Author's Note: I am back! Sorry for the wait. I am very pleased with the response this has gotten so far, and I hope I will continue to live up to your expectations.

Guest: I'm glad you think it's well-written; poorly written fics with great ideas are one of my biggest pet peeves. Hopefully you'll like this chapter as much as the previous ones!

Chapter 4

Boromir was pleased that he was managing to remember everyone's names. The last bunch of Dwarves had comprised of three sets of brothers and one cousin: Dori, Nori, and Ori; Oín and Gloín; Bofur, Bombur, and their cousin, Bifur.

Boromir was seated beside Balin, near the head of the table, across from Gandalf. Currently, Fíli was walking on top of the table, passing out ales. Dwalin had just poured ale down Oín's ear trumpet, which the elderly Dwarf proceeded to blow out all over the table.

The food was excellent; Boromir had not had such a meal since the Fellowship had left Lothlórien. He was careful not to drink too much of the ale, though; the last thing he needed was to lose his wits and let slip that he was from the future.

And speaking of the future… Gandalf had accepted Boromir's story of being a lost traveler without question, but he had given a look that made the Man suspect the Wizard knew something was off. But no matter; he could deal with Gandalf's mistrust, so glad was he to be in his company again.

Suddenly, Boromir found Balin nudging his elbow. "The lads want you to join in a…belching contest," Balin said, sounding both amused and disgusted. "They've never competed against a Man before, and want to know if you're any match for them."

Boromir grinned down toward the other end of the table. "I think you will find me a poor sport, but I'll indulge you, nevertheless!"

"Right then!" called Dwalin as he and the other Dwarves—Balin, Dori, and Oín excepted—grabbed mugs of ale. "One, two—"

"Up!" cried Kíli. As one, all of them, including Boromir, tipped back their tankards and gulped the ale down in one go. One by one, the Dwarves let loose loud burps. It looked like Ori was going to win; his was by far the loudest and the longest. Finally, Boromir stood up to take his turn.

The result was that all the diners—even Gandalf—sat in stunned silence for a full three seconds. Then, the Dwarves burst into raucous cheers. It seemed that, by this one act, Boromir had been accepted among them. Meanwhile, poor Bilbo was lamenting the state of his poor pantry.

When it came time to put up the dishes, Boromir stood back out of the way. Plates and bowls were flying everywhere. The Dwarves had produced instruments and started up a jig, detailing the horrible things they could do to dishes, none of which happened.

Almost as soon as the song ended (much to Bilbo's relief), there came from the front door three booming knocks.

Gandalf fixed Bilbo with a steely gaze. "He is here," he announced ominously.

Boromir took a deep breath. This was the meeting he'd been anticipating…and dreading. If Thorin didn't accept him into the Company, his task would be practically impossible.

All of them filed down the hallway to the front door. Gandalf opened it to reveal a noble-looking Dwarf with a stony face and black hair frosted lightly with grey.

"Gandalf," Thorin greeted. His voice was as deep as a mine, and his eyes as sharp and blue as a shard of ice. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he continued as he entered the hole. "I lost my way—twice. Wouldn't have found it all had it not been for that mark on the door."

Bilbo stepped forward indignantly. "Mark? There's no mark on that door," he countered. "It was painted a week ago!"

"There is a mark on the door; I put it there myself," Gandalf replied. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin stepped forward, eyeing Bilbo critically. "So…this is the Hobbit." Bilbo drew himself up to his full height, which admittedly was still shorter than Thorin. "Tell me, Master Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Excuse me?" Bilbo responded, perplexed.

"Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice?" the Dwarf continued, circling Bilbo and surveying him.

The Hobbit puffed out his chest. "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know." At Thorin's look, he deflated. "Though I fail to see…why that's relevant."

"Thought as much," Thorin observed smugly. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." This got a chuckle out of the Company. As Thorin turned to go down the hall, he found the way blocked by Boromir. "And who are you, may I ask?" he asked gruffly, a mistrustful look in his eyes.

Much to Thorin's surprise, Boromir dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "I am Boromir of Gondor, your majesty," he said respectfully, "and I am most humbly at your service."

It took Thorin a moment to compose himself. There were few enough Dwarves that showed him this level of respect, and most Men he had come across would not suffer to even dip their heads in greeting. Yet this Man, with nothing more than an introduction, had recognized that Thorin was a king worthy of honor.

Dwalin had been wary of how Boromir would react to Thorin. Oh, the Man had gotten along with the rest of them well enough, but meeting Thorin was the real test. When Boromir had dropped to one knee, with such a genuine look of reverence on his face, Dwalin—though he would never admit it—had felt tears spring to his eyes. There was little he wouldn't give to have Thorin greeted this way by everyone, to be treated as the king he truly was.

When Thorin had recovered, he smiled at Boromir and clasped his shoulder. "Thorin Oakenshield, at yours and your family's," he replied gently. "How came you to be so far from home?"

Boromir raised his head, but remained in his kneeling position. "I am returning from visiting distant cousins in Esteldín. I lost my way and found myself here in the Shire, where Master Baggins was so kind as to allow me to take refuge under his roof."

Finding this answer to be satisfactory, Thorin nodded and headed over to the table. Since he had not been dismissed, Boromir concluded that he was allowed to remain while the Dwarves discussed their business. Fíli brought a plate of food and a goblet of wine for Thorin, which his uncle accepted gratefully.

As he ate, the others began to question him about his doings.

"How went the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin asked. "Did they all come?"

Thorin nodded. "Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," he replied. Even though the others let out mutterings of approval, Boromir kept his eyes on Thorin. Something in his face and voice made Boromir frown; though it sounded like the meeting had gone well, Thorin was clearly displeased about something.

Now Dwalin leaned forward. "And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" The tension in the room was practically tangible as the others waiting for Thorin's answer.

He let out a rueful sigh, deflating slightly. "They will not come." He sounded weary when he said it, like he knew that this would be the answer, but he had still hoped for a different one. The other Dwarves had much the same reaction. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

A small voice piped up from behind Thorin. "You're going on a quest?" Nearly everyone turned to look at Bilbo, who had been hovering curiously beside Gandalf.

The Wizard cleared his throat. "Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light," he requested. While the Hobbit fetched another candle, Gandalf stood up and pulled a small folded square of parchment out of his robes. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands…" Here, Gandalf spread out the paper and laid it on the table, revealing it to be a map. "…lies a single solitary peak."

Boromir leaned forward, examining it. He was amused to see Bilbo doing the same. "'The Lonely Mountain,'" Bilbo read aloud, sounding a tad confused.

"Aye," Gloín spoke up. "Oín has read the portents, and the portents say it is time."

Boromir looked at Oín curiously. "If I may ask, what portents do you mean?" he queried curiously, raising his voice slightly for the elderly Dwarf to hear.

The old healer smiled at the Man, gratified by his inquisitiveness. "Ravens have been seen flying back to the Mountain, as it was foretold," he said, and his voice took on a trance-like quality with his next words: "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

Bilbo, who had been listening quietly up to that point, glanced nervously at the assembled Dwarves. "Uh…what beast?" he asked, though it was clear he was not looking forward to the answer.

Bofur removed his pipe from his mouth to answer. "Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our Age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks…extremely fond of precious metals-"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo interrupted, sounding annoyed. Boromir privately agreed; even children knew what a dragon was.

"I'm not afraid!" Ori declared, standing up. "I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!" While the other Dwarves cheered in agreement, his eldest brother, Dori, pulled him back down into his seat, a disapproving look on his face.

Now Balin spoke up, a deep frown on his face. "The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

As the others started protesting and grumbling, Fíli's voice broke through the din. "We may be few in number," he agreed, "but we're fighters. All of us. To the last Dwarf!" Boromir found himself admiring the young prince's courage, naïve though it might be. It reminded him very much of Merry.

"And you forget," Kíli added, "we have a Wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time." And he is definitely Pippin, Boromir thought to himself with a small chuckle. He may not know very much about Gandalf's doings and adventures, but he was certain that the Wizard had never killed a dragon.

His hunch was validated at Gandalf's immediate protest. "Well, uh, no, I wouldn't say that, I…"

"How many then?" Dori asked eagerly.

"What?"

"How many dragons have you killed?" Thorin just gave the Wizard a smug look. Gandalf, meanwhile, proceeded to cough and choke on his pipe smoke. The other Dwarves had broken out into an argument as to the exact number, which was growing increasingly louder. Bilbo was beginning to look uncomfortable and actually a tad worried until Thorin rose to his feet, roaring out a command in Dwarvish. Instantly, the others quieted and sat down.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too?" Thorin demanded, scowling around the room. "Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected." A change came over Thorin then, and it was as though a fire had been lit within him, a fire that spread outward into those around him. "Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du bekar! Du bekar!"

Boromir, much to his own surprise, was cheering along with the others when Balin spoke again, the voice of reason coming through. "You forget: the Front Gate is sealed! There is no way into the Mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf countered, twirling a strange looking key around his fingers.

"How came you by this?" Thorin breathed.

Gandalf gave Thorin a sympathetic look. "It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safe-keeping. It is yours, now." Reverently, he held it out to Thorin, who gladly accepted it.

Fíli finally gave voice to what everyone else was thinking. "If there is a key…there must be a door."

Gandalf pointed to a set of runes on the side of the map. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls," he explained.

"There's another way in," Kíli muttered joyously.

"Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," the Wizard reminded them. He sighed, frustrated. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But, there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori explained.

"Hm, and a good one, too," Bilbo observed, seemingly not realizing he was talking out loud. "An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" Gloín asked, sounding somewhat patronizing.

It was all Boromir could do not to laugh at Bilbo's puzzled face. "Am I what?" the Hobbit asked.

"He's said he's an expert! Hey-hey!" Oín exclaimed triumphantly.

"Me? No! No, no, no, no! I'm not a burglar!" Bilbo retorted desperately. "I've never stolen a thing in my life."

Balin gazed at Bilbo critically. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," he remarked. "He's hardly burglar material." The Hobbit nodded in agreement.

"Aye," mused Dwalin, "the Wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves." Boromir thought back to his first impressions of the Hobbits in Rivendell, then flashed to their encounter with Goblins in Moria. The Hobbits had fought with such ferocity that he had never even imagined them being capable of. Suddenly, Boromir glanced sorrowfully at Balin. Of course, how could he have forgotten? It was his tomb they were in when they fought the Cave Troll.

Boromir was jerked out of his thoughts by the Dwarves breaking into a loud argument—again. Honestly, was that all they knew how to do?

"Enough!" Gandalf boomed, and his voice and presence took up the entire room. "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" Gandalf seemed to shrink slightly, but he did not sit down again. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage." He looked around at the other Dwarves, his gaze resting the longest on Dwalin and Thorin. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know…including himself."

If Boromir had had any doubts about Bilbo going on this quest, they were dispelled by Gandalf's words.

Thorin still looked doubtful. Gandalf fixed him with a stern, yet pleading gaze. "You must trust me in this," he said softly.

"Very well," Thorin replied. Bilbo started to protest, but he was cut off by Thorin turning to Balin. "Give him the contract," he ordered.

"Alright," Bofur exclaimed gleefully. "We're off!"

Balin stood up, handing a long sheet of parchment folded many times to Bilbo. "It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth." Thorin took the contract and thrust it into Bilbo's hands.

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo cried, looking quite flustered.

Thorin whispered something in Gandalf's ear, but Boromir was watching Bilbo's reaction as he read the contract.

"Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any. Seems fair," he observed quietly. "Eh, present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations…evisceration?" He looked at the others in horror and disbelief. "Incineration?!"

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh of your bones in the blink of an eye," Bofur replied, a bit too cheerfully.

The others were also watching Bilbo, sizing him up. "You all right, laddie?" Balin asked in concern.

"Uh, yeah," Bilbo responded. He bent over, putting his hands on his knees and breathing deeply. "Feel a bit faint."

Bofur stood up, moving towards the doorway to the hall. "Think furnace with wings," he said.

"Air, I need air," Bilbo muttered, looking quite pale.

"Bofur, I think that's enough," Boromir said, but the toymaker was not listening.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!"

At first, it looked like Bilbo would be fine. He stood up straight and took a few deep breaths, staring at the others. Then, with a muttered "nope", the Hobbit toppled over onto the floor.

"Oh, very helpful, Bofur," Gandalf grumbled. Boromir quickly strode over to Bilbo and picked him up, carrying him to an armchair in the closest sitting room. As Thorin and Balin moved over to have a private conversation, Boromir took a deep, steadying breath. Now for the hard part.