Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Come on, it's past your bedtime. To bed with you now! No, little one, you've played long enough today.

A story? Well, alright. If it will make you go to sleep faster.

Now, where to begin?

Once there was a star that fell to the Middle Earth. Now, there are some who say that stars are bright gems burning with an inner fire high in the sky. Others say that stars are balls of gas burning far, far away. The truth of the matter is stars are alive. They are a goodly folk, no different from Dwarves or Elves or Men. The only difference is that the hearts of stars account for their light, illuminating the sky with their beauty.

The star that fell was a young maiden, fair and beautiful. Her descent into Middle Earth attracted the attention of Thror, King of Erebor. Erebor was a mighty and prosperous kingdom. With their craft and the rich minerals of their mountain, the dwarves of Erebor brought great wealth to the land. Now, Thror was not a bad king. Indeed, many parts of him were good. He truly loved his people, his kingdom, and his family, and had their best interests in mind. But for every good quality within a person, there is a darker side. For Thror, it was his hunger for gold and jewels to increase the power and prestige of him family and his kingdom. This greed made him capture the naïve star, knowing her heart would bring beauty and splendor to his realm. He feasted and dined her and paid every due courtesy to her until her heart glowed with a power that rivaled that of the sun and the moon. And then...he cut open her chest and took her shining heart for-

Oh my dear boy, don't cry. Shh...I'm sorry for upsetting you. I'll stop…

Alright, you've convinced me. I'll continue.

Thror took the heart of the star and affixed it above his throne, signifying wealth and power of his line. He told no one of its origin, calling it the "Arkenstone," the heart of the mountain. Such was its beauty that even the King of Greenwood, Thranduil, came to pay tribute to Erebor. But wherever there is power and beauty, evil is sure to follow. A dreadful wyrm named Smaug, attracted by the gold, gems, but especially the Arkenstone of Erebor, attacked. As a final, desperate act, Thror pulled out the Arkenstone and released the power of the star. Smaug the Terrible was permanently blinded by its power, but in his rage, he destroyed the dwarf kingdom and sent its inhabitants fleeing into exile.

The great kingdom of Erebor was no more. Thranduil and all their other allies abandoned its people. The great Arkenstone, all of its power released, crumbled into stardust. Thror himself later fell at the battle of Azanulbizar, cut down by the terrible orc, Azog the Defiler. With his dying breath, Thror told his grandson and heir Thorin that the only salvation for the kingdom of Erebor was the heart of a star. Thorin led the remnant of his people to the Blue Mountains, forging a new life among the men who lived there. But he never forgot the words of his grandfather and vowed to find the heart of a star and reclaim his kingdom. And so the years passed, until destiny and a clumsy star would change his life forever…

Chapter Text

It was Kíli and Fíli who first saw the old man approaching the Blue Mountain. Kíli had just finished his chores and Fíli felt a few minutes smoking peacefully outside with his brother would be worth the scolding from their mother. The Indian summer had brought clear skies and a warm sun for the first time in what felt like ages, and Fíli felt justified in abandoning the sweltering forge and climbing to the jutting rock surrounded by heather and clover. He leaned against the rock and shut his eyes at the cool breeze while the smell of pipeweed drifted down from where Kíli was sitting.

"Fíli! Oi, Fíli!"

His eyes flew open at Kíli's excited shout.

"I see an old man coming this way!"

Fíli clambered up to where his brother was sitting and indeed there was an old man, if the grey beard and hair was any indication, steadily clambering up the steep path. For some reason, Fíli felt a strange energy in the air as he approached, like an oncoming storm crackling the air with its might.

The old man stopped just below them and peered at them from below the brim of his strange, oversized hat.

"Who might you be?" Fíli asked, drawing one of his blades. He didn't know how the old man got past their sentries, but it was all the more reason to be on guard.

"An old man seeking some shelter for the night." The old man replied mildly, "When was it that the house of Durin became so discourteous to strangers?"

"Answer the question!" Kíli growled, drawing his own blade. He itched for his bow, the one even their uncle had difficulty stringing!

"Very well, I am Gandalf...and Gandalf is me. I seek an audience with your uncle, Thorin Oakenshield. Does that answer your question?"

"Gandalf!" Fíli gaped, "Gandalf Tharkûn? Gandalf the Grey Wanderer?"

Gandalf waved an impatient hand, as though to dispel all the titles.

"Yes, yes, that Gandalf. Tonight will be an important night and it is of utmost importance that I speak with Thorin. Now, will you two kindly lead me to him, or must I go myself?"

---

Thorin was in a foul mood that afternoon and had no patience for entertaining guests, mystical wizards or no. At Dís's insistence, he'd washed away the sweat and grime of the forge and made some pretense at polite conversation. The wizard had already made himself quite comfortable, taking the largest chair and blowing colorful smoke rings for the boys' amusement.

"What brings you here, Gandalf Tharkûn?" Thorin asked bluntly after superficial pleasantries were taken care of.

"Can't an old man visit friends on Durin's Day?"

"Whereas you could not be spared to visit when my people were starving in the wilderness?" Thorin said sarcastically. Dís sent him a stern glare, which he ignored.

"Tell me the real reason you came here, Gandalf." Thorin ordered.

Gandalf released a sigh with a stream of smoke, which slowly coalesced into a fluttering trio of butterflies.

"I bring news from the world. You must know that-"

"Goblins amass at the Misty Mountains. Orcs and wargs have been spotted everywhere. Even trolls have become bolder and have been leaving the mountains to prey upon any folk unlucky to be near the mountains." Thorin snapped, "Would you tell me something I am not aware of?"

"Your grandfather was once king of these lands." Gandalf replied mildly, "I would have thought you would try to take responsibility for your heritage."

Thorin gave a bitter laugh.

"I am no king, as you are well aware. My folk are reduced to miners and blacksmiths, begging for shelter from those we once protected. What would you have me do? The rule of the line of Durin is over, Erebor is over."

Gandalf just viewed him critically but said no more.

"Tonight is a special night. I had hoped to share it with you and your people, and perhaps offer you some advice when the holiday is at an end." He finally ventured.

Thorin smiled bitterly.

"Very well. It would be in poor taste to deny a guest on Durin's Day. You may stay the night, but tomorrow you had better make it worth my time."

Gandalf gave him a sly smile back.

"My dear Thorin. I do believe tonight will be a night you will not easily forget."

---

Durin's Day was celebrated with all due pomp, even out here in exile. Despite their paltry conditions, as much food as could be spared from the winter stores were set upon groaning tables. Lanterns were lit to honor the last day of autumn and the first day of winter, as the sun set and the moon rose. Children laughed and raced around tables, excited to be up this late. Young lasses and lads braided bright beads into their hair and beards and danced into the night, as their elders sat and drank and wondered if spring would come early this year.

Kíli sat in a corner, sullenly nursing a beer. Fíli, breathless from yet another dance with a starry-eyed girl, collapsed in a chair beside him.

"C'mon little brother. What are you doing, sulking over here?"

"I already asked Freta for a dance. She just laughed and said to return when I had a beard that she could actually braid."

Fíli laughed, though not unkindly, and affectionately ruffled Kíli's hair.

"Cheer up, it'll grow in eventually."

Kíli just gave a rude snort and downed the rest of his beer. Even little Ori, one of their kinfolk, had more of a beard than him! It just wasn't fair.

Eventually though Dwalin stopped by and Kíli temporarily forgot his troubles as he listened spellbound to the old soldier's tales of battles with orcs and goblins in the mines of Moria. Dwalin's brother Balin was entertaining the children with tales of long-forgotten gold and mines hidden within far-off mountains. Even Thorin's dour gaze lightened as Dís affectionately pulled him into a dance, but he begged off other womenfolk as they pressed him for a dance as well.

"Ever the brooding stick-in-the-mud," Dís teased, "It would do you no harm to find a lady to court. You are getting no younger, dear brother, and have need of an heir."

"I have Fíli and Kíli , and you besides." Thorin replied shortly, "Besides, what would I have to offer any who would seek my hand besides a ruined kingdom and a blacksmith's lot?"

Dís smiled sadly at her brother and brushed an affectionate hand over his cheek.

"You have more honor and a better heart than any who rule over treasuries of gold and miles of land. One day, we will reclaim what is ours, and you will make the greatest king our people have ever known."

Thorin finally allowed himself an affectionate smile at her words and placed his hand over her hers.

Finally the moment came when the sun dipped under the horizon and the lanterns were dimmed so that everyone could see the last rays of the setting sun meet the dim white light of the moon. A hush fell upon the party as the stars began to emerge in the darkness.

Thorin rose to deliver the usual speech.

"We bid welcome to the end of the harvest and the beginning of the long night. As Durin broke the -"

He was interrupted by a startled gasp. One of the stars began to move! Faster and faster, it arced towards the ground, becoming a streak of white light. None dared move for fear of breaking the spell, as the star descended upon the Middle Earth. When it impacted upon some far away ground, a flash of light briefly blinded all who saw it. For a moment, no one spoke and dared not break their gaze upon the distant place where the star had fallen.

A young voice, Ori no doubt, finally piped up.

"A star! A star has fallen on Durin's Day!"

His words broke the spell that had been briefly cast upon the party. All began to speak at once, excitedly wondering how a star could have fallen and what it meant on such a day.

Thorin's stern voice finally cut through the chaos,

"This cannot be mere chance. A star to fall on Durin's Day when the heart of a star was foretold to be the salvation of Erebor. I shall go and claim this star's heart for Erebor and reclaim my birthright from the dreaded wyrm Smaug. All who would go with me must speak now, for I will leave in the morning at first light. Who is with me?"

As several voices spoke at once to each proclaim their loyalty to the house of Durin and Erebor, Fíli could not take his eyes off of the distant place where the star had fallen. Excitement stirred his blood as he finally tore his gaze away and added his voice to throng. Only Gandalf seemed unaffected by the hubbub and his eyes were dark and distant as he gazed at the evening sky upon the bare black patch which the star had left behind.

Thousands of miles away, a small figure sat up bewildered at the bottom of a smoking crater. He briefly glanced around at the burnt and blackened ground and then up at the starry sky. He sighed and muttered,

"Oh, bother."

Chapter Text

The star eventually crawled out of his crater with many a groan and grumble. He wasn't used to working with such uncomfortable, clumsy limbs and the terrain was rough on his bare feet. His long silvery robes weren't much use either, always getting snagged on the rocks and brambles that infested the place where he'd landed. As he finally reached the surface, he stared hopelessly at the surrounding countryside. There was nothing but an old dirt road that led who-knows-where and gently rolling hills of grass. Nothing familiar, nothing helpful.

He walked until he reached a crossroads, barren and full of dust, and sat with a miserable thump on the nearest, most comfortable boulder. He honestly had no idea where he might go or what he should do. Being a star didn't exactly carry any special currency on this miserable earth, unless one counted his heart, which he was not willing to be parted with at the moment. His head sank as the full weight of what happened to him sank in. Slowly, his shoulders began to shudder. First one tear escaped and then another, and he buried his head miserably in his hands.

"Excuse me?"

The star looked up with red-rimmed eyes and was met with a plain but honest face. A woman dressed in simple yet finely-made clothes and carrying a sturdy walking stick stood before him.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

"Er…" The star said brilliantly.

"It's a cold night and you look like you could do with a warm meal or two. It's not far from my home, and my husband always makes too much shepherd pie."

The star was torn. She looked kind enough and he was tempted, but he remembered the greedy king had put on a similar face for his sister to lure her to his kingdom.

"Were you robbed? It's alright, no one will hurt you now. Come along."

Before he could protest, she pulled him to his feet and helped him along.

"W-wait. Hold on just a minute. I don't even know your name." The star managed to squeak out.

"Oh? You can speak," The woman teased gently, "My name's Belladonna Baggins."

---

The Bagginses were a lovely couple and very kind. They had no children, so they were open to having unexpected guests, however strange. The star ate earthly food for the first time and found it simply divine. The Bagginses didn't mind his lack of manners and smiled as he eagerly tucked in to his third helping.

They also didn't mind his evasive answers to their questions, and allowed that he was obviously a nobleman of some sort who had a mishap or two along the road. The star in turn was touched by their kindness and wondered if perhaps not all of the earthly creatures were as cruel as the king had been. When they gave him a soft bed for the night and did not try to cut open his chest while he slept (for he was exhausted after his descent), the star finally decided that they were trustworthy enough.

At morning over breakfast, he told them an abbreviated version of his troubles, for he knew that his coming could not have been ignored by those who sought a star's heart. The Bagginses were horrified at the thought that anyone would want to kill someone so young (he laughed inwardly at that) and innocent, and offered to adopt him as their own to keep him safe. The star was honored, and he told them as much, but he knew that the countryside would soon be swarming with men seeking a fallen star, and this small hamlet would not keep quiet about a new resident for long. The last thing he wanted was to bring trouble to the ones that helped him.

Seeing that he could not be persuaded to stay, the Bagginses gave him some of Mr. Baggins's old walking clothes to replace his conspicuous silvery robes and a name, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. With his new clothes and name, Bilbo (it was a bit silly, but it suited him well enough) set out to find somewhere far and safe. In hindsight, perhaps he ought not to have been so optimistic about his fortunes on the road alone.

---

Bilbo reached a town called Bree in a few days. In contrast to the Shire, it was filthy and muddy and its people far less friendly. He kept his borrowed walking stick close at hand and avoided anyone's eye. Unfortunately he didn't make himself unobtrusive enough. As he passed the swinging sign of a dancing pony, he was rudely yanked into a dark alley.

"Wh-" He was cut off by a vicious blow to the stomach and would have fallen, were it not for the harsh grip on his arms.

"Halfling, rich one by the look of his clothes. Check his bag, Charlie." A harsh voice behind him ordered.

"Please, I, take it! Take whatever you want!" Bilbo coughed, "I don't want any trouble."

"Shut him up!"

Bilbo flinched from the expected blow, but it never came.

"Halt!" A powerful burst of light briefly lit up the alley, sending the would-be robbers scampering for the shadows. Bilbo fell to the filthy floor, dazed and shocked.

A pair of large gentle hands drew him up and he found himself staring up into deep and piercing blue eyes. Bilbo gasped in equal parts disbelief and relief.

"Olórin!"

"My dear unfortunate star," Olórin sighed and drew him into a comforting hug, "What on earth has happened to you?"

---

Olórin, calling himself Gandalf for some odd reason, led the frightened star into the inn, whose rough appearance was belied by the warmth and comfort its interior provided.

"You were quite fortunate you happened to be in Bree, today of all days." Gandalf commented as they made their way through the throng, "My companions and I were only planning to spend a day or two here before moving on."

"Your companions?" Bilbo repeated, "Oló- that is, Gandalf. I don't understand. What are doing here, and in this, er, form?"

"Oh a bit of mischief here and there." Gandalf chuckled, "You see, I'm part of company of adventurers and I think it would be to your benefit if you joined us."

"Adventurers? I don't understand." Bilbo complained.

Gandalf just smiled in that dratted mysterious way of his and Bilbo swallowed any further questions he might have had. Gandalf finally led him to a dimly lit backroom whose inhabitants were making quite a ruckus. Bilbo's eyes widened in horror as he beheld a company of dwarves, eagerly eating, drinking, and carousing. Only Gandalf's firm hand on his shoulder prevented him from making a run for it.

"Have you gone mad?" Bilbo hissed, "Dwarves? Just how is this to my benefit? The minute they find out what I am…"

"Gandalf!" A rough voice boomed and thirteen pairs of eyes lit upon the pair. Bilbo shrank back and tried to hide within the folds of Gandalf's robes.

"Just who is this?" A dark-haired dwarf glared at him, and Bilbo felt the oddest sense of familiarity at the appearance of the dwarf.

"This, Thorin Oakenshield, is to be the fourteenth member of your Company. Behold, I have found your burglar."

"Burglar?" Bilbo squawked as a murmur went through the dwarves.

"He looks more like a grocer." Thorin snorted contemptuously, "Is this really the best you could find in a town like this?"

"Looks soft." A half-bald burly dwarf added darkly, "More like to run than fight."

"There you go again, Dwalin," An auburn dwarf with most peculiar hair (were those his eyebrows braided into his hair?) laughed, "Mistakin' brawn for brains. 'S long as he's fast and quiet on his feet, 'll vouch for him!"

"Here, here!" A small blond dwarf piped up.

"Figures you of all dwarves would recognize a thief." An old dwarf with an ornate ear-horn muttered.

"Enough!" Gandalf boomed, "This is your burglar, I'll stake my life on it. If you're displeased, you're perfectly welcome to continue on without my help! You asked for a fourteenth member, and here he is. Don't let him fool you, there's more to this halfling than you know."

Bilbo was pushed forward and stood uncomfortably under the gaze of thirteen scrutinizing eyes.

"Erm…" Bilbo stammered and remembered his manners, "Bilbo Baggins at your service, I suppose."

Two young dwarves stood up and bowed formally.

"Fíli," said one.

"-and Kíli," said the other.

"-at your service!" They finished together.

One by one, the Company went around and introduced themselves, all save for Thorin who remained seated and just nodded imperiously. Bilbo guessed he was the leader, of a sort.

"Well," Bilbo said, once the introductions were finished, "now that that's out of the way, could someone please tell me what this is all about?"

"Didn't Gandalf tell you?" Balin questioned, with a half a glance at the old wizard who'd seated himself comfortably by the fire with his pipe.

"No," Bilbo sent a scathing glare at Gandalf who just smiled benignly back, "He quite failed to mention, in fact, just what I'd burgling and where!"

"Well, laddie," Balin smiled, "That's quite a tale to tell."

"We seek a fallen star." Thorin cut in brusquely.

Bilbo felt the ground fall out from under him.

"A-a star?" He stammered.

"Indeed, it fell not five days ago near this place." Thorin's eyes grew distant, "Its heart will provide us with exactly what we need."

"And w-what precisely is that?" Bilbo squeaked.

"A chance to retake Erebor from the dreaded wyrm Smaug." Thorin declared, a proud look softening his harsh face, "To reclaim our homeland and rebuilt our kingdom with its power."

"R-retake?"

"Indeed." Thorin smiled distantly, "For I am Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, the rightful King Under the Mountain."

Bilbo pulled in weak gasps of air, a distant roaring in his ear.

"You alright, laddie?" He dimly heard Balin's voice.

"Air," Bilbo muttered, "I need-"

"You," Thorin said imperiously, as though Bilbo had not spoken, "have but one task, and that is to get me the heart of the star. I will suffer no one who would keep it from me."

Bilbo shuddered and let out a thin wheeze.

"Nope." He whimpered and promptly fainted.

Chapter Text

Bilbo came to in a soft bed as Gandalf's worried face swam into view. He blinked dumbly for several minutes and lay back with a groan. Gandalf brought a steaming mug from his bedside table and helped Bilbo wrap his trembling fingers around it.

"Here, this will make you feel better."

Bilbo nodded automatically and sipped at the drink. It was quite bitter, but left him feeling warm and a bit less shaky.

"I'm sorry, my boy, I didn't mean for you to have such a shock…"

"I'm alright," Bilbo muttered, "Hardly worse than falling down here."

"Speaking of which," Gandalf straightened, "How did you fall?"

Bilbo took a steadying swallow of the tea and closed his eyes.

"I don't know. All I remember is…"

Pain within his chest. A sudden drop. Vertigo as the universe swam before his eyes and he was suspended briefly in space . The cries of his brothers and sisters calling his name. And then they became further away as he slipped downwards...slowly at first and then faster and faster and faster and everything blurring and roaring past as he fell...

Bilbo sucked in his breath and his grip around the mug shuddered. Gandalf laid a gentle hand on his shoulder as he choked back tears.

"I don't know how or why I fell, Olórin. I just want to go home." The last part faded into a whisper as Bilbo looked pleadingly up at Gandalf.

"I cannot take you back, Bilbo Baggins." The old wizard admonished, "You know that. Whether you like it or not, this is your home now."

"But you would have me travel with dwarves? Dwarves of Erebor?" Bilbo scowled, "After what their king did to my sister?"

"Thror is long since dead, Bilbo," Gandalf said sternly, "And the years have not been kind to his people. They are now without a kingdom or a home. Most have been forced to wander without hope for many long years. They need you, Bilbo, far more than you can understand."

"They need my heart you mean!" Bilbo grumbled, "If they'd found me in that crater, they'd have cut me open without a word."

"You should not judge these folk so hastily from the deeds of one," Gandalf said sadly, "You will find kindness and cruelty alike among them, as you would among your own kin. Please trust me, old friend. Please trust my faith in them and in yourself."

"I can’t do this Gandalf," Bilbo whispered at last, "I can't travel with the grandson of the one who murdered my sister."

"The choice is yours, I cannot make you do anything," Gandalf said, "But you must not let bitterness cloud your judgment. There is honor and goodness to be found in Thorin's heart, however cold he may seem."

Bilbo gave a harsh bark of laughter and stared down at the herbal concoction in his mug.

"And what happens," Bilbo asked quietly, "When he finds out exactly what I am?"

"That is for you to decide, my friend." The old wizard said gravely, "But you may depend upon me, I will not betray your secret."

The star smiled wanly back and finished his tea.

He later padded out his room, intending to tell the dwarves, sorry all the same, but he wasn't the right person for the job so if they'd just let him be on his way…

He paused right outside the backroom where he'd met them. Thorin stood gravely by the fire, staring into the flames with an intense majesty. His voice, a soft baritone that brought to mind deep caverns beneath the earth, was raised in song.

"Far over the Misty Mountains cold…
"To dungeons deep and caverns old…"

More voices added to his until the whole company sang their song in unison. It was a song filled with grief and longing, with strength and purpose. Despite himself, Bilbo felt a sense of kinship with these folk who had lost so much but still somehow had hope. After all, didn't he of all people know what it was like to be wrenched from his home and sent out into the wild…?

And that was when Bilbo Baggins, former star now burglar, realized he was leaving with the thirteen dwarves.

---

The next morning there was no talk of burglars or lost stars, yet everyone seemed to understand he'd decided to join the Company. Balin simply smiled and handed over his contract over breakfast.

"It's just the usual sort of thing: summary about pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo repeated, somewhat anxiously. He was risking enough as it was, traveling with dwarves seeking his very heart!

The dwarf with the funny hat (Bofur or Bifur or something) perked up with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Oh aye! Even before we reach the dragon, we'll be traveling through the Wild. All sorts of nasty things there. Goblins, bandits…"

"-trolls, wargs," One of the two younger ones joined in, a similar smirk on his face, "and orcs. Don't forget about the orcs."

Bilbo tried not to let his fear show, but his stomach lurched at the thought of the dark things that awaited him.

"Right, well, s'pose that's why we're all, er, traveling together." He coughed, hiding his face in a pretense of examining his contract.

"And what's your weapon?" The damned dwarf prince (or king or whatever they call kings without kingdoms) had somehow materialized right behind him.

"I, uh, well…" Bilbo stammered.

Thorin just studied him contemptuously with dark eyes.

"You've never held a weapon in your life, have you?" He snapped.

"Well, you hired me to burgle, not fight." Bilbo pointed out, indignation winning out over fear.

"We shall see if you can do even that." Without another word, Thorin strode out, the large one with the tattoos on his shaved head at his side.

"Ah, don't mind him lad," Balin patted his hand kindly, ""Just in a foul mood this morning. Word from Gandalf is the star's already been found and is moving East towards the Misty Mountains, which means we must follow it into the Wild before it goes beyond our reach."

"Right." Bilbo muttered, "Sorry, I just...where do I sign again?"

---

They left around midday on a horde of ponies. Bilbo, who was only beginning to get used to walking, found riding even more uncomfortable and could not stop sneezing. Although gentle, his pony had little patience for a halfling that sat on her back like a sack of flour and spent most of the first day misbehaving at every turn. The dwarves only laughed whenever Bilbo's pony veered off the path or stubbornly stopped to graze as he cursed and pleaded with her to no avail. Finally Bofur took pity on him and grabbed the pony's reins to lead her back into the procession.

"It's all attitude, Mr. Baggins," Bofur said cheerfully, "Just make sure she knows you're in charge and she'll be as tender as a lamb!"

"Thank you," was all Bilbo could say in return. He was sore, more than a little tetchy, and quite done with this adventuring business altogether! Gandalf rode by his side and tried to keep his spirits up, but Bilbo began to feel joining this Company had been a severe mistake.

The first night, he could only collapse numbly from his pony and hobble over to a comfortable place to rest. The dwarves, however, had little patience for anyone who didn't carry their weight. He was soon hauled to his feet and made to gather kindling for the fire.

"It'll help your legs to stretch 'em a bit, anyways." The old dwarf with the ear-horn advised somewhat sympathetically.

It didn't. The next morning, Bilbo could scarcely move and needed both Bifur and Bofur's help to get back onto his pony.

"Don’t worry, lad." Balin murmured as he passed by, "First day's always the worst, in my experience. It'll get better."

Somehow, it did. Slowly Bilbo's sore muscles toughened and his hands grew harder, as he grew used to life on the move. He learned how to start a fire with a flint stone, dress freshly-killed game, and somehow learned how to tell all the dwarves apart. Eventually, he even came to be fond of his pony, named Myrtle, and made sure to sneak her extra apples.

All the while, the land grew wilder and more treacherous. Game grew scarcer and more often then not they were forced to turn back to camp empty-handed. And then it began raining.

Sheets and sheets of rain poured onto the woeful party. Even Gandalf seemed miserable, water dripping steadily from the brim of his hat as he slumped against his pony.

"Couldn't you do something about the rain, Gandalf?" Kíli shouted over the wind.

"What do you imagine I could do, Master Kíli?" Gandalf answered dryly, "Unfortunately my many talents do not include control of the weather."

"What's the use of having a wizard then?" Dwalin muttered under his breath.

Finally they managed to find an abandoned farmhouse which protected them somewhat from the deluge, although the roof was badly leaking and the wind rattled through the cracks. Gandalf had a troubled frown on his face as the dwarves busily set up camp.

"Once a family I knew lived here," He muttered half to himself, "Father, mother, several children. Where could they all have gone?"

Thorin meanwhile had cleared off the rotted table and spread out a map, with Balin and Dwalin at his side and Fili and Kili eagerly peeping over his shoulder. Bilbo wandered over, as much to keep track of where they were going as make sure the dwarves did not suspect he was the star they were looking for.

"The nearest trading port would have be at Loudmouth Quay, assuming whoever found it recognized its value. Hopefully it did not already pass over the Misty Mountains or fall in the hands of Elves. At any rate, we should inquire at the port whether anyone had dealt in strange stones recently."

"Pardon me," Bilbo ventured, "Did you say stones? I thought we were looking for a star."

Thorin and the rest turned and looked at him as though he were an idiot child.

"Mr. Baggins," Balin said with just the slightest air of condescension, "What do you imagine stars are?"

"Well, I..." Bilbo began somewhat defensively.

"Stars are but gems, similar to those hidden in the earth. The Arkenstone of Thror, the emblem of Erebor, was itself the very heart of a star. Ah, but you should have seen it, Mr. Baggins. In the days of old when we mined and crafted the finest of things!"

"The Arkenstone." Thorin murmured, an unfocused look upon his face, "The most beautiful gem ever to grace the halls of my grandfather. It burned with an inner fire, even with no light it shone."

"W-wait, hold on," Bilbo squeaked, barely daring to believe his good fortune, "We're looking for a rock here. Just a rock?"

He may as well have said Thorin's mother was a wizened hag for the dark looks he got, but he was too pleased with this turn of events to care.

"It is no mere rock. It is to be the salvation of my kingdom. Have care to remember that, burglar." Thorin snarled.

"Yes, of course." Bilbo hummed, a dreamy smile on his face, "I'll just pop over and see if the soup's done."

"That lad is not quite right in the head." Balin murmured as the burglar tripped off.

Chapter Text

"You're in a good mood." Bombur commented as Bilbo helped cut the vegetables for the evening's soup, humming an odd song under his breath.

"Oh, you know." Bilbo waved a vague hand still clutching the paring knife, "Lovely day."

"It was pouring rain this whole day." Bofur said dryly as he brought a steaming spoonful of soup to his lips. His eyes narrowed and he brought the ladle down harshly on his brother's hand.

"Oi, you don't get to eat early just because you're helping me!"

As Bombur disappointedly got back to sorting out which of their supplies was to go into the soup, Gandalf stormed by.

"A curse on the stiff necks of dwarves." The wizard growled as he left the farm house.

"Gandalf?" Bilbo put down his knife and hurried after, heedless of Bofur's protests.

"Gandalf? Where are you going?" Bilbo called out as the wizard paused, the rain already saturating his hat and robes.

"To consult with the only member of this party with any sense," Gandalf snapped, "Namely, myself!"

With that, he continued furiously into the storm and soon vanished in the downpour. Bilbo watched him go with some trepidation. Even knowing now that the dwarves had no idea they were searching for a living star rather than a rock with a gem inside, Bilbo still felt more comfortable around the dwarves when Gandalf was with them. He reluctantly returned to the boiling cauldron to continue cooking the night's supper.

---

As Bilbo helped pass out the soup for the night, he finally found out what had prompted Gandalf's abrupt departure.

"He and Thorin had a bit of an argument." Balin explained as he took the bowl from Bilbo, "Gandalf felt we ought to go to the elves for advice on the star and Thorin would hear none of it."

"Why does Thorin dislike elves?" Bilbo asked, "They're a wise and kind folk, at least, that's what I've heard."

Dwalin snorted disdainfully.

"Those blasted tree-lovers? Liars and cowards the lot of them and no friends of dwarves!"

"You must understand, Mister Baggins." Balin said quietly, "There is no love lost between the dwarves of Erebor and elves. Once we were allied with the wood elves of Greenwood, now called Mirkwood I believe. When we stood tall, they treated us with honor and respect. But when the wyrm Smaug came and devastated our kingdom, they turned away and refused to help us. We can never forgive nor forget their betrayal."

"I see." Bilbo muttered as he left the brothers to their meal. He was of two minds: on the one hand, perhaps he'd be a bit more welcome among elves who honored stars. He was even acquainted with an elf, the mariner who'd become a star. But on the other hand, if they went to the elves and the elves revealed what he was to the dwarves...well, that might bring more trouble than it was worth!

In the end, he reminded himself, he was under contract to the Company as their burglar and that should be honored. From the beginning, Gandalf could have taken him to the elves, but hadn't. For now, he ought to trust the wizard's judgment and stay with the dwarves.

When it came time to give Fíli and Kíli their meals, the young dwarves were nowhere to be seen. Mumbling curses against foolish younglings under his breath, Bilbo picked his way carefully through the outer edge of the forest bordering the tall mountains which sheltered the small valley. Although the rain had let up a bit, it was still far too wet and muddy for his taste!

He found the youngest members of their party flanking the ponies, troubled frowns on both of their faces.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Bilbo asked.

"We came here with sixteen ponies-" Fíli began.

"-but now there are only fourteen." Kíli finished.

"How on earth do you misplace ponies?" Bilbo asked in exasperation.

"Dunno," Fíli replied, not taking his eyes off of the remaining ponies.

"Help us look for them?" Kíli asked, turning to him with pleading eyes.

Bilbo looked back at the inviting glow of their camp and sighed. Well, what was the worst that could happen?

---

Bilbo gave a futile wriggle inside the burlap sack. No use. Say what you would about trolls and their general thickness, they still knew how to keep their prey whole and helpless.

Thorin glared at him nearby, making Bilbo even more guilty about the whole affair. It wasn't like he'd meant to get caught and then used as a hostage to force the dwarves to surrender, but here they were. He'd expected the grandson of Thror to coldly allow the trolls to rip him limb from limb, but instead the dwarf had laid down his sword without a word and bade the others to do the same. The thought that dwarves would give up their lives for him, particularly Thorin, made him feel quite odd.

Most of the dwarves had been tied to a spit to be slowly roasted alive, no doubt to preserve the lot of them. Those deemed tastier, himself included, had been left tied up in sacks to be saved for later. Not exactly a noble end for their Company.

"C'mon Tom, just a taste!" Bert wheedled, leaning close to the rotating spit.

"No, we have to finish them now," Tom snapped, "Don't forget the sun's due soon and we'll all be stone if we don't hurry."

Sun...stone. Bilbo grinned as an idea came to him.

"Excuse me," Struggling to his feet, despite being hampered by the burlap sack, Bilbo hopped closer to the fire, "I believe you three have overlooked something!"

"There's no use trying to argue with them," Dori shouted from his awkward position on the spit, "They're halfwits!"

"Halfwits," Bofur remarked from underneath Dori, "What's that make us then?"

"Excuse me!" Bilbo continued shouting to the trolls, "Have you thought about shares?"

"What are you on about?" Tom snapped, looking down at him suspiciously.

"Just how are you going to divide us all evenly?" Bilbo asked, "I mean, there's three of you and fourteen of us. That means one of you is going to have one less for himself!"

"Do what?" Bert blinked.

"Can't you do simple maths?" Bilbo said, "Look, three goes into fourteen four times, leaving two. That means two of you will get five, and one of you will have to make do with four. Who's that unlucky fellow going to be?"

The trolls just stared at him blankly. Bert started to count slowly on his fingers as Bill scratched his head in confusion. Had Bilbo had his hands free, he would have slapped a hand over his face for the sheer stupidity of it.

"You trying to put us on?" Tom snapped, "There's fourteen of you, that makes it four each!"

This time Bilbo did duck his head and groan. Someone, Fíli or Kíli from the sound of it, gave a muffled chuckle behind him.

"No wait, he's right!" Bert said, proudly displaying four fingers, "Five and five and four is fourteen! I just counted!"

"So who's got to be left with four?" Bill wondered aloud.

"Should be you," Bert said, "I'm cooking and Tom caught the little bugger."

"That's not fair!" Bill protested, "I got me eye burnt and me hand stabbed by those buggers! You didn't even get a scratch! You should get four, you greedy bastard!"

"Who you calling a bastard, you blockhead?"

"Blockhead yourself! And your cooking stinks!"

Bert launched at Bill with a roar and landed a punch on the other troll. There was a great crack, like a hammer striking stone, and William flew back into a tree which knocked it straight over. The blow didn't even seem to faze Bill as he got back to his feet in an instant and lurched back at Bert. In his haste, he knocked over the spit which sent the tied-up dwarves careening to the dirt, thankfully well away from the fire.

Bill meanwhile had caught Bert and they grappled furiously. For a dizzying moment, Bilbo wondered if they wouldn't tear each other apart out of sheer fury. Tom however had other ideas.

"Enough!" He bellowed and, grabbing both of his companions by their thick necks, slammed their heads together with a sickening crack that made everyone wince. Bert and Bill could only stand there, swaying on their feet in a daze while Tom turned furiously to Bilbo.

"You little rat," he growled, grabbing him by the ends of the bag, "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what you're up to?"

Bilbo could only wriggle helplessly in the troll's grasp. He vaguely heard the dwarves in the background cry out in protest.

"Think I'll just have you raw," The troll leered.

Bilbo closed his eyes. He really didn't fancy having the last thing he ever saw be the troll's ugly face.

"Dawn take you all!" A familiar voice rang out, "And be stone to you!"

A great crack of stone and suddenly daylight flooded the grove. Bilbo was thrown to the ground as Tom quailed at the sight of the sun. Within moments, the trolls were all frozen in place, leaving harmless if ugly stone statues behind. Gandalf calmly climbed down from the rock he'd split and smiled down at the dazed star.

"Well done, Bilbo."

"Don't mention it." The battered and sore Bilbo mumbled.

---

Thorin finished cutting Dwalin's bonds and helped his old comrade to his feet. Dwalin mumbled his thanks and stalked off to check on Balin. Thorin didn't blame him. He'd seen to Fíli and Kíli immediately after Gandalf had freed him, and then promptly gave the two of them a sound thrashing for causing the mess in the first place!

After the last of them had been freed, Óin went about grumbling from dwarf to dwarf to heal their wounds. Thankfully most were superficial bumps and bruises that were easily dealt with. After setting up a hasty camp, most of the dwarves settled to nap until late morning to recover from the sleepless, uncomfortable night. Thorin took first watch, reveling quietly in the cool morning and birdsong.

A slight movement made him tense, only to relax as the halfling wandered back into camp. Thorin cocked his head. Clumsy as the halfling was to have been captured so easily by the trolls, he was still very light on his feet and moved almost without sound. Noticing him staring, the burglar paused before his bedroll, considered a bit, then wandered over to where Thorin was keeping watch.

"Get some sleep." Thorin ordered, "We move at midday and it would be best if you kept your wits about you."

"Yes, er, I mean, I am…" The halfling stammered.

Thorin sighed inwardly. He had no idea why the halfling was so intimidated by him. Even Ori didn't get so tongue-tied around him!

"What is it?"

"I just," The halfling drew himself up and managed to stare him straight in the eye, "I just wanted to say that thing you did, um, when the trolls threatened to...you know. What you did...it was, er, good."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. The halfling flushed and ventured on.

"Just wanted to say...thank you, I suppose."

Was that all? Thorin gave him a measuring glare.

"If you wish to repay me, keep out of trouble. I don't need a burden in my Company."

The halfling flinched as if struck, but made no rebuttal. He simply nodded tersely, then stalked back to his bedroll. Thorin ignored the twinge of guilt. He could not allow another incident like this to happen again. Luck and a useful wizard who disappeared half the time would only get them so far.

Chapter Text

Later in the morning, when the sun had fully risen and warmed them somewhat, the dwarves finally rose. Gandalf idly mentioned that trolls typically had lairs nearby, usually filled with the valuables taken from their unfortunate victims, which set Nori and several others to eagerly seek them out. As Gandalf promised, they soon found a cave reeking of troll which indeed carried many treasures and belongings of those eaten by the trolls. Bilbo noticed several tiny bones, small even for hobbits, and a careworn doll made of rags tossed carelessly nearby.

"Gandalf?" Bilbo quavered, pointing to the doll.

Gandalf's expression darkened and then faded to resigned sadness.

"The family whose house we found...even the little ones were not spared it seems."

Bile rose in Bilbo's throat and he hastily excused himself to retch in the bushes and bitterly wonder what he was doing here, in a world so cruel and harsh.

"Y'alright, lad?" Bofur asked gently.

"Fine," Bilbo muttered, "Just fine."

"Last night, first time you faced something like that?"

Bilbo hesitated, then nodded quietly.

"Well," The dwarf put a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Can't say it will get any better, for we'll be facing much worse on the road ahead. But, just know we're a Company, means we're in this together."

Bilbo pasted a smile on his face and nodded again, but the sick feeling didn't leave for a long while.

---

Thorin watched the halfling scurry away and snorted to himself. What did he imagine he'd find in such a place? Was he really so sheltered?

Gandalf shot him a warning look, and led him to a pile of weapons. A sword caught his eye, finely wrought despite the dust and cobwebs that engulfed it. He unsheathed it and his breath caught in his throat. The blade was magnificent, its steel tempered into a perfect edge, not a speck of rust on it despite its clear neglect, and the balance was perfect.

"These were not made by any troll." Thorin murmured half to himself.

"No, indeed. Nor by anyone in this area." Gandalf concurred, picking up a similar sword, plainer and larger than Thorin's. He too unsheathed it and closely examined its workmanship.

"These were forged in Gondolin by the high elves of the First Age."

It was like a bucket of icy water had been splashed in Thorin's face. He looked at the sword with new eyes and considered leaving it to rot. As if sensing Thorin's thought, Gandalf gave him a stern glare.

"You could not ask for a better blade." He said.

Thorin would have scoffed, but he could not deny the sword was exquisite nor could he, after decades of toiling over scrap metal, cast aside good steel. He attached its sheath to his belt with a grunt, and went to oversee the burying of the treasure recovered from the troll cave.

The halfling seemed to have recovered his earlier shock and smiled weakly as the dwarves and Gandalf departed the cave. Fíli and Kíli had regained their spirits and were even now teasing the halfling.

"Come now, don't you know your maths?" Fíli asked in a mock stern voice.

"Why no I haven't, dear hobbit!" Kíli said in a deep slow baritone, "Don't make me count!"

"Oh very funny!" The halfling snapped, but his spirits seemed greatly improved.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf called, a small thin object rolled in a cloth in his hands, "I would like a word."

Thorin paid the wizard and the halfling no heed. If the old fool wanted to coddle the little thing, that was his concern. In the meantime, he and his Company had lost valuable time.

"We make for the Weatherhills." Thorin announced briskly, "From there, we can make our way south to the nearest trading port in Loudwater. We should get news of any sightings west of there."

He shot a searching look to Gandalf as he spoke, but thankfully the wizard made no more mention of elves or the Last Homely House.

Packing what few salvageable supplies they could find in the trolls' cave, they gathered up the ponies and made their way through the rocky hills and into the forest. After the scare from last night, the Company was eager to put this land behind them.

---

Bilbo kept one hand on the curious sword Gandalf had found for him. He'd protested when Gandalf had shown him the small blade, but Gandalf had insisted he keep it.

"I hope you do not have a reason to use this," The wizard had told him solemnly, "but the lands we are going into are dangerous and you will need all the protection you can find."

So Bilbo kept the blade strapped to his belt and kept close by the ponies. Although they'd rescued the ponies stolen by the trolls, the poor beasts were exhausted and could not bear the carry them far. So most of the Company, including Bilbo, walked. Bilbo was quite happy to stretch his legs, and curiously many of the Company had decided to walk by his side. Even though he'd been the reason for the trouble with the trolls, his quick-thinking had earned more admiration than scorn.

"Might give you a name like Bilbo Silvertongue or Bilbo Trollsbane!" Bofur joked beside him.

"I think I much prefer Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo replied, but he smiled in embarrassment at Bofur's teasing tone.

"So dwarves do not have family names, like hobbits?" Bilbo asked to change the subject.

"Well, no." Bofur said, "We have our given names and our dwarvish names, which only our close families know, for names are powerful things you know."

"Yes, I know." Bilbo shivered, remembering his naïve sister and how she had easily revealed her true name to the dwarven king.

"But what about Thorin?" Bilbo asked hurriedly, "You call him 'Oakenshield.'"

"Ah," Bofur now looked a bit shifty, "that's not really for me to say."

"Thorin earned that name long ago in a great battle," Balin said from his place behind Bilbo and Bofur, causing both of them to start, "The battle of Azanulbizar when Thror sought to retake soon Moria after the fall of Erebor."

"What?" Bilbo's stomach lurched at the mention of the dwarf king, but he could not deny he was intrigued at the mention of a battle, "What happened?"

Balin's face grew weary and dark, but his words came unhurried and clear as he told his story.

"Long ago, before the younger dwarves of this Company were even tots crawling at their mother's feet, Thror, his son, and Thorin led our people in a great battle to retake one of our lost strongholds, the mines of Moria. But the enemy had got there first. Moria was overrun with orcs. And so, dwarves and orcs fought a great battle for the fate of our kind.

"Thror was already old and weary, but fought like a dwarf in his prime to reclaim the honor of his kingdom. But alas, Thror fell to the pale orc, Azog the Defiler, and was mortally wounded. Thrain, Thorin's father, went mad with grief. He went missing, dead or taken prisoner we did not know. We would have fallen that day, but for the bravery of our prince, Thorin. Thorin stood alone in his battle against Azog, grabbing a large oaken branch and using it as a shield. In the heat of the battle managed to dismember the pale orc and turned the tide of the battle.

"Our forces rallied and we drove our enemy back, but at a terrible cost. There were no victory songs that night, no feast, for our dead numbered beyond counting. But we few had survived and I thought to myself, 'There is the one I might follow. There is the one I might call King.'"

There was complete silence after Balin finished his tale, with nothing but birdsong and the heavy tread of the dwarves and ponies. Bilbo felt drained and conflicted simply from hearing the account. To hear that Thorin had endured so much: the death of his grandfather, the disappearance of his father, having to lead his people after so many losses had been dealt to him. Even to hear about Thror, the one who had so callously murdered his sister for her heart, had once been a beloved leader and father to his people made Bilbo sick to his stomach. If only life were simpler, where his enemies were not so complex, where he could feel sure who deserved what came to them. Thror may have been a murderer, but did he deserve such an end? Did Thorin and his people deserve to live like this, homeless and suffering, for a crime that was not theirs?

Such were his thoughts when a sleigh of rabbits abruptly burst from the trees, with a wild man in filthy brown robes clinging to its back. The entire Company stopped to stare at this bizarre sight as the wild man lurched away from the sleigh and stumbled towards Gandalf in a daze.

"Gandalf? Oh thank goodness, I was looking for you everywhere! Have a you a moment? We need to talk." He babbled eagerly, grabbing Gandalf by the sleeve.

"Radagast." Gandalf's face took on equal measures of fondness and exasperation, "What on earth is the matter?"

Chapter Text

It took a great deal of effort and no small amount of pipeweed to calm the brown wizard down enough to make any sense. Worse still, he soon caught sight of Bilbo.

"Oh my!" Radagast gasped, "Can it be?"

Bilbo tried to make himself scarce within the dwarves' ranks, but Radagast would not be dissuaded. The dung-splattered wizard crouched in front of him as though he were a fascinating specimen of some sort and beamed at him genially.

"Why it is! What are you doing here? How did a-?"

"A hobbit!" Gandalf cut in hastily, dragging Radagast back by the collar like a naughty schoolboy, "He is a hobbit from the Shire. I understand your confusion, Radagast. Very reclusive species, hobbits."

"A hobbit? But he's not…" Radagast then caught sight of Gandalf's face and swiftly shut his mouth.

"He's not a normal hobbit, to be sure. It's not very common to find them outside the Shire." Gandalf hastily pulled Radagast aside, "Now, what was it you were saying?"

"What? Oh yes? I nearly have it, nearly…" Radagast clasped his hands together and gently released a fluttering moth, "Careful there, little fellow. Dangerous folk out here. Wonderful little things, moths. Fly great distances. Very loyal."

"Radagast…" Gandalf warned, an impatient note entering his voice.

"Oh! Gandalf, I remember what I wanted to tell you! A shadow has fallen over Mirkwood Forest, and I believe I know the cause." Radagast drew close to Gandalf, "I must speak with you. In private."

Gandalf gave a weary sigh and looked over at Thorin, who just scowled back and crossed his arms.

"A few moments then, Radagast."

Gandalf and his brown-robed colleague drew away and began a private conversation, occasionally interrupted by an enthusiastic non sequitur from Radagast. The dwarves and Bilbo watched them impatiently. Bifur snorted rudely and made a wry comment in Khuzdul, punctuated with a strange hand sign. Dwalin chuckled darkly in agreement.

Bilbo frowned. Perhaps he ought to look into learning the dwarves' language if he was to stay with them much longer. Unlike Quenya and Sindarian, languages very familiar to the stars since their songs were sung often in honor of stars, Khuzdul was a private language guarded jealously by Aulë's children.

Gandalf strode back to the dwarves, a troubled look on his face and Radagast hovering by his side.

"I am sorry, Thorin, but Radagast has brought me some dark news. I must convene with the White Council."

"So you're leaving." Thorin said curtly.

"I never said that!" Gandalf retorted, "This involves you as well. It has to do with the fallen star."

Thorin jerked up at the mention of the star and others of the Company now regarded Radagast with greater interest. Bilbo avoided looking anyone in the eye.

"What about the star?" Thorin asked seriously.

"Dark powers are being awoken in response to its presence. Do not imagine you are the only one who seeks its power." Gandalf said.

"It's like a beacon," Radagast added, his face now a bit more composed and solemn, "calling out to those who can sense it. It's on the move and many are seeking it, even now."

"What? You can sense it?" Thorin turned to Gandalf darkly, "Have you known where it was all this time?"

"Yes and no," Gandalf snapped, "And I will thank you, Master Thorin, to be a bit more polite regarding my abilities. I can sense the star, but I could only tell you its exact location if it were right in front of me."

Bilbo froze. Gandalf did not so much as glance his way, but still the star waited in fear for the other wizard to say something, anything, to give him away.

"The star is currently going east, so you have been heading in the right direction." Radagast volunteered.

Gandalf gave him another warning glare, which the brown wizard returned with a guileless grin.

"Can you sense who carries it?" Thorin asked sharply.

"Oh, a bit, but I'm not acquainted with them personally." Radagast said with a careless shrug, "Not a bad one, not someone who means ill."

Thorin nodded, a thoughtful frown marring his face. Thankfully Bilbo didn't sense any ill-intent from him and none of the dwarves seemed to realize the star was among them, dratted wizards giving meaningful hints be damned!

---

"Are you sure your friend can be trusted?" Thorin asked Gandalf as Radagast saw to his team of rabbits, cooing at them lovingly and patting their heads, "He seems a bit...odd."

"Radagast is a fine wizard, despite his eccentricities," Gandalf replied, "He's as old as I am, though he might not look it, and I have been wandering the Middle Earth since the forests were saplings and the rivers mere streams. I trust him with my life."

"But can we depend on him?" Thorin asked.

"I trust him with my life and yours," Gandalf said blandly, "And that should do for now."

Thorin snorted rudely and was about to press the issue further, when a distant howl broke through the forest. Everyone, even the halfling, stiffened at the sound. The more experienced of the Company warily drew their weapons.

"What was that?" The halfling blurted, "A wolf? Are there wolves out here?"

"Wolf?" Bofur repeated grimly, "That was no wolf."

No sooner had Bofur spoken when a large beast tore through the trees, snarling viciously. Thorin's sword was held before him in a second as he gave the warning cry,

"Warg!"

The creature was larger than a horse. Its pelt could ward off steel and arrows alike. Its brutish head had jaws that could bend iron and tear through armor like paper. Thankfully elvish steel was strong and true. Thorin slashed at its face as it approached, and his sword easily cut through fur and bone. Even as it fell before him, Kíli drew his bow and shot past his shoulder as another beast came from behind. It joined its brother in whatever foul hell contained these beasts when Dwalin finished it with a brutal blow of his axe.

"Wargs?" The brown wizard squawked, "Out here?"

"They're scouts," Thorin said grimly as he pulled his blade free from the warg's carcass, "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

The halfling looked as though he were about to faint.

"Orc pack?" He squeaked.

Gandalf turned to Thorin, a dark look on his face.

"Who did you tell about this quest, beyond your own kin?" Gandalf asked sternly.

"No one." Thorin replied steadily, even as doubts rose at the wizard's words. Dain had been contacted, but despite his refusal to support Thorin's quest, Thorin knew his cousin's sense of honor and duty ran deeper than the roots of the Iron Hills. He might not support his kin in their scheme, but he would never betray them to orcs.

"Who did you tell?" Gandalf thundered.

"I told no one, I swear!" Thorin snapped, his attention drawn to his companions. Fíli and Kíli stared dumbly down at the carcasses of the beasts. As their first taste of blood, it was good that neither seemed very shocked or disturbed by the affair. Dwalin had already removed his axe from the dead warg and even now wiped it dispassionately on the dead beast's fur.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" He asked, returning to the wizard.

"You are being hunted." Gandalf explained grimly, "Once the orc pack has your scent, it will be difficult to evade them."

"I'll draw them off!" Radagast said eagerly, drawing himself up.

Gandalf looked hesitant and for a moment Thorin saw not an enigmatic and eccentric wizard, but a brother concerned for the younger.

"These are Gundabad wargs. They'll outrun you!"

At this, the brown wizard only smiled.

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I'd like to see them try."

Gandalf looked as though he dearly wanted to protest further, but nodded and turned to the dwarves.

"Then it appears we must make our way Northeast. The wargs would easily overtake us on the southern route."

All eyes turned to Thorin, waiting for him to protest, since this ran opposite to the route he had hoped to take. But Thorin had his Company and his quest to consider. He'd be a fool to try and match an orc raiding party when the forces most likely outnumbered and outmatched his own.

"Very well." Thorin said curtly, "We will go on your route, Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled faintly and the rest of the Company prepared to lighten their loads so as to make their way more quickly in hopes of evading the orc pack.

Radagast meanwhile said his farewells, patting the halfling on the head.

"Don't you worry, little one. I'll be perfectly fine."

The halfling in turn looked a bit put out at the attention and mumbled his thanks, ducking to dart back to the Company. Thorin bit back a reluctant grin and approached the brown wizard.

"Our thanks, Radagast the Brown." Thorin said formally, "Should my Company and I be successful, you can expect a rich reward for your services."

Radagast cocked his head, a puzzled expression on his odd face.

"I need no rewards, Master Dwarf, but I thank you all the same." The brown wizard smiled, "What would someone like me do with gold and silver?"

Thorin was a bit taken aback by the refusal. No one in his experience had ever turned down a promised share of dwarven treasure.

"All the same," Thorin managed, "We are in your debt."

Radagast shrugged offhandedly.

"Well, if Gandalf chose to journey with you, you must be doing something important. I'm just helping out."

Thorin snorted. Wizard business. That did make a bit more sense. Thorin turned back to his Company to oversee preparations for their swift departure.

"Oh and Master Thorin?" Radagast's cheerful face looked unusually solemn.

"Yes?" Thorin asked warily.

"When you find the one who carries the heart of the star, be gentle with him. He seems to be a nice little fellow and I'm quite fond of him. I shall be quite upset if you hurt him."

The words were spoken lightly enough, but Thorin sensed a darker undercurrent. As old as I am, and I have been wandering the Middle Earth since the forests were saplings and the rivers mere streams. Gandalf's words echoed in his mind.

"If he gives me what I wish, no harm will come to him. I am not a robber or a thief, I just want what's mine." Thorin replied.

Radagast gave him a measuring look bordering on insolent, but shrugged and returned to his sleigh without another word.

Chapter Text

The next few days were a blur of constant running over hills and through grasslands. The ponies had been let loose, for they would be too easy to track, and everyone was on foot. Bilbo could barely keep up to the Company. In spite of their heavy builds, dwarves could be quite swift and had more endurance even weighted down than he had. Gandalf raced along ahead of them, often warning them off to another path when the orc pack got too close. At times, he would vanish entirely, only to reappear moments later behind them and urging them ever on. They took short breaks every so often to gulp down some water and wolf down some food before continuing on. When it got too dark to make their way, they would collapse upon a comfortable patch of grass or dirt and doze for several hours.

True to his word, Radagast had taken off in his strange sleigh and lead the orcs on a merry chase, but all too soon the wargs caught their scent. It was then that Bilbo caught his first sight of an orc. It was not something he would ever forget. Riding atop a snarling warg like a horse, the orc had a brutish face twisted with malice and a curved sword clutched at hand. Thorin urgently signaled Kíli who strung his bow, a determined yet uneasy expression on his face.

Before the warg cleared the large boulder, Kíli s arrow flew. The warg stumbled, a feathered shaft protruding from its chest. Its rider could barely shriek before another arrow was sent through his eye, but shriek he did. The warg also joined in, their cries of pain and rage carrying across the plain.

"Mahal's Hammer!" Dwalin cursed, "They're onto us."

Indeed, the Company had barely fled from the sheltering boulder when the orc pack came into view. Bilbo counted barely a dozen, but the Company was easily outmatched in arms and strength. Gandalf sprinted ahead, his eyes darting from stone to stone as if searching for one large enough to serve as cover. Bilbo, already exhausted from days of endless running, began to lag behind.

His foot caught on a stone and suddenly the earth came up to meet him. He struggled to his feet, but the few moments were enough for the lead warg rider to overtake him. The orc grinned down at him as he approached, curved blade ready to slice off his head.

He felt the hot breath of the warg upon his face and closed his eyes. A sudden shriek of pain made him look up. The orc rider fell from his mount, an arrow protruding from his chest. The warg snarled in confusion. Suddenly, Bilbo found himself faced with broad cloak trimmed with fur. Thorin easily took care of the beast, slashing through mouth and into its brain.

"Run, you fool!" Thorin yanked Bilbo from his stupor and pulled him back to the group.

That was when Bilbo realized that the orc pack wasn't just chasing them: they were being herded into an ambush. Snarling wargs surrounded the group on all sides and were closing in. Thorin, not letting go of Bilbo's arm, kept his sword out and pushed Bilbo behind him. Kíli stood nearby, his bow nocked and ready.

Was this really it? Would he die here, needlessly beside a dwarf? Bilbo didn't know whether to laugh or weep at the irony. But, let it not be said that he went down without a fight. He slowly drew his sword, small though it was, and moved to stand by Thorin. Thorin glanced at him in mild surprise, but Bilbo sensed a reluctant approval in his eyes as well.

"Where's Gandalf?" Dori shouted.

"Gone! Wizard's abandoned us!" Dwalin growled, readying his axe for one last battle.

"Abandoned you indeed, Master Dwalin!" Gandalf's voice echoed about them.

Everyone turned in confusion until Gandalf's head popped out from behind another large rock.

"This way! Quickly!" the wizard shouted.

Scrambling over the flat boulder, Bilbo saw a narrow crevice just large enough for a grown man to squeeze through.

"Inside!" Gandalf thundered, holding out his staff, "We haven't much time."

At this, the dwarves hastily entered the crevice one at a time. Thorin stayed behind, urging each of the Company to go in before him. Fíli and Kíli followed his example and stayed out as long as they could to draw off the approaching orc pack. Only when Kíli slid in at last, still clutching his strung bow, did Thorin enter. Bilbo half-wondered if they would be able to evade the orcs in the cavern or just bottle-neck them as they tried to enter, when the sharp blast of horn filled the plains. Inside, they could only hear the twangs of bowstrings and the dying shrieks of orcs. In a matter of moments, there was silence.

"What were those horns? Who was that?" Ori asked in dazed relief.

"Those were elf horns, if I'm not mistaken." Balin said. Dwalin and Thorin's gazes darkened, while Bilbo looked up hopefully.

"So," Nori coughed, "do we continue down this passage or go up and out?"

"Well, the passage must lead somewhere." Bofur said cheerfully, "This isn't any natural cave: it was carved out!"

"Thorin?"

Thorin turned from the entrance and nodded briskly. Exhausted and barely coming down from the breathless fear of the chase, the Company wandered down the passage at snail's pace. Bilbo could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and kept his head down. He was therefore startled and bumped into Bombur when the Company abruptly halted.

"What is it?" Bilbo asked, hoping against all hope that they hadn't run into yet another monster!

"Don't be afraid, Mister Baggins," Gandalf laughed, tugging him to the front, "I think you'll be quite pleased to see where we are."

The passage through the rock led to an open cliff face and Bilbo stared down. It was beyond words. Graceful buildings which seemed to blend into the cliffs and forest around them. Graceful waterfalls feeding the river which flowed out of the hidden valley. A gentle breeze bringing the scent of flowers and good growing things. He'd only ever seen it from a distance, but he'd recognize it anywhere.

"Imladris." Bilbo whispered reverently.

Chapter Text

To say that Thorin was not amused to discover where Gandalf had led them would be an understatement. It was all he could do to keep from ordering the Company to turn around immediately, orc packs or no orc packs. But, as Gandalf reminded him, they were exhausted and short on supplies. The Company would not last long in the Wild without aid, even if that aid had to come from elves.

That did not mean he would venture into elven territory unprepared. At his behest, the Company, save of course for Gandalf and the halfling, kept a firm hand on their weapons and a wary eye out for any possible ambush. Although the woods and the stone pathways leading to the Last Homely House seemed abandoned, Thorin could practically feel the weight of hidden eyes gazing upon him and his Company. To his dismay, Fíli and Kíli were utterly entranced by the spindly architecture carved from wood and enhanced by the stone base no doubt carved from the rocky foundations of the valley. Having grown up in Ered Luin, where function and practicality had precedence over style, the boys had never seen the like of such craftsmanship. He ached to think that they had never seen magnificent gates of Erebor, the grand halls of the throne room designed by his grandfather and especially the throne itself, above which the Arkenstone had shone for over a hundred years…

Such were his thoughts when they were finally greeted at the entrance by a tall dark-haired elf clad in the usual delicate frippery. He (or she, Thorin could honestly never tell with elves) greeted Gandalf with a smiling face, but spoke with cool cloying tones in elvish. Even as Gandalf chatted amicably with the elf, Thorin turned to Dwalin.

"Stay sharp." He murmured quietly.

Dwalin only gave a brief nod with a knowing scowl.

"Where is Lord Elrond?" Gandalf was asking, thankfully speaking in the Common Tongue.

"My Lord Elrond is not here." The elf replied, also in the Common Tongue.

Even as Gandalf turned in dismay, the blaring call of elvish horns rang across the valley. Riders dressed in bright mail cantered towards them. Thorin roared a warning and thankfully the Company quickly sprang to defense. Even as he raised his sword, the Company closed ranks to make a protective circle facing outward. Thankfully Bofur had had the sense to pull the halfling into the center where he'd do the least harm. The riders circled the Company, pacing their horses in dizzying circles, almost mocking their lack of strength and numbers. Thorin just gripped his elvish sword tighter. Let the pointy-eared cowards underestimate them. It would only make their shock at being impaled on their own weapons that much sweeter!

"Gandalf!" A glad cry broke through the furor.

A tall dark elf dismounted and Gandalf smiled warmly.

"Lord Elrond. Mellon-nin."

Gandalf was good friends with an elf lord and spoke elvish fluently. Of course.

---

The dwarves, it turned out, did not share Bilbo's joy of their resting place. After a dinner they pronounced completely unsatisfactory due to the lack of meat as well as the music which they found shrill and annoying, most of the dwarves grumbled as they were led to the guest quarters and viewed it suspiciously. Thankfully Thorin was busy with Gandalf and Elrond, but still the dwarves made it quite clear what they thought of their hosts. Bilbo couldn't help but feel a bit mortified on behalf of his companions and stayed by their guide, the dark-haired elf named Lindir.

"I am very sorry for the rudeness of my friends. Your lord is very kind for letting us stay here." He muttered in Sindarin.

The elf in turn raised an eyebrow and Bilbo realized too late that a simple hobbit would hardly be expected to be fluent in Sindarin or any elf language for that matter!

"It is of no consequence." Lindir replied, also in Sindarin, "My Lord Elrond welcomes all who seek shelter here. You are hardly the strangest guests we have entertained!"

With that, the elf bowed to Bilbo with a slightly mischievous smile and left.

The dwarves in the meantime had started making themselves comfortable, which for a dwarf meant tugging off the beautiful coverlets and cushions decorating their beds so that only the bare blankets and pillows remained and pulling down the curtains so that not even a peep of the early twilight sun remained. All in all, it left Bilbo feeling quite stifled and uncomfortable, especially since they had not yet had a chance to bathe! Still, he joined them in their circle around the brazier, seeing as even in this sheltered valley, the winter nights got cold. Already, Balin and Dwalin were deep in conversation.

"- makes sense, but I doubt he planned for an orc pack to chase us here." Balin was saying.

"Wizard's a meddler," Dwalin grunted, "Always likes to nudge folk along where he thinks they should go."

"Maybe, but he must've chosen Rivendell for a reason." Fíli said.

"Many travelers are known to stay here, particularly the Rangers who roam all of Middle Earth," Balin said, leaning back comfortably against his seat of piled cushions, "If there's news of a star, no doubt we'll hear about it."

"Don't know why anyone would want to stay here," Ori sniffed, "They don't even serve proper biscuits!"

"But why did Gandalf think this elf lord could help us find the star?" Glóin grumbled.

"Well, Lord Elrond's father is a star," Bilbo answered absently.

Ori turned to him in amazement, complaints over the lack of biscuits completely forgotten.

"What? What do you mean?" The young dwarf asked.

"Lord Elrond's father is Eärendil." Bilbo said, wondering if perhaps he'd said too much.

"Who's Eärendil?"

"Haven't you heard the story of Eärendil the Mariner?" Bilbo asked.

"No," Ori said eagerly, "Would you tell it, please?"

"I suppose..." Bilbo said, "You've heard of the Silmarils, right?"

"Yes, they were jewels created by an elf, the most beautiful ever crafted, next to the Arkenstone of course!" Ori grinned proudly.

"Well, the Silmarils were stolen by Morgoth, the enemy, who took them to Middle Earth. The elf who created them, Fëanor, swore an oath with his sons to retrieve them at any cost. Although Fëanor died in battle with Morgoth, his sons continued their quest to retrieve the Silmarils. One of the Silmarils was recovered from Morgoth by Luthien and her husband, Beren. The Silmaril was passed on to their son Dior and later to his daughter Elwing who married Eärendil and bore his sons, Elrond and Elros.

"The sons of Fëanor, however, demanded the Silmaril for themselves. They sacked Dior's kingdom and left his sons to die in the wilderness. When they attacked the kingdom of Eärendil, Elwing refused to allow the Silmaril to fall into their hands and threw herself and the Silmaril into the sea.

"But the Valar took pity on her. Elwing was transformed into a bird and reunited with Eärendil, who took both her and the Silmaril with him to Valinor to beg for the aid of the Valar in the war against Morgoth. After the war ended, the Valar rewarded Eärendil for his service by making him a mariner of the heavens with the Silmaril as his heart."

When he finished, Bilbo looked over at Ori and was startled to find that all other conversations had halted and everyone's attention was on him. Bilbo had been so caught up in telling the story he'd heard so many times from the mariner and his wife, he hadn't noticed that the rest of the Company (barring Thorin and Gandalf) had gathered around him to hear his tale. Although many of the older ones had skeptical looks on their faces, Ori, Kíli, and Fíli looked simply enthralled by the story.

"But what happened to Elrond and his brother?" Ori finally asked.

"Oh, that's an interesting part of the tale," Bilbo smiled, "One of the sons of Fëanor, Maglor the Bard, took pity on Elrond and Elros and raised them as his own. By all accounts, they grew quite fond of each other."

"Elrond was raised by one who'd murdered his kin?" Kíli gaped.

"Well," Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, "Maglor was never fully happy with what his family did in their quest to retrieve the Silmarils. Perhaps he felt raising Elrond and Elros was a way to redeem himself for all the bloodshed that occurred. It's quite complicated."

Not that Eärendil and Elwing had particularly approved at first either, but they'd eventually come to accept Maglor's guardianship of their sons. Personally, Bilbo had felt quite sorry for the bard, especially considering what happened to him in the end.

"But still, that doesn't explain how Eärendil became a star!" Fíli protested.

"As I said, the Silmaril became part of him and he ascended into the skies to join the stars." Bilbo said.

"How can a gem become a part of someone?"

"Because Fëanor infused the Silmarils with a fire that burned with the same power as the sun, moon, and stars." Elrond's dry voice came from the doorway.

They all turned somewhat guiltily to face their host. Elrond did not look particularly angry at having his history told behind his back, but he didn't look very pleased either.

"The Silmarils were the greatest creation ever wrought by the hands of elves, outshining even the stars of Elbereth." Elrond said, entering the room, "But they also caused the most strife and bloodshed, so perhaps they are the most terrible as well."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said hastily, "I didn't mean to bring up-"

"It's quite alright." Elrond smiled sadly, "To answer your question, Master Fíli, the Silmaril fused with Eärendil 's heart, as it did with Elwing when she transformed into a bird. The inner fire of the Silmaril provides the light of Eärendil, as the hearts of all stars do. "

"That explains why the Arkenstone had its own light, as well." Balin murmured thoughtfully.

"But then you can help us find the star, since you know what to look for!" Kíli grinned.

A shadow flickered behind Elrond's gaze.

"I'm afraid that I must speak with Master Thorin and Gandalf on this," Elrond said at last, "Would you care to join us, Master Baggins?"

"Me?" Bilbo protested, "I don't see what I can offer to that, er, discussion."

"Well, you are the one who's going to have to get the star's heart for us," Bofur pointed out cheerfully, "Seems you should learn all you can about stars, Mister Baggins!"

"Indeed," Elrond allowed a small smile to grace his face, "I believe Master Baggins would be quite a welcome addition to that particular point."

There was little Bilbo could say after that and he reluctantly followed Elrond into the corridor. For a while they walked side-by-side in silence.

"Did Gandalf tell you?" Bilbo asked at last.

A brief glint of amusement flickered over the elf lord's face.

"He did not have to. I saw what you were the minute you entered my house."

Bilbo ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Yes, well, I suppose I should have expected you of all people to recognize a star when you saw one."

Elrond gave him an amused glance and they continued onward.

"Does, er, anyone else know?" Bilbo asked in a would-be casual manner.

"None other than Mithrandir and myself." Elrond said gently, "Do not worry, I know what it is to be hunted and I would not wish the same fate on anyone."

Elrond held his private conference in a small alcove overlooking the peaceful valley. Thorin and Gandalf were already there waiting at the small table, Gandalf smoking on his pipe and Thorin impatiently pacing. The dwarf nonetheless gave Elrond a respectful nod when he entered. It seemed that Elrond not only welcoming them but naming Thorin's sword and giving Thorin's ownership of it his blessing had marginally raised Thorin's opinion of the elf lord.

"What is the halfling doing here?" Thorin asked. Bilbo ducked his head and tried to make himself as innocuous as possible.

"I invited him." Elrond said smoothly, "If we are to discuss your pursuit of the fallen star, it stands to reason that he should be informed as well."

Thorin sent Gandalf a suspicious glare.

"I didn't tell him!" Gandalf said with an off-hand shrug.

"That was my fault, well, mine and your folk's." Bilbo admitted, "We were talking about the quest and he happened to overhear."

"Indeed." Thorin sat back grimly and Bilbo privately dreaded the tongue-lashing the Company would no doubt have to endure after this meeting ended.

"Regardless of how I happened to discover the nature of your quest," Elrond sat down at the head of the table, "I would question your intentions, son of Thrain."

Thorin stiffened at their host's tone.

"You would try to dissuade me from seeking my people's salvation?" He asked coldly.

"I would try to understand what you hope to accomplish and how far you would go." Elrond countered.

"What I hope to accomplish?" Thorin let out a harsh laugh, "I suppose I should not have expected you to understand. What would you know of losing a home or the pride of your people? What would you know about surviving in a world that turned its back on you and yours?"

Bilbo gave Elrond a nervous look and hoped their host wouldn't throw them out for the dwarf's disrespect.

"I understand a good deal more than you think." Elrond said calmly, "But you didn't answer my question. How far will you go, Thorin son of Thrain? Will you put your life and lives of your kinfolk at risk for a shining gem? Will you put others to sword, slay any who comes between you and your prize? If the one who carries the star were before you right now, would you murder him for what he carries without a second a thought?"

For a brief moment, Thorin was struck dumb and Bilbo half-considered fleeing the room so as to avoid being killed in the crossfire of the inevitable fight between the elf and dwarf. To his surprise, Thorin's reply was calm, measured, and oddly reassuring.

"I seek no bloodshed, though I will not shirk from battle if it comes to that. I am not a warlord, I am a king who must see this through for my people. For the first time in nearly a hundred years, we have hope. You asked me what I hope to accomplish, Lord Elrond? I seek to regain my kingdom and bring my people home. I want to see my sister-sons before the throne of their mother's grandfather. I want to see the ancient halls of my fathers ring with our craft and the treasures of the mountain mined and fashioned into the greatest of things. I want to see the young dwarves of my Company wear their heritage with pride rather than shame. Most of all, I want see my father's father work restored and honor his legacy.

"How far would I go, son of Eärendil? I would go to the darkest pit of Moria to see this quest through. But I cannot see it through without the heart of the star that fell. Whoever carries it, whether he knows it or not, carries the salvation of my people. Of this person, whoever he may be, I would only ask one thing: what would he do in my place?"

"I think," Elrond replied quietly, "that is something you must ask him yourself."

Chapter Text

Bilbo barely dared breathe. What was Elrond doing? He'd promised, hadn't he? Why would he reveal Bilbo's secret now?

"How can I even ask the bearer of the star if you would not tell where he is or who?" Thorin snapped, not even glancing at his tense companion.

"Were it my decision, I would." Elrond said, "As it is, I can only offer my advice in the matter. Wait and be patient, and the star will come to you in time. Seek it, if that it is what you think best, but stay your hand whatever the cost. Murder the one who carries it, and a greater sorrow will be visited upon your people."

Thorin snorted and turned away in disgust.

"There is an expression among my people: ask nothing of the elves for they will say both yes and no. Is that all you have to offer me?"

"There is a good deal more." Gandalf finally spoke up, "I had not wanted to bring it up while on the road, but I have something of yours that may help. And with Lord Elrond's help, perhaps you can make some use of it."

Both Elrond and Thorin turned as the wizard pulled from his robe a scroll, yellow and cracked with age, and a large, heavy key. Thorin drew a sharp breath.

"That key belonged to my father! Where…?"

"Your father gave it to me, along with this map, a long time ago for safekeeping. He told me to give them to you when you were ready, and I believe it is past time you had these."

Thorin gave Gandalf a dark look, although the hands that received the key were gentle and reverent.

"Why did he not leave them with me, his son and heir?" Thorin asked darkly.

"That was his decision," Gandalf replied, "He told me to give it to you when the time was right. And I cannot think of a more appropriate time."

He nodded to Elrond, who peered with interest over at the scroll. Thorin scowled.

"You've already made it clear you disapprove of my quest to find the star. Am I expected to believe you would help us with this?"

"Let us cry curse upon the stiff necks of Durins," Gandalf groaned, "For once in your life, Thorin Oakenshield, would you let go of your prejudices and let Lord Elrond help you?"

Thorin did not seem the least bit swayed and only clutched the scroll tighter. And it was by then that Bilbo had had quite enough.

"For the love of heaven, what is wrong with you? Lord Elrond has done nothing but show you every courtesy and here you are spitting in his face whenever he tries to help you! If trusting an elf is so difficult for you, why don't we just pack up and leave now so you don't have to spend the night under his roof? By the same token, if all you can trust is your own people, well, you should get rid of Gandalf and me while you're at it! If you're going to call yourself a king, act like it! Swallow your pride and accept Lord Elrond's help, if not for your own sake, then at least for your people's!"

Bilbo stopped his tirade only to see the three others staring at him in various levels of disbelief or, in Gandalf's case, approval. The enormity of what he'd said slowly sank in and shrank back in his seat in horror. Oh Vala! What had he done? Thorin was angry enough already and here he was throwing more fuel onto the flames!

Thorin, however, looked more shocked and thoughtful than angry. He studied the trembling halfling briefly before turning to Elrond.

"I may have been over-hasty in refusing your advice. I…" He grimaced, "I would take back my words and ask for your aid in this matter."

Lord Elrond glanced over at the huddled form of Bilbo and back at Thorin's shuttered glare.

"Let us see what I can decipher from what your father has left you, son of Thrain."

---

Thorin was in a foul mood when he and the halfling finally left the study. Thankfully the halfling had the sense to keep silent and keep pace with the dwarf king, for anger made his steps quicker and harder.

"I should have expected this." Thorin growled, half to himself, "Human blood or not, he is an elf."

"Thorin…"

Thorin turned to the halfling who shrank back under his gaze. His light eyes fixed firmly on the ground as his hands plucked anxiously at his belt.

"Er, if you don't mind me asking, why do you need that star? You said you needed it to reclaim your homeland, but how would a star help? Is it really worth killing over?"

Thorin stopped and the halfling shrank back as if expecting a blow. But Thorin, for all his annoyance with the halfling's skittishness on top of his rage at their host, kept hold of his temper. For some reason, the thought of the halfling seeing him as a greedy, murderous brute disturbed him greatly.

"When the Arkenstone hung above my grandfather's throne, it was more than just an emblem for the wealth of Erebor. It contained its own power, a power which I only saw once. Do you know how the kingdom of Erebor fell?"

"I - I heard a wyrm came because," The halfling gnawed on his lip anxiously, "because of the gold and gems kept in Erebor."

"That is part of it. The wyrm sought our gold and treasure, but his true aim was the Arkenstone itself. He sought its power for himself, and that he received in full."

Thorin allowed a grim smile cross over his face.

"My grandfather did not know it at the time, but the power in the star's heart can be unleashed. That is how the beast came to be blinded, and how my grandfather and I survived and were able to flee the kingdom. If I am ever to take back Erebor, I must have the heart of the star in order to slay the dragon. Do you understand?"

"I think so," The halfling still could not meet his gaze, "but how do you know it will work a second time? And even if it does, would it be worth killing someone for?"

Thorin shook his head in dismay.

"Why does everyone think it will come down to that? I don't want to kill anyone! How stubborn can the bearer of this star be to refuse giving me its heart? Surely he'll recognize that it's not worth his life and give it to me for a fair price."

The halfling looked as though he dearly wished to say more, but thought better of it and only gave a brief nod. Satisfied the Company's burglar had overcome whatever silly moral compunctions he had about their quest, Thorin led the way back to the guest quarters.

The Company had made themselves comfortable while waiting for their king to return. In lieu of their disappointing dinner, they had opted to cook their own. Already a warm fire crackled on the floor, remains of the delicate wooden furniture lying in pieces nearby. While the burglar squawked indignantly, Thorin merely allowed a brief approving nod before turning to Balin.

"Keep this safe." Thorin said curtly, handing him the rolled up map, "I'll tell everyone about it later."

Balin accepted it with a brief nod, no more needed be said. Thorin turned to the rest of his Company, rough and rowdy as ever, and sighed silently to himself. They had no heading just yet, and he knew not where their path would lead. Still, for now they were reasonably safe. If Elrond's words were true, then they had almost a year to find the star and reach Erebor. And if all went well, they should reach Erebor with the star's heart before Durin's Day and take their revenge upon that cursed wyrm. All they needed now was the star's location and a good deal of luck!

---

The star eased himself into the steaming pool and lay back, letting the hot water ease his aches and pains. A contented sigh left him like smoke escaping from a pipe. Finally, for the first time since he'd fallen, he felt totally at ease…

"Damn elves can't even have a decent bathhouse without their dainty lights everywhere."

A dwarf's harsh voice broke the spell the bath had cast over him. Bilbo nearly fell under and hastily set about scrubbing himself with a nearby brush.

"Ha! Think you scared those elf lights right off, Glóin!" Bofur joked as the Company trooped into bathhouse.

"Hullo there, Master Baggins." Balin said, peering down at him.

"Uh, hello." Bilbo stammered, hastily stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist, "Sorry, didn't mean to take it up. I just finished. I'll be going."

"You don't need to leave." Ori protested, "There's enough room for all of us."

"No really. Just finished, all clean." Bilbo babbled, already backing toward the door, "Have a good bath, er, evening all!"

He turned and slammed into a solid wall of flesh. He looked down and then quickly back up, clutching the towel tighter.

Thorin, a very naked, large Thorin, stood before him. His hair was already unbraided and fell past his shoulders, loose strands coming to frame his face. Despite coming in for a relaxing bath, his face had not lost its habitual glare. Bilbo distinctly felt his stomach twist and could not for the life of him make himself move.

"S-sorry." He said at last, and scurried past.

He heard the rough laughter of the Company following him, echoing through the stone chamber. Bilbo shuddered despite the heat and hurriedly wrapped a cotton robe around him. He began to climb back up to their quarters.

"Shy lad, that one!" Balin's voice floated up.

"Did you see the look on his face when he bumped into Thorin?" Kíli chuckled, "I thought he was going to faint at the sight!"

"You'd think he'd never seen a naked dwarf before!"

Once again the room rang with laughter which carried out to the balcony. Bilbo's ears burned. Well, of course it was the first time he'd seen a naked dwarf. It would take ages for that image to leave his head! He shuddered again and slammed the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

"Bloody dwarves." He muttered.

---

Bilbo was in love, pure and simple. He felt giddy right down to his furry toes and could not for the life of him stop grinning like an idiot. He basked in its glory, feeling oh so alive for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Rivendell was not anything like his home, but it was the closest thing he'd encountered thus far. The songs were sung in Sindarian rather than Quenya, but still the cadences and structure were similar enough to bring up memories of peace and home and seemed like smooth silk compared to the rough bawdy songs of the dwarves. The elves were welcoming where the dwarves were secretive, allowing him to wander the halls and gardens to his heart's content. While the dwarves grumbled and kept their darkened rooms, he enjoyed the wan sunlight and open courtyards. In this protected valley, winter was softened and only a light dusting of snow and bare branches gave evidence to the season. Bilbo would have been happy staying here forever.

He found the library quite by accident, its stern and quiet guardian merely giving him an unimpressed glare before returning to her papers. He wandered among the shelves and happened upon a book whose pages revealed a bittersweet sight.

He'd forgotten how regal his earthly form had been. Tall and lithe, where Bilbo was now short and rather dumpy. Dark-haired and pale, where Bilbo was light-haired and...less pale. No one could possibly have taken them for kin had they stood side-by-side. Well, Bilbo liked to think their eyes were somewhat similar!

"Your brother was an uncommon soul."

Bilbo jumped and nearly dropped the book he was holding as Elrond came by his side.

"He was a dear friend to my own brother. I am sorry for his loss." Elrond didn't appear to notice Bilbo's discomfort as he sat by his side, "This world has dealt poorly with your kind."

Bilbo stroked the portrait gently.

"He loved this world. I never quite understood him or my sister. I suppose I still don't. I'm not like either of them. They almost belonged here and I, well, I don't know if I ever will."

Elrond smiled sadly and placed a gentle hand on the star's shoulder.

"You have a place here, if you like. You may stay as long as you wish."

Bilbo flushed and he hastily shut the book with a soft thump and placed it back on its shelf.

"I- that is generous, but I am bound as a member of Thorin's company. I wouldn't like to be called a liar or an oath-breaker. Er-"

"I understand." Lord Elrond stood gracefully in one seamless movement and stared down at him, "Still, should you ever change you mind, the doors of Rivendell will always be open to you."

The elf lord's words followed him that night as he settled in his bed nearest to the door, furthest from the dwarves. To stay in a place like this, abandon this mad and dangerous quest. Would that really hurt anyone in the long run? The dwarves didn't really want or need him. They had made that clear, particularly Thorin. He had no place among them. Bilbo tossed and turned and it took a while before he fell into a restless sleep.

When he was roughly shaken awake, he could only blink owlishly in the dark as Bofur said quietly,

"Get up and get ready, lad. We're off again!"