Chapter 39

Burgling the Burglar

Hobbits were simple creatures. Most people took barely any notice of them, as they hardly achieved great deeds or travelled abroad. Bilbo had been the exception and Thoren happened to like him. Admittedly he had met him only once, decades ago when Thráin had gone far beyond the Misty Mountains to seek him out and, as it were, burgle the burglar to take him to see his friends.

The Book, Chapter 3: Dark Visitor

Erebor, spring 2966 T.A.

'Blimey, they're starting earlier each year.'

Kate looked at the document before her and shook her head in disbelief, then checked the date on the calendar, although it told her nothing she did not already know.

'What is early?' her husband demanded from his desk across the room. He was almost entirely concealed behind an equally big pile of paperwork.

We should have cancelled that trip to the Iron Hills, Kate thought regretfully. They had been away for two months and in that time the paperwork had piled up. This morning they'd had to drag themselves out of bed with the prospect of dealing with it all.

'The first preparations for the anniversary.' She shook her head. 'Which is still well over half a year away. I mean, why?' Usually the first official paperwork crossed her desk around midsummer, and then she usually ignored it until the beginning of September anyway. She leafed through the veritable bookwork. 'They're really going all out this year. There's to be a feast, dancing, concerts, an exhibition of statues to be revealed the day before and... Oh.'

Thorin arched an eyebrow. 'What else?'

'A new play in the week leading up to the celebration.'

He wrinkled his nose in response. Kate couldn't blame him. They both had very vivid memories of the last time. Some ambitious fool had attempted the same thing nearly twenty years ago. It had been a very fantastical re-telling of the quest and had been notoriously low on its usage of actual facts. Kate had sat through it, biting her tongue until it bled. Thorin had sat through it scowling the playwright into an early retirement in the Ered Luin.

He asked the question anyway: 'About?'

'Us.' She held up the document in evidence. 'Creatively titled The King and Queen under the Mountain, although apparently the title is still up for debate. It doesn't say that the play itself is up for debate unfortunately.' She sighed and sat back. 'Do you think we should just invent a crisis and miss the whole thing?'

Thorin stood up and walked over to her desk so that he could study the plans himself. 'They mean to recreate the fire in Mirkwood.'

'Well, with any luck that'll get out of hand, we'll need to evacuate the theatre and that'll be the end of it.' Unlikely, because dwarves were good at controlling fire, but like she said, she could live in hope.

He laughed at her. She grinned back just a little bit sheepish, then reached up and kissed him. Thorin, also not fond of paperwork and just as glad of a decent excuse as Kate was, kissed back with enthusiasm.

Every now and again it would still hit her and she'd marvel at the turns her life had taken since Gandalf had brought her into this world. How unbelievable her life must seem to the people she had left behind back home. Here she was, Queen under the Mountain, wife of Thorin Oakenshield. And now someone had written a play about her. Again.

'Let's forget the paperwork,' she whispered in his ear. There were so many things she would rather do.

'We have a duty,' he reminded her reluctantly.

'I remember doing two endless months of it in the Iron Hills,' Kate countered. 'It's no wonder Thráin ran off before we could ask him to come.' The way things stood she wished she had taken her things and run off after him.

'Wonder where he went,' Thorin said between kisses.

'Not my first priority at the moment to be honest.' If he was trying to get her to get back to work, he was really going the wrong way about it.

He kissed her again.

The paperwork was rather forgotten after that.

The Shire, spring 2966 T.A.

It was a sunny morning in spring when there was a knock on the door of Bag End. Bilbo Baggins, poring over the maps in his study, looked at his calendar in response, but no, he was not expecting any visitors. Today's date was blessedly free of any pressing engagements, leaving him time to spend time on his books and his maps.

There was another knock.

Well, there was nothing else for it. 'Yes, yes, I am coming!' he called, traipsing down the corridor to his front door. Nevertheless whoever was waiting for him knocked a third time. This had better not be Lobelia again.

It wasn't. An unknown dwarf stood before him.

'Good morning,' Bilbo said, somewhat hesitantly. 'Can I help you?'

The dwarf bowed. 'Thráin, son of Thorin, at your service,' he announced. 'Are you Bilbo Baggins?'

Bilbo blinked. Then blinked again.

Now that the dwarf had given his name, it was impossible not to see the resemblance he bore towards his father. Thráin was younger, so there was no grey in his hair and his eyes were grey instead of blue, but other than that his appearance was so reminiscent of his father that it took Bilbo right back to a time twenty-five years ago.

'Yes,' he replied. 'I am Bilbo Baggins.'

Thráin smiled widely. 'Excellent,' he said, reaching out to shake Bilbo's hand with more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. 'In that case I am very pleased to announce that this is a robbery.'

'…' Bilbo opened his mouth and closed it again. Try as he might, he was incapable of uttering a sound.

Thráin was kind enough to elaborate: 'It's twenty-five years this year, you see, and everyone's always going on about how it's such a shame you've never been to the celebrations, so then I thought I had better come and collect you in person, to make sure that you attend this year.'

Oh.

Perhaps he ought to have seen this coming. For several years now he'd received letters from Kate – and from several of the other members of Thorin's Company as well – inviting him to come for a visit. Several of them had come to make the request in person. Bofur and Balin had both been here twice. Even Elvaethor had visited once. And Nori had made a point of visiting every two years or so.

But this was new.

'Well,' he said, remembering his manners at last, 'would you like to come in?'

Thráin had seen a little something of the world of late, but he had not yet been in a smial before today. But it was warm and inviting. Most importantly, it was underground. Thráin felt instantly at home. He had to suppress a smile as Bilbo flitted from one end of the kitchen to the other in something of a fluster. The stories had not really done him justice.

'Is it true that you stole treasure from between a dragon's teeth?' he inquired interestedly. It almost sounded too good to be true.

'It was dead, I'll have you know,' Bilbo informed him, waving his finger about in a way Uncle Dori could have learned something from. 'And it took the help of Fíli and Nori to prise it loose.'

So it was true. 'Fíli said he gave you the tooth as a gift. Do you still have it? May I see?' He had grown up on the stories of Smaug's defeat, but the corpse had been destroyed before he was born, so he'd never got a good idea of just how big the beast must have been. Seeing the size of the tooth however should give him a pretty good idea.

Bilbo put down the teapot with a little too much force and frowned at him. 'How old are you, lad?'

'Almost twenty-two,' he replied promptly. 'Did amad not write to you?'

Master Baggins muttered a bit under his breath about that, all of it unintelligible, but implying that he had received messages of the sort all the same.

'And you mean to accompany me to the Lonely Mountain?'

Thráin heard the scepticism. Fair enough, he supposed. His own folk had taken some convincing that he was capable of looking after himself before they believed it and although he might have grown up on the stories of the burglar, said burglar had never actually met him. It was only natural that he required some proof.

So he presented his credentials. 'I have wandered the wilds for a little over two years now,' he said. 'In that time I have come upon roving orcs and I have defeated them. I can hunt and cook, I'm an able fighter and I know the way.'

Bilbo was silent for a few moments. 'I see,' he said at last.

Thráin smiled helpfully at him in order to inspire more confidence.

It must have done something, because Bilbo did look a little pensive. Thráin let him think quietly for a moment. Pushing the issue now would be unwise. Besides, this journey would be so much easier if Bilbo came of his own free will.

At last he spoke. 'Last time my relatives believed me dead and they were all set to auction off all my possessions.'

They'd moved onto the particulars now. This was a good thing. 'Measures will be taken to prevent such a thing,' Thráin replied. 'Or at least measures will be taken to remedy it should it happen again.'

Bilbo's eyes narrowed. 'What measures?'

Thráin smiled, because that couldn't hurt. 'Uncle Nori will accompany us on the way back,' he said. 'Should your relatives have proven themselves to be a bunch of sticky-fingered villains again, I shall go round and demand your possessions back.' With sword in hand, but there was no reason to mention that just yet. 'If this fails, I shall keep them talking at the door whilst my uncle sneaks in to retrieve your stolen goods.'

The last thing they wanted Bilbo to think was that they went into this half-arsed. He was one of the heroes of Durin's Folk and blatantly unworthy of such a horrible treatment. His people ought to honour him for his valour, not rob him.

Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest. 'Do I have a say in the matter?'

Thráin gave that some thought and then answered honestly: 'Well, you've got the choice to come of your own free will or be abducted to Erebor, but I honestly prefer the first.'

Bilbo looked at him long and hard. 'Well, I suppose you did inform me that this was a robbery.'

Thráin grinned at him.

'Why?'

'Because it is a great celebration, my lord.'

Thorin knew that it was supposed to be a celebration, but as of yet it was unclear how that had led him to be in this position.

It would have helped if Kate was here, but she had been called on to settle a dispute between a dwarvish company and the men of Dale who had contracted them for a job. Thorin had no patience to listen to the whining, but he was beginning to suspect he did not have the patience for this either.

'We have held celebrations before,' he reminded the young fool wringing his hands before his desk. 'Without plays.'

It was not the first time he was to be subjected to something of this nature. Many a dwarf had been mistaken in the belief that if they dedicated their work to the King under the Mountain, he was bound to give it his seal of approval.

The playwright, a young fool by the name of Orin, wringed his hands some more. In the ten minutes that he had been in Thorin's study he had not once met his eyes. Apparently the rug was infinitely more fascinating.

'But this is a special occasion,' he said, dragging up last reserves of courage to waste on defiance. 'A quarter of a century has passed since the Death of the Dragon. It warrants a special commemoration, my lord.'

'Aye, we do that every year on the anniversary.' The more he heard about this wretched play, the less he liked it. It had now been renamed The Quest for Erebor, but this title too was still up for discussion. The play itself however was all set to go ahead. 'There is no need for a play.'

At last Orin looked him in the eyes. 'Wil you forbid it then, my lord?'

'I will not.'

Thorin did not believe in censorship any more than his wife. If Orin wanted to write a play and perform it, he was well within his rights to do so, provided that he could find players and a venue. Ordinarily that would be the end of the whole thing, but for some reason Balin had put this particular play down as part of the official celebrations while Thorin and Kate were in the Iron Hills, where they could do nothing to prevent it. And now the thing was done.

Orin mistook this for approval. 'You will attend then, my lord?'

'Because I must.' It was part of his duties.

This did nothing to stop the playwright. 'I shall do you proud, my lord,' he said with an amount of eagerness that made Thorin worry about the lad's sanity. 'You will not regret it.'

It was already too late for that. Thorin did regret it.

Passionately.

And the notion had not even been his.

He looked at the document in front of him. 'You intend to stay true to the facts, then?' He recalled the one play about his quest that he had been forced to watch. It was not in any way a fond memory.

Orin mistook this for yet more approval. 'Oh, most certainly, my lord. I've even found a mannish actress in Dale to play the role of the Queen. She is not as good as one of our people would have been, of course, but I reckoned that you would appreciate authenticity.'

He did not like where this was going. 'Your meaning?'

'Well, men, having shorter lifespans, can never quite achieve the same level of perfection as our people can, my lord. No offence to the Queen of course.' He seemed oblivious of the fact that as far as Thorin was concerned he was digging his grave deeper with every word he spoke. 'This is the dilemma with which I am faced. Do I honour the truth or do I place my art above such concerns?'

'The truth is not for you to meddle with.' He grabbed the desk so tightly that the wood groaned in protest.

It all went over the fool's empty head. 'I reckoned you would feel this way, my lord, and so I have chosen this actress. This of course brought its own problems with it, as none of my players would elect to even pretend to be attracted to her as you evidently are to the Queen. Again, no offence, my lord. This is why I have decided to portray you in this play. I shall overcome my revulsion for the sake of my art and…'

Thorin rose to his feet. 'Leave.'

'My lord?'

'Leave now if you know what's good for you!' The glass on the table trembled and then toppled over the edge.

Orin took one look at the shards on the floor, then at Thorin and then all but fled the room.

Maker be good.

Despite the decision being made, it still took a week of preparations before they were off. If he was going to do this right this time, he should take the time and do it well. So Bilbo sent letters to his neighbours and relatives that he would be gone for about a year and to please leave his house and possessions untouched this time. Thráin, the very picture of a helpful youngster, had dutifully delivered these to the post office.

He was a rather unexpected thing in Bilbo's life. He was still very young, no two ways about that, and full of youthful enthusiasm and naivety. There'd been little enough of that in his parents. It made him for better company than his parents too. He was never short of stories to tell and he asked a million things of Bilbo in return.

His enthusiasm was catching. Bilbo might have been slightly hesitant to go on so long a journey again, but now that he had made the decision to go, he began to feel the enthusiasm return. There were places he'd like to see again before he grew too old to travel much. He'd like to stand on the heights of the Misty Mountains again and see far and wide. He'd like to travel across the Long Lake again and see the Lonely Mountain rise up before him, tall and imposing, dominating the land for miles around. Yes, he'd like to see what Erebor was like after the dragon.

Most of all, he longed to see his friends again, for friends they had become over their long journey together. True, dwarves could be recalcitrant and abrasive and obnoxious and unmannered – and the one who now ruled as their Queen was only a little better – but they were loyal in their friendship and fiercely protective of those whom they considered to be one of theirs. They had been generous to him too. And now, even after so much time had passed, they still desired his company.

It was more than many of his nearest and dearest did.

Sometimes, in the deep dark hours of the night when sleep eluded him, he wondered if Kate had not been blessed with clearer vision. She had spoken of what might have happened should she return home, that even if there would still be a place for her there, she would be forever out of step with her people because of where she had been and what she had seen and done. Clearly she had thrived in her new place.

He considered the evidence of that, shovelling food into his mouth with reckless abandon. 'Slow down, lad,' he admonished. 'There's plenty.'

The differences between Thráin and his careworn father were staggering at times. Thorin Oakenshield had known exile, war and rejection for most of his days, whilst Thráin was a child born in peace, who had never known exile, who wandered because the choice was his own. It was apparent in the very way in which he carried himself.

'Apologies,' Thráin said. He did indeed slow down. 'My folk…'

'Don't place much stock in table manners,' Bilbo finished. 'I remember.' He remembered food thrown all through the house and, when there was no more food to go around, the crockery was next. 'But if we mean to leave after breakfast, we don't have the time to clean the house.'

Thráin considered this and then nodded. 'Fair enough. That reminds me. Do you have a hammer somewhere?'

Bilbo blinked. 'Why do I need a hammer?'

'No, I need a hammer,' Thráin corrected him. 'So that I can fix this,' he waved a wooden sign up and down, 'to your garden gate. Just as a precaution of course. Your letters will probably do the trick.'

Bilbo tried to read, but the boy waved it about so fast, he couldn't make out the words, only a few exclamation marks. 'What trick?' he demanded. 'And will you hold that still, so that I can read it, thank you very much!'

In reply Thráin put the sign down on the table. In a bold, strong hand it read:

I am travelling, NOT dead!

Keep out!

(Except for Hamfast Gamgee; he can come and go as he pleases)

It was such a dwarvish thing to do – blunt and to the point – that he laughed. 'I doubt that will help with my relatives.'

'Oh, yes, allow me,' said Thráin. He pulled the sign back and added: If the silverware is gone, I'll know who took it, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

That was unlikely to deter her either, but Bilbo said nothing. The lad meant well. For all his odd notions and half-thought out plans, he had his heart in the right place. He was growing fond of the boy in spite of himself.

'That'll do,' he said. He washed up the plates while Thráin, hammer in hand, went to fix the sign to the gate. Then he took up his pack and stepped out of his door. It was a beautiful sunny morning in spring, just like it had been twenty-five years ago. It felt just right.

'Are you ready?' Thráin asked.

'I am ready,' said Bilbo and he closed the door behind him.

'Seriously, this again?'

Kate crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the dwarf on the other side of her desk. Thorin had told her about him in less than flattering tones and warned her of Orin's opinions on men. They were nothing she had not heard before and annoying though it was, she was fairly sure that she could sit through this meeting without bashing his brains in.

Still, give it a few minutes.

'There were just a few details I would like to know more about, my lady,' Orin said. 'In the interest of the truth your husband indicated he was keen to protect.' The tone suggested that she was not nearly as fond of the truth as her husband was.

She offered him a tight smile. 'I assure you that the King is not the only one with a love of truth, something I think you would be wise to remember, Master Orin.'

'Naturally, my lady.'

Slippery as an eel, this one.

He never knew when to stop either. 'Well, there were a few details that I was unclear on. With your permission, may I ask some rather indelicate questions?'

This did not sound promising. Truth be told, nothing about this whole thing sounded even mildly promising. This one was an idiot and greener than grass too. He'd come to Erebor with Dáin on his last visit two years ago and had done a miserable job of actually fitting in.

Kate knew she was widely liked by the people she had chosen, but that was now. The folk who lived in Erebor knew her and she knew them. She had grown to like them and after some time they liked her in turn. She had adapted. Dwarves appreciated those who respected their ways. And Kate did. She liked them, identified with them. This is home now.

This young moron however reminded her of her first days here, when she was the unknown quantity, the strange mannish lass the King had wed, who was not one of them. She belonged to the race of Men, who had collectively looked down on them in exile. She'd had to work to gain their trust. And for Thorin's sake, they in turn had allowed her to do so. Orin did not give the impression that he wanted his opinion changed.

'Provided I may refuse to answer them,' she said.

'As Queen, that is your right of course,' said Orin, whipping out a notebook.

Kate wanted to punch him on principle. 'In your own time, Master Orin. As Queen I do have more pressing matters than your play to attend to.'

'Yes, yes, of course. Well, my first question is what sparked the attraction between you and the King, my lady. As we all know, our kinds hold little appeal to one another.'

As indelicate questions went, this one was fairly mild, but it would do to remember that this was only the first. There'd be more to come. 'A common cause, a deepening friendship that became more.' She'd answer truthfully, but not in detail. This was her private life. It was awkward enough that it was going to be on stage at all. 'A growing mutual respect.'

In a way, this guy's writing his own sort of fan fiction, she thought wryly.

It did not endear her to this play at all.

He scribbled it down. If any of this was ever going to make it to the stage itself remained to be seen, but at least she'd tried to make the whole thing adhere a little closer to the actual events. 'Thank you. Now, I fail to see how that could lead to an attraction that could result in the act sleeping together.'

When she was younger, she would have blushed as red as her hair, but those days were long gone. Now she simply leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. 'That is an indelicate question indeed.' A little voice in the back of her mind wondered what in the world he thought he was going to do with this.

Maker be very, very good.

She crossed her fingers under the desk, because a little superstition had never hurt anyone.

To her satisfaction, Orin did blush. 'It is a question that the audience will ask themselves. It is my aim to answer their questions as best I could.'

'I am beginning to wonder how… explicitly you intend to answer their questions.' She really needed to have a word with Balin soon about approving this thing while their backs were turned.

The implication went right over his head. 'I would like to leave the audience with as few unanswered questions as possible, my lady.'

Oh… dear.

'Well, I'll do you a deal. Why don't you leave me a list of questions, written down, and I will answer them at my leisure to such an extent that I am prepared to disclose?' That way at least she could show Thorin what they were up against.

'Naturally,' Orin said. He tore a page out of the notebook and placed it on her desk. 'Good day, my lady.'

Kate took one look at the questions and wondered: Is it?

It was good to be on the road again. To Thráin's surprise, Bilbo was remarkably good company. He was not a natural horseman, but he sat on the pony with an air of one who had done this before and who could do it again should he need to. Of course, he had taken far more belongings with him than Thráin thought he needed, but in the interest of keeping the peace, he said nothing about it.

The roads and the weather so far had been kind to them. The weather was fair and the roads were blessedly free of orcs. This was not like the time when his parents were questing and Azog the Defiler was on their trail.

'I remember this,' Bilbo would say with any regularity. 'It rained heavily when we passed this way.' Or: 'This was where Bofur slipped and fell into the stream. He lost his hat and it took five of the company chasing after it to retrieve it.'

Thráin took these little nuggets of information and stored them away for the future.

'Are we near the trolls yet?' he asked one day. 'I tried to find them on the way here, but I was unable to.'

'We are quite close,' Bilbo replied. So far he had answered all Thráin's queries with the air of an exasperated but indulgent uncle. 'If we leave the road here, it should be fifteen minutes of gentle riding, I should think. Would you like to see?'

'Would you like to see?' Thráin asked.

The hobbit grinned. 'Yes. I should quite like to see that sight again.'

Most of the time it was Thráin who took the lead, but now Bilbo went first. He steered the pony off the path with the confidence of one who knew exactly where he was headed and he littered their ride with helpful commentary along the way. 'This was where we were supposed to make camp. Over there is where we left the ponies. Well, until they got stolen and I was sent after them to retrieve them. Look, it's over there.'

Thráin dismounted and went ahead, hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case. There was nothing there but three large stone statues, shaped like trolls. He could not help but smile. He had grown up on the stories, knew them by heart. The company captured, but his mother sneaking out to try and rescue everyone whilst first Bilbo, then Gandalf kept the trolls talking and confused, just long enough so that the dawn could take them by surprise and turn them all to stone. This was his family history come to life before his eyes.

'Marvellous,' he breathed, walking from one troll to the other. Their skins had long since turned to stone. Moss grew on them, and rain and wind had weathered them. Some pieces looked so brittle he suspected that the next storm would break them off entirely. He ran his hand over the stone.

'You are not much like most of the dwarves I've met,' Bilbo observed, perched on a log that was presumably once intended to go onto the fire that would roast the company.

'How so?' Thráin looked at him askance.

'Well, it's just that most dwarves – not that I've known that very many, all things told – would not go around the world, looking at everything they can find.' Bilbo flapped his hands around as if these were not quite the words he wanted to use. 'The quest was intended to give your people back a home so that they wouldn't have to wander anymore, wasn't it?'

'It was.' Thráin had never wandered out of necessity. When he walked into the wilds, it was his own choice. He left home with food and money in his pack. He did not go hungry when he could find no work in one of the villages he passed. His father had known that life. 'But I've got feet made for walking. If I stay still for too long, my feet will itch for the road and so off I go.' Many thought it was odd and they blamed his mannish blood for that, but Thráin knew better. 'The father of my people, Durin the Deathless, he woke in Gundabad and then wandered for ages until he finally came to Khazad-dûm, you know.' He did not like learning, but he knew his history. This particular piece always came in handy when he was called upon to defend his choices. 'My people have mostly forgotten that, but that is how Durin's Folk began. There is no shame in it.'

'I did not say there was,' Bilbo said. 'The stink is mostly gone,' he observed. 'That's good. When we were here, let me tell you, the stench of them could have stunned a horse.'

'Did it? Stun a horse?'

Bilbo laughed. 'No, my lad, I don't think so.'

'Shame,' said Thráin. 'I would have liked to see that.'

'I am beginning to think that this is by far the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen in my life and I have dragged a dead dragon from the treasury to the front door.'

This did not bode well. Uncharacteristically Thorin was the first to come to bed. Kate'd had an errand to run and he had heard her stop by the bedrooms of the twins before she came here.

'You saw Orin today?' He had seen an entry in the diary.

'I've seen entirely too much of him, all things told,' Kate said as she undressed. 'Did you know that he's renamed the thing again? He's burning through names faster than I through my tea supply.'

'What is it now?' Thorin asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

'It is now simply The Quest.' Kate grinned at him. 'You've got to admit that it's got a certain ring to it. Short, simple, to the point, yet intriguing. He'll sell tickets with that one for sure.'

'I have no wish for him to grow rich on this,' Thorin pointed out. The more he heard about this, the more merits Kate's proposal to invent a crisis had.

'Neither do I, but if you'll give him a week, he'll have changed it into something else.' She slipped on a nightdress, grabbed a note from the table where she left it when she came in and joined him in bed. 'He'll change it into something like Love in the Time of Dragons or From Erebor with Love or even Much Ado About a Dragon.'

The last he recognised as being a play on a name from one of the plays from her world. It seemed safe to assume that the other suggestions were likewise. 'Perhaps you ought to suggest a few of these to him, a royal recommendation, so to say.'

Kate laughed. 'Well, I might at that.'

Thorin looked at the note that was still in her hand. 'What's this?'

'Questions he wishes us to answer so that he can inject as much truth into this wretched play as he can manage. Some of them are, to use his own words, somewhat "indelicate."' She handed him the note.

Thorin read it.

Then he read it again.

'Maker be good.'

Kate sighed and nodded. 'That's what I thought. You know I like Balin and I respect his judgements, but I cannot help but wonder what in Durin's name he was thinking when he approved this for public consumption. Did he see a script by any chance?'

'Apparently it is not yet complete.'

'Oh dear.'

'Have you promised to answer the questions?'

'I have said that I'll answer as much as I want to and that he can take it or leave it.' Kate was no more pleased with folks' endless interest in her private life as Thorin was. 'But if I'm looking at some of them I am starting to wonder if I should answer any at all. I mean, take question four for example: when did you consummate your marriage? Please describe the circumstances leading up to this event as detailed as you can. He stops just short of asking me to describe the act itself, but you've got to wonder what he's planning to do with that information.'

As always, Kate found it remarkably less problematic to have these things asked of her, although she liked it no more than he did to answer them.

'Do you not find it rude that he asks at all?'

'Of course I do.' She pushed the pillow back so that she could sit against it. 'But you know, he's an artist. They tend to have a very loose relationship with reality.'

'Loose?'

'Only there when it suits them.' She laughed. 'And you've got to admit that he's crossing boundaries left, right and centre without so much as blinking. I asked him how explicit he intended to make this whole thing, to which he replied – with a straight face, mind – that he intended to leave the audience with as few unanswered questions as he could.'

Absurd though this was, Thorin could picture how that exchange had taken place and especially how it had ended. He chuckled in spite of himself.

He looked at the note. 'Question five: what do you find attractive about your husband?'

'Our playwright's mind is really stuck at gutter level, isn't it?' She peered over his shoulder. 'Question six: how often did you sleep with your husband during the quest? Blimey, he really doesn't beat around the bush, does he?' She stared at the question as though it had burnt her. 'Never mind, let me get a pen.' She reached to the bedside table, retrieved it and penned next to it: None of your bloody business, you pervert. 'There, now I have disclosed exactly as much as I intend to.'

Thorin reached up and kissed her, then pulled her down next to him. No doubt Orin would have paid many a coin of gold to see what happened there that night, but he'd never know.

That was as it should be.

'Well, at least the weather is exactly as I remember,' Bilbo observed as he wrung rivers of water out of his coat. Here in the cave it was dry, as long as one took that to mean that the water was not falling from the sky in droplets. Instead the air was so humid that he could get soaked to the bone merely by standing here.

'Apologies,' Thráin said. If the rain bothered him, Bilbo had yet to notice. To look at him you'd think that this downpour was only a small inconvenience and nothing more. He wrung out his hair and spread his coat over a rock to dry. 'And I can't give you a fire either. No wood.'

'How about goblins?' Bilbo asked, who very vividly remembered the last time he had spent a night in a cave on the way to Erebor. That was not a happy memory.

'Further south,' Thráin replied promptly. 'I made sure to scout the area on the way to the Shire before I risked taking you here.' He delivered this information in a very off-handed manner, though the exercise must have been dangerous and time-consuming. That was the thing about dwarves, Bilbo reflected. To any casual outsider they appeared gruff and brusque and insensitive. A lot of the time they were. But to those they liked they were different. They wouldn't say it, but if you looked closely, they'd show it instead.

This young dwarf was not so different from his kind as he liked to think. He did not shower sympathy on Bilbo, but he had a plan in mind should Lobelia take what wasn't hers before Bilbo could ask. On the journey he had taken care of the majority of the chores. And now here they were and apparently he'd risked life and limb to ensure that Bilbo would come to no harm on this journey.

To his own surprise, he was growing quite fond of the lad.

'That is considerate,' he said.

The response was more or less what he expected; the lad looked affronted and almost wounded at what he took as a tone of surprise. 'You are one of my people's heroes, Master Baggins,' he said with the tone to match. 'We owe you everything that we have. Without your bravery I would not now exist. We owe you a debt that cannot ever be repaid. Making sure that you arrive safely at our destination is the very least I can do.'

'It was not meant as an insult,' Bilbo pointed out.

Thráin pondered this for a moment or two. 'Well, I know it's not, but it puzzles me that you should think I would be anything less than exceedingly careful with you.'

The reply to this needed careful phrasing. 'Well, I thank you,' he said. 'But that was not quite, just not quite, what I meant.'

Thráin did not understand. 'Then what did you mean?' He frowned and then came to his own conclusion. 'Do you mean that your own folk are not as considerate of you? Well, of course they're not, seeing as how they stole your possessions. I could set them straight for you when we bring you back. Or you could come to live in Erebor, if you prefer?'

The not often seen kindness of the dwarves. Though they had travelled for weeks now, they did not know one another well and yet Thráin had not hesitated to make such an offer for even a moment. Bilbo smiled. 'That's kind of you, lad, but my home is in Bag End. Any time you should wish to visit, you will be more than welcome.'

The grin he got for his troubles made the lad look like little more than a boy. 'I shall hold you to that, Master Burglar,' he warned.

'Kate, a word!'

She had been in a hurry to get to a meeting, but she'd gladly take a moment longer to get there for Dwalin. So she stopped and turned around. 'Good morning!'

Dwalin's face indicated that it was not. He had a note in his hand that he waved up and down. 'Did you know about this?'

She tilted her head in order to read the words, but found she couldn't. 'What is this?'

At last he held it under her nose.

'Oh, dear.'

She bit her lip.

'You know about this?'

'Not that you would get one, if that's any consolation.' But she did know that she had been given one such document, that she had then only half filled in with answers that were nowhere near as detailed as Orin wanted them to be. At least it was one of the perks of being Queen that he couldn't make her answer questions she did not want to, although she was sure to pay for it when he engaged in a spot of character assassination on stage.

But he was going to do that anyway, so who cares?

'You mean to say that you received one?' Dwalin's eyebrows were sitting a little higher than usual. 'Did Thorin?'

'We shared a list.' She held up a hand to stop the questions that she suspected were coming. 'You don't want to know. Hell, I didn't want to know. Maker only knows what he plans to do with it.'

'What is it anyway, this…' Dwalin looked at the title scrawled at the top of the page. 'Thorin Oakenshield and the Quest for Erebor?'

'Oh, so he's changed the title again, has he?' And with one of her mocking suggestions too. The fact that Orin knew nothing about the Harry Potter books only added to Kate's amusement. 'It's a play,' she explained quickly before Dwalin had to repeat the question. 'To commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Smaug's death.'

'Another?'

'Nothing to do with me,' Kate was quick to point out. 'It wasn't my idea.'

'Don't you approve these matters? Or Thorin for that matter?'

'Not this time.' In this case she had no trouble assigning blame where it was due. 'Balin did, when we were all in the Iron Hills. Maker knows what got into him.'

Judging by the look on Dwalin's face, he'd be having words with his brother when he got his hands on him. Politeness and a certain amount of gratitude that he had taken care of so many things while Thorin and she were in the Iron Hills had thus far prevented her from doing the same, but no such thing would stop Dwalin.

'Why these questions?' Dwalin asked.

'Orin, the playwright, he wants it to be as truthful as he can make it,' Kate answered. 'And, judging from the questions he asked us, as explicit as he can make it too.'

It took maybe three seconds for the penny to drop. 'Surely he did not?'

Kate nodded. 'Oh, but he did. We failed to answer about sixty per cent of the questions, because quite frankly that's absolutely none of his business. Listen, I'm sorry you got this. I'll call him in to tell him to back off, because this is getting out of hand.' She'd only seen a few questions on Dwalin's list, but they were all as invasive as the ones Kate had received. This had gone far enough now.

Dwalin let that sink in and then, to her very great surprise, laughed. 'Might be no need.'

She frowned. 'How so?'

'Well, I reckon we'll all have received one,' he said.

'Yes?' She still did not quite see where he was going with this.

He grinned at her, all mirth. 'What'd you think Dori will do when he sees this?'

He burst out into laughter. Kate followed suit a moment later.

'What is this?'

As per usual, Dori did not bother with such common courtesies as knocking or waiting until he was admitted before he barged in. He slammed a piece of paper onto Thorin's desk with so much force that several other documents fell off.

'Dori,' Thorin acknowledged. If there was one downside to his marriage to Kate, then it was that she had a brother that he was now unlikely ever to see the back of. Even Nori, vexing as he could be, was not nearly as bad as his older brother. 'Why are you here?'

Dori indicated the paper with wild motions. 'What is this?'

It was altogether quicker if he did take a look and found out what it was by looking for himself than waiting for his brother-in-law to explain what had rubbed him the wrong way. So he stole a glance at the note.

All became clear at once.

'So you received one too.'

This stopped Dori dead in his tracks. 'Beg pardon?'

There was a trick to dealing with Dori, Kate had once told him. If one could head him off before he got to a full rant, then you'd stand a chance at escaping whatever he was gearing up to do, she explained. Once he truly got started, generally around the point where the Finger was whipped out, followed by the words "Now, see here" then he had reached the point of no return. Today, it seemed, he'd had a lucky escape.

So far.

To make sure that his luck did not run out, he hastened to explain this state of affairs to his increasingly irate brother-in-law.

'How come I've never heard of this before?' Dori demanded when Thorin was done.

'I do not know.' Kate had complained of it more than once. 'Give it to me. This has gone far enough.'

He probably should not have said that. Dori's brows knit together in undisguised displeasure. 'Has Kate received one?'

Ah. 'We shared one.'

That was the spark that set off the explosion. 'Excuse me?'

'We both shared a list containing several invasive questions,' Thorin repeated. Kate would have dropped more hints in order to set Dori off so that he would go and deal with Orin for them, but that was not his way. Truth be told, Thorin would not mind it in the slightest if Dori were to decide to do that, but he would not ask. He'd simply answer the questions put to him honestly.

Dori, equally honestly, asked another question: 'Who is this fellow and where can he be found?'

It was quite remarkable, Thorin reflected some half hour later, how well sound carried under the Mountain.

He never heard anything about the list again.

Thráin spent the journey through the Misty Mountains hoping very hard that the goblins had not relocated again, but it seemed that they had not, for they saw neither hide nor hair of them. As much as Bilbo appreciated his trip down memory lane, he suspected that another detour through Goblin-town was not something he particularly relished.

They crossed the Anduin without trouble and apart from the occasional shower, the weather remained kind and fair. He should have known that it was all too good to last for very much longer. Naturally the elves were the one to spoil what could otherwise have been a near perfect journey.

There were guards.

Thráin had traversed Mirkwood before. He didn't like it, but it was altogether quicker to cut through the woods instead of going around them. The old road to the south was made safe years ago. So was the less used elven path. He'd used both before without ever being challenged.

Now there were guards.

'Halt!' they called at him when they were still a hundred yards away. 'State your name and business!'

Apparently he was expected to state it at the top of his voice. 'Thráin, son of Thorin, and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, returning to Erebor after a long journey.' Yes, he knew that elves had sensitive hearing. They would have heard him had he whispered his reply. Bilbo frowned, though whether at the elves or Thráin's deliberate obnoxiousness remained to be seen.

The elf on the right remained stoic. The one on the left sent Thráin a murderous glare that ought to have killed him on the spot.

They stood and waited for nearly a full minute in hostile silence before Thráin decided he'd had enough. The treaty between their two peoples allowed him to travel these roads – though not traverse the woods – as he pleased. These guards had no right to say him nay. He started moving again, tugging a very reluctant Bilbo along with him.

'Are we allowed to pass?' he asked, as politely as he could manage, though his every instinct was to go on and fight his way past if need be.

He'd never met either of these two, but the one on the left looked on him like something vile stuck to the sole of his boot. Thráin turned his attention to his companion, who may not necessarily like him any better, but who at least knew how to hide it.

'May we pass?' he repeated once they were closer.

'I see that you bear many arms, Dwarf,' the rude one replied.

'It would be unwise to travel the wilds without them.' This journey had been far safer than many others. One never knew where orcs might pop up. 'I've brought an axe to sever the necks of orcs, not to bring down the trees in these woods.' Though many of them were so disformed and diseased that it'd be a kindness to do so, something he wisely neglected to mention.

'A wise decision,' the other one said. 'Peace, my friend,' he told the scowling one. 'It is well within his rights to make use of the road.'

'So may we pass?' His pony shook its head and snorted with the same impatience as its rider felt. 'I would like to make use of the daylight hours to cover some miles.'

Not that there was ever any true daylight under these trees, but at least it wasn't as pitch black as it was at night. Without fail he felt ill at ease in these woods, but the road through them was the quickest way home. If he was forced to go around, he'd not be back in time for the anniversary and that would rather defeat the purpose of the journey.

The nicer elf inclined his head. 'Most assuredly so, Prince Thráin. If you will permit me, I shall accompany you through our woods. The activity of spiders has much increased of late,' he added when he noticed that Thráin was about to inform him that he did not require a babysitter at his age.

Even so, he might have refused the offer if he had been alone. Yet he was not alone. He had so far taken pains to ensure Bilbo's safety. It would be foolish to take risks now.

'Very well,' he agreed. For Bilbo's sake he could bear the elf for the duration of the trip through Mirkwood. 'We should be glad of your company, Master…?' It wasn't as if either of them had introduced themselves. Nothing new there then.

The elf didn't miss a beat. 'Lancaeron, at your service.' He indicated his sour-faced companion. 'This is Master Cilmion.'

Thráin resolved never to cross his path ever again. Something about this elf set his teeth on edge. He could not put his finger on it, but something in the glint in his eyes and the set of his mouth hinted at malice beyond the usual dislike. It'd be wise not to linger long.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but neglected to say that it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance. No doubt Master Cilmion took that as the insult it was intended to be.

Lancaeron at least did not waste time in retrieving a horse and joining them. 'Please follow me,' he invited.

Not even a fool could fail to notice the change in Thráin as soon as Lancaeron joined them. Before now he had been careful and careless at the same time. Careful he was still, but the carelessness had gone in an instant. Now he was constantly on guard. He'd turned taciturn and wary. No more did he ask for stories or did he offer them himself.

In fact, he reminded Bilbo uncomfortably of Thorin.

He might have thought that the woods were the cause of the dampened moods, if he had not seen how Thráin held himself when near Lancaeron. The elf was courteous and friendly enough to Bilbo, though it was clear he no more knew how to behave around Thráin than Thráin knew how to behave around him.

There is no open enmity at least.

He supposed that this was as much as he was going to get.

Having said that, the journey through Mirkwood was no hardship. True, the darkness was as oppressive as he remembered from his first journey and the eyes looking at their small party at night unsettled him, but they did not come under attack. For a period of three days both Lancaeron and Thráin were more tense than they already were. Both said that it was because spiders were nearby. He didn't see anything, but a shadow and a threat crept on his mind. He felt as though there was something just beyond his sight that he'd be better off not meeting. He kept his hand in his pocket, where he could slip his handy little ring on his finger so that he could disappear when he needed to.

Fortunately his better sense prevailed. He had stared down a dragon and lived. He'd fought orcs on the mountainside. He could not leave his companions to face the danger alone, so he reached for Sting instead.

Just as well that it wasn't needed.

Strangely enough, Thráin only became tenser the closer they came to the eastern edge of the woods. For some days Bilbo wondered about that – he knew better than to ask where an elf could hear – but then Lancaeron clarified.

'You would be most welcome to spend the night in Lord Thranduil's palace,' the elf offered on the last day of their journey through Mirkwood.

The shutters closed. 'I think not,' Thráin replied.

'You have nothing to fear,' Lancaeron said. Perhaps he sensed the cause of Thráin's unease.

Though it appeared that he was mistaken in this. 'I do not fear.' From the tone Thráin immediately took this as the insult it wasn't. 'I do not think that your lord would appreciate my presence, nor would I appreciate the comments he no doubt would feel compelled to make.' He bestowed a look of utter contempt on a nearby tree in lieu of the elven lord himself.

Lancaeron considered this. 'Very well. No insult was intended.'

'Not from you,' Thráin agreed. 'This I know.'

Lancaeron was wise enough to leave it at that. 'Then I shall take my leave of you and turn my feet towards my home, as you turn yours to Erebor. I wish you safe travels.' He turned to Bilbo. 'Well met, Master Baggins, it has been my pleasure to assist you on your journey.'

He made no such claims about Thráin, who had been an ungrateful recipient of said assistance from the very first moment. 'I am grateful for your assistance,' he returned.

Thráin voiced no such sentiment.

Some things were apparently destined never to change.

'Have you heard anything about this wretched play of late?' Thorin asked one evening while they were sitting by the fire.

'Not much,' Kate replied, signing her name with a flourish to an order for enough food to feed the Mountain for years. Apparently however it was all going to be eaten at the anniversary itself. 'I've certainly not seen Orin since Dori tore a strip off him.' She smiled fondly at the memory. 'But rehearsals are underway and it seems he's changed the name again.' She consulted the list. 'Apparently it's now called The Chronicles of Thorin Oakenshield.' Another one of her suggestions at that.

Thorin rubbed his forehead. 'Maker be good.'

'I doubt this is the last title. He's still got a little under two weeks. He's more than capable of changing it at least another two times.'

Her husband groaned.

'Yeah, I'm still not that keen either. But at least Balin is dealing with everything concerning the play, so we don't have to think about it too much until the actual premiere.' Which she was trying not to think about at all. 'So there's that.' She signed the last document and then put the whole stack on a side table with a sigh of relief. 'Well, that's the last of it.'

It was no official arrangement that she was the one who saw to the matters that had to do with the anniversary. It had come about quite naturally. Thorin had very little patience for paperwork in general and paperwork that dealt with what he referred to as frivolous matters in particular. It took the people two years to realise that if they bothered their King with party business they were bound to be subject to long-suffering looks and much grumbling. Their Queen on the other hand would only grumble if they bothered her before September, so it was altogether easier to go to her.

Thorin never said a word about it, but he quietly took on a sizeable chunk of her work in the period that she was always up to her ears in anniversary related business. She loved him all the more for that.

'It is all arranged?'

'Everything to date.' No doubt more requests would find their way to her desk before dawn, seemingly materialising out of thin air overnight. 'And nothing that cannot wait till morning.'

A knock on the door indicated that she had perhaps spoken too soon.

'Come in,' Thorin called.

It couldn't be as urgent as all that, Kate reflected when Lufur poked his head around the door. He was far too cheerful for a crisis to have emerged.

'Good evening, Lufur.'

'Good evening, my lady.'

Oh, for goodness sake! 'We have been friends for nearly twenty-five years now. Don't you think you could perhaps use my name by now?'

He grinned. 'Of course, my lady Kate.'

Which had not been at all what she intended.

'What can we do for you tonight?' This was a battle she apparently was destined not to win. She'd put up a token protest every once in a while, but while she was the Queen under the Mountain, she wasn't the speech police, so if that was what he wanted to call her, he was well within his rights to do so. 'Has something happened?'

'Only good news,' he hastened to reassure her. 'I believe you might want to know that Thráin has returned.'

She smiled. 'You're absolutely right.'

He had been gone for nearly a year. He could look after himself, but that didn't mean she liked that one of her sons was always gallivanting off to distant places, getting into trouble and returning home with more scars than he had when he set off. Of late she had been worried. It wasn't out of character for him to be gone for months, but this absence had been prolonged even by Thráin's standards.

Next to her Thorin looked visibly relieved as well. 'Where is he now?'

'At the gates,' Lufur answered promptly. 'Where Thoren accosted him and now, it seems, an impromptu celebration is in progress, for Thráin has brought a guest to our halls.' He grinned a little wider.

Elvaethor. Had to be. He usually showed up in time for the anniversary, and a good deal earlier if he could get away with it. By his standards he was running late this year.

'We're coming.'

Lufur led the way, grinning so widely it nearly split his face in half. Thorin did his best to hide a smile. He was never as open in his friendships as most other people, but Kate knew he liked Elvaethor. It was hard not to like him and Elvaethor had hung around persistently and won over even the King under the Mountain at last. Thorin appreciated loyalty and steadfastness. Elvaethor possessed both qualities in abundance, to the everlasting exasperation of his own king.

Yet it appeared that she was mistaken in her assumption.

The figure standing in the middle of a group of admirers and well-wishers was too small to be Elvaethor. Yet she knew him. In fact, here was one who really hadn't changed at all since she had last seen him twenty-five years ago.

'Bilbo Baggins!'

Next time: Bilbo arrives in Erebor, the play happens and Thoren says a few things that are not going to age particularly well.

You can expect the last bit of this two-parter in about two weeks. For those who don't know, I am currently in the process of moving house, so my schedule is a little unpredictable right now, so it may be a little later or earlier, but that's what I'm aiming at.

Thank you very much for reading. Reviews would absolutely make my day, so feel free to leave on.

Until the next time!