Chapter 4:

The Obligatory Road-Trip Montage

wherin thorin oakenshield is upset (again),
fíli and kíli are in trouble (again), the company
expresses their annoyance with the wizard (again),
tea is over-consumed and bilbo just wants to give
the dwarves a very big hug (maybe some ice-cream could help?)

Images rapidly move past them on the magic wall, but most of them are just short moments from the first weeks on the road, and nothing of particular interest. The swelling music is very fascinating though and it's very fitting, Bilbo thinks, to hear the same melody as the Dwarves had sung in Bag End but as a much bigger theme of horns and violins. (He really wonders where the musicians are hiding.)

Then the music ceases, and the scene is a night of many from the journey and it takes a while to place it. Several of the Dwarves are asleep, snoring loudly (though none snores as loud as Glóin), while Fíli and Kíli are keeping watch. Gandalf also appears to be awake, smoking his pipe as usual. It could be any night on the road, really, but it must hold some significance else they'd not be shown it.

Bilbo, the one on the wall, startles awake. Probably because of the snoring. His hair's all askew and he looks tired still, but stands up anyway to stretch. At that time no one had paid any especial heed to him, so they'd never noticed before when he'd snuck over to one of the ponies to give them an apple - one that was part of his own rations. To see such a gentle, so very Hobbitish act, despite the harsh reality of their journey, causes Thorin to quirk a smile.

"It's our little secret, Myrtle. You must tell no one."

"So that's why you and the ponies got along so well," Bofur exclaims. "They always tried to bite me!"

"What on Middle-earth did you do to make them do that?" Bombur asks his brother.

The hat-clad Dwarf lifts his hands trying to convey his innocence. "I don't know!"

"Maybe they're allergic to your hat," suggests Nori with a snicker, causing Bofur to clamp onto said beloved head-wear with a frightened expression on his face, like an invisible hand could at any point reach out and take it from him.

"Wait, 'Myrtle'?" Thorin blurts, watching the scene unfold. "I don't remember that we named the ponies anything in particular." They'd acquired the animals for their endurance and strength for this journey, and not for a small sum either; Thorin hadn't been particularly interested in his pony personally, other than making sure the animal was well enough to travel for as long as possible.

"That was Bilbo," says Fíli. "He asked about them one of the first nights we made camp. Well, asked Ori, because I think the rest of us made him kind of nervous, euhm - anyway, he named them after that. Myrtle, Daisy, Bella, Bungo, Ponto, Lily - what were the other ones?"

Bilbo squirms a little in his chair. Why did they have to keep directing attention at him all the time? And what's so odd about naming the ponies anyway? It's just common courtesy to acknowledge the kind creatures by individualizing them (and feeding them an apple now and then; even horses like to eat more than just grass).

"Right, I remember: Pansy, Minty, Mungo, Bingo, Drogo ... Rosa, Polo and Fosco. That makes fourteen," Kíli says while nodding and counting on fingers and toes. "I had Pansy, Fíli rode Polo. I think Uncle had Bungo."

"Those sound like very Hobbit-like names," Balin says, casting a glance at the Company's own Hobbit.

"Er, yes," Bilbo answers. "I named them after family, see."

Thorin leans in, intrigued. There's just so much they don't know about Hobbits and Bilbo in particular, so much he's realizing that he wants to learn. "Who is Bungo then? The Hobbit original."

"My father."

Something warms in Thorin's chest, mayhap gratitude, though he can't name it properly. Bilbo struggles but still feels his cheeks flush at the look that Thorin gives him. (Thorin looking at him, no matter his mood, is always rather intense.) "Then I'm honoured to have ridden the pony you named after him."

"Oi, you're making me blush," Nori not-very-helpfully butts in.

Suddenly all the Dwarves want to know too just which pony theirs too and who it was named after, and Bilbo finds himself explaining about uncles and aunts and cousins, first and seconds and one or two thirds. (That makes the Dwarves unfortunately rather confused - they've never bothered with second cousins like ever in their whole history.)

"I hope they're all right," Ori says, sounding worried and a little sad. "I mean, the ponies ran away when the wargs came for us."

Kíli groans. "Ugh, don't remind me of that day. That was a bad day. The height of bad days. The beginning of a long row of bad days."

"I am sure they are fine, young Ori," Gandalf says with that typical don't-worry-I've-got-it-sorted kind of voice which may or may not be reassuring. "They are clever animals. They'll find their way back home."

Then the howling of wargs echoes in the distance. With their narrow escape from the wargs and the flight to the Carrock not even a week past, Bilbo violently shivers, unable to stop it. He's never liked wolves of any sort, not since the Fell Winter (before that they were just stories); but with that encounter, and being chased by the wargs - who surely even now are seeking them out - that feeling is even worse, and he fears he'll have many vivid nightmares in the coming months.

"You alright?" Bofur asks, who must have noticed his ashen face and badly hidden grimace.

"...Yes, I'm fine. Just, I don't like wolves. Never have."

The comment sparks further interest from his friends. Nori leans in; the thief has mostly observed until now. "From before the quest, you mean?"

"Yes. Bad memories. Maybe I could tell you later, but..."

Thorin nods in understanding. Whatever memory the scene has stirred within the Hobbit, now is not the time or place to explain, and Thorin doesn't wish to cause him any undue pain by reminding him more of it. The Hobbit may tell them when he feels ready. Thorin knows himself the emotions of grief and terror all too well. "Of course."

"What was that?"

"Orcs."

"That," Bofur says loudly, "was not helpful, Kíli."

The Dwarf in question crosses his arms defensively. "Hey! At least I never made Bilbo faint."

"Don't hold it against me! I was a very different Dwarf then, I'll have you know."

"Orcs?"

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there,"
Fíli says in a very dark and solemn tone. "The lonelands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep," his brother joins in.
"Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

"Fíli, Kíli."

"Yes, Uncle?"

"You're both grounded. (Again.)"

"What?! But, but we just joking! And we've already said sorry like at least twice!"

"And if you say another word on the matter I shall have your mother know of what you've been up to."

That makes the brothers go quiet. For a while.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

Kíli looks down, ashamed. "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world."

"We know a lot more now than we did six months ago," Fíli says seriously, as if trying to make amends for previous mistakes, and begins counting on his hands. "Like: always avoid trolls at any cost, don't camp in strange caves in the Misty Mountains; Elves aren't a 100% evil but aren't to be trusted still because they can be useful sometimes; Hobbits are a lot braver than we'd first thought..."

Wholeheartedly enthusiastic Kíli grins, momentarily forgetting their Uncle's wrath or the fact they've just been grounded (again). "We could write a handbook. A traveler's guide: 'Middle-earth in the Third Age, A Traveler's Itinerary: What to Avoid and the Best Inns, by Kíli and Fíli of the Line of Durin'."

With a dry snort, Dwalin shakes his head. "Yeah, right."

Trying to be supportive (because in it's nature mostly) Ori smiles at the two brothers. "I wouldn't mind owning that book. (Even if I'm not sure if I trust you two writing it)."

"Thanks, Ori."

"Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has
more cause than most to hate Orcs."

It had been one thing to hear Balin speak of the Battle of Azanulbizar (Bilbo had learned the name later, one of the few pieces of Khuzdul he'd actually been allowed to learn, kindly translated by Ori once he'd understood that Bilbo had picked the word up) - but seeing it is a whole other matter.

The armies seem never ending, rows upon rows of dark orcs and heavily armoured Dwarves. And there's Thorin - younger; but older than in Erebor. Unlike most other Dwarves they can see he wears no helmet, or he's lost it, and no shield, and blood splattered onto his armour. A younger version of Balin is there too, his hair dark and full; and Dwalin with actual hair on his head and fewer tattoos, though it's hard to see in the quickly flashing images.

"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thrór
tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf Kingdom of Moria. But
our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions
of Orcs led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler.
The giant Gundabad Orc had sword to wipe out the line
of Durin. He began by beheading the King."

And there is Azog, the pale orc, holding up the head of Thorin's grandfather, Thrór. Bilbo has to look away from the brutality of it all. There's so much blood on the ground, the pale stone covered with bodies littered like leaves after a harsh storm. Fíli and Kíli stare in horror, now seeing the actual memories that their 'joke', so many weeks ago, stirred within their uncle.

"Thráin, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing.
Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless.
Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him - a young
Dwarf prince facing down the pale Orc."

It's strange, because Bilbo has always considered the Dwarves as rather large, in the beginning intimidating people. They're not really Big Folk, but almost, and they all have at least a couple of inches on him. But now, seeing a young Thorin facing down Azog, fighting him in desperation and anger, Thorin looks so - small. It's not quite right, Bilbo decides. He doesn't realize how hard he's gripping the sides of the chair he's sitting in until Azog swings his hammer harshly knocking Thorin's shield off his arm, causing the Dwarf to stumble down the rocky ground, also losing his sword in the process. Bilbo flinches, nearly cries out - it's terrifying to watch even if he knows, rationally, that Thorin will be fine. Of course he'll be - this is the past they're watching, and now Thorin is sitting right next to him! Still, his heart is hammering fast and hard. He can't imagine what Thorin might feel like right now, reliving it a second time.

"He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armour rent,
wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield."

Then Thorin manages to grab a sword - maybe his own, dropped from earlier, but more likely that of another Dwarf already fallen. With a mighty yell he strikes and then Azog is grasping at the stump of his arm, cut off right below the elbow.

"Azog the Defiler learned that day
that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken."

"Why am I feeling that that line is somehow going to be majorly important and maybe even be proven wrong sometime soon?" mutters Fíli to his brother, who is busy clinging to his older brother and leaning as far away from their Uncle as possible, still afraid of Thorin's wrath. (A just reaction given that not a long time after this moment they're probably going to have to watch the troll incident, which means Thorin is going to see just how they failed at guarding the ponies and sending Bilbo alone to face the three big creatures and subsequently almost get eaten. Yeah, better find cover now.)

The Dwarves are charging now, the tide of the battle changed as the Orcs' leader is carried inside the gates of Moria - wounded, but not dead. Definitely, unfortunately not dead, as they've learned now.

"Du bekâr!" With a shout, raising his sword,
Thorin leads the charge toward the mountain wall.

"I should have cut off his head when I had the chance!" growls Thorin darkly.

"You couldn't have known," Balin tries to comfort his old friend, even though it's in vain. "None of us could have known what would happen afterward. By all right such a wound should have been deadly." No Dwarf or Man or Elf, or any of the free folk, would have fared well with such an injury. The fever alone could easily kill even the most hardened warrior. They had truly believed the beast to be mortally injured; especially since the giant Orc was not spotted by any scouts or spies for decades afterwards, and there were no reports indicating that it might have survived.

"Out forces rallied and drove the Orcs back.
And our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song
that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived ..."

The battle is over, but the place is littered with dead bodies, Orcs and Dwarves alike, blood and smoke slowly curling toward the pale sky. There's no rain, but glimpse of sunlight. A few Dwarf survivors - they can see Dwalin and Balin, their foreheads touching, relieved to see each other alive and relatively unscathed - are walking through the sea of death, looking for survivors. Others are sitting or lying or standing in shock, still and silent. It's eerie and so wrong. Without thinking, Bilbo reaches over to grasp Thorin's arm, squeezing it in a quiet gesture of comfort. All this happened decades ago, but the images now before them are so sharp and real, and Bilbo knows himself the potency of memories.

Then the young Thorin comes into view. Despite all the horrible things that have happened, he's still standing, and appears to be without major injury. In his left hand he's still holdng onto the oaken branch, the shield he'd used which would after become his famous epithet, and the shining sun makes him appear haloed by light.

"And I thought to myself then; there is one that I could follow. There is one
I could call King," finishes the old Balin. Thorin turns and it's a long,
serious moment, the music trembling, as the other Dwarves look at him
like realizing for the first time just who and what he is.

"And the pale Orc?" Bilbo asks. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came," Thorin
spits angrily. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

"We were so wrong. Who knows what else we've believed falsely, or been told wrongly?" Thorin says, shooting Gandalf a sour look. "Did you know Azog was alive?"

The Wizard sighs. "I had a vague notion. I wasn't certain."

"And you didn't care to mention this notion at all? A warning would've been nice," Bofur cries, upset. "If we'd even suspected that beast to be alive we might've found a way not to be chased by wargs! I almost lost my hat during that dash!"

"Oi, you care more about your hat than our lives?" Dori exclaims, affronted.

"Well, it's a nice hat."

Then, the scene fades and they see the same outcropping where they had camped that night, but from another angle; a forest further up. And there's a warg and an orc rider, a few other of the same scum behind it.

"They'd spotted us even that early," Dwalin says, dismayed. They'd all been awake at that point, not just those on watch, and not a single one of them had spotted the scouts. "And we did not see until it was nearly too late. We've been careless, far too careless."

"Maybe that's the point of watching this? That voice did say we weren't heading for a happy ending," Ori suggests thoughtfully. "Maybe we're meant to watch this and change things in the future."

"That does sort of make sense," Bilbo agrees. "But I still wonder who sent us here, and where 'here' is anyway, and how long it's going to take watching our journey … it's apparent there are major time jumps but, what if we're stuck here for hours and hours? days? weeks?" The mere prospect makes his heart stutter in fear. It's a small, dark room this, for the width of the walls and ceiling, and without windows there is no sunlight to judge the time. It's not a comfortable Hobbit hole.

"We'll find a way out," Thorin promises, "we have to. We have to reach Erebor before Durin's Day."

Dori interrupts the discussion. "Stuff's happening again."

The rain. The blasted rain.

The rain that had never ended. What was it - a week? a fortnight? of rain. Just rain and mud and cold. Bilbo had been so very miserable during those days, as had all of the Company.

"Here, Mister Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?"

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until
the rain is done. If you want to change the weather, you need to
find yourself another Wizard!" Gandalf says, somehow looking drier than the rest of them.
Maybe the wide brim of his pointy hat protected him.

"Are there any?" the Hobbit ask. "Other Wizards?"

(The Hobbit looks a bit like a drowned kitten according to Bofur - he gets a handful of popped corn thrown at his head for that.)

"Well, there are five of us. Saruman the White, the head of our order;
then there are the Blue Wizards - hmm, I have quite forgotten their names ..."

There's a snort and Nori (he'd been too far back down the line of ponies to have heard the conversation take place the first time) remarks: "Memory gettin' dodgy, huh?"

Gandalf does not look amused, but he deserves it, Bilbo thinks, after everything the Wizard has had them go through without telling them the full truth, constantly bending it in his own favour.

"Then there is Radagast the Brown."

"Is he a great wizard, or is he more like you?"

At this all the Dwarves openly laugh. "Oh, oh, hear!" Fíli reaches around and pats Bilbo's back. "Right to his face, too!"

Bilbo splutters.

"You're showing to be braver and full of more surprises every day," Balin comments, a bushy eyebrow raised.

"Uh, thanks. (I think?)," the Hobbit answers.

"I think he's a very great Wizard, in his own way. He's a gentle soul, who prefers
the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East –
and a good thing too. For always evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

"Not good!"

Bilbo stares aghast at the dead animals, the sickly-looking trees and rotting mushrooms that the Brown Wizard was examining, rushing to and fro in a panic. The forest which at first glance appeared green and growing is proving to be very different: something's very wrong. Even though the grass looks green and the moss full, there are bodies of foxes and rabbits and other small wildlife strewn about as if they've been struck by death too suddenly to even crawl from where they fell. No sickness that Bilbo knows of can do that, and there is no trace of wounds or blood on any of the animals. The forest also seems suspiciously quiet, with far too little birdsong to be heard. Yes, something has to be wrong.

"Not good, not good at all!"

"The water must be afoul with something...or the soil..." Bilbo muses aloud. Even with the yellow sun shining through the canopy, the forest appears to be ill or dying. It isn't natural. "Gandalf, what do you think?"

"I think you may be right, Bilbo. Something is definitely wrong with the Greenwood - more commonly known as Mirkwood nowadays - as Radagast came to warn me, before we arrived at Rivendell."

"So you know something," Bilbo realizes, looking at the Wizard suspiciously. "What did he tell you?"

"...I'm certain everything will come to light in due time."

Well, that sounded ominous if anything.

"I am growing tired of these subterfuges and lies, Wizard," Thorin mutters, throwing Gandalf a dark glare, obviously overhearing the Hobbit and Wizard's conversation. "When will we be told all the things that you have kept from us?"

Nori leans closer to Glóin, whispering: "Three gold coins on Thorin pummeling the Wizard before the next hour is up."

The red-bearded Dwarf grins, sounding confident. "I say Thorin as well, but within two hours. Three gold coins."

"That's a deal!" They shake hands.

Not having helped overhearing them, Bilbo glances at the pair doubtfully. Is it really that clever to make bets on who and when will actually attempt to hit Gandalf? The Big Man is after all a Wizard, not just anyone, and Bilbo honestly doesn't want to see the Wizard angry with any of them. Who knows what could happen then? Someone could get turned into something ... unnatural. But, on the other hand ...

"You know, it's stupid to make bets when the subjects in turn can hear you," Dori says loudly.

Thorin rolls his eyes, but Dwalin reverently strokes his knuckledusters with a kind of dangerous smile on his face. "I'm on it. One hour."

Between a few bites of popcorn Ori says, "Mahal's beard, you're all forty-year-olds." before continuing to munch away. Bilbo has a sneaking suspicion that somehow all of the Dwarves are in on this bet, like some sort of secret pact. (He also has a sneaking suspicion that one or more of the Company are soon about to become much richer.)

"Oh no - Sebastian!"

The Brown Wizard leans down to pick something up from where it lies curled up on the ground - a small hedgehog, it looks like. It would be amazingly adorable if it wasn't for the fact that the tiny thing looks like to be dying too, and Bilbo makes an upset noise at the back of his throat. What they're seeing isn't the natural cycle of life and death that always happens in the wild; this is some swift decay, and just too cruel.

"Oh no!" cries Ori, now out of popcorn. "That's just too sad."

Then Radagast starts running again.

"Look at that shack, not a straight angle to be seen, and it's all falling apart! What poor workmanship," one of the Dwarves remarks when Radagast's hut comes into view. It looks like it's been grown more than built, weaving around one or two large trees. Almost like the small home is a part of the forest itself, put together with care not to cause damage to the earth. And as the Wizard flies into the building, it almost looks like he's being followed by some kind of shadows.

In frenzy the Wizard clears a table and puts the little animal down to examine it, muttering to himself all the while; but nothing seems to help. He tries remedies and concoctions of all kinds, that for all their strangeness don't seem all that magical or Wizard-like; there's an apothecary in every Shire village or town with enough knowledge to create medicines similar to that. With each second passing the Wizard's frantic pace quickens.

"Figure it out!" Kíli shouts at the magic wall with odd reverence. "You gotta save the little hedgehog!"

With a shout in Khuzdul Bifur apparently agrees with him.

"I don't understand why it's not working! It's not as if it's witchcraft."

Then: a revelation.

"Witchcraft ... Oh, but it is. A dark and powerful magic."

"Finally," says Dwalin, to Bilbo's surprise. He hadn't expected the hardened warrior to care that much for a little hedgehog. "Slow for a Wizard."

From hidden in a crevice in the roof the Wizard pulls out this glass vial - or it may be a crystal, they can't be sure - and his voice dips low, and he seems to sink into a strange trance. This is getting stranger by the minute. But he definately seems more like a Wizard now, though very different from Gandalf to be certain.

Bilbo can't recognize the words; it sounds like some form of old elfish, something he hasn't learned. And to all of their shock, darkness – not a liquid or a smoke; but actual, tangible darkness – slips out of the animal and into the bottle. A gloom falls over the shack; and dark things move outside it, rattling the wood, casting eerie shadows onto the walls.

"Sí a hlare ómaquettar
lerya laman naiquentallo
na coilerya en-vinyanta"

As the Wizard is speaking, the shadows are climbing closer. Something is blocking the windows. Something - somethings - are crawling around outside, making this creepy, scratching noise. Some kind of animal or creature. And they're getting closer, something piercing the roof -

A pale Ori is holding onto his chair for dear life. "Oh Mahal, they're gonna die. Poor thing."

"No, they're not, idiot," Nori retorts dryly. "We met the Wizard after this, so clearly he made it out alive."

"Not him, the hedgehog!"

"Oh. Right."

"He's too cute to die!" Ori wails.

But then: the spell is broken, complete, the Wizard leaving his trance. And the animal stirs, opening its eyes again – cured!

"Impossible!" That would be Dori, who's very upset (as usual) at such displays of things breaking the laws of nature. "Unnatural magic!"

"Neat," says Nori.

Dwalin huffs. "Well, barmy as he is he's still a Wizard."

"Those shapes … they looked a lot like giant spiders or something, didn't they?" Fíli mutters. "Huge spiders. Like the stuff of nightmares."

Kíli nods in agreement with his brother. "Creepy as fuck."

"Kíli, language!" Thorin barks, more on automatic than anything else (he is after all the boy's uncle, and has to watch them now that their mother isn't here to do so. Manners are very important – they are the heirs of Durin).

"Yes," says Bofur. "Definitely not natural."

"Don't you mean to say 'supernatural'?" Bombur frowns at his brother.

A shrug. "Same thing."

"Shh! I want to hear what they're saying!"

"Ah. Sorry, Ori."

The Wizard has exited the hut now, and the forest seems lighter, like he's lifted the spell on not just the hedgehog but on the nearby area - at least for now. Several odd shapes - definitely looking like large spiders - are slithering away through the underbrush and out of sight.

"Where on this good earth did those foul creatures come from?"

A bird flies down just then, chirping - and apparently the Brown Wizard can talk bird. Well, that's good to know.

"The old fortress? Show me."

Fíli peers at the screen, "Has he got the sled? Yeah, he's got the sled."

"It's oddly efficient for its design. It's a horrible design, by the way," Glóin says with clear expertise like suddenly he's an engineer and not a Master of Coin. "The drag must be awful. No wonder he needs that many rabbits for it."

Bombur nods in agreement. He may be a cook, but he's not an idiot. "He shouldn't need rabbits for it at all. Whoever's heard of a sled drawn by rabbits before? Ever? Why isn't he using horses or goats or oxen? Or something else that's bigger?"

"Rhosgobel rabbits are very strong for their size," Gandalf says, like he's heard similar arguments before. Maybe he has. Maybe he's the one who first questioned the rabbits, and thus got lectured by his fellow Brown Wizard on why and how Rhosgobel rabbits are the perfect race to drive his sled. (Radagast must be very passionate about them.)

Off the Wizard goes, anyway, at a rather amazing speed. It's a wonder he doesn't crash into any trees, Bilbo thinks, or is thrown off. Soon he's left the immediate area near his hut, and already the forest looks darker here, almost like the Wizard's power has somehow protected a portion of the forest but not all of it. Now there's definite evidence of spiders: huge webs, several meters in span, are covering the treetops, blocking much of the light.

"Yikes!" Bofur comments. "I wouldn't want to be stuck in that mess. That must mean the spiders that made those are at least five feet in length..."

"Mahal's hammer, don't say anything more!" pleads Dori. "I'm going to have nightmares. And we all know what happens when I have nightmares."

It doesn't take long before they reach something that's not forest: a huge castle ruin. It must be the old fortress Radagast had been told about by the bird. There's a shadow around the whole place, like it's sucking light from its surroundings, like it's tainted. It gives Bilbo the shivers just to look at - and think Radagast went there willingly!

"Okay ... Not natural," Fíli says. "That's a large castle. It might have been a city once, even. I don't recognize it, though. Can't remember that from the history lessons ..."

"You wouldn't," Balin says. "No one of our kind has been there willingly. That is Dol Guldur, the old fortress of the enemy. It was destroyed and abandoned long ago - or at least so we've believed. I do not think Men or Elves ever venture near that place either."

"Do you think there are ghosts there?" Kíli whispers to his brother, only to be shushed by Dori.

"I said stop it! Now I'm going to have more nightmares."

But the images change before they can find out what the Wizard is going to do - or has done - at the old fortress. Bifur mutters something angrily in Khuzdul, his brother Bombur quietly agreeing with him.

"That can't mean anything good ..."

"We'll make camp here for the night."

"Hey, I remember that place. Isn't that where …? Oh no." Bombur groans.

"Don't do it! Don't do it! Move on!" shouts Fíli at the screen but alas the Dwarves on the magic wall doesn't hear him, and are now sliding off their ponies and stretching their legs in relief, completely unaware of the dangers ahead. "Don't stay there - damn it!"

"Fíli, I don't think they - ehm, we - can hear you. Nice try, though."

"LEAVE THAT PLACE!"

"Fíli, Kíli, look after the ponies. Make sure
you stay with them. Óin, Glóin, get a fire going."

As Thorin is directing his Company with orders, Gandalf examines the broken farmhouse. At the time no one else had heard or paid heed to his observations of the house's previous occupants; with what they know now, it's obvious that the farmer and his family were all taken by the trolls earlier, and their homestead destroyed and plundered by the foul creatures. The signs had been right in front of their noses, and they'd missed them.

"I think it would be better if we moved on.
We could make for the Hidden Valley."

"For once the Wizard was right. Oh, damn."

"Did you know, Gandalf?" Bilbo asks, turning to the Big Man next to him. "Did you know about the trolls?"

"Not exactly. I had a slightly foreboding feeling, but no, my dear Bilbo, I didn't know about the trolls, especially about them being so close. We were not very far from the borders of Rivendell at that point and we all, including myself, believed the dangers to lie on the other side of the Misty Mountains, not behind them. However I was concerned that we could be – as we were – being followed by orcs and other foul spies in the service of darkness. I wished us to hurry."

"I am regretful now," Thorin says quietly, the admission slightly uncharacteristic. A big leap forward for him, Bilbo thinks, to admit humility. "But at the time I sensed no danger and we were tired, in need of rest. I thought it better to press on the next morning and bypass Rivendell altogether, and find some other means to read the map than having to ask the Elves for aid."

"The lesser of two evils, huh," Dwalin says. "In a manner of speaking."

"Only, we didn't know about there being another evil at all. Oh, we were foolish and reckless, looking ahead without caring for the dangers closer at hand."

"What's done is done, Thorin," Bilbo tries soothing him. Poor Thorin must be very tense at this point, and really should need a nice cup of tea. The Hobbit peers toward the table full of food in search for a pot and a big cup. Tea always helps. "Besides we've made it this far. No need to worry about it now."

No wonder Dwarves had a hard time of it, clinging to the past like this all of the time. The only past most Hobbits care about is that concerning family trees. (That can be ... important, and also lead to both conflicts and pride. But that's for another tale and time.)

"Yes. It's easy to have regrets afterward. Now, we can learn new things and maybe alter whatever terrible future that has been foreseen," Balin says wisely. "That must be our purpose here."

"I have told you already, I will not go near that place."

"Why not? The Elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."

"I do not need their advice."

"We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us."

"Wait, that was old Khuzdul right, the writing hidden on the map?"

"Yes," Thorin answers, not really following.

"So couldn't Bifur read it?"

It's kind of nice to be feel that clever sometimes and be acknowledged for it, Bilbo thinks, when the Dwarves all stare at him in surprise.

"That's right," Bofur says. "So we didn't need to go to Rivendell after all!"

"We'd still need the moonlight to reveal the runes," Óin puts in; even if Balin, Thorin and Bilbo had been the only ones present, along with Gandalf, when Elrond read the runes, the others had been told what happened, and the words.

Bilbo nods, comprehending the Dwarf's logic. "Yes, but they would've appeared that night anyway wouldn't they? With or without Lord Elrond's large crystal, moonlight-magnifying...thing - wouldn't they? Lord Elrond said the runes could only be read on the same day and time on which they had been written, under the light of a moon of the same phase and shape. That's a lot of things to consider, true, but every now and then the time would be right."

With a humming noise Balin answers, "Possibly, yes. We cannot know now. We were indeed lucky to be able to read them that night. Having to wait another year, or more, would have been ... troublesome."

"Help? A dragon attacks Erebor – what help came from the Elves?
Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls – the Elves looked on
and did nothing. And you ask me to seek out the very people who
betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father."

All right, time to hand Thorin that cup of tea. Bilbo eases out of his chair and walks over to the nearby table, quickly pouring a cup of a nice-smelling green tea from one of the multiple pots waiting there. Taking another bowl of popped corn in one hand and a cup in the other, he walks back. Thorin casts him a surprised and slgthly confused look.

"It helps, trust me," Bilbo murmurs and slightly doubtfully Thorin takes the cup,taking a careful sip.

"It's...not too bad."

"There, see."

"No, wait," hisses Dwalin, "if you get him too calmed down I'm gonna lose my money on that bet!"

"You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past."

"I did not know that they were yours to keep!"

Without answering Gandalf turns and walks away, huffing with anger. Thorin glares after him, making sure the Wizard disappears as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Balin and Bilbo are near one of the ponies, unloading the gear.

"Everything all right?" Bilbo asks, concerned.
"Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around who's got any sense."

"And who's that?"

"Myself, Mister Baggins! I've had enough of Dwarves for one day."

"How rude," Glóin notes. "The rest of us had no particular quarrel with him."

"'Had'?"

"At that point in time. Now ..." The red-head gestures with his left hand toward the Wizard, then at the rest of the Company like trying to convey something without words. "Definite, well-justified tension."

"Come on, Bombur, we're hungry."

Worriedly Bilbo turns to Balin, as if the wise old Dwarf is a grandfather with all the answers to any questions in the universe. Which is sort of how Bilbo views him, come think of it. Balin always has been the most sensible one of the bunch.

"Is he coming back?"

"Well, thank Mahal he did, or we'd become Dwarf soup for the trolls," Nori says. "And wouldn't that be a crack ending to this show."

"That's what saving you, Wizard, from having me cleave your pointy hat in two because of your lies to me and this Company, especially concerning Bilbo," Thorin says, a threat or a reminder Bilbo can't tell. Anyway, it's somewhat frightening to know that Thorin can go from dark and brooding, to pleasant and smiling, to dangerous and armed in just a few seconds. He has a point though in being angry with the Wizard. Gandalf has lied to them all in different ways, to pull the strings he wanted (or needed) to in the grand scheme of things. A grand scheme they really need to be told more about. "No Dwarf takes lightly to such things. But you saved our lives - thanks to Bilbo's stalling of the trolls."

Gandalf huffs around his pipe, not overly concerned with the threat (even if he is quite fond of his hat).

"Thorin, would you please stop glaring at him?" Bilbo asks, wondering if Thorin should need to move further down the row of chairs to be away from the Wizard. Or to get the Wizard out of Thorin's range. So the tea only helped so much - a glance tells him that Thorin has already finished the rather large cup. "If you're going to cut off his hat, I don't want to be sitting between you."

"I'd cut off more than his hat," mutters Dwalin darkly.

"Oi! Where are you manners, people?" Dori says, poking - actually poking - the big Dwarf's bicep. "No threatening of bodily harm while we're having this, this moh-vee experience."

"After, then?"

"And what about the bets, huh?" Nori adds. Right, he'll probably be the one gaining the most coin if Thorin breaks his composure completely within about half an hour. (The majority of the Dwarves had voted on it be taking at least two hours, because Thorin is really stubborn, and such pig-headedness can slow down the explosion, only to create a larger force once it blows.)

"Master Dwalin," Gandalf says, putting down his pipe. "I assure you that for whatever reason I have made you all upset, I was doing it for the benefit and better for everyone involved."

"So you lied because apparently that would help us?" Bofur says, frowning. "That doesn't make a lick of sense."

Maybe this was why they were taken here without their weapons. Oh Yavanna, Bilbo thinks, he's locked in a room with thirteen upset, angry Dwarves and a Wizard who refuses to acknowledge that they're upset with him, and he's the Hobbit stuck in the middle.

"Would you stop acting like children, all of you?" Ori says tiredly. He's the only one who hasn't placed a bet, beside Bilbo and Thorin himself.

However not everyone - or anyone - is listening. Dwalin cracks his fists, his whole upper body tensing in preparation of a fight, biceps swelling. "I say we pummel the Wizard now!"

Bilbo groans and hides his face in his hands. Great. Just great.

"No pummeling shall be necessary, Master Dwarf," Gandalf says calmly, like this is not at all the first time someone's been angry with him and threatened to harm more than just his hat. In fact, it probably isn't. "You needed a Hobbit for this Quest, and a Hobbit I got you. The circumstances may not have been optimal from your standpoint, but I could find no other way. In fact, had I come to Bilbo earlier and presented the scenario, I am quite afraid that he would have called it madness and driven me out of Bag End and never met any of you. And it all has worked out now, has it not?"

Bilbo sighs. In a sort of way, if you ignore like fifty percent of all logic in the world, the Wizard is right. He's just thinking on a much bigger scale than anyone else present, including himself. And the Wizard is right about the fact that if he'd been told about the Quest, the Company and the Dragon over a cup of tea in his garden two weeks before the Dwarves' unexpected arrival, then he quite frankly would've laughed hysterically in Gandalf's face before definitely saying no. Well, he did say no. And Gandalf didn't listen. So would it really have mattered in what way he was introduced to the Quest and the Dwarves and Gandalf's strange idea of having a Hobbit on the journey?

All right, the Dwarves officially have his approval of pummeling the Wizard. (Mildly. Angry with him or not, they might need the Wizard and his magic to help them out further on the journey.)

"What are you thinking, Bilbo?" Thorin asks, noticing the Hobbit's expression.

"Well, I was just agreeing with Dori here. We should act civilized until this thing is over and we're back at Beorn's house."

Thorin catches his eye, and after a moment understanding dawns; they share a brief knowledgeable smile, a nod. "Oh. Yes, of course. Dwalin, at ease."

Eventually everyone settles down again, though the tension in the room remains higher than before. Dori breathes a huge sigh of relief. "Thank goodness that's over. I was afraid I was going to have to clean up a big mess, just like after that disastrous Durin's Day in '22."

At that, Nori draws himself up from his chair. "Hey, I wasn't that drunk! And how was I supposed to know that that guy was the third son of some minor Lord from the Iron Hills on an official visit and that it was bad business trying pickpocket him?"

"I had to bail you from jail! I lost a fortune - and my favourite teacup - and I had to hold back Mister Dwalin to save your sorry hide!" Once he's started ranting it seems almost impossible to stop him, and Dori's face is all red and his breathing quick and harsh, and Nori has started shrinking in on himself a little. Everyone, even Thorin, is wincing and not-so-subtly trying to act like everything is normal and that they're not listening to every single word being shouted. "...Do you know how old and valuable that teacup was? Now what do I do with an uneven set?!"

Curious, Bilbo clears his throat to catch Ori's attention. "Do I want to know?"

(In the background Dori is still shouting at Nori, and Nori is trying to escape from the chair and sink through the ground but unfortunately it's made of wood not quicksand, and Thorin is trying to start small talk with Dwalin and Balin in order to direct attention away from the two brothers.)

The young Dwarf shakes his head reverently. "No. No no no. Don't want to set Dori off any worse."

If Nori weren't a Dwarf, Bilbo would say that he had to be a Took. One of the worst ones, probably. (His grandmother would adore him.)

A little helplessly Nori abruptly bolts out of his chair and rushes over to the food table, grabs a pot and a huge cup before turning back to his brother with wide, pleading eyes. "Tea?"

Wordlist
(Khuzdul)
Du bekâr! To arms!

(Quenya)
Sí a hlare ómaquettar Now hear words of my voice
Lerya laman naiquentallo Free (the) animal from curse
Na coilerya en-vinyanta Be its life renewed

Additional notes
In the movies we get to know four of the ponies' names: Myrtle, Minty, Bungo and Daisy. I've seen various fanons regarding the ponies and of course made headcanons of my own. So all the ponies are here named by Bilbo after different family members (except a few). (Gandalf has a horse which I figure has a name, but one that Bilbo didn't come up with or knows.)
So the ponies in this fic and their Dwarves are:

1. Myrtle (canon) - This is a canon name and could be named after a female Hobbit since they're commonly flower names as well, as far as I could tell. Bilbo's pony. Originally just a pack-pony/the extra pony that the Dwarves brought with them.
2. Minty (canon) - Dori's pony.
3. Bungo (canon) - Named after Bungo Baggins, Bilbo's father. Thorin's pony.
4. Daisy (canon) - Dwalin's pony. In moviecanon I think they could have named the pony after Daisy Baggins (married to Griffo Boffin), Frodo's cousin; however as she's not been born at the time of Bilbo's journey, I figure the pony is just named after the flower itself, and any relation to any canon character is merely coincidental.
5. Pansy - Kíli's pony, named after Pansy Baggins, the brother of Mungo, Bilbo's grandfather.
6. Mungo - Named after Mungo Baggins, Bilbo's paternal grandfather. Óin's pony.
7. Bingo - Bombur's pony, named after Bingo Baggins, Bilbo's uncle.
8. Drogo - Balin's pony. Named after Drogo Baggins, who marries Primula Brandybuck and in the future have a son who we all know, Frodo.
9. Rosa - Named after Rosa Baggins, who is related to Bilbo by her father Ponto being a brother of Mungo, Bilbo's grandfather. (Dunno if that relation has a designation...?) Nori's pony.
10. Polo - Named after Polo Baggins, Rosa's husband. So an in-law of Bilbo's family. Fíli's pony.
11. Fosco - Named after Fosco Baggins, who is related to Bilbo the same way as Rosa: his father Largo is the brother of Mungo, Bilbo's grandfather. Glóin's pony.
12. Bella - Ori's pony. I imagine she could be named after either Bilbo's mother, Belladonna or his aunt Mirabella Took. Probably Belladonna.
13. Lily - Bifur's pony. Named after Mungo's sister Lily Baggins (she marries Togo Goodbody and gains his family name).
14. Ponto - Bofur's pony. Named after Mungo's brother Ponto Baggins.

Family trees source: lotrproject.