'You said I can choose any item, anything at all, from the whole hoard!' Bilbo stuttered, while the strong hands of the King under the Mountain were shaking him violently. The plan that looked so reasonable the night before, now turned out a complete disaster. Bilbo tried to talk, to reason, to explain, but couldn't pick the right words, and everything he said made the matter even worse. 'Take it I have disposed of my reward as I wished, and let it go at that!'

'By the beard of Durin!' Thorin growled, enraged. 'Curse Gandalf, curse all wizards and their minions! Never again will I trust anyone apart from my own kin. As for you, traitor, I will throw you to the rocks!'

'Stay! Gandalf is here,' said a voice. The old man with a casket who came with Bard and Elvenking threw aside his hood and cloak. 'If you don't like my burglar, give him back to me.'

'Gladly!' Thorin roared, throwing Bilbo down the wall with such force the hobbit nearly fell off the rocks like he was threatened. 'I am betrayed,' the king said, talking to his fellow companions. 'I could not forbear to redeem the Arkenstone, the treasure of my house. For it I will give one fourteenth share of the hoard in silver and gold, setting aside the gems; but that shall be accounted the promised share of this traitor, and with this reward he shall depart, and you can divide it as you will. He will get little enough, I doubt not.'

Trembling, Bilbo got to his feet, to his short, weak, bruised feet. He felt awful. Not only because he had just been thrown down rather unkindly, but because he did, indeed, felt a traitor. He started this affair about Arkenshone because he was desperate to go home. But now the action seemed incredibly selfish to him. He put his own interests above others, and paid the price. His companions' friendship.

Bard, Gandalf and the Elvenkings were still arguing about the particulars of delivering the treasure, but Bilbo didn't care. He didn't even feel a slightest irritation about Thorin taking back his word and withholding the reward he promised the hobbit for returning the ring. No amount of gold and silver would erase the memory of Thorin Oakenshield looking at him with hatred.

'Well done, Mister Baggins!' said Gandalf to him, when the were going down to the camp. But the hobbit looked at the wizard blearily, and began to sob.

The next day, Dain Ironfoot reached the Mountain. And shortly after him, the army of Orcs and Wargs. In front of the common enemy, the other quarrels were forgotten; Men, Elves and Dwarves joined their forces against the foes.

Bilbo had taken his stand on Ravenhill among the Elves. Not because he preferred to defend the Elvenking. There was only one king whom he truly cared to defend. But Thorin and his fellow companions were sitting safely within in the Mountain, so Bilbo chose to stand next to Gandalf, the only friend he had left in the end of this tiresome, soul-breaking journey.

The wizard eyed him apprehensively. Hobbits are not known for being prone to depression and gloomy thoughts. Gandalf had never seen Bilbo staying in low spirits for so long. The wizard would understand if the hobbit was frightened, for the battle beneath them was truly terrible. But Bilbo for some strange reason wasn't scared. Just very, very sad.

Suddenly there was a great shout, and from the Gate came a trumpet call. It was then when Bilbo heard it. The deep fierce voice, shaking like a horn in the valley.

'To me! To me! O my kinsfolk! To me!' Thorin cried. Part of the wall, moved by levers, fell outward with a crash. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him.

And when Bilbo heard this call, he just couldn't stand still. Gandalf was busy looking into the sky, so the wizard never noticed how the hobbit, light-footed as ever, ran down the slope and stepped onto the battlefield.

Almost at once Bilbo encountered a problem. He could still hear Thorin's voice, but the battle was pretty intense, with Orcs, Men and Elves fighting everywhere, blood splattering, blades clashing, bits and pieces flowing in all directions. Bilbo put on his ring. That seemed the only way to get to Thorin.

It took a long while and all his luck to evade of all the blows, albeit unintentional, coming his way. And the next time when Bilbo saw Thorin the dwarven king fought alone. The hobbit got terrified for a moment before he caught a glimpse of a dozen familiar shapes at the distance and realized the rest of the Company had fallen behind. Thorin looked tremendously fearsome, his strikes deadly, his blade a swirl of blue flame, his ring bright on his finger. He stood alone, and yet Orcs and Wargs were afraid to approach him other than in pack of three of more.

Bilbo was easing Sting out of its scabbard, prepared to take off the ring and to take a place next to the king, when a random blow coming from behind knocked him out cold.

In the velvet darkness, he saw eyes. Pale glowing orbs, longing, searching. He has seen these eyes before, although he couldn't quite remember where. They brought the sense of danger. Bilbo tried to escape their piercing gaze, tried to run away, but he couldn't move. He cried... and woke up.

'Farewell, my good thief,' Thorin whispered. The king lay on the bunk, wounded with so many wounds he couldn't really move anymore. No one could understand how he even managed to hold this long. 'I wish to part in friendship with you, and would take back my words and deeds at the Gates. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!'

Thorin smiled at Bilbo for the last time before closing his eyes. He looked more peaceful than Bilbo saw him in months. There was no ring on his finger.

Gandalf was perplexed. The whole ring business was confusing to say the least. When he first caught a glimpse of Bilbo's ring upon escape from the Misty Mountains, he was pretty sure he recognized the Ring of Power. Which one though? Gandalf had his suspicious. The precious thing was of rich golden color, plain and smooth. A ring came to mind that fit this description.

However, upon arriving to the Lonely Mountain along with the Elvenking and talking to Thorin, Gandalf realized he might have been mistaken. The Dwarven ring, one of the great Seven, was shining upon Thorin's hand. It didn't take the wizard long to put two and two together. The ring he saw after crossing the Misty Mountains must be the same ring Thorin was wearing now. The only thing that bothered Gandalf was the look of the thing. He never saw any of the Seven, but he would expect them look differently from the One. However, the Necromancer got hold of it for some time. Could he have altered the ring somehow? Or maybe the One changed its looks while belonging shortly to Isildur?

And then Thorin died, and the ring disappeared. Dwarves seemed to believe it was lost on the battlefield, and still searching for it, but Gandalf had his doubts. Could it be that Bilbo Baggins, still wounded by Thorin's unjust words, claimed it back while no one was looking? It was not like Bilbo Baggins Gandalf knew, but then, Rings of Power are known to change people. The matter required further investigation. As soon as all this mess resolves itself, he ought to set off to Minas-Tirith.

That's how it happened that Gandalf had to spend whole sixty years trying to making sense of Bilbo's ring.

~fin~

P.S. I want to thank everyone who favored and followed the story, and especially those who left reviews. It was a pleasure writing for you guys and gals. I hope I didn't mess it up too much. English is my third language, and it shows.

P.P.S. Anyone guessed where the dwarven ring went?