Chapter Text
To say he felt bad about organizing an elaborate plan to escape his afternoon tutoring session would be a lie, as the thought of his tutor going on a panicked frenzy through the kingdom muttering—“Where has the prince gone?! Durin’s beard the King is going to have my head!”—was more amusing in his imagination when he didn’t have to think about being guilty. Besides, Master Dori could use a little excitement now and then considering how much the tutor fussed over this and that like a mother hen. And Thorin made sure that someone would be there to deal with any collateral should the fact he was missing actually get out. The last thing he wanted was to send the whole kingdom into a frenzy looking for him. It would be a hassle for everyone involved and he would certainly not be allowed out of the sight of his father for the next week at minimum.
Thorin blanched at the idea of such a mess. The point of all this was to get out and do something other than sit behind a desk and learn about how to be a king, even if he had to be sneaky about it. It wasn’t often he was presented with an opportunity to venture outside the gates of Erebor and if he was going to do this he wanted get the most out of it as he could. No hassle of having an escort of guards or needing to hold up niceties and having to present himself as the crown prince under the drawn back personalities and reserved looks of everyone. Not this time.
As he snuck closer to the gates he threw the worn traveler’s cloak Dwalin had lent him over his shoulders. It was big enough to cover most of his robes and had a deep hood that would allow him to conceal his hair beads. He was also given a small pack. If he was going to try and pass as a commoner he needed to look the part somewhat.
One massive disadvantage of being the crown prince was most everyone was expected to recognize him and most did. Those who could not recognize him by face could simply look to his garb. While he wasn’t required to wear the amount of decoration that his father had, he did have to wear robes in the distinguished Durin blue reserved for those of the royal line only. Today, though, he wore a simple black robe with green trim and silver embroidery and a brown leather belt, which held his knife. It was the plainest garment he could find in his wardrobe and hopefully it was enough that he could at least pass as a well off merchant.
Up ahead Thorin could there was a group of merchants waiting to get their permits stamped. They were dressed rather well, most likely jewel traders from the Iron Hills if the boar motif on their cloaks were anything to go by. Thorin approached the group as casually as he could, staying back a bit when a guard returned with their leader. The group bustled into movement, securing their chests and packs eagerly as the gates opened to let them exit. Thorin trailed after them, but close enough that he would look like he was part of the group but not so close that they might suspect his presence. A guard patrol passed them on the left, causing Thorin to shrink back into his hood a little more, heart racing. To his luck the guards kept their eyes forward and he let out a small sigh of relief. He was past the gates.
It wasn’t until the group made it to the main crossroad that Thorin slowly broke off from the group and turned down the southwest road, excitement bubbling in his chest. He hurried his way down the dirt pathway, passing a few groups of merchants along the way but not paying them much mind.
His eyes were set on the city of Dale.
--
It was high noon so the square was at capacity. All manner of folk from Dale and abroad wondered leisurely among the stalls gazing wondrously at the riches and splendor of handcrafted silks, brewed berry meads, fine wines and minced meat pies. With Durin’s Day upon them within the coming week, and the royal coronation, Erebor, Dale and the surrounding area would be host to nobles and royals from across Middle Earth. It was both the opportune moment and the most dangerous time to attempt lift one of the most valuable items in existence.
They were crouched in the alleyway just off the central market, Bofur running himself through the details of his task and making note of all possible scenarios. He had two exits to consider; one would lead him down toward the front gate, which proved an advantageous route due to the wagons and large livestock that would be bringing goods from the farmlands. It would be an easy avenue to lose guards, especially when they would have to avoid getting trod over. Bofur wouldn’t have to worry too much as being a dwarf and slightly shorter allowed him to slip under the large creatures without much worry. The only downside of that particular escape was an open thoroughfare that ran the length of the city and it was harder to slip into the back alleys.
His other option was an alleyway half a block to the south. It was a narrow, twisting corridor that went between several residential buildings and came out onto the street near the Yellow Quarter. It would be an ideal place to lose the guards as there were several possible exits once inside the tiny labyrinth, but there was also a greater risk of getting cornered.
“By Durin of course this wasn’t gonna be easy,” he muttered, scanning the area once more and taking note that there were at least six guards on ground, a pair at each of the streets that converged into the square. That wasn’t including the two he saw in the bell tower on the northern edge of the market.
“So I’m thinkin’ we take the back alley, Bilbo. That’ll give us— ow!”
Bofur yelped, hand coming up to where a tiny fae was pulling on his earing. Its skin was the colors of the autumn leaves, though this changed depending on the season. Its eyes were a bright vibrant green, and it’s ears curved into small points. A small tufts of curly reddish-gold locks bounced about its round face as it chirped loudly at the dwarf.
“What gives?!” Bofur complained, shooing the tiny creature away from his earing. It dodged his hand easily, shifting into a small squirrel and scampering down Bofur’s back and onto the cobblestones.
Bofur grumbled irritably at the creature as it bounded up onto a stack of crates nearby, the wee thing giving him the stingiest look it could before continuing to squeak furiously at him. Bofur rolled his eyes, glancing up the alleyway to make sure it was empty, before scooting over to it.
“Ya think I want to do this?” he hissed, “I’ve got—”
It squeaked aggressively at him, shifting back into its original form before clicking twice and tapping its forearm three times. Bofur sighed, rubbing his hand against his temples.
“Look, you’re right. It was a bad idea,” he confessed, running a tired hand down his face “And I know you don’t much like this, but I gotta do this.”
The fae plopped down into a sit, crossing its arms and turning up its nose. For such a tiny creature Bilbo held a fire equal to that of a dragon. Or at least when it came to trying to get what it wanted, though Bofur had cared for the creature long enough to not fall so easily for its tricks.
Bofur let out an exasperated groan and looked back out toward the market. A jeweler’s stall sat just across the street from them, laden with ornate pieces of bronze and silver inlaid with ruby and emerald. There were gold necklaces and bracelets and all manner of precious stones that glimmered under the autumn sun. It was some of the finest jewelry in all the land and eagerly sought out by many a noble. It was also the only jeweler to posses one of the last known forged pieces of mithril, a shirt made of the fabled silver steel of Khazad-Dum.
“We’ll have enough to survive winter, maybe even longer,” Bofur said quietly, “I could get Bifur medicine, and Bombur could eat a full meal… I could finally repay Bain and Sigrid…”
Bofur inhaled deeply and turned back to the fae, who now was looking up at him, green eyes no longer harsh. He extended his hand out to let the creature crawl into it, smiling as it climbed up onto his arm.
“Could even make you a little house to nest in,” he said, “Wouldn’t you like that, Bilbo?” The fae chirped lowly, positioning itself comfortably on Bofur’s shoulder. The dwarf grinned.
“Nothin’ for it, eh?” he said, standing and brushing himself off. He checked for his lock picks, his knife and the cloth to wrap the mithril in: all accounted for. Bofur took a deep breath and stepped out into the street.
--
The color of the stone was the first thing that caught his eye as he passed over the bridge to the front gates. It was unlike the halls of Erebor where the deep green marble soaked up the golden light of the braziers. Here the stone reflected the sunlight, illuminating the yellow bricks against the deep burgundy red of the shingled roofs. There was a reason it was called the Golden City.
He passed through the gates with little trouble, staying to the sides of the wide thoroughfare as large wooden carts pulled by oxen brought all manner of produce into the city. Bundles of wheat and barley sat stacked upon crates of tomatoes and carrots. The faint clinking of glass wine bottles could be heard as the cart came to a halt at the customs stall.
Thorin watched the carts pass by, taking note of the different insignia branded on the wood. Most were local, bearing the golden eagle of Dale though a few more elegant carts passed by with the unmistakable coiling branches signature of the Woodland Realm. Thorin scoffed quietly to himself before turning and making his way through the throng and up the pathway. There were several open-air shops ahead where the fresh aroma of salted pork and roast chicken wafted into the street from carefully kindled stone hearths. A baker called out his fare of the day, ‘crisp herbed boule and warm pumpkin scones for just three silver!’.
The prince took a moment to look over the breads. It was close to noon and he hadn’t considered packing something to eat in his excitement to sneak out of the kingdom. He settled for a small loaf of sourdough, giving the baker a polite smile as he exchanged three silver coins before tucking the bread into his pack and continuing along the stalls.
Dale consisted primarily of human residents, and while there were a handful of dwarven merchants who set up shop within the city walls Thorin was relieved that he did not have to worry much about running in to anyone who might recognize him.
The thoroughfare forked ahead, one path leading to the east where it wove through several tall buildings up to a large domed building at the city’s pinnacle. The other path led west down into what looked like a residential area. Thorin wondered down the westward path, falling into step with some textile merchants who were carrying round wicker baskets filled with fine silks on their backs. This area was relatively less crowded which relieved him a bit but it also meant he could take in surroundings a bit more without being pushed along by the crowd.
The buildings in this area were no higher than two stories. Some had balconies lined with creeping vines that had bright pink blossoms, while others were decorated with patterned banners of red, gold and blues. Down the narrow alleyways between the buildings Thorin could see groups of women sitting upon the back steps of their homes scrubbing linens in wide brimmed buckets. Their voices carried up the brick walls and out to the street, most of it indistinct chatter though a couple times he was able to catch the words of a song. It reminded him of the few times he accompanied his mother when she would take their wash to the wells and he could hear the songs of the maids rise up from the pools below. It was oddly nostalgic and comforting in a way he only realized now.
Thorin pulled his cloak a little tighter around himself and broke off down an alleyway that led him to a small empty courtyard where bubbling fountain stood at its center. He glanced around to make sure he was alone before slipping his hood off and making his way over to sit on the edge of the fountain. He watched the water absentmindedly as he munched on his bread, taking in the distant lulled sounds of the people on the street and the distinct trickling of water from the fountain’s spout as it fell down the stone into the pool.
The twittering of a thrush pulled his attention to one of the rooftops, the tiny bird perched on the edge of the awning tapping what looked to be a small snail against the ceramic shingle.
“Taking your lunch as well,” Thorin called up to the bird, chuckling a little at how absurd the situation might look to outsiders. While dwarves may be children of the stone there were a select few animals in Middle Earth they had great affinity for. The Ereborian rams were the most widely known, due more to the fact that they were actively bred in most of the dwarven kingdoms. Next to them were the ravens, clever and intelligent birds often used as messengers between the kingdoms. Erebor prided itself for its ravens, revering the creatures so much that their likeness was inlaid into the royal crown. The final of these animals were the thrushes that lived in the forests that surrounded the Lonely Mountain. Not many understood the relationship between the dwarves and these tiny woodland birds, though some speculated it was more just a phenomena of a shared environment.
The bird paused before fluttering down and landing on the edge of the fountain just shy of where Thorin sat, the snail still clasped inside its beak. It sported a white underbelly with light brown feathers on its head and wings and long fanning tail feathers. It regarded the dwarf with curious beady black eyes before resuming tapping the snail on the stone.
The shell cracked open after a few more taps and the tiny bird quickly gobbled down the soft meat of the snail. Thorin observed this with some amusement, breaking off a tiny piece of his bread and holding it out. The thrush eyed the morsel, hopping cautiously up to the dwarf’s hand and quickly nabbing a piece. Just as it had with the snail it swallowed the bread in a couple gulps before moving in for more.
Once the last crumbs were eaten up the thrush hopped back to where the remains of the snail shell laid on the fountain. It poked through the piece before taking flight and disappearing over the rooftops. Thorin watched after it almost wistfully, wondering what it would be like to soar over the hills and up into the never-ending whiteness of the clouds with naught a care in the world. Would time just flow ever onward? Would the plights of the world cease to exist?
He sighed heavily, his gaze falling to the small golden band around the middle finger of his right hand. Its surface was so cleanly polished that it reflected the buildings within it, almost as though it were a mirror. Around its edges were two thin blue bands of sapphire. Thorin turned it slowly around his finger till he could see the engraving, murmuring the words to himself and quietly resolving to continue his exploration.
The snail shell fragments he deposited into a pile of dried vegetable clippings near one of the buildings before wiping his hands clean and pulling the hood over his head once more. Thorin took one more look over the quiet courtyard. Maybe one day he’d have the freedom to return here.
--
Anyone who had the privilege to grace the halls of Erebor would know that the kingdom’s beauty lay in its stonework. The battlements that surrounded the front gates were but a fraction of the magnificence that lie within the mountain. Those who were able to recount their visits described it as a wondrous fortress filled with golden light and long green walkways that stretched for stories into the deep of the mountain and would seemingly take days to explore. And even then the mines below stretched even further, tunneling to depths so dark that only small groups of miners were sent down at a time. Some say it was deep in this darkness where they found the radiant jewel that sat upon the king’s throne; the Arkenstone.
This pure white jewel that glistening with hues of red and blue marked Erebor as the mightiest dwarven kingdom and many thought its magic was what brought good fortune and prosperity to the mountain and to the royal line.
“Do you not think there are other such stones out there, your majesty?”
“You say it as though it is our duty to trouble ourselves with the lifeblood of other mountains, Sorrel,” King Thrain retorted from his place at the desk. They were in the study, Thrain pouring over various missives. He read briefly through a proposal from the Miner’s Guild, something regarding better compensation for work related accidents, as there had been several rather nasty incidents in the western mine shafts. Improper equipment set up according to the foreman working at the time.
“They hold great power, as you know,” the elf reminded, brushing a long strand of red hair behind a pointed ear as he absentmindedly studied the shelves of tomes that lined the study walls, “The heart of a mountain is not so small a prize that foreign diplomats would refuse their exchange.”
Thrain regarded his advisor with a raised brow.
It was an odd relationship that not many understood: a dwarven king with an elven advisor. While many believed elves were wise and fair beings whose wisdom extended far beyond many of those in Middle Earth, history revealed that elves and dwarves rarely got along and often were at odds.
The presence of Sorrel in the court of the wealthiest and mightiest dwarven kingdom was sure to turn heads, and it certainly did not earn much approval from other dwarven leaders. Many saw it as a recipe for treason and that the elves were attempting to undermine and overthrow the prosperity the dwarves had built up over generations. It was no secret that the elves valued many of the precious gems that the dwarves pulled from the earth, particularly diamonds and white gems. And what better way to gain that control by infiltrating Erebor.
At least that was the argument, though the accusations did not hold up well considering Sorrel held no connections to any of the elven settlements. While one might believe he was from Mirkwood due to his bright red hair, he held himself in much the same way as the high elves of Lorien. He held wisdom that could not be attributed to woodland origin.
“Just give it some thought, your majesty,” the elf added, gliding leisurely to the doorway, “I don’t mean to press you toward a decision you have not had the time to think over.”
With that the elf made his exit, turning left down the corridor and making his was briskly to the upper chambers. On the way a messenger waved him down, a small envelop in their hands. He took it graciously, carefully breaking the seal and pulling the note from within. A knowing smile spread across his lips.
“Would you send word to have my horse readied,” he turned to the messenger, “I make for Dale.”
--
Bofur couldn’t help the smug grin that plastered itself on his face as he dashed around the next corner. While the guards had been alerted to the thievery Bofur’s plan went of without a hitch. It was only then he slipped into the alleyway that the stall keeper realized the mithril had been stolen and called the guards after him.
The next corner brought him into a small courtyard behind some houses, though not after he knocked over a stack of wicker baskets in the process and spilling potatoes and carrots over the ground. He would have fell flat on his stomach had he not caught himself on a barrel. The commotion drew the attention of several residents who were busy with chores in the courtyard, a few children looking on in awe from where they crouched playing with some marbles. Bofur gave them a smile and a wink before sprinting past them.
“Yes, yes, I know Bilbo!” he hissed, hastily tucking the fairy into his scarf as it squeaked at him. “The street isn’t far, just hold on!”
He ignored the angry yells of the owner whose wares he’d tipped over, slipping down another alleyway that he knew would lead him out into the Brown Quarter. The disgruntled shout of the guards far behind him only spurred him to the next corner. Up ahead he could see the opening between two stalls that would lead him out into the busy street and for a moment he thanked the high noon because today was a busy day in the Brown Quarter. If luck would have it he could slip away into the crowd and the guards would be none the wiser. By the time they tore open the street he’d be long gone.
Bofur pulled over a stack of crates behind him, just for good measure, before he ducked out into the crowd and into the most striking blue eyes he’d ever seen. He barely had time to register that there was indeed a person in front of him before his momentum knocked them both onto the cobblestone. A lot of what happened next he couldn’t quite remember. Everything from the moment they fell to when he heard the shout of the guards was a blur. He did remember mumbling out a rushed apology but that was before he hastily pulled the individual to their feet and urged them to run.
Bofur wasn’t quite sure when it happened but at some point he grabbed the stranger’s wrist, yelling something along the lines of ‘staying together’ as they sprinted through the streets.
“Where are you taking me?!” they demanded.
To which he responded, “On an adventure!”
And to a degree it was an adventure, or at least as much of an adventure a poor dwarf like himself could create for himself. When they got to the western edge of Dale where the street opened up to the hillside below Bofur instructed his companion to jump over the railing, down onto one of the goats tethered below and to ride it up the gangway.
“I’ll meet you just ahead,” he reassured, waving at them get on over. They had to lose the guards somehow.
It took some convincing, and the shouts of the guards, but eventually his companion leapt over the side. Bofur made sure they managed to mount and untether the goat before turning to wave the guards his direction. At their renewed pursuit he turned and sprinted down the boardwalk.
“Ready to work some of your magic, Bilbo?” he breathed excitedly. The fae crawled out from where it hid in his scarf and chirped.
Bofur quickened his pace as the junction between the street and the gangway came into view, and just as he timed it his companion back roaring up the ramp on the goat.
“Now Bilbo!”
In that moment the fae then let out a shrill, high-pitched chirp that reverberated off of every stone surface within the vicinity. The call did more than just turn all eyes toward them, as a large flock of black meadow birds suddenly swooped up from the hillside and descended onto the street. Calm turned into chaos with guards and merchants and residents running about as the birds soared and swooped over their heads. Bofur let out a laugh as he vaulted up onto the back of the goat. He took one last look at the excitement behind them before directing his companion to take them down the next ramp and up the cliff side toward Ravenhill.