't know how to properly draw one out. Honestly, whoever heard of such a ridiculous system as these Shirefolk had, with their squiggly paths and utter lack of order.
Had they even heard of street signs? He glared angrily at the dirt track in front of him where it split into three separate directions, and the distinct lack of signage in the immediate vicinity. Sighing heavily, he again pulled out the tattered map that the wizard had given him, wondering how this split differed from any of the others. There was no way to tell which one he was at, no landmarks that would set it apart. He was surrounded by hills, each as like to the other as the folk that dwelt under them.
Giggling suddenly broke the silence that had enveloped him, and he growled under his breath. Now they were laughing at him? The nerve! He couldn't even tell which direction it was coming from, it seemed to reverberate off the hills until the noise about filled his ears.
Making a hasty decision, he strode abruptly off along the left path, intent on getting away from the irritating sound, and crashed right into a pair of staggering youth. They were bowled to the ground, and it was when they stayed there, laughing uproariously, that he realized they were drunk. They had likely not been laughing at him at all. In fact, it appeared that they didn't notice him towering over them.
"Pal, we, we can, nap when we get home," the one slurred out, his dark hair flopped over his face as he attempted to right himself.
His friend, the aptly named 'Pal', seemed marginally less inebriated, for he managed to get to his feet and reached out a hand to his downed companion. "C'mon Sar, haha, get up you dolt." He swayed as he took the weight of the dark-haired one, his own blond locks bouncing around wildly.
'Sar' looked up when he was nearly off the ground again, suddenly noticing the stranger that was eying them with well disguised amusement. He tugged on his friends arm insistently. "Pal, pal, isn't that yer wife?" he chortled.
'Pal' turned to examine the stranger intently, though Thorin was certain that from the glazed look in his eyes he wasn't seeing much. "Nah, m'wife's prettier," he said at last, his voice ringing with drunken certainty. Thorin was torn between feeling amused or insulted, and he snorted in exasperation.
"Uhoh," 'Sar' giggled. "You, haha, you gone and done it now. She's gonna make you, heehee, gonna make you sleep inna yard." At that pronouncement the two began howling with laughter and stumbled off, their arms slung around each others shoulders. They were quickly out of sight, and Thorin took a moment to be glad he had not asked them for directions. He doubted they could find their own backsides right now.
Thorin continued on his way, no less lost than he had been before, but with a reluctant smile on his face. He remembered a time when his nephews had been that drunk, and the interesting evening that had followed. Kili had gotten very loving, proclaiming his devotion to all who would listen, while Fili began making a serious and rather convoluted speech, the message of which was unclear even to this day.
The dwarf king was jerked out of his musings by a scuffling in the bushes that bordered the road. He instinctively drew his sword, heart pounding as he pictured what sort of vagabond could be concealed in the foliage. The sounds continued, and whatever creature it was seemed unwilling to come out and face him, making him quite aggravated. He crept towards the bush, poking his sword in and stirring the leaves a little to try and catch it unawares.
Next thing he knew he was letting out a startled yelp (which he would have denied if anyone had witnessed it), as a furious tom cat tore out of its refuge and charged at him with a hiss. He swore, giving it a light whack with the flat of the blade and watching in satisfaction as it darted away into the night. This right here was why he disliked cats. Far too cantankerous he decided, conveniently forgetting that he was the one who had provoked it.
Feeling more annoyed by the second, and thoroughly tired of unexpected surprises, Thorin kept his head up and turning, determined to remain alert now to his surroundings. Despite this, he was still unprepared for the sight of a large tree suddenly looming out of the dark. It was a ways away yet, but it was the first object to break up the monotony of the place, so he dragged out the map and prayed it was on there somewhere.
Thank Mahal, there it was. The tree, marked clearly in the center of the map, and underneath it a tiny dwarven rune. How had he missed that? Not that it mattered of course, for until he found the tree the rune would have made his search no easier. His steps quickened, and he rounded the large hill that was topped by his only landmark, stopping to look with satisfaction on the glowing rune on the door ahead of him.
Thorin pushed the gate aside carefully, feeling in a much better mood now that rest and a meal were shortly at hand. He went right up to the smartly painted green door and gave three hard raps to its solid surface, listening as the merry noise from within ceased abruptly. The door swung open, revealing his company backed by the wizard.
"Gandalf," he greeted the man pleasantly. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I daresay I ended up taking the long way around." He made no mention of how many times he had gotten lost, or the drunken miscreants he had encountered, not to mention the cat. After all, Thorin Oakenshield was perfectly capable of following directions.