"Where'd you go?" Thorin growled low and deep to Gandalf. His voice making Bilbo's insides quiver with strange delight. Thorin's jaw was tense and his upper teeth ground against the lower when he realized Gandalf wouldn't answer him. Blowing air out his nose, he instead asked, "Why'd you come back?"
"Nasty business," Gandalf responded vaguely, looking forward and resolutely not at Thorin. "Good timing, too. All in one piece, after all." He nodded backwards to the gang.
"No thanks to your burglar," Thorin sneered, glancing over his shoulder to look at Bilbo riding two motorcycles behind. He tried to keep his voice down, but trying to speak over the roar of a motor and discreetly was a difficult feat. Bilbo could still hear everything plain as day. His heart sunk a bit at Thorin's words. He pursued his lips, thinking back to how scared he'd been and how hard he'd tried to stall for as long as he could. He'd used every ounce of cleverness he had. And it had worked, too, dammit!
"He had the nous to play for time. None of you thought to do that." Gandalf defended him, making Bilbo sit up straighter in his side car, puffing out his chest with a new found sense of confidence and vindication . Thorin eyed Gandalf incredulously—or, well, as incredulously as one could while driving a bike—and Gandalf stared right back. "What? You thought it was a coincidence that the police showed up? Good heavens, Thorin, no. Soleil had been after the Troll's for months. Her undercover car had been parked in the parking lot for several hours. I noticed it when we passed on our way to the motel and I'd bet anything Bilbo noticed it as well. Yes, if I hadn't shown up when I did the police would have just moments later. You all would have been safe. Possibly arrested, but safe. All thanks to, as you put it, my burglar."
After their conversation ended, the Sons of Durin, plus Bilbo and Gandalf, only managed to drive around the corner of the parking lot before half of their bikes turned off, the exhausts sputtering noises of distress. "Did none of you ninnies think to check the tanks for fuel?" Gandalf grumbled.
"They were full when we arrived at the motel!" Nori shouted from the back of the caravan. Thorin and Balin looked back to shush him and send the evil eye his way. They weren't too far off from the authorities, after all. No need to attract unwanted attention. "Well, they were!" He nodded his head and scowled right back.
"Well, they're obviously not now," Dwalin said while rolling his eyes. "And unless one of us can piss gasoline—"
"Enough!" Gandalf hissed, obviously trying not to shout himself, "We need to find shelter, and fast!" He looked around, thinking. "The Trolls wouldn't have wanted to venture far from the warehouse."
Thorin's eyes glinted with understanding and he nodded. "There must be another base nearby." As quietly as they could, they rolled their bikes further away from the police, following Thorin and Gandalf's lead. Bilbo kept his eyes peeled, hoping to help in some way. Hoping to prove him usefulness to Thorin. A small voice in the back of his head told him that it was futile, but he ignored it. He looked left and right, searching desperately for something—anything—that would lead them to safety. They'd almost waked down the strip of empty storefronts when Bilbo heard it. The steady hum of electricity.
"Hold on a minute," he whispered to Bofur who looked confused, but obeyed anyway and motioned for the others to do as well. Peering into what looked like an old bar—possibly named The Cave or The Cove, Bilbo couldn't quite tell from the left over sign—it looked like it had been abandoned for a long time now. Raggedy old tarps were scattered across the floor, the glass door covered in dirt, grease, and smudges, but in the very back Bilbo could see the faintest of lights trickling through the small gap between the floor and door that led to who knows where. "Here!" He hissed. "This is it!"
Thorin looked suspicious, but Gandalf wasted no time walking up to the door and giving it a good pull. When the lock held, everyone looked to Nori, who still looked very much put out over the gas issue. After a few moments of tense silence, he groaned and walked over to the door while pulling out a small tool from a pocket in his leather jacket. After a little tinkering, the locked snapped open and the Sons of Durin hurried in, motorcycles and all. "Oh what's that smell?" Nori asked, his nose curling with disdain.
"It's the Troll's home." Gandalf said, as if that answered anything. "Be careful what you touch," he added. Bilbo looked around the room. What he had mistaken for tarps were actually blankets and pillows. In the back, behind what was left of the bar, were paper plates, cardboard boxes, and empty beer cans, all crawling with insects trying to pick off any leftovers. Gandalf was right, Bilbo thought depressingly, this was the residence of the Troll brothers.
Bilbo walked towards the back door, the one with the light shining behind it, with cautious steps. The door, already slightly ajar, opened easily, flooding the rest of the bar with light. "What?" He whispered to himself, looking down at the hoard in front of him.
"Whoa!" Kili's loud voice resonated in his right ear.
"Uncle!" Fili's calmer voice soon followed in his left, "Look at what Mr. Boggin's has found!"
"Mr. Bog—" Bilbo began to cry out with irritation, but was quickly cut off as the boys shouldered past him and began filtering through the items scattered about.
"What the—?" Dwalin cried out.
"Weapons," Thorin blinked as he looked at the alarming amount of weapons lying on the floor in front of him. He slowly stepped into the room to inspect them, the rest of the Sons of Durin soon following suit. Bilbo blinked, watching the gang as they riffled through the vast weapons like children with their presents on Christmas morning. Thorin picked up two brass knuckles that shimmered a peculiar silver color. Words were etched into the metal, and Bilbo, though he didn't have the best view, thought they were written in something other than English. Thorin looked over to Gandalf standing watch by the store's entrance and offered one of the brass knuckles to the other man. "These weapons weren't made by Ettenmoore Company." He said curiously, nodding his head for Gandalf to take a look. Bilbo watched with furrowed brows, wondering what it mattered.
Walking closer, Gandalf took the brass knuckle handed to him and inspected it closely. Bilbo could now say for certain that the writing was not English and wondered if Gandalf understood it. "No," he agreed, "Nor were they made by Edain Manufacturing, either." He flipped the small blade over and hummed to himself. "These were made by Gondolin. The Lindon's company." Thorin sneered and drew his arm back to throw the brass knuckle still in his possession away when Gandalf's serious tone stayed his hand. "You could not wish for a finer weapon." He offered back the other brass knuckle.
Thorin stared at him, judging the truth of his words, before taking back the weapon and pacing both on his hands. He seemed pleased with the way they fit, or so Bilbo thought, seeing as how his lips curled up into an almost smile and his eyes practically began to glow. Blinking slowly, Thorin collected himself and called out to his gang, "That's enough! The cops will have left by now. Take what you will and let's get out of this foul place. Let's go—Bofur, Gloin, Nori!" He specifically called those three out when he saw them lagging behind as they tried to grab every weapon they could.
"We leaving the bikes?" Gloin asked, concerned when he saw Thorin pass by them for the front door without hesitation.
"Well unless one of you actually can piss gasoline," Thorin began dryly, looking over his shoulder to his men. When no one said anything, he continued, "No? Thought not. We'll have to go on foot for a while. Until we can buy some at a gas station or Walmart." He continued his walk out and the others began to follow. Some men gave their motorcycles a last, longing look, before leaving.
Bilbo stepped forward to follow as well, but stopped when a warm hand on his shoulder. Looking up he saw Gandalf giving him a strange look. It reminded Bilbo of a look his father used to give him whenever Bilbo had done something relatively foolish. "Bilbo," Gandalf said quietly, seriously.
"Hmm?" Bilbo tilted his head to the side, wondering what this was all about. Knowing Gandalf, it could have been anything.
"Here," he said abruptly, almost awkwardly, as he pushed a small, covered blade into Bilbo's arms. "It's about your size, I think. It's a good blade, and will protect you in times of trouble."
Bilbo looked down at the dagger like it was some alien creature. "But—but I've never used a weapon in my life!"
"And I hope you never have to," Gandalf told him, and he looked so sincere that Bilbo believed him, "But just in case. Remember this, Bilbo," he leaned forward, looking straight into Bilbo's eyes, "True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one." And with that, Gandalf straightened himself and walked away to catch up with the Sons of Durin. Bilbo watched him for a moment as he went. His nose scrunched up with confusion. Sparing a life? Bilbo mulled the words over in his head. Gandalf sometimes talked as if he knew the future, something that was starting to give Bilbo the willies—especially since he seemed to be right most of the time.
A/N: Hey all! So I'm alive and hopefully will get back to my regularly scheduled writing. Next chapter will include the ORCs so get stoked! If you liked it, please leave a review!