The company padded along the path, and Bilbo would be lying if he said he wasn't dragging his furry feet.
Mirkwood was the very last place in the whole of Arda that he wanted to be. He'd rather pay Goblin Town another visit than continue to walk deeper, and deeper in the forest. At least there you could see.
As the hours past, and the sun began to fall from the sky, it had begun to get darker. Gradually at first, like a hesitant shadow, but then it suddenly struck the hobbit that he could not his hand as he waved it right in front of his nose.
Night had come at last, and he was dreading it.
Thorin reluctantly called for everyone to stop and make camp, for there was little point in marching in the darkness. And he would not risk them losing the path.
Everyone seemed to be a mixture of relived and apprehensive, as this was a very strange place indeed they had come to, and they wondered whether it would be a good idea to shut their eyes for a single moment.
Kili and Fili were the least sombre out of the group, as the good, the bad and the ugly seemed to bounce right off the two princes. Especially the youngest of the two. Kili even made an effort to cheer up the company but trying to catch some very suspicious looking black squirrels for supper.
Bilbo was happy for him, and encouraged him, but he didn't fancy nibbling on any of those nasty looking creatures, despite his hunger. Fortunately, supplies were plentiful, so no one was forced to eat Kili's catch.
Except Fili, who saw it as his duty as an older brother to support Kil and said that he would gladly eat a squirrel. But in the end, the archer admitted that he didn't mind either way and they ended up having a broth instead.
Bilbo tucked in.
Bombur was quite the cook, and, when they had a moment alone, he hoped that the dwarf would share a few of his recipes. But, knowing the hobbit's luck, the red haired dwarf would probably say that his cooking techniques were 'a sacred dwarfish tradition' so he couldn't possibly give them to Bilbo; who was as far away from a dwarf as the ground was from the sky.
Not that it bothered him, well, at least not as much as it used to.
He was a hobbit, and the company were dwarves, and they had their own ways of doing things. That was just fine.
But it wouldn't hurtto be let in once in a while, they won't even teach us their precious language.
Its sacred.
My foot it is! They just think we're incapable of learning it!
That's not true at all!
Bilbo grumbled quietly as he fiddled with his belongs. He'd have to use his pack as a pillow, which would be rather uncomfortable and he missed the soft bed of hey back at the skin-changers house. Even if he did wake up one morning with a sheep licking his face.
He wanted to eat his apples that he had sneaked away from Beaorn's, but the others would hear him crunching, then the two princes would be all over him asking him to share.
Bilbo wasn't a selfish sort of creature, he just wanted to enjoy his late night snack in peace.
As the others were settling down for the night, he managed to quietly creep away, prepared with the excuse that he was going to relieve himself, if he was asked. Thankfully he wasn't.
He still kept his friends in sight, as he knew it would be very, very stupid to wonder too far. The woods might very well gobble him up, or whatever unseen beasts that were lying in wait.
The hobbit stumbled across a large, old tree, not much different from the trees all around him, but the roots of this particular tree proved to be just what Bilbo was looking for. They were large and winding, shooting upwards from the ground and back down into the soil like giant worms.
The hobbit sheltered in a little nook underneath the humongous roots and, satisfied that he was alone, began to feint on his juicy apples.
And they were juicy, as they had not softened from the day that Bilbo had picked them. The skin broke with a satisfying crunch, and the sweet taste filled the hobbit's mouth and for a moment he almost forgot that he was crouching in a dark corner of Mrikwood far away from his warm hobbit home, and kettle and books...
Suddenly, something stirred nearby.
It was only a quiet shuffling, as if an animal was tentatively making its way through the leaf litter, but still, it meant he wasn't alone.
Bilbo's small body tensed, and he realized with horror that he had left his short sword back at the camp, so if the thing wasn't friendly he had nothing to defend himself with.
Than it came to him.
He had the ring! Of course, that meant he didn't need to fight, he could just slip it on and make a run for it.
The hobbit dropped the apple in his hand and it rolled away, then he reached into his waistcoat pocket and felt the cool touch of gold against his fingers.
The thing was near, and Bilbo could hear heavy footsteps mere feet away, the hobbit's chest was falling and rising frantically with panicked breathing and his heart pounded in his ribcage.
He cursed, and huddled even deeper into his hiding place, not making any noise, and prayed that whatever it was would lose interest and go back from whence it came.
This is what you get for being greedy! His Baggins side chastised. Now we're going to be eaten ourselves!
He fiddled anxiously for the ring, the thing was close, so close, it was right above his head and-
Bilbo let out a startled cry.
"Burglar?"
–-
Thorin liked to seek solitude.
He was not the most social of dwarves, and he found small talk to be a complete waste of words. Although he was very well schooled in the art of mingling, as part of his education as prince, he had to learn Khuzd social etiquette.
Someone of his station cannot simply sulk in a dark corner during social events, no matter how much he hated being paraded around by his grandfather, or the condescending attentions of gentry, he simply had to smile, nod, and say all the correct things.
At least now he didn't have to bother with all that. But, in a strange, way, he missed it.
But then again, he missed everything about Erabor. It was his home, where he should be, and not feeling his way through this cursed forest like a mole in a tunnel.
But alas, there was nothing that could be done. The wizard had made that clear.
The nightfall brought a whole new host of problems, the biggest one was the question of setting up camp. Thorin was desperate to get to the mountain in time, and, if need be, he would have walked on in the dark.
But he had his company to think about, and they needed rest and food. Dwarves were a hardly lot but they needed to eat, and sleep, as most creatures do.
They chose a spot right in the middle of the path, so when they awoke, they would not have to look far for it.
Bombar and Bifur set about getting a fir for the meal ready, and the others began to set down their packs and make themselves as comfortable as possible. But... to be honest, everyone was on edge in this wood.
Thorin would have bet money of the likelihood of a poor night's sleep all round.
The king himself was not tired, he was antsy, and frustrated.
He occupied his time by cleaning the Orcrist, which helped but only slightly, and watched as Kili managed to shoot down some black vermin from the trees. That dwarf was so easily amused.
Eventually, after they had all eaten their fill, and talked softly amongst themselves while the fire died, Thorin found his need to be alone with his thoughts setting in. He excused himself, with a wry look from Dwalin, and exited through the trees.
He did not go far, for the visibility was poor, so he ended up leaning on an old tree with huge roots, and felt in his coat pocket for his pipe. He was suddenly gasping for a smoke. But as he placed it between his lips and prepared to light it, he heard a noise.
A soft thud, as if someone had dropped something onto the forest floor. Of course, it could have been a falling fruit, but from what he could see the trees only bore leaves.
Thorin clenched his teeth around his pipe, and left his fingers drift over the Orcrist on his belt. He quickly looked all about, but it was just too dark to see very far.
He tilted his head to try and pick up any more unusual sounds, and maybe where they were coming from.
Worryingly, the noises sounded very close, and as back backed up against the tree, he could have sworn that who or what was snuffling about was right next to him.
Then, quiet as you like, came a soft exclamation of "oh blast it"
Thorin knew that voice.
He looked right of him, then left, and finally and climbed onto one of the huge tree roots and called "Burglar?"
There was a shrill cry from under him, and Thorin nearly fell from his perch. He looked down and there was the hobbit-burglar, crouched among the roots, wide eyed and shaking a little.
He let out a breath of relief. "In Mahal's name, hobbit!"
"T-Thorin? Is that you? Please say its you." asked Master Baggins, still looking rather frightened.
"Does my voice not give it away?" drawled Thorin, he reached out to help the hobbit-burglar climb up and out of his hiding spot. "Come. You have nothing to fear."
Master Baggins let out a shaky laugh as he took Thorin's hand, the dwarf felt warmth spread from his fingers and up his arm and he noted that the halfling's fingers were delicate compared to his own stubby digits.
"What a pair of fools we are!" chuckled Master Baggins, shaking his head. "Scaring each other like that."
He released the king's hand, and a private part of the dwarf was sorry for the loss.
Thorin frowned. "And just what were you doing, Master Baggins, hiding under a tree?"
He did not like the thought of the hobbit-burglar wondering away into Mirkwood by himself, a little creature like that could be easy pickings for a nasty predator.
The hobbit suddenly became flustered. "O-Oh! Well, I was, umm, I err- needed a moment, you know, to myself... um, you know."
The king raised an amused eyebrow. "Do I?"
Master Baggins blinked, then flushed. "I-I wasn't doing anything inappropriate, it that's what your thinking! Nothing of that sort! Nope."
Thorin's mouth twitched with mirth as he watched the ridiculous creature work himself up again, they were familiar enough so there could be a bit of teasing between them. But he never meant Master Baggins any real harm, a stark contrast from only a few months before.
The hobbit-burglar saw the look on Thorin's face and glared. "You're making fun of me aren't you?"
"Not at all, Master Baggins." replied the king, with a face of utmost seriousness. Or rather as close to one as he could get.
Master Baggins did not seem convinced, and crossed his arms over his chest. "And, what might I ask, are you doing out here, Sire?"
The sarcastic little gremlin. Thorin had half a mind to cuff the cheeky halfling over the head for that comment, but he was enjoying their banter as they had not talked for some time, so he shambled down from the root on which they had been standing and said with as much dignity as possible:
"I wanted a smoke, if you must know."
Master Baggins followed suit, climbing down from the root. He wrinkled his nose. "It that what you dwarves call it? How peculiar."
It was Thorin's turn to flush, his neck and ears grew warm, and he sent a warning scowl in the hobbit-burglar's direction. "You forget yourself, Halfling."
Master-Baggins' smirk half dropped from his features, and the king felt a pang of regret. He always preferred the hobbit-burglar's grin to this worried, tight expression.
"Apologies." said the halfling, holding up his hands. He clicked his tongue. "Shall we... walk back."
Thorin let his face soften, and he gave the hobbit-burglar a nod. "After you, Master Baggins"
The hobbit-burglar H'mmed, then plodded away towards the camp with that strange, lolloping gait that he had.
It remind Thorin of a rabbit hopping through grass.