I dearly wish to apologize for not being more regular with this story and with writing in general.

Concerning this story in particular, my last update was in September of last year. Not long after which, I was evicted from my grandmother's house who I had been living with. This was due to her health worsening (which, of course, is not her fault) however, my aunt is in control of her finances and decided that my grandmother should go and live with her. Ordinarily, this was not an issue. Until my aunt decided I was not mature or trustworthy enough to remain in the house on my own and as a result, I was told to leave.

I had to quit my part-time jump, pack my things, and move back in with my parents. This was also in the middle of my Fall semester at college. Once Spring semester began, I still had no job but was able to take on more classes. Then I found out, that due to a lack of funds and students, my small rural college was closing after Summers classes of 2016. It will not reopen.

I am now currently in the middle of transferring to a different university but recently, my father was in the hospital with kidney failure. He has been released in the past week and doing very well (no dialysis was needed, thank the Lord).

Again, I'm very sorry I have not been more dedicated to this story like I hoped to be. However, I do not plan to abandon it in any way. I will still continue to write when I can and update when I'm able however, I cannot promise you weekly or even monthly chapters anymore. I will not lead you astray in this matter as you all deserve to know why this story is not making headway. My life is going through some up and downs and while writing helps me through those times, I simply don't have as much time to dedicate to fanfiction specifically.

I will still continue when I can and strive ever forward with this story. I still have a lot to tell. I only wish life would give me a damn break so I can tell it. This chapter is short but, it is all I have for now. I wish to at least leave you with a bit more before something else decides to fall into my lap. Till next, my friends!

Chapter Thirty-Five

In Which, a Memory Ripples and a Miner Digs

"It comes, Tharkun*1." A graying face, alight with the eyes of those who have long known nothing but the dark. A withered hand, fingers bent and distorted, much alike to the talons of the Great Worms, reached out; grasping the hem of the muddy fabric. "Death, desolation, and the Eye. The Eye wreathed in flames. That which was lost shall be found. He gathers . . . and searches . . . He has t-taken-"

"What?" Cracked lips mutter urgently. Orbs of gray countenance pierces those of the dying and a voice akin a thunder rolls threatening across the tiny, decrepit alcove. "What has been taken? Answer me!"

Madden orbs flit back and forth in uncontrollable fits, seeing nothing of present yet, nonetheless, seeing something. The clawed digits fumble and scrape along its thick, swollen neck. "T-take them."

Frigid metal and fraying cord falls, echoing mutely as it meets the crumbling stone.

"M-my son." The taloned hand once more finds itself fisted in the hem of the cloak. "The M-Mountain . . . birthright . . . He searches . . . s-s-s-searchessssss -"

"No!" Worn hands grasp the stilling form; hat and staff are thrown aside with a rising clatter. "What does He seek?! What has He taken from you?!"

"L-leave me . . . Tharkun." The gleaming eyes pale, then flicker. "T-take them . . . save that . . . which I could . . . n-not . . ."

Breath flutters, then fails completely. The twisted form of a once great and powerful king, after nine years of imprisonment and torture, finally yields and succumbs. The body slumps and falls from ancient arms; a gnarled finger outstretched towards the prone objects.

"I hear you and take heed," The worn hand retrieves the cord, the metal object scraping harshly against the stonework as it is lifted. A pouch of leather hangs beside it's iron companion, its contents, for now, unknown, for there is no time. "Sleep and know peace, Prince of Erebor."

It is only later, when the Shadows cease their reach for him, that he understands.

The symbol of the Prince's House, the last of the Great signets of the Dwarves, is gone.

Aging teeth clacked audibly against the ceramic stem of the nearly as equally ancient pipe. Weathered fingers squeezed dangerously, nearly cracking the dried earth bowl, which would, undoubtedly, have sent the smoldering leaves violently into his lap.

"Curse the foolishness of Aule's children." The Grey Pilgrim muttered in an undertone which almost, yet not quite, bordered on bitterness.

A sigh, exhaust of breath and smoke flitting past tobacco stained ivories only to spiral upwards to meld with the whistling of the wind. It was a tired effort, both the breath and the memory. All leaving with little to nothing of an answer.

"Gandalf!"

The aforementioned Pilgrim started, weather worn hat slipping to one side as body jerked; nearly slipping from the ancient root but for the quickness of one hand which prevented the mishap. He righted himself with exaggerated slowness, hat and all, while offering his assailant a narrow glower. The assailant in question, winced in return but the expression morphed into one of barely contained mischief and good humor upon discovering no real harm had been done to the elder.

"Many thanks, Master Bofur." The Istar said, rather disgruntled; a curtness dripping into tobacco heavy tones. "I do hope you found that necessary. What is it that I can do for you?"

Recognizing the warning, the miner coughed in the attempt to clear the mirth from his voice. "O' nothin' o' any sort on me own behalf. Only tha' ye should no the lass and Thorin be in the mist o' a conversation. Could be awhile fer they return, is all."

"Oh, is that right?" Gandalf raised an inquiring gray brow. "Well now, that is an encouraging turn of events. Good to see the stubbornness of Dwarves does, in fact, have a limit." He stood then and brushed the clinging earth from his robes. "I doubt they should be for much longer, regardless. Is the Company ready for traveling, then?"

Bofur shrugged, drawing a carving knife from his belt and a tiny block of wood from his pouch. "Well enough, I suspect. The lads ha' been lookin' o'er the ponies fer the past half hour." Here he gestured, blade still in hand, to the treeline where Kíli and Fíli were inspecting the hooves of one brown mare and checking the security of the luggage. "Should be ready ta set off here in a wee bit."

"Very good." The Istar nodded in satisfaction, reaching across the seat of root to retrieve his staff.

"Wha' was it ye were thinkin' of, if ye don't mind the askin'?"

Gandalf paused; one solemn, gray eye rolling carefully to the corner to fix the curious Dwarf with piercing caution. The sharp inhale of breath through aging nose gave him cause to cease in his wooden manipulations.

"Purely out o' curiosity, mind ye." The miner remarked with offhanded casualness, complete with an unassuming shrug of indifference.

The Gray Pilgrim did not answer but only held the hazel gaze with a steady expression which hovered between minor annoyance and intrigued astuteness. "It is a matter in which I do not wish to discuss. Not as of yet, in any case. Should the time arise for it, the Company will be made aware. For now, however, you must trust there is a time and a place for information. Now is not yet that time."

Bofur quirked an ear towards the Company, standing aside by the dying fire and idle packs, as if to listen for any prying. A long moment passed in the drawing silence yet, at last, the miner exhaled and the tension broke.

"Aye, 'tis of no concern o' mine the ways and goings on o' Wizards. Yer business is yer own, o' course." He swept the hat from his head and bowed low. "I 'pologize fer the interferin' an' all."

Gandalf raised a brow high at the eccentric display of formality yet, a small smile plucked at one corner of his bearded face. "You're loyalty is an honorable one, Master Bofur. And it's question has no doubt. But, perhaps, one should remember it's proper use of exercise, yes?"

A wide grin too pulled at the nut brown mustache. "'Haps yer right, Master Wizard. O' course, yer affairs and Thorin's cross far ta many bridges fer the likes o' me ta keep straight. If ye need ta be instructin' in directions, ye best be doin' it wi' those most likely ta understand."

With that said, the miner bowed once more and turned on his heel.

As he watched Bofur take his leave, Gandalf could not help but see why the Dwarf had been chosen as part of the Company. Without appearing outwardly rude or even too obvious in his questioning, the miner had quietly informed him of the importance of honesty between himself and the leader of the Company. Bofur had also, equally as politely, discouraged hiding any sort of information which could, in fact, harm the essential companionship in which all depended on.

Indeed, the miner had quite the talent for dealing with people.

If only the Grey Istar knew for certain if the knowledge he did process would aid them or lead all to a more permanent destination.

He knew not.

*1 Tharkun - It is one of Gandalf's many names. This one in particular is used by the Dwarves as a proper title of respect.