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"We're nearly there."
Thorin gave Dáin a dubious look as he snatched back the hastily sketched map, quickly checking the words that were scrawled on there. "...Right?"
"Oh, sure," Dáin paused and then gave his cousin a shake of his head. "Nearly there."
Thorin grumbled at him as he pushed a grey strand of hair from his face, reading to himself.
"Cross The Water...we did that. Continue on until you've reached The Hill-"
"This place is only bloody hills," grumbled Dáin, peeking over Thorin's shoulder.
"Not helping," growled Thorin, squinting at the scribble of lines. Not because he couldn't read it, Dáin guessed. Dwarves had keen eyes, especially on dark nights like this one. He probably just couldn't make heads nor tails of that blasted wizard's scribbling.
They'd been at this for hours, traveling to and fro in this peaceful little corner of Muthurkâmin. Dáin wouldn't have minded much if they weren't on a schedule. The Shire was a quaint place with quiet streams and soft grass. The absolute last place he suspected a professional Burglar to come from.
"Straight to the top with an old oak tree, green door beneath and there you'll be, " Dáin groaned after reading that. "No wonder we're lost."
"Not lost," added Thorin, folding the map closed. "We'll get there eventually, Mahal willing. I half suspect we're just being led in circles as some sort of game."
Dáin nodded sagely. "What else did you expect, getting directions from a wizard?" he asked as they continued on in the gathering dusk. "Especially from Tharkûn, of all people? We both know he's not one to give a proper answer to anyone, Thorin, nor help lest it benefits him somehow. Not t'mention he's rather fond of tricks."
Thorin snorted softly, seeming about to say something but catching himself at the last minute.
Dáin sighed, knowing he'd said something wrong but unable to figure out what. Thorin was already beginning to settle into that hard quiet that Dáin had come to know only too well. Glazed eyes and a dour frown, staring off at nothing and thinking on everything. His mind on a lone peak crowned with clouds of purple...
"At least he's given us directions," Dáin continued, trying to pull his cousin back. "S'better than stooping over every door, looking for this Burglar's Mark."
"We'd be thrown out quick enough," Thorin agreed with a small smile, his shoulders relaxing and his mind returning to the present. Dáin nodded with a smile of his own. It seemed he'd yet to lose his touch.
After a time they passed through what looked like a market place, with empty stalls and nothing locked. That made Dáin pause.
"Trusting folk, these Halflings?" he asked. Was there really a burglar to be had amongst people like this?
Thorin look back and cocked his chin in the distance, "Not as much as we think, it seems."
Dáin subtly followed his cousin's line of sight, spotting a short fellow with a lantern a ways back from where they'd come. It was a long distance, but Dáin could tell they were suspicious simply by the way they held themselves. Chin up and legs spread wide. He turned back to Thorin, who had an insulted look on his face.
"Do we look like thieves or beggars? " he all but spat. Dáin grabbed his arm. It was stiff beneath his grip
"Well, we are standing in an empty market in the middle of the night," he said, placating. "Come now, let's find this damnable place already."
Taking a deep breath, Thorin nodded curtly and scanned the horizon.
"There." he said, pointing to the north. High above the rest was a tall hill with a speck of a tree at the top.
Dáin smiled and slapped his palm on Thorin's back.
" Now we're getting somewhere!" he exclaimed. "Better late than never, eh?"
As they began to make their way to their new destination, Dáin chanced a look behind them. All he caught of the suspicious fellow was the tip of a feather disappearing around the bend.
Good. Sod off. They were doing no wrong.
They continued on, talking of family and friends as they went. Dáin was surprised to hear that Thorin's nephews would be coming along on this quest as well.
"Dís must be beside herself," Dáin commented, expecting his other cousin to be pacing holes in the ground of Ered Luin as they spoke. Thorin just shook his head.
"They are both old enough to make their own decisions on the matter," he said in a stiff, rehearsed voice. Dáin suspected he'd had plenty of practice before going to his sister. "They are the heirs to Erebor. They deserve to see their homeland."
Dáin grunted in agreement, mulling over whether now was a good time to ask about what had plagued him since meeting Thorin in Bree. Since leaving his home.
"So," Dáin began slowly, watching Thorin carefully. "Are you going to finally tell me how that old wizard managed to convince you to do this? I did come all the way from the Iron Hills to find out."
There was an awkward silence between them. They'd reached the base of the tall hill by then, and were climbing up the path curving up the slope when Thorin spoke. His voice was small.
"Did you pass by it?" he asked unexpectedly. Thorin didn't have to name it for Dáin to know what he spoke if. The pain and want in the words was more than enough. 'Erebor' suddenly seemed to hang like a reaper above their heads.
"No," answered Dáin. "I took the trade road south, through Dunland an' the Brownlands as I always have." He looked Thorin up and down. "You spoke of returning to Erebor in your letters."
"I did. "Thorin said.
Dáin harrumphed, abandoning beating around the bush. "You say things like that. How the wyrm has left! But a dragon unseen isn't a dragon gone, Thorin, an' how d'you think you're getting in? What exactly has the grey wizard promised you?"
There didn't need to be any more said between the two on the matter of a certain wizard. Though each respected and feared him-as anyone with a lick of sense did when it came to wizards- neither had the best opinion of him. Nor did they trust him completely. Dáin especially began to recall every instance he'd told the old sorcerer to bugger off when his advice began to sound too much like badgering. He'd already lost count as they passed the first door in the hill, painted a garish yellow
Thorin didn't speak. They passed the second door, the third, with a small light in the window, the fourth, and the fifth.
"Thorin," said Dáin.
He didn't reply
The sixth and the seventh passed by, followed by the eighth. When the oak tree was finally beginning to look like a proper tree, Thorin paused in the road.
"He promised me hope," he finally answered. "Not a trick. A hope I haven't had for over two centuries." He turned to Dáin with an grim look, as if he suspected an argument. Dáin wished to, more than he could say he wished he could convince his cousin how foolish this entire plan was.
But it wasn't his place. It wasn't his loss. If it were his home that had been taken, would he be able to listen to reason if told he could get it back?
Not a bloody chance.
Digging the foot his iron leg into the dirt for purchase, Dáin winked as he strutted ahead of his cousin, "Then let's get heading there already."
He heard an exhale and the thumping of boots as Thorin ran up after him. He was smiling, wider and truer than Dáin could recall. For some odd reason, it made him more sad than anything.
"I knew I could count on you, Dáin," said Thorin. "I'm glad to have you here."
Dáin waved a hand, "Yes, yes. We're family, Thorin. An' I'm not about to let you go off an' do something foolish without me...Now, is this the place?"
They'd finally reached the crest of the hill, and stood before a gate with a well kept garden behind it. Even further back, hidden among flowers and leaves, was a round green door. A bright square of light sat on the ground near the window, and loud familiar voices floated toward them in the dark.
"Indeed it is," said Thorin, already pushing the gate open as Dáin followed close behind.
"Don't be nervous now." Dáin said.
Thorin scoffed, pulling himself together as they reached the door. True to their guess, in the corner near the bottom glowed a cirth rune like a small bit of moonlight on the wooden door. "I don't get nervous." he stated, matter-of-factly.
"Just like you don't get lost, aye?"
Thorin knocked hard and quick with the side of his fist on the round green door, ignoring Dáin's little quip. There was a sudden hush from inside.
"There's a door bell, y'know," commented Dáin with a sly smile. He was treated to an amusing blush along his cousin's neck and a withering look.
"I take it back," said Thorin, calmly. "Make sure to send a raven when you return to the Iron Hills."
"You need me here, don't deny it," laughed Dáin.
And the door opened.
Notes
*Shirrifs were the sole law enforcement officials in the Shire and the main branch of the Watch. Since in the Shire law was based solely on common sense and ancient tradition, it was not broken. It was the Shirriffs' job to protect the Shire from trespassers more than anything. There were a total of twelve in all of the Shire, three in each Farthing, and they were distinguished from "civilians" by a feather worn in their caps
*Tharkûn= the name given to Gandalf by the Dwarves. It means 'Staff-man' in Khuzdul
*Muthurkâmin= Middle-Earth in Khuzdul