Thorin had had a long day.

Since daybreak he had been traveling through the rolling hills of Eriador, down from the Blue Mountains. Ever since he had begun planning this quest, he had become very busy, attending meeting after meeting, gathering those who were willing, and stocking up supplies for the long journey. Now his pony was tired, and ready for a stable. Thorin had been walking alongside his pony for many miles to lighten the load. His natural endurance kept his legs moving forward easily, but the burden he truly carried was in his mind.

The results from the most recent meeting had given him cause to doubt the success of this quest, which had been occupying his mind for many months- ever since Gandalf had given him that map during their chance meeting in Bree. Long ago, this opportunity would have made him crazed with joy. His grandfather, Thror, had always talked of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, and Thorin could easily remember the glory of the long-lost kingdom that had been stolen from his people. But now Thorin was wont to be cautious. His father Thrain had gone missing the last time he had tried to reclaim Erebor. It was now widely considered to be both a fool's quest, and the responsibility of Thror's bloodline.

And now the opportunity has come to me, Thorin thought.

He reached a fork in the road and frowned. It was another two miles before he reached the Bywater. He guided his pony towards the Southern path, fully aware that he was losing the light. Already he could see the faint stars above him. But the pony knew that it was almost time to rest, and so she swished her tail cheerfully as she plodded on. Daisy was a good pony- intelligent and steady, with remarkable endurance. Thorin had chosen her from the stables of Ered Luin long ago, and had trained her himself. Now he was proud that she would be assisting him in his quest to reclaim Erebor.

He had been approaching from the Northwest, coming directly from the meeting in Ered Luin. The Blue Mountains had been home to Thorin's displaced kin for over a century now, and he had carved out a good life for them there. His sister-sons, Fili and Kili, had been raised there, and those peaceful mountains were what they called home.

The Meeting of the Seven Kingdoms had been held in Thorin's halls there. He remembered how nervous he had been when the envoys had all arrived. Dis had provided him with some much-needed encouragement before his main address.

But though he had rallied his confidence, the meeting had not gone well. He hadn't been expecting an army, but he had been hoping that at least Dain would offer him some assistance. The Dwarves of the Iron Hills were his kin, and their kingdom was closest to Erebor by far. But Dain had shook his head slowly. "The quest is yers, cousin," he had said. "When the dragon first attacked Erebor, your grandfather's entire army and honor guard were incapable of stopping the onslaught. If you wish to reclaim yer birthright, that is yer business alone. But I'm not going ta sacrifice me own men on the altar of fire unless that fire comes to me in me own hills."

That was all too reasonable, Thorin knew. And Dain had a point- it wasn't going to be easy to stop a dragon when his grandfather's best warriors could not do so. But now he had the element of surprise, and the map. The only workable plan was a stealth mission.

And that was why they needed a burglar.

Thorin reached the Bywater faster than expected, and found himself looking up at the painted sign of the Green Dragon. He wished he could avoid the bright lights and merry laughter of the inn, but he had business to attend to. As he was leading his pony to the stables, he caught sight of a small group of dwarves standing nearby, and he hastened in that direction once he recognized them.

"Thorin!" said the youngest of them, jumping up to embrace the weary traveler. "I'm glad you made it!"

"As am I, Orí," Thorin laughed, once the dwarf had let him go. The others were soon gathered around him as well, though they all ensured they kept their voices lower. The group consisted of Oín and Gloín, (who were Thorin's cousins), as well as Dorí, Norí and of course Orí. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were there as well, keeping an eye on the ponies and packs, the latter of which were stacked in a heap by the stable wall.

Thorin counted the ponies visible in the stable. "Is everything accounted for?"

"Aye," affirmed Bombur. "We've everyone's packs, save that which you carry. And Filí brought two spare ponies with him. So we've aplenty."

"Now we just need rooms," Gloín added.

"I'll handle that," Thorin said. "You all go to the Hobbit's home. I will see to the baggage."

"Thorin, are ye sure now?" Oín asked. "We'd be glad to stay behind with you."

"Nay- I'll manage." Thorin shooed him off. "Now run along. I'll catch up soon enough."

The dwarves left reluctantly, casting many a backwards glance, and Thorin watched them go. Then he turned to a stable boy. "Hey, you!" He called, instantly acquiring the boy's attention, "watch over these things for me." He gestured to the pile. "If I find a single item missing," he added warningly, "I will see that you are justly punished. But if they are well cared for, I will reward you with a gold farthing."

The boy's eyes widened at the promised reward and he nodded vigorously to show that he understood. Thorin sighed and walked over to the main house.

The Green Dragon Inn was one of the chiefmost attractions of the Bywater, for the Hobbits of these parts considered laughter and merriment to be one of the primary staples of life. Now and again, the place saw travelers from Buckland, and sometimes even a stray dwarf or two. It was into this Inn that Thorin now walked, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his head up, though it was veiled in his traveling cloak and hood. Left and right were laughing Hobbits with mugs of frothy ale. Someone was dancing a jig in the corner, urged on by the clapping of his audience. But Thorin kept his focus and walked to the bar where the innkeeper was. The innkeeper was distracted, telling jokes with one of the hired men, and Thorin waited patiently until he was noticed.

"Good evening, Master Dwarf," said the innkeeper, eyeing Thorin with curiosity. "What can I do fer ya?" He was a portly man, like many of the Shire folk, with a rounded middle and a good-natured face, and was dressed in bright colors.

"I'm here to acquire accommodations," Thorin said. "For thirteen."

"Thirteen, ye say?"

"Aye," Thorin nodded, "Thirteen of my folk."

"Thirteen dwarves?" The innkeeper tried not to be surprised, but Thorin could see right through it.

"Some of them may have been through already," Thorin added.

"As a matter of fact, yes. They popped in at different times and left their ponies in my stables just as quick as yeh please." The innkeeper shook his head. "They crowded outdoors last I saw with a pile o' packs and weapons. Said their leader would straighten things, if you take my meaning. I expect that's you, sir."

"Aye. And we'll not stay for supper, but I expect we'll spend the night. And we will require care for our ponies, and a good breakfast."

"Right away, er…" the innkeeper looked somewhat flustered. "Thirteen, bed and breakfast, plus ponies? And who do you suppose will be paying fer it all?"

"I will." Thorin folded his arms. "I will pay for the rooms now, and the service in the morning."

The innkeeper scrunched his brow in thought. "That's reasonable," he said at last, nodding to the hired boy he had been speaking with earlier. The boy ran off- to see to the accommodations, Thorin hoped. "That's four silver farthings for the rooms," the innkeeper informed him. "And I can't give ye all yer own separate rooms, but there'll be enough space for the lot o' yeh."

Thorin nodded and silently drew the required amount from his coin purse. He hadn't been expecting individual rooms. "If you could show me the way," he said, "I have some supplies that need to be brought up."

"Right away, good sir. The boys will give you assistance, if you've the need."

"That's alright," Thorin grumbled, not liking the idea of hired boys pawing through their things. But when he went outside into the young evening to fetch the packs, he relented and allowed the servants to shoulder some of their food supplies. It was a great deal of things for one person to carry, even a dwarf as strong as himself, and he was already late to the Bad End meeting as it was.

It wasn't more than ten minutes before all the packs were brought into the safety of the inn's guest rooms, and Thorin ensured the doors were locked behind him before he allowed himself to thank the innkeeper and the servants. "I trust the ponies will be cared for," he said in a low voice. It was a way of speaking that he had acquired when he wished to be polite but slightly intimidating. It seemed to work, as the innkeeper began spouting assurances immediately. But on his way out, Thorin went to the stables anyway, to see for himself how the ponies were being cared for.

Gandalf had said there wouldn't be accommodations for the ponies at the burglar's residence, so Thorin had planned for the members of the company to ride to the inn and leave their ponies and gear there. These stables were decent- they were warm, and smelled of musty hay and horse dung. There wasn't a ton of space, Thorin observed, but the ponies were not so very large. It was a mild squeeze, but they all fit.

He counted all fourteen of the ponies, ensuring as Bombur had said that all the ponies were there. Daisy was now among them, well brushed and contentedly chewing a mouthful of hay.

"I must leave you now," Thorin said softly, stroking the pony's head. "But I shall return on the morrow."

Daisy nickered in reply, and Thorin smiled. "Rest well," he said, "we have a long journey ahead of us." It was then that he walked out of the stables and turned towards the Northwest path, only for his way to be blocked by an expectant-looking servant boy. Oh yes, Thorin realized, and quickly he tossed the boy a gold piece. The boy caught it and grinned from ear to ear before running off into the main house to show his treasure to his friends. Thorin merely shook his head and continued on his way.

Perhaps that coin had been a charm of good luck, for once it was given away Thorin's journey became more difficult. He had followed the path diligently, or so he thought, but in the next hour he had managed to lose his way twice, much to his chagrin. Blaming it on the evening dark and the long journey, he retraced his steps once again, mumbling Khuzdul curses under his breath. Why must this burglar live just under a hill when there were so many others perfectly identical to it? And how was he to find a green door with a special mark in the middle of the night? At least in dwarven halls the pathways were underground as well. Dwarves had excellent orientation when underground, and it was hard for them to get lost. But if the pathways to each hall were above ground, well, that was another matter entirely.

At last he had climbed to the top of the Hill, and arrived at the last house. He was mentally preparing himself to turn around once he discovered that it was again the wrong place, but then he saw spidery runes that were carved into the door. It would have been hard to see them if they had not been glowing with a dim blue light. But Thorin knew this sign- this was definitely the right house. As he stepped past the front gate and drew closer to the house, he heard the loud sound of dwarven laughter, and his pace quickened. Three loud knocks ended the noise abruptly, and he heard footsteps approaching the door. He recognized the stooping old man who pulled it open, and Thorin greeted him with a slight nod.

"Gandalf."

Bilbo had honestly believed that the party guests- for party it certainly seemed to be, though one without his knowledge as to the occasion- had all finished their arriving. So when another person apparently showed up belated on his doorstep, he couldn't help but feel some exasperation. Yet there seemed to be a finality in this newcomer's arrival, as if his presence marked the beginning of a serious parley. The merriment and joviality of the gathering before the distinct knocks seemed now to Bilbo a sort of distraction, as though to relieve a negative tension brought on by dangerous or depressing business. The entire idea made him very uncomfortable, and he bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as he waited among the throng of dwarves to meet the newcomer.

It was another dwarf, Bilbo saw almost instantly, though he seemed to be the tallest of them all. Though perhaps that was because of the presence the dwarf carried with him, for the mood of the others was instantaneously affected. They bowed their heads to him in respect as he entered, remaining silent and allowing him to speak freely. His voice was deep, and what he said remained unchallenged and uninterrupted. The first words Bilbo had heard him say was the name of the wizard, followed immediately by accusing the wizard of misdirecting him, or just about. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he was saying, "I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for that mark on the door."

The mentioning- nay, accusation of an imperfection on his beautiful green door made Bilbo bristle, and he felt the need to interfere. He had watched Andrethiril repaint it himself. "Mark?" He said, the disbelief in his voice unmistakable, "there's no mark on that door- it was painted a week ago!" He walked into the room as Gandalf made to close the door and craned his neck to see any potential damage he had missed.

"There is a mark," Gandalf said, shooing the Hobbit out of the way as he closed the door behind him, "I put it there myself."

Bilbo blushed indignantly- the mark that Andrethiril had painted over must have been scratched in again, unless by some magic devilry it had remained. Bilbo hadn't the time to reprimand Gandalf for it however, as the wizard directed him to face the new guest. "Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf continued, and Bilbo did well to note the formality in his tone, "allow me to introduce you to the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield." The dwarf turned around to face Bilbo, after handing his cloak to Kili. "So," he said, his voice as judgmental as his eyes were piercing. "This is the Hobbit."

Bilbo felt the indignant anger leaving him as quickly as it had arisen, for this new scrutiny was something he was unused to. The Hobbit? What was that supposed to mean?

"Tell me, Master Baggins," the dwarf continued, "have you done much fighting? Ax or sword- what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo found himself once again flustered. "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know," he said, dispelling the horrid images of fighting someone with either ax or sword, "but I… fail to see why that's relevant."

"Thought as much," Thorin said, as if some great point had been proven. He glanced at the dwarves behind him and added: "he looks more like a grocer than a burglar." The dwarves all chuckled as Bilbo blinked in surprise before following their leader out into the passage.

Thorin had never been in a house quite like this before. The walls were paneled with cheery wood, and the ceiling sloped down in a circular fashion. The roundness of it gave off a light-hearted aesthetic feeling, and it was quite the contrast to the magnificent stone halls of his own kin.

Yet Thorin sighed as the others led him to the dining room- Gandalf's burglar friend seemed more of a fool than even he had thought possible. Though he knew little of the Shirefolk, he had gathered in his short time there that these were gentle folk, who avoided confrontation and kept to a quiet and peaceful life of their own. They had no place in the history of the world- at least, the history his tutors of old had cared to mention. To think that Gandalf thought burglar material existed here in the sloping green hills of the west befuddled him greatly. But perhaps Gandalf knew what he was doing. He was a wizard, after all.

"Thorin," Dwalin spoke and shifted his thoughts, "did you know about the Elf?"

The word made Thorin's neck bristle in alarm. "What elf?" he asked coldly, turning his sharp gaze around the room. No Elven face presented itself, but that didn't mean there wasn't one around.

"The burglar keeps a housekeeper," Gloín said crossly. "An Elven one." He cursed in Khuzdul. "You can't expect us to have a meeting where pointy ears can overhear."

"Actually," Gandalf piped up from the back, "Thorin, I was hoping to talk to you about-"

The elf in question- a she-elf, with red-brown hair, a serene but firm expression, and lively blue eyes- came into the room then, ducking her head under the sloped doorway as she entered. "Alright, Master Gloín, I hear you speaking of me," she said calmly, aiming a reprimanding glance at the ginger haired dwarf. Then she turned her gaze to Thorin, and it seemed to him that her eyes, alive with memory, glinted with a nervous anticipation. "Hail, Thorin," she said, bowing in an unnervingly dwarven fashion. "I am at your service." Her voice was sweet and gentle, and her clear eyes were still glinting as she straightened up again. Thorin stood his ground, ready for any sort of altercation, though the fact that she was a maiden lowered his fighting instincts somewhat.

Strangely enough, it seemed to Thorin that he knew this elf, though he could not quite place where at first. All elves looked similar at first, though this one was distinctly different from the others. He had never seen hair of this shade on an elf before, nor had he beheld one of her lower height. Perhaps she was young for an elf. But having never met an elf child, how could that be? He decided to play the part of the ignorant, and regarded her with the same cold civility he treated all elves with. "You seem to be well acquainted with me," he said at last, narrowing his eyes while the dwarves gathered behind him to show their leader support, "but I don't recall ever meeting you."

"Do you truly not remember me?" she asked, eyes pleading. Thorin folded his arms. "What reason would I have to remember a she-elf?" He spat. The dwarves mumbled their agreement behind him, and some crowed at the comeback.

The elf glared at Gandalf, exasperation written all over her face. Gandalf cleared his throat awkwardly, but said nothing.

"It has been many years, I suppose, since you have seen me. I will allow for that," she said at last. "Though rest assured, the Akrâgnana has not forgotten who you are, nor the friendship which still rests between myself and your kin."

The dwarves began to mutter among themselves in disbelief- things along the line of who does this housekeeper think she is? But Thorin's eyes grew wide with wonder, and the stiff formality left him entirely as recognition dawned and he stepped forward. "You are most welcome among us," he said fervently, taking her hand. "And never again may I forget the face of one who has been so kind."

A stunned silence fell over the room, and Bilbo poked his head in the doorway, a curious expression on his face.

Thorin, Dwalin said, resorting to signing in Iglishmêk to maintain secrecy, I've had no cause to question you in the past, but this… ye can't be serious!

I am, Thorin replied, signing also. Trust me on this one. She's alright. Thorin turned to look each of the dwarves in the eyes. She's different from the others.

And shorter, Kili signed with a grin.

Thorin shot him a glance, but Númeniel laughed. Only to have the vast majority of them glance up at her sharply. It took a second for her to understand why. I understand Iglishmêk, signed Númeniel.

"Who taught you that?" Gloín said harshly.

That doesn't matter, she signed. "I learned it ages ago, to speak quite truthfully," she added aloud. "It's not a complete knowledge, as I am sure there are some words that have come into it since then."

"However that may be, lass," Balin conceded, his eyes twinkling, "I think it should be known among us that secrets here must not be spoken. Or signed." He glamced towards the dwarves behind him for a moment before he turned back to Númeniel with a warm smile. "I've met you once or twice, I think," he said, "I was wondering why you looked familiar."

"Come, Balin, Thorin," Gandalf interrupted them, gesturing towards the table, "let's get this meeting started."

A bowl of soup was brought for Thorin, as well as some bread and what ale there was left. He sat down at the table and the dwarves crowded round him. Númeniel was offered a seat at the table, which she hesitated over, and only took when Fili practically shoved her down into it. "Thorin's orders," he winked when she shot him an annoyed glance.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin asked Thorin. "Did they all come?"

"Aye," Thorin affirmed, "envoys from all seven kingdoms."

The dwarves murmured excitedly, but Dwalin looked skeptical. "What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

Thorin sighed and lowered his spoon. "They will not come," he said at last. Dwalin lowered his gaze and nodded slowly. "They say this quest is ours," Thorin continued, "and ours alone."

Bilbo glanced up quickly as he caught the last word from his spot in the doorway. "You're… going on a quest?" He asked, interest plain in his tone.

Thorin laid a map upon the table as Gandalf cleared his throat. "Bilbo, my dear fellow," the wizard said, "let us have a little more light." Bilbo went off to get a candle while Gandalf continued on- "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak." He pointed to a mountain's peak drawn upon it.

Bilbo arrived with the candle and craned his neck to see. "The Lonely Mountain," he read aloud.

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

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain," Oín added reverently, "as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

Bilbo looked up from the map. "Erm… what beast?" He asked concernedly.

"Oh, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age." Bofur said helpfully. "Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks… extremely fond o' precious metal."

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo cut him off.

"I'm not afraid!" Orí cried, mustering his courage as he jumped to his feet. "I'm up for it- I'll give the old worm a taste of dwarfish iron that'll make our ancestors proud!" This got a mixed reaction of approval as Dorí pulled his brother back down into his chair.

"We wouldn't be better off with an army behind us," Balin chided, "for we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best. Or brightest."

"And that's why," Gandalf interrupted, gesturing down the table towards Númeniel, "I've summoned Andrethiril here."

"How could an elf maid help us, exactly?" Norí said gloomily. Many of the dwarves grumbled their assent, Gloín and Dwalin the loudest.

"Atkât!" Thorin shouted, silencing them instantly. "Do you not know who the Akrâgnana is?" he asked, locking eyes with those who had spoken against her.

"Many of us believed her to be a legend," Orí said at last, fiddling nervously with his gloves. "She hasn't been around in my lifetime, at any rate.

"Our mother spoke well of her," Fili said defensibly, though he hadn't been among those who had spoken out. "She told us stories as dwarrowlings- Kili and I- of a single maid who helped to lessen the sufferings of our people after the great mountain fell."

All eyes looked to Númeniel, who sighed and looked away. She could not handle the astonished gaze Bilbo was giving her.

"I saw her save a drowned child once," Bilbo said quietly. The dwarves glanced at him, then back at Númeniel, who nodded to confirm it. "That sounds about right," Gandalf said, eyes twinkling. Thorin also didn't seem surprised.

"Why didna she tell us who she was before?" Dwalin grumbled, hesitant to apologize for the way he had acted towards her.

"Because none of you would have believed her, or remembered her, without Thorin here," Gandalf responded sternly, lighting his pipe. "Maybe Balin could have remembered," he conceded, "but, of all of you, only Thorin knows her with surety. To the rest of you she is but the shadow of a legendary name." Here he turned to Thorin. "I feel a new introduction may be in order," he chuckled.

Thorin nodded and turned to the others. "Esteemed members of our company," he said, "Gandalf, and burglar- allow me to introduce the Lady Andrethiril Celebriel, whom in our tongue is better known- to some of you, at least- as the Akrâgnana. She is, apparently, the humble servant of our burglar," he raised an eyebrow at this, before adding: "but she is also the esteemed princess of Lothlorien. She is a skilled healer, a great friend of wizards, a trusted advisor of kings, and an ambassador between nations."

Númeniel blushed.

Bilbo fainted.