And I'm back. I always liked the idea of Thorin being a majestic bad $$ that cannot help to be regal and dignified with zero sense of direction.
Maybe he just likes to pretend he's fashionably late. The company knows better than to bring it up.
Don't own, of course. Purely for entertainment.
Thorin son of Thrain was truly tired of this accursed place. With rolling hills and twisting paths the dwarf king could not comprehend how anyone was able to find their way in this so-called haven of the north.
No matter what anyone said, Thorin would not admit he was lost. But he couldn't deny that he had hoped to cross paths with one of his kinsmen on the way to this hobbit's home.
Gandalf had said that their potential burglar had offered to host the company for the night. This would be the first time the company would see each other in two weeks, while he went to the gathering in Ered Luin. During this time the company had the chance to finish personal affairs before crossing half of Middle Earth.
And then their quest would begin. Thorin was not looking forward to sharing the bad news from the meeting, but it did not change much to him. The loyalty of the dozen dwarves he was heading toward meant more to exiled king than he could ever share. Even if he could find the words, he would never tell them anyway. It would just go to their heads.
He still had a reputation to maintain.
Thorin was pulled from brooding as he walked his pony into a small market. The day was waning and there were few hobbits still in the area, shop keepers and farmers packing up the stalls for the day.
Most of the hobbits pretended to ignored him, stealing questioning glances and sharing curious whispers. Some children stared blankly from behind tables and their mothers' skirts. The dwarf king wasn't surprised. He had never dealt with hobbits before, but knew them to be a private, wary bunch.
Thorin threw back his hood, holding his head up high. To his left was a small pub with the early crowd already in attendance. The sign had no words only what looked to be a green serpent painted on it.
The Green Dragon. There, not lost at all. This was the start of his more detailed directions. The stone bridge was just to his right as he was told.
It shouldn't be far now. Thorin walked his pony down the path. It was still early evening and there was no rush. According to the directions that were sent to him the burglar's home shouldn't be more than a mile away from the pub. There was no way he could miss it.
No matter what his nephews said about his poor sense of direction.
Fili and Kili, Thorin's mind suddenly clouded with worry. His nephews were strong and skilled, but young. Very young. Kili barely had his passage of adulthood. Fili should come; the throne to Erebor was his birthright. He had the right to see it back unto its former glory. Not that anyone could have kept him away and where Fili went Kili was right next to him.
But they had done traveling around Ered Luin before, escorting merchants and travelers to local towns of Men. It struck him deep that the princes of last kingdom of dwarves had to be hired out like common mercenaries to support themselves and their mother. If all went as planned, it would never have to be that way again.
He had promised Dis to watch over them. The boys' previous jobs had only lasted a week, two at the most, on the road. And there was never a dragon at the end of it. They both would have a lot to learn on this journey.
Brego abruptly stopped short, throwing his head with a snort when a cat darted across his path. The pony was easily calmed then Thorin got a good look at his surroundings. Cursing himself for not paying more attention. Here he was worrying if his nephews were too naive for this trip and now he was acting like a novice himself.
The land was no longer as hilly as before. Instead there were fields of crops in every direction as far as he could see in the dark, the sun having completely set in his distraction.
Damn, I didn't realize I came so far, Thorin thought. He turned back and kicked Brego into a trot. However it would not be as simple as he hoped. The road forked along the way, one went up the hill and the other swung wide towards its base. Thorin didn't know which way he had come or even if it was the right road to begin with.
The normally resourceful dwarf was grasping at straws now. It was too dark to see the tracks on the road, not that it would matter. This path was far too traveled for him to discern Brego's prints from any others.
It was now pinch black out, the only light leaked from various homes and the full moon. Thorin took a guess, taking the lower trail. He was definitely late now.
His sturdy pony trotted rapidly down the path through some narrow stone walls out to the edge of the lake.
Durin's Beard. Where is this stupid hole, Thorin cursed. His original directions said the door looked out over the water, not next to it. The path continued twisting and turning, the dwarf started when Brego's hooves suddenly clopped on wood for a few paces then back to the trail. Around a corner, Thorin heard raucous laughter, a sound he was very familiar with.
He had found his way back to the Green Dragon. How did he manage that? The dwarf had gone in a circle around the perimeter of Hobbiton.
His stomach growled as he whiffed the delicious smells carrying from the tavern and with ever increasing frustration, Thorin trotted over the stone bridge, back where he started.
This was not the start he pictured to reclaiming his homeland.
But he was not completely out of luck, another of the various hobbits sat outside his home. Thorin rode over to the gate the hobbit sat behind.
The hobbit sat, smoking a pipe, looking out into the night. Not noticing the dwarf lord until the other was right in front of him. With a squeak the hobbit realized that dark, imposing figure was staring at him intently. "Good evening," he said awkwardly looking away, hoping the dwarf would leave him alone. It was not often strange beings entered the Shire, though dwarves were not unheard of.
With no other choice, the mighty Oakenshield did what no male being ever enjoyed doing.
Asking for directions.
Thorin took a deep breath as nicely as he could asked, "Excuse me, could you point me in the direction of Beg End?" He tried to resist his eye twitching when the hobbit jumped at the sound of his voice.
"I, . .I don't know of Beg End, but Bag End is up a mile. Just under the tree on the hill."
Gazing up the way the hobbit gestured the lost dwarf tried to spy a tree on a hill in the night. He turned to ask more detailed directions only to hear the door lock click behind the hobbit.
Jumpy creatures, these hobbits. Thorin did not have high hopes for this Bilbo Baggins if all hobbits were like this.
He almost missed Bag End again, just noticing the symbol on the door as he rode past. Finally, He found the right hobbit hole. The mark Gandalf must have left shone brightly in the dark.
The dwarf dismounted and tied his pony in the little courtyard, he would sent one of his nephews to care for him directly. (Normally he would do it himself, but he had to admit he was starving).
A round, green door with a wizard's mark. There was no mistaking it. This was the burglar's home. It sounded as though he was the last to arrive, he could hear his kin making a racket through the wooden door. With a heavy hand the dwarf knocked a few times, smirking to himself as the din from inside died out.
Thorin looked at the view from the doorway, from there he could see the lake and over to the right was the Green Dragon. It truly was not far, but this little trek had been adventure in itself. Trying to find the elusive door.
"Ah, Gandalf," He said as the wizard opened the door, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."
Thorin unclasped his cloak, passing it to Kili. He sent his nephews a rare smile, the crotchety dwarf was thankful the boys, and everyone else, made it here without a problem. Then he heard another voice, looking to see the owner of the home.
This hobbit didn't look any different from the others he had seen today, nor did this tiny creature look like he had ever seen a blade bigger than a dinner knife. Let alone fought with one.
"So, this is the Hobbit?"
I can't do just plain humor apparently (at least I hope it was humorous). All this other stuff wormed its way in, though Thorin is far too serious and broody for just humor. Bonus points to those that got my LOTR reference.