Traveling to the city via motorcycle was doable. Uncomfortable and terribly unsafe, but doable. Unfortunately, due the ever consistent bad luck of the company, driving by bike was no longer an option. Oh, finding a Wal-Mart and buying a few gallons of gas had been easy enough. It was only a two mile walk, and Bilbo was very much used to walking such distances back in the Shire. When they returned to the Troll's hideout, however, they were too late. The police had discovered the store containing human body parts, vasts amounts of weapons, and their bikes. So not only had they done all that walking for nothing, but they'd have to abandon their plastic tubs of gas and continue walking until Thorin could figure out their next move.
They took a series of buses to help shorten the distance between themselves and the city, but none of the routes seemed to go in the exact direction they needed and buses were expensive without a transfer pass or anything of the like. Cabs were out of the question, of course. They were too expensive and would charge a fortune just to meet them out. . . well, wherever they were. And of course, no one had an Uber account.
The sun was beginning its descent when Thorin pulled out his phone for the umpteenth time to look at the map. Bilbo stared up at the clouds and figured they had another two, maybe three, hours of light left. They'd need to find shelter soon. "We're too far West," Bilbo heard Gandalf mutter as he himself gazed at the sky.
Bilbo snorted, but didn't comment. Instead he took in his surroundings. They were currently stuck in a decrepit suburb where most buildings were boarded up and cars were abandoned on the side of the road. There was a car over to the left of him—in too obvious a state of disrepair to be of any true help to them—with peeling gold paint and a smashed in windshield. Normally, the four door sedan wouldn't have held his attention for more than a moment, but the movement of a shadow behind the car caught, and held, his attention. "Gandalf," he called. Look over there," he pointed at the car.
Gandalf's eyes, so old and yet so perceptive, shifted to the car and narrowed. He hummed and then turned to Thorin, asking in a rush, "Who did you tell about your trip? Outside your family?"
"No one," Thorin said, trying to shrug off Gandalf from his side. He didn't look up from his phone and looked terribly annoyed at having been bothered.
"Who did you tell?" Gandalf grabbed on to Thorin's shoulder and shook him. His tone a mixture of impatience and anxiety.
"No one, I swear. What's going on?"
"Someone's watching us?"
"What?" Dwalin asked, his face scrunched with incredulity. "Who?"
"A Warg," Gandalf said ominously. Bilbo looked back to the car and saw a head quickly drop behind the trunk and out of sight.
"We need to leave," Dwalin said. "Now."
"Follow me!" Gandalf yelled, gaining the attention of the entire company before running down a street, towards the center of the town. Bilbo ran as fast as his short legs could and still struggled to keep up. In the distance behind them, Bilbo heard a sharp, shrill whistle blowing. Then, more and more joined in and Bilbo realized acutely just how much danger they really were. "Come on," Gandalf yelled as he looked to his left and right, keeping an eye out for something. What, Bilbo didn't know. "Stay together!"
The sounds of encroaching footsteps grew louder and louder in his ears, so Bilbo, curious as ever, looked over his shoulder to see what was chasing them. It was hard to tell considering he was running, but it looked like they were being chased by a small group of teenaged thugs. They wore brown leather jackets that looked worn and misused, jeans with holes upon holes in them, and their hair—if Bilbo could make out properly—was matted to their skulls. They looked atrocious, and Bilbo made sure to run a bit faster in an attempt to put more distance between himself and the group. They were fast, though, and soon began to gain on them.
"In here!" Gandalf called out, herding them into a nondescript building—a bar perhaps, once upon a time—via a broken window. Bilbo was one of the first in, being quickly hoisted through the hole by Bofur. Then Ori, then Nori, then Bofur, then the next, and the next . . .
"Where are you leading us?" Thorin growled from outside the building, being stubborn as always.
"Never mind that," Gandalf growled back, tension thickening his throat. "Get in!" After that Kili soon hopped through the open window, followed closely by Thorin, and finally Gandalf.
"We're trapped!" Gloin moaned, running his hands down his face. Some of the others, Balin, Dori, Bombur, were farther back, looking for an exit.
"The Durin scum are over here!" They heard a Warg cry out, their voices so very close to their shelter. The Sons of Durin began to ready themselves, drawing out their weapons and squaring up towards the window. Bilbo pulled out his small knife and clutched it tightly in his hand, waiting for the strange looking men to flood into the room. Instead, the most peculiar thing happened. A siren began to wail in the distance. It was the most heavenly sound Bilbo had ever heard in his entire life. The siren grew louder and louder until a patrol car rounded the corner and crawled past their hiding spot. The walls surrounding them glowed blue and red as the car drove by. The patrol car continued on, the siren's wail growing quieter again, and soon all was silent.
After several more moments—which felt like several lifetimes to Bilbo—of this, Thorin peered out of the window to investigate. "They're gone," he announced. Several breaths were released. "Gandalf, what—Gandalf?" Thorin looked around, but could not find the old man.
"Where is he?" Kili asked, his eyes wide with confusion.
"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin shouted angrily, practically stomping his foot.
"In here, you fools!" Gandalf's voice sounded from inside a closet door. Gandalf opened the door and leaned out. "A way out," was all he said before turning around and disappearing down a long winded hallway.
"That wasn't there a moment ago!" Gloin said, astounded. "I checked this closet myself. It was—it was just a closet!"
"I can't see where it leads," Dwalin said, sharing a glance with Thorin. "Do we follow it, or no?"
"Follow it, of course!" Bofur said, already following Gandalf down the dark hallway.
"It would be wise," Gandalf's loud, booming voice called out behind him.
Slowly, one by one, they followed Gandalf and Bofur, not sure where they'd end up but feeling optimistic than it'd be better than their current location. "What is this?" Fili wondered aloud, waiting for someone who knew the answer to reply.
"This building was built in 1923, Fili," Gandalf explained. "During the prohibition. Secret tunnels such as this one were common back then to keep the location of the illegal speakeasy hidden from the authorities. They can be difficult to find," he paused and looked over his shoulder to smile at Fili, "unless you know where to look."
"Ah, I'm sorry," Bilbo pipped up after a few minutes of silence. He kept looking over his shoulder as paranoia nipped at his heels. "But, ah, what were they? Those men back there?"
"Wargs," Dwalin spat on the ground.
"That's what they call themselves," Bofur explained more cheerfully.
"They're bounty hunters," Fili said.
"Trackers," Kili elaborated.
"For the ORCs," they finished together.
"Their job is to track down anyone that owes money to the ORCs," Bofur continued, easily ignoring Fili and Kili.
"Then why—?" he stopped, his face turning hot with embarrassment. It was rude to ask, so he decided not to. Then, suddenly, he remembered the story Balin told him about the ORC Azog and Thorin's grandfather, and his face burned even hotter.
"Then why were they following us? Eh, Burglar?" Thorin's cold, hard voice called out, finishing the question Bilbo had almost asked. "Was that what you were going to ask?"
Gulping, Bilbo was preparing himself to deny it. Deny that that was his original intention and try to change the topic before he could really shove his foot in his mouth. Thankfully, they'd reached the end of the tunnel and the sight before them was all the distraction Bilbo needed. "What the bloody—? Dwalin cursed.
"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" Thorin asked, his brows furrowing into a solid line and his face flushing with anger. Thankfully this time his ire was aimed at Gandalf. "Leading us into the heart of our enemy?"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Thorin," Gandalf smiled down at him easily, then turned to look out at the mass of happy, easy going, drunk people in front of him. "Everyone, welcome to Imraldis. One of the last secret bars of Rivendell County."
A/N: I know it's short, but I'm just so proud of myself for finally getting back around to this fic. Thanks for all the reviews! Please keep it up ;)