Bofur's hat bobbed as he playing his flute, and although the dwarves weren't as cheerful and loud as they were at Bag End, but as Bofur spend into a ridiculously fast solo they encouraged him loudly to go faster and faster. Bilbo couldn't help but smile at Bofur's concentrated face, and finally he ended the piece with an incredibly high-pitched note, and the dwarves shouted and clapped.

Bilbo nodded to Bofur, pleased with the piece; although it him homesick. The melody could have belonged back at the Green Dragon, even if he hadn't visited the tavern much lately. Bofur began to take bows to every dwarf in the audience, laughing as he did so.

"Another one!" called out Nori enthusiastically, which wasn't very common in him. Bilbo smiled, expecting another wild dashing song like the past one. Bofur took a bow in front of the fire, and let out a surprised exclamation when his hat fell off into the fire. "A-argh!" He took it by the seams before any real damage could be done, but by then everyone was roaring with laughter. Bofur flashed a grin, as if he had planned that long ago. Bifur grunted encouragingly, and seeing his cousin so amused even when they were all starving, he took a final bow and grasped his flute for another tone.

"There you go, Bofur!" exclaimed Glóin. But as he was putting his flute to his lips, he paused and then placed the flute in his lap.

"I think," he said slowly, to the dwarfs' complaints, "that it's a violin I need for this particular song."

The dwarfs roared in agreement and turned to Fíli and Kíli, who laughed at the suggestion.

"Which one of us?" asked Fíli, smiling for the first time since Beorn's homely house.

"Both!" called out Ori loudly; grinning ear to ear. The rest chimed in, and instantly they went to their packs in search for their violins. Bilbo tilted his head in confusion.

"Is this a song widely known?"

"Oh, no," accounted Balin to Bilbo. "This is a popular dwarven tune for violin and flute. It's also a song."

"Ori's favorite," added Dori fondly, and the rest laughed merrily at the embarrassed Ori.

"It's in khûzdul. It's a ridiculous nonsense about a lovesick dwarf, but it's funny and very popular," insisted Kíli, who now returned with his red fiddle alongside his brother. Ori smiled knowingly, thinking of Kíli's attitude about love would turn out to be ironic. Kíli began to tune, and a few jeered jokingly.

"Make way for the real dwarf!" hooted out Dwalin as Fíli made his way beside Bofur with his own violin tucked under his arm. Kíli ignored the jests as he continued tweaking the pegs to achieve a proper note. Finally, he was pleased with the strings and nodded to Bofur and Fíli.

Bilbo, who wanted to understand the lyrics, went beside Ori for help. "Would you...c-could you translate the song for me, Ori?" asked Bilbo politely.

Ori seemed to sour for a single moment, and then nodded gladly. "Definitely!" he chirped.

Dwalin shushed them rudely. "Quiet! They're going ter start!"

The melody began quickly enough with Bofur playing some jaunty, low notes, and then Kíli began to play the main tune nimbly and loudly. The dwarves started to chant alongside the fiddler, and Fíli joined in merrily with a similar line of notes that intertwined with both Kíli's and Bofur's. It was fast-paced, brisk and happy, and Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the words that Ori whispered to him quickly. Then the violins faded to be company as it was Bofur's turn for a solo, and the song became incredibly loud. Ori smiled, feeling safe for an instant despite the hunger and the dark. It was like they were back at Bag End, singing merrily at an irritated Mr. Not-Burglar Baggins. Fíli now took the spotlight in the song, and the dwarves stopped singing, apparently this being an instrument part. Finally Fíli ended his part, and Bofur took the chorus energetically. The dwarves began to sing again, this time Ori himself joining the merrymaking gladly, and although poor Bilbo was left with a translator he remembered the words of the chorus from the first time and smiled as seeing little Ori sing along with the rest gleefully. Bilbo was even surprised to see Bifur doing his best to event grunt along, and soon everyone conscious but Bilbo was singing at the top of their lungs. Finally, Fíli tried to cut in for a final solo; but Kíli, absolutely enthralled in the music, was already taking his place, and the dwarves fell silent at the abnormally fevered tempo at which he was playing. Even Bilbo could tell this was some wild improvisation he had cooked up for himself; and with a few triumphant chords, finished his reverie, and the dwarves called out in approval fervently.

Kíli took off his violin and motioned to his two friends to take a bow. As Fíli tried to take off his own, he struggled for a moment, his beard having caught in the shoulder rest, and they laughed. Once he did he bowed with an exaggerated flourish of his hand, and more cheers followed him. Bofur made sure his hat was on properly and inclined for a bow of his own.

When the ruckus had finally died down, Ori called out, "More!" This was met with more laughter than cheers, but in the end they all demanded for more. Fíli and Kíli looked at each other sheepishly.

"Which song?"

"Oh, any old song!" yelled Dori in encouragement.

"What's the fastest you know?" asked Bilbo.

Kíli lifted an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, Mr. Baggins? You hear that, Fíli?" he turned to his brother with a grin.

"I certainly have. Answer the question, Bilbo," said Fíli with a sly sideways glance to Bilbo, who looked absolutely baffled by their excitement. The dwarves laughed in unison at his confusion.

"They're going to play this fiddle duet, laddie," explained Balin kindly.

Bilbo's eyes widened as he registered the words. "Not 'Western Meadows'!" he exclaimed, recognizing the song fron celebrations at the Shire.

"You think that what comes out of the Shire stays in it? No, everybody knows that melody!" It was then when Fíli began playing the first notes that everyone was silent, and a smile slowly spread across Bilbo's face, remembering his youth perfectly: nights at the Green Dragon drinking ale and dancing with girls. Kíli soon joined in and even though it was supposed to be accompanied by words no one sung anything and instead listened closely to the duet. It was a dance song, but what dance could be found here? Then Ori plucked up the courage and began to sing loudly.

"Here, in the western meadows, we sing of ale, we sing to plenty of our food...!"

"Here, in the western meadows, we sing of dance, and that does us good," joined in Bilbo in a crackly voice, not having sung since his tweens.

"And our pride and our inmost joy lies amongst our hills, and our songs and cheers..." chimed in a gladdened Bofur, grinning.

"Of lasses dancing to fiddlers' tunes, of their golden hair, as gold as all of our most excellent beers!" chanted the rest.

As the song went on and on the two brothers exchanged musical lines quite easily, but just when it was going to be Kíli's solo, while the dwarves roared along, a string burst. Kíli cried out as the string lashed out towards his face, but managed to pull the violin off his shoulder before any damage could be done. The company laughed as Kíli grimaced at the close shave he had just had. By then the enthusiasm of the song had drifted away...and, when Bilbo turned around impulsively, a solemn-looking Thorin was approaching them. It was an almost too sudden change, as the dwarves became quiet and respectful in Thorin's presence. Bilbo honestly thought it all ridiculous when he wasn't there, but in his presence you understood the majesty and leadership he had and the control over his company. He kneeled before the packs, and everyone knew what he was going to retrieve: the harp. A lost relic of Erebor, its strings were an alloy of silver, steel and mithril, and would never rust nor get out of tune. It had also belonged to Thrór, Fíli had once confessed to Bilbo, and that was the reason Thorin prized it so highly. As Thorin took it out of the case Fíli and Kíli were discreet enough to put their own fiddles back in their cases, and Bofur hid his flute back in his coat pocket, smiling faintly; suspecting a piece of Thorin's own. The dwarves looked at each other uneasily and the only sound was the faint scratching of Ori's pen on his paper. As Bilbo turned to the young dwarf he could read over his shoulder and caught a few lines that described the harp closely, and beside it was an unfinished sketch of the instrument. Thorin began to pluck the strings and play a soft, sweet air Bilbo couldn't recognize, but the rest of the dwarves remained silent. Another peek over Ori's shoulder told him that the melody was called 'Mithril Strings' and had been composed by Thrór long before the dragon's arrival and before the king's lust of gold became insatiable. The hymn was slow and melancholic at first, then turned grand and august. Bilbo looked over to Ori's notebook for more information, but by then the little scribe was listening closely to the wordless song, his book open to the lyrics, which they were all mouthing but they dared not sing until Thorin did.

It was then when the miracle happened. Quite suddenly in the dark, a groan came from the packs; and all thirteen heads turned at the sound. Bofur was the first to react; standing and running towards his brother anxiously, agile for a dwarf. He kneeled beside him, Bombur beginning to stir, and looked at him anxiously.

"Come on, brother," he murmured, his voice thick with concern. The rest, Fíli and Kíli at their head, were now beginning to crowd around Bofur as uneasy as him. Bilbo just stared, thinking all Bombur would do was plop back to sleep, and he couldn't help envying his sleep. Bombur sat up groggily, and Bofur propped him up as he lifted his eyelids with difficulty, and after a few moments he jumped in surprise, and everyone but Thorin cried out.

"W-what?! Bofur! Bofur, where are we?" grunted Bombur. His eyes looked wildly around the forest, looking like he had never even been there. Bofur stuttered a reply, unsure of himself.

"W-well, we're in Mirkwood, Bombur...! Can't you remember-?"

"We were at the hobbit's house!" said Bombur bleakly. "Oh, why am I so hungry? Why did I ever wake up? I was dreaming such lovely dreams..." he sighed.

Bilbo was absolutely puzzled, and even more when he caught a glimpse of shy little Ori, who was looking at Fíli and Kíli in alarm. He narrowed his eyes; determined to ask him about this later. "What dreams?" asked Fíli, and Bilbo could detect the suspicion in his voice. Apparently, so did Thorin, who gave his nephew a warning glance. For what?

"Oh, of a feast in a wood like this one, with such excellent food...!" Everyone but Bofur, Bifur and Thorin gave a groan of exasperation. They were all so hungry, and Bilbo was the one who felt the hunger best.

"The important thing is, you're awake, Bombur," sighed Bofur, his face slackening in relief.

"No, it's not!" grumbled Bombur stubbornly. "Yesterday we were at the Hobbit's house; how are we in Mirkwood?!"

"You are right, Bofur," said Glóin distastefully as he stood in anger. "At least we don't have to carry him around." For once Bofur's expression soured, but said nothing against Glóin.

"We've come all the way from the Shire to Mirkwood. Can't you remember that?" insisted Bofur. His words strained in fear.

"No. No! All I know is that I'm hungry, so weak..." he moaned.

Bilbo turned around and looked at the direction of the stream with a grumpy look. "Why were you ever in our way!" he whispered furiously at the memory of the river. Apprehensive murmurs had now turned into full-blown arguments, but Thorin's sharp reprimands silenced them quickly enough.

"Enough! It is time for Óin and Glóin's shift, anyway! Let's have some rest," he rumbled menacingly, and everyone obeyed, except for Bofur who was still trying to convince Bombur of all that had happened. Bilbo went to the nearest place by the fire, by Óin and Glóin who were now avidly arguing whether Bombur's forgetfulness could be cured ("Has the apothecary ever been wrong?" "All the time!") but Bilbo paid no attention to them. After one last look at the uneasy gazes between Fíli, Kíli and Ori he turned his back to the fire and began to dream of the food he could have had back at Bag End, where there were daily planners for common forgetfulness.

Here, in the western meadows, we sing of ale, and we sing of lavish homemade food
Here, in the western meadows, we sing of dance, and it does us good
And our pride and inmost joy lies across our hills, and our songs and cheers
Of lasses dancing to fiddlers' tunes, of golden hair, as gold as all of our most excellent beers!

Here, in the western meadows, we find that trouble belongs in other times and lands
Here, in the western meadows, we like to dance and then join hands
But all pilgrims that come stay, that have seen too much, and that crave for peace
Wayfarers, welcome, to this abode, but first admit, to all that merriest music is bliss.
And the moon that shines the sky will be the only fire we need to live
And our blossoms be the only jewels that garnish our women, that's how we shall live
Here, in the western meadows, we humbly welcome our friends to stay with us, listen and sing!
And the moon that shines the sky will be the only fire we need to live
And our blossoms be the only jewels that garnish our women, that's how we shall live
Here, in the western meadows, we humbly welcome our friends, listen and drink!

Here, in the western meadows, of beryl grasses, we sing with rustic old guitars
Here, in the western meadows, under the pearl moon and silver stars
We sing of orchards, of things that grow, and of plains that reach right throughout our home
We travelers sworn, oh so long ago, forevermore, that we were never ever 'gain to roam.
And all the stars that glow shall feel our own
And all the roads won't tempt ever to leave home
Here, in the western meadows, of beryl grasses, we sing with rustic old guitars
Here, in the western meadows, under the pearl moon and silver stars
We sing of orchards, of things that grow, and of plains that reach right throughout our home
We travelers sworn, oh so long ago, forevermore, that we were never ever 'gain to roam.
Here, in our western meadows, we will live blithe, we will live glad to be here
Here, in our western meadows, we will take peace as its own reward
As for adventures, they'll come in time, but we'll stay and dance while we wait for those
As for our love, and reason to live, it's all over here, in meadows to work and the rivers so clear.

Thorin sat in a place of honor, as befit him, at the table of the Master of Lake-town. Two chairs were empty beside him, and as I turned to look for the missing occupants, Fíli and Kíli, Ori was tempted to join the merrymaking at the foot of the table. Lake-town is a city of commerce, not of royalty, and so the only one who thought himself too dignified for the dance was the Master and some of his attendants. Other than that, in the hall danced men and women of all ages who had come to his feast. Bofur was a center of attention, and was next to the musicians tooting his flute happily. 'Western Meadows' had just ended, and now the men, slightly drunk, began hooting for their favorites. Of the company, Bifur, Balin, Dwalin, Thorin, and Bilbo still sat at the table, either too regal to dance or too old. As for Bilbo, Ori suspected it was the cold that made him unable to enjoy the feast.

Then the musicians began to play a lively tune that I couldn't recognize, but the men all cheered as if it was their favorite.

"Come one, Ori!" called Nori, who was standing beside him, and swept him off to the dancers. He disliked it when his siblings encouraged him to do anything. Only Fíli, Kíli or Bofur could get him to go on willingly. He followed unwillingly, nevertheless, and as Nori pushed past the tall Men ("Watch where you're going little Master Dwarf!") he found his way to his friends. Bofur had left the musicians, not knowing how to play this particular piece, and alongside the younger siblings, joined the drinking men by the tables. A smile spread across Ori's face as he dashed to the tables.

"Here's a mug for ye!" exclaimed Bofur as he handed him a pint. A young man beside them counted to three, and Ori easily knew it was a drinking game, and drank eagerly as soon as the word was given.

It was then when Fíli's and Kíli's eyes widened uneasily at three approaching strangers in men's garb. One, when the hood had been pushed back, revealed to be the red-haired elf woman who had captured them back in Mirkwood.

Fíli immediately stepped forward in anger, but Kíli instead pushed his brother back and welcomed the lady with kind words. Ori couldn't understand why he was being so courteous to her. The woman scoffed his greeting, and with the rest of her elven folk, approached the table of the Master and began to ask questions of the company, claiming they were strangers apprehended by the guard of Mirkwood when they had intruded in their territory. Thorin stood and defied her words valiantly, and at the Master's hesitation Ori placed his mug back on the table quietly, sure they were about to be dragged off to Thranduil's dungeons once again. Fíli patted his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him, although he didn't look too sure himself; partly because of the drink, partly because of fear.

Instead, the Master faced the elf woman, and refused to hand over the "prisoners" with a greedy glint in his eyes. Ori's eyes narrowed at the fat old man and nearly took a step forward, only to be stopped by Fíli, who noticed the indignation in his face.

The elf woman was not satisfied with the answer, but with the threat of being turned out of doors she complied, her face flushing in anger. She turned to her companions and made their way to the rest of the crowd. Fíli turned towards his brother and tried to grab his shoulder, but it was too late, and Kíli rushed to the elf impulsively. Ori widened his eyes and looked down, knowing Thorin would have a say in this.

Bofur took a discreet sip of his mug.

The dancing resumed, although slowly, and a red-eyed Fíli put down his sixty-second mug on the table. He had been taunted more than once by the men and was determined to show his mettle-through the drink. Ori had already left the table as he had lost interest when three of the other participants had dropped on the floor dead drunk. Bofur had taken to a group of roguish men, and he was telling an extremely exaggerated tale of a battle he had never been in but described as accurately as he had been the general of the dwarves' armies. But as he was about to step forward in the crowd to listen closer he was distracted by the dancers, that had gotten themselves into some organized form and now ended a blithe rag that had lifted everyone's spirits after the elves' interventions. It was then when he made out the figure of the elven woman, who was glaring at him pointedly, but was distracted by the interrupting sound of a fiddle. Kíli had taken to the musicians and now played a solo of his own invention, and being skilled at improvisations, the others followed his lead to the dwarf's tune. The elf still wasn't the least impressed, but her head was now turned to Kíli willingly and not out of nagging. He played quicker, but slowed down for the rest of the musicians to end with him.

Kíli whispered to the rest of the band, and they agreed heartily with whatever they had said, as he stepped off to the dancers and bowed to the lady chivalrously. She scoffed but then, after searching that her companions weren't around her, took his hand and once the band began with the piece, a lyrical and fast paced divertimento, they danced, uncomfortably due to Kíli's size. Stiffly at first, she flinched at his every touch, then began to trust his movements more as the piece progressed, and Ori even caught a glimpse of her smile more than once. Ori looked for Thorin at the table, and his expression was so murderous and sour he turned and instead watched the two dance some more. Then a flute joined in the band, along with a fiddle, and Ori could tell both Fíli and Bofur had joined the musicians, supporting Kíli in his ridiculous quest. Ori grinned in spite of everything, and couldn't help but laugh when Bofur started to sound off-key due to of drink.

The tune became more bright, and ended with a final flourish from the rest of the musicians.

Thank you for the reviews I've gotten. Should I feel inspired or should I be encouraged to I might go on. The playlist (in my head) for this chapter has been:

1) Fionnuala's Cookie Jar
2) Elan
3) Invitation
4) Lament for a Frozen Flower
5) The Rap
6) Divertimento
(All by Secret Garden. The lyrics of Western Meadows are set to Invitation.)

Thank you once more!