Greetings and Salutations!

Chapter Six

In Which, Treasure is Found

Kíli stood, as he often did thus far into the journey, off to the side, awaiting his uncle's word for action. Yet, also with usual predictability, that word was slow in its coming. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin were speaking in harsh, hushed tones with Gandalf under Miss Martin's tree; her pack and pony both under Master's Baggins' meticulous keeping. It was difficult to make out precisely what was being spoken of but, by the looks of things, it spelled nothing good. In fact, it seemed to be growing into one of their usual rows. A fact which greatly irked the youngest prince.

They had not the time to waste on petty squabbles or wounded pride.

And hadn't that caused enough of their problems in the first place? Wasn't that the sole reason Miss Martin had ridden alone the day before, locked away in her thoughts, and spent dinner under her tree, with no one for company save her own pony? Because of Dwarven stubbornness? It certainly wasn't due to their humor, or song, or pretty poetry. No, Miss Martin hadn't even gotten the chance to hear all the best stories he had saved up for the past four days. Nor the jokes he planned to say so he could finally hear her laugh. Or ask her all the questions he had about her homeland and its people.

More importantly, he hadn't gotten the chance to apologize.

At the rate things were going, he was never going to.

That fact did not sit well with him, not at all.

"Brooding over it won't change things, Kí." His elder brother's voice echoed behind him, ever the voice of reason. "You're just like him, in that way."

Kíli whipped around, his unbound hair flying about his face as he marched up the incline and into the tree line were Fíli stood, relaxed, leaning back against an old oak and sharping one of his many, many knives.

"At least, I'm actually thinking about her." He spat back, tone full of venom. He jammed a thumb behind him, a gesture aimed at the elder's still arguing at the bottom of the slope "All they ever do is argue."

Fíli paused in his sharpening and raised a brow at him, incredulous but patient. "You know that isn't true. They wouldn't be arguing if they weren't."

"Then, why aren't we doing anything!" Kíli seethed through clenched teeth and threw out his arms in exasperation. He glanced back to see if the elders had taken notice of their absence. They had not. In fact, they weren't in the least bit aware the princes had moved such a distance away. He turned back 'round, facing his brother with renewed anger. "She's sick, Fí! Sick and now someone's stolen her away! Anything could be happening to her! So why-!?"

"Because we don't know, Kí." Answered Fíli, cutting him off before his voice reached ears they rather did not. His brother sheathed his knife and tucked away the whetstone for further keeping. Fíli crossed his arms and his mouth tightened in the same way their mother's did when she was trying not to lose patience with him. "We can't make a move until we know for sure. Otherwise, we'll be putting her more in danger by running around with no clear direction. And that won't do her any good, will it?"

Kíli cursed colorfully in his native Tongue. He clenched his hands until the knuckles turned bone white, and his fingers shook. Finally, after several long moments of silence, he lashed out at a stray rock, kicking it hard enough that it sailed through the air where it disappeared further up the incline and into the underbrush. He hated it when Fí was right.

A sudden hand at his shoulder gave him pause and he half-turned to see his brother offering him a soft expression of sympathy.

"We'll find her." Fíli declared with absolute surety, eyes unwavering, and he gave Kíli a comforting squeeze. "We'll get her back and, when we do, we'll apologize. Together. Yea?"

The elder shook the younger's shoulder, released him, and held out his arm, hand at the ready.

Kíli sighed; it was a long, drawn-out sound, full of exhaustion and frustration.

"Yea." He replied quietly and grasped Fíli's forearm in brotherly affection.

His brother smiled, then pulled him in for a shoulder check. Kíli grunted, unprepared for the sudden action even though he should have expected it in the first place.

"Want to see if those trolls left anything useful behind?" Fíli asked, pulling away and giving him a playful cuff on the ear. A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes and the corner of his mouth titled up in a knowing smirk. He even wagged his brows for good measure, a method which had never failed to make him laugh.

"Right." Kíli grinned, throwing his arm around his brother. "Let's go!"

Quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion from the others, the two princes melded into the forest and made their way back up the hill.

Thorin, as per his usual self, was not pleased in the slightest at the news; yet there was nothing for it in the end.

Grudgingly, even he had to admit it was probably for the best. For the Company and for Miss Martin, both. The Elves would be of great help considering the state she had been in. That alone gave him comfort, for he owed her a debt, and a true one at that. Not simply an easy word of encouragement, like several nights before, when the orc party had attacked. No. Last night she, at great personal risk to her own life (he had not an inkling if she could even swim), had saved his sister-sons from the river. Forget losing the foodstuffs, his sister-sons and only heirs were of far greater importance.

He sighed silently to himself, lost deep in thought. Thorin could only imagine what his sister would have to say to that, if she were here. He shuddered. The tongue lashing he'd received if anything happened to them so early on in the Quest would be more terrifying than even the sheer might of Smaug himself. He would rather face the creature head on with only a spear than face his sister and tell her of her sons' untimely death. Dís would rather have her sons than all the gold and silver Erebor had in its' storehouses, and he would not be safe from her wrath if ill will should befall her children. And she would be right; for their family had already lost more than they could bare.

They could not recover from another.

It was thanks to Miss Martin's quick thinking that such a fate had not come to pass. Especially so considering the fact that, just the day before, she had endured an unnecessary trial condemning her character which bordered on the cusp of demanding a blood payment. Thank Mahal he had managed to assuage Dori of such a notion and that the Dwarrow had enough sense after last night to withdraw any remaining ill feelings. Miss Martin deserved every respect they could give her now. She could have left them to fend for themselves, yet, at the first sign of distress, she had acted, nonetheless. With courage and honor, though she had received little from them, she had acted on behalf of Fíli and Kíli's well-being.

Gandalf had, of course, been right from the very beginning. Her character spoke plainly for itself.

'Well, then-' Thorin mused to himself. If he was to 'eat crow', as they say, then so be it. It was more than he deserved after everything thus far concerning the Daughter of Men.

"Enough," he said at long last. He kept his voice even and low, no longer in the mood for raised tones. "Lord Elrond is a Master of Healing, or so I've heard. If Rivendell is where she will find recovery, then there's nothing for it. It is not so far now. Two days, by my reckoning. Is that not so, Tharkun?"

"Quite so," Agreed the Wizard, a curious expression falling across his weathered face. Thorin could not hold it against him; it was the first time he had called the Wizard by his people's proper title for him during the journey thus far. "And she is near a full day ahead of us. Plenty of time for healing to be in full effect when we arrive. As I have said, not all people mean ill will against you. Imladris will give you a chance for a proper rest, as well an opportunity to resupply. I recall you lost most, if not all, of your food during the excitement?"

"That is so." Thorin conceded with a brisk nod.

Dwalin chose, at that moment, to crack his knuckles and roll out his shoulders. "We can hunt, if we're hungry. We've enough talent for tha'."

"Aye," Balin pipped in sagely. "We've contended with the Lone Lands well enough before. Now that we no longer have the lass to worry over, we should make a faster pace of it."

"Then, we make for Rivendell." Concluded Thorin, authority dripping from his voice like fresh wax. "The Company needs a proper rest. I'll have no more words about the matter."

Despite having no love for Elves, he would not allow prejudice to take over when good sense was needed. It was not Elrond Half-elven who had abandoned his people to fire and ruin, after all. Dragging him and his sons into the matter would be very ill-tempered of him. Especially since those very sons had brought Gandalf back in with good timing. He would rather save his ire for those most deserving of it. Throwing about his anger and assumptions had already led them astray; if he were to be King Under the Mountain, he would have to exercise a greater hold on when and where to lay his emotions.

It was then he took notice of Master Baggins eyeing them (with the obvious intention of trying to be subtle) from the other side of Miss Martin's pony. "Master Baggins', Miss Martin's belongings will be given into your care. They'll be well looked after, yes?"

The Hobbit blinked owlishly for a moment, then straightened to his full height. Not that it did much good. The pony blocked most of him from view, save his curly head.

"I'll see to it personally, Master Thorin." He inclined his head with a sharp nod and wiggle of his nose. "Baggins' honor."

Thorin did not see what the creature's surname (a strange thing, to be sure) had to do with honor but, then again, he wasn't a Hobbit. For all he knew, a Baggins wasn't much different from a grocer. However, he kept his thoughts to himself. He had made enough mistakes by jumping to conclusions. He'd best keep his thoughts in his head unless it was necessary.

"Very good, then." He replied, satisfied things were finally falling into their proper places. "Now, where did Master Elladan go off to?"

"He has gone to scout the road ahead." Answered Gandalf, eyes staring far off into the distance. "To make sure our way is clear, and no further trouble lies before us. Least ways, for a while."

"Very well," Thorin hoped to be moving out soon but it seemed there was still more waiting to be had. "We will await his return. Until then, we rest."

"Right, ye are Thorin." Dwalin approved firmly.

"Aye," Balin nodded in agreement. "Well stated, My Prince."

"For once, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf smiled kindly down at him from under his gray, pointed hat. "You are making sound sense."

It took all of his willpower not to react to the knowing expressions suddenly surrounding him. Instead, he merely offered a sharp tilt of his dark head and turned on his heel to so as to check on the status of his pony.

Bilbo watched Thorin take his leave of the little group, confusion pulling at his brow as he did so. The Dwarf Prince was an ever-baffling character, if he did say so himself. Then again, it was not as if he had met many Princes in Hobbiton. Nor Warriors, for that matter. Or Heros, either. In fact - He shook his head. None of it mattered in the least. It was clear to him the world of Dwarven royalty and Houses and Lords were subjects far beyond his understanding. Although, he couldn't help but wish to.

He wanted to be of use to the Dwarves.

He signed the contract, after all.

It was as good as his word.

He had not been blind to the expression of confusion and skepticism on Thorin Oakenshield's face when, just now, he gave his word as a Baggins. The Dwarf still did not understand him. Bilbo supposed that was fair, as he did not understand Thorin. On the subject of not understanding, they were both equally matched it seemed.

'I'll just have to try a different approach.' Thought Bilbo with Tookish determination.

He wasn't going to be outmatched by a Prince, after all. He was a Baggins and a Took; there was pride to be had in both, alike. He would prove it, somehow. Someway. If only given the chance. Miss Martin had believed in him. Now, he only needed to believe in himself.

Bilbo's ears perked up at the sound of a branch breaking, high on the hilltop. He glanced up and scanned the trees but saw nothing out of sorts. The wind blew, warm and easy against his cheeks; a sign that the rain had passed, and Summer finally made its scheduled arrival to Arda. He chanced a quick look to Myrtle and Tolkien, but neither pony seemed alarmed by any goings on.

'Odd,' Thought Bilbo. He swore he heard-

"Thorin!"

Ah, there it was. Faint, barely audible. But undeniably the sound of a pair of young Dwarf princes who had, no doubt, found themselves in their own spot of trouble.

"Uncle!"

They would be crashing through the underbrush right about-

"Ow, Kíli! That was my foot!"

"Sorry, Fí!"

'Now.'

Bilbo ticked down a finger just as said princelings fell into the open, covered in leaves and twigs and dirt. They appeared to have rather slid down the hill rather than run down it. Their hair was rumpled; clothes askew, and the belts which held their weapons to their person looked ready to slide clean off their shoulders.

"Good, gracious!" He exclaimed, startled by the sight and state of them. "Whatever have the two of you been up to?"

"You won't believe it, Master Baggins!" Fili said breathlessly, rushing over to Bilbo and grabbing him by the shoulders. "It's a horde! With gold and silver!"

"There's chests filled with all sorts of things!" Kíli added, equally without air. "Swords and pikes and spears, too!"

He blinked owlishly at them, far more baffled than before. What good were any of those things when they had no food to eat?

"I'm afraid I don't quite -" Bilbo trailed off.

Perhaps, it wouldn't mean much to himself, but Dwarves were another matter entirely.

"Come on, then." He continued, eyeing the pair's growing excitement. "We better inform Master Thorin and the others."

Gandalf was certainly impressed.

It was a rather massive cave, filled with food and ale (which most of the Company found to be of greatest importance); clothes of all sizes (save for troll), barrels of brass buttons; gold and silver coins (likely stolen from the hapless victims) stashed in pots of iron, and several sorts of weapons of all shapes and sizes. Among these, he found two which had any sort of significance. He was not skilled enough to read the runes upon the blades, but he knew one who could. In the meantime, however he could try-

"Thorin, a moment, if you please." He waved the Dwarf-prince over absently, eyes still focused on the jeweled hilt of the blade in his weathered hands. If only he could read them-

"What is it that you've found, Gandalf?" Thorin queried, setting down a plate of bread and cheese on top of a barrel of what seemed to be wine. He frowned at the blade in Gandalf's hands, though it was more out of curiosity than suspicion. "That's a fine blade. No troll could have made such a thing."

"No," mused Gandalf, turning the sword over in his hands. "Nor any smith among Men, for that matter."

Thorin held out his own for the blade and, handle first, the Wizard offered it to him. The Dwarf-prince's frown deepened; brows knitted together in concentration as he studied the runes and the design. Finally, after a great pause, he shook his head. "Curious. The runes, I mean. I cannot read them. It is not a language I know."

"Neither do I. Though I hoped, perhaps, you would." Gandalf admitted and he did not miss how Thorin's brow rose high in surprise. "Contrary to popular belief, my friend, I know not all the secrets of the world. There are still things in this land which escape me."

"If you cannot read them," Thorin began hesitantly, eying him with caution. "Why would you believe I could?"

"Simple," remarked Gandalf with a kind smile. "Dwarves have a more collected knowledge of all the languages of Arda. For you guard you're own with such secrecy that none of your number dares to speak it aloud in the company of other Races. That leaves your people with the advantage of knowing many, many Tongues and writing systems. And you, Thorin Oakenshield, are a Prince of Erebor. Classically trained, shall we say?"

"Aye," said Thorin simply. "I learned under Balin, my Father, and Grandfather. Should I wander East, I may speak with the Easterlings. Should I wander South, the Southerns would be my friend. However, this language," here he fingered the runes along the hilt. "I have never seen or heard. It is lost."

"Hmm," Gandalf peered over the sword once more and frowned. "Well, it's a good blade, as you've said. You best keep that, I think. It would do you good."

"A mighty gift, indeed!" Exclaimed the Dwarf-prince, awed, and he drew the belt around himself so as to fasten it to his person. "My thanks to you, Tharkun!"

"Think nothing of it," the Wizard said dismissively. "Likewise, I have found one for myself."

Here he drew a much longer, thinner blade from another barrel and proceeded to draw the belt around his waist.

"We have been most fortunate, thus far." Thorin offered quietly, his new blade hanging securely at his back. "Somehow, I wonder, if we are testing fate."

"Do not linger on the if's," cautioned Gandalf slowly. "Such things invite danger and we've plenty enough of that. Even without Orcs or Trolls."

"Or Dragons," pondered the Dwarf-prince. His deep frown somehow found a way to burrow even further, and his brows were becoming overly familiar with his eyes.

"Come, let us leave this place." Encouraged Gandalf, giving the cave one more glance over. The others were busy burying a chest of gold and silver; no doubt, to protect for a return journey. "Gather what food is still edible and let us rest amongst the trees. None of you slept, I take it?"

"No," answered Thorin grumpily, eyes dark. "There was no time."

"Well," continued Gandalf. "You cannot go out into the Wild without a decent amount of sleep. You won't be saving any Mountains that way. Or defeating Dragons for that matter!"

A short chapter to start with, but I'm trying to find my groove again. Please be patient with me as I come back to this story. Give me any pointers if you feel it necessary. Thank you to all my readers for staying with this story for so long. I've moved and changed jobs and all sorts of real-life things that I will not bore you with. Just know that I'm in a much healthy place than I have been and am ready to come back to this story.

Key Notes for this chapter:

1. In the book, Gandalf could not read the runes upon Orcrist or Glamdring. Nor was it stated that he actually knew the blades were of Elvish make and forged on Gondolin. I think he probably did but decided to hide that information from Thorin, just in case. I went with him hiding the information, especially since Elladan is with them and peace is desperately needed. It's just Gandalf being Gandalf but, the more secretive book version which I tend to favor.

2. In the book, Thorin is prejudice against Elves, but he still balances his anger and emotions for the most part. It's really only when he's been pushed emotionally and mentally that his tongue and temper tend to get ahead of him (for instance, he and the Company treat the Elves of Rivendell and Lord Elrond very favorably and with good manners. Not so with Thranduil). I tried to find that balance in this chapter, especially since Thorin has little choice left to him when people he takes under his wing fall on difficult situations where he has little power to help. And food. Food id always a big motivator.

3. Gandalf in the book says he comes across two Elves who warned him of the trolls and while it is not stated that it's Elrond's sons, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make it so.

4. It's stated that Rivendell is three days from Weathertop; at least, by those who know the road. Rivendell is easy to miss due to being nearly invisible if you're looking straight across the plains. Aragorn in FotR (book, not film) states that those who are either not Elves or Men who actually live there (there are some, such as he and his mother) can find it and therefore, often get lost. Which is why Aragorn was guiding the Hobbits there in the first place.