"Chapter 6"

A/N: I am finding it ridiculously easy to write Gandalf in character. Hopefully I've done a good job with Bilbo in this chapter…

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"If you think that for one moment that I am going to— ah, Thorin! Lovely day, isn't it?"

For the first time Bilbo's voice was free of worry or anxiousness, and the Dwarf-king smiled to hear it. Events had all of them nervous, and the seriousness of the Quest was finally taking hold. The Fellowship was gathered and now only time would tell when they would make their move in the chessboard of the Enemy's plans. For now, he merely hoped they could make a first move: it seemed that the bodies of the Ringwraiths' horses had been found (all except one that is) but the Nazgul themselves were unaccounted for. Thorin could tell that the news worried the Elves, even if he did not speak often with them.

He spoke with Gandalf often enough, however, to stay on top of the most recent events. The wizard was uneasy as well, even if he did not show it, and while he spoke as often in riddles as he had before Thorin was able to glean much from them. The Shadow was gaining in power daily, even if its presence was not so thick that anyone could feel it, but enough that it made it necessary to move on from Rivendell as soon as possible.

For now, however, they who had to move on were taking the time to simply enjoy life one moment at a time.

Even if he was irked by the Elves, Thorin couldn't help but have a grudging respect for Rivendell and its calming beauty. It was very easy to forget one's pains in such a peaceful place, and even if it wasn't the high arching rooms of Erebor he had to admit that the gardens were lovely indeed. (Even if the flowers made him sneeze). He was sitting near the river by himself when he heard the quiet pitter-patter of hobbit feet and turned to find Bilbo and Elrond walking together, the hobbit rather comically diminutive beside the tall Elvish lord but in no way was his presence diminished if his spirited words were of any clue. Spotting the Dwarf where he sat in the shade, Bilbo smiled and broke off his conversation with Elrond with a rather hasty good-bye and walked over to where Thorin was.

The Dwarf raised an inquiring eyebrow, a mite sarcastic. "Is something the matter?"

Bilbo leaned back on the heels of his feet, using his walking cane for balance, and his brown eyes sparkled with mirth. "Nothing whatsoever, old friend," he said, "if you do not count an Elf who insists you are too old to handle a sword."

Now both of Thorin's brows rose, prepared for any answer but that one—although, he knew, he should be prepared for Bilbo's quick wit by now. He sighed in resignation, knowing he would forever underestimate the hobbit in some way or another, and merely smiled. "None can be too old to handle a sword," he answered. "I take it you did not take kindly to such a suggestion?"

"All I said was that I was going to go and see the lads as they learned to handle their own swords better," Bilbo protested. "Master Elrond seems to think that I wish I were young enough to join them. Now I'll admit that I did bring up my own crash-course in handling a sword…"

Something in Bilbo's last words seemed to free some last resistance in Thorin's enjoyment. Feeling a loud laugh build deep in his chest he threw his head back and fairly roared with laughter. Bilbo eased himself onto the grass beside him. Finally Thorin calmed and looked at Bilbo still grinning. "You had more than a crash-curse in sword handling, Bilbo Baggins," he retorted good-naturedly. "I dare say you had never seen so much of a handle of a sword before we came along to Bag End."

"I did have to learn very quickly, didn't I?" the hobbit chuckled. The Dwarves had been rather reluctant in the beginning to teach him how to handle a weapon—of any kind—and the first few "battles" he had been in he had had to rely more on instinct and quick action and less on the true sword work.

"I'm surprised you didn't chop your own hand off in the beginning."

"When you saw me more as a grocer than a burglar," Bilbo agreed, and the two friends shared a reminiscent smile. "Would you mind coming with me to watch the lads handle their own battles?"

So Thorin found himself walking along to the training pavilion with nothing better to do. Besides, he knew it would be a good way to inform himself on the other members of the Company he was now a part of. Approaching the shaded area the Dwarf and hobbit could hear the ringing of steel blade on steel blade become louder and louder, and at times more grating on the ears as the occasional note rang out flatter or more shrill than normal. The low murmur of voices was able to be heard as they came closer, too low for a Dwarf's ears but not a hobbits if Bilbo's grin was any indication.

When they finally entered the training area they found Merry and Pippin practicing sword movements together with the Gondorian Man, Boromir, supervising them. Thorin knew that Boromir was the heir of the Steward of Minas Tirith, but knew nothing else about the Man besides the fact that he was going on the Quest as well. He was tall but solid, his face fairer than most Men's, and more noble—but also more arrogant. Perhaps Thorin was able to recognize the latter because he was himself rather arrogant at times, but he knew that looks didn't guarantee the heart. Bilbo was enough proof of that.

Boromir seemed a patient enough teacher as he instructed the two youngest hobbits in their stances, however, saying as Dwarf and hobbit approached, "Plant your feet firmly in the dirt, Merry. There. You see how your balance seems more centered now?"

Frodo was sitting on a bench on the other side of the pavilion in the light of the sun, holding his own sword in his lap. Bilbo headed over to him and Thorin followed more slowly, instead watching the lesson. Boromir had clearly finished with his instructions and now Merry and Pippin were carrying them out. Watching them Thorin realized that while at first glance the two youngest cousins seemed much alike, there were several differences in their personalities. Merry watched his movements and his opponent's critically, his dark blue eyes focused and almost devoid of emotion, propelled on by logic. Even inexperienced as he was, there was the hidden makings of a talented swordsman in Meriadoc Brandybuck.

Pippin, in contrast to Merry's absolute dedication to his actions, seemed as flighty as a sparrow. His bright eyes were continually roaming to everything and anything, sometimes ignorant of what his opponent was doing. His movements were quick and edgy, almost as if he wasn't sure he was handling himself correctly; but nevertheless Thorin's expert eye could see that if Pippin were to move away from his inattentiveness, he also would be a force to be reckoned with. Even now the red-headed lad was able to hold his own against his cousin for a startlingly long amount of time until finally with a twist of his wrist Merry was able to knock Pippin's sword out of his hands.

With a yelp Pippin jerked back and shook his hands; the handle had irritated his palms it seemed as it was jerked from his grasp. He glared at Merry as his cousin smirked triumphantly at him, but it was a look without much heat. "One of these days, Merry—" he began, but Boromir shook his head. Thorin continued on before listening to the Man's words, instead making his way over to where Bilbo and Frodo sat.

"—beaten Merry at all?" Bilbo was asking, a rather amused grin on his face as he watched merry and Pippin begin again.

Frodo shook his head. "Not yet," he answered, watching them as well. "Pip's sure that he will soon though." He looked away to where Thorin was and smiled. "Hello, Thorin. So, Uncle Bilbo managed to drag you all this way, did he?"

"You will find, Frodo-lad, that it is impossible to drag a Dwarf anywhere," Bilbo replied with a stern air, but he ruined the effect by winking at his nephew. "And why do I see you sitting out while your cousins go through all the training?"

Frodo flushed slightly. "Elrond told me I am to rest my shoulder as much as I can," he answered. "If I feel my shoulder straining I should sit and let it recover." His hands nervously played with the handle of his weapon and looking down Thorin realized what it was exactly he held.

"Isn't that Sting?"

Bilbo nodded. "'Deed it is," he said. Frodo, hearing Pippin calling out again, turned back to watch his younger cousins again, his gaze suddenly sharp and rather stern. Bilbo merely raised an eyebrow at hearing the youngest hobbit's outcry, a mix of amusement and scolding warring in his expression, but otherwise ignored the sudden commotion a few feet away from them. "I bequeathed it to Frodo just the other day, actually. My lad broke his Westernesse sword before coming here so I gave him one that will be handier than most."

"Broke—" But then Thorin remembered what it was that had followed Frodo and his companions to Rivendell and realized what it was that had broken it. Hopefully Sting would hold up better under the might of the Nazgul than the ancient Men's blade.

Just as he hoped the still-tentative Fellowship would hold under the presence of the Shadow.

A/N: Next chapter we will be finally seeing the Fellowship as a whole and before that we'll finally have Thorin meet Aragorn one-on-one. (Aragon went AWOL for several days in my LotR world so I couldn't introduce him until now in the story.)