Disclaimer: This story wasn't just written by me. It was co-authored by my friend Arabella, so she gets half credit, if not more. The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit both belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. We don't own anything in it. And if we did, certain people would still be alive. You know who we're talking about.
NOTE: A lot of people who know LOTR have been wrong about the plural of the word 'dwarf.' According to Tolkien, the "real 'historical'" plural of dwarf is dwarrows or dwerrows. He referred to dwarves as "a piece of private bad grammar".
Chapter One:
Bilbo Baggins sat in Thorin's tent as the dwarven prince slept. Bilbo had spent most of the past few days tending to the rather large hole in Thorin's stomach, caused by Azog the orc's metal claw.
As a surprise to all, Thorin healed quickly and would be fully healed in a few months. He would be able to get out of bed in a week.
As Thorin slept, Bilbo looked up at him and smiled at the sleeping Dwarven prince who would soon be king. Bilbo continued writing in his small leather journal, detailing the adventures he had gone through. He wrote of when the trolls captured them, when they were chased by wargs, and many other times in their adventure, but there was one moment he hesitated to put in, the ring.
Bilbo took it out of his pocket and stared at it as it lay in the palm of his hand. But just as he was about to put it on, Balin the dwarf opened the tent door, his white beard swinging as if he were in a hurry. Bilbo quickly stashed the ring in his pocket.
"Bilbo," Balin asked, "there was a fire in the Great Hall again. All the debris left over from Smaug's attack is lighting on fire."
"Again?" sighed Bilbo, repressing a groan. "I knew it was a bad idea to stay here. But Thorin just wouldn't say no."
"That sounds like Thorin. He is very stubborn," agreed Balin.
Bilbo still remembered what had happened. The party of of the 13 dwarrow and the Burglar-Hobbit (also known as Bilbo Baggins) had decided to stay in Smaug's cave after Smaug had been killed by Bard the Bowman. Everyone had wanted to leave the cave as soon as possible, as it was covered in rivers of molten gold, broken marble columns, and highly flammable debris. The party had been traveling away from Smaug's cave for quite a while, but then Azog the orc had attacked Thorin while they had been sleeping.
Bilbo winced. It had been brutal and bloody. The dwarrow had awoken to see a great gray lump of a face leering down at them. Thorin jumped up quickly, but not quick enough. Azog's sharp metal claw, infused with poison, had stabbed Thorin, but not before Thorin had cut Azog's head off.
Unfortunately, Thorin gradually weakened. His wound became infected, as dwarrow and hobbits are not known for being great healers. There were no safe havens anywhere nearby. However, Ori vaguely recalled an herb by the Lonely Mountain - an extremely rare one that could cure most poisons known to Middle Earth. The party traveled there as fast as they could, and with the help of the herb (they decided to crush it into his wound because they thought it wasn't a good idea to have him take it by mouth), Thorin was making a speedy recovery.
"Did you hear me, Bilbo?" Balin's voice startled Bilbo out of his thoughts.
"Oh- oh, yes," stammered the poor hobbit. "What were we talking about again?"
"The fires!" Balin cried, sounding exasperated. "It would hinder us greatly if we caught on fire. Dwarrow are not flame-resistant, contrary to whatever you may think. Then we can all search for the Arkenstone! You know that you are getting a fair share of whatever valuables we find, including anything that has not been molten."
"Right! Well, do you know the source of the fires?"
"Erm… no…" said the dwarf slowly. He stroked the tassels of his cap thoughtfully. "It may have something to do with the heat of the molten gold."
"Then clear the debris, and I'm sure the gold will have to cool down eventually. And keep gold-stirring!" 'Gold-stirring' was what the dwarves meant when they used spears or poles, made out of metal, to stir around in the rivers of molten gold (they called them rivers even though the gold did not flow). They did this in hopes of finding something that would give them clues about the mysterious fires. It had not been a success.
"Whatever you say, Bilbo." Balin ducked under a flap of the tent and left, joining the bustling crowd of dwarrow outside. During the party's stay, Bilbo was assigned the role of taking care of Thorin, mainly because he was no good at clearing any debris or working for long periods of time.
After Balin receded from view, Bilbo started at the dusty brown canvas of the tent. How he wished he were back in the Shire, in his cozy hobbit-hole, enjoying the summer afternoon as he sat in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe or reading a book. How he wanted to eat real food instead of dry bread, or roasted little animals that the other dwarves found fit to eat. But Bilbo wanted more! Great tureens of stew and soup, or mountains of perfectly roasted turkeys with gravy, or buttered bread with marmalade, or bowls of fruit, or plates of pastries, or huge mugs of drinks! (Preferably apple-juice, as Bilbo did not drink alcohol.)
Bilbo hated it in this dark cave, where they were served only two meals a day and the food was stringy and unflavorful! Why should he even have come on the quest anyways? He could just escape, unseen, right now! Bilbo fingered the gold ring he had found in Gollum's cave. Why couldn't he just put it on right now and-
"Bilbo." Thorin's voice pulled him out of his dreadful thoughts.
"Thorin!" Bilbo exclaimed. "You're awake!" Forgetting all of his worries, he rushed to Thorin and hugged the brown-haired dwarf. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, I'm feeling a bit better - ouch- don't squeeze my ribs so hard - yes, that's better. I think I should be able to get up and help right now." He sat up from the cushions and countless fur coats, trying to hide his wince of pain as his hand flew to his stomach.
"Not so fast!" hurried Bilbo. "You still have to rest!"
Thorin sighed and muttered something about being 'as useless as a clean-shaved dwarf.' He turned to face Bilbo and asked, "Well, how is the gold-stirring going?"
Bilbo's smile faded. "Not well," he said. "The longer we poke around in the fire, the less luck we seem to be having with finding the source." He paused for a moment "Maybe I'll have some luck, I've been sitting around all day, maybe I should be doing something useful."
Thorin's large eyebrows knitted themselves together and a crease appeared between them in worry. "Bilbo, are you sure it's safe for you to be so close to the fire? You're not a dwarf. And you may get frightened."
"I'll be fine," said Bilbo with a small smile, even though the 'frightened' comment had stung. "You're the one we should all be worried about."
"Bah," said Thorin waving a hand through the air, "I will be fine as long as there aren't any more bloody dragons, or backstabbing orcs." Bilbo gave a small chuckle at that.
"All right then, I've got to go now." Bilbo said dismissively. As he was about to exit the tent, he turned back to Thorin and shook a finger at him, "And don't think just because I'm gone, you can go and get Dwalin to help you walk to the pub." While on the way to the Lonely Mountain, the dwarrow had discovered a pub in Laketown full of two of their favorite things: food and ale! Dwalin and Thorin had visited the pub, named 'the Pig and the Hammer,' a few days ago. They had returned slightly drunk, but had sobered up quickly after Bilbo had given them a scolding and ordered Thorin back to bed. Later Bofur told Balin,"The only one who can tell a Dwarven King what to do is an angry hobbit."
Bilbo walked out of the tent into the small room where all the tents were standing. He made his way down a flight of stone steps and into the Great Hall, where the gold-stirring was taking place. A few dwarrow were already stirring the gold; some were just talking or milling about. Bilbo passed Kili, who was in the middle of complaining to Ori about the poor liquor available at Laketown (he quickly changed the subject when he noticed Bilbo, as he knew how the hobbit felt about the pub). Bilbo pretended not to listen, and tapped Fili, who was stacking a pile of poles, on the shoulder.
Fili turned around. "Ah, Bilbo, there you are. We figured you would come out of that tent some day now. You can gold-stir, if you'd like." He handed Bilbo a long metal pole, which had probably been a broken spear before. "Well, I would stay and chat, but I believe there are impending pranks in my future." And with that, Fili ran off to go dump an ice-cold bucket of water on Nori, who then proceeded to dry off and later steal Fili's beads right out of his mustache braids as he slept.
Bilbo grabbed the pole and walked over to a steaming gold river. The color of the river was true to its name, very shiny, and swirled with undertones of color. It was also extremely hot. This one was approximately 10 meters long, 3 meters wide, and four meters deep at the deepest point. Bilbo dipped his pole in and began to stir the molten gold as he and Ori talked about what it was like in their hometowns.
"All thirteen of us lived in the Grey Mountains," said Ori, his brown eyes turning distant. "You have heard this tale before, but I will tell it again. Many years ago, our dwarven city had been sacked by Smaug and everything of any value was stolen. Then Smaug killed any survivors, but he failed to kill our ancestors. We went on this quest to defeat Smaug. Now that he is dead, we can finally relax, though we still must find the Arkenstone." He sighed. "I would not admit this to Thorin, but I haven't enjoyed it here in Smaug's abandoned cave either. Bombur, you and I are the only ones who would rather live somewhere else. Bombur, of course, wishes to have more food. He swears he's gotten thinner," and they both laughed.
Bilbo told Ori all about the Shire and his beautiful hobbit-hole with the shiny green door. He explained about Gandalf's fireworks and smoking long pipes and all the food. He regaled Ori with descriptions of the rolling green hills and clear blue lakes. Eventually, it became dark in the hall. Ori left to eat supper with the rest of the dwarrow. He had left his stone pole by the bank of the gold river and had asked, "Aren't you coming, Bilbo?" But Bilbo, fearing he was being useless, had refused.
So he started stirring the gold, lost in thought. He hoped that the mysterious fires wouldn't suddenly explode up right next to him. He would be charred like the turkey at Mirabella Took's 90th birthday party. It was not a pleasant idea.
The end of Bilbo's stone pole grated the rough bottom of the gold river. And then, the pole hit something hard with a muffled CLUNK.