Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) J.R.R. Tolkien.

Act I: The Nomad

Chapter Four

Bilbo spent the next few hours with Ori going over the many misinterpretations that Dwarves believed about Elves. Shockingly, not everything Ori knew of Elves was complete bullshit, and they were able to get through the list fairly quickly. Once done they agreed to take a break and returned to the kitchen where they had left Dori and Nori to their private conversation.

"Still alive then?" Ori commented when he spotted Nori sitting at the table with Dori. On the table between them was a rainbow mess of yarns and threads that seemed to have no end or beginning.

Nori grunted as he methodically unwound a bright green thread from a maroon piece. Across from him, Dori looked up from his own pile of blue string and gave them both a wide smile.

"Finally decided to join us? Wonderful. Master Baggins, are you hungry? Would you care for something to eat? Perhaps some tea?" the Dwarf asked, setting down his pile of yarn.

"I won't say no to a cup of tea," Bilbo admitted as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "All that talking has made my throat dry."

"Bilbo is helping me prepare for my exam by teaching me about Elves," Ori added as he moved to help his elder brother with the tea. "He's lived with them so he knows their customs quite well."

"How complicated is it to know that they eat leaves and listen to music that sounds like a harp being tuned?" Nori muttered to himself.

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he took a seat next to the thief. "They do more than just that you know."

Nori nodded without looking away from his task. "Right. They also write sad poems about their hair and the weather."

The Hobbit rolled his eyes yet again.

"So you said you need to look for work, right?" asked the thief as he began to unravel a yellow piece of yarn from a red piece.

He nodded as he watched the Dwarf's nimble fingers work. "Yes, I need to find work as soon as possible to make up for the money I spent."

"Do you have a craft then? Or any special skills?" Dori wondered.

Bilbo pursed his lips as he went over all the skills he had before settling on the one he used most often. "I suppose by trade I would be considered a healer."

Nori finally looked up from his bits of string to give the Hobbit next to him a judging look with his eyebrows. "How did someone like you ever become a healer?"

Bilbo scowled, feeling greatly offended. He didn't appreciate being questioned by those ridiculous eyebrows. "I trained under an experienced healer obviously. How else would I become a healer?"

"I think what my foolish brother meant was why did you choose such a trade?" Dori clarified as he finished preparing the tea. "Becoming a healer takes a lot of time and dedication."

"Not to mention money," Nori added with a smirk.

"Well, my mother was forced to become a healer after we lost our home, and she trained me in her craft until her death," the Hobbit explained, beginning to unravel his own bit of brown and white knots. "After that I learned what I could from other healers I met wherever we were living at the time. My skills are decent enough, but I'm sure I lack a lot of the basic skills as I was not correctly trained."

Dori nodded slowly as he and Ori brought the tea and cups to the table. "I see. Well, I know of a few clinics that you could apply at, but first you must pay a visit to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They will need to give you a pass that marks you as a visiting resident. With that you will be able to get a job."

Bilbo frowned, and accepted the chipped clay mug handed to him by Ori. "That's strange. The Dwarves in the Blue Mountains never made me go through that."

"The Dwarrows in the Blue Mountain are colonies from broken Dwarrow kingdoms. Erebor is the richest nation among the Dwarrow kingdoms," Nori pointed out, rolling his eyes and stealing a cup from Dori. "Of course our laws and customs are a bit more complicated."

"Fine. Where would this ministry be then?" he snapped back.

"It's on the Fourth Level in the Jade District," Ori replied. "I can take you there tomorrow after breakfast."

"What about your training?"

"I don't start until noon so I have time," the Dwarf reassured, giving him a small smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Dori has to go to work though and Nori will just get in trouble if he goes up there."

"Hey!" protested the troublemaker. "I can go a day without making trouble!"

"It doesn't count if you don't get caught," Dori deadpanned, staring at his brother knowingly over the rim of his cup.

Ori and Bilbo snorted in unison.

"I didn't take you for a healer," Ori commented as Nori began to mutter threats and curses under his breath. "I thought maybe you were a scribe like me."

He shook his head, and steadily ignored the bitter sting to his heart. "No, no scribe. Just another healer."

"Well, a healer is a good trade. You're sure to find work in one of the clinics here," Dori assured, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his red mug. "And if not, we'll help you find a job in something else. You will get work one way or another."

Bilbo didn't doubt that. If there was one skill his people had perfected in their ruin, it was surviving in foreign and hostile lands.

The next day Ori led Bilbo through the busy streets of Erebor to a staircase so large and grand that it made the staircases in Rivendell look cheap and pathetic. It was made up of a dark green stone that held veins of blue and white running through them. Sadly, it was also a long staircase, and so they spent more time than he cared for simply climbing it to get to the next level.

When they finally arrived to the next level of the city, Ori led him through the maze of streets and to a building composed of a muggy red stone that he didn't recognize. It was guarded by two heavily armed Dwarves, who watched them without blinking but did not stop them from entering the abode. As they passed by, Bilbo realized that their armor and uniforms were different from the guards that had arrested him the day before.

Perhaps they have different units of soldiers, he mused, following Ori through the massive doors and up yet another flight of stairs. When they finally reached the top, they found themselves in a massive circular chamber that was filled with various Dwarves in fine clothes and equally fine furniture. None of them paid much attention to the two newcomers until Ori went up to one and quietly spoke to him in Khuzdûl.

The Dwarf—who was wearing far too much gold in Bilbo's opinion, and smelt like a cross between wax and ale—sniffed and slowly looked Ori up and down. As he took in the scribe's patched clothes and worn boots, his sneer grew wider and uglier. Finally he spoke up in Khuzdûl and made a shooing gesture with one hand that had Ori's shoulders dropping.

Bilbo frowned as the young Dwarf walked back to him in a dejected slump. "What's wrong? What did he say to you?"

"He said that you need to make an appointment before they'll consider your request," Ori replied, avoiding Bilbo's eyes. "He also said that it will take a season or two before they get to you because they have more important matters to attend to."

Bilbo felt his jaw drop to his chest. "What?! A season or more? I don't have that kind of time! My clan is waiting on me!"

Ori flinched, and seemed to sag into his frayed gray scarf. "I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"It's not your fault," he consoled as he leveled a glare at the pompous Dwarf standing a few feet away. "It's his."

Then, before Ori could reply, the Hobbit marched over to the unknown Dwarf. He knew, vaguely, that he should calm down but his anxiety over making up the money he had spent was rising with every hour. He had come too far and was too close to finally achieving his task to be thwarted by one snobby Dwarf.

"Excuse me," he said, calling the Dwarf's attention and gaining a few others as well, "I'm here to apply for a pass that will allow me to work in the kingdom. Who do I speak to over this?"

The Dwarf raised a dark brow at him as his lips began to curl into yet another nasty sneer. "As I told your friend a moment ago, your request will be heard after more important matters are seen to—"

"This is important!" Bilbo snapped, interrupting the other without a care to how rude he was being. He was sure his father would be pulling his hair out if he could hear Bilbo now, but he was equally sure his mother would have been nodding in approval. Sometimes manners just had to be discarded.

"I need to get a job in order to survive here," he added before the Dwarf could speak up. "That may not seem very important to you, but it is certainly a big concern to my family and I!"

At that point, quite a few of the other occupants were staring at the two of them and whispering to each other. Bilbo ignored them and watched as the Dwarf in front of him turned from red to maroon before finally settling on purple. None of the colors were very flattering against his green and yellow attire.

"You miserable little wretch—!" the Dwarf began to snarl before he was interrupted by a sharp soprano.

"What is going on in here?"

The Dwarf looked over Bilbo's head and then turned so white that the Hobbit was certain he was about to faint. "Lady Súna!"

Bilbo turned around and found a newcomer gliding over to them. It was a female Dwarf wearing a dark red dress that hugged her frame tightly with silver lace. Like most of her kind, she was adorned in silver jewelry and rubies of various sizes. Bilbo found her—as he did with most females of any race—to be very beautiful even with the thick beard taking up most of her jaw. Her hair was a light shade of gold and braided back into thick loops on the back of her head before falling down her back like a curtain of morning sunshine. Her skin was a smooth ivory and her eyes wide and dark brown, and framed by thick and long lashes. With her strong jaw and round hips, she was the perfect example of a classical Dwarven beauty.

She also, Bilbo noted, made every other Dwarf in the room tense up like a pack of rabbits when a wolf appeared.

The female looked over Bilbo in one quick glance before she turned to the Dwarf and began to speak in Khuzdûl. To his surprise, he recognized her rolling vowels and clipped accent as one from the Blue Mountains. In response to whatever she had said, the snobby Dwarf pointed to Bilbo and replied in the same language before making a hand motion that he did not recognize. Once he was done speaking, the female Dwarf turned her dark eyes back to the Hobbit.

"Greetings," she said in clear Westron. "I am Súna daughter of Sunnvá. I am in charge of the embassy here. Tell me, what brings a Hobbit to our fair city?"

"I came here to request a temporary pass in order to seek employment during my stay in Erebor," Bilbo replied, straightening his back and meeting the female's wide gaze straight on. Flinching back and cowering would not earn him any good points with a Dwarf; even more so if the one before him was from the Blue Mountains.

A finely trimmed brow went up a fraction. "I see. And your trade?"

"I'm a healer."

The brow went up another inch. "Indeed? Who trained you?"

"I've had many teachers," he replied honestly, thinking back over his life. "Hobbit, Man, Elf, Dwarf—I learned from whoever I could find."

The female's eyebrow remained slightly raised but the rest of her face remained perfectly blank. Keeping her eyes on Bilbo, she spoke again in Khuzdûl. He had no idea what she said, but it made the snobby Dwarf's mouth drop open and his face turn a ruddy red. When he spoke up in what sounded almost like a whine, the female finally turned away from the Hobbit to stare at him. Bilbo could not imagine what the Dwarf read in her expressionless face, but whatever it was, it made him shut his mouth with a snap that echoed through the silent chamber.

With the snobby Dwarf quiet, the female looked back to Bilbo, and gave him a small nod. "Your request has been accepted. Motar here will help you with the contract and see to your pass. Please enjoy your stay in Erebor for as long as you wish."

Then, in a whirl of red silk and gold braids, the beautiful Dwarf sashayed off without another word.

Bilbo watched her go in a daze as Ori snuck up to stand at his side. Around them the Dwarves began to whisper and mutter to one another while casting judging looks at the Hobbit, the snobby Dwarf, and the female that had wandered off. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he had a feeling he had missed something rather important.

"What was that?" he asked out loud to Ori as the snobby Dwarf—Motar—stomped off to a nearby stone shelf. Fleetingly, he hoped the Dwarf was getting him a contract and not a sword to gut him with.

"That was Lady Súna, the wife of Lord Glóin, who is a close cousin of the King," Ori answered quietly as he gave Bilbo a look he could not read. "She's also the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

"Oh. I guess that means she's very important then?"

"Well, she's married into the Line of Durin and she runs one of the most important branches in Erebor," Ori listed in exaggeration as he rolled his green eyes, "so yeah, just a little bit."

Bilbo sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"So was that normal back there?" he asked later after the contract was signed and Bilbo was given a heavy marble block with runes engraved on it and a silky gray tassel attached to the end. It weighed as much as his sword and he had a feeling it would do just as much damage in a fight. Possibly even more if used correctly.

"Was what normal?" Ori said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Bilbo gestured behind him with one hand at the building they were walking away from. "That, that whole female Dwarf in charge thing. I've never seen a female Dwarf in charge of something so important. Is that normal here? Because it wasn't in the Blue Mountains."

Ori tilted his head to the side, and visibly ran his tongue over his teeth in consideration. "Well, by law, Dwarrowdams hold the same rights and freedom as Dwarrows. They can hold a position of power or rule their house, or even join the army if they wish it."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming in…"

Ori sighed. "But in reality Dwarrowdams rarely do any of those things. Instead they are expected to stay at home and produce children and work on their craft. You see, Dwarrowdams are very rare and few, so they are always very fiercely protected by their kin at all costs. They are kept away from dangerous trades like war and mining, and encouraged to focus on safer trades like crafting jewelry or weaving. They are always heavily guarded from outsiders because it's not unusual for one to be abducted by a desperate Dwarrow or his family. Most dams go along with all of this easily enough because it's just tradition at this point to spend their lives raising their children, caring for their home, and working on their craft."

"So Lady Súna is an oddity then," he translated as he absorbed Ori's words. "Were there objections then when she got her position? I mean, legally she's not doing anything wrong, but if she is going against tradition…"

"There were some objections, but not as much if it had been another lady," the scribe admitted, nodding his head and making his braids bounce. "As a family member of the King, she holds a lot of political power. She also has the support of Princess Dís; the King's younger sister and the Crown Prince's mother. She's another Dwarrowdam who holds a high position and a lot of power."

"I didn't know the King had a sister," he admitted, thinking over what he knew of Erebor. "Actually I didn't even know there was a Crown Prince."

"His name is Fíli son of Vílin," Ori clarified, giving him a crooked smile. "There was a huge uproar when he was named heir a few years ago. Until then, everyone was sure that the King's younger brother, Prince Frerin, would be the Crown Prince. No one thought he would skip over his own brother for his sister's eldest son. Especially since Prince Fíli's father is a commoner."

"Why did he choose Fíli over Frerin? Is this Frerin a bad prince or something?" Bilbo wondered.

Ori's green eyes went wide and he shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, quite the opposite! Prince Frerin is very noble and brave and beloved by everyone in Erebor. Even the Elves of Mirkwood like him, and everyone knows they don't like anyone!"

Bilbo snorted in agreement because he had enough experience with the Mirkwood Elves to know that was certainly true. Sometimes he was pretty sure they didn't even like each other. "Then why didn't the King choose him? Because his popularity makes him a political threat to his own reign?"

"I don't think so. The two are pretty close from what I know," the young Dwarf admitted, shrugging. "No one really knows why he chose Prince Fíli but I do know that Prince Frerin supports his decision. It's no secret that he dotes on his sister's sons obsessively."

"He sounds like a good Dwarf," he complimented while dodging a pair of laughing soldiers who were carelessly swinging their hammers about.

"He is," Ori agreed, nodding his head firmly. "Well, now that you have a pass, you can get a job. Any ideas of where you would like to work?"

"A clinic?" he suggested with a smirk.

The scribe rolled his eyes. "I know that. I meant where. There's about one clinic on each level but only the Fourth Level and below hire outsiders."

Bilbo hummed as he thought over his options. "Do you know which clinic pays the best?"

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue over his canines in consideration. "I don't know for sure, but I do know that the Amber District has the best clinic in the whole city. Would you like to check it out?"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Might as well. Not like I have any other options."

The Amber District was, as its name implied, made up of amber colored rocks that shimmered like liquid fire. The roads were paved in what looked like copper and the buildings were built of marble and stones that ranged from white and yellow to dark orange and gold. It was a bright and cheery district that reminded him of sunlight, and Bilbo instantly decided that it was his new favorite one for that reason alone. As much as he was used to living underground, he was still a Hobbit, and Hobbits were creatures of sunshine. They would never enjoy living in mountains no matter how beautiful said mountain was.

The clinic was located close to the borders of the district that led to the other districts of the city. It was a large and compact building made up of a smooth, white stone that felt rough to the touch. Unlike the embassy, it was much more open with windows as tall as a Man and a massive set of doors that stood open with a line of Khuzdûl chiseled above it. There were no guards at the doors, and the Dwarves inside paid them no mind as they went about their business of caring for their patients. When they asked for the healer in charge, they were directed to an older looking Dwarf attending to a patient in a cot.

"What do you want?" the Dwarf asked in Westron without looking away from the wrist he was bandaging.

Ori cleared his throat and began to speak in Khuzdûl to the unknown Dwarf. As he did, Bilbo took the time to study the stranger curiously. Like most of his kind, he was broad shouldered and stout with a wide nose and a equally wide forehead. Unlike most of his kind though, his gray and white streaked hair was a fuzzy mess that sat untamed to his shoulders. The only sense of order he had was to his beard that was braided into two separate loops down his chest. As Ori finished speaking, the unkempt Dwarf finally finished with his patient, and turned his attention to the two.

"So you're here for a job?" the Dwarf said, staring at Bilbo with light blue eyes hidden under thick and unruly brows.

Bilbo nodded, and held his chin up high as he held the stranger's gaze. "Yes, I am. My name is Bilbo Baggins and I would like to work for this clinic."

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes and slowly looked him up and down. "Hmp. And what use would I have for a skinny little thing like you? What can you do that my own healers couldn't do better?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I don't know what your healers have been trained in or what they deal with. All I know are my own skills and capabilities, and if you give me a chance, then I will show you those skills so you can judge them for yourself."

The Dwarf's bushy brows met his hairline. Bilbo thought he almost looked a bit impressed but he couldn't be sure. As the Dwarf continued to stare at him, he stared straight back and took note of the stranger's face fully for the first time. The healer's pale face was heavily lined and dotted with moles and freckles across his nose and cheekbones. He was not handsome in any sense of the word, but there was something charming about him nonetheless. A sense of life and laughter that showed in the creases and groves of his face. It was a trustworthy face, and it made him relax slightly.

Finally the Dwarf seemed to come to a decision, and nodded his head firmly. "Very well. I will give you three tasks to do. Complete them and I'll hire you. Fail and never bother me again. Deal?"

Bilbo nodded back. "Fair enough. What would you have me do first?"

"Recently there was an accident down in one of the mines. A lot of the miners were injured because of it. I want you to head down there and see if they need any aid," the healer directed, crossing his thick arms over his wide chest.

Bilbo blinked at the odd request, and glanced to Ori, who gave him a useless shrug in reply. "Very well. Where are these miners?"

"Try the Brass District on Level Seven. That's where most of the miners live," suggested the Dwarf.

He nodded, and tried not to scowl too obviously over the lack of useful information. "Anything else?"

"Yes, one more thing," replied the healer, smirking at him. "My name is Óin son of Gróin. Try not to forget it."