Helo, beautiful readers, time for Thorin and his searching party to meet Bard!
=^.^=
The wind playing with her braids was enthralling to say the least. She missed it, Dís had to concede. Unfortunately, the rare occasions she had to feel the wind in her tresses were such as these – cases of crisis – or her escapades to the Shire. Cases of crisis were becoming rarer by the year, which she was thankful. Yet, escapades to the Shire could be more often, for all she knew. Kíli seemed to have no qualms about her predilection for Bilbo's scones, and looked happy enough watching the sunset from Bag-end's front bench whilst she exchanged recipes with Bilbo in the kitchen. Moreover, if she were to exchange more than recipes, her son seemed to be unbothered by it.
Now, how could it help when her younger one decided to vanish?
She was distracted from her musings by Bilbo, who guided his pony closer to her with curiosity.
"I knew you didn't mind to travel, but I wasn't aware of your fighting skills."
"I don't mention it unless needed."
"Your war axe is... quite impressive."
Dís smiled at the compliment, nodding with a knowing expression.
"Not used to this kind of lass, huh? Does it bother you?"
"What? No! I... I kind of... I like it. It... suits you. Really."
She kept her half smile, contented.
"When Thorin mentioned you looked more like a grocer than like a burglar, I imagined you would be more tempted by a lass with gardening shears than by a shieldmaiden with a battle axe."
"Hmpf. Those never tempted me, actually. Insipid gossipers unable to think outside their little boring lives. They would never dare to... taste untasted wells, so to say."
"And you?"
"Me, what?"
"Would you dare?"
He wasn't sure her questioning was teasing or actual doubt, but his mind was set on his goal. Bilbo squared his shoulders and uplifted his chin, as if it could make him look burlier.
"I've dared a dragon. Anything less than a furnace with wings is feasible. Or, what is it you think I wouldn't dare?"
"That's what I wonder myself."
The hobbit was startled by Thorin's deep voice rumbling at his side.
"Brother." Dís acknowledged his presence. "We were talking about flowering hobbit lasses who wouldn't dare to taste a... what was it, Bilbo? An untasted well?"
"Well..."
"Of course he would." Thorin measured Bilbo with a piercing gaze. "Given the chance."
"Are you so sure?"
"I'd bet my beard."
"He might be given a chance, then."
"You're too kind."
"No, I'm not. But I'm fair. And you are a fool."
"I won't dispute this."
Bilbo was a little overwhelmed by their interaction, unsure about what, precisely, they were talking about. He cleared his throat to remind them of his presence.
"Aye?"
Both turned to him, questioningly.
"Erm... Any news from the scouts?"
"Unfortunately, nothing yet."
"Then why are the most of us heading south?"
"Because it's the easiest way if someone wants to run away from Erebor, as we believe is Kíli's intent. Too rough terrain to the North, Dáin's people to the East, Forest Fairy to the West. To the South there's Rhûn, Gondor, Dol Amroth, Umbar, Harad..."
"More than enough places if someone wants to hide, huh?"
"Not enough if the one in search of him is as determined as me."
"You forget, brother, the same determination that runs in your blood runs in his veins, too. And that it's called stubbornness."
"That's not entirely true. You should know the difference between stubbornness and determination by now."
"Which is...?" Asked Bilbo, just to be sure.
"People call it stubbornness whilst you don't achieve what you seek. When you achieve it..."
"If you achieve it, brother..."
"When you achieve it, people say it was determination."
"Which makes you...?" Questioned Bilbo.
"I reclaimed a mountain, didn't I?"
"Indisputable."
"See, Dís? Not stubborn."
Dís rolled her eyes. It would be a long day of riding.
-ooo-
The searching party rode for just a couple hours before they found something, albeit not tracks belonging to Kíli. A small group of Rohirrim with their stout horses saw them heading south and halted the party.
"News from the North, o people of the anvil?"
"This is our land and you seem far from your own to come questioning for news, people of the horse."
Bilbo facepalmed at Thorin's amount of tact – which was null.
"I'm Dunwine son of Folcwine, Third Marshal of the Ridermark. We're riding on behalf of Bard the Dragonslayer, King of Dale, whose daughter, my sister-in-law, has been kidnapped. Any news from the North to enlighten our search, o people of the anvil?"
Thorin's countenance changed immediately. The ones who knew about the wedding arrangement got startled, Dís bringing a hand to her mouth to muffle a cry of dismay.
"We are friends to King Bard and his family. I'm Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and greet you and your party into our land, o Dunwine son of Folcwine. From Erebor to this place no sign of Princess Tilda was seen. We have more scouts to the North, East and West, for our own purposes, and I'm confident they would give notice if any ruffian was seen in these parts. What happened?"
"None knows for sure, your Highness. King Brad found her missing this morning, her chambers in disarray, the window forced from the outside. He fears some unsatisfied merchant guild is to blame, but..." Dunwine dismounted and stepped closer to Thorin, so as to talk to his ears only. "His son, my brother-in-law, mentioned Bard dismissed recently a rich fellow from Rhûn who came to propose marriage to Princess Tilda. Didn't look like the kind who takes no for an answer, in Bain's opinion."
"That's grave news. We'll keep one eye on any clue of her whereabouts while on our own chase. Yet again, better to seek south."
"Thank you very much, your Highness." Dunwine's gratitude was real, as was his worry, and all he could do was to offer the same. "And in what manner can we reciprocate? What is this chase of yours, if I may be so bold and ask?"
For all his worry and empathy about Tilda's kidnapping, Thorin wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of confessing his nephew ran away.
"Well, we're on a... traditional game called... track the tracker. Out best scout is given a... lead… and then we try to find him. It's... very entertaining."
Dunwine frowned at the strange dwarwish game and more so when he noticed the amount of weapons they had on themselves and their mounts. He had no wish to be in the poor scout's boots, when he was found. Which made him wonder...
"Your Highness, once you are so certain there's no chance the bandits headed this way, would you mind our company in your track the tracker southward? If this scout of yours is so good, he might be able to aid us in our need."
Considering how fitting it would be if Kíli were the one to rescue Tilda from her captors, if they effectively found Kíli, Thorin had to agree. Not that Thorin had any kind of romantic inclination, of course he didn't!
"The sooner we track this tracker and Tilda's kidnappers, the lighter my heart will beat."
-xxx-
The "Traditional Track the Tracker Tournament" resumed the searching pattern, each rider at a shout's distance from the next one and drawing chevrons across the land. The addition of the Rohirrim party allowed them to cover a wider range. Also, it allowed them to skip the area the blond humans had covered before in their search for Tilda. This gain had them reaching Bard and his own party by the end of the afternoon, when they were preparing to camp.
Dunwine greeted his father-in-law and quickly explained the presence of the dwarves. Bard frowned and hurried to meet the King Under the Mountain.
"What is this Track the Tracker bullshit, Thorin?"
"The bullshit one uses to cover up the stupid deeds of a relative." The dwarf muttered. "I'll explain in full with less audience around us."
"Understood." Bard nodded. "I thank you for your help in the rescue of my daughter. I'll skin her kidnapper alive as soon as I put my hands on his filthy being. I'm afraid the wedding will have to be postponed if we fail to find Tilda soon."
The pain on Bard's face was visible, and Thorin sympathized with the man. One more reason to draw the bowman away from the middle of the camp and break the news.
"Speaking of being afraid… I'm afraid Tilda's kidnapping might not be the only reason to postpone the wedding."
"What?" Bard frowned. "Wasn't it all settled? Didn't we have an agreement?"
"Well, actually…" Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seems we having an agreement doesn't mean Kíli has an agreement… He insists he's a widower to Tauriel and, as such, unwilling to marry any other person."
"What?" Bard was about to conquer a perpetual frown on his forehead. "What does he claim against my daughter?"
"Nothing! Nothing!" Thorin hurried to clarify. "As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure I told him the name of his would-be-bride before he stormed away and… well, that was the last I saw of him. Our Track the Tracker bullshit, as you correctly classify it, is our effort to find my nephew and bring him back to fulfil his… duties."
Bard frown softened a bit.
"Good. I mean, it's bad enough as it is, but it is good he doesn't have anything against her. I shooed away intendants enough on his behalf to have him despise my little girl." He closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying hard to hide his pain. "If we only find her before anything bad happens…"
Thorin clapped the shoulder of the bowman, compassionate.
"We will, my friend. We will see it done. I don't worry about Kíli, he's more than able to fend for himself in the wild, so, whenever we find him, he's found. Yet Tilda… She's our priority from now on."
Bard thanked him profusely, once more convinced that the blood alliance between their houses was the best thing their families and kingdoms could ever dream.