29

WHAT WAS STOLEN

Kíli was hopping impatiently from foot to foot when his brother and the lass rejoined the Company in the treasury, a hopeful grin already on his face. The glow in Fíli's eyes and the embarrassed blush on Viska's cheeks answered his question before he even had to ask and the young archer lunged forward with a whoop to pound the golden-haired prince joyfully on the back. Fíli endured it for a few moments before shoving him away with a laugh and Kíli turned to offer Viska a gallant bow before pulling her into a warm hug that had his brother growling at him playfully. The Dwarrowmaid rolled her eyes at their antics, but gave the younger Dwarf a smile and returned his hug, but their moment of quiet celebration was cut short as Balin approached, his eyes reluctant. Kíli felt a chill go down his spine at the look on the elder Dwarf's face.

"My apologies, lass, but I need to borrow the princes." He clasped her shoulder gently and Kíli watched her meet his gaze, her green eyes full of troubled knowledge. She nodded quickly and he turned to the brothers. "Your uncle has summoned you. He is in the throne room, waiting for us."

Kíli glanced over, dark eyes meeting light for a long moment before Fíli nodded slowly. The swordsman pressed a kiss to Viska's brow before they turned to leave, the younger prince following reluctantly. Balin led the way, lost in his own thoughts. Kíli, too, walked in silence for a bit, his gut roiling with apprehension, both at the summons and at the fact that he actually feared facing his uncle. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and hesitant.

"What does he want?"

Balin sighed and shook his head. "He did not say, but there is only one thing in his thoughts of late."

At the young prince's side, his brother nodded, eyes shadowed.

"The Arkenstone."

* X *

Thorin was a grim, glowering presence on the great throne of Erebor. He still wore the armor he had donned to speak to Bard that morning, and a rich, heavy cloak hung from his shoulders. The massive crown on his head was a marvel of Dwarven craftsmanship, several precious metals intertwined and worked with intricate designs.

"Is that-?"

Fíli nodded, answering his brother's unfinished question. He had never seen it before, but he had heard enough tales to recognize the Raven Crown that Thrór had worn when he ruled under the Mountain. According to Amad's tales, it had been left behind, dropped in the struggle when Thráin dragged the protesting king from the halls of Erebor. It had undoubtedly found its way into the great hoard, and Thorin had found it. None among the Company would argue against his right to wear his grandfather's crown, or to sit on his grandfather's throne, least of all his nephew and heir. Still, a sense of unease slithered in Fíli's gut as he took in the scene before him. There was a darkness behind the sapphire eyes, a shadow over the grim lines of his face. Thorin had always been stern, each smile a rare gem to be treasured by his family, but there was little of the uncle that the prince remembered in the Dwarf lord before him.

He glanced around the room as they waited for Thorin to speak. Bilbo hovered at the edge of the gathering, one hand toying restlessly with some hidden trinket in his pocket. Dwalin was a soldier at ease, his dark gaze never still. Beside him, Balin looked older than ever, his eyes fixed on the king. Kíli was an anxious presence at Fíli's shoulder, just beginning to fidget as the quiet dragged on.

"It is here in these halls. I know it."

Thorin's voice was a low rumble that carried through the hall, startling the golden-haired prince after so long a silence. Bilbo flinched and shook his head, staring at the green marble beneath his feet. Balin sighed and Kíli huffed with annoyance.

"We have been searching for days." The archer had either missed or ignored Dwalin's look of warning, his voice indignant. "We have dug through treasure nearly every waking moment since the dragon fell!"

"Yet it is still not found!" the king snapped, slamming a gloved fist down on the arm of the throne. Kíli tensed and opened his mouth to reply, but Fíli caught his arm, giving a tiny shake of his head to discourage his brother. Instead, Balin stepped forward, his hands held out in entreaty, his voice soft and soothing.

"The dragon is dead, Thorin. Smaug is dead. Erebor is won. The armies are not needed. The Arkenstone is not needed."

Thorin's eyes fixed on his old friend, a sneer creeping across his face as he rose to his feet. "That Stone is my birthright!" He did not move from in front of the throne, but the princes flinched back from the anger and distrust that thickened the atmosphere in the room, exchanging worried glances. "It is the emblem of the leadership of the Seven Families."

"Only because your grandfather made it so." Dwalin's counter was a growl as he took one daring step forward. "None would deny your right to the throne, cousin. You are the heir of Durin, last descendant in the direct line of the eldest of the Seven Fathers. You have won back your kingdom – what is a stone compared to that?"
Fíli shivered as his uncle turned that bruised glare on the Arms Master, the king tilting his head curiously to the side in a gesture that reminded the prince of a big predator studying its prey. When Thorin spoke, his voice was a deceptive purr over iron.

"Why do you seek to dissuade me from the Arkenstone?" he asked, that disturbing gaze flicking over each of them in turn. "Why do you try to placate me with less than my due? I will have what is mine!"

Bilbo cleared his throat, shooting a distressed look at Balin. This was what the burglar had been trying to tell them, Fíli realized. Alone of the Company, the Hobbit had realized how far Thorin's folly had progressed. "Do you truly doubt the loyalty of anyone here?" the little fellow asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They are your companions, Thorin, your kin! They have stood at your side through every obstacle, every danger."

"True, Master Burglar," Thorin replied darkly, deep suspicion in every line of his face. "My kin. My blood. And every one convinced that he would make a better king than I."

"No!"

Fíli's protest slipped out even as he stepped forward without thinking, his fists clenched at his sides. Dwalin's roar of denial drowned out Balin's quiet gasp of shock, but it was Kíli's incredulous yelp that rang through the hall.

"Are you MAD?"

Bilbo gulped and closed his eyes, shaking his head desperately, and the golden-haired prince's heart stuttered in his chest as his uncle's feral gaze fell on him and his brother.

Oh Kí, he thought sorrowfully, finally seeing the damage that had been done – the crazed greed, the suspicion. Don't you see? That's exactly what he is.

"I AM YOUR KING!" Thorin bellowed, striding toward the younger Dwarves so that Fíli shoved his brother behind him and Dwalin moved to put himself in his old friend's path. Thorin halted a few steps away, his hand on the hilt of his sword and his voice icy with promise. "The Arkenstone is the King's Jewel, and I am the king. I will have the Stone, no matter the cost in time or blood. And if any should find it and withhold it from me – be he companion, kin, or heir – I will be avenged."
He stalked from the room without another glance at any of them, leaving Fíli with heart pounding and Kíli's despairing whispers in his ears. The elder prince turned toward Balin pleadingly, only to see the faded blue eyes full of grief. It was Bilbo that finally broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant.

"Balin...if we found the Arkenstone...would it help Thorin, do you think? Put his mind at ease so he might think clearly again?"

The councilor took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, then shook his head. "I doubt it, lad. I think it might just make it worse. My father once said that Thrór's madness increased tenfold once that Stone was discovered. I'd not risk it. I can only hope that it is never found." He glanced at Dwalin, who nodded shortly, before turning to Fíli. The prince felt his chest tighten at the look on his old teacher's face. "We must speak later, you and I. Before it is too late."

* X *

Viska sat alone on the ramparts above the Great Gate of Erebor, watching the campfires burning among the ruins of Dale. The refugees of Laketown huddled there with what little they had salvaged from their destroyed home, while the Elves of Mirkwood camped nearby. She had drawn first watch of the night and had relieved Bifur, who had given her a warm hug before leaving. The long hours of solitude had given her too much time to dwell in the depths of her own memory, and her thoughts of the Lake folk gathered below had only served to remind her that her brother's body still lay in the burned remains of the town, if it had not sunk into darkness of the Long Lake with the fallen dragon.

"It's not right. He should be returned to the Mountain!"

"That he should, lass." A gentle voice interrupted her sorrowful musings and a kind hand landed on her shoulder. "I've told Thorin the same, and I hope to convince him sooner rather than later, for your sake."

She turned and offered Balin a sad smile as the elder Dwarf joined her on the battlement, looking weary beyond his years. Viska knew that he had been constantly at Thorin's side since her arrival, and probably before, sleeping only rarely and trying to soothe the king's temper and spare the rest of the Company. She wondered how long he would be able to keep it up.

"Thorin is getting worse, isn't he?" she asked bluntly. Balin gave her a surprised look and she wanted to bite her tongue. Who was she to speak so to a descendant of Durin about another? About the king, no less? But Balin did not look angry. Rather, he smiled a little as his gaze flitted to where the Courting Braid held Fíli's bead. He nodded in approval, though of the courtship or her question, she did not know.
"Aye lass, he is," he responded, just as bluntly. "He paces, and snarls, and all but accuses us of deliberately withholding the Stone."

"Bilbo mentioned that. He cannot honestly believe that one of the Company would betray him!"

Balin sighed and shook his head. "I do not know what he might believe any more. He is not himself. He hasn't been since we set foot on this Mountain. He does not listen to the Mountain – he is too obsessed with the Arkenstone. I had hoped that without the ring..." He trailed off, looking alarmed as the scuff of a boot on stone heralded the arrival of another member of the Company. Viska thought fear flashed in his eyes as he turned, and it tore at her heart to think that Thorin could now inspire such in one of his oldest friends. It was not Thorin on the stair, however, but a solemn-faced Fíli, followed by a tired Kíli, and Balin relaxed with an audible sigh.

"What ring, Balin?" Fíli asked quietly, moving to sit next to the Dwarrowlass. His brother sank down in a deceptively lazy posture nearby, where he could keep an eye on the stairs and the hall below. Balin shook his head and shrugged helplessly as Viska leaned into Fíli's side and his arm settled around her shoulders.

"I don't know why Thorin never told you of it. How well do you remember the history of the Second Age? The Rings of Power, in particular?"

Fíli's eyes narrowed in thought. "They were tainted by the Enemy's influence," he replied carefully. "Except those of the Elves – not that they would ever admit otherwise. Some were given to each of the races, save Hobbits, who always seem to be left out of everything. The Dwarves had seven – one for each of the clans – so I guess that our ancestor had one. Why?"

"Aye, our family had one. As recently as your grandfather, lad, though it was rumored that Durin's ring was also untouched by the Enemy. Legend says it was given directly to Durin III by the Elf that crafted it, Celebrimbor."

"The one that worked with Narvi?"

"The very one." Balin nodded at the archer's quiet question. "Thrór wore Durin's ring when Erebor fell, but he gave it to Thráin before the Battle of Azanulbizar. Thorin said that Gandalf asked him about it when they met in Bree, when this quest was decided upon. The ring vanished with Thráin, of course – the last of the Dwarf rings, since four where consumed in dragon fire and the remaining two were lost to the Enemy before the Last Alliance. Thorin speaking of it reminded me of what happened to the Men who were gifted rings, and I wondered – hoped – that perhaps the ring was why Thrór fell to the Dragon-sickness." The elder Dwarf broke off and sighed heavily, shaking his head. "But Thorin never wore it, and -"

"-and he has fallen anyway," Fíli completed grimly.

"Aye. But I have been speaking to Master Baggins, and he had an interesting tale to tell."

The prince raised one eyebrow and met Balin's gaze.

"It seems that our burglar overheard a conversation between Gandalf and Lord Elrond, the night before we left Rivendell. Our host was concerned about Thorin being influenced by the Arkenstone. Gandalf never intended for Thorin to touch the Stone – Bilbo was to hold it until the dragon was dead."

Viska's mind was whirling, and she could see a thousand thoughts tumbling behind Fíli's eyes and furrowed brow. Kíli moved restlessly, his eyes flickering to his brother's face as as both lads seemed to arrive at a conclusion simultaneously.

"The Arkenstone is the danger then. But why did Gandalf never warn us?"

"He probably intended to do so," the lass interjected quietly. "I don't believe that he ever meant to be away from the Company for so long. Doubtless, he thought he would have plenty of time to explain to Thorin." She glanced at the councilor. "You said Lord Elrond was worried about the Arkenstone's influence. What of Gandalf? Beyond his intention not to let Thorin touch it, could Bilbo tell if he had the same concern?"

"He did not." Balin nodded at her shortly, then met Fíli's gaze. "But I fear that is because he was not aware of Thorin's history with the Stone."

"What do you mean?" Fíli leaned forward, frowning slightly, and Viska took his free hand in both of hers, gripping gently. Balin sighed once more.

"I had forgotten, until Thorin's behavior in Laketown, and I did not make the connection until Bilbo told me of what he had heard. The headaches, the phantom music – Thráin had similar complaints in the months before Erebor fell, the months after the Arkenstone was found. I remember my uncle and my father speaking in hushed whispers about it. The problems faded a few weeks into the Exile, but they began after he touched the Arkenstone.

"Gandalf thought Thorin would never have touched the Stone, since he was so young when the dragon came. He thought he would have been safe. But Thorin did touch the Stone. Only once, and only briefly, but he did touch it. It was a foolish dare that only learned about later. My fool of a brother dared him to creep into the throne room and touch the Stone above the great seat. Gandalf never asked, and I never thought to tell him."

Fíli sighed gustily, pulling his hand from Viska's grasp to scrub at his face. "What if we found the Stone?"

The councilor shook his head. "I still believe what I told Bilbo. The Arkenstone would make it worse, as it did for Thrór when it was originally found. If we find it, we will lose him."

"And if we do not, my uncle will lead this Company to ruin, unless the arrival of the Orcs changes something. You said that he is not listening to the Mountain?"

"No. He will not touch her stone, lest it distract him."

Viska looked from one to the other in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Balin sighed and took a seat on a broken block of stone, but there was a small smile on his face as he glanced around at his audience.

"The lads learned a bit of this the night we opened the secret door, but I will tell you the tale as it was told to me. As it should, perhaps, have been told to you long since.

"When Durin's Bane woke and walked in Khazâd-dûm, we lost two kings of Durin's Folk in the space of a single year. Durin VI was slain by the beast, and his son Náin, and finally the ancient city fell and their people were sundered. Many fled west, finding homes in the Blue Mountains among those Firebeards and Broadbeams that had remained, or that had returned to their ancestral homes during Khazâd-dûm's long isolation. Others went north, moving through the Misty Mountains in what may have been an attempt to retake Gundabad from the Orcs. If so, it failed. The new king, however, led those with him east, toward the ancient Longbeard mining colony of the Iron Hills. Their route took them past the Lonely Mountain. Some of his kin, proud and reluctant to arrive as beggars and refugees, suggested that the Mountain be surveyed, to see if it might serve as a location for a new home. Thráin I agreed and sent trusted Dwarrow to do just that. And they, of course, found more than they could have imagined, for the Mountain had a heart of green marble and several promising veins of precious metal. When the first high quality gems were found, the king announced to his people that the kingdom of Durin's Folk would be rebuilt beneath Erebor, and he would be King Under the Mountain.

"It was shortly after this decision was made, when his people still dwelt in shelters at the Mountain's base as the first hallways were carved, that Thráin realized that whenever he laid a hand on the stone of the Mountain, he could feel a low hum, like a rhythmic, wordless song that emanated from the depths of the world. Being a rather young king, barely into his majority, he was reluctant to mention it to his advisers, so it was not until his older cousin came to him in confusion that he discovered that others could hear it as well. After close questioning of those closest to him, it was established that only those descended from the Line of Durin could discern what they came to call the Song of the Mountain, and that they could do so from a very young age. It tied them to the Mountain, in a way. When word came, after Thráin's death, of the growing community of Durin's Folk in the Grey Mountains, Thorin I wrote of his reluctance to leave the Mountain, even to join their kin in the north. The few writings that were preserved from the time spent in Zeleg'ubrazul mention that those of Durin's Line that remembered Erebor often complained of the "silence" in their new home, the loss of the ancient Song. When Thrór led them back to the Mountain, after the war with the dragons that cost him his father and younger brother, the Song welcomed them home when the Great Gate was opened once more."

"As it did when Thorin opened the hidden door."

Viska blinked, staring at the older Dwarf as she tried to sort her jumbled thoughts into some sort of order.

"Erebor...sings?"

Behind her, Kíli gave a small bark of laughter, and she could feel Fíli trying not to chuckle at the disbelief in her voice, but Balin merely gave her a broad smile.

"In a way, lass, though Gandalf tells me that it is more of a natural vibration that our minds interpret as a song. Erebor woke when Durin's Folk first came, and she is tied to Durin's Line." His smile faded slightly as his brow furrowed. "Though, I must say that she seems...stronger than I remember. Perhaps it is the long years blurring my memory, but I don't recall her communicating so clearly before Smaug's arrival."

Viska barely heard his last comments, for her attention was on Fíli and the realization that had lit her mind.

"Is that the song that you always hum?"

This time, Kíli did not bother trying to conceal his quiet laughter, and she watched a deep flush creep up her One's face as he studiously avoided her gaze. Balin chuckled.

"Ah, the romanticism of Durin's Sons. Aye, lass. He'll have heard it from Dís for much of his life. The vibration becomes such a part of us that our kin have always used it to tie those we love closer to us, in a way. My father hummed it to my mother, and to Dwalin and I when we were wee things, as I'm sure Glóin did the same for Fla and young Gimli." He stopped suddenly, fixing a sharp eye on the golden prince. "That's what Kíli used to bring you back in Mirkwood, isn't it, lad?"

Fíli nodded, his blush fading somewhat as his eyes went distant and thoughtful.

"When I was lost in the dream, the Elven enchantment was a song, a melody that twisted my thoughts away from what I knew to be true. When Kíli sang the Song of the Mountain, it drowned out that magic and helped me come back to myself. Then Thorin's voice joined Kíli's and I was able to make my way back completely." He sighed and shook his head. "Amad told us some of this when we were very young, but Kíli and I always thought it was just a story."

"Until you felt it for yourselves. And who can blame you?" The elder Dwarrow shrugged, then pressed his hands to his knees and slowly pushed himself to his feet. "And now, I believe that I will retire, and I suggest that you lads do the same. We all get little enough sleep as it is."

"We will, I'm just waiting-" Fíli broke off with a smile as Kíli jumped to his feet to welcome a sleepy-looking Bombur as the tinker joined them on the rampart.

"Welcome, sleepy head! Come to take the watch?"

Fíli stood, helping Viska to her feet as Bofur's quiet brother gave them all a tired smile, then covered a massive yawn.

"My turn, it seems. Bifur was restless and took it upon himself to wake me. Apologies if I'm late."

Fíli shook his head, clapping their friend on one broad shoulder. "None needed. We are all exhausted, and I'll not begrudge you a few extra minutes."

"Especially when it is not actually his watch that you are relieving," Viska put in with a wry smile. "Peaceful watch, my friend."

Viska stopped to give the tinker a hug as Balin started down the stairs, Kíli on his heels. Fíli loitered at the top, waiting patiently as Bombur caught her arm and spoke to her quietly.

"Try to make sure that they actually get some rest, lass. Balin and Fíli especially. They need to calm those busy minds of theirs and get some sleep. I fear that we will need all of the level heads that we can muster over the next few days." She nodded and he paused, studying her face for a long moment before pulling her in for another quick hug. "I am truly sorry about your brother, Viska, but I am glad to see you safe. We feared for Fíli, if you were lost."
Tears burned in her eyes as she glanced over at the golden-haired prince, but she shook her head firmly. "He would have be survived. He still had Kíli. They are strong when they stand together."

Bombur shook his head, his eyes grave and sad. "They are, and you are right, he would have survived. But he would never have been the same. The others, save Glóin and my brother, do not understand the bond as we do. They do not truly understand what it would have meant for him to have lost his One. His mother would, were she here, but for all of the loss in his life, Thorin never lost one to whom his heart was bound. Fíli would have survived, but he would have been forever changed."

Viska frowned, her attention caught by his mention of Bofur. "Wait, do you mean Bofur..." She trailed off as he shook his head sharply.

"It is not my tale to share, but I think, perhaps, that he will do so soon. Sleep well, lass."

* X *

Bilbo watched from a dark alcove as Balin, Kíli, Fíli, and Viska made their way down from the battlements. A small smile crept across his face at the clear affection between the young Dwarrow couple. He, too, had noted the new braid that each wore, and a discreet question to Bofur had confirmed his guess that they were finally courting. Another reason to hope that his plan worked and conflict could be avoided. The burglar remembered the devastation in the elder prince's eyes when Laketown was burning and Viska feared lost, and he never wanted to see it again.

Bombur was on watch when the Hobbit slipped quietly up the stone staircase, a glum expression on the tinker's face as he stared out into the night. He glanced around in surprise at Bilbo's approach.

"Bilbo? Is something wrong?"

"No," Bilbo assured him with a smile. "I couldn't sleep, so I came up to see if you wanted me to take your watch. No need in two of us sitting wakeful when only one is needed."

Bombur's eyes brightened. "Are you certain? I could sleep, but-"

"Very certain. I cannot make myself even doze off, so I might as well be useful. Get some more sleep, Bombur. I do not doubt you'll need it, whatever tomorrow brings."

The gentle Dwarf got ponderously to his feet and started for the stairs, clapping the burglar on the shoulder with one large hand. "Many thanks, Master Baggins. Peaceful watch."

"Sleep well."

Bilbo waited for Bombur to get all of the way down the stairs, the Hobbit fidgeting nervously with the gold ring in his pocket the whole while. Another, larger burden weighed down his trouser pocket, but that was one that he was trying not to think on overmuch. Finally, when Bombur was out of sight, Bilbo stood for a long moment, staring into the depths of Erebor. The Mountain itself intimidated the Hobbit – he was made for the open air and green fields of the Shire, not the deep stillness of the Dwarves' home. But the Company had become his family over the past months, from gruff Glóin, always talking of his family back in the Blue Mountains, to quiet Ori, with his journal and sketches. How could it have come to this, where the only way to save was to betray? For Thorin would see it so, he had no doubt of that. Most of the others, as well. But the Orcs were coming, and they could not afford to waste time and allies.

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo let it out slowly, then turned to the battlement, where a rope was still tied for the younger, nimble Dwarves to climb out to check the wall. Scooping the coil of the rope from the stone, he dropped it over and watched it unwind down to the ground. A moment later, he was over the side, climbing carefully down the rope until he could drop safely to the grass. Again, he paused for a long moment, staring up at the barricade that they had constructed from rubble and debris. A wall against the world. Then he turned and hurried off into the night, heading for the camp of the Elves, the Arkenstone in his pocket.

* X *

Bard of Laketown was beyond weary, so he was not best pleased when an Elf appeared at his tent to tell him that his presence was required by King Thranduil. Sighing heavily, he nodded and sat to pull his boots back on. He cursed silently when his movement disturbed Sigrid, who was curled up on a pallet with her siblings.

"Da?" she asked quietly, blinking sleep-clouded eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Go back to sleep. I'll be back soon."

"You need to get more rest, Da," she scolded gently, still half-asleep herself, and he chuckled softly at how much she sounded like her mother.

"I know, love. I'll sleep when I get back, I promise. Now, hush."

With a last check on Tilda and Bain (and the little dog cuddled between them), he slipped silently from the tent and followed the Elf through the encampment. So far as he could tell, the Elves did not sleep, and their king looked the same by lantern light as he had during the day – alert and immaculate. He sat in his carved chair in the largest tent, eerie blue eyes fixed on a small, barefooted figure that Bard recognized as the quiet little fellow who had traveled with the Dwarves. The tall, gray-clad Wizard that had arrived that afternoon was also there, a small smile on his weathered face as he smoked his pipe.

"Bard of Laketown," the escorting Elf stated, ushering the bargeman in before he bowed and left. Thranduil nodded dismissively, then glanced at the Man with a strangely amused look on his face.

"It appears that we have a visitor, Master Bard. A member of Oakenshield's Company, come to treat with us."

"This is Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire," Gandalf put in quietly, aiming a quelling look at the Elf king. "He is indeed a member of Thorin's Company, and he comes seeking to prevent needless conflict."

"It will not come to that," the Lakeman protested. "We will not attack them. Surely the Dwarves will see reason soon."

The Hobbit gave a sad laugh. "Begging your pardon, Master Bard, but you do not know Thorin Oakenshield as I do. He will fight before he sees one piece of gold leave that Mountain. And the others will follow him, even if they do not agree. His mood is fell and dangerous, but he is their king."

"And how do you think to stop it?"

"By bringing you the only thing he treasures above gold – the only thing you might use to bargain with him."

He pulled a small bundle from his pocket and set it on the table, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a white gem that shone with a brilliant inner light. Bard stared as Thranduil started to his feet in surprise.

"The Arkenstone!" the Elf hissed, gazing in wonder. "The Heart of the Mountain!"

The Hobbit nodded sadly. "And the heart of Thorin Oakenshield. The King's Jewel."

"Worth a king's ransom, or more," Bard noted. He stared at the little man. "How is this yours to give?"

Bilbo fidgeted uncomfortably. "I was promised a fifteenth share of the treasure, with no stipulations, so I claimed this. I believe that Thorin will trade a share of the gold for this Stone. We cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves. The Orcs are out there, somewhere."

The Elf king had regained most of his poise and a contemptuous look crossed his face at this statement. "So the Wizard says, but I have seen no evidence of such." Bilbo looked around at him in disbelief.

"But, they attacked Bard's home in Laketown, Viska told us."

"Aye," the Lakeman put in, staring at the Elf. "She and her brother protected my children, with the help of two Elves. Have your people not told you of this?"

The king shrugged, looking unconcerned. "Legolas and Tauriel sent me word that they were scouting North after an Orc attack, but an attack by a small band does not mean that a larger army is on its way. Mithrandir claims these Orcs sought to prevent the Mountain being retaken. They have failed."

The Wizard shook his head. "Did you miss the part about Azog paying homage to Dol Guldur? To the Necromancer? To Sauron? Do not be a fool, Thranduil!"

The Elf's eyes were chips of ice as he addressed his comments to the incredulous Man. "I imagine that you have had little experience with Wizards, Bard of Laketown, but you will come to learn that they are fond of delivering dire warnings and gloomy prophecy."

Gandalf's eyes sparked. "You will also learn, Master Bard, that certain Elves are pompous, arrogant, and pigheaded to the point of folly!"

Unwilling to get further caught up in the quarrel between the two powerful beings, Bard turned to the Hobbit, studying him curiously.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, seeing the conflict in the small man's face. "You owe us no loyalty."

Baggins sighed and shook his head. "I'm not doing it for you, I am doing it for them. Dwarves are stubborn, and obstinate, and secretive, but they are also brave, kind, and loyal to a fault. They are merchants, husbands, fathers, sons...a prince and his beloved. They have become my friends – even Thorin, and I will not let him lead them to a bad end if I can help avert it. They do not deserve it."

Bard nodded, aware that the Elf king and the Wizard had fallen quiet listening to the short speech. For all of his bloodline, descended from the Lord of Dale, Bard considered himself a simple Man, and the disputes of the great were far outside his ken. He was only a bargeman, after all, a father seeking to protect his children. This, though, he could understand.

"And that, my dear Bilbo, is why I chose you for this journey." Gandalf spoke quietly, a fond look on his aged face. He glanced at the others. "Can we at least agree to accept the offer that Master Baggins has set before us? Will we try to bargain with Thorin?"

After a long moment, Thranduil nodded curtly. Bard followed suit, watching as their guest relaxed slightly.

"Very well. Now that's settled, I need to return to the Mountain before I'm missed."

"You can't go back!" Bard protested, relieved when the Wizard echoed him.

"It is too dangerous, Bilbo. When he sees that we hold the Arkenstone, I do not know what he will do. Especially if he realizes that you handed it over to us and not him."

"I don't fear Thorin," the Hobbit told him firmly.

"You should."

"No, Gandalf – I said that they are my friends, and I meant it. I will not hide out here. I did not make this decision lightly, and I will take the consequences, whatever they may be."

* X *

A small figure crept up the rope at the Great Gate, keeping to the shadows as he scrambled over the battlement and pulled the rope up after him. Turning to look out over the slope that led down to the ruins of Dale, Bilbo Baggins sighed heavily. Hopefully, his actions would avert a war between the Dwarves, Elves, and Men...but how much longer before the Orcs arrived? He did not doubt Viska's word, or Gandalf's warning. He just hoped that they would have time to prepare.


Translations and Notes:

Amad – Mother (Khuzdul)

Zeleg'ubrazul – Golden Stair, a Longbeard citadel in the Grey Mountains