Bilbo's small town of Hobbiton was located at the Southern most end of Shire County, and over five hours away from Dale City. Bilbo had made such a drive before, not regularly, but often enough, and knew that the trip, though long and tedious, could be made in one move with only a few restroom and food breaks. However, it seemed the Sons of Durin had other ideas. Perhaps it was because they rode on motorcycles instead of cars—something Bilbo hated with every fiber of his being, even if he had named his side car after his cat, Myrtle, because of the way it purred—but their caravan definitely went slower than had it just been Bilbo alone. They made frequent pit stops along the way; one of the reasons for them was to ensure no one had wandered from the main group or gotten lost, and the other, it seemed, was so Thorin had a chance to look at his map. The map didn't seem to help too much, however, because once the five hour mark had come and gone, Bilbo could swear they'd only traveled one hundred miles, leaving over two hundred to go. Scowling, Bilbo wondered if he shouldn't suggest a more direct route to the gang, but in the end decided to hold his tongue. There were plenty of apps now a days that could help out their misguided leader. And besides, if Thorin wanted help, he would have to ask. Yes, Bilbo thought, that seemed perfectly fair to him.
It was early evening, perhaps just past five, when the Sons of Durin pulled into the parking lot of a decrepit and bed bug infested motel called 'The Farmhouse'. Scrunching up his nose in disgust, Bilbo looked upon with place with the thought that it had been abandoned. There were only a few lights on within the building, and the vacancy sign over looking the street they drove up on flickered ominously. If Bilbo were being honest, he'd say it looked like the perfect setting for a horror film. Thorin dismounted his bike first and shook his head, making his wild and dark hair flutter about like a lion's mane. Blushing with both attraction and self-frustration, Bilbo averted his eyes towards his lap. "We'll stay here for the night and regroup." Thorin said, then continued under his breath, "and find out where we bloody are."
"I knew the man that used to own this place," Gandalf muttered to himself. "He owned it with his wife . . . they wanted to make it a Bed and Breakfast, but then . . .," he trailed off, his eyes glazing over in deep thought.
"Oin, Gloin," Thorin continued, successfully ignoring Gandalf.
"Yeah?" They both answered.
"Go get us three rooms from whoever owns this damn place. Make sure to pay with cash." He handed them a wad of crinkled bills from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and they quickly scurried off to find the front desk.
"I don't think it wise to stay here," Gandalf said with a cough. "We could go somewhere in Rivendell County—it's just a bit further west than here. Once I stayed at an inn called Hidden Valley there, and they had the softest down comforter a man could ask for." The twinkle in his eye and soft smile were meant to help sell the pitch to Thorin, Bilbo could tell, but the man was just not having it.
"I've told you," Thorin sneered disdainfully, "I won't go near Rivendell County."
"Why not?" Gandalf stood straighter now, leaning less on his cane, and using his full height to his advantage. "The Lindon's could help us! They'd offer food, shelter, advice! All things this place sorely lack."
"I do not need their advice," Thorin gritted through his teeth stubbornly. His brow furrowed and Bilbo could see that in his eyes, so blue and so hard and so cold, that his mind would not be changed.
"Elrond could help us!" Gandalf beseeched.
"Help?" Thorin spat out, some spittle flying from his mouth and nestling into his beard. "Where was his help when Smaug stole Erebor from beneath our feet? Loan sharks preyed on my people. Other vile creatures looted and ransacked our property in Moria, and what did the great Elrond Lindon do then? Hmm?" He paused for barely a second, "Nothing. You ask me to seek the help of the very man—the very people—who stabbed my father and grandfather in the back. Something I cannot, and will not do."
Bilbo was very confused. His head had bounced back and forth between Gandalf and Thorin as they spoke, almost as if he were watching a tennis match play out, and felt his head swam with questions. Who was this Elrond and what did he do to Thorin's family? What was Moria? Smaug stole Erebor? He blinked several times and then shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind.
"You are neither of them," Gandalf said seriously, "And I did not give you the blue prints to Erebor so you could hold on to the past."
"I did not know they were yours to keep." Thorin told him coolly. Gandalf stood perhaps two heads taller than he, but in that moment Thorin held himself just as tall as the older man.
"Fine then," Gandalf nodded and harrumphed beneath his breath. "Fine then. You stay here in this dump. See the good it'll do you. I, however," he walked back to his bike and revved the engine, "will be enjoying the luxuries of a hotel that is not infested with fleas."
"Gandalf," Bilbo called out from his side car. His voice cracked with the first signs of panic. "Gandalf, where are you going?" Surely he wasn't leaving them—leaving him? Surely not.
"To seek the company of the sane, Mr. Baggins! I've had enough gang members for one day!" And with that as a farewell, Gandalf tore off into the night. Bilbo, with wide, uncomprehending eyes, watched the red lights of the bike's tail lights until they were no more than little specks in the horizon. "He's coming back, though, isn't he?" Bilbo asked after a few moments silence. Looking up at Bofur, Bilbo felt the blood leave his cheeks when he saw the look of pure uncertainty on the man's face.
"Well, what are you waiting around for?" Thorin snarled at the group of men that'd stood by and watched his exchange with Gandalf. "Get off your sorry asses and get to work! Fili, Kili—wipe down and check the bikes. Make sure they're all good for tomorrow's ride. The rest of you know what needs to be done," the men mumbled their agreeance and began to mill about. Some went off, down the street towards the shops and restaurants they passed. Some went the opposite direction and seemed to be scouting the area. And some began to unpack the bikes and pull out items like blankets, maps, and other items to be brought into their rooms. Balin and Dwalin walked up to Thorin's side and the three of them walked towards the direction of the front desk where Gloin and Oin had wandered off to.
Not at all sure of what he himself was expected to do, Bilbo stood awkwardly by the side as the others rushed about him. Shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, he picked at a hangnail on his left thumb and wished he had brought his nail clipping set when he's rushed from his home that morning. Earlier on, about fifteen minutes into their ride, he realized he'd forgotten to pack a travel packet of tissues and almost called out to turn the caravan around and return for it, but thankfully had held his tongue at the last minute. He reassured himself that CVS's and Walgreen's were a dime a dozen anywhere he went and so would easily be able to stock up on such supplies during one of their pit stops.
Licking his dry lips, Bilbo tried to swallow but found if oddly difficult to do so. He then tried to stop swallowing, but that seemed to confuse his mouth—especially his tongue—and ended up almost gagging instead. Sighing hotly though his nostrils, he walked over to the bikes. Fili and Kili were off to one end of the line of motorcycles and he to the other. He took the time to softly pat to metal of his side car almost affectionately. He was just thinking of sending a text to his gardener to make sure Myrtle at home had been fed and her litter box cleaned out when he heard the shrieking noise of a woman in the distance. Standing up like a shot, Bilbo looked wildly all around, trying to figure out where the scream had originated from.
Taking a few steps closer to Fili and Kili, he asked, "What do you think that was?"
Sharing a mischievous look, Kili smirked and then widened his eyes with a faux frightened look, "Looters, if you're lucky."
"L—looters?"
"Loan Sharks if you're not," Fili continued, sharing a quick, conspiratorial grin with his brother. "Cut throats, they are. Forget to pay once and," he made a slicing movement across his throat and then stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes upwards. "The area's crawling with criminals like them." He finished casually.
"Oh, yeah," Kili continued with an almost solemn nod of his head. "The looters come in the early hours of the morning when everyone's asleep, so we'll be safe from them tonight . . . but the Official Resource Collectors—"
"ORCs, we call them," Fili chimed in.
"Yeah, yeah, the ORCs," Kili nodded quickly, "if you owe them, there's no time that you're safe. They strike quickly and quietly. No screams, just lots of blood."
Bilbo's mouth dropped open in silent horror. What had he gotten himself into? Why, oh why, had he ever left the safety of his home? Hearing a metal can being kicked over in the distance, Bilbo jumped—feet leaving the ground and all—and looked around like a cornered animal. Kili and Fili began to laugh, their eyes closing in their merriment and the skin crinkling in the corners. Fili's head tipped backwards to he could properly let out his full lungs worth of laughter, and Kili had to duck his head down and wipe away a few tears from laughing so hard.
"You think that's funny?" Thorin's monotone, unamused voice pierced through their laughs. "You like the ORCs are a joke?"
"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili immediately sobered up. His big brown puppy dog eyes stared at his uncle, hoping for clemency from his wrath. Fili winced at his brother's side, preparing for a long lecture, or at least harsh words from his uncle.
"Of course you didn't," Thorin told them disdainfully with a shake of his head. He walked past them towards one of the rooms. "You know nothing." he unlocked and entered one of the rooms, slamming the door behind him. Both Fili and Kili looked thoroughly rebuked which greatly surprised Bilbo. They looked as if Thorin had disowned them, but it couldn't have been that serious a matter. At least, Bilbo didn't understand how it could be. The two boys had just been playing a practical joke on him, he could see that now. ORCs might not be something to joke about—Bilbo, for one, would never—but Thorin's reaction was a bit dramatic.
Balin must have picked up on his confusion because he smiled sympathetically to Bilbo and patted his shoulder. "Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more reason than most to hate ORCs if truth be told. You see," he paused and drew in a deep breath. It was then Bilbo knew he was in for a long story. "After the Dragon took Erebor, Thror—Thorin's grandfather—tried to reclaim our old territory in Moria, an old mining town a few states over. But he, well, there wasn't much money to be had then, not with Erebor gone, so he took out a loan from an ORC . . . the worst and most vile of ORCs there ever was. Azog Gundabad was his name—Azog, the Defiler.
"When the time came and Thror couldn't repay his debt, Azog kidnapped Thrain—Thorin's father—to use as collateral against Thror. Well, I don't know how, or if it was even true, but Thror claimed to have the money and set up a meet to regain his son from the ORC. But . . . the deal went south, and Azog killed Thror—shot him straight through the head. Thrain, well, we don't know what happened to him. Never did see him at the meet to begin with. Dead, we presume.
"We were leaderless. Azog's mean were upon us—defeat and death surrounded us on all sides. But then I saw him, a young man facing down the great ORC. Thorin had concealed a pistol in his jacket and shot the damn bastard! Azog learned that day never to underestimate the Sons of Durin. With Thorin leading us, we rallied and pushed back Azog's men until all our enemies were defeated. But," he said with a long sigh, "it was not without a cost. Only a few of us had survived. I thought to myself then," he told Bilbo as he gazed at the direction of the room Thorin currently presided, "there is the man I could follow. There is the one I could call Leader."
The door to the room Thorin was in opened, and out he walked. He made no indication that he'd heard any of Balin's story, or that he cared what they were speaking about. Bilbo scrunched his face, wondering if he should ask. Since he'd already bit his tongue twice that day, however, he couldn't hold his question back a third time, "And Azog? What happened to him?"
Thorin, who had been passing them at the time, was the one who answered, "He slunk back into the rat infested hole he originated from after I shot him. He died of his wounds long ago." There was no remorse in his voice. No hint of regret. Bilbo swallowed slowly. He felt a dead weight rest upon his chest as he realized how grave his situation was. He was nestled in with a gang. A real, notorious, and probably wanted gang. One that apparently had no issues killing people. Biting down on his already chapped lip, Bilbo closed his eyes and wondered how he'd gotten himself into this mess. Then, more importantly, how he'd get himself out of it.
A/N: If you liked this chapter/the story in general, please review! It makes me so happy to read reviews, you guys! Hope you enjoy!