This was originally a prompt I posted on the Kink Meme under the name LDegnan. After sitting on it for a few days and trying to allow other people to pick it up first, if they were so inclined, I decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns and fill it myself. I'll be posting the story concurrently on that prompt, which I will post in a link to at the bottom, here on , and on my new AO3 account which is called Nyaore. (Confused yet?)

This is my first foray into the world of J.R.R. Tolkien, so please be gentle. But not 'too' gentle, if you please. I know my writing needs improvement, and I'm bound to screw up the lore as I go along in spite of myself, so critiques are much loved. If you see something wrong, don't hesitate to tell me. I can't promise I'll change it, as it might have been intentional, but I'll be forever grateful that you took the time to tell me in the first place.

As the tags suggest this is going to be a mixture of both the Book and Movie verse, which are frankly two different animals when you get down to it. For the most part I'm sticking to Book canon - with a handful of exceptions. So, for example, Thrór's death will follow the events of the book in that he died well before the Battle of Azanulbizar. However on the flipside, I'll be going with Thorin's appearance and slightly more 'majestic' personality from the movies. This will be taking place a few years before the Hobbit, in 2935. (Originally put it in 2931, but I realized Belladonna was still alive then and I honestly didn't know what to do with her. So rather than write in a character and then not do them justice, I just moved the date.) Whether or not I decide to actually send them on that journey is up in the air. In some cases I will be tweaking things to make them flow better for the story, such as when someone met who and so on. Basically assume it's a straight AU from the year the story takes place, forward.

Where I posted the original prompt (on livejournal): ?thread=6420033#t6420033
You'll noticed I fiddled with it a bit, simply because the original prompt didn't make much sense when you considered the lore and the distance between the settlement in Ered Luin, which many sources point to being in the Northern half of the mountain range, and the Shire.


"How bad is it, Balin?" Thorin inhaled slowly through his nose as he slowly rubbed his aching temples, hoping to dispel the makings of a growing migraine before it could run away with his senses. The table before him was overrun with various maps, statistical worksheets, books, and various other paraphernalia that was slowly merging together into one jumbled mess with each hour spent within the confines of the conference hall. But then that was nothing compared to the state of the rest of the room, which was inundated with near mountainous stacks of various books and scrolls, as well as many pilfered chairs from other places within his halls.

The older dwarf involuntarily allowed his posture to slump slightly from his position on the other side of the table, his thick grey brows drawing down in a rare admission of defeat, "if we do not find another vein of ore soon, sire, then I'm afraid that we're going to have to empty the last of our coffers in order to even have a change of making it through the winter."

A sharp sigh was the only reply Thorin was willing to give at this point. He had thought as much. The scholars he had set to the task were rarely wrong with their predictions, and if Balin had been convinced of how dire the situation had become then there was little he could do but accept it as the truth.

Most people assumed that ruling a kingdom would be a glamorous affair, with endless balls and feasting whenever one deigned to allow such things. They gave little thought to the economic side of things, or just how much effort it really took to keep a country and it's citizenry stable and content. Which was further complicated in their case by the destitute nature of Durin's Folk during these past years. None of which had been kind to them ever since that fateful day when Erebor was snatched from their clutches and they were forced into a temporary nomadic lifestyle. It had taken nearly everything both he and his father Thráin, had had to give in order to establish a semi-prosperous colony along the banks of the Little Lune river, at the very feet of the Northern Blue Mountains. However, instances like this only served to sharply remind them that their efforts might never be enough.

Unlike in Erebor, where the veins of ore and gems shot off in every imaginable direction for what seemed like endless leagues, ripe for the harvesting, the Blue Mountains guarded it's secret hoards with an almost unnatural dedication. Just when they felt they had finally tapped into a proper vein that might be harvested for years to come, it would all but dried up scant weeks later. What was worse, is that what few proper veins they did manage to unearth were of poor quality. Little good for anything other than scrap metal or substandard work that inevitably would fail in spite of the best craftsmanship his race had to offer. It was both humbling, and infuriating, to one who had spent the first few decades of his life leaving in the easy splendor of the Lonely Mountain. They had only just barely managed to ink out a somewhat stable existence with what meager finds the mountains were willing to allow them, and while that might have been enough for the first hundred or so years of the colony's existence - it was fast becoming apparent that they would no longer be able to scrounge about and still maintain their growing population.

Their limited prosperity, which nothing to brag about in the shadow of all they had been able to accomplish within Erebor's halls, had attracted a steady stream of refugees for years now - eager to make a home under the stable banners of these halls. It had taken decades for the problem to become apparent, with the slow reproduction rates of his people and the influx of refugees being rather manageable in some respects, however it was now obvious to all willing to look that the current rate of growth mixed with their meager output of ores and goods was unsustainable. Couple that with several harsher than normal winters, and failed mining ventures, and the situation had grown quite dire.

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. At this rate they would barely make it through the winter, never mind into the following year.

"Brother, as you know we are not alone in this pocket of Middle Earth. Surely we don't have to weather this all on our own," the slightly scratchy voice of his sister called from her position against a wall to Thorin's immediate left, flatly ignoring the sigh from Balin as he watched the siblings begin to dredge up a fairly familiar point of contention.

"And do I need to remind you, Dís," Thorin slid his eyes harshly clashing with the dark brown pair of his last remaining sibling, "what happens when one chooses to rely on the aid of Elves and Men? Or have you forgotten the lessons of Erebor in our long exile?"

At this, Dís let out an incredulous snort before shaking her tightly braided grey streaked, dirty-blonde beard, which was thickly plaited back until it was interwoven with a ponytail that reached her midsection, in consternation. "And need I remind you, dear brother, that it was our near isolation that has brought this down upon us. I could do without the Tree-Shaggers myself, but I refuse to allow adherence to old grudges to facilitate the downfall of our people! Not all Elves are like Thranduil!"

"And how do you know that it won't end up like it did before?" His voice now pitched low with rage at the mention of his hated enemy, "What proof can you give me that relying on them will improve the situation? They've already proven themselves untrustworthy during our greatest hour of need? Can you guarantee that they won't turn their backs on us yet again? I won't consign our people to such a fate a second time!"

The two siblings glared balefully at one another, neither willing to concede an inch in their longstanding spat. Balin, having heard this song and dance many a time in the past, had taken to cleaning up the mess that cluttered the table in the middle of the room. He knew from experience that to involve oneself in this argument was to invite the wrath of both siblings upon yourself. The few other dwarves in the hall looked distinctly uncomfortable in the wake of the wrath of their royalty.

"Then what would you have us do, brother? You know as well as I do that without aid many of our people will not make it through the following seasons, let alone the next year. Our granaries can only last so long as they currently stand, and we cannot risk ourselves to chance waiting for the miners to unlock another sliver of ore from the mountains. If not the Elves, then who would you be willing to negotiate with? You know as well as I do that we have precious few options." Dís allowed her gaze to soften slightly, while still keeping locked in her firmly defiant stance against the wall. For all her exasperation, she truly did not envy her brother and the position he had been forced to endure ever since their hasty departure from the halls of Erebor almost a hundred and sixty one years prior. The both of them were barely out of their swaddling clothes when Smaug had descended upon them, with Thorin barely in his mid-twenties and her only a scant ten years of age at the time. Neither had had time for a proper childhood in the wake of the disaster, and Thorin had been forced to shoulder the needs of his race in the face of their grandfather's growing madness and the disappearance of their father. She could not completely fault him for clinging as he did to old wounds, when they were one of the few stable aspects of his life.

"In that case, I believe I might a proposal that would interest you."

In an instant the hall was in an uproar, and for a moment all that could be heard were the sounds of blades sliding out of sheathes and axes being removed from clasps upon their wielders' belts. Both of the Durin's in attendance abandoning their spat in favor of taking defensive positions next to one another, each taking up stances that would compensate for any flaws in the other's guard with their war-axes at the ready in front of them. Neither allowing their surprise over the fact that a strange had managed to enter the room undetected show upon their faces.

For his part the wizened stranger simply leaned complacently on his large wooden staff, eyes twinkling in quiet amusement as he took in the number of blades pointed in his direction. His eyes briefly widened when they ghosted over royal siblings, lingering on them for a moment longer than the rest, but the action was gone so fast that one could have attributed it to a trick of the light instead.

"And who is it that dares breach the sanctity of this meeting? How did you get in here?" Thorin commanded, almost missing the odd look their intruder sent but filing it away all the same once it was registered.

"Gandalf is my name," his eyes twinkled as if remembering a private joke as his eyes locked back onto Thorin's form, "and Gandalf means me. Hail Thorin, son of Thráin, King of under the mountains of Ered Luin." At this Gandalf inclined his head ever so slightly as recognition began to fill the room at the sound of his name. Still in spite of this fact, no blade was lowered, and no stance removed, as each dwarf in the hall waited for Thorin's judgment of the situation. "As for how I managed to arrive undetected, let's just say old men are entitled to their secrets and leave it at that shall we?"

Thorin grunted in annoyance before deciding to address the earlier line of dialogue, "and what sort of proposal would a Wizard be willing to offer us that we'd be willing to take?"

"Ah! Well that is the crux of the matter is it not? Why, I'd imagine that it would be up to you to decide whether or not the matter is worthy of your time, as it were." A smile broke about the Wizard's face at that, sending a meaningful glance at the various weapons around the room.

Thorin barely flinched a muscle, although he was loathe to allow the Wizard to devolve into dancing around the point as they were often known for doing. After a few tense moments he quietly looped his war-axe back into the leather clasps upon his belt buckle, slowly easing himself into a slightly more relaxed - though no less alert - posture. In response, the rest of the dwarves in the room followed suit, though some kept their hands upon their weapons even after returning them to their resting places, ready to jump to attention as soon as the order was given.

Smiling benignly the Wizard waited until every member of the room was well and truly settled before continuing, "I happen to have a matter that requires immediate attention, from what I was just able to bear witness too, you have your own concerns to deal with." He shifted his grip on his staff slightly at this. "If I am correct, we might be able to render aid unto one another - should the terms prove agreeable to both sides."

Sensing that her brother was slowly growing impatient with the Wizard's refusal to come out and state his business, Dís stepped slightly to the forefront, "and the matter that requires attention?"

"A dreadful business, but first I must ask, would you happen to have a chair for this old man? These ones you have here are all well and good for Dwarven legs, but I'm afraid that they would be quite uncomfortable for someone of my stature."

Thorin waved vaguely at the nearest guard to bring what the Wizard requested. They might not have many such chairs on stand-by, but there were a few in various storage rooms for when larger guests graced their halls.

Ten minutes later Gandalf was making sure he was well and truly comfortable, or as comfortable as one could be in a dusty old chair I suppose, before he spoke again, "might I ask how familiar you lot are with Hobbits?"

Dís blinked briefly at this, what an odd question to ask after making them wait for so long. Balin was the one to answer, "About as much as can be expected. Our caravans occasional venture into the borders of the Shire to ply their wares, though only those with more domestic leanings have had any measure of success. Due to this, and the several dozen leagues that separate our chosen areas, it's safe to say that we rarely come into contact with one another, unless one goes out of the way to rectify it."

Gandalf looked pensive for a moment before nodding, "so I take it that you're at least passingly aware of their mostly peaceful nature and lack of a proper militia then?"

"What does all this have to do with anything?"

"Everything!" the Wizard snapped, his face suddenly growing so thunderous that many of the room's other occupants couldn't help but flinch away. "For the past season Hobbits have been going missing along the borders of the Shire. At first it was only a few individuals, worrisome but otherwise deemed isolated incidents. Now, however, whole homesteads and smaller towns have been going missing in the dead of night, with not but burnt embers left in their wake. The Hobbits, with the lack of a military force are helpless against this growing threat, and few in the surrounding countryside of Bree-land are willing to do much more than twiddle their thumbs as they deal with their own rash of kidnappings."

"A shame to be sure," Thorin whispered, "but what do you wish for us to do about it? I cannot in good faith worry about a matter so many leagues away, when the mountains have their own troubles to deal with here."

"You haven't been listening have you?" Gandalf fussed for a moment before tapping the end of his staff forcefully into the ground, "it's a matter of mutual aid. You are in need of food and a possible alliance to help last through the coming winter and beyond, you have a wealth of trained warriors with nowhere to go and no jobs to do until the next vein of ore is found to line your dwindling coffers. Likewise, the Hobbits are in dire need of lasting protection to face whatever stalks them after dark and beyond, someone who would be willing to keep their borders safe from all who might threaten them. They in turn have a surplus of food, and excess land that might be traded to various agriculturally minded individuals in your employ, to ensure that such protection is secured. An alliance, if you will, is what I am talking about. One that has the potential to benefit both sides greatly."

Thorin barely managed to keep himself from retorting over the possible pitfalls of such a deal, the sharp elbow his sister sent into his gut somewhat aiding in that endeavor. Dís glared harshly at her brother, daring him to utter a single word that might jeopardize something that might solve their food problems in one fell swoop. Still, the thought that something foul might be afoot, and that things were simply too good to be true refused to leave him. They clung harshly to his gut as he bit out the next words, still mindful of his sister and her inclinations towards bodily harm to get her way, "and that's it? We agree and the matter is immediately settled? You expect me to send soldiers out against an unknown foe for a people we've had only the barest contact with?"

A shake of the head was his reply, along with "of course there would have to be negotiations of exactly what land will be given and the amount of food, as well as the soldiers you'd have to dedicate to patrolling the borders. I also don't expect you to agree immediately until all the issues have been ironed out, though expediency would be greatly appreciated by all side's I'd imagine. What could it hurt to attend a summit to discuss the matter with those in the Shire and see for yourself whether or not this is an avenue worth pursuing?"

"... When would this summit take place?"

"In two weeks time, which," he held up his hand to forestall the budding outburst that surely would follow such an absurd time table, "you should be able to make if you leave within the next day and take to riding your fastest horses for long intervals. Surely you understand the need for haste in this matter? Neither you or the Hobbits can wait longer than that to settle upon this matter, particularly if your dealings turn south and both sides must look elsewhere for aid."

The feeling of unease and discomfort grew ever so slightly, but Thorin couldn't help but admit that he was somewhat trapped. His people needed food to survive for the foreseeable future, and the promise of trade and even potential land was too good to pass up at that moment. Besides, what little he did know of Hobbits painted them to be a gentle and fair folk, quite unlike the unscrupulous Men and betrayers that populated the Elven nations. The chances of reaching a mutually beneficial deal were far greater with them, if the stories of the Hobbit's were to be believed, than in any other place but with his own kin. What he would give to be able to ask one of said kin for the aid, but by the time a messenger would make it to the Iron Hills and back it would be far too late at the rate things were going.

It rankled, but the situation sadly called for swift action in this case. A fact that led to his answering after a few more tense moments, in spite of his mind screaming at him to iron out more details before jumping into the fray.

"Very well, we will set out tomorrow at the latest, let us hope that this is not a fool's errand," he grounded out harshly, turning his eyes away as both Gandalf and Dís' faces alighted at the news. How he hoped he wouldn't regret this.