A/N: I love you, Neewa, for being the naughty rascal! The prompt is gorgeous, and so are you!

That time when Thorin keeps on looking back as if he will catch a glimpse of the redhead thief, while Wren is determined to make Thorin hers, even if it is one night only.

They walked among the rocks, the air cold and sharp in their lungs. He had forgotten it, and the memories of his youth rushed into his mind. Other Dwarves and the Hobbit seemed to tread heavily, under the weight of the clothes and weapons given to them by the men of Laketown, but he felt energized and excited. Everything seemed familiar, thought perhaps he was just imagining. Erebor was near.

There was some small noise to his right, and he sharply jerked his head. It was just a bird, bobbing from a rock to a rock, and he clenched his teeth. The decision was made, he had given up his ridiculous preoccupation with the thief, and yet he realised for one short instant he hoped he'd see her flaming mane. He repeated to himself, no good would come from meeting her again. Were he to succeed he'd be a King and a girl of Men and a thief had no place beside him. Were he to fail, he'd prefer her in the safety of Laketown, away from the inferno.

By midday they were standing on the Overlook, the ruins of Dale lying in front of them. Thorin listened to Balin telling Bilbo of the town, while his eyes wandered the landscape in front of them. Dale, Erebor, the valley, the Gate, he remembered them so well. He allowed himself one moment of mawkishness and then started rushing the Dwarves to go. The Hobbit of course wanted to wait for the Wizard, but honestly, they were so short on time!

The sun was low, and exigency was growing in his heart. They searched the mountain slope, and he suddenly lamented the absence of the thief. She'd be very useful now, and he secretly threw a look around. He knew he was allowing himself feebleness, but he could almost imagine her slender figure appearing from around a corner.

The Hobbit after all found the door, and that was when his heart broke. There was no keyhole. The light was escaping like the sand through his fingers, and there was no keyhole. He did not understand, they followed the map. If anything, through the quest he had doubted they'd get that far, that they would even reach the mountain, he doubted they'd survive, there were so many dangers, trolls, stone giants, Azog's Orcs on their tail. They made it, and there was no keyhole…

He turned to Balin and stretched hands to him helplessly, showing him the map that was still hiding its secrets from him. It was lost and found, stolen and returned, they had to go to the cursed Elves to read it, he almost lost it to the Elfling, the thief saved it, he didn't hope she'd give it back, and for some inconceivable reason she gave it up willingly, and still the door didn't open.

"The last light of Durin's Day...will shine upon the keyhole." His voice broke, but the despair made him disregard his own weakness, "That's what it says. What did we miss? What did we miss? Balin..." Never in his life had he turned to others for answers, for guidance, but never in his life had he been that lost either. The old Dwarf shook his head hopelessly.

"We've lost the light. There's no more to be done. We had but one chance. Come away, lads. It's over."

It felt as if ice was spreading in his chest, encasing his heart and lungs in ache and white pain. He stood petrified, Dwarves started moving, leaving, one after another, their heads dropped. He heard the hobbit's confused voice.

"Wait a minute, what? Where are they going?" Thorin hardly understood his meaning. "You can't give up now! Thorin!"

He stepped back and pushed the map into the hands of the halfling. It was over. He opened his palm, letting the key slide out of his fingers. The string grazed his skin, and he heard the clank of the key to the stone underneath his feet.

"If I were you, sweetpea, I'd pick it up," her voice was slightly sarcastic but there was warmth in it, and he jerked his face up. She was sitting on the crown of the stone statue they had used to climb here. She pointed her little finger at the key and then at the door, "And I suggest you wait for the moonlight, love."

She gracefully climbed down, the Dwarves and the hobbit frozen in their tracks, some of them already on the stairs, but all their eyes glued to her. He stood like a dimwit, not believing his eyes, and she stopped in front of him and smiled.

"The last light of Autumn, sweetpea, is not the light of day. It's the light of the moon. I doubt your Forefathers would give you a tool, and no hole to put it into," she tilted her head playfully, but he was too dumbfounded to react to her innuendo. And too full of sudden, unreasonable hope. She quickly picked up the key, lifted it and dangled it in front of his nose. He stretched his palm as if against his will, and she lowered the heavy object onto it. He closed his hand around it and twirled on his heels to look at the door.

He held his breath and watched the rays of moonlight crawl on the wall, somehow completely and indubitably certain she was right. She made a step back, and he was grateful. It was his moment. But then his heart clenched, and he blindly pushed his hand back. Her strong, small fingers wrapped around his, she gently pressed his hand, and the keyhole opened in front of his eyes.

He gasped, she gave him a small encouraging squeeze of his digits and let go. He stepped ahead and opened the door to his lost home.

Erebor.

The Mountain.

Home.

He felt someone approach, and he saw Balin, the old man's eyes were full of tears, and so were Thorin's. Without looking back he stepped in. Nothing could ever compare to that moment.

"I know these walls. These halls. This stone. You remember it, Balin. Chambers filled with golden light."

"I remember," whispered Balin.

One by one his company entered the door, the thief stepped in last. She stayed by the door, in the shadows. He caught her eyes though, there were tears running down her cheeks, and she smiled to him shakily.

He turned away from them, he needed a moment to collect himself. Balin and the Hobbit were discussing the engraving on the wall. His heart was beating painfully, and he clenched his teeth to reign tears that were close to spilling.

"The Arkenstone..." The hobbit mumbled, as it tasting the word, "What's that?"

"That, Master Burglar, is why you are here," Thorin had finally reigned his emotions and turned back to them, smirking.

"I wouldn't want to meddle," the thief's quiet but confident voice from the door made them all turn around, "And in no way I doubt Master Baggins' proficiency, but shouldn't I try to go first?" He stared at her in shock, and she grinned lopsidedly, no trace of her sentimentality from minutes ago on her face. "After all, if there is a live dragon down there, I have a better chance of going there and coming back with your stone, sweetpea."

That was it, that was the moment of truth. There was gold down there, just a few passages down, the hoards and hoards of his ancestors, the gold that drove his Grandfather mad, the gold that brought the dragon upon them, so much of wealth that could turn any decency into greed and betrayal. Was he letting a thief, who had tricked and played him again and again before, enter the halls of his Grandfathers?

She stepped closer to him, and he leaned in to her face to see her eyes better. They were sparkling with mischief. She was well aware of his inner conflict. She didn't offer any help to him, didn't bring up any arguments. She just stood in front of him, in a new black outfit, small and lithe. The door was the only entrance, he had the ability to prevent her from entering Erebor, or he could place the destiny of his people into her hands.

"Why are you here, Wren?" She smiled to him softly.

"I can see three possible reasons for it, sweetpea. Either I came because I decided I needed at least one night with you, even if it never came to happen again. Or, I came to help you get your mountain back and fulfill your dream. Or, I am hoping to get my hands on your gold. Choose any." He studied her face.

"Which one is it?" He should not have asked, she was quite obviously not planning to answer, but he stepped closer and pressed his forehead to hers. He was tired of fighting his heart. "Which one is it, Wren?" He whispered, and she brushed her palm on the side of his face.

"All three at once, I suppose," her voice was warm and tender, and he straightened up.

"Will you recognise the Arkenstone?" His decision was made, and he prayed to Mahal he didn't regret it later. She gave him a toothy grin and quickly pecked his lips. He decided that the time for such silly gestures was over, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a full blown kiss. She moaned in surprise, and her hands flew up in the air. He didn't let her go, almost not caring that the others would be staring at them in shock, and she relaxed into the kiss. Her arms lay on his shoulders, and she pressed her body to his. There was passion and desire, but less than before. Tenderness took their place, and he sighed into her lips. She moved away first, but her eyes were dazed, and she blinked several times collecting her thoughts.

"Well," she croaked and cleared her throat, "I'll be off." He nodded, and she turned to the company. She smirked into their dumbfounded faces, waved her hand in a familiar childish gesture and softly stepping disappeared in the passage.

"Was that wise?" Dwalin's voice was careful, and Thorin did something he had never done in his life before.

He shrugged and mumbled, "Mahal only knows. But I suppose, we will find out rather soon."