I have been drowning in a sea of coursework from which there was no escape. But my brain is the Church of Hilarity, clearly, and could not be restrained. So here's the next bit, feat. THE MOTHERHUGGIN' ELVES. (Elrond's theme song is 'Whip My Hair' by Willow Smith, ok? Ok.)

Laterz.

Day 25.

05:03. There are benefits to almost being cooked alive by trolls, as it turns out, and today those benefits come in the form of finding the beasts' cave.

A cave full of stolen treasure (excellent).

"These swords were not made by any troll," I murmur to myself as I pick up two rather sexy looking blades which have been lying here since approximately the dawn of time, if the cobwebs are anything to go by.

Gandalf takes one off me to examine it closer. "Nor were they made by any smith among men…" He looks closely at the metalwork and since when has Gandalf been a weapons expert? Have no idea, but then again this is the wizard who sells illegal fireworks on the side and whose old-man walking stick is actually a Magic Staff of Death.

Am just about to grab own sword handle to unsheathe it when-

"These were forged in Gondolin!"

Freeze.

"By the High Elves of the First Age…"

I glare at Gandalf accusingly. Mahal is laughing at me.

Can't believe I thought it looked sexy, Durin's beard…May as well start fantasising about Thranduil himself while I'm at it (shudder).

"You could not wish for a finer blade," Gandalf tells me sternly, reading the disgusted expression on my face, and instead of throwing the damn thing away I reluctantly assess it more closely.

Well I suppose it has got quite a nice-

And the balance is rather-

…

Bugger.

05:05. Stupid sexy elven blade on my belt, I watch as Gloin, Nori and Bofur dig a big hole for all the gold they've found here.

"We're making a long-term deposit," Gloin tells me.

Dwalin rolls his eyes.

"Let's get out of this foul place," I announce gruffly, quickly making my way to the entrance.

Call it 'foul' less because it stinks and more because it's packed full of elven paraphernalia, like the result of some grotesque hobby.

Why can't trolls collect stamps like normal folk?

05:09. So apparently Gandalf has found a sword suitable for Baggins. Torn between making strangled cat noises because it's the cutest sword I've ever seen and fits him perfectly, and being seriously concerned as he'll probably end up cutting himself.

Or do a Milky and lose an entire arm.

05:10. Hear distant rustling in bushes. Every book I've ever read as a dwarfling has taught me this cannot be a good thing.

"There's something coming!" I shout, and everyone springs into action, gathering around me, weapons drawn (still not sure how to feel about Ori favouring a slingshot).

Look over shoulder to locate hobbit.

Oh for the love of-

He can examine his new sword any time, why must it be now?

…

If only he'd examine my swor-

No.

Stop it.

05:12. Of all the things I possibly expect to burst forth from the shrubbery, it is emphatically not a wild-eyed old fogie shouting nonsense on a rabbit-drawn sleigh.

Rabbits.

Pulling a sleigh.

Have officially seen it all.

Perhaps Gandalf's second-hand smoke has finally gotten to me? Stare at own hands.

Am I even really here right now?

"Radagast!" Gandalf cries delightedly, "Radagast the Brown!"

But of course.

Anyone looking this deranged can only be a friend of Gandalf's.

05:16. Squint at them as they talk in private across the way.

Earlier suspicions confirmed: all wizards wear same colour as their name. How dull.

05:21. Sudden ominous howling on the wind, and am ninety-nine per cent sure it is no old fogie. Unless Gandalf keeps even stranger friends than first thought (honestly would no longer surprise me).

"Was that a wolf? Are – are there wolves out there?"

If Baggins doesn't stop with the big green eyes and flummoxed disposition I am going to spontaneously lick him.

"Wolves…"Bofur echoes stiffly, "No, that is not a wolf."

As if to prove his point, a huge, snarling beast that can only be a warg appears on the rise of the sloping forest ground, and promptly lunges at us.

Because obviously our twenty-four hour quota of Life Threatening Situations has not been sufficiently filled today.

The bastard thing knocks Dwalin down, and I send my (very not sexy) elven sword through its shoulder with as much force as possible, but then-

A snarl behind me and oh good, yes, am about to be eaten by Warg Number Two-

One of Kili's arrows flies past my head, and I turn to see the beast yelp and collapse at my feet.

Well.

Must resolve not to criticize Kili's rather elven choice in weaponry ever again.

"Warg scouts!" I announce gravely. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

Hobbit does a double take. "Orc pack!?"

He's so bloody cute when worried about imminent death…

Gandalf turns to me, eyes blazing, and stalks over in a manner entirely too threatening for an old man (although must remember: contraband fireworks and Booming Voice of Certain Doom and Magic Staff of Death) "Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" he demands.

Durin's beard, he's going on the offensive. At me, no less! Why is this my fault?

"No one."

"Who did you tell!?"

Is he deaf? (Probably.)

"No one, I swear!"

Mother of Mahal, someone get him his pipe already.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" I half-shout at him. Even my nerves of steel can only take so much.

"We are being hunted," Gandalf tells me matter-of-factly.

Well. Excellent.

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin points out the obvious.

I like that plan.

"We can't, we have no ponies!" Ori yells from the hill rise, "They've bolted!"

I liked that plan.

"I'll draw them off,"Radagast announces confidently.

All stare at him.

Yes, our saviour will definitely be the mad(der) wizard with bird excrement in his hair.

"These are Gundabad Wargs, they will outrun you!"

"These are Rhosgabel Rabbits!"

There is a dramatic pause.

"I'd like to see them try."

Need a bit of a lie-down.

07:16. End up doing unnecessary amount of running around across grasslands, whilst Radagast leads orc pack on wild goose chase.

Turns out his rabbits are fast little buggers.

Wargs must have huge inferiority complex all of a sudden.

"Ori, no!" I shout frantically, pulling the oblivious youth back by his scruff before he runs out into full view of the passing pack. He gives me an apologetic smile.

Durin's beard, how are we all not dead already?

"Where are you leading us?" I demand Gandalf, pressed close to the huge rock as the sounds of distant snarls and pounding paws set my teeth on edge.

He just glances at me, and then he's off again.

How is he so fit?

Note to self: Must start jogging regularly. Cannot afford to be outrun by old man with beard that weighs more than me.

07:33. Have Kili shoot a warg that finds our hiding spot, but its rider still lives (forgot how ugly orcs are, too).

Bifur and Dwalin get stuck in right away, hacking and slashing whilst the orc shrieks its last with unnecessary volume.

So much for staying quiet.

There is a chorus of howling on the air, a clear sign that the pack has heard our unbelievable ruckus, and we all glance at each other.

Baggins appears unusually calm.

Which means he's probably so tired of being terrified by now that's he just sort of regressed into himself, like a shy snail.

"Move!" Gandalf shouts, "RUN!"

Don't argue with the Booming Voice of Certain Doom.

08:10. "Where's Gandalf?"

"He's abandoned us!"

Typical. Probably trying to sell his fireworks off to the orcs whilst they're here. Hell, they're probably his suppliers.

"This way, you fools!"

Turn sharply to see Gandalf peeking out behind a mound of rock.

Honestly, there's no need for name-calling.

We all follow the wizard to find a long, dark rock-tunnel set into the earth, and one after the other we slide down.

Rather enjoyed it actually. Nine out of ten, would recommend.

Am debating having another go, but then the sound of a battle horn echoes from above. The cries of dying orcs is rather convenient, but confusing.

Durin's beard, have they found Gandalf's pipe and turned on each other in a weed-induced frenzy? Only explanation.

Dead orc suddenly tumbles down to land at our feet. Lovely.

Pull out arrow and inspect metalwork.

…

…Bollocks.

"Elves," I spit, throwing down the arrow to convey how completely pissed off I suddenly am. Have not slept for over 20 hours due to almost being filleted by trolls, attacked by wargs and orcs, subjected to ravings of loony wizards and now a bunch of bloody elves have come to join the party.

Must prepare suicide plan in near future.

"I cannot see where the path leads!" Shouts Dwalin from the back of our little cavern, gesturing to the thin sliver of space between the bedrock, "Should we follow it or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" cries Bofur, and must agree with him.

Would rather take shady, 30-foot deep rocky path than let elves know we're down here. They'd start lecturing us on wisdom and greed and the cons of facial hair and then I really would have to off myself.

Hobbit still looks a little bit snail-like.

16:47. Have spent practically whole day traveling through this infernal rock path. Walls so close together there's no room for two people to walk side-by side, and Bombur is struggling just on his own.

Feel like sardine in particularly unforgiving tin. On plus side hobbit is right in front of me, so I get to spend hours admiring his-

…His jacket.

Yes.

Ok.

16:49. Finally escape claustrophobic Path of Despair, and for about 1.2 seconds am very relieved and quite cheery.

Then realize what I am looking at, down in the valley below.

"Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea…"

Rivendell.

Meaning elves, and lots of them.

Restraining tears.

Turn to Gandalf, glaring at him as hard as possible without popping own eyes out.

"This was your plan all along," I accuse hotly, "To seek refuge with our enemy!"

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield," he replies, "The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!"

Am going to spontaneously combust.

Hobbit's eyes slide casually our way, lips pursed in a way that suggests he is restraining himself from saying something.

Good. Cannot cope if Baggins takes Gandalf's side as well.

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?" I point out, "They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will! But we have questions that need to be answered."

Bugger. For once he's making perfect sense.

"If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact," he goes on, puffing out his chest like a pleased bird, "And respect. And with no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

I'm done.

17:11. Arrive at main courtyard. Everything so sickening flamboyant and colourful, looks like rainbow vomited. Eyes stinging.

Hobbit seems to be enjoying himself, though. His mouth hasn't been closed since we first spotted the damn place.

He would like Erebor too, wouldn't he?

Not that I care or anything.

Dwalin catches my eye. We share a look of complete exasperation.

Of all the places I had dreaded ending up on this journey, besides the inside of Smaug's stomach this was at the top of the list.

Actually, no.

Thranduil's home in Mirkwood was the top of the list. If we ever end up there I will smother myself.

Greeted by young-looking brown-haired elf (though I suppose they're all young-looking, bastards) who calls Gandalf 'Mithrandir'.

Always knew he was shady, but did not realize he used aliases. Have bad feeling he is involved in more than illegal fireworks.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," he tells the elf quickly.

"My lord Elrond is not here."

He'll be out not helping people as their kingdoms burn, no doubt. They're all alike.

"Not here? Where is he?"

It is then that a battle horn sounds out from far behind us, and we turn around.

Elves charging towards us on horseback. Of course.

"Get back!" I cry, "Close ranks!"

Make sure to pull hobbit into the middle of us as we huddle together and bare our weapons. He looks over his shoulder at me in confusion, and I hurriedly let go. Not like I was grabbing him by the ass or anything...

17:15. After the elves are quite done practicing their stupid horse-show manoeuvres and have thoroughly encircled us, a particular pointy-eared bastard smiles down at our wizard as he dismounts.

"Gandalf!"

"Lord Elrond!"

How many friends does he have?

They begin talking to each other in Elvish (extremely grating language, can't be doing with it) and can sense the Company growing restless.

For all we know he and Gandalf are insulting us for all to hear. Beard is beginning to get a bit unruly…

Touch it self-consciously.

Would kill for a good comb.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders…"the elf says, finally remembering there are some of us here unable to understand the language of tree-shaggers, "Something, or someone had drawn them near."

"Ah, that may have been us."

Elf turns and approaches me.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

Honestly, so conceited…

"I do not believe we have met," I reply bluntly.

"You have your Grandfather's bearing…" Is he rubbing his immortality in my face and oh Mahal be good, giving me the glad-eye? "I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain."

Durin's beard, it's obvious.

He wants me.

Why else would he be checking me over like that?

"Indeed?" I snarkily answer, "He made no mention of you."

There, that should be a clear enough message to keep his Elvish hands where I can see them.

He suddenly reels off some more of that flowery gibberish he calls a language, unfazed. Probably declaring his dirty intentions.

Must keep one eye open tonight.

"What is he sayin'?" Gloin demands angrily, "Does he offer us insult!"

He's offering something…

"No, Master Gloin, he's offering you food."

Or that, I suppose.

Thank Mahal.

"Ah, well. In that case lead on."

17:32. Follow Gandalf (if that is his real name) and lecherous Elf-Lord to dinner table.

Am distraught to discover distinct lack of meat. Vegetables everywhere.

Oh, I hate elves.

Hate them so much.

Baggins seems happy enough, but then he hasn't stopped smiling since we got here. This rubs me wrong way entirely. Watch him for a moment. He tucks into green rubbish contentedly, eyes flitting about everywhere at once as if he doesn't know where to look next, and then meets my gaze-

-and turn as red as a tomato.

In a daring mood, I try to smile at him. Feels strange - my face is not used to contorting this way – and think I may look more fearsome than normal. I stop.

Scowling so much easier.

17:35. Elf-women playing flute and harp as we dine.

Could play harp-lady under the table any day; back home am actually banned from playing because I have been known to bring grown men to tears.

It's a self-imposed ban. Kept losing friends because they got angry at me for emotionally harassing them with sweet music and making them cry in public.

Not my fault I'm gifted.

17:36. Wonder what became of Radagast the Brown and his mutant rabbits?

17:37. Eldong (or whatever his name is) examines my very not-sexy elven sword.

"This is Orcrist," he tells me, "The Goblin-Cleaver, a famous blade. Forged by the High Elves of the west." He passes it back to me, "May it serve you well."

Am polite enough to nod, as the fact that my sword is called 'Goblin-Cleaver' cheers me up considerably. Wonder whether Eldong would be scandalized if I used said sword to 'cleave' elves rather than goblins.

Hopefully can one day rename it Thranduil-Cleaver.

"And this," he breathes as he unsheathes Gandalf's sword (oh), "Is Glamdring. The Foe-Hammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin…"

Foe-hammer? Damn, that sounds even more majestic than mine.

Bugger Gandalf.

Maybe he is a weapons expert.

"How did you come by these?" Eldong asks, bewildered.

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road," Gandalf replies with an 'if-you-can-believe-that' air about him.

Glare. Silly old fart is not meant to be giving away anything about our quest.

"Shortly before we were ambushed by orcs," he finishes huffily.

"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?"

Shut up Eldong, honestly. So nosy. Entirely tempted to say 'Looking for your mother' or something else in that vein, but realize this may be counter-productive.

20:55. Gandalf, Eldong, Balin, Baggins and I have relocated to some poncey hall room to discuss serious matters.

"Our business is no concern of elves," I proclaim loudly, even though Eldong is stood right there.

"For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map!"

No. Don't want to.

"It is the legacy of my people," I tell the wizard stubbornly, "It is mine to protect, as are its secrets."

Also don't trust anybody, dwarf and elf alike, with such glossy hair. He has used some sort of black magic to create that level of shine or I'm not majestic.

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!" Gandalf exclaims, "Your pride will be your downfall."

Excuse me.

What, is he a prophet now, too?

"You are standing in the presence of one of the few people in Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"

Elrond? Who the hell is-

Oh.

Seems Eldong is not called Eldong after all.

Sigh.

Gandalf is making perfect sense again. Most inconvenient.

Reluctantly give it to Elrond even though Balin tries to stop me. If the elf starts cackling madly and runs of with it I will never forgive Gandalf.

He doesn't run off with it, thank Mahal. Instead considers the map for a moment, and then glances up at me in surprise. "Erebor."

So far, so good. Can evidently read, just waiting to see if he can read Ancient Dwarfish.

"What is your interest in this map?"

Nosey tree-shagger, will give him a piece of my m-

"It's mostly academic," Gandalf interrupts before I can say anything, cool as a cucumber, "As you know this sort of artefact sometimes contains…hidden text."

He glances at me warningly.

Sly old dog.

Still unsure if Gandalf is utter genius or just high loon. Bit of both, most likely.

Elrond moves into the moonlight to better see the map, and Gandalf calls after him, "You can still read Ancient Dwarfish, can you not?"

Honestly, so embarrassing not being able to read a map from your own race when an elf can, of all people.

Glance at hobbit.

He looks very fine with moonlight playing in his hair-

What is wrong with me.

21:09. Turns out hidden message is in 'moon runes', meaning we can only read the damned thing by the light of a Midsummer's Eve, and of a crescent moon.

Why my grandfather was such an annoyingly specific bastard I cannot comprehend.

"Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight."

Oh.

Well, excellent.

It's about time fate was with me. Normally it's busy trying to bugger me in the ass.

The moon is bright up here on this overly elaborate rock balcony. The map transforms in the light, and the glowing written language of my people appears as if by magic on the old parchment.

Neat trick, that. Should write hidden messages this way on greetings cards to family I don't like.

"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks," reads the elf, "And the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole…"

Huh.

What the bloody hell does that mean?

Strike thinking pose.

"Durin's Day?" Queries the hobbit.

"It's the start of the dwarves' New Year," Gandalf replies, "With the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter."

Mahal above, I remember last Durin's day. Got so drunk woke up with head in chamber pot. Have yet to live it down.

"This is old news," I say gruffly, returning to the task at hand, "Summer is passing, Durin's Day will soon be upon us!"

"We still have time." Balin assures me.

"For what?" Baggins wonders.

"To find the entrance."

Balin, no-

"We have to standing in exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then and only then can the door be opened."

Yes, thank you Balin for pointing out the obvious and letting Lord Eldong-ond whatever his name is know our plans, honestly.

"So this is your purpose? To enter the Mountain?"

Quite literally at wits end. Cannot believe the audacity.

"What of it?" I throw back, just daring his nose to get any closer to my business. My business is not for his nose (dirty lecher).

"There are some who would not deem it wise."

He says that as if I should actually give any shits.

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asks, ever the worrier.

"You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth."

Then he exits in a purposefully dramatic and elusive fashion, leaving us there all blinking dumbly at one another.

Durin's beard.

His one-liners are even more cryptic and incomprehensible than Gandalf's.

Hate elves so much I could cry.