An Elf Friend

It takes three days for Thorin to regret leaving his Hobbit behind. He's worked hard on abandoning the surly warrior blacksmith he was in that old life but all it takes is less than a day out of the Shire and one annoying question from Kíli for him to start snapping again.

He knew leaving behind Billa would be difficult, but he had not anticipated just how difficult it would be. For every step he takes away from her, his heart sinks deeper, becoming a shrivelled morsel buried deep within an increasingly empty chest cavity.

Dain would call him heartsick and stupid, but Thorin has lived centuries on Middle Earth and long ago shed that part of him that would bury his love and desire for the golden-haired Hobbit who so efficiently claimed his heart.

Probably around the same time he started dreaming of the life he sacrificed for Erebor.

Billa isn't really his though, is she? She agreed to wait, yes, but he never asked more of her. He almost regrets this now, wishes he allowed himself to ask her permission to braid her hair, to make his intentions all that more clear.

But Thorin does not know what might occur between here and Erebor, what dangers may await them on the road - and his dreams only serve to remind him of how quickly things can go wrong. He could not tie her to him, not when he wasn't sure he would return.

Still, despite the dark whispers curling at the back of his mind, their first few days pass without trouble. They travel mostly under the cover of darkness, keeping a constant ear to the ground and one eye on their surroundings, wary of orcs and other dangers that could cross their paths. Despite a few whispers of attacks on the road at The Prancing Pony, it seems the White Orc is preoccupied with the rumours that the King To Be Under The Mountain plans to journey to meet his cousin of the Iron Hills on neutral lands.

Clever Hobbits, he thinks as they replenish their supplies in Bree.

A small part of Thorin feels guilty about drawing Dain into his and the Hobbits' scheming, but the other much larger part of him is all too aware of Dain's armies might. Should the White Orc decide to turn his attention towards the Iron Hills, they would fare much better against the pitiful Orc numbers than those in the Blue Mountains.

His people are safe. For now.

Still, other worries dog his every step. If he is not dwelling on the quest that lies before him, he is thinking of the dreams that have once again begun to plague him and the promise he made his Hobbit. It is these worries that plunge him back into the memories of that accursed battlefield in his dreams.

The images are now burned so firmly into his mind, that even now awake as he is, travel coffee in one hand and morning dew at his feet, he can still see them clearly; the screams of his people, the taste of metal in the air as his weapons clashed with his enemy's, the burn in his muscles as he moved too slowly, his reactions a beat behind - too slow to save his sister-sons, too slow to defeat the White Orc alone.

A hand presses into his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. Kíli looms over him, concern pinching at his face. It makes him look eerily like Balin and for a moment, Thorin wonders if the older dwarf may have warned his eager sister-son about his shifting moods.

"You alright, Uncle?"

Thorin forces a smirk on his face, pushing down his worries for the moment, "Aye, it seems the beds in Bag End have spoiled me."

"Struggling to sleep?"

"Billa told me my spine would be complaining," Thorin huffs a laugh, cracking his neck, "But do not tell her I ever admitted to it."

Kíli smirks back, his eyes alight with mischief, "Never, Uncle."

The lad settles at his side as Thorin nurses the hot coffee between his cool palms. The forest around them is still and peaceful, the morning call of the local birds echoing around them. In the distance he can hear the faint trickling of a nearby stream; the sounds are similar to Mirkwood, the main feature of his dreams last night. He tries to quell all thoughts of that damned wood, the sound of water trickling in his ears as he swallows around a dry and cracked throat, the sound of elven merriment echoing in his ears-

"Uncle."

He blinks, and he is back at their campsite, Fíli and Dwalin arguing over the most effective way to fill their packs, a solemn Kíli at his side. The lad looks a little downcast and a nervous pang shoots through Thorin; is he regretting coming on this Quest? Is he about to ask to return to the Shire?

"What is it?" He softens his tone, trying not to draw the attention of their squabbling companions. He does not want to make his nephew any more edgy than he already is.

"I, uh," Kíli runs a frustrated hand through his hair, fingers catching on messy braids. He'd need to help the lad redo them, or ask his brother to help him, before they reached their next stop. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How did you…how did you know Billa was your One?"

Oh. Thorin's mouth drops open. His nephew stiffens at the shock that flickers across his face, his shoulders shooting up to his ears as a flush climbs across his face, "Never mind. Forget it-"

"No, no, I was just…surprised," Thorin says softly. Kíli unfurls slightly, peering at him with dark wide eyes; the sight warms him, "I, well, I wasn't sure at first. I thought perhaps, I was simply just intrigued by the Hobbit."

Thorin thinks back on those long days they spent together in another life. The flare of light against those golden curls as they talked near the campfire, the night sky stretching out beyond them adorned with a blanket of endless stars. How his breath was knocked loose at the sight of her wide eyes, so honest and intense, as if they were pulling back all the layers he spent centuries trying to hide behind, peering into the very heart of him.

"The more we talked, the more whatever it was between us grew, and that's when I knew," he says.

"Knew what?"

Thorin meets his nephew's gaze evenly, unable to smother the smile tugging at his lips, "That I couldn't let her go."

Thorin hardly takes in the words. He's too busy pondering on the feeling of his ribs contracting, the green root in his chest growing, slipping into his bloodstream.

For the first time in weeks, he doesn't miss the sunlight.

"Uncle, did you ever…" the lad pauses, "did you ever have dreams about her?"

Thorin blinks. Could it be that Kíli is also having dreams of that life? "What do you mean dreams?"

"I-"

The lad's words are cut off by a gentle crack. The dwarves stiffen, heads spinning towards the vast expanse of trees that lay before them. Thorin exchanges a quick look with Dwalin who nods. In a flash, the younger dwarves are pushed behind them, as their hands tighten around their weapons. Another crack echoes, along with gentle rustling.

Thorin's ears prick. 'Horses?' Dwalin signs at him, and he nods stiffly. They chose to stick to the forest paths, hoping to avoid detection on the main roads or the wide open plains Thorin remembered traversing across in a previous life.

It makes him nervous, a niggling at the back of his mind reminding him of the warg's hot breath on his neck, how his lungs squeezed tightly as they sprinted across the grass in search of shelter, any shelter, from the orcs on their heels. How close Billa came to snarling, snapping jaws.

He shudders.

The rustling grows louder, mingling with the dim of distant chatter until - a gentle lilt reaches his ears. He relaxes minutely, but remains steadfast in front of his nephews who are silent behind him.

'Elves,' he signs to Dwalin. The tension leaks out of the old warrior's shoulders, only slightly. If this group was from Rivendell this may be of an advantage to them; if they were from Greenwood, well they might have a fight on their hands.

"Here they are!" The cry echoes just seconds before two elves astride horses appear through the foliage. Thorin takes in their light armour, long brown hair and sharp eyes instantly; he does not recognise them, but they do not wear the adornments he is used to seeing on those from Thranduil's realm.

The two elves - brothers, twins perhaps, judging by their near identical looks - smile widely at the sudden sight of them, one even letting out a joyful, "Finally!"

Thorin raises an eyebrow at Dwalin, who simply shrugs. He does not know these interlopers either.

"Hail, Thorin Oakenshield, King To Be Under The Mountain," the first elf bows at the waist, a smirk toying at his lips despite his polite tone.

The other leans forward on his horse with a relieved smile, "We've been looking everywhere for you."

"Aye, well, we've no been looking for you," Dwalin says abruptly. The two elves blink, before laughter erupts from them, like airy wind chimes. The warrior growls at their amusement, and the two brothers attempt to sober themselves.

"Apologies, Dwalin, son of Fundin," the first speaks.

"It seems she did not forewarn you," the other's lips are still twitching with mirth. "I am Elladan, son of Lord Elrond."

"I am Elrohir, brother of Elladan," the first speaks again.

"Or perhaps I am Elrohir and you are Elladan?"

"Brother…"

She? Thorin thinks, who could have possibly…?

He groans, lowering his axe slightly. The elves brighten at the action, "One of you understands!"

"Billa," he sighs, "She contacted you."

"Indeed," the one who first introduced himself as Elladan replies, "Billa Baggins of the Shire, Shield-Maiden of Rivendell, told our father that you might be stopping by on your journey east?"

Shield-maiden? Thorin blinks, that's a new one.

"He sent us out to find you and escort you to Rivendell," Elrohir continues.

Dwalin grunts, dropping his weapons, "That sneaky Hobbit."

Indeed.

"Ah, we see that Billa Baggins of the Shire did not forewarn you of her plans."

"Naw, she didnae," Dwalin says with a sigh. "Rivendell, ye say?"

"Yes, we have prepared a feast in honour of your arrival-"

"Will there be ale?" Kíli pops out from behind Thorin, who sighs at the lad's eager expression.

The twins smirk, "As much as your dwarven stomachs can keep up with."

Fíli and Kíli exchange a look before scrabbling to collect their packs and belongings. Dwalin rolls his eyes and follows after, dousing the last of their campfire flames. Thorin watches with an exasperated but fond look beside the two elves, who remain ramrod straight on their horses.

"Master Thorin-"

"Just Thorin is fine," he says.

"Billa mentioned a map to my father," Elladan says.

"An ancient map."

Thorin rolls his shoulders back, working around the dull ache in his left shoulder, "Aye, there's a map."

In another life, he was reluctant to share that last piece of his father with the lord of the last Homely House; it felt like a betrayal, even though their need to have it translated was dire. Now, he knows there is no real reason to stop in Rivendell and discuss the map with Elrond.

But he remembers how their visit to Rivendell went in that other life, how much they ultimately relied on the elves in that final battle. He will not risk being caught out like that again - even if the gold sickness toying with his mind was mostly responsible - not when his Hobbit would be at risk should he fail.

"Lord Elrond owes me."

"I'd be happy to discuss the contents with him upon our arrival at your home," he says, cracking his neck. "Although I'd prefer some food first, if that is agreeable with your lord."

A week of travelling rations makes even those disgusting leafy greens the elves served them upon their last visit seem delicious.

The twins' eyes sparkle and they smirk at the dwarf, "I do believe that can be arranged."

...

A/N: So sorry this is late! Normal programming should resume next week!