Thanks for all the reviews, by the way. They're a great incentive to continue!

I envisage this happening at somewhere like Bree. Yes, these are not linear. They are just… random. And I really really like this one. It's why it ended up so long.

In which the dwarves take over an inn, Thorin loses his cool, and much singing happens. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

Revelry

"How bad is it in there?"

Bilbo frowned as he tried to answer Thorin's question, leaning against the side of the inn in attempt to make the ground stay still. What did 'bad' count as for dwarves? He'd thought the worst it could get was what he'd seen in his own poor hobbit hole, but apparently – judging by what he was seeing now, at any rate – the dwarves had been on their best behaviour then. "Not so bad" he replied tentatively. "I just came out to get some… some fresh air. And some peace and quiet. Where have you been, anyway?"

Thorin humphed. "Sorting business. How far have they got?"

"How far…?"

"Has Dori told the tale about Ori and the fish yet?"

"Yes" Bilbo replied with some confidence. It had been a fair few hours ago, and he'd had a fair few half-tankards since then, but it rang a bell. It sounded like it had been a good story, but he couldn't for the life of him remember how it went.

"Has Balin started reminiscing about…" Thorin waved a hand in the air "… well, anything really."

"Doesn't he-?"

"More than usual."

"Yes." Bilbo had been treated to a monologue.

"Have Fíli and Kíli done that trick of theirs with the fiddles yet?"

Bilbo frowned, gazing up into the night sky. "Which trick?"

"The one where they play theirs with one hand and the other's with the other."

"Oh, yes." Bilbo had been very impressed, especially when they had managed to do it without knocking any drinks over. Or each other.

"Arm wrestling?"

"Maybe?" Bilbo resisted the urge to massage his wrist. Apparently even Ori was stronger than him.

"Has anyone been dancing on the table?"

"Hmm…?" Bilbo was dragged back from his contemplation of the slight ache in his arm.

"Has anyone danced on the tables?"

"I think… I think I might have done that. With… with someone else." With a bit of luck they wouldn't be able to remember who he'd been either.

Thorin ran his hand across his face in despair. "We had best drag them out of there soon then. Wait." He froze suddenly. "Is that… singing?"

Bilbo nodded happily. Songs had been happening sporadically for hours, but had been getting progressively… obscurer. Was that the right word? Bofur had a fine collection of songs, all with excellent choruses, but some of them made Bilbo blush. He had crept out just after the current one had started.

"What are they singing?"

"Um… a b- battle song?" Bilbo tried to remember. "Kíli, no Fíli… or the other one, bet that Bofur wouldn't-"

"Is it Bofur's one about me and the men at Tharbad?"

"Is that… is that the one that starts 'Thorin was a brave brave king who never lost a fight. He hated orcs, he hated elves, loathed men with all his might'? Or actually, that might be the chorus…" Bilbo trailed off, realising he was addressing empty air. He paused for a moment, then followed the dwarf king inside the tavern.

"Now he stabbed left and he stabbed right, he slew them all around!

A hundred thousand corpses lay there on the ground!

He chopped one man clean in half and then cleaved off his head,

To keep it as a trophy to hang above his bed.

The men were scared and shaking. They-"

"BOFUR! Stop it!"

"- turned and ran away.

But brave Thorin would not let any escape that tragic day."

"BOFUR!"

Bilbo watched as Thorin tried to struggle through the throng as the innkeeper and whatever of his clientele were still left looked on in shock. The protests were drowned out by a full-throated chorus. Bilbo joined in, pleased to discover that he knew it after all.

"All hail mighty Thorin, king of Erebor!

Never stand in his way when he goes to war!

He'll lop off the enemy's head with a nasty thunk!

And that is why, his poor ma sighs, you should never get him drunk!"

"Sorry Thorin."

Thorin's look speaks volumes which even Bofur's throbbing head can make sense of.

"You don't get the money though." Kíli slurs. "You never finished the song."

"He never got the chance!"

"No. No he did not." Thorin's voice breaks through the protests. "Because the town watch threw you all out of the tavern before you could finish." A babble of protests and explanations arises, and Thorin raises his hand. "And then, when you tried to continue the verse outside, we were thrown out of the town too! Because they think we're an invading army that has decided to get drunk first and torch the place later!"

"Well, Dwalin did try to hit them." Dori offers helpfully.

"I know that!"

"I'm just saying."

"Where are we going to sleep?"

"Well, not in warm tavern beds, that's for sure."

Bilbo groaned. He had been looking forward to that feather mattress. And his head could really do with a nice soft pillow at the moment.

"Back to usual, then." Gloín says gruffly.

Thorin nods ungraciously. They do at least still have their baggage with them. He surveys the sorry gathering, noting in particular the fact that his sister-sons appear to be propping each other up. Kíli grins at him weakly.

"How many did you have?"

"…Thirty?"

Thorin sighs in exasperation. "You did not."

"I lost count. More than him."

"Not so." Fíli counters.

"Did. You got distracted when… when Ori fell asleep on your feet."

"Your fault."

"Not my fault I can drink more than him…" Kíli straggles off as his uncle's expression registers in his addled brain.

"What did you say about Ori?"

"He fell, fell asleep on the floor by Fíli's feet. It was sweet, you should have seen-"

Thorin turns back to the locked, barred and bolted gate, behind which the lost member of his company peacefully, if drunkenly, slumbers. He briefly considers hammering on the gate with his axe, before a verse pertaining to his fictional self charging the walls springs to mind. He'll send the hobbit in to fetch him in the morning. He glances at their swaying burglar and reconsiders. The afternoon it'll have to be.

At least one of their company will sleep in the inn tonight, even if it is only forgotten on the floor in the corner.

"All hail mighty Thorin-"

"SHUT UP!"

My appalling song lyrics are supposed to be sung to a jaunty tune something rather like Monty Python's Philosopher song, which has rather better lyrics. However, I'm going to take the authorial opportunity to blame Bofur for the lyrics and rhyme scheme – ah, the joys of internal narration.