Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was brooding. This wasn't surprising, of course, at least not to anyone who knew the dwarf king well enough. Thorin, they would tell you, spent the vast majority of his time brooding, to the point where many just assumed he must find it enjoyable. No, the problem wasn't that Thorin was brooding – it was the intensity with which he brooded. Sitting on his throne, with his chin resting on one white-knuckled fist, the dwarf king radiated anger, glaring murderously ahead with sky blue eyes. His eyes, however, focused on no one. Unfortunately, that didn't stop a young servant from shaking so hard that he dropped a pitcher of water, nor did it stop the dwarf king's nephew, Kili, from slipping on the spilled water and falling ungracefully onto his bottom with a loud cry. Shaking his head at his younger brother, Thorin's eldest nephew, Fili, strode into the room, opened his mouth to address his uncle, and then quickly shut it. He knew that look. He had seen it on his uncle's face too many times. It was the same look Thorin had worn on his face for years after Smaug had stolen the Lonely Mountain, after Thorin had lost both his father and grandfather to Azog the Defiler and his army. It was a look filled with anger and rage, but beyond that, filled with sadness, regret, and unimaginable pain. Fili hadn't seen that look on his uncle's face in at least a year, ever since they took back the Lonely Mountain, and he couldn't understand why his uncle wore such a somber expression now. It was the one year anniversary of the Battle of Five Armies, and Thorin had everything he could have ever wanted. Erebor was in the process of being rebuilt, the streets already shuffling with activity and life. Thorin had his throne, his nephews, and wealth beyond belief. He had done honourably by his people, and had even made peace, as uneasy as it still was, with the elves. Yet, there Thorin sat, his mouth a thin line, his cold glare steady and unwavering, on the day he should be celebrating his victories. What Fili didn't know, however, was that one year ago that day, Thorin lost something more dear to him than anything in Middle Earth. Exactly one year ago that day, Bilbo Baggins, a simple hobbit from the Shire, left Erebor with Thorin's heart.
Letting out a deep sigh, Thorin thought back to the first day he had met the hobbit.
He had been on his way to meet his company, the 12 dwarfs who answered his call when he decided to journey back to the Lonely Mountain to take back what rightfully belong to him – or to them, he should say. Gandalf the Grey, a wizard who had promised to assist Thorin on his journey, had planned the place of the meeting. It was to take place in a hobbit hole in the Shire, where Gandalf stated he had found the final member of Thorin's company. Thorin could barely contain his contempt of the idea of a hobbit on his journey. Hobbits were gentlefolk, and had no business with the strong, hardy dwarfs. He could hardly see how some hairy-footed, little pansy from the lush flower gardens of the Shire would be of any help. He was so lost in his thoughts of dwarven superiority that he almost stepped on the flower garden of one of the small hobbit holes. Looking up at the hobbit hole, he noted the bright blue door and realized that it looked strangely familiar. He could almost swear he had seen it before. In fact, looking to the next hobbit hole, he remembered seeing those strange yellow flowers before. It was at that moment Thorin Oakenshield realized he had been walking in circles.
Cursing silently to himself, he started walking again, this time paying close attention to the hobbit holes as he passed them, looking for the mark Gandalf said he had left on the door of the meeting place. He wandered around the Shire for over an hour, checking every door, before he finally saw it – the bright blue door, that is. He was right back where he started.
He was just about to curse that damn wizard when he heard the distant sound of laughter. Following the noise, he weaved between the gardens and over the rolling hills of the Shire, until he stood in front of a green door. Sure enough, there was the mark. Looking through the small window of the hobbit hole, he was relieved to see a large gathering of dwarves, laughing and joking away. That is, until he saw his nephew, Kili, laughing so hard that he dropped a full cup of mead onto his own lap. Shaking his head, Thorin silently thanked his sister, Dis, for having Fili before Kili. As much as he loved the boy, he had no clue how to train someone with such a lack of majesty to be his heir. At least Fili could manage to drink without making an utter disaster. He watched the dwarfs inside for a few minutes before, adjusting his cloak, he knocked on the door. The laughing within stopped immediately, pleasing Thorin to no end. That's the effect of majesty, he said to himself, as the door opened. The first person he laid eyes upon was Gandalf.
"Gandalf," he said, granting the wizard a rare smile. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice." He immediately regretted his words, realizing that he was the dwarf leading the adventure, and yet, was the only one to get lost. "Wouldn't have found it at all, if it hadn't been for that mark on the door," he said, taking off his cloak and turning around to smile at Kili, who, he noticed, still hadn't grown a proper beard. It was at that point he noticed the hobbit, who was going on about there not being a mark on his door. Gandalf introduced the hobbit as Bilbo Baggins, and Thorin took a good long look at him.
"So," Thorin said, "this is the hobbit."