Author's Note: Hello there! This is my first foray into publishing fanfiction, and it happens to be a multi-chapter story dealing with the sixty years between Smaug's attack on Erebor and the beginning of the quest to reclaim it. (I guess I just couldn't make it easy on myself and post a one-shot. ) "Inikhde" means "Return to Me" in Khuzdul, and really, that's what Thorin's quest is really about-returning home. It's also the word on Kili's runestone, so there's that. This story is a collaboration between the book and movie universes, so expect to see elements of both. I welcome constructive feedback, and hope that you enjoy!

Chapter 1

The heat of the summer was at last beginning to give way to the coolness of the autumn. Though the trees about the mountain remained vibrant and green, there was a certain breeze that would trip its way through Dale and up to the gates of the Lonely Mountain; the breeze that makes one pull up their collar out of instinct, despite its welcome relief.

The Elvish party standing outside of the Lonely Mountain, however, hardly seemed to notice either the heat or the wind that combated it. The guard stood tall and stoic. Yes, they had certainly drawn some eyes as they made their way towards Erebor—after all, it wasn't every day that the children of Dale saw an elf, much less several. But Thranduil could not be bothered with this trivial attention; there was something much more valuable in his mind. They flickered in his thoughts, white, effervescent, and gleaming.

The gates opened, and the envoy was ushered into the antechamber of the great mountain. The stone walls surrounded them in dark jade as the doors of the great mountain were pulled to. Thranduil dismounted gracefully, gave a command in murmured Elvish, and his guard, save four, led the moose toward the stables.

Another dwarf entered the antechamber. He was a rather astute-looking dwarf, with his graying beard reaching nearly his belt and forking into two parts. There was an air of confidence about the way he held his head high, and the look in his eye bespoke wisdom.

He bowed respectfully and said, "Balin, at your service."

Thranduil barely inclined his head, and said nothing about service.

"Your majesty," Balin said, as politely as he could, "I must say that we weren't expecting you until much later."

"I believe this business is one that needs to be handled properly, and with the time that it is due."

The time that it's due. But that time was due to start in a few hours.

"I'm afraid that you will have to wait a while longer. The King is not quite prepared to discuss anything quite yet," Balin said.

Thranduil's glacial expression did not change as Balin led him and his envoy into the antechamber to the throne room.

Of course, the young prince thought to himself as a messenger told him of the Elven King's arrival. Of course, the elf thinks the world revolves around him.

"Thank you," he said aloud, "We will be ready presently."

The messenger went away, and immediately, Thorin whirled about to wake his brother. He assumed a messenger had already been dispatched to the King's chambers, as well as to his father's. Though he had already been awake for some time, Thorin had not yet dressed for the day, and his brother, Frerin, had not yet regained consciousness.

Past the door to his own bedchamber, he started for Frerin's, but was startled by a noise from behind him.

"Thorin? Have you seen my throwing axes?"

Without even turning, he recognized Dis's voice and immediately said, "Not now!"

She let out a little huff. "A bit short this morning, are we?"

Thorin turned around to face her, and saw that she was already dressed. She was looking at him with some amount of frustration, her hands on her hips and her brows furrowed.

"Excuse me, sister," he said sarcastically, "But the Elf-King has decided to make his appearance early."

Dis's hands dropped. "Are you serious?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Dis sighed again, intent on continuing her search.

"Good luck, then," she muttered, and she went back into her chambers, where she had already created a pretty sizeable mess.

Opening the door to Frerin's chambers, a bit more forcefully than he intended, Thorin moved over to the bed. Not surprisingly, Frerin didn't budge as the heavy door slammed against the stone walls. Honestly, Thorin mused, He could sleep through a dragon attack. Not that it was his fault; after all, it was difficult to wake Frerin using external noise, seeing as he couldn't hear a sound.

Thorin shook his brother's slumbering shoulders, and Frerin started as if he had been woken from a nightmare. Drowsily, his hands fumbled into slurred forms.

"What? What?" he signed.

"The elves are here early," Thorin said, carefully forming the words with his mouth and his hands.

Immediately, Frerin shot out of bed, his hands rapidly flying in fluent Iglishmek.

"When did they get here? Why are they here early?"

"If I knew, I would tell you," Thorin replied.

"All right, then," Frerin signed, beginning to open his wardrobe. Thorin turned and left Frerin to get ready, closing the door behind him. Stepping back out into the common area, he turned into his chambers to begin the process of preparing for court with his grandfather, the King Under the Mountain.

Dis sat on her bed again, frustrated at her lack of findings. Not a single one of her little axes had turned up, and she had turned her bedchamber upside-down looking for them. Her wardrobe had spilled onto the floor, and every pocket of every cloak, dress, and pair of trousers was turned out, by any chance that they would hold one of the axes. Her trunks, too, had been emptied, then refilled haphazardly. She knew she would have to fix all of it later, but for now, her focus was on finding the weapons before someone got hurt.

Leaving her room, she tried to retrace her steps, leading her from the comparatively small area that she and her brothers shared into the main room, where the family often gathered. A fire was sparking merrily in the hearth, surrounded by armchairs and a large sofa. She immediately darted for this, shifting the pillows and looking under the cushions, until a voice from the corner of the room diverted her attention.

"What are you doing, Dis?"

Dis looked up at her mother, Nin, who had just begun to settle herself in her chair right beside the fire with her latest project: a tapestry.

"Oh, nothing, Amad," she said lightly, trying to remain inconspicuous in her search.

Nin rolled her eyes and reached down into her sewing bag. After a moment, she withdrew a little axe, glinting in the firelight.

"Looking for this?" Nin said, evidently not fooled by her daughter's ruse.

Dis raced over to her mother and took the axe, a bit more roughly than she intended.

"If I see another one of those in my kitchen again, I'll have to keep it," Nin admonished.

"Yes, amad," Dis said sheepishly.

She bounded out of the great room and kept up the search out in the main hall. Her eyes scanned the ground, searching desperately for a glint of steel, a polished oak handle, anything. In her peripheral vision, she saw Thorin and Frerin coming towards her and looked up.

"Frerin! Have you seen my throwing axes?" she signed as the pair hastily made their way towards the front door of the royal household.

Frerin looked back at her and signed, "Try your pockets!"

"Already have!" she signed as the door closed behind the princes.

Dis huffed. Of course she had checked the pockets—where else would she have looked first? Although…

She slowly reached a hand into her skirt pockets. Evidently, she had not searched these specific pockets. With her right hand, she pulled out an axe.

"Fine," she muttered to herself, "Two down, one to go. Where could it be?"

"Is this meant to be a joke? Or, is it a custom among your people to give weapons as gifts?"

Thranduil dangled the strange little weapon in front of his host, meanwhile hiding the pain that stung on his posterior.

Thrain was baffled. He recognized it, all right—why it was in this antechamber, however, was less than clear. Anger began to boil within him. Tensions were already high between the Elves of Mirkwood and his people, and this could have done nothing but increase those hostilities. Oh, he was going to have words with his daughter after this—

"Adad! Have you seen my—oh."

As if on cue, Dis appeared through the door. Her immediate familiarity cooled into dread when she saw the axe, gingerly held in the hands of the King of Mirkwood.

Thrain snatched the weapon and growled, "Is this yours, Dis?"

"Yes, adad."

"Come and get it then," Thrain barked.

Dis kept her eyes on the floor as she slowly took it from her father.

"We will discuss this later."

"Yes, adad."

With that, Dis beat a hasty and quiet retreat.

Thrain took a deep breath, and, turning to Thranduil and said, "I apologize for my daughter's carelessness. I hope you are not seriously injured."

"Your child's practical jokes are not my concern," Thranduil drolly. "You know my business, and it is about time we attended to it, your Highness."

"Very well." Let's get this over with. Thrain groaned internally as the door to the throne room opened slowly, and the small party entered under the cavernous roof of King Thror.

A/N: Thank you for reading this first chapter! FYI, adad is the Khuzdul equivalent of 'dad, and' 'amad' is the equivalent of 'mom.' Can't wait to show you the next chapter!