Fourteen pieces of unsolicited advice…and one time Thorin Oakenshield asked what he should do

1.

I held the wizard's gaze without flinching, but inside, I wondered if he knew the pride and scorn I'd clocked myself in were masks for the true emotions running through my veins.

Anticipation.

Hope.

And fear.

None of them things a true king should feel. In my mind, I could hear the voice of my grandfather whispering, "A king does not anticipate. He controls the happenings around him. A king does not hope. He leaves no doubt that his wishes will be fulfilled. A king does not fear. He has absolute trust in his rule."

The echo of my ancestors haunted me for a moment, and I straightened my shoulders and scoffed at Gandalf, interrupting him. "I do not need a hobbit in my company."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and his face clouded. "If you persuade this Hobbit to join you, you will succeed. If you do not, you will fail." He narrowed his eyes. "If you refuse even to try, then I have finished with you. You will get no more advice or help from me until the Shadow falls on you."

I felt a growl grow in the back of my throat, but long experience taught me to judge the truth of a statement, and I knew Gandalf meant what he said. I was under no illusions that his encouragement of my quest was for purely unselfish reasons. But I also knew that, were I to have any hope of success, it wasn't a journey I could undertake without his aid.

"Very well, I will come. Some foresight is on you, if you are not merely crazed." I offered him a haughty gesture of dismissal, but the wizard wasn't yet satisfied.

"Understand that you must come with good will, not merely in the hope of proving me a fool. You must be patient and not easily put off, if neither the courage nor the desire for adventure that I speak of are plain to see at first sight. He will deny them. He will try to back out; but you must not let him."

My patience, never particularly great of quantitiy, was stretched to its limit. "If I had not given my word, I would not come now. I am serious, deadly serious. My heart burns hot. I have no patience to indulge whims and flights of fancy, even those of a wizard."

A heartbeat stretched as we studied one another.

"You must trust me, Thorin Oakenshield."

A curt nod was my answer. Because even though my gut told me I should not, I did trust Gandalf the Grey.

2.

Night time in the Shire was peaceful in a way I'd rarely experienced it. Air cool and filled with the sweet smell of grass moved about in a pleasant breeze, and the feast of Bilbo Baggins' table had lulled most of my company into a heavy sleep. My thoughts kept me awake, and while I did nothing to invite company or counsel, Dwalin roused himself from his position at watch and strolled languidly across the campsite to stand at my side.

He folded arms thick with corded muscle across his chest. "Do you think he'll come?"

I ignored the inquiry. Rather than let the question die, Dwalin pressed. "The Hobbit, I mean."

"Gandalf says he will." My reply drifted into the night, and Dwalin grunted, satisfied by the non-answer.

"Well, if he does, I can think of a few better uses for him than burglar." His tone held a hint of lavaciousness that caught my attention. I looked sharply at him. I knew exactly which direction Dwalin's thoughts lay. Less than a third of all dwarves were women, and physically, they could hardly be distinguished from dwarf men until their braes came off. Even in the presence of a dwarf woman, few dwarves regardless of sex wanted the time and distraction of marriage. There were no gender constraint archetypes to consider in the slaking of physical needs.

Dwalin continued with a blithe chuckle, interrupting my thoughts. "Best to make him earn his keep on his back. Instead of burglary, he can offer his services in the form of bugga—"

"Enough!" I interrupted sharply, drawing myself up to my full height and laying a hand on the hilt of my sword. "Listen to me very carefully. No one touches the Hobbit." I let my eyes harden. "Anyone who tries will answer to me."

Dwalin's eyes widened, and he flinched back slightly. "As you say, your highness. I'll make sure the rest know your feelings on the subject."

I gave him a sharp nod. "Your watch is over. I'll stand guard now."

"Yes, Thorin."

As Dwalin made his quick, quiet way back to his pallet, I thought about Bilbo Baggins. About his pale skin. His soft hair. And the quiet comfort and hominess he seemed to exude even without trying. Gandalf was wrong. The Hobbit did not belong on this quest. I could only hope the wizard would also wrong about whether or not he would try to join us.

3.

"Y'ought to tell him how to sit a horse properly." Bifur's voice was pitched low so only I could hear it. "When Nori and me set him up on the pony, he was stiff as a board. No give to his muscles—what little there are of them— at all. Likely won't be able to move a'tall by nightfall if he rides that way all day."

I didn't glance behind myself, but I knew the Hobbit was nearly at the rear of the column, having gradually fallen back in line. I hadn't realized his gradually slowing pace was due to more than lack of ability as a horseman. But slowing his mount was also a common enough way to compensate for the pain of holding stiff under the animal's gait. I cursed lightly under my breath.

Even though I hadn't directly acknowledged him, the low sound was enough to let Bifur know I'd gotten the message. He fell back without another word, content that he'd done his duty in laying the problem in my hands. I considered my options. It was nearing time to break for a meal anyway. Raising my arm, I halted the column.

"We'll stop here." There was a soft murmur of confusion—it was nearing time to stop, not time to stop—but no one voiced an objection. Sometimes there were benefits to being a prince, even an exiled one. Under the guise of securing the line, I rounded the column until I arrived at its rear.

Even mussed and disgruntled, the little Hobbit had an air about him that, inexplicably, tempted a smile. I kept my face carefully blank and studied him with feigned disinterest and more than a hint of derision.

"You've never sat a horse before, have you, Hobbit?"

For half a second, trepidation flashed across his soft features before he straightened his shoulders. "In the Shire, we have more appealing methods of transportation."

Against my will, I felt my curiosity spark. "Really? And what were those?"

"Our feet," he replied, crisp and confident. "You might have heard of some of the varieties—walking, strolling, meandering. Sometimes, there was even running—at least, according to rumor."

Surprise, followed swiftly by amusement I was almost unable to tamp down. I firmed my tone. "If you're with us, you'll ride." I swiveled my head. "Bifur!"

The dwarf appeared at my side instantly. "Yes, Majesty?"

I gestured toward Bilbo. "The Hobbit requires a riding lesson. See that he knows how to move in the saddle by the time we set off again."

The keenest horseman among us, Bifur looked doubtfully at Bilbo. "How long a break will we be having?"

"One hour, Bifur."

He blew out a sigh and reached toward the Hobbit. "Fine then. Best to get you down so we can begin with teaching you how to get back up again."

Before I even realized I was going to do it, I slid from my own mount, reached out from my position on Bilbo's other side and plucked him from the saddle, seizing him before Bifur could and setting him on the ground. His legs crumpled the second they made contact with the dirt, and I kept a firm grip around his waist while he got his feet underneath him. As soon as he was steady, I let go and swung myself back up in the saddle.

A glance down showed me the Hobbit's face looking mulish and irritated over a layer of pain as he rubbed his backside and Bifur, whose normally placid eyes were widened in surprise. Without acknowledging either of them, I turned my pony and returned to the head of the column.

As I rode, I felt the weight of Gandalf's eyes on my back, a sensation I steadfastly ignored.

4.

"Well, he can cook at least." Bombur voice, usually as robust as his waistline, was quieter than normal and he came to my side and handed me a bowl of stew.

I quirked an eyebrow and accepted the offering. "Is that so? I'm surprised at you, Bombur. You're usually quite territorial of your kitchen."

Bombur snorted. "I wouldn't call a pot settled on a few measly logs much of a kitchen, Majesty. Perhaps you should set our burglar to the task of stealing a camp stove and mess wagon."

I ignored the thinly veiled complaint. In outfitting ourselves for the journey, we'd elected to forego supply wagons as they would have had to be abandoned on the narrow mountain trails, anyway. It was a lack of which Bombur hadn't been shy of bemoaning. Gingerly, I sipped the contents of my bowl, surprised to find the thin stew flavorful and well-seasoned. "And yet it seems even as if the Hobbit made do well enough without the tools of your trade."

"True enough," Bombur replied, grudging respect in his voice.

I glanced toward the cook fire, expecting to see Bilbo beside it stirring or perhaps tidying away the mess. He seemed the sort to tidy before he sat down to eat himself. But a glance around the campsite told me he was nowhere to be found.

"Where has our burglar gotten himself off to, then? Does he choose not to eat with the rest of us?"

"I sent him with bowls for Fili and Kili. He'll be back for his own share soon enough. For all that he's a puny thing, he doesn't seem inclined to miss a meal." A smile cracked Bombur's wide face, and he patted his stomach. "A fellow after my own heart in that, I must admit."

I tilted my head in acknowledgement but felt a frown pull down at the corners of my mouth. Fili and Kili should have been finished securing the ponies by now.

5.

"By Dain's mighty sword, the Hobbit has managed to bumble into a clutch of trolls." Oin's voice sounded as breathless as I felt. "If he can get into peril delivering a bowl of soup, I shudder to think of his fate when he's faced with the dragon. Truly, majesty, it might be a kindness to let the bumbling idiot meet his end here, rather than drag him further along the quest."

A muscle ticked in the side of my jaw, but I didn't both to acknowledge Oin's suggestion. Instead I ordered, low and fervent, "On my mark, we charge the clearing. Our best hope for success lies in surprise."

Behind me, I heard and felt my dwarves shift into battle stance.

I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on my sword. I would rescue the Hobbit. And then I would strangle him.

6.

Across the clearing, Gandalf worked patiently to make sense of the gibberish pouring from the mouth of the other wizard—Radagast the Brown. I had little patience for fools and mad men on the best of days, and this was far from my best day.

Without thought as to why, my eyes drifted to the Halfling.

At my side, Nori noticed the direction of my attention and groaned in dismayed surprise. "Durin preserve us, he's going to blind himself. Best if you go take that blade away from him, your Highness, before he blinds himself. Or one of us."

Perched on a patch of moss, Bilbo was studying a dagger clearly stolen from the Troll hoard with equal measures of childlike delight, fascination, and fear. None of the other paid him any mind, and against my better judgment, I grunted a dismissal at Nori and approached the Halfling.

"You've claimed yourself a blade, then?" I asked when I reached his side, voice carefully disinterested. It wouldn't do for me to show significant concern over something so insignificant as Bilbo Baggins choosing to arm himself.

"I—yes," he said, voice shaking a bit. "I wasn't stealing. Gandalf said that I should—"

"Calm yourself, Halfling." I interrupted. "You've as much right as any in our company to the booty of the hoard. After all, it was your doing more than any other that led to us discovering the stash, wasn't it?"

A flush crept up his cheeks as he read the thinly veiled censure in my tone.

"I am sorry, Thorin. I should have found a way to rescue the ponies without getting myself caught by the—"

"Your mistake was not in getting caught, burglar."

Confusion marred his features. "Then what—"

"Your mistake was in not coming to fetch me as soon as you stumbled upon the trolls in the first time."

"Oh. Well. Yes. I suppose I could have—"

I cut him off before he could continue. "Fili and Kili are my nephews, and I bear great affection for them. But their judgment is not sound. Hobbits may be small of stature, but I was led to believe you were large of mind. You should have known better. You acted foolishly, Halfling"

I fully expected the Hobbit to accept the scolding as his due, perhaps to react with gratitude for having escaped a harsher punishment than mere words. And for a bare moment, Bilbo did seem cowed. Then something remarkable happened.

The Hobbit straightened his shoulders and tilted his smooth chin defiantly up at me. "I beg your pardon! I'll have you know I managed to free the ponies all on my own. Why, if it hadn't been for—for—sheer, unfortunate, coincidence, I would have saved our mounts and slipped quietly away! And if you and your company hadn't—butted in—well, I'm sure I would have found a way to sort the situation myself!"

I felt a flash of surprise, followed quickly by amusement.

"Is that so, Hobbit?"

"It is." He declared with a firm nod.

"Well then, perhaps you'll permit me to give you one piece of advice? It might come in handy the next time you wish to avoid the hassle of unnecessary rescue."

"I—yes?" His voice was decidedly suspicious.

"You're wearing your scabbard backwards. The blade should angle behind you."

"Well! I knew that. I was only—getting the fit of the belt."

This time I could not keep the smile from my face. It was strange, in the years since the loss of my kingdom, I had become a sober man. But since the Hobbit joined our company, I'd found myself tempted by amusement in a way I hadn't felt in decades. "Of course. Forgive my assumption."

"Er—yes. You're forgiven. And if you have any other—uh—assumptions that might concern my skill with a sword, well, I suppose it would be permissible for you to share them. Not that I'll likely need them, mind you."

A second smile in as many minutes. And I had to resist shaking my head at the folly of taking such pleasure in the spirit of the Hobbit. "Indeed," I drawled.

Before I could say anything else, Gandalf's yell caught my attention. "Thorin, to me! We are under attack! Wargs and Orcs! We must make haste!"