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Chapter Text

Gallifrey – Somewhere into the main city

The Storyteller was an old woman, all white hair and kindness reflected in her pales eyes. Clad into the massive traditional robes of gallifreyan nobility by day, she traded it for a light tunic and trousers from one of her numerous travels when she came visiting the children at dusk, as always.

She spent many a regeneration travelling, collecting stories. Now, at the end of her last life, she dedicated her time to tell stories, to give bits of wisdom to the children of Gallifrey, the next generation. One day, one of them would rise, embrace his name and travel through space and time, creating new tales, becoming another legend. One she wasn’t meant to tell.
Another would do it.

But for now she stood in the middle of a place, and the children slowly gathered, eyes wide open and full of mirth. A new tale!

She spotted a little boy, scrawny and clothed in hand-me-downs. He dodged some other bigger boys and girls, and sat in front of her. She smiled, and said nothing. 

She rose her right hand, and silence fell all over the place. Numerous eyes were fixed on her. The adults were hidden behind, smiles on their faces. They knew most of the tales the Storyteller usually told, for they had been children which gazed at the woman in the same fashion their little ones do now.
She smiled again, a sweet smile. Those were in for a treat.

And her voice rose, calm, but powerful. Steady, like a wave, born from unknown waters, rising higher and higher.
This was her secret power. All Time Lords developed an ability born from the name they chose.
She was the Storyteller.




A long, long time ago, in a faraway galaxy… was a Time Lord. Like all of us, he went to the academy, he learned all our ways. And the time came for him to choose his name. He was a little vain, and he liked things. Beautiful, rare things.
Officially, he was known as the Dandy. But everyone secretly knew him by another name, a better suited name… The Burglar.

Somewhere in space – somewhere in time

The TARDIS’ door closed in the face of a group of angry humanoids, small but burly. They had weapons in hand, and they started to hit the door of the strange silver ship, shaped like a cigar, all sharp curves for deadly speed. The head of a man came out the glass-like cockpit, and he waved at them with a large smile. A young, round face, a mop of blonde curls, green eyes and an air of slight disdain.
The ship took a rough start, the humanoids falling to the ground in a pile.
Soon the very planet disappeared behind. The man pushed the autopilot button, deeming his current situation quite safe. Time for a bit of gloating and self-satisfaction, a.k.a admiring the new addition to his growing collection.
He made a… permanent loan for his personal museum.
The said museum was hidden in a secret place, an artificial asteroid he spent nearly a decade to construct. It was a sort of a secret base, loaded with supplies of all kind. He could spend an entire lifetime here. Enough to be forgotten between two… errands.

He rose from his seat, took a quick look in a mirror, straightening his waistcoat. He looked like an earthling from the 18^th century, in a strange blend of brightly coloured clothes.
Physically, he hasn’t anything truly remarkable. He wasn’t really tall, nor muscled, he looked rather quite delicate. He liked his meals, hiding a pudgy belly under immaculate shirts.
He wasn’t the lazy sort either. He just did the right amount of exercise, as he always said.
And he made a point to never use weapons of any sorts. Those awful things were for barbarians.

He opened the wooden box he just snatched. A perfect blue stone sat here on a velvet cushion. Beautiful. Precious.
He smiled, losing himself in contemplation. One more, the most precious of all, and his collection would be complete…
A perfect white stone, hidden in a mountain’s core.
Where? He didn’t know. He would need information. He would need the Old Man.

He sighed, watching his ship reaching bay. The Old Man would ask questions. But first and foremost, and the task wasn’t an easy one… he needed to find him.
He took his time, putting the stone inside a glass case, eating, drawing a bath then soaking for nearly two hours. Perfectly relaxed now, his hair damp, clad in a soft bathrobe, he carefully choose a new set of clothes in green tones matching the colour of his eyes.

His apartments inside his base were designed in the likeness of old earth houses, with wooden panels and even a real hearth. He liked to spend his evenings sitting in front of the fire, a clever contraption that provided heat and pretty flames without the inconvenient of a real one. In addition, wood was too rare in this part of the universe to simply be used for burning.
Technology blended with the traditional style, and a mix of doilies from all sides of the universe.
Yes, the Time Lord known as the Dandy liked his home and comfort. The Burglar in him enjoyed his adventures, and the two of them were perfectly at peace with each other, thank you very much.

Kind of a perfect life.

Something beeped in the background. A glass of wine in hand, he rose up and sat himself behind a console. A whole communication system. He pressed a series of buttons, and a familiar face appeared on the screen.

“Hello there, Old Man.”
“Good day to you, Burglar.”

An old man indeed, fully clothed in greys. A strange one, looking like a wizard from old tales. The younger one grinned.

“What do you mean by ‘good day to me’?”
“All fun and games, I see. I’ve heard you search for something in particular…”
“I won’t fall for it.”

The Burglar’s smile never faltered.

“Tell me, Wizard. I know you want something from me instead.”

The Old Man’s eyes twinkled. They knew each other enough to go straight to the point.

“Indeed. You’re always up for an adventure, are you?”
“Maybe. I must confess I wanted some time for myself right now, but…”
“Oh, please. Your last one was a walk in the park.”

The Burglar put one stray curl behind his ear.

“Don’t care, mister. I do what I want, and I want peace, right now, please and thank you.”
“Yeah, sure. Expect me and some guests for supper.”
“Good luck with that. May I remind you you don’t even know where I am?”

The Old Man said nothing, and nodded with an enigmatic smile.

“We’ll see, Burglar, we’ll see.”
“Sure, Wizard. Good day.”

He cut the communication with a frown. The old bugger was perfectly able to find him without even trying; he knew that. He had strange ways, always meddling in others’ business.
Oookay. Time to flee.
No, he thought with a flaring anger. He would not change his plans for all the strange and precious stones in the universe. The Old Man and his guests could put their adventure where the sun never shines.
Maybe in a decade or two, he would consider the question.
The Burglar-Dandy was, hum, a little bit full of himself, to be honest. He took care to forget he owed one to the Old Man. It was such a long time ago, he surely had forgotten, hadn’t he?
Maybe not.
Deep inside he knew his fate was sealed.

Outside, in the pitch-blackness of endless space, an old man in a spacecraft used a tractor beam to move a bit of rock engraved with a strange rune – the letter ‘G’ – near the Burglar base.
The sensors noticed nothing.
He sent coordinates, then maneuvered, his craft bolting forward. He had some business to achieve before tonight.


Inside, a forgetful Burglar took his tea and sat before the fire, an old book in his lap.
A good day indeed.

Chapter Text

The night slowly fell. When you were alone in space, trivial things like day and night didn’t truly exist. The Dandy had conveniently fixed his cycles on the local sun, a not so bright dwarf star rotating around three stray planets devoid of life.
He watched the sun downing, well protected by his magnetic shields. A pathetic excuse for a sun, truly, but he liked it on days like this, when he felt a sort of peace after a well-accomplished job.
He thought about the Old Man, then didn’t thought at all, suddenly obsessed by the idea of making a true feast for one. His stomach growled, and he resolutely dived into his second pantry. He had three of them, carefully sorted by kinds of foods following a convoluted classification with precise criteria.
He could probably write an entire book about it.
Half an hour later, more or less, he was sitting in front of a magnificent plate when he heard a crash.
He jumped, mumbling something between ‘by Jove’ and ‘bloody fuckin’ hell’ in his planet of origin language, so mysterious it cannot be transcribed by any living soul who wasn’t a Time Lord.

His security system had stayed silent. He double-checked, started to check the cameras.
Nothing on the bay one… bay two…

“Oh, there!”

He zoomed on a small ship, rusty and unkempt, so small it looked like a life pod more than a ship. Oh dear.
One life form in a space suit came out. A compact, burly creature.
Oh dear.
None of them could have followed him, it was impossible! His TARDIS in full speed mode was unstoppable, unreachable.
And yet… he had been followed.

He straightened, the very picture of indignation, and went to bay three. Unexpected guests were worth a firm scolding. No one broke into his refuge, no one!

The Dandy was faced with a short man. Bald, covered in tattoos (for the small amount of skin he saw), he was shorter than him by a foot and a half. He carried an axe on his back, a massive piece of metal. A thing he wanted to do nothing with.

“May I ask who you are, stranger, and how…”
“Dwalin, at your service. The old one said there will be food.”
“Indeed?”

The Dandy looked disconcerted. He hesitated for two awful seconds then shook his head.

“No, no, no. You shouldn’t be here. Go away. Please?”

One Dwalin rose an eyebrow.

“You didn’t see the sign? The old one said…”
“This old bugger! Fine! You’ll eat then you’ll sod off!”

The other looked at him unfazed and, without further ado, started his search for the kitchen, ignoring the protests of the Dandy.

“Not this way, you…!”

Dwalin didn’t take the time to put his axe away. He sat and helped himself under the scrutinising gaze of a disgruntled Time Lord. His feast, gone in minutes, and his stomach still empty.
He ignored another growl of his stomach for a noise he already disliked.

“Did you hear that?” said Dwalin.
“No. Definitively not.”

He scowled, and Dwalin smirked, getting up his feet to wander again, coming back with another fellow in the same kind of suit. An older one, with an impressive white and grey beard and kind eyes.

“Really?”
“Balin, at your service.” said the white-bearded one with a bow.
“If you say so. Again, why…”
“We’ll explain, don’t worry. But not until the others are here.”
“Others? What do you mean by others?”
“Gandalf didn’t say?”
“Gan… oh, dear. Okay, forget about it… I’ll get more food.”

He sighed and let the two follow him, for another round of supper. Really, it wasn’t the way his evening was planned. He wanted to finish that book, then he would have made a tour of his collection and fell asleep, full of satisfaction after a well spend day.
But no, because of an old bugger, he was stripped of his peace of mind and his privacy to… entertain some strangers?

“How did you…?”

His question stayed ignored, in favour of another noise. Another crash, louder this time.
Dwalin looked at him with a scowl. He eluded his gaze and grabbed a tablet, checking his screens.
They were two, younger, with matching smiles and what looked like swords on their backs.
He activated the transmission system.

“Please, come in…”

He was quite desperate. Those two were worse than Dwalin, and he felt a headache coming.
Fíli and Kíli, they had say. At his service, they had say.
No, really, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

They broke into his second pantry and took all the delicacies he kept for a special occasion, and started to eat before he could even voice his opinion.

The fourth crash came exactly seventeen minutes later. He rose up and ran to bay two, fury coloring his cheeks, and stopped abruptly, facing a floating half a dozen of those sturdy men.

“Who cut the artificial gravity?”

They yelled at each other, ignoring him completely. He swore between gritted teeth and reactivated gravity without warning. He had just enough time to dodge a fire-haired man.
Impressive beards and hair were a pattern in those men, and his mind searched in vain for the name of their species. He knew, he thought he met some of them a long time ago, but he couldn’t remember.

They bowed in unison, uttering their names.

“I hope you don’t really expect me to memorise all of those in one go. Because I won’t.”

They shrugged, and managed to find their way to his kitchen, and the two other pantries.
He didn’t try to stop them, overwhelmed by the invasion.
Good, now the entire universe would know where to find him and his collection, and he didn’t see what could stop the previous owners to reclaim their goods.
He was doomed. Truly doomed.


“Hello there again, Burglar.”
“You… you!”

The Old Man chuckled, seeming to have appeared from nowhere.

“I expected a little more eloquence from you.”
“Explain. Now.”
“Wait, let me see…”

The Old Man started to count.

“Dwalin, Balin, Fíli, Kíli, Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur… One is missing.” 
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. I would have tea, if you please.”

No point in resisting… and tea would soothe his nerves. Maybe he would need something stronger, later, when he’ll manage to fill his stomach. No use to get a hangover in top of this chaos. He already felt sick.
The familiar gestures calmed him a bit. He came back with two mugs, gave one to the Old Man.

“There, Wizard. No more of your tricks tonight, I hope.”
“Maybe just one, Burglar.”
“Can you explain…”

A piercing sound was his answer. The alarm system seemed to remember how to function.

“He’s here.”

The dozen looked at each other. An air of solemnity fell on the group.

“Go fetch him, if you please.” Balin said.

The Dandy threw his arms in the air when he was sure no one could see him. What now?
He looked at the screen. Bay three again. Another life pod, but in better shape, more massive, and with weapons at the sides. Great.
He observed the last one of their impromptu party exit the pod. He was a little bit taller than the others, with an impressive scowl and a mane of silver hair. A short silver beard barely hid a strong jaw. He carried a sword, along with a shield made of an unidentified metal.
This one looked properly regal.

He opened the door to the rest of his base and went face to face with the man.

“You’re the Burglar?”
“Yessir. At your… service?”
“Maybe. You don’t really look like a burglar.”
“If only you knew. You are?”
“Thorin Oakenshield.”

His gaze slipped on the shield he carried.

“Not oak. Not wood, actually.”
“Long story. Where are they?”

The Dandy showed him the way. He stayed silent, watching them greeting their leader.
What a mess.
He felt truly uncomfortable, the butt of a bad joke. Curse the Wizard, or whatever name he gave those men!
He gulped. Time to muster some courage.

“Now, can you explain…”
“Now we can, laddie.”

Balin, again. This one seemed genuinely kind.

“How…”
“Gandalf let a sign on your door.”
“Oh, really. How rude of you.”
“Please, Burglar. Shut your trap and listen what they have to say.”

He scowled at the Old Man. The headache was truly there, now. And he felt the blue gaze of one Thorin Oakenshield on him, and it made him truly uncomfortable.
Suddenly he wanted to be left alone.
He thought about the autodestruction device hidden in a corner of one room, under a doily.

Tempting.

Chapter Text

He waited patiently for Thorin Oakenshield to eat, and for the others to demolish the remains of his pantries. He felt his mood darkening, and it showed in his features, because one Bofur started to laugh at him and sing a horrid song about some things a pretentious Time Lord don’t like.
Honestly, such a ruckus wasn’t necessary, was it not?
Ignoring the snickers of the two youngest was easier. Until they started juggling with some vases he particularly liked.

“Stop it, at once!”

Perfectly useless, of course. He resigned himself and thought, patience, one disastrous evening and they would be gone. He was willing to endure their shenanigans if that meant they would stop singing. They would be the death of him, but whatever at this point.
One dark look from Thorin stopped them. Praise all the gods of the universe.
A tankard of ale at hand, he rose.

“Back to business, boys.”

He started a tale, a fascinating one about a sovereign planet, full of riches and people endlessly working to perfect their craft to a level never seen elsewhere. About a wandering people finally settling in their rightful kingdom, on their planet called Erebor–5 in the Dwarrow system. The numbers were barely there to know in which order the planets came, rotating around their two suns.
There were others, for sure, with their lot of sad history. Wars, invasions. Nargothrond, Nogrod and Belegost were lost, as Khazad-Dum, their main planet, still in the hands of their oldest enemy.
Whatever. The main subject was this planet Erebor.

Thorin picked up something from one pocket of his blue suit. A holographic image of Erebor appeared in the room. Zoom. A beautiful, green planet, full of life and wilderness. Another zoom. A mountain, a lonely mountain.
Then fire, death.

“You seem to have had a Great Worm problem, mister Thorin. Nasty business.”
“This one is called Smaug, greatest and chiefest of the calamities of our age.”
“I believe you. Those disgusting things like precious, valuable things.”
“Like some Burglar I know.” whispered the Old Man in his ear.
“Hush, you. You need some pest control, not me.”
“Alas, Burglar. After fleeing Erebor, my people survived on a moon gravitating around Belegost for centuries, and I need the support of the Seven Clans to raise forces to beat Smaug. But I can’t do it unless I prove I’m fit to rule, despite being the heir of the royal line.”

The Burglar wanted to say it was none of his business, he really meant to. But curiosity got the best of him.

“How do you accomplish such a feat?”
“I need to recover a relic of our people. A stone, a white stone of pure light. We call it the Arkenstone.”

The Burglar looked at the Old Man, which had glistening eyes. He knew. He knew he wanted this particular stone to complete his collection.
He took a sharp breath, gathering closer attention from some of the others. Thorin Oakenshield seemed to wait for something.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you mean to send someone burgle the worm?”
“Precisely.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m a burglar, yes, but not this kind of burglar.”
“You look more like a spoiled child.”
“Maybe in a way, I am. I really like to stay alive, if you don’t mind.”

He distinctly heard the word ‘coward’ uttered by no one else than Dwalin. That was true. He was a coward, unwilling to take useless risks. Desperate quests weren’t part of his usual business.
Well-crafted plans with huge chances of success, totally.

“Do you have a weapon of choice?”
“My good looks and my manners.”

A true roar of laughter echoed in the room. They find him amusing, apparently. Thorin glared at him, his face a mask of thundering fury. The heir didn’t appreciate to be made a fool in turn. This was serious business.
Well, well, well. Time to put an end to this nonsense.

“Enough of this. I don’t intend to come. Unless…”

The Dandy smiled, a true wicked grin. The Wizard briefly looked at him, suddenly more interested by the contains of his mug than the scene in front of him.

“Unless you give me the Arkenstone.”
“Why would I give you the most valuable thing in Erebor whole?”
“Because you need me.”
“Less than you think.”
“Wrong, Mister Oakenshield. I am a Time Lord, and I have a TARDIS. I’m willing to fly your entire band of misfits to your Erebor. But not for free. I have a lovely spot for the stone here, ready for her. I wanted it for a long time.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed.

“We also could destroy your lovely base, stone by stone. Take your so called collection.”
“I’m impressed. Old Man, did you gave them that information?”
“Indeed. I knew you would not be so easily swayed.”
“Well, I am not. Maybe I can consider your offer.”

With that statement, the Burglar rose.

“You’ll spend the night here. Tomorrow, you’ll be off, unless I change my mind.”

He left them to unpack in three adjoining rooms. It would be a bit cramped, but he didn’t care. He left them access to his own bathroom; the feat itself was far too generous. He left the Wizard to his own devices, and slipped in bay one, where his TARDIS waited for their next flight.
Well, he needed his databases, to confirm some information about Erebor and a certain dwarf chief. Tyrant? Lord? King?
And he needed time to think. This little trick of him had worked less half than envisioned, but he doubted those men would willingly travel with one coveting so blatantly their precious stone. Unless they were more desperate than he thought.
He didn’t truly understand these stories of stealing a stone to prove someone was fit for ruling. Honestly, such a grand feat was… ridiculous.

He lost himself in his lectures, taking an accelerated lesson in Dwarrow history. Information meant power. Now, now… the line of the First Father, born in Khazad-Dum (better known as Moria by outsiders), forced to wander after they awoke something deep under the surface of their planet. Then they founded Erebor, the last of the system to be colonised. They prospered.
One day, one dwarrow unearthed the Arkenstone. It was such a beauty the king himself put it above his throne. Then slowly things started to change.
Deeper and deeper they went, gathering riches beyond imagination.

Danger came from outer space, this time. The Great Worms could sense a great amount of wealth from twelve parsecs around, and come and get it for themselves. Those were hidden in stories everywhere in the universe. For earthlings, they were dragons.
Thorin’s grandfather was king, his mind only turned to wealth, greed and riches. Something was wrong. Then Smaug came and all was lost.



At this point of his researches, he paused. It was easier to understand that Oakenshield, great hero of his people, wasn’t unanimously loved. He traded the old ways for survival. He didn’t fight until death for Erebor as it was expected. He didn’t retake Khazad-Dum (Moria!) with his father after Erebor’s fall.
On this one, they had the support of the Seven Clans, and they all failed. Now, they wanted him to accomplish some impossible feat to lend him some aid?
Geez, Dwarrow should be some cousins of Sontarans. True honor didn’t meant stupidity. Survival was sometimes more important, retreat to come back stronger, later.


The Dandy still didn’t want to go with them. But he was genuinely curious, now. He needed a talk with the Wizard. The Old Man didn’t say all he knew. He didn’t say anything at all, in fact.
He knew him for a long time. An abnormally long time.
The Dandy always suspected the Old Man to be a Time Lord, like him. Of course, the Wizard never said.

A few hours later, he meant to go back to his hearth, to find the room singularly crowded. The dwarrows had gathered and they listened Balin telling them about the great battle of Azanulbizar, and Khazad-Dum. He hid himself in the shadows of the fire, and surprised himself by humming along one of their songs. A song about a lost treasure, a mountain, a home lost.
Oh. A home lost.
He had worked hard to make one of his own. A place to be fully himself even if it was a solitary life.
He could understand their longing.

The Burglar didn’t care, the Dandy had a heart somewhere under his fancy clothes. Two, in fact, but enough trivia.

He get back to his rooms. He needed to pack.



Unsurprisingly, someone waited at the door.

“Old Man.”
“Burglar.”
“What’s your interest in this business? You never do something for nothing.”
“You know me well. It’s for… personal entertainment. I think you need a real adventure, not those pathetic little walks with benefits you do. You grew too easy on yourself.”
“May I remind you why I fled Gallifrey on the first place?”
“I know. I remember a young Time Lord, full of conviction, maybe a little vain, but… he burned with a fire I fear had dimmed.”
“I never liked their old ways.”

The old ways of who, he didn’t say.

“So, what will you do?”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll know tomorrow. And tell me… why Gandalf?”
“One can have many names, young one.”

And with that, he left.
The Burglar rolled his eyes. Half answers as best, as usual. Very well. One day he’ll discover the Old Man, or Gandalf’s secret, whatever his true name was.

Chapter Text

He barely slept. The night was old when he finally closed his eyes. Stray thoughts had raced through his mind, on an endless loop. Some crucial information was still missing. Like, how would they break into Erebor? The Wizard would have the means he guessed. The Wizard was like a mischief god of old, always scheming, always plotting.
He had readied a bag with some useful things. As changes of clothes, mainly. Maybe a device or two that came with the name Burglar.
He still won’t go, no.

In another part of the base, sleep eluded some Dwarrows.
Thorin Oakenshield hadn’t showed to the Burglar some secrets hidden in the device he used to display an image of Erebor. Like a secret pathway leading to a forgotten pass right to the mountain. Balin, equally awake, admitted it was a fine move from his king.
The Burglar appeared to be unreliable.

“What do we do about this Burglar, Thorin?” he asked with a frown.
“I’m inclined to let Fíli and Kíli spread chaos across the base and leave it to it.”
“I could break into his ‘collection’” said Nori with a smirk.
“I could bomb the entire base. Serves he well.” Dwalin added with a perfectly blank expression, quite terrifying in itself.
“Well, I don’t think we need him at all.” concluded Thorin.

Someone cleared his throat, suspiciously near them.

“In fact, you’ll need him.”
“Gandalf.”

He was welcomed with some frowns, and Thunderous Glare number three from Thorin.

“I don’t want someone who will betray us at the first opportunity.”
“Understandable. I think I’ll give you something to think about.”

Gandalf picked something from his sleeve. It was a long-stemmed pipe. With measured gestures, he refilled it and slipped the stem between his lips.

“Listen to me well, gentlemen. This young and vain creature is a Time Lord, as you know well. When they reach a certain age, they all look into some… time vortex. They see things. Some became mad. Some can’t stand what they see, and flee.”

The room was silent, save from the snores of those asleep.

“What did he see?”
“He never told me. But in him I saw a glimpse of something I rarely see. He wasn’t afraid. He was… furious. Some Time Lords became wanderers, you know. He chose to leave, he didn’t flee.”
“Why?”
“He always said to carve a path for himself. I don’t really know what he want to achieve, what he want to prove. In fact… he’s lonely. More lonely than he thinks.”
“So you like him, Gandalf.” said Balin with a little smile.

Gandalf smiled, and didn’t tell.

“I promise he won’t want the Arkenstone anymore, before the end.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know. Trust me, Thorin. Remember, we’ll need him to acquire the Key. Good night.”

He left, under another thunderous glare. Thorin looked at his companions.

“Well… I don’t know if we have a choice.” Balin sighed.
“It seems we haven’t, indeed. Go to sleep, all of you. We’ll keep an eye on this Burglar. At the first sign of treason…”

He made a foreboding gesture. Dwalin nodded. He would carry the will of his king, without hesitation.





The base was silent. Everyone gave in to sleep in the end, even the Old Man.
A spot appeared on the radar screen of the Burglar’s base, followed by another five. It moved at full speed, narrowing dangerously.

In his luxurious bed, the Dandy was asleep, cuddling a massive cushion. He slept in bright purple silk pajamas, his curls covered by a nightcap.
A piercing sound resounded in the entire base, awaking its entire population in one go.
Barefoot, forgetful about his silly sleepwear, the Dandy jumped to his control devices.

“By… fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Six vessels, coming fast.
He got an image. Those ships… he already saw them somewhere.

“Azog’s Horde!”
“Morning, Thorin. Should I understand you’re intimate with those gentlemen?”

Thorin glared at them.

“They are Orcs, the eldest enemy of my people. You can say goodbye to your lovely bachelor base, Burglar.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Do you have weapons?”
“No, only shields. That should gave us enough time.”
“Enough time for what?”
“Gather everyone into hangar one. I need to pick up some things… now!”

It was chaos. Dwarrows gathered their belongings and lost some precious time finding hangar one. The Burglar grabbed his bag, and went to his favourite room. He looked in the dimmed fire with sad eyes.

“How naïve of me. I should have…”

The entire base shook under the first volley of laser cannons. He lost his footing, falling on his behind. A helping hand came into his view.

“Get up, you fool!”
“Old Man. My collection…”
“No time for this!”
“Don’t worry. Get to my TARDIS and check on the dwarrows. Please?”
“Hurry up. You don’t have much time.”

The Wizard disappeared, and he took a few seconds more to commit the room to memory. Then he grabbed his bag again and went to another room. The room displaying his collection.
He had lacked foresight in some aspect, but not for everything. He pushed a button, the displays shrinking to a perfectly sized box, easy to put in a travel bag.

Shield one and two, critical level. Shield three, disabled. Critical damage to the library.

The disembodied voice of his security system reverberated in the room. He started to run again. Maybe his stubbornness would cost him more than he was ready to pay.





Into hangar one, the Dwarrows waited, gathered in front of the TARDIS. The silver ship seemed too small to take them all inside, and they were ready to use their own ships to try to escape. They were doomed, of course. The little vessels weren’t fast nor equipped enough against the Orcs.

“Where is the Burglar?”
“Where is Gandalf?”

Thorin hated to be right. The Burglar was a liability, and Gandalf… he didn’t want to think about Gandalf now. He seemed to have vanished.

Mere minutes seemed to be hours.

Shield one, disabled. Hangar three destroyed. Oxygen breach in zones two and four. Time before complete shutdown: 30 seconds.

They looked at each other. Well, the quest was a short one.

“IN THE TARDIS, NOW!”

A disheveled Time Lord in purple pajamas, his nightcap dangling miserably, ran barefoot to his vessel as if an army of rodents was on his heels.
The door of the ship opened.

“But…”
“No buts, go!”

The Dwarrows moved at last. Surprisingly, they all fitted inside.
The Burglar threw his bag in a corner, sat himself before the controls.

“I’ll provide comfortable seats for everyone later, gentlemen. Shut up and let me do my things.”

The familiar sound of the TARDIS reverberated in the hangar.

“Okay. Auto destruction sequence, launch.”

Ten seconds before auto destruction.

The Dwarrows yelled, louder and louder, in the common tongue and in their own language. A proper chaotic mess.

“Not us, sillies. My base. Be glad, I’m sacrificing my home for your quest.”

The Burglar’s eyes gleamed with something akin to unshed tears. His others features were set in a mask of cold determination.
The TARDIS bolted forward. If his timing were right, he would be far away before the Orcs could react and engage the chase.


He didn’t watch the silent series of explosions. An inconspicuous asteroid was soon wiped from space.
He was homeless again.

He slumped on his seat, properly defeated. One of the Dwarrows, the one with the funny hat, approached him with an air of sorrow on his face.

“We’re sorry, lad.”
“Don’t be. Bofur, it isn’t?”
“Yessir.”
“I guess we’re on the same boat now.”
“That shouldn’t have happened.”
“And yet. Please, don’t talk about it anymore. Allow me a change of clothes, and we’ll see what to do next.”

The Dwarrows stayed silent, watching him rose and disappear behind a panel, his bag in hand.
He came back, clothed as usual, as if nothing had happened. He was clad in a suit in dark blue tones, including an embroidered waistcoat, a cravat, and leather shoes. His curls were perfectly combed, and he got a smile plastered on his lips.

A light flickered on the instrument panel. He sat, pushed a button. A familiar face appeared on the screen, with a cockpit and the darkness of space in the background.

“Hello again, Old Man. Did you manage to escape?”
“As you can see, Burglar. I’ll send you coordinates. Thorin, we need to talk. Who knows about your quest?”
“No one, I swear!”
“Well, it seems we have a problem.”

Chapter Text

“Everybody stands still.”

The Burglar stood in the center of his ship, concentration written all over his face. The Dwarrows waited with a bit of trepidation. What now?
They should be starting to be used to the strangeness of their new travel companion.
The young ones looked at him with a bit of awe, especially Ori who was a scholar, versed in many species lore.

“Hush, now,” he murmured. “I think he’ll try to synchronise with his TARDIS. It’s quite difficult.”
“Absolutely not, mister Ori. Watch and learn.”

Nothing seemed to happen. Then they all felt a faint vibration emanating from the center of the ship, slowly growing in intensity. The Burglar had closed his eyes, and he seemed quite at peace in this very moment. The shadow of a smile graced his lips and he swayed lightly on his feet, to the sound of a silent melody heard by no one save him.
Suddenly everything stilled. The Time Lord opened his eyes and looked around, satisfied.

“It’s done. New rooms for me, and some for you.”

And a few other things, like fourteen seats, placed directly behind the cockpit. The Burglar could maneuver his ship and talk with his passengers, now.

“I’ll be pleased if you don’t start to explore everything. You certainly know what one says about TARDISes, Ori?”
“Bigger in the inside?”
“Good. Everything you had read about Time Lords isn’t utter bullshit. So, no quests for lost Dwarrows.”

Ori shyly looked elsewhere.

“Do you have an armoury in there?”
“Nope, mister Dwalin. We can make a small detour if you really need weapons. But I thought stealth was mandatory.”
“Obviously it is too late for that.” said Thorin, his words contrasting with the sudden silence in the cockpit.
“You said Azog’s…”
“Azog was an Orc leader. He killed my father and my brother at Azanulbizar. I killed him in turn.”
“So it’s logical some of his followers would seek revenge and try to stop you. I hope the Wizard would know more. He’s not here with us, that means he has a plan.”
“I fear we won’t find allies in this endeavour.”
“You have me.” uttered the Burglar with an air of finality.

Silence again. Some Dwarrows had gone to their new chambers, letting Thorin, Balin and Dwalin alone with the Burglar.

“So, do you need weapons? Honestly, I advise against it. We should go to where the Old Man sent us.”
“All right. Set the coordinates.”
“Please. You forgot ‘please’.”
“What?”

Thorin’s bewilderment was palpable. Dwalin contained a barely concealed laugh and quickly schooled his face. Fíli and Kíli, less experienced in this matter, barked with laughter, running away from their leader’s ire.
Arms crossed on his chest, the Burglar seemed to wait.

“Manners are what distinguish a gentleman from a brute. And you’ll find I’m quite irritating, a true weapon in itself.”

The Burglar sported a slight smirk.

“Come on, mister Oakenshield.”
“Fine. Please.”
“Better.” 

He jumped on his seat, his fingers running on the keyboard.

“Oh, Old Man, really?”

Under some cofounded gazes, he pointed the screen.

“He send us to Rivendell.”





Thorin was furious, to say the least.
Furious seemed his default mode. The Burglar had a theory about that. If some enemy from his complicated past didn’t kill him on the way, his nerves would. Holding such grudges was unhealthy.
He had watched him ranting about some elves and their blatant lack of aid when the Great Worm came. The fact Rivendell was too far away wasn’t even considered.
Now, seeking them for… what, exactly, was the stupidest move ever. No, he won’t go.
Balin stood and whispered something in the ear of his leader. Something about a key, if the Time Lord had understood correctly.
He didn’t really know, because the Dwarrows had quickly retreated on their new rooms after that, and he had swear to himself to respect their privacy. He was Burglar, not Thief nor Spy.
It was bad manners to pry on them, even if it was tempting.

Thorin was a difficult one. Now they were involved together, he wanted to have a cordial relationship with them. No more, no less. He sought no friendship.
A Burglar has no use for friends. Friends don’t remain as such for long. He liked, no, he loved his solitary lifestyle. People were irritating, rude, and noisy.



He nearly fell asleep on his instrument panel. Rivendell was really far away. As he understood this corner of the universe, three or four systems formed the Eä Federation. Three races lived more or less peacefully together, trading and exchanging. The Eldar System prevailed for a long time, more advanced technologically. They helped the Dwarrow System, the second to emerge, then the Edain System, to catch up.
Orcs came right after the Edain System broke most of its isolation and technology gap. There were wars, many wars, taking a huge toll on the Eldar, destroying their main planet at the time, Beleriand.
Rumours ran wildly after the War of the Last Alliance. The Eldar System declined. Many left, for a planet stories called Valinor, hidden by some convoluted device from a more advanced race. Valar were gods like and they took an interest in the Eldar, calling them home.
Some stayed behind, waiting for the Last War against the Orcs and the opportunity to vanquish them for good.
The Edain, a race less strong than Dwarrow, and short-lived unlike the Eldar, had the advantage of numbers. They quite forgot the other two systems, too weak to aid them properly. A rift born from the troubles and decline of the two others races.
Well, concerning Eldar, only a few planets were still inhabited. Lothlorien, ruled by an Eldar queen, and Rivendell, the refuge of scholars and peace seeking-warriors of old.

They were few. Orcs won’t follow them here.



The TARDIS landed on a vast plain. There were the remains of an old spaceport, invaded by plants. The Burglar smiled smugly, spotting another ship, a white one, in the sharp shapes of a fighter. The letters ‘Shadowfax’ were painted black on the sides.
The Old Man ship.

“Let’s move, gentlemen. The Wizard is already there.”

The Dwarrows gathered. They were clad with armours sporting their clan’s crest and colours, and weapons. The Burglar must admit Thorin looked quite fetching in blue and silver. Yet the cape was too much.
He hid a smile, turning over to pick his favourite cane near the door.

Reaching Imladris, or “the last homely house” as it was called (honestly, Eldar had a knack for using three different languages to basically name the same thing) took a three-hour walk into a wild, beautiful forest. A path revealed itself as they went on.
That meant they were acknowledged as friends. Foes would lost themselves into the wild and be left to die of thirst and hunger.

Rivendell was an old world, and Imladris a beautiful city spread between trees, blending with the forest. They stopped to admire the view, for some Time Lord, or to despise it, for the Dwarrows.
Some tall, slim creatures clad in gold armour were upon them in no time. The Burglar noticed their pointed ears, opposing the round-eared Dwarrows. They sported long, braided hair, and an ethereal vibe.

The Burglar bowed with a flourish, in a (in his mind) proud display of elegance. The Dwarrows followed, bowing stiffly.

“The Burglar, at your service.”
“And Thorin and Company, at yours.” Balin completed.

An Eldar with dark hair and hawk-like eyebrows stepped forward.

“Mithrandir said you would come.”
“Mithrandir now?” mumbled the Burglar. “How much names this old bugger had?”

The Eldar barely smiled, and with a gesture, invited them to follow. Not another word was exchanged until they arrived at an enclosed space, opening on a blooming garden.
A massive wooden table waited them, someone already seated.

“Hello there.”

The Old Man.

“How did you manage to escape, Gandalf?”

Thorin’s gaze was fixed on the Wizard.

“Too easily to be at peace. The Orcs will come back. We need to find the k…”
“Hush!”
“Don’t hush me, Thorin Oakenshield. We don’t have much time, and Elrond is here to help you. We need him to reveal the secret of your map.”

The Eldar looked at them curiously. Everybody was seated before someone dared to speak again.

“Mithrandir told us of your quest. Speak freely, Thorin Oakenshield. I remember your grandfather well.”
“He never spoke about you.” Thorin replied coolly.
“Geez, Thorin, try to be polite.”
“Shut your trap, Burglar. I won’t bargain with traitors and greedy people.”

The Burglar wanted to open his mouth again, but he was stopped by Elrond’s hand.

“We should have helped, that’s true. We had our own problems at the time. I lost my wife to the Orcs. We barely avoided an invasion. I had to protect Rivendell.”

Elrond’s feature were blank, his tone even.

“You know Eldar are leaving. Soon no one will remain. It is written in the stars. The Age of the Eldar is nearly reaching its end. The Dwarrows will follow and only the Edain will remain. But the time has not come to give up yet. We have a last war to fight, and maybe your quest would help our purpose. I will help you. Give me the map.”

Thorin hesitated, and, reluctantly gave a sphere to Elrond. It was a strange device the Burglar had not seen clearly the first time.

“This is Dwarrow technology of old. I had not seen something like this in centuries.”

Elrond looked transfixed. His slim fingers hovered upon the sphere, then he did something quick and complicated, too fast for eyes to see. The device split in three parts, at some Dwarrows dismay.

“Not broken.” The Eldar whispered.

He put the three parts together again, and they gave in with an oddly satisfying clicking sound.

“There are runes etched on the sides. They said… ‘find the Key, deep under stone where creatures of old still dwell, and at the last light of Durin’s day, it will reveal the secret path.’”
“Sounds like an enigma. What about those creatures?” genuinely asked the Burglar.
“They were many… Take a few days to rest.”

Elrond rose, and left them. Silence was broken by shouts, and some cries of despair. How they were supposed to find the Key before Durin’s day, with so little information?

“How many creatures of your lore dwell under stone?” the Burglar said.
“Too much. Some are really dangerous.”
“Goblins. Trolls. Maybe stone giants.”
“Balrogs.”

Ori shuddered and said nothing more. Balin and Glóin, who had speak before, looked at each other.

“Not the Balrog.” said Balin. “It must be something else.”

The Burglar ceased to listen, distracted by the scent of food.

“Gentlemen, a meal is on our way.”

Cries of joy cut short the discussion. Everybody suddenly noticed how hungry they were.
Thorin’s eyes stayed locked to the device. Durin’s day. So little time. So much to do.

Chapter Text

The Eldar had said rest. In the Burglar’s mind, it was a sound plan. They needed time to sort this enigma, a stupid riddle of sorts if his opinion was asked. Really, the item could have had a place of choice in his collection as an object of curiosity.
Moreover it seemed to be the stupidest security plan ever. What if the aforementioned creatures eat the key and… oh, dear, no, he should stop thinking about a tour of some evacuation systems.

“Burglar, can I speak to you?”
“Sure, Balin, what’s the matter?”

The old Dwarrow had another sphere in his hands.

“We were meant to sign a contract between us. How you would steal the Arkenstone for a share of our riches. Alas, things are not the same anymore.”
“I didn’t notice.” said the Burglar with a smile, putting a hand on Balin’s shoulder. “Look, I still don’t really want to go with you, but I have some unfinished business with those rude Orcs.”

And I still want this bloody Arkenstone, he thought.

“Well, I made some amends in the contract. Since we’ll need more of your competences, you’ll be rewarded accordingly.”
“Like…”
“Don’t put your hopes up.”

Some steel was found in the old dwarrow’s eyes. Kind, but not to be messed up with. The Burglar definitively liked him.

“A shame.”
“I know for sure of others things worth your interest. So, one artifact from our treasure for each part of the key. Two more for the Arkenstone…”
“Five. Or the Arkenstone is really a worthless piece of rock.”
“Five it is. Plus some compensation for your little rocky nest.”
“That’s much considerate. Okay, you have a deal.”
“Always a pleasure to do with you.”

Balin connected the sphere to a pad and made the last changes on the contract under the scrutinizing eye of the Burglar.

“Put your handprint in there.”
“Oh, you’ll need something more. You know I can change all of that?” he showed literally himself. “Should I regenerate during your quest, the contract is void.”

Balin looked perplexed. The Burglar produced an object from one of his pockets.

“My seal.”

It was a little box made of wood, he supposed. Balin had never saw something like that. It was as black as a moonless sky, with a patina worth of centuries. Inside, a square of metal.
Balin took it into revered hands.

“Yes, it’s quite old. For all we are advanced in all things, we Time Lords like our contracts on good old paper. For our seals are impossible to counterfeit, you see?”
“I really don’t.”

The lines on the metal looked really simple, like some intricate circles.

“You can’t. Gallifrey scriptures look easy to reproduce, but the gist of the thing is on how we made those seals. It’s… kind of a secret, I’m afraid.”
“A scan of your seal would be okay?”
“Sure. Proceed.”

His copy of the contract joined his seal in his pocket. Now he was bound to them.
He didn’t took time to reflect on this. He would use his time more sensibly.
Starting with a good lie-in in the gardens.




The Dwarrows were given quarters with the suggestion to take some rest, a suggestion badly received on Thorin’s part.
He paced back and forth, not looking at the others. Balin was sent to finish some business with the Burglar, Glóin and Óin volunteered to calculate how much time they had before Durin’s day, and the others… did something on their own. Fíli and Kíli laughed at some stories delivered by Bofur, his funny hat askew. Bifur slept like a log, undisturbed by his surroundings. Dori fussed over Ori, who tried to record something in his journal. The youngest in Thorin’s company only won his place by vowing to document the entire quest, for future generations. Nori seemed to have vanished. Dwalin checked his weapons, a massive axe and a Warhammer. And Bombur had made his way to the kitchen, to snatch some snacks and the recipe for some of the dishes served here.

Thorin paced back and forth, sending Thunderous Glare Seventh of his name to the key Elrond left them.

“Peace, Uncle.” Said Fíli, almost quietly.

Thunderous Glare Seven moved on him. He shrugged and get on his feet.

“A shitty enigma and no time to manage. Honestly, things could be worse.”

Thorin snarled.

“You’re a naïve child.”
“I’m not the one trying to bury myself on the ground by only walking on it. Maybe we could ask the Burglar. Or find more in this Eldar’s library. We have the path, the time. We only need the key.”
“Sounds like a plan, laddie.” Dwalin commented.





Somewhere else in Imladris, Elrond and Gandalf were conferring, a glass of wine in hands, like two old friends. They were friends, for a very long time.

“I’m saddened to learn the passing of Nightshade. Even more, it has happened so long ago and you didn’t say.”
“Sorry, old friend. Was busy.”
“As I. As we all were. Do not worry.”

They stayed in silence, for a long while. Gandalf knew his Eldar friend well. He always had a well-schooled face, and Eldar were not prone on display of emotions, even if they were deeply feeling. The signs were subtle, a slight frown, something in the eyes… Elrond was worried. And tired.

“But I do. I’m afraid I’ve started something I can’t stop.” The Old Man said suddenly.

Elrond’s dark eyes bore into his own. He didn’t smile. He didn’t react at all.

“We have fought for so long. When you took upon yourself to be like a guardian for Eä, I was… glad. Even if I knew your race is prone to those things.”
“Nightshade was not.”
“Nightshade was… I don’t really know if she was an innocent child or an old woman who had lived many lives, sometimes.”

Gandalf smiled. It was a sad smile.

“I still miss her.”
“And now, you… does he know?”
“Of course not. I don’t think he would forgive me for what I did after her death.”
“So this is why the son of Nightshade came with a bunch of Dwarrows in tow, led by the last heir of Durin’s line. I don’t trust Thorin Oakenshield. You know the stories about the curse of his line. You need to stop them.”

Gandalf nodded, and locked eyes with Elrond. His grey eyes sparkled with a kind of renewed fire.

“Did you trust Nightshade?”
“With my very life.”
“So do trust her son.”



In the shadows, a form retreated. Star-shaped hair, silent feet, and something unnerving about his air. Nori, the thief, once an outcast in Dwarrow society, served his king right.
Right now, he didn’t really know what to do with those new information.
He made a large detour to come back to their quarters, and silently slipped in his room.
The Old Man was more than a mere meddler.
He would bide his time. One day, the old bugger will answer some of his questions. Willingly or not, that was none of Nori’s business.

The next few days were well spent.
Thorin nearly dug a trench in their quarters with his pacing, but it was something not worth telling. They spent much time in the library, checking their own lore (how humiliating, somehow, to find on Eldar territory their own history).
One does know Dwarrows were a secretive race. They had a secret language, secret ways of old no stranger was able to witness.
They were Khazad, not Dwarrows. But only them knew (and maybe some meddling ones and a Time Lord prying on stories in front of a fire).


The Burglar didn’t quite mingle with the Dwarrows during those few days. He had time to regret to have signed this contract (really, what was he thinking? Balin’s kind blue eyes were at fault) and to feel deadly bored. 
He checked the library on the death of the first night in Rivendell, hiding carefully the books on Time Lords lore they had. By the second day, he started to play hide and seek with Nori. The thief, he learned by some sneaking on his own, was a sort of spymaster for Thorin. Nori pried on the Old Man and Elrond too, as he discovered.
The Dwarrow was quite good at his trade. Not as good as him, naturally.

On the third day, he stole the map and hid to investigate. A device like that was more than a simple receptacle for enigmas.
On the fourth day, Thorin caught him with the map. A yelling match ensued.
On the fifth day, the Orcs came.

Chapter Text

The Dwarrows wanted to fight. Of course, they wanted to fight, only not to be indebted to the Eldar. They were met with Gandalf and Elrond, sporting impressive scowl.

“You’ll left the fight to us. Go, find the key.”
“I’ll catch up with you later. Careful, lads.”

Thorin gave them the Ultimate Thunderous Glare. The Burglar chuckled.

“I think they’re right. We’re bid by a contract, mister Oakenshield, and as your driver and burglar, I must ask you to hurry.”
“No ‘please and thank yous’?”
“Move your bloody lazy asses. Pretty fuckin’ please is enough?”

The way back to the spatioport was quicker. Of course they had secret tunnels with a magnetic railroad. Of course they could have used it in the first place, but where was the fun in that?

They piled in the TARDIS. The Burglar checked his radar. The Orcs would be there in a matter of minutes, and he needed to calculate their course to avoid contact.
He felt Thorin’s gaze bore two holes in his skull.

“Mister Oakenshield, if your glare were lasers, I could use you as my main weapon.”

A few stray unrestrained chuckles were a reward enough.

“We’ll just hide for a while, all right? We have some things to figure out.”

He did get they didn’t like to flee. They had honor, and for principle to fight no matter what. It was perfectly stupid. They wanted to get Erebor back, or to die a useless death against Orcs?

Some time later, they were gathered around the bloody device. None was the wiser about the unrevealed secrets still caught in there. The Burglar fifth attempt to snatch the map again was rewarded by a slap on the arm by Dwalin, because he couldn’t reach further and aim for the back of the head. Pride more wounded that his arm, the Burglar glared at them with an air of coldness.

“Just use logic, gentlemen. Your people is a secretive one. So the parts of the Key would be on the Dwarrow System.”
“We’ve checked.” said Ori with a low voice, gathering attention and calming the boiling tension. “There’s not much creatures of old dwelling underground. We can exclude Khaz… Moria, sorry, because of the Balrog. This one is too powerful. It’s called Durin’s Bane for a reason.”
“You can say Khazad-Dum, Ori. I’m already aware.”
“Oh, well. So, I think we need to explore the other planets.”
“Nice one. That would be okay if we do it for another Durin’s day? Like in a decade or two.” deadpanned Fíli.

Thorin growled.

“We don’t have decades.”
“Maybe not. So I ask you humbly, O Great Thorin Oakenshield, revered leader of us all: may I borrow this bloody device and made it reveal its secrets once and for all?”
“I hate you, Burglar.”
“I’m truly chocked. Pretty please and stuff?”

The Burglar fluttered his lashes. Dwalin and Glóin groaned.

“He didn’t.”
“I think so.”
“I need to wash my eyes. With acid.”
“Well, he’s quite fetching like this.”
“Kíli!”

One Bifur roared with laughter. A more sensible Balin fetched the device and gave it to the Burglar.

“Do your thing. And, maybe can I suggest to not coming back unless you’ve found something?”
“I think I can do that.”

Before vanishing in the depths of his TARDIS, he settled a course in the general direction of the Dwarrow System. Ori was a logical one, for someone so young. A promising one.




The Burglar had ditched waistcoat and all, only clad in a loose shirt and comfy pants. He liked his fancy clothes, for sure, but comfort was equally important sometimes.
He was nearly impatient to show the Dwarrows his working clothes.
Erm, concentrate, you clod.
He didn’t lose time to look closely at the device. He already tried that without results.

“Okay. I want a complete structural scan. I want to know how this thing work.”

He waited for a couple of seconds. Oh, yeah. His base was voice controlled, not the TARDIS.
He tuned his scanner, and put the device in it. Now, time for a cup of tea.




“Nori!”

The thief with a sly smile appeared behind Dwalin shoulder. The warrior swore, swung his right fist in the air, missing Nori by an inch.

“Too slow, you big oaf.”

Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible. Thorin, at his side, glared magnificently.

“Report.”
“Well, boss… I didn’t really heard something useful at Rivendell. I need to keep an eye to the old one.”
“The Burglar?”
“Nearly impossible to fool. He’s good.”
“It is good news?”
“Probably not for you, Dwalin.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes. Thorin nodded, Nori took his leave.

The boss was pissed off. Not really surprising, since meddling ones took over his quest.
He took his decision. When the Burglar went to sleep tonight, he’ll contact Gandalf. He needed a little discussion.




Two mugs of tea later, the Burglar looked at a 3D image of the device. It was really an intricate one. It was beautiful in its strange ways.
Time Lords designs were smooth, round lines, intricate circles. Dwarrow ones were angular, convoluted, more intricate.

“Searching for patterns in the structure. I want to know how to disassemble the thing. Maybe there are another ways. Elrond had found the easiest one, I think.”

He watched attentively his computer working. Bless the TARDIS and its on-board technology. Some parts of the image moved, one by one.

“Oh, dear. Those things are small.”

He had now a disassembled device to play with.

“Oookay, let’s try this way…”

The tea was cooling down in his forgotten mug.



“Oh, here you are.”
“Hello, Bombur.”

The burly Dwarrow (the burliest of them all in fact, but he wasn’t one to speak inconsiderably) carried a tray.

“I found a kitchen here, so… I made a stew.”
“Very nice of you. Thank you.”

The Burglar didn’t look in Bombur’s direction. The latter put the tray on a table in the corner of the room.

“Found something?”
“I think so. Look at that. You can assemble this thing in three others ways at last. Maybe more…”
“Oh. It isn’t like, coordinates or something?”
“Can’t read them. I’ll need… Balin or Ori, I think. You can fetch our esteemed leader too. I don’t want him to explode. He would left stains.”

Bombur chuckled.
This one seemed nice too, with his impressive braid like a rope and his fiery ginger beard. It was the first time he spoke to him, he realised. Well, it was surprisingly nice.

“Don’t forget to eat.”
“Yessir.” said the Burglar with good humour.




He had his nose in his stew (and what a good cook Bombur was!) when they came to him. Thorin, with Balin and Ori in tow. The others hovered nearby.

“Okay, okay, everyone, there is no room for more than three of you. Get back in the cockpit, I’ll show you there.”

Grumbling Dwarrows receded. Now he could work.

“I think I have something. I have a slight problem. I can’t read your runes, and I think those are coordinates ones.”
“Three of them? Fascinating.”

Ori and Balin set to work. Thorin looked at the Burglar with no kindness in his eyes.

“Still angry with me?”
“Don’t push your luck, Burglar.”
“Look, I’ve already lost more than I planned in this quest. You’re quite the all or nothing kind of fellow, right?”

He waited for a response, received none. Thorin stubbornly looked elsewhere.

“I suppose it’s something to admire in leaders. I don’t know. I’m a free spirit. I could not fathom how it would be to have the fate of other people in my hands. It isn’t terrifying at times?”

Thorin still stayed silent. Then…

“Don’t ask me.”
“Oh, you can keep your secrets. You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. You hate Orcs, I don’t like them either. I want reparation.”
“Revenge?”
“No. Reparation. In that we are different, I believe.”
“Indeed.”

Silence again. It wasn’t uncomfortable. They had nothing more to say, and they stayed side by side, looking at the two others. Ori uttered a little cry of joy.

“We’ve got it, we’ve got it!”
“All three? Well done, Ori.” said the Burglar, then he stepped aside. “Do your thing, mister Thorin. I think I overstepped more than I can recount.”

It was surprising, in a good way for once. As the Burglar seemed to remember his place.
The Time Lord smiled and nodded sharply, once.

“Well done indeed. Let’s tell the others.”

Thorin nodded in turn in direction of the Burglar.
For the first time they seemed to have reached common ground. He didn’t quite understand the warm and sudden feeling in his chest.
Like… he had been acknowledged, in a way.

Chapter Text

The Burglar let the Dwarrows alone. He felt tired, now that he had found the coordinates. Balin had come with a tablet, showing the first of their destinations. It seemed a tour of Belegost was in order.

He looked absent-mindedly at his box. He had put his bag in the chamber he usually used in the TARDIS, and closed the door. His collection would be safe here. He would be safe too.
He hadn’t took the time to process what had happened. Their escape, Rivendell. The Old Man.
He should be angry. Honestly, right now, he felt nothing. No, he felt… like an emptiness.
He had built a life for himself, away from a planet stuck in its old ways, non-accepting of new ways, other ways. Otherness, imperfection were not tolerated.
He wasn’t perfect.

He had been an orphan, not really mistreated, not really accepted either. Like an inconvenience, tolerated at best. He went to the Academy as every Time Lord did, learned as he was bid to do. He had no choice but to conform. To be, as the others, anonymous, a nameless shadow into the crowd.
Then he had watched into the Time Vortex. He had seen a woman with green eyes and hair the color of a wheat field in summer. He hadn’t understood the longing in his heart. His hearts. Something was amiss; he knew it.
He had wanted to ask the Old Man. Something deep inside stopped him. No, he needed to protect this… this strange secret.
Yes, something was amiss inside him. He always knew; the Time Vortex only brought it in his conscious realm.
Then he felt anger.

This anger was like a wild fire. It burned everything.
The Old Man had attempted to stop him. To wait a little more. But he couldn’t.
Gallifrey had never been his home. A borrowed one, maybe, until he had been ready to take the next step.

It was true, he hadn’t ran away. In his best clothes, he had walked to the TARDIS hangar, and with some audacity, had demanded a TARDIS for his own needs. He was not stupid; he had waited for a particular Time Lord to be here. An old cog he had studied for days. He had tricked it with some forged papers, and properly vanished before anyone could ever stop him.

Gallifrey would never be an option again.



No, he wasn’t sad. Sure, losing an entire library of old books was a cruel blow. All of them were in the TARDIS virtual library. He had copies, digital ones, some physical ones. He wasn’t totally stupid.
Yet… the Old Man was right. He had let himself trap in his own ways. Truly, a shame.

He wasn’t an old cog. He was the Burglar.

He stopped in his tracks. He had heard… a noise so familiar he could not be wrong. Nori hadn’t lost any time.
He went to the door, opened it.

“Hello, Nori.”

The thief didn’t try to hide what he was doing. Honestly, picking a lock inside a TARDIS. What a stupid move.

“Ori didn’t tell you how useless your attempt will be?”
“He could have mentioned it, eventually.”

The Burglar smiled.

“Come in. I want to discuss something with you.”

Nori’s tool vanished in a pocket, and the Dwarrow entered, under the watchful gaze of the Burglar.

“I’m listening.”
“Wine?”
“No.”

The Burglar took a glass and poured wine, with a slight smile. Nori stayed carefully still.

“A shame.”
“I prefer some beer.”
“I don’t have any. So, Nori… it seems we play the same game.”
“You’re not quite bad yourself.”
“Thank you. I wanted to ask you to stop trying to spy on me. I’ll give you anything you need.”
“Why would you do that?”

He took a careful gulp of wine.

“A good question. I obviously don’t care about your quest, or your leader.”
“Obviously. What are your interest in this? Apart of the Arkenstone, of course?”
“None.”
“Don’t tell me the Old Man plays fool with you?”

Nori looked quite flabbergasted. Or it was a trick to entice him to speak further.

“He likes it a lot. It’s all fun and games until it is not anymore. He has his own agenda.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I could have left you on Rivendell. But I have nothing more useful to do, currently.”
“So you’ll call a truce.”

The Time Lord raised his glass in a kind of salute, a little bit ironic.

“Kind of.”

Nori’s eyes were fixed on him. His expression was neutral, with a hint of mistrust. His eyes betrayed him, sometimes.

“You can’t be trusted. But I have something of my own. Gandalf and Elrond…”
“Oh, really? I already know you’ve spied on them.”
“It seems I have information you don’t have. The Old Man has some dirty secrets.”
“Well. No surprise here.”
“So you want a truce. You’ll have it. I want to know…”

The Burglar laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll let you do whatever you want concerning this old bugger. Don’t report to me, I don’t care.”
“Afraid to know?”
“This old fool is impossible to trick. Good luck, Nori.”

The thief took his leave. Honestly, he didn’t believe it. It had been too easy. Or the Burglar knew something more.
Whatever. He would do as he had vowed. Gandalf would heard about him sooner than later.




Meanwhile, in another part of the TARDIS… Dwalin organized the watch. First, Kíli and Glóin, then Fíli and Bifur, last Bofur and Dori.
Ori seemed a bit annoyed by it. Why, asked his big eyes, reflecting how young he was at this very moment.

“I think you could have a little faith in him.”
“No.” said Thorin, quite brutally. “I won’t. Nor you, or everyone else.”
“Why?” Ori blurted. “It’s unfair. He lost his…”
“Yeah.” interrupted Dwalin. “Don’t care.”
“You should be ashamed.”

The young Dwarrow didn’t say another word, refusing to look at the others. Thorin shrugged. Maybe the young one had a point. In regard of everything they knew about him, the Burglar would need to accomplish a feat of arms before being granted a sliver of trust.
No more than a sliver, because he was like the Old Man, unworthy of trust. Unworthy, period.

The Dwarrow felt slightly guilty. Unworthy wasn’t the truth, but it was too early to make amends, even only in his own mind.





Nori waited in a corner. He wasn’t on watch tonight, and he took the first pretext coming to his mind (a bathroom break, for instance) to vanish. A door was slightly open on purpose, and on the screen was a note with an elegant flourish in the words.

Can’t say I didn’t warn you. He’ll eat you alive. Good luck.

He crumpled the piece of paper with a snort and turned on the screen. He tried a bunch of frequencies the Old Man always used to contact the Burglar.
The sound coming from the Old Man ship was not encouraging.

“Who’s there? Didn’t you see I’m a little busy?”

More than busy. Nori saw lasers beam coming near the ship, more than once.

“Nori. I have a few questions for you.”
“And I have no time for you. See you later.”

The screen went black.
Well… Nori had been warned indeed.
The thief smiled. Now now. He was as stubborn as their leader sometimes.

“Again? Burglar, I’ll throttle you!”
“Still Nori. We have the coordinates. I have a few questions…”
“Now‘s not the time.”
“I can see that. The Orcs?”
“Precisely.”

 Silence for a while. Nori watched a series of escape maneuvers with a rare fascination.

“Who’s Nightshade?” 
“Where did you… oh, whatever. Can’t tell you.”
“You will. Or some Burglar will know you did awful things to him.”
“Well. I can’t deny it. Don’t you think he’ll deserve to know first?”
“Don’t care.”

More escape maneuvers. Well, it seemed Gandalf had angered some enemies.

“Still the Orcs?”
“Yep. Nori, cut the communication, now!”


He didn’t had time. The image on the screen faltered with a horrid sound, then it switched on a pale face, disfigured by a bunch of scars. One eye was milky white, the other black as the night. A bald face, with teeth like a wild animal, a nearly absent nose, and ears like the Eldar, but sharper, as cut with a knife.

“I see you, little Dwarrrow-scum. I come for you. I come for Oakenshield!”

Nori tried to shut the device with no effect.

“I know where you are. I come, now!”

Nori let escape a flow of khuzdul, and threw his punch right in the screen. The image of the Orc vanished.
He looked at his own bloodied fist with horror on his face.

“Nori?”

The Burglar, clad in his ridiculous pajamas.

“Are you okay?”
“I… the Orcs are coming.”

The Burglar gave a helping hand to the Dwarrow, who take it reluctantly. He did look ashamed of himself.

“What have I done…”

Chapter Text

The pale faced Orc sported a cruel smile on his scarred face. It had been too easy.
His men have been working on a hacking program for a while. Maybe two decades. All he needed was a decoy to enter the Old Man’s system, as a stupid Dwarrow asking stupid questions.
What was a Nightshade? Irrelevant to the mission.
They had one objective: find the little Time Lord and his bunch of passengers. Destroy them.

No, not destroy them, not now. Later.
Killing Thorin Oakenshield and tearing off the Arkenstone from his fingers would be his pleasure. Some torture before was maybe in order.
He hadn’t decided yet how the Dwarrow-scum would suffer for the murder of his father.



Orc society was an odd one. They were initially born from experiments by some dark lord, thirsty for power and domination. The aforementioned dark lord died eventually, and some could think Orcs were doomed. Yet Orcs were a fiery race, capable of enduring, evolving.
From nameless shadows with no minds of their own, they became powerful tribes, forged in combat and trials. Some powerful leaders rose, taking command of their tribes.
They were nine.
They struggled for a time, war raging in their ranks, tribe against tribe, no one taking advantage upon the others.

Then they established the Nine. A council of sorts, made up by the leaders of all the tribes.
They were equals. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Orcs were a race c203haracterised by its lack of trust between themselves. Outsiders form others tribes were not friends and only their common interest in wiping the Eä Federation united them.
They were warriors. They were fighters, defending their right to live, their right for a revenge for eons of wars against the Eldar, the Dwarrows, and more recently, the Edain.
Their planet was Mordor, a small one, without enough resources for the nine tribes.
Beleriand was destroyed in one of their many attempts at conquest. Rumours said some of them had built secrets colonies into some Federation’s planets, and became smaller, meaner. Creatures of the darkness, thriving without light, multiplying blindly. Goblins they were, cousins of the Orcs. Bastards, despised by their stronger cousins.

The Orcs had skins from green to black and sported a vast range of deformities, the legacy of the dark lord. Centuries of breeding cleared them from the most debilitating ones, leaving them with only the aesthetic ones. They always had ugly faces, with sharp features, or unnatural growths.
They spend the most of their lives fighting, first to become adults, then to find their place in the tribe. Some valued combat above all, others staying alive by all means, even the crueler ones.
The weak ones were killed without mercy. There was no love, only the tribe’s strength.
Leaders were not hereditary. The strong one took the place of the weak one.
To limit the numbers of changes in leaders (the shortest reign of an Orc leader was three minutes and twenty seconds before beheading) they defined a set of rules.
Once a cycle (more or less three months) they reunited the tribe and challengers could defy the leader. Bloody combat ensued.

In the Warg Riders tribe, a pale orc was born on a moonless night. Pale skin was a sign of weakness and the younglings abandoned to die alone in the cold.
Not this one.
The rumours said he killed his mother, and all those wishing his death.
He grew stronger, full of hatred and desire to rule.
He came back from his coming of age ritual with a full necklace of Eldar ears. The next day, he became the leader of the Warg Riders.
His name was Azog.

The Nine were equals. For the first time, one was able to unite them, and unleash the Orcs’ wrath on the Dwarrows, beheading Durin’s line.

Azog had many sons, only one survived long enough to become a successor of sorts. Less powerful, maybe, but not less cruel and thirsty for revenge and blood.
Azog was only strength; Bolg used his mind. He was smarter, intriguing in the shadows, using stolen technology for his own purposes.
Vengeance was in his blood. There was no love between Azog and his son, only something called… it was quite difficult to define. A distant admiration, maybe. Bolg swore to follow his example with a twist of his own.
Strength of mind and body, and an unyielding willpower.
He would finish his father’s deed. First, the Dwarrows, beginning with Durin’s line. Then the Eldar. The Edain would be the dessert of a magnificent bloody feast.
The Eä Federation would be his. A realm for Orcs, only Orcs.


Bolg sported a cruel smile on his jagged face. He had the means to hunt the Dwarrows and their Time Lord friend. The Old Man was an irritating fly in his flank, too quick to be eradicated.
He had no need for that. Be patient and make his move at the right time.

On a screen, at his right side, the blueprints of an impressive contraption. Orcs lived the moment. He had enough time to observe and understand. Orcs would be successful only if they bide their time, and use the knowledge of old.
He had done something no one dared before. He explored the ruins of the dark lord tower of old. And he found something. Something that would change everything.
A powerful weapon. A forgotten weapon.

He needed only a thing. A little thing. Some stone, hidden in a mountain.

“Send a squadron of the Warg Riders.”

The Old Man managed to escape, after the Nori fiasco.
He couldn’t go back to them, not now. He couldn’t even contact them.
How the Orcs did manage such a feat? He had no ideas. Shadowfax wasn’t a TARDIS of course, and he guessed the Orcs were more advanced than he previously thought.
The quest was less certain with each passing day.
He needed to find some intel on the Orcs’ plans. He couldn’t see clearly anymore.
But first… find what happened and the way to trick the Orcs.
He needed some help.
He took a device, some Eldar technology functioning independently from the communication system of his ship.

“Grey Wanderer to Golden Hair. I have a problem.”

He waited for the answer for a while.

“Come. I’ll summon the Council.”

“Nori, what happened?”
“The Orcs. They are on their way.”

The Burglar and his fabulous pajamas jumped in the cockpit.

“Beloved passengers, your attention, please. We’ll soon undergo some Orc perturbation. Don’t worry, it will be over soon. If you want to blame anyone, blame Nori.”

How to say that properly… some chaos ensued. First the Dwarrows on watch, then all the others, awaken one after the other. Last was Thorin, majestically furious.

“What do you mean, Nori is to blame?”
“A little mishap during his rendezvous with Gandalf.”

Thorin glared at a still ashamed Nori.

“The Orcs jammed our communications.”
“Go to Óin. We’ll talk later.”

Nori vanished.
Thorin’s glare would be a powerful fuel for the TARDIS, if the Burglar found how to use it.

“Did they stole some information?”
“No. I blocked them immediately. They can’t guess where we are heading. Still, we need to go elsewhere for a while.”

Thorin denied the idea.

“We can’t. Don’t you see? They don’t even need to attack us. Only delay us.”
“You have a point.”

It was obvious. The easiest way to ruin the quest was to let them miss Durin’s day. A plan the orcs were smart enough to execute.

“Okay, let me think. They have only our last position. Do you think they know what we are to do before heading to Erebor?”
“I don’t know.”
“So, we only have to land on Belegost. Only, we’ll need to travel for a bit.”

Fíli’s eyes glimmered.

“Like, landing away from the location of the key, hide the TARDIS, and…”
“Hiking to the place.” finished Kíli. “On foot like the old times? Please, nooo.”

The Burglar smiled in front of several forms of protest. Dwarrows were quite noisy.

“Please, gentleman. Calm down. It would be fun. We’ll need some bonding time as a team, don’t you think?”

One, two, three… many glaring eyes. Well, the idea was not a popular one.

“Well, what just happened was the result of a blatant lack of trust. We need to be more efficient.”
“It’s a matter of survival.” said Balin. “And we have a contract.”
“Indeed. I’ve signed it, I still wonder why. Now is not the time to play those games of ‘I don’t trust you’. I won’t promise you I will stop wanting the Arkenstone, it’s not true. But… later, maybe, we’ll fight for it?”

Balin tutted and put a hand on Thorin’s and Dwalin’s arms.

“He said later. You’ll have time to beat him and steal his collection as retaliation.”
“Hey! Not nice.”
“We are not. We must protect what is ours.”

The Burglar nodded.

“Understood. Now, everyone take a seat. TARDIS, beloved, show those gentlemen how fast you are.”

With a large smile, he jumped on his seat, and put some silly goggles on his head.

“Mahal above, this one will be the death of me.”

Fíli and Kíli chuckled, not quieted by one of their uncle’s glare.


The silver ship with sharp lines leaped in the vastness of space.
The Burglar smiled like a child who had received the biggest ice cream ever.
Now, now… why did he not use the TARDIS’ ability to travel through time, some would ask? Well, good question. Things would be easier, maybe. Like coming back before the Great Worm invasion of Erebor.
Nay.
Time travelling was cheating. Where was the fun when you only need to go back and correct your previous mistakes?

The Burglar had strange views about time travel, for a Time Lord. He feared the power in his hands, and swore to never use it. No ‘unlesses’. No exception.
Stupid? Maybe. The Burglar had a line of conduct, quite strict in some ways, quite loose on another.
Playing with the truth? Yes. Blatant lies? Never.
Fighting with words? Totally. Weapons? Nope, nope, nope.
The list went on and on.

So, they were travelling at nearly the speed of light (first lesson, never at full speed when you have enemies on your tail), with a Time Lord in pajamas enjoying himself with childish glee.



The Orcs came too late.


They reached Belegost, some time later. The landing was swift, near some forest of old, returned to a wild state.
The whole planet was inhabited no more, save two colonies of Dwarrows, the remaining of a clan. No use to seek for help. They were alone in their endeavour from the start.
With the Orcs in tow, they would manage to spare the others clans. No one would know they were here.

“Well… time to go.”

One Time Lord exchanged his pajamas for a suit of sorts, practical and comfortable, in green hues. He had a helmet under one arm, and a big smile on his face.

“I’ll show you some of my toys. Lucky Dwarrows.”

Chapter Text

Belegost it was. Third planet in the Dwarrow system, awesomely devoid of riches now. Most of it had been exploited, lost, bargained, exchanged. The planet was only forests and mountains, a huge chain of mountain around the whole planet, called Ered Luin, or the Blue Mountains. Well, the Eldar’s way to name things was popularised everywhere in the Eä Federation, and matched the Dwarrow secrecy.

Enough trivia for now. A silver ship changed shape to match its surroundings, taking the form of a huge mossy rock. Ori was delighted by the gratuitous bit of show.

“Is this the Chameleon Circuit?”
“Yup. Undetectable.”
“Enough gloating, Time Lord.” interrupted Thorin with a frown.

The Dwarrows were still inside, packing for their impromptu expedition. The Burglar, in his green suit, his helmet on, carried a black backpack with a smile on his face.

“Okay, okay. Move aside, I need access to this side…”

The TARDIS-rock opened on a massive hangar. A bunch of vehicles were aligned in a precise order.
Nori whistled with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

“Another collection of yours?”
“Don’t even think about it, you.”
“About what?”

His air of innocence didn’t fool anyone. The others gathered, one after the other, carrying weapons and bags.

“Okay. I think we could take the bikes.”

He pointed two of the vehicles, somewhat massive. Two Dwarrows could be placed on the bike itself, and four more on sort of sidecars on the two sides.

“What are those… things?” said Fíli with a mischievous glint.
“Those are awesome.” said Kíli with the same air about him.

The Burglar tutted, agitating a finger like an old professor.

“Oh no. Children on the sides. I want someone responsible and sensible to pilot those babies.”
“So, not Thorin either?”
“Probably not.”

Bifur nudged not so gently the two young Dwarrows and pointed one of the bikes.

“Okay, Bifur, you do it.”

The Dwarrow with raven hair and something strange in his demeanor nodded and smiled. The Burglar never heard him speak, not once since they had appeared on his base.
A strange one, this Bifur, always peaceful and sensible… maybe?
Of course, Thorin wanted to be the second pilot. Not a good idea, believing the protestations of the others, speaking about getting lost five minutes after their departure with Thorin leading them.

“Gentlemen. Please.”

Nori was chosen then.
The Time Lord let them arrange themselves on the bikes, and went down further inside the hangar to retrieve his favourite.

“Hello there, handsome.”

He ran a gloved hand on the thing’s flank. It was another kind of motorbike, with rounder lines, yet designed for speed. He particularly liked this one, a reward from an old adventure. A race he won against some of the fiercest pilots of the galaxy.
The thing was a marvel of technology. Once seated, an energy shield protected the pilot.
It was a one-man vehicle, but the nanotechnology inside the structure allowed a bit of configuration, as making it for two.
It was painted in green and gold hues, but apparently he could change that too.
He accessed the control panel, some tactile screen, and tuned it for two. One of the Dwarrows would travel with him and he had already chosen whom.

“Balin?”
“Yes, Burglar?”
“If you don’t mind, I offer you a seat here. Mine is more comfortable.”

It was true. The two bikes for the Dwarrows looked cruder, sharper, less refined, with more apparent metal and the bare minimum comfort. Well, those were practical and sturdy, fit for a race of sturdy people.

“Gladly.” responded Balin, under some dejected glares. Some looked clearly jealous, as two young brothers.
“Nice. Pre-heat the engines, those babies need a little bit of time.”

The noise was minimal for metal-looking bikes from old space movies.
The Burglar checked one last time his TARDIS, then looked at his Company of Dwarrows.
On bike one, with Bifur as pilot, Dwalin and Glóin on the sides, as first line of defense. The second line were Dori and Ori. Last, Bombur, behind Bifur.
Bike two had kind of the same configuration. Thorin and Óin, then Fíli and Kíli on the back. Bofur behind Nori, ready to strike on command.

“Well, look like we’re ready.”



The suns were high in the sky. Basically, they needed to cross nearly half the planet to find the place where the first part of the Key was located. Hopefully it would be easy.
They rode on plains at full speed, the Burglar’s bike first, closely followed by the two others. Under his helmet, the Time Lord looked peaceful. Nothing else existed than this very moment, his eyes on the horizon, his brilliant mind devoid of thought.
Balin was a presence easily forgotten, the old Dwarrow only giving some direction when needed.
Behind them, the others had made some ruckus, then the level of noise had decreased to quiet conversations interrupted by some exclamations.

“Two hours before sundown.”
“Thank you, Balin.”

The old Dwarrow passed the information to the pilots. They should be near enough to start their researches tomorrow.

“May I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead, laddie.”
“I still don’t really get it. You’ve rebuilt a life for ourselves, why retake Erebor?”

Balin sighed.

“Can you picture a kingdom of old, full of life and prosperity, brutally destroyed? Then you built something, but it cannot be compared with the realm of old, whatever you do to improve the lives of the people who had followed you and put all their hopes in you.”
“Well. That speaks more of pride than anything else.”

The old Dwarrow chuckled.

“You’re not wrong. Besides, Erebor is the realm of our ancestors.”
“That lacks logic. But I won’t pretend I will ever understand.”
“May I ask you something in turn, Burglar?”
“Sure.”
“You did flee from your planet, right? Why?”

The Burglar’s breath halted for a second. Well, it was unexpected, and truly unwelcome.

“None of your business.”
“Secrecy don’t suit you well.”
“I like you enough to not tell you where to put your curiosity.”
“I won’t talk about your own pride, then. I’ll wait.”
“You’ll wait till the end of time.”

Balin didn’t insist. The Burglar wouldn’t talk.
It was somewhat sad, and a bit interesting. The Burglar appeared open, even with his bursts of strange proudness and secrecy… he had wondered where was the limit. Personal questions about his past wouldn’t do.  

“Let’s make a deal. You never talk about Gallifrey, and I stop saying your quest is stupid.”
“Deal.”



The suns started their plunge to their setting, to the night. A single moon appeared on the horizon. The bright light slowly dimmed.
They approached a section of the Blue Mountains. They would need to cross more uneven paths to attain the Key.

“Allright, everybody. We stop for the night.” said Balin on the general channel.

They stopped near a river flowing on rocks, and the Dwarrows separated. Some gathered wood for a fire, some more took food from their packs and started to cook.
The Burglar didn’t do anything. He observed their surroundings, with some annoyed gleam in his eyes.

“What kind of foul beasts live here?”

Maybe Burglar and wilderness didn’t belong together. Some Dwarrows chuckled.

“Afraid, Burglar?”
“I don’t really do camping.”
“Well, you do now.” said Dori with an air of finality.

The Burglar pouted.
He was wary of this kind of environment. He lived surrounded by technology, and finding himself in the wild like that… he wasn’t particularly afraid, he wasn’t totally at ease either.

“Don’t worry, Burglar.”
“We’ll protect you. We’re mighty warriors.”

Fíli and Kíli approached with twin smiles on their faces and mirth in their eyes.

“I want someone else as bodyguard, sorry.”

The Burglar came near the fire, taking a place between Bofur and Bifur.

“There. Better.”


The evening stretched slowly. The Burglar listened the stories of the Dwarrows, glad to be a little bit forgotten for once.
He had not really cared about them, at first, and he finished to memorise the names of those he didn’t really speak with. Who’s who still wasn’t an easy game and he still hesitated on some names, he wasn’t ashamed to say.
He started to understand the family links between them. Well, he had guessed most of them, only with the matching names. Now was time to gather more information. Bofur got up and tell some stories about their time on the moon colony, telling about a simple life, sometimes not an easy one. How they were obliged to depart the colony to find jobs in the beginning, before the old mines started to flow again.
The Burglar observed attentively the faces of the Dwarrows. Thorin had his trademark scowl, with a twist. The memories seemed to be painful ones, for all the older Dwarrows.

The youngers seemed more optimistic. They were born into the colony, and Erebor was a distant dream for them.

“And now, Burglar, your turn!”

He rose his head and looked at Bofur, bewildered.

“My turn for what?”
“A story!”

The hopeful eyes of Ori and the Durin brothers were on him.

“No.”
“Pleaaaaaase.” said Fíli and Kíli.

He scowled, then smiled.

“Well… let me tell you how I stole some precious jewel from a very, very important person.”

The story was true, for the most part. He maybe went creative with some details because the young ones hung onto his every word. Like a chase involving a too old ship and some guards, plus a strange creature between a frog and a slug with some fur. Naturally the ship ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere and he was nearly caught. He had to seduce the frog to hide, and…

“Please, stop, this is absurd.”
“A little, yeah. I had to spend a week taking showers to be free of the scent. Furry frog-slugs are really something.”

The young ones were laughing so hard they were on the verge of crying. The Burglar stayed perfectly serious, ignoring some dark gazes. Well, some things would never change.




The moon was a perfect round shape in the night sky. The Burglar, warm in his bedroll, looked at the sky with an air of satisfaction on his features.
Peace had succeeded to stories near the fire, a fire reduced to glowing ambers. One Dwarrow was on watch.
He closed his eyes, but didn’t manage to sleep.

A noise. A noise in the dark. A rustle.

“Burglar?”

Fíli’s voice.

He opened his eyes. The young Dwarrow seemed uneasy.

“What? I want to sleep.”
“I… Kíli.”

He explained nothing more. Well, it smelled like problems.
He was here to resolve problems.

Chapter Text

Lothlorien realm – somewhere into the main city

A tall, blond Eldar woman in white robes listened to a couple of her guards. He was here, and he seemed worried.
She hurried between trees, the great mallorn, foundation of their cities.
He was here and she knew it wasn’t for idle chat.

He got up when he saw her, and bowed. They still had the same appearances, as the centuries went on. They couldn’t remember when they became friends. They always have been; him, coming from far away, and her, the young Eldar-maiden, then warrior, then queen.
They had fought beside each other. She had defeated the dark lord, losing most of her powers in the feat. She had left enough to protect her realm.
And now the Orcs were up to something more.

The Old Man monitored the old enemy carefully. Orcs were under watch, yet somehow they managed to hide their plans for Eä Federation.

“I heard about a quest. Are the Dwarrows on their path to destroy our entire worlds?”
“Lady Galadriel. It seems the Orcs have a greater plan than we had thought.”
“I saw something. Now come, Elrond is waiting.”


The hawk-like Eldar had changed his robes for a golden armour. He waited for them in a clearing, near a small river that gently flowed on the rocks without nearly a noise.
He welcomed Gandalf with a nod of his head, and looked at Galadriel.
The Eldar woman took a silver pitcher and collected water from the river. She poured the water in a silver basin, leaned on.

“I looked in my mirror. I saw destruction beyond measure. I saw the end of our realms, and the end of something more.”

The two men stayed silent. They already knew, for they had some glimpses of the future themselves. Elrond had the gift of vision; Gandalf had the experience… and his meddling abilities.

“I saw hope in the midst of darkness. I saw the son… not knowing of his heritage, embracing it. Who is he, Mithrandir?”

The Old Man smiled.

“Nightshade’s son.”
“Oh. Your old friend.”
“She died a long time ago. I promised her I would protect the hidden planet for her, until her son is ready.”
“Is he?”
“No, not quite. I may have committed a mistake or two.”

She looked at him, then her eyes were drawn to the silver basin again. Her long blond hair hid her face, and she braced herself against the stone in where the basin was embedded.
Her body jerked several times, and, with a cry, she collapsed.
Elrond was on her on a matter of seconds.

“What did you see?”
“The hidden planet… Erebor. If the Arkenstone is found…”

She panted, and said nothing more.
Gandalf and Elrond looked at each other. They sported neutral expressions, but in their eyes was dread.

“It is only a path. Others still exist. We may face destruction, or salvation. Mithrandir, I know you’ve made some… errands, lately.”

He nodded.

“You’re right. Orcs have a plan, a greater plan than we had envisioned. I don’t have details yet. But it is linked to the Dwarrows’ quest.”
“So the quest must stop.”
“No. The quest must be completed. It is why I attached them to Nightshade’s son.”
“This is not wise. We know of his reputation…”

Elrond only listened. They already had this conversation with Gandalf, and he knew where it was headed.

“I nearly raised Nightshade’s son. I know what lies in his heart.”
“You are playing a dangerous game. Yet I trust you. We need to concentrate our effort on the Orcs. Mithrandir, you’ll have to discover what they are planning. Elrond and I will keep an eye on the quest.”

The Old Man nodded.

“I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”
“Start in the old citadel of Dol Guldur. Rumours say Orcs are back in their old strongholds.”

Belegost – the same night

“What do you mean, Kíli had disappeared?”

Fíli looked elsewhere.

“Well, we cannot sleep, so we wanted to… explore a bit.”

The Burglar pulled himself out from his bedroll, retrieved his boots.

“And you found something?”
“Well… sort of. Please, I’ll show you.”
“Why not tell your uncle?”
“He’ll be cross. We’re too young to be on this quest…”
“I agree with that statement. Okay, I’ll go take a look. But you’ll obey me. If I say run, you run, and you go to your uncle.”
“Do I need to?”
“Absolutely.”

He got up on his feet and started in the direction Fíli showed him. He was perfectly silent on his feet, a skill he had developed early on his burgling career. The young Dwarrow made so much noise in comparison he winced.

“Hush, Fíli.”

He spotted a strange gleam between some trees. A fire, maybe, and three big shadows. A fourth, smaller than the others, seemed to waver.

“Wait, wait!”

Kíli’s voice, now. The brothers had a talent to find trouble, it seemed.

“You wait here. I’ll go retrieve your foolish brother. If something happens, you run to the others. Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“Good.”

He creeped forward. He needed to assess the situation, quickly. Kíli’s tone of voice seemed quite frightened.
He hid in a bush, and watched the clearing before him. Three massive people were huddled around a fire, a pot simmering slowly on it. The three massive ones were staring at a terrified Kíli who raised his hands.

“I assure you, I’m not for eating!”

Oh, dear. He wasn’t truly convincing. The three seemed to think so, because they laughed and one of them extended a meaty hand the young Dwarrow barely dodged.

The three were massive, with grey skin and ugly faces. They looked like really ugly humans with no sense of fashion. Loincloths were never something of elegance, after all.

“Well, well, well.”

The three moved fast for bulky ones. He was already surrounded.

“Hello there, gentlemen. I hope my nephew there didn’t cause any trouble.”
“Who’s there?”
“What is it?”
“Is it good to eat?”

He smiled, and winked in Kíli’s direction. The young dwarrow looked relieved.

“I’m afraid not.”

One of them, the ugliest by far, poked him in the stomach.

“Not enough meat.”
“So it’s not for eating, Bert?”
“No.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“Whatever. There’s more?”
“Y… no.”

They took turns to poke him.

“Enough! Now, you’ll listen to me. You’ll find someone else to eat, you big brutes!”

Well, it was not the smartest move on his part. He was caught and nearly tore in two by the brutes, and their leader snarled at him.

“We’ll eat you. You’ll made a tasty morsel.”
“Squash him!”
“No, skin him them put him in the stew!”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Kíli vanish in the woods. Perfect. He hoped the young would not be too stupid and would go to their elders. He had just to be patient.

He tutted.

“No, no, no. A Burglar is a true delicacy. Do you know how to cook a burglar?”
“No.”
“Not really. We don’t care.”
“We’re hungry.”

He bit back a sigh.

“I get that. You’ll regret not to listen to me.”
“So?”
“Well, you’ll need fresh herbs. Then you gut the Burglar, you open him in two, and you put the herbs inside.”

They looked at each other.

“Too complicated.”
“Put him in the stew!”
“I think I’ll just sit on him. Jelly’s good.”
“Oh dear.”

At this precise moment, a war cry ran through the air, and the situation became even more confuse.
The Burglar fell rudely on the ground and he felt his ankle gave in under him. He crawled on all four, all dignity forgotten, to the nearest bush. Back to safety, he watched the battle.

They were trolls, three trolls of old, survivors of the ancient times. Technology never found them, and they still lived as they always did. Food was rare, maybe it explained their presence outside.
Dawn was near. A little bit more and they would turn into stone…

“Drop your weapons!”

Oh, dear. They had Ori, and Bifur, and… The others obeyed. Quickly, they were put into bags, some on a brooch. The fire roared.

Well. He was the only one free. He put more weight on his ankle. It was bruised, a little bit painful but with his boot, it would be okay. Quick thinking, now.

“Gentlemen, I am the voice of the wind. I beseech you to free those men.”
“It sound like the Burglar from a bit earlier.”
“You’re right, Tom.”

Well, trolls were maybe a little less stupid than the stories related.

“You guessed right. I want to make a deal with you. I’ll bring back the herbs and I’ll explain how to cook Dwarrows.”
“We already know. Skin them, then eat them raw!”
“No, no, no Bert, you need to keep the skin and roast them!”

The Burglar felt some sweat prickle at his brow. Honestly… He barely avoided the third searching hand and moved silently. He nearly tripped on an axe.
Axe. Big rock hiding the first rays of the rising suns.
Oh. Well, he got an idea.
He carefully picked the axe. What a barbaric weapon. It was lighter than expected, he must admit. Dwalin looked at him and lowered his head. What?
He lowered his head again. Oh. A button, here.

“So, gentlemen, what do you say?”
“We don’t need you.”
“We’ll find you and eat you!”
“Okay. Okay, bye!”

He ran away, making a bit of noise, hoping to draw the trolls in the right direction.
He made a turn, climbed the rock, and activated the axe. A laser beam ran along the blade.

“May the dawn find you, you flesh-eating monsters!”

He knocked down the axe on the rock, cleaving it in two. Sunbeams hit the trolls, turning them to stone.

Silence fell on the clearing. He left the axe embedded in the rock, and slowly, went to free the Dwarrows.

“Everyone’s good?”

Some grumbling were the answer. He went to free Thorin first, carefully ignored his glare. Then Dwalin, Balin, the stupid brothers, and the rest of the Company.
Thorin glared at his nephews.

“What did you think?”

They looked on the ground, visibly ashamed.

“We wanted to explore… we…”
“Enough. Burglar, you’ll return them to their mother tonight.”
“Uncle, please!”

The Burglar rose an eyebrow.

“We don’t have time for detours. They’ll come with us along the way. Listen, I got you’re furious… Maybe it was for the best, if we had crossed their path unawares… I don’t know, maybe we’ll be dead.”
“Maybe. We’ll talk about it later.”

Fíli and Kíli looked relieved. Thorin went to check on the others. They slowly smiled, relieved.

“Thank you.”
“Yeah, thank you, uncle Burglar.”
“Don’t, Kíli. I’m not your uncle, and I won’t save you again.”
“Sorry.”
“Better. Now, be a good lad and don’t do stupid things like that again.”
“Promise.”
“You too, Fíli.”
“I promise. On my honor.”
“Good.”

The Burglar yawned.

“I’ll go for a nap.”
“Not now, Burglar.” said Nori. “Those trolls had a cave nearby.”
“Oh. I see. We’re near the place, so, do you think…”
“I think so. Let’s go.”

They separated to search their surroundings, the young closely watched. The Burglar let them search, and showed his ankle to Óin. As he thought, it was only a bruise.
They waited for an excited Glóin to catch up with them, talking about the cave they just found.

“Let’s see if we found the key.”

Chapter Text

They had gathered in front of a cave entrance, dark and a bit frightening. They had chosen four of them to explore it. Thorin, of course, followed by Dwalin and his axe, and Nori and Bofur.
Fíli and Kíli, of course, were bid to stay outside, and their pout was properly adorable.

“You’ve got it coming, lads.” said Balin with a smile.

They had been scolded for nearly half an hour before the cave was discovered; now it seemed all was forgotten. Probably not for long. Thorin wouldn’t let them live through it.
How long would they behave? The Burglar wouldn’t bet on it.

Bofur came back first.

“Well, it’s really the trolls’ cave. We’ll need more time, there’s a lot of things in there…”
“The Key?”
“Dunno.”

The Dwarrows decided for a break for breakfast, then they took some lamps from their packs. This time, the Burglar wanted to explore with them and took a lamp for himself. Of course, because he was clever and needed his hands for burgling or else, it was a head torch. Quite inelegant, but practical.
The cave reeked of troll. It was a horrid blend of smelly feet, unwashed loincloth and other things not worth mentioning there. And Balin said the coordinates were good, so they would spend a lot of time here.
Well, breakfast was maybe not a so good idea.

But, again, he was smart, and equipped, and he fetched a mask of some sort. The Dwarrows glared at him, like “how weak of you”.

“Eh… I’m delicate. And I want my breakfast to stay where it is.”

He shrugged, then let the Dwarrow vanguard do its job. That mean Dwalin, Thorin and Glóin, weapons in hands, clearing their surroundings.
The cave was empty save for stray bats that didn’t like the sudden light, but, it cannot be helped. They endured some screeches and wings flapping dangerously close to their heads (no, no turn back for helmets this time) and even some bat shit.

“There’s something here!” echoed Glóin’s voice further in the cave.

The Burglar stopped to glare at the bats (and some foul looking stuff on the floor looking suspiciously like old bones) and approached the others.

“What is it?”

The entrance of the cave was narrow, and stayed like that for a few meters. Then it became wider, enough to walk at three Dwarrows side by side.

“Something to your liking, Burglar.” said Thorin, with some bitterness in his voice.

Scattered on the floor were many objects. Gold coins, chests, rotting fabric. And other things he didn’t want to identify.

“Treasure.” he whispered. “Troll’s loot. Oh dear.”

His eyes widened with horror at the realisation. Many people had crossed the path of the trolls, and probably finished their journey in their stomachs.
Dwalin get back to the others, bringing back the brothers Ri and the Ur (minus Bifur, keeping watch outside with Fíli and Kíli). They started some kind of inventory.
The Burglar watched them distractedly for a while, half listening to their exclamations.
Apparently, some Dwarrow artifacts were worthy of traveling with them.

He let them to their devices and went back to the vanguard. Thorin and Dwalin were looking at a dusty weapons rack. Swords were stocked here.

“That looks Eldar to me.” said Dwalin with a hint of disgust.

He raised an eyebrow. Well, the Dwarrow’s reaction wasn’t unsurprising, but… it was a shame. He wasn’t truly an expert with weapons, but he couldn’t resist a look. Weapons of old were valuable, and made some nice hearth decoration if pretty enough.

“Let me see.”

The Burglar took the first sword on the rack. He cleaned it of most of the dust, and unsheathed it. The blade looked pristine. No rust.
He quite liked the curve of the blade, and the lightness of it. He pictured himself in full armor for a second and chuckled. Thorin’s thunderous gaze halted on him.

“I heard Eldar weapons of old were crafted by skilled blacksmiths. Strong as your laserblades and lighter, much lighter, and without technology failures.”
“So what?”
“Peace, Thorin. I just thought it would be an asset. If you don’t want it I’ll take it. All of it.”

Dwalin shrugged. Thorin seemed to hesitate.

“We’ll see later. Take it if you want.”

Then, a gleam in his blue eyes.

“I thought you were quite a man of no weapons.”
“I am. Eldar have some pretty things to exchange for those blades. Or maybe I’ll keep them for my new base. This one is quite beautiful.”

He put back the blade on the rack. He’ll take them later, when they leave. With the Key. 
Silence fell on them as they progressed further, away from the hoarder group.
They find more loot further, then no more. A couple or rooms were carved from stone, a semblance of beds and a… a kitchen?
The smell was so awful they didn’t even try to search the rooms.

“Dead end.” said Dwalin brusquely.

Indeed, it was plain stone under their fingers. The Burglar looked defeated.

“Well… guess it was a…”

Thorin raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. He put his hands on the stone, closed his eyes. The Burglar said nothing, watching him and Dwalin closely.

“There is a passage behind the stone. Dwalin, search for… you know what.”

The Burglar wanted to ask what exactly. Probably something with Dwarrow architecture. Some secret tunnel, maybe?

The gruff warrior nodded, and his hand ran on the smooth surface. Something clicked and the stone trembled for an instant, revealing a door in the middle. A Dwarrow-sized door.

“Well, this is it.”
“That was easy.”

Dwalin went first without a word. Thorin looked at the Burglar. Thunderous glare number five? This one was mild.

“Before you try to say ‘stay here, you useless burglar’…”

Hand raised, again. Thorin’s eyes narrowed.

“Not. A. Word.”

It was not a matter of only shutting his trap up, he felt that. So he nodded, then waited for the Dwarrow king to pass the door in turn. He waited; breathing deep a few times, and went forward. He wasn’t tall, and for once it was fortunate.

A room. A room, and in the center, on a stone… the Key.
A part of the Key, he rectified in his mind.

“Don’t touch it. You Dwarrow are fond of traps to protect your treasure, are you?”
“Not quite, usually. Yet this is not usual. Proceed, Burglar.”

He nodded, and started by taking a closer look. He had studied the art of booby traps across the universe, he was quite confident he could manage those.
Observing was only the beginning. He knew nearly immediately he won’t find nothing by merely observing. The door was a perfect example of Dwarrow technology, simple, but, perfectly concealed. Hypothetical traps would be the same, falling on unaware intruders.

Well, he had a perfect method for those kind of traps.

“Back off, you two, please and thank you.”

Thorin and Dwalin muttered something but complied, gathering near the door.
The Burglar smiled, then warmed his wrists.

“Let’s go.”

With a broad smile for the Dwarrows, morphing into a cold concentration a second later, he moved forward on silent feet. He walked carefully, one step at the time. Then he heard it, a distinct click.
This was a dubious strategy, nonetheless. Like he had not enough fun the previous night.
He stopped moving, for a second, then jumped like a mountain goat. Sharp blades protruded from the floor, at the exact place he stood a few seconds ago.

“I knew it!”

His voice was joyous, as he had found some precious jewel. Thorin and Dwalin watched the following show of a burglar jumping in a strange dance, dodging, moving like an unearthly creature, nearly like an Eldar in the midst of battle.
It was strangely hypnotic. His moves were precise; his slender body showing something one could not call strength, but something else entirely.
His face was particularly impressive. It wasn’t the same person, not this serious man, with eyes cold and fearless, his features a mask of concentration.
He barely avoided a succession of flying blades, cutting some of his hair.
He progressed in circles, without a pattern, bouncing on the sides, sometimes backing two steps to make three more forward.
Then, in a final jump, he perched on the stone, and smiled. His fingers ghosted above the Key.
He took a sharp intake of air, and took it.

His cry of victory died in his throat. He watched with horror the secret door slamming, Thorin and Dwalin trying to stop it… they screamed something in khuzdul, searching for a lock, something. Too late.

“Well… good job, me.”

Dol Guldur – Mirkwood planet

Gandalf’s ship landed on a patch of desolate land, in the border of a huge and dark forest. A planet in the Eldar system, once called Greenwood, now known as Mirkwood. An old darkness still lingered here, remains of the dark lord of old.
The Eldar, with their dwindling numbers, struggled to cleanse their planet. It was essentially a huge forest, full of old trees and strange people.
The leader was a tall blond Eldar called Thranduil, living in his underground city, oblivious to the outside world.
During the multiple wars against Orcs, they had to fight the Necromancer, another name for the dark lord who had established a stronghold in the southern part of the forest. The stronghold known as Dol Guldur, place of many rumours about Orcs, nasty experiments and suffering of prisoners. Mostly Eldar, but some said Edain and Dwarrows were found here too. The survivors weren’t unscathed. None remained alive for long, plagued by madness and despair.

Dol Guldur was a place of power, were Orc forces were gathered. Now it was abandoned, after Thranduil’s army had expelled the dark lord from it, obliging him to retreat on Mordor to be defeated by Galadriel.
And now… Orcs remembered their history, and used the old fortress for their scheme.
What scheme exactly, Gandalf was bound to discover it, and working to undo it.

He wasn’t afraid. For so many times, he had worked to defeat them. Yet he felt something was different. Something big was at stake.

He took his staff and put his hood on his head. The grey silhouette vanished in the background, and he started his trek to the fortress.



How was it even possible? Well, Lorien technology. Or to be more precise, an ancient way of crafting fabric nearly lost to the Eldar, only remaining in Galadriel’s realm.
She gave him a cloak made from this particular fabric, and he used it with care.

He went on, forsaking the paths and progressing slowly, but surely. He caught sight of a pair of patrols, hid between trees and waited. He intended to enter Dol Guldur before nightfall.



The fortress still looked abandoned. Half-crumbled walls and the distinct smell of empty places welcomed him. He hesitated, went by the main entrance. It was a stony path leading to a huge door with metal panels. One of them was missing, the other was half destroyed.
Nothing had changed since the Necromancer’s defeat, or so it seemed.
But Gandalf’s instincts were sharp, and he knew something wasn’t right.
He stopped well before the entrance, and left the path. He knew about a hidden door, down there. It was a bit risky, but manageable.
He attained the walls, followed a section of it to a tower. At the bottom of the tower, he found it. A hidden door, blending in the stone. It opened quite easily.
He searched the light of the setting sun. He could only see darkness, a deeper darkness than usual. A dark spell protected the stronghold.

And this was it. He was in the place.
He closed his eyes, his back against the wall. He felt, allowing his mind to search for signs of life.
Nothing.
He wasn’t surprised. The spell was strong, and he would have no other choice than resort to old methods. Like using his own eyes.
Gandalf walked silently, hall after hall, going deeper and deeper into the citadel.
He heard voices, gruff voices, voices of Orcs.
He had to hide a few times, dodging more patrols.
Yes, there were Orcs, many Orcs. He found out with a bit of surprise more than one clan in the same place.
Orcs never did such things, not since the fall of the dark lord. Before they were puppets in powerful hands, now they were on their own. So it meant someone has succeeded.

He wandered, finding armouries, rack of weapons everywhere. He nearly muttered in his beard, attracting the attention of an Orc guard.
He considered for an instant the prospect of letting himself capture to fish for information but decided against it. Too soon, without any Orc of importance here.

Gandalf hid in a corner to take a few moments of rest. The dark spell was taking his toll from him. It was subtle, draining, and he felt strangely tired.
He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t.

Then he heard. Voices of Orcs, with a hint of fear and reverence.

Bolg. Bolg is here!

Chapter Text

Well… this wasn’t exactly a stellar situation. The Burglar looked apologetic for a couple of minutes, letting Thorin boil like a stew and Dwalin wait for the next burst of their leader anger.
Nothing came.

“Well… let’s hope the others heard us.” whispered the Time Lord. “Maybe?”

Thorin looked at him. The banked fury was aflame in his eyes, but his voice was even.

“They wouldn’t be able to do anything. That kind of trap are meant to be forever.”
“Forever is a long time. I’m not that patient.”

The Burglar sat before the door, his eyes glued on the stone. It seemed to have properly vanished now. The silence was more and more oppressive as time passed.

“What did you do with the stone earlier?”

Dwalin and Thorin exchanged glances, then a shrug. It wasn’t a great secret, plus, regarding the situation…

“Stone sense.” replied the gruff warrior.
“Oh.”

The Burglar get on his feet in one supple movement, a smile on his face.

“Do your thing again. There.”

He showed the other side of the room. The childish glee seemed to come back with a vengeance.

“If you can’t go back, go ahead. Right?”

On the other side of the now closed door… their vanishing was unnoticed.
Only half an hour later, Ori came near, his brothers on his tail.

“Ori, come back here!”
“Leave me alone, Nori! They should have come back by now, don’t you think?”
“Well… indeed.” said Dori.

It was easy to find the dead end, and to summon the others, minus two brothers and a Bifur still on watch outside. And Bombur, preparing a meal.

“I guess we have a problem.” said Balin.
“No way.”
“Nori, you’re not helping.”
“Don’t care, brother. Bofur, you’re a miner, right? Use your stone sense.”

Indeed, Bofur had one of the strongest stone sense amongst them. He put his hands on the stone, and took a great inspiration.

“There’s a chamber behind the stone. They’re in there, but… it’s locked. If we try something the roof will crush them.”
“What do we do?”
“Nothing. It’s up to them, sorry.”

Bofur looked apologetically at Balin. His king and his brother in there, the old dwarrow looked crushed. He nodded.

“Thank you, Bofur. We’ll wait. Try to find another entrance if you can.”

Bofur nudged Nori.

“You come with me.”




Well… the situation could have been a little better with more preparation. They had technology, right? No one thought about bringing some communication devices, even the Burglar. Well, it would be of little use since dwarrow walls were so sturdy those devices were useless half of the time.
Or they could have drill a hole. Or… or what, indeed.  
Maybe using the methods of old was the best course of action, in a dying world. No Dwarrow would tell but they know deep in their hearts: this was the twilight of their civilisation as their numbers dwindled and their cities were destroyed.
A dream. Erebor was a dream of old, a desperate burst.
The Eldar gave up. The Dwarrows would fight to the end. In their roots, stone, stone they could feel and read better than a history book. Once revered, true stone sensors become rare, as technology advanced and replaced many things. It wasn’t uncommon for old capacities to resurge in descendants of old lines. The Ur were the last of a long line, and Bofur seemed to have been blessed with the old gift.

They walked side by side, Nori and him. They followed the outline of the cave and he stopped regularly to feel the stone.
Nori had the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“What?”
“You didn’t say all you knew.”
“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to alarm Balin.”
“What’s the matter, Bofur?”
“There’s a way on the other side of this room, full of dangers. We need to find the exit.”

Nori nodded. So much fun ahead of them.




Indeed, finding another door took exactly five minutes and more khuzdul curses than ever.

“Oh, I love this one, Dwalin. How is it in common… ‘beardless son of an Orc’ you said?”
“More or less. Now shut up and go ahead, you clod. And don’t touch anything.”
“Yessir.”

The Burglar bowed with a flourish before the two Dwarrows, and took the lead. Another dwarrow-sized door, and a corridor. The stone was smooth under their feet.
He crouched, touched the stone.

“It’s strange, gentlemen. This stone feel like many people walked here.”
“Nothing strange. Look.”

Thorin lighted a portion of the wall.
Engravings. Runes, drawings, geometrical patterns.

“I remember now. This is, I guess, a forgotten exit to the old city of Belegost.”
“If we took the path backwards, we’ll…”
“Yes. We should arrive somewhere in the old city. That’s not good.”
“Unless we find another exit. I can’t believe your cities of old were not full of it.”
“Maybe.” conceded Thorin.

Dwalin stayed silent, already looking ahead for more traps.
They were none. No traps, but a walk into the past for the Dwarrows. The atmosphere felt strange at first, then it shifted to something heavier.
The Burglar listened to Thorin’s mutterings, about their history, the Belegost of the past and the greatness of the line of Durin. Dwalin’s eyes were fixed on his king.

“Thorin.”

Thorin didn’t listen. He had stopped abruptly, his eyes glued on a portion of the wall. There was a huge sculpture of a man, a giant one, hammering something on a great anvil.

“Thorin?”

The Burglar turned back and stood two steps away from him. Something was strange in the demeanor of the king. He had started speaking fifteen minutes ago and his speech, steady at first, now lacked consistency. There was something underlying the words, raising stronger and stronger. Despair, and shame.

The Burglar turned on Dwalin. The warrior looked properly sad, with eyes full of unshed tears.

“Dwalin, what…”
“The Curse of the Durin line. It is happening.”

The warrior said nothing more. What now, a curse? Why now, in this exact place?
Something was not right.

Thorin fell suddenly on his knees, with a cry of despair.

“Mahal! I can’t do it. Not after Erebor, not after Azanulbizar. I’m not strong enough.”

The Burglar raised an eyebrow. Thorin was not one to give up on despair easily, and more important, publicly. No, this stubborn one would prefer to cut his beard than to say things like that before witnesses. He would break silently, shed tears alone and put his strong and thunderous face to show the world he was unbreakable.
In a way, he was.
Then he got an idea.

“Yes, you are. Come with me. I’ll show you.”

Thorin’s blue eyes locked with his green eyes, and he rose again.

“You don’t know what it was like. All those years.”
“No, I don’t know. Please, tell me.”

He didn’t know what Thorin could see instead of him.

“Don’t, my king, don’t!”
“Dwalin. Trust me. We need to go forward.”

He gently coaxed the others to move. They did, in sort of a haze, a hand on the wall to steady themselves. The Burglar stayed behind, keeping an eye on them.

…bo.

“Who’s there?”

…ilbo.

A feminine voice, a strangely familiar one. He turned around and saw nothing.
Oh, dear, what was happening to them?

“Dwalin, I don’t think it’s a curse…”

He heard his own voice, as if it came from someone else than him.

Bilbo… My beautiful son.

The same voice again.

“I don’t know you. Who’s…”

You know who I am. Deep down, you know. You’ve just forgotten.

He searched for her, looking right, left, again and again, starting to go frantic under the incredulous gaze of Dwalin.

“I don’t forget easily. Tell me who you are!”

Not now. You’re not ready.

Then he saw. He saw the woman with the hair the colour of the wheat fields in summer, wearing a light dress, a bundle in her arms. He saw green, green everywhere, and a small man with the greenest eyes he ever saw, a gentle smile on his face.
He saw, and he felt. He felt a surge of a powerful emotion coming from the deepest parts of his mind, of his hearts.

Look at him, beloved. He’s perfect.
You’ll tell him?
I promise, beloved. I’ll be there when you can’t.

Then he saw and felt nothing more, kneeling on the unforgiving stone, his body wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Dwalin was at his side, Thorin ignoring him, in the throes of his own visions. He was looking at the wall, then screamed and ran forward.

“Thorin!”

He rose his head.

“Go with him. I’ll be okay.”

Dwalin ran after his king. Slowly, the Burglar get on his feet, trying to control his breathing. He thought he… yes, it was there. A faint smell.
He put back the mask he had discarded in the chamber of the Key. Good thinking of him to have kept it attached to his belt.
Inhale. Exhale. Again.
Better.
Well. Not really. He saw in his mind’s eye the woman, again. He knew her. But where? When?
The Old Man. He needed the Old Man.
He wasn’t there, and he had two dwarrows on the loose to catch. Well, later.

He ran, following their cries. Oh dear, what could the smelling thing show them?

They had a good head start and he managed to catch them only because Thorin had stopped again, saying something along the lines “I couldn’t protect them” with a muffled sob which break the frail hearts of the Time Lord.

“Breathe in there. It will be okay, I promise.”

He gave the mask to Thorin, then to Dwalin. He saw their frames slackening a bit and breathed more easily with relief.

“There’s something in the air. We need to get out of there.”

He looked away and spotted something looking suspiciously like Bofur’s hat, a few meters forward. And, oh, was it the light of the setting suns behind him?

“Nori! Bring your ass here, I think I found them!”

Chapter Text

“What happened in there?”

They were huddled around the fire. Nori and Bofur had brought them back to the camp, they all saw and touched the part of the Key, and they celebrated with ale and a hearty meal.
If they noticed some shaky limbs and red eyes from their lost trio, they didn’t say.
Now their bellies were full and the cave was emptied of its treasure (Dori had given the Burglar his new swords) they could use a bit of rest.

“A burglar, that’s what happened.”

The Burglar laughed wholeheartedly.

“You’re right, Dwalin. I must confess, I have been a little…”
“Totally foolish.”
“Okay, Nori, okay.”

Useless to say they were fussed over, no matter how many times they repeated, “we’re fine, thank you”. They even took a cold bath in the river, a blessing after the old tunnels.
The Burglar’s hair was still damp, and he daydreamed a bit about his TARDIS’ facilities, including his huge private bathroom.

They had told their stories, minus their visions. Fíli and Kíli had crowded their uncle, and Thorin kept them close, and they were glad for that.
The Burglar smiled, watching Balin discretely fussing around his brother. After this bit of adventure, they had an opportunity to spend some time relaxing. Now was the time to “bond” maybe.
For once, he felt no aversion to do so. He listened and answered when needed.
In his mind, he replayed what he saw and heard in the tunnel. His own, and Thorin’s visions. Dwalin wasn’t as affected, or showed less than them.
He wanted to speak to them, alone. So he waited. And waited, even when he felt the tiredness gaining his limbs and his mind.

One after the other, they went to sleep. Nori alone lingered, a knowing look on his face. He only moved under their combined glares. Then it was only the three of them.

“Well. I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the tunnels.”
“I won’t.”

Not surprising from Thorin’s part. He won’t try it this way.

“You mentioned a curse, Dwalin. What about it?”

Thorin’s Thunderous Glare came back in full glory. Dwalin looked apologetic, but stood his ground.

“He has a right to know, my king.”
“No.”
“He kinda saved our lives in there.”
“He endangered us in the first place.”

They fought, glare against glare. Then Thorin lowered his head.

“I’ll do it myself.”

He didn’t look their way. His blue eyes fixed on the flames, he started his tale.

“This is called the worm sickness. A curse running in the blood of my line. Gold and riches… my grandfather lost his mind upon it.”
“Your father…”
“Don’t ask me. Please.”

The Burglar nodded. Thorin won’t talk further about it. Well, he’ll ask Balin on the way back. The old dwarrow must know and he won’t be too reluctant to speak. He relied on the sort of friendship burgeoning between them, but he wasn’t certain. He’ll see. It was worth a try.

“And you, Dwalin, what did you see?”
“My failures. Azanulbizar. How I wasn’t enough for the line of Durin.”

Thorin put a hand on his arm.

“You know it’s not true. You are my shield brother. We will stand together without falter as we always did.”

That was strange, to see a glimpse of vulnerability in those two. He smiled, his eyes wandering elsewhere, up the trees, looking at the moon.

“Burglar. Your turn.”

He felt ice in his guts. He had it coming.

“Well… I guess it’s fair.”

He forced himself to bring back his attention on the two others. No, he wanted to keep all of this to himself. This was something of a personal quest and he felt entitled to shut his trap about it. Well, he had really no other choice, right? They had spoken, he has to speak in turn.
He exhaled, feeling a sort of longing, a sadness he couldn’t really place. Something deep inside, at his very core. It was hard to find the words. So he spoke in hushed tones, slowly, unraveling the secret.

“I heard… I saw… I don’t know who it was. A woman.”

He looked at them now. Their schooled expressions, their eyes looking away.
A strange emotion laced his words. He was unable to repress it.
Their main game was ‘no showing anything ever even if our lives were in danger because we are so majestic/tough/above all of this’. Another stupid game, truly. This one had to stop for the sake of everyone, and their quest. Sure, being prideful was something one could afford in certain situations. Here… he started to doubt it was true.
They had to move forward. Maybe not to a true friendship, he still didn’t want that. The Dwarrows were too alien to his ways, and it was surely true the other way.
Something like… trust amongst brothers in arms, something like that. No, it sounded wrong in his mind. Somehow, he liked some of them. Even the most stubborn of all. Maybe he was lying to himself. He wasn’t as neutral and indifferent as he pretended.
He would think about it. Later. On his way back. He had the way on his bike’s computer; he’ll put the autopilot and let his remarkable brain do its thing. Yep, it sounded like a plan.
Silence stretched between them. He smiled, a bit strained.

“She’s someone important. I guess someday I will need to find out. I got a full quest on my plate for now…”

He got up with a sigh.

“I’m tired. Promise me all of this will stay between us. And Nori, probably.”

One of the bushes moved suspiciously. He chuckled and reached for his bedroll. He found himself surrounded by two young dwarrows, moving sleepily like two caterpillars until they were on his sides, with matching grins.

“Goodnight, Uncle Burglar.”
“Hush, Kíli. Sleep.”

Fíli was already back to sleep, snoring lightly.
Ten minutes later, he was asleep and warm, sandwiched between them, with a faint smile on his lips.



Nori exited his bush and took the Burglar’s place near the fire, glaring at an amused Dwalin. The warrior was tempted to comment but he said nothing. The thief was a menace and a nuisance when he put his mind to it. No need to provoke his ire uselessly. Still he couldn’t avoid the small smile gracing his lips. Nori shrugged, focusing on Thorin.

“Now he knows, my king.”
“I’m not pleased. I suppose it was unavoidable.”
“Alas.”
“What about that woman?”

Nori smiled.

“I know more than him about her, if it’s the person I’m thinking about. Some Time Lady called Nightshade.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose. The name didn’t ring a bell. Honestly, he didn’t care.

“His mother.”

Dol Guldur – Planet Mirkwood

“Grey Wanderer to Golden Hair.”

He was back from the stronghold. He panted, his gaze not focused on his current communication. He looked back and forth, waiting for their war cries.

“Standby.”
“Oh no, no, no… I won’t have time.”

He plunged a hand in his pocket, plugging something to his communication device.

“Golden Hair to Grey Wanderer. Mithrandir, what…”
“I send you something. Don’t show it to anybody outside the Council for now. We need more intel.”
“Mithrandir, are you in trouble?”
“I’ve managed to escape, but they are on my trail.”

He turned from the screen. He heard them, the cries, the growls of their beasts…

“I’m sorry, Galadriel. If I don’t come back, you’ll need to tell him. The package in my room…”
“I’ll do it. Don’t worry.”


The Eldar looked at him with worry in her eyes. Why wasn’t he trying to escape?
He looked at her in turn, his old eyes sad. Then the screen went black.

“MITHRANDIR!”

Lothlórien

“We’re sorry, lady Galadriel. Mithrandir’s files are encrypted. And without the key…”

The tall Eldar lady said nothing, looking at her technicians.

“That’s okay. You have a couple of days to find it.”
“At your command, my lady.”


Of course, he would protect what he had gathered. He was jammed once, he wouldn’t risk anything again. She had hoped for something, but the Orcs were too quick to catch with him. He had no time to tell her anything. And why, why this Nightshade business was more important than the current affair?

Well. She had more urgent things to do right now. She must contact Elrond, and discuss the matter of calling Thranduil, elvenking of Mirkwood, for a meeting.
It was a difficult matter. The elvenking lived for centuries withdrawn from the other Eldar planets, surviving on his own. His people were a less refined sort, untamed, proud and wild.
He was a difficult one, prone to protect only his realm.
Maybe he’ll listen, maybe not. Mithrandir must be able to seek refuge into his realm in the case of one of his spectacular escapes.

The Orcs were back in business. Maybe it was also time to contact the Edain keeping an eye on the Mordor planet. Awaken the old alliances. Unite the free people again.

She was already tired. Suddenly she felt the weight of all her years.
But it wasn’t time to be weary. One more fight, she thought. One more fight, and she would be able to claim her rest.



Elrond was ready to leave for his own realm when she reached him.

“Mithrandir was caught by the Orcs.”
“This is bad news.”
“Bad new indeed, my friend. But it seems he managed to stole valuable information. I need you to stay for a little while longer. We’ll need to make a call.”

Elrond frowned.

“It’s too soon. Wait for Gandalf’s information, then we’ll make our move.”

She nodded, hoping beyond hope it wasn’t already too late. She remembered her visions from her mirror, and she shuddered. It was more than a quest, more than the reconquering of a sole realm of old. It was about the whole Eä Federation, now.

Chapter Text

“Balin? Can we speak?”

They were on their way back to the TARDIS, and to the second part of the Key. They had started at the first light of the two suns after a simple breakfast and a quick packing. The bikes were easy to retrieve, and they rode in silence since.
They had stopped only for a privy pause and a snack. The suns were quite past midday when the Burglar spoke.

“What’s the matter, laddie?”
“Well… maybe I have no right to ask, but…”
“You’ll do it anyways.”
“Yes. I heard about the curse of the line of Durin.”

They were on a private canal for this particular conversation. He waited patiently for Balin, the latter pondering his answer.

“It’s not something we discuss with outsiders.”
“I had guessed. I know it’s something you want under wraps, you can’t afford liability.”
“The same for you, Burglar. You’re suspiciously secretive.”

He chuckled.

“It’s true. I’m too used to be alone. The Old Man shoved you lot at my face without warning. I hate that. I was ready to throw you out, honestly. Right through my airlock.”

Balin chuckled in turn.

“You dare.”
“Maybe not. I’m not that cruel. Then… I kept up with you, hating every minute of it.”
“Liar.”
“Nori, this is private. Shut your trap and switch canal. Or else…”
“Or else what, Burglar?”
“You’ll see, you petty thief.”

With a snarl, the thief’s voice vanished.

“Good. Go on, Burglar.”
“Thank you, Balin. So… you’re a nice lot. More than a handful, especially Nori and Thorin’s nephews. I tried to stay neutral.”

Balin listened, carefully silent, sometimes gently coaxing the Burglar to speak more when he stayed silent for too long.

“Your quest in itself is quite none of my business. I think I still don’t care. Hum, no, this is a lie. It’s too fun to remain indifferent. Have adventures and retrieving your home, that’s fine for me. But this kind of curse is… I don’t like the sound of it.”

Silence anew. Balin’s voice was careful when he finally asked.

“What do you intend to do if I explain everything to you?”
“Not running away screaming Thorin Oakenshield is a dangerous maniac to kill at sight.”
“I’m glad for it.”
“So?”
“Okay. I’ll tell you.”

Balin started his tale, about the Dwarrow’s love of riches. It was a natural tendency for them. They loved the craft above all; make pretty things even prettier. Ore, gems, stone, even wood for some.
The Burglar felt something akin to a brotherly feeling. He loved pretty things too. One thing in common he should already picked up. A small smile graced his lips. Maybe he was a Dwarrow at heart.
Durin’s line was a line of leaders. They didn’t really know how the curse slipped in, confessed Balin. But it was there, manifesting in subtle ways in some of their ancestors.

“Your ancestors?”
“I belong to Durin’s line too. But it’s of no importance for our tale, Burglar.”

A powerful greed, a sickness of the mind, called the gold madness. Well, nothing new, the Burglar said.
Balin smiled.

“Let’s talk about Thorin’s grandfather. He lost his grip on reality. In the end, he spent all his time in the treasury, unaware of the world surrounding him. He died the day Smaug came. Thorin’s father provoked the Azanulbizar distaster.”

The Burglar stayed silent for a while. His mind surfed on the wave, jumping from idea to idea, and he suddenly gasped.

“The Arkenstone.”

Balin waited for more.

“You said Thorin’s ancestors didn’t truly manifest the malady. Maybe through an awful stubbornness, whatever. Thrór was the first to be really sick of the mind. The Arkenstone was found during his reign.”
“Nice thinking, Burglar.”
“Nori!”
“Sorry not sorry. The problem with your theory, Burglar… you can’t throw away this kind of family heirloom under the pretense of curing Durin’s line.”
“I’ll undermine Thorin’s right to reign, yes. Yet if I’m right…”
“This could be another disaster for the Dwarrows.” said Balin with a hint of sadness in his voice. “Thorin is not his grandfather. He would overcome.”

Another bit of silence.

“No, Burglar, your theory is lacking.”
“How so, Balin?”
“Thráin decided Azanulbizar more than a decade after Erebor fall. He couldn’t be under the influence of the Arkenstone anymore…”
“Maybe. I can only ask for caution… and discretion. Nori, it would be better to keep all of this to yourself for now.”
“Oh, I can keep a dozen secrets you know. But you can’t do this forever.”

Then he cut the communication, letting the Burglar and Balin truly alone.
The silence stretched anew. It wasn’t comfortable.

“Balin? I’m sorry.”
“I understand, laddie. Keep it to yourself, too. It’s a sore subject for Thorin.”
“I promise.”



No more words were exchanged until the TARDIS was in sight. The bikes were back in the basement, and they swiftly embarked for the next leg of their journey.
The next part of the Key. The Burglar briefly wondered which kind of awful creatures they would encounter. And, please, no more trip under some substance influence.
He set the course, then extracted himself from his seat. He needed a bath, and fresh clothes. He still smelled of troll. A shame.




Lothlórien

“You are awfully hard to reach, Thranduil.”
“I have already too much on my hands. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Galadriel steeled herself. Well, Eldar lords were an easy sort. Except Thranduil. How can she blame him? Orcs desecrated his realm, and Greenwood was regularly awfully near Erebor by the magic of the rotation of their respective planets (a dark story of alignments and weird prophecies. Nasty business.). The Great Worm was a menace to them, and the Eldar king had given all his strength to protect his kingdom, alone for too long. He learned the hard way how allies can turn into enemies (another somber stories involving too many stubborn people).

“A warning.”
“Orcs on my lands. I know. They are strangely active for a while now.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Nothing. My realm is dying. You know that.”
“Mithrandir is here. In Dol Guldur.”

The implied words were clear for both of them.

“I don’t have the resources to lend him some help. Tell me, Galadriel… Are the Dwarrows on the way?”
“You knew?”
“Of course. They’ll need me. And I don’t intend to help them neither.”

Her hand hovered, intending to cut the communication. Of course Thranduil won’t help anybody.

“I only ask you to welcome Mithrandir, should he escape.”
“I’ll think on it.”

With a sigh on her lips, Galadriel cut the communication and looked at Elrond. The Eldar lord looked carefully neutral.

“No surprise here. I wonder…”
“He’s a lost cause. Bitter and hardened by trials is Thranduil of the woodland realm.”

She nodded. She felt an old weariness in her bones, an old memory of her fight against the dark lord. How they had fought, with all their strength. The Eä Federation was past her golden age. Or maybe it was time for a new one. One for the Edain, not the old folk like them.

“Lady Galadriel?”

A young one with a tablet, his eyes carefully averted, stood before her. She nodded, with a side-glance to Elrond.

“We’ve finished.”
“Show me.”

He gave her the tablet. Mithrandir’s files flashed up on the screen. Her eyes opened wide.

“No. It is not possible.”
“What is it, my lady?”

She gave the tablet to Elrond. He frowned, then said nothing else. She sighed, desperation in her eyes.

“How can we have missed it?”

They looked at each other.

“We didn’t. In a way. We thought…”

Elrond lowered his gaze on the tablet again.
Blueprints. Blueprints of an old machine, an old weapon, meant to destroy entire planets. A weapon created by the dark lord itself. A powerful and dangerous weapon. The Eldar knew about it and avoided the entire Federation destruction by a bout of pure luck (and Galadriel duel with the dark lord, obviously). They thought the weapon destroyed.
They were wrong, obviously.

“The Orcs have found the Ring. They only need a source of power.”
“What kind of power? The artifacts of old are lost…”

There was a fierce gleam in Galadriel’s eyes when she looked again into Elrond’s eyes.

“Think again, my friend.”
“Oh dear. We are doomed.”

Chapter Text

The TARDIS was dead silent. One Burglar, clad in a new deep-red costume, was thoroughly occupied, brushing his hair with a vengeance, avoiding the glares of some dwarrows. 

“What? You cannot wait to be thrown into more nonsense?”

Bofur laughed, relieving some of the tension building in the cockpit. Some dwarrows retreated to their quarters, the most discretely they could manage. 

“Some think your ship is inefficient.” 
“Sure. Don’t listen to them, beloved.” he purred, brushing one of the consoles. “If you need me, I’ll be… somewhere else.” 

Honestly. Was he responsible for the fact the second part of the Key was literally at the other side of the Dwarrow system? 
He shrugged. 
Thorin could be a stubborn son of an orc as long as he pleases, he didn’t care. They had shared something out there and well, it was time to stop being a jerk about it. 
He knew exactly what he had to do. 

“What now, Thorin? I thought we had a kind of truce with the Burglar.” 

The entire Company stood in their quarters, sharing a bit of meal or mead. 

“What truly happened in there?” 

Thorin stayed silent for a long while under the scrutinizing gaze of his men. 

“I have the strange feeling of… we can trust the Burglar, then… no, we can’t.” 
“You’re becoming irrational.”

Nori looked at him with a smirk. Thorin said nothing, letting Dwalin and his glare do the job for him. The thief laughed mirthlessly. 

“He knows things you don’t like. Get used to it. Your pigheadedness will jeopardise this quest.”

The youngest ones didn’t understand a thing. Surely, the Burglar wasn’t so bad? The fact they were slightly biased towards him didn’t enter their line of thought. 

“Nori!”
“What, Dori, it’s true!” 
“Not a way to address your king.” 
“Don’t care. Remember why we followed him. We’re willing to give our lives for this quest… but not unnecessarily.” 

Most of the Dwarrows were somewhat neutral about the whole endeavour concerning the Burglar. He was strange, sure, but they were progressing, and, he was likeable enough even with his peculiarities. 
Some, as Dori and the Ur brothers, didn’t understand the lingering hostility. They were past that now, right? 
For Thorin… it was complicated. He wanted to trust the Burglar. He really wanted to. But he was unable to. He hated to be caught in some vulnerable moment. He had shown too much, too soon. How will the Burglar manage to use the information he gathered against him, now? 

Well, call him paranoid all you like. He was. He had to, at some point. Life hardened him. No one can be trusted. No one can see the weaknesses, unless you were Balin, Dwalin, and a few others he choose carefully. 

He was irrational. Nori was right. The disappointment he could see in Balin’s face was rightfully earned. The perplexed gazes from the others too. But… 
Thorin looked at them, one by one, slowly. 

“Sorry to interrupt. We need to talk.” 

A curly head followed by a red coat appeared in the entrance. Thorin turned round, glared at him. 

“Not now.”

The Burglar put his hands on his hips with a frown. 

“Yes, now.”

Bofur attempted to leave and the Time Lord caught him by the hem of his jacket with a smile. 

“Stay. Please, everyone, stay. No more secrets.” 

Balin winced. 

“You promised, Burglar.” 
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ll need to discuss the curse, however. Only you, Thorin Oakenshield.” 

Some Dwarrows looked appalled. Useless to say Thorin was not pleased. 

“You dare.”
“Honestly, I’m tired of you and your lack of manners.”

Thorin snarled derisively. 

“My lack of manners, he said! Who do you think you are? This is not a game.” 

The Burglar moved forward, his green eyes locked on the Dwarrow. 

“The stakes are high, I know. Don’t think I’m stupid enough. I have a reputation to maintain.”

The green gaze was cold, as cold as the fury emanating from his frame. The Burglar looked older than his apparent youngness. 
The other stayed silent, save from Nori who snacked on popcorn, not very discreetly despite some glares from his brothers and Dwalin. 
Thorin and the Burglar were face-to-face, not quite at eye level, duel like. 

“You are vain, vain and unconcerned.”
“You are stubborn and unnecessarily prideful.”

Thorin hated raising his gaze to look into the green orbs of the Burglar.  

“You are weak and unable to fight, you are a liability!”
“A liability, you say? I didn’t bring my underage nephews on a mortal quest to try to get rid of them at their first mistake.” 

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other, mouthing silently ‘what?’

“All you want is the Arkenstone. You will rob me at the first occasion.”
“True enough. I never said otherwise. I’m an honest Burglar. Now, Oakenshield, we need to find a solution to our problem.”
“You would abandon us?” said Fíli, disappointment clear in his young voice. 
“No. Us Time Lords have honor, and I’m bound by contract.”
“You… don’t care about us, Uncle Burglar?” said a pitiful Kíli.

The Burglar smiled, a sincere one. Those two had wormed their way to his hearts, he should admit. Reluctantly, of course, and not in front of the Company. 

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that. It’s not like that… you know, it’s kind of difficult to be amongst mortals when you are virtually immortal. Besides, my activities are incompatible with attachment. A burglar can’t have friends.”

The young Durin looked perplexed. 

“I don’t understand. Even if you want…”
“Believe me, Fíli, I’ve tried.”
“You should try again.”
“A Time Lord’s life is a solitary one. I’ve read somewhere some looked for companions, and…”

Brave Ori. And Kíli. So young, so naïve. So… hopeful. He patted them on the shoulder. He was ready to commit another mistake. He couldn’t resist some puppy eyes and hopeful faces. He would regret it… maybe not so much. Thorin would not like to be overpowered by his nephews. He smiled kindly, again. 

“I’ll consider it, for your sakes. But no promises.”

The Burglar turned again, facing a fuming Thorin and his gaze hardened again. The mithril-haired dwarrow stirred nasty emotions inside him. He… he thought he never hated somebody as he hated Thorin Oakenshield at this precise moment. He wanted to punch him in the face until he saw reason. His fists tightened. Yes, he looked delicate, and he had worked hard to maintain this appearance. Thorin didn’t know… Thorin didn’t know how much strength he hid under his fancy costumes and manners. 
Maybe it was time to establish some facts once and for all. 
He smirked. 

“See? Completely honest. Your turn. Unless you want a duel?”

Thorin snarled again. 

“In fact, I do.” 

He drew his sword and moved forward, under the mortified gazes of his dwarrows.
The Burglar avoided the first assault, smiling something fierce. 

“Don’t interfere, please. I’ll show him.” 

He dodged and dodged with a disgusting ease, until he put a hand on one of the swords from the trolls’ hoard. An elegant curved blade finely engraved and light in his hand. 
He unsheathed it and saluted with a flourish. 

“My words are sharp, but it seems you need something sharper shoved down your…”
“Enough!”

The blades sang together. The Burglar was quick on his feet, more in a defensive style, but whatever. His technique was not refined, was not good at all, it has to be said. Thorin was a more experienced warrior and it showed quickly. The Burglar was an opportunist, able to use his environment to his advantage. He managed to block Thorin in a corner and with a kick, disarmed him. Another kick and Thorin wheezed, clutching his belly. 

“I’m still unable to fight, huh?”
“Beginner’s luck.”
“Liar.” 

The Burglar’s fist connected with Thorin’s jaw. 

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid, you… arsehole!”
“You pedantic…”

Thorin never finished his sentence. The Burglar caught him by his collar, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Then he looked at him with triumph in his green eyes. 

“I won. You shut up and you listen.”

Thorin dared not to move again, lest say something more. He was… it was unbelievable. He didn’t… no, he didn’t. His brain shut up and his guarded expression failed him. 
Vulnerable. To a stranger. A stranger he hated. 
It wasn’t even a real kiss. Not pleasurable. At. All. No. Nonono. 

“I hate you. No, I don’t. Not truly. I don’t like you either. Let me do my job, okay? You do that, and I’ll wait for you to be crowned king to steal your Arkenstone. Deal?” 

Thorin didn’t respond. His blue eyes shone like pieces of ice, and he carefully avoided the green orbs. He could pick his sword and sheath it into the pudgy belly of the Burglar, erase his stupid smile off his face. This very minute it was so tempting he nearly given up to the impulse. 

“Thorin?” 

The Dwarrow’s fist connected with the Burglar’s jaw. He saw stars for a while. 

“Now we’re even.”

The Burglar massaged slowly his jaw. It hurt as hell. He rather deserved it, and the punch cooled a bit the fire of his anger. He tried to smile, grimaced a bit. 

“You brute.”
“You asked for it.” 
“I still hate you, Oakenshield.”
“Duly noted, Burglar.” 

The Time Lord nodded then let Thorin out of the corner of the ship. The fiery Dwarrow said nothing more, making his way back to the Company quarters. 
If the others saw something of their duel, they were careful to not mention anything in front of their king. 
Only Nori had something of a smirk on his lips. Well, he was ready to launch some bet about a Dwarrow king and a Time Lord and their understanding of each other before the end of the quest. 

Chapter Text

One Time Lord started to lose his patience. Fíli, Kíli and Ori seemed to have made an oath of keeping him company in the cockpit. At first, he found the fact quite nice, nearly cute. A few hours later of enthusiastic chatter and silly jokes… not anymore.

“Boys, please… can you go and bother someone else?”
“Why, Uncle Burglar?”

Kíli would never learn. Or he did it on purpose only to annoy him. And Thorin. The latter was the one to have the official uncle title, not him.
He would have his revenge on the young ones, later. Maybe only not on Ori. Ori was cute and he had brothers. One does not trifle with Dori. And Nori was a pain in the arse.
It must be mentioned Ori was his favourite Dwarrow along Balin, Bifur (because he was the quiet and efficient sort) and Bofur (the easy to tag along one). Oh, and Bombur and his fare. He didn’t know what to do with Óin and Glóin. Dwalin… gruff warrior, but fair and with some wits. A potential ally as he had seen in the tunnel.

Well… things were a bit less strained. Barely. He regretted a bit his foolishness. He had a feeling he just complicated things further instead of resolve his issues with Thorin.
The fierce Dwarrow hadn’t spoken with him since, and he was glad for it.

“Because you’re more annoying than an entire orc army.”

A shrill sound from the console interrupted what spirited response Kíli could elaborate.

“We’re near. Could you fetch the others, boys?”

Less than ten minutes later, they were assembled in the cockpit.

“Well, gentlemen, this is it. The second part of the Key is down there.”
“The Misty Mountains.”
“Well, yes?”

Not the name of the planet. Only the massive mountain chains crossing the whole planet. Some old stories said this planet was the twin to Rivendell, a long time ago. The mountains were mirrored in the two planets. Then something happened (linked to the fall of Beleriand probably) and their course separated forever.
The planet had no name save for this designation.

“Weapons at the ready, lads. Many things dwell there.”

The Burglar retreated in his chambers, making his own preparations. No weapon for him, whatever Balin said. He put another suit, a black one, which included a personal shield and padded armour at some strategic parts of his body. The suit was so black it has blue hues, like raven feathers.
Trekking some mountains implied to have his hands free, and he buckled a belt laded with pouches. Rations, burgling tools, two lamps, another mask with a little supply in oxygen, and some more. He even took some rope.

“Everybody’s ready?”

The Dwarrows looked the part of warriors ready for war. He smiled tightly. He was painfully reminded of their duel. Thorin never looked in his direction. He, in the contrary, didn’t bother himself and looked his full.
The mithril-haired Dwarrow wore some kind of armour too. He liked the aesthetic, resembling the armours of old without their many disadvantages like the weight, or their relative effectiveness. He had plaited his hair. Why did he plait his hair, and why did he notice such a thing now? The Burglar chuckled quietly, attracting a few curious glances.

“Fíli, Kíli, Ori… you stay here.”

Thorin prevented a flow of protests with a raised hand.

“But uncle… why?”
“Yes, why, uncle?”
“I want to come to, my king.”

The Burglar looked at a Dwarrow fighting for control of his temper, and winning. But it was close.

“Because I said so.”
“But, uncle!”
“Please, Kíli, stop.” said the Time Lord. “Your uncle has decided and for once I quite agree with him. Besides, I need a few trusty Dwarrows to watch the TARDIS during our absence.”

They looked properly disappointed.

“I know. But, remember, lads, I’m a Time Lord and I’m used to not trust anyone with my ship ever. I’m willing to give you the responsibility. Don’t mess up or I’ll find some lovely Eldar planet to drop you.”

He had three young Dwarrows at the ready, more serious than ever.

“Good lads. Now, on your seats. Starting approaching course.”

The endeavour proved to be a tough one. Misty Mountains were under some curious meteorological spell. The weather was perpetually horrible, harsh winds and most of the time, rain. Nothing alive could dwell on these mountains. Beneath? It was a frightening possibility they wanted not to think about. Then the trolls, now, what?

A real storm clashed with the silver vessel. The Burglar struggled to maintain his cap, and he quickly came to a deceitful conclusion.

“We can’t land anywhere… I’ve scanned the whole area, thrice. I fear we are for some climbing.”
“Look here.”
“Oh, thank you, Balin.”

Finally, they found a bit of a plateau, spacious enough for safe landing.

“No bikes this time?”
“Nope.”
“Finally,” said Fíli, “I’m glad to stay here.”
“It look awful outside.”
“Terribly. Ori, of course you can go to the library. Just avoid the books in the forbidden zone. You’re not ready for them yet.”
“Yessir.”

So, a whole Company (minus the youngest ones) and a Burglar exited their ship, to start another leg of their journey. Probably the less comfortable one.
The Burglar was glad for his helmet, and for the heating device of his suit.

Balin took the lead with Thorin, guiding the entire Company on a winding path. Wind and rain unleashed on them, and it was tempting to use the shields to avoid the weather. The reduced autonomy of the device (unless some wanted to carry a heavy battery pack) limited heedless uses.
The Burglar fell at the end of the column. Three hours into this mess and he hated it with a vengeance. He barely listened the few conversations on the general canal, didn’t even laugh at some Bofur’s jokes.

“Did you heard that?”
“No, Bofur. Heard nothing.”
“Hush, you two.” said Bifur. “Look.”
“Where?”
“Up.”
“What?”
“Take cover!”
“But why?”
“Are you blind, Burglar?”
“Hey, it wasn’t me.”
“Before you ask, it wasn’t me neither.”
“Nori, you lie.”

The general canal was buzzing. The Burglar smiled, amused, before stopping brutally. Fortunately for him, he was the last one.
Up, up, up his eyes went, watching the mountain face, nearly to the summit. He encompassed the view, gaping.
A low rumble shushed the Dwarrows more efficiently than harsh words from their king.
Then they saw. A huge rock crashing against the stone.
“This is amazing.”
“Deadly amazing.”
“There!”
“Stone giants!”

Stone giants they were. Two of them, but they only saw the second one last minute.
In fact, they were standing on his knees, and when he got up, slowly, like a landslide, they screamed like children in the throes of a nightmare.
The Burglar clutched Bombur, beside him, trying to regain his footing. The burly Dwarrow had a brief laugh, then his eyes widened. They looked at each other for the longest three seconds of the Burglar existence.

He vanished. Bombur had vanished.
One moment he had a hand on the back of the burly Dwarrow, one moment later he…

“Bom…”

He could not finish saying his name. Stupidly, he blinked, as to dispel the rain. He had a helmet, he remembered.
He felt like he was underwater. The sounds were muffled, and he didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know…
A boulder crashed right on his head.
All went black.




When the giant moved, Thorin reacted instantly. He had gathered his Dwarrows, shouting to them: keep your footing, keep your footing!
When boulders and bits of rock showered them, he had protected Balin with his own body. Dwalin was at his side too, as Glóin and Óin.
When it stopped, he was powerless. Like the others, he could only watch as Bombur fell, as Bofur, Bifur and the Ri brothers smashed against the rock.
As the Burglar was properly buried under stone.

They howled in the wind.

“There is nothing you could have done, lad.”

They had sought refuge in a cave. No fire, no songs, no jokes, only a pregnant silence.
Thorin stood at the entrance, his eyes unseeing. They were dead, all of them, and he wanted… how he wanted to be the one who had sacrificed his life for the others. His life in exchange of the lives of his Company.
This was the natural order of things. How much he already had sacrificed for his people. The dream of a simpler life, maybe with someone to share it… maybe not.
He was a solitary one. No one can be trusted; he remembered that at every sign of weakness.
Balin looked at him, his eyes full of an emotion he refused to recognise.
Dwalin, Glóin and Óin were huddled together, checking their equipment.

“We’ll need to move.” Thorin said with steel in his voice. “In a few hours. I take the first watch.”

No one protested.
He felt numb. How to announce to young Ori he was alone in the world now? At once, he was glad for his decision not to bring the young ones with them. And the TARDIS? The strange machine, which seemed sometimes to have a mind of his own would tolerate his passengers no more with the death of his pilot. Worries for later, he decided.
Find the Key. Grieve later.

He had the Oakenshield at his side, put against a boulder. Maybe one day he would have told the story to the Burglar.
He felt his eyes closing. He rose, looked at the others. Soft snores emanated of the huddled Dwarrows. They slept in a heap to conserve warm, saving resources for later. He hesitated, his hand hovering above Dwalin.
No.
He let them sleep.

His blue eyes were fixed to the cave entrance. Maybe, maybe one of them had survived. A foolish hope. One of his greatest mistakes.
Stone giants. Beings of legend, always battling in the Misty Mountains. They were many, at the beginning of times, then they killed each other in epic battles with no witnesses. How one can hope to survive mighty landslides and throwing boulders?
They had been foolish. So foolish.

Strange how life can change in an instant. His quarrel with the Burglar was so petty and childish in the light of the last events. They had been so stupid, so… he had no words. Only many regrets.
He let his mind drift away, exploring the valley of his memories.

Why should he remembered those soft lips on his own, above all?

He had no time to think further about his own foolishness. All of a sudden, the floor of the cave collapsed.

Chapter Text

Bits of rock crushed against his energy shield. He waited, his eyes adjusting to the scarce light of torches down there. Torches? It meant something was alive in this huge network of caves.
He looked up. The roof was back in place. So, a contraption, nothing natural, and absolutely not a landslide.
He looked right, left. The others were here. He felt the tension in his body relax a bit for exactly two seconds before he heard screeches.

“Regroup and prepare for battle.” he whispered in the dark.

His communicator came alive again. He heard some static first. Then…

“Dwalin here.”
“Everyone’s alright?”
“Balin’s wounded, methinks.”
“I am fine, Óin. Thorin?”

He exhaled, and deactivated his shield. He drew his sword and mourned the fact his Oakenshield was lost.

“Hale and whole.”

He waited anxiously, his senses heightened by his surroundings. Darkness, silence. The screeches had ceased, for now.
He heard footsteps approaching. His thumb hovered above the switch on his sword’s handle. He didn’t want to use the laser, they needed stealth, but…

“Thorin.”

They were here, all of them. The four survivors of his Company. He smiled tightly, lowering his sword. Balin caught his arm, and he felt a faint tremor in the limb of his oldest friend and counselor.

“I’ve got your shield.”
“Thank you, Balin.”

He strapped the shield to his arm. He felt a bit more himself. He acknowledged the others with a nod and signaled for them to stay close.

“Did you hear? We are not alone.”

They started their march, using Dwalin’s stone sense to search for an exit. The warrior went first, then Glóin, Balin and Óin, Thorin at the rear. They aimed for stealth, but they were Dwarrows with heavy boots echoing on the stone. Sooner than later they would be caught.
They won’t go without a fight.
Dwalin rose a fist.

“Dead end.”

The screeches started anew, startlingly near them. Thorin looked back.

“Goblins! We are surrounded!”

When he woke up, his mind hesitated between several things at once. He felt like crap. He hurt, bad. His whole body hurt. The smell was horrible, a mix between old dwarrow socks unwashed for a century, body odours, rotting food and other awful things. And the music. Music? Was it music, or tortured geese rubbed against a blackboard?
His heart raced.
Was he alone? He couldn’t see anything at all. His immediate surroundings were a cage. A cage made of scrapes, scavenged from… anywhere, he guessed.

Oh, please, please, please, it was a horrible nightmare and he would wake up soon, right?
He pinched himself, adding to the pain.
Nope, definitively not a nightmare.
He guessed it was worse. He sat, his head spinning. His stomach lurched. Don’t be sick, please don’t be sick.
He heaved.

“Not on me, you moron!”

He blinked. The voice was familiar.

“No…ri?”
“Yep. Breathe. Well, don’t.”

Even laughing hurt.

“Everyone…”
“Alive.”

He couldn’t believe it.
Slowly, he processed his surroundings. It was… not a cave, but some cavern. A huge one, with winding tunnels. More than he could count.
He expected darkness; he found a strange green light. Other cages, and numerous bodies, monstrous under that light.

“Where…”
“Please, don’t ask.”

He heaved again, went sick in a corner. Nori groaned.

“Better?”
“A bit.”

His stomach lurched again.
It was hard to focus, but he saw Dori and Bifur in the cage next to them, then Bofur and the Burglar in another.

“How…”
“Don’t know. Not for long anymore, I suppose. They sang about eating us for an hour.”
“Not again.”

The Burglar’s voice, faint, under his broken helmet.

Then everything went silent. A massive silhouette approached. It was something like an abnormally large being, which had too much in the matter of feasting, and smelling like a whole garbage dump.
Bombur thought he would be sick again.

“Welcome, welcome to Goblin Town!”

The being had a booming voice. He rose a beefy hand (a finger went missing) and suddenly music started anew. A discordant one, like some electronic music played by a bunch of weirdos with housewares, including an army of rusty toasters, some washing machines and hoovers.
Voices, hundreds, thousand voices rose. The “welcome to Goblin Town” went in a loop, until some of the prisoners tried to cover their ears with some yelp.

One knows goblins to be the bastardised cousins of Orcs. One does not necessarily know goblins liked huge parties and guests, admittedly to eat them during said parties.
Nobody visited them anymore. A shame, right?

So, when the Dwarrows and an unfortunate Burglar smashed right into one of their outposts they were beyond themselves with joy. They had some difficulties to catch the large one into a force field but they managed.
Goblins also liked to stole foreign technologies. Goblin Town was a mixture of modernity and filthy nothingness.
The weapons of the Dwarrows adorned several belts, and a small goblin snatched the Burglar’s helmet, putting it on his head. Another had his belt, and he hissed around, protecting his loot. Two others shoved him, once, twice, and with a snarl, the belted one launched at the others. The bloodshed was short. He screeched victoriously, the insides of another around his neck.
Bombur went sick again under Nori’s commiserate gaze.

“Barbarians.” muttered the Burglar.
“No time to be fancy. I need a distraction.”

Of course, Nori would have a plan and some gear hidden under his clothes.

“I can do it.”

He had no time to elaborate further. The massive being went forward on unsteady feet. Well… not quite.

“Oh, dear, he is dancing.” whispered a bewildered Bofur, snatching his hat from the inquisitive hands of two goblins.

Dancing indeed. They watched the grotesque show, unable to do anything else. The being had something like a crown on his head. He started a song on the theme “welcome to Goblin Town and to your demise, dear guests” and the others voices vanished. No more music, no more howling, only the massive goblin swaying with a strange lack of grace, a twisted smile on his face.
The Dwarrows exchanged desperate looks. Bombur looked greener by the minute. He wasn’t moving, and in his shadow, Nori was picking on the lock with careful gestures. Too much eyes were on them.
Well, the goblins seemed hypnotized by their leader display; he had a small window of action.
The Goblin King’s voice rose higher and higher, approaching the end of the song.
It was now or never.

The Burglar was watching him. They exchanged a nod. A final note and the lock was broken.
The Time Lord stood straight, and he rose a hand.

“Fine, now the introductions are made, can we talk?”

Thorin’s party went with a fight indeed. A really short one. They didn’t expect the old hunting trap, Edain made apparently, to activate under their feet.
Their weapons were quickly confiscated and they were put on a single cage on wheels, which grated atrociously. No room to really move and attempt an escape. Goblins were quite ugly but smart. Honestly, their chances to make it out alive were small, rather inexistent.
They followed a winding path, until they reached a massive cavern.
Music and voices, and some unhealthy green light were all they could perceive.

They weren’t ready for the scene currently occurring.

“Mahal above, somebody tell me I’m dead.”
“Nope, Dwalin, this is the Burglar. And he’s…”
“He’s singing.”
“And…”
“Dancing, yes.”

Singing and dancing, yes, absolutely. Well, if you want to know everything, we’ll need to take a backward step or two if you please.
Honestly, the Burglar hadn’t time to think properly. Nori needed to escape that is all he knew. No matter what would happen next, likely to be caught and properly cleaved in two.
So he rose a hand and waited until the massive goblin finished his song.

“Talk, little one? I’m the one talking.”
“Well, your majesty… I suppose we’ll end into the stomachs of your subjects.”

Voices rose to howl in approval. He felt many hungry gazes on him and he swallowed nervously. Okay, now wasn’t the time to be a coward, let alone holding back.
The Goblin King rose a hand and silence fell anew.

“This is your fate indeed.”
“Well, I want to challenge you to a duel.”

The booming laugh of the king echoed deep into the caves.

“A duel? Goblins don’t duel.”

The Burglar smiled and bowed.

“How can you resist a dance and song battle, honestly?”

That was it. He was released from his cage.
Nori glanced around. Yes, goblins were smart and crafty, but they were unable to resist a good show. He had the smallest amount of time to accomplish much.
The Burglar’s voice rose and he bit the inside of his cheek not to laugh out loud.
It was awful. If they came out alive, he promised himself to not mention the feat until the day he’ll die.
The nearest goblins had their eyes glued on the Time Lord.
Nori started another dance, burgling weapons and gear, returning them to their previous owners into the cages.
Then he noticed something massive moving. Well… everyone was here for the finale.

Of course, the Goblin King couldn’t resist a dance and song battle. He nodded and five goblins wrestled for the right to be the one to put his paws on the Burglar, extracting him from his cage. He was shoved outside with a kick in the ribs he barely dodged. On his knees, he looked up at the massive figure before him.
The Goblin King smelled awful up close.
He swallowed and got on his feet with a supple movement. He bowed with a flourish, a large smile placated on his lips.

“It’s an honor to duel with you, o King. I’ve heard… well, nothing about you, truly, but you’re really hard to find.”
“We like our peace, little one. But a little bird told me our cousins have projects for the likes of you…”

Oh dear.

“Orcs? Well, we’ve not finished our last game of tag. We…”
“Enough! Sing or you’ll be a lunch for my goblins.”
“Okay, okay… Can you give me a tune?”

He looked at the goblin DJ who screeched with enthusiasm and started another bout of… well, he supposed he could work with that.



Nori dodged and dived. He had picked the other locks and ordered to the others to wait for the signal. What signal, had said Bofur? You’ll see he replied before vanishing again.
The goblins cheered for a new round of the duel. The Burglar had chosen colorful terms to describe the Goblin’s King mother.
The latter simply sat on the more enthusiastic bunch of them as a retaliation, before getting up again and starting to sing about the Burglar’s utter ugliness and his association with Dwarrows.



In the cage on wheels, Dwalin howled with laughter. An elbow in his ribs shushed him.

“Hello, gentlemen. Care to escape and bring hell loose on those bastards?”

Chapter Text

His limbs ached, and his throat was parched. He started to lack words to describe the Goblin King’s mother, his ugliness, or the sheer incompetence of his minions. And how his kingdom reeked of old socks.
He felt like he sang for hours. It has only be for seventeen minutes.
He felt sweaty, thirsty, and a bit nauseated. His world had neared only to his immediate surroundings, the massive presence at his side, the awful music, some screeches… and nothing more. What Nori and the others were up to was not his current business. They were on their own for now.

For sure, the goblins averted the most awful of deaths for them. It didn’t meant no casualties.
Bombur had hit rocks with his head, leading to a concussion, obviously. The sheer terror of the fall had made the Burglar weak in the knees.
He wanted some strong liquor, a bath and a nap, not struggling more and more to stand and sing.

“Enough!”

The Goblin King feigned surprise. His smirk told otherwise.

“You give up, little one?”
“Well, I think we’re going in circles. And let me tell you you’re an awful host. I’m entertaining you for ages and I haven’t got even a simple glass of water! Honestly, don’t you have any shame?”



Nori smirked. Well, he had lost the bargain he made with Dwalin in a whim when he worked on the locks of their cage. He had given the Burglar ten minutes before giving up and throwing a tantrum. Dwalin had lost too, he bargained on five minutes, and some exaggerated wails.
Thorin had said fifteen minutes followed by some complain. Technically, he won, but a king never bargained.
Now everyone waited for his signal.

The easiest part was freeing the others. Now he needed a decoy big enough to sway the attention of enough goblins to have a chance to escape.
It was there in one of his many inner pockets. He didn’t like to use it, because it was expensive, and made things far too easy for his liking.
Now was the right time.
The thing rested on his flat hand, a little wasp-shaped metal thing. He activated the control he wore on his wrist. The wasp took off with a faint buzz and went flying.
The awful DJ station was a good target, but still too close. He aimed for something more… spectacular.

Well, Nori would never admit until the day he died how something so ridiculous had happened. His control device just… kind of snapped. The wasp fled in circles, before landing right into the Goblin King’s nose.

“Bloody hell.”

He ducked.

The Goblin King’s expression suddenly changed. He scratched his ugly nose, and Nori hold his breath.
One, two…

The Burglar screamed like the Dwarrows had never heard him scream before. It was a high-pitched screech, an atrocious thing well fitted for their current location.
He was literally painted red, and bits and parts of the Goblin King hung from him. He looked like a strange Yule tree, and he nearly went crushed by the fall of the massive headless body.
More half a body, in truth, still heavy and dangerous for the surrounding population.

Silence fell for three awful seconds.
Then it was chaos.

The goblins entered a terrifying frenzy. They collided, tore at each other in a display of raw violence. Innards, heads and sometimes partially devoured limbs went flying, as blood covered the ground, the cages, the DJ station.
The goblin DJ laughed manically, starting to play another atrocious tune sounding like an orchestra of saws thoroughly rubbed against metal bars. With a touch of hoovers.

“Well, I think we have our signal.” deadpanned Glóin.

They regrouped in a corner, away from the mess. Bombur was hauled by Dori and Bofur who let Glóin take over. They needed his stone sense to escape.

The Burglar was bordering on hysterics. He tried to clean himself with jerking hands, a haunted expression on his face. Thorin stood before him, and gestured for him to approach.
The back of his hand connected with the Burglar’s jaw.

“Better?”

The green eyes went a bit misty.

“I… think. You insufferable brute!”
“Definitely better.”

The icy blue eyes twinkled for a second. Then he caught the Burglar’s hand in his and shoved him forward. They had no more time to loose; some goblins would sooner than later come back to their senses and engage pursuit.

Indeed, they had spent less than five minutes free and running amok, dodging goblins in various states when a screech suddenly rose.

“Murderers! Filthy Dwarrows!”

They ran, the goblins on their heels.
Bofur and Dwalin went first, following a passage exiting the huge cave to a path lacking light.
Dori, Bombur and Glóin followed, clutched together.
Bombur still felt sick, and he needed the support to move forward. Then Bifur, Óin and the Burglar. Thorin went last, killing the nearest foes with his lasersword, supported by Balin and his own sword. They protected each other.
Nori was nowhere in sight.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”
“Shut your trap, Burglar!”
“Faster, you fools, RUN!”

A succession of explosions colored momentarily their surroundings. Nori appeared in the middle of their group, filthy, blood-covered, with a satisfied mien.

“I’ve bought you a couple of minutes… couldn’t do more.”

He gave the Burglar his belt, with a smirk.

“Nice things you have in there.”
“Thank you?”

They ran and ran again, sometimes stumbling, sometimes hesitating on their way, but not for long. They hadn’t this luxury with the goblins not far behind.
It seemed they went deeper and deeper into the mountain core. No one said a thing, unless their spirits would waver.
Fights broke and they knew their time was limited. They could not ran forever.
The Burglar fell at the end of the column, next to Balin and Thorin. He felt terrible, tired, and afraid.

A goblin jumped on his back. He gasped, flailed.

“Get it off me, get it off me!”

The goblin clawed his way into his suit, fortunately on a padded area.
Unfortunately on a padded area. 
Something snapped in the Burglar’s mind. He tried to crush his foe into the rock wall… encountered only darkness, and emptiness.

He fell.

Thorin’s eyes widened. He caught Balin’s arm.

“Find the exit. We will come back.”
“Thorin, don’t!”

He sheathed his sword and marched forward, following the pitiful scream of a terrified Burglar, mingled with a screech, down, down there.




The Burglar could not remember how much time he spend unconscious, flat on his back, a properly crushed goblin under him. His entire body was hurting.
He grimaced, slowly opening his green eyes.
Darkness. Total darkness everywhere.
He tried to sit, felt a broad hand on his chest.

“What…”
“Don’t move.”

Thorin. Thorin and the faint light of a torchlight at his side.

“You are one lucky bastard.”
“I know.”

Thorin finished assessing the damage, then he lent a hand to the Burglar. The latter grabbed it and get on his feet with a whimper, noticed the goblin still attached to him.

“Get it off me… please, please, get it off!”

He sounded like a little boy on the verge of tears, barely mastering himself, with a hint of hysteria lacing his last words.
Thorin grabbed his wrists in a vice-like grip.

“Stop it.”

Green eyes, blue eyes. The Burglar took a shuddering breath.

“Do not tell me it is your first battle.”

Thorin went slowly, disentangling the goblin’s claws from the Burglar’s back.

“It wasn’t a battle. It was a bloodbath. I hate it.”

The green eyes watered. The Burglar’s voice wavered. Yet he still stood straight, his limbs faintly trembling, blood marring his face.
Thorin nodded, patting the Burglar on the arm.

“Come, you delicate thing.”
“Well, I am. And… thank you.”
“What for?”
“Not abandoning me.”

Thorin had not time to answer. Another voice, one voice rose in a song, in a strange voice. A discordant one, with high-pitched tones laced with some… hissing?
They looked left, right. Dead-end, save for the way the thing, creature, being was coming from.
Two eyes like lamps or two pieces of a full moon reflecting on the surface of a still lake stared at them.

“Is it juicy? Is it delicious, Precious?”

The Burglar stepped back, his back against the stone.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”

He noticed something around his neck, before a faint explosion reverberated far above them.
An enormous piece of rock landed on the creature’s head.
He refused to watch, whimpering again. No more, he could take no more of this…

He heard footsteps, the rock moving.

“I found the Key.”

Chapter Text

He had closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see another crushed creature.
Thorin had sighed then took his hand and followed the only path available. It led to a lake with dark waters.

“You can open your eyes now.”

The Burglar waited for another insult. There was none. He smiled tightly before heaving once, twice. He spat bile, grimaced.

“Sorry.”
“You are the delicate thing, not me.”
“Please, don’t, Oakenshield.”

He knelt and took water in his cupped hands, sniffed, drank a bit. It was freezing, it hurt his teeth, and he didn’t care. Water, at last!

“What do we do now?”
“Rest for a bit. You need it, Burglar.”
“Then we find an exit. I guess there is more than one.”
“I hope so.”

Thorin looked tired. His mithril coloured hair flowed freely along his back, unbounded during the fights, soiled by blood. He sat on a jagged rock, squirmed a bit, and his ice blue eyes landed on the Burglar.

“What?”
“You look like hell, Burglar.”
“You too. I want a nap. In the TARDIS. I miss her. Wanna go… home.”

Thorin rose an eyebrow. The Burglar stumbled.
Oh, well. The adrenaline rush had ended. He caught him before he fell on his knees again.

“Come here, you confusticating Time Lord.”
“You’re… suspiciously nice. What happened to the great and stoic Thorin Oakenshield?”

The Burglar’s words were slightly slurred. Adrenaline crash, totally. He had his back on the rock; his head on one of the Dwarrow’s tights. And he smiled like a moron.

“Yeah, it feels nice. You don’t really hate me, am I right?”
“I do not hate you.”
“Love you too. Wanna kiss you again, methinks.”

He caught a handful of mithril hair. Thorin’s eyes widened.

“Hair’s nice.”

He was in a haze. Nothing mattered anymore, only the feel of dwarrow hair in his hand, the heat from his tight, spreading into his skull. He felt lighter than ever. He felt… at peace, unguarded, and his green gaze bore into Thorin’s eyes.
The Dwarrow was frozen. About all the absurd situations he found himself into, this one was the most absurd of all. Trapped by someone he hated.
Well… it was never true. Deep inside him, it was never true, he knew it. He was unable to explain.
He looked into the green eyes. Beautiful green eyes like a bout of forest in summer. Colours swirled in this gaze, gold specks, a touch of brown which seemed to turn into several shades of red sometimes… Green like grass, or spring leaves, he didn’t know.
An ageless gaze, sometimes older than time itself, sometimes young, so very young.
Then he realised the Burglar had never showed true vulnerability. Even then, after their visions, he was still in control.
A strained smile stretched his lips. They were so alike, in many ways.

The Burglar tugged once, twice. Thorin relinquished any thought about resisting. He didn’t want to. Not now.
He bent above him. The Burglar guided him slowly toward him, with a gentle smile.

“Loyalty. Honour. A willing heart. You’re magnificent.”

Their lips met in a slow dance.
There was no shyness between them. Only an abyss of uncertainties, so many questions unanswered. So many questions ever unvoiced.
They had closed their eyes, together and alone in their small pocket of universe.
It was dark, and they were alone, and they could possibly die here, but at this very moment, nothing mattered more than their lips sealed together, and their slow exploration.

A short of breath Thorin broke the kiss first. The Burglar looked at him, with hooded eyes.
He blinked, smiled again.

“I know who you are. Who you truly are.” he whispered, his grip on the mithril hair slackening.
“I will let you believe that. For now.”

The green eyes closed again, and the Burglar’s breathing evened. Thorin bent again, kissed his brow.

“Sleep.”

He started to hum, and the Burglar dreamed of mountains.



They were still running. Nori vanished and reappeared regularly, and in his wake, a trail of explosions and dead goblins.

“We’re near.”

Indeed, they were. Suddenly, they were outside, and nobody followed them.
The rain hit them like an iron curtain.

“Where are we?”
“No idea.”
“Try to contact the TARDIS.”
“Where’s Thorin?”
“And the Burglar?”

Balin shushed them.

“They fell.”

Only the patter of the rain was heard for a while.

“We need to find them.” said Dwalin. “I’ll go back inside.”
“No, you won’t. I’ve worked hard to save your hides.”
“Nori!”
“Hush, brother. We…”
“We’ll need an army and flamethrowers.” interrupted Glóin, a crazy glow in his eyes.
“We need to trust them. They’ll find a way.”

They looked disbelievingly at Nori, and the few protests died on their lips. They had no other options, beside a certain death.

“Very well. If you’re wrong, I’ll strangle you myself.”
“Wanna bargain, Dwalin?” replied Nori with a sly smile.

On the other side of the mountain, someone knocked at the TARDIS’ door.





“Oh dear. I feel like an entire mountain fell on me.”

The Burglar opened his eyes with a groan. The first thing he saw was blue eyes, with an amused glint.

“Slept well?”
“Not bad. You made a good cushion.”

Indeed, he was half draped on Thorin’s lap.

“We need to move.”
“Indeed. Oh, by the way, did I dream about kissing you?”

Thorin’s expression morphed into a stoic mask. He didn’t answer.

“Oh, please. Admit it, if you liked it half as I did…”
“You did not know what you did. Forget it.”
“No way.”

Thorin abruptly rose, and the Burglar fell on his behind with a yelp.

“Hey!”

The Dwarrow ignored it and started to walk, circling the lake. The Burglar leaped on his feet with a pained grunt and half ran to catch with him.

“Don’t do that.”
“Do not do what?”
“Ignore me. You’re not logical, you know. Following me to a certain death, then…”
“I have no time for… whatever it is.”
“Whatever you want it to be. A passing fancy, maybe something more. I don’t care. Now tell me… why?”

Thorin gave him a side-glance. He indicated a passage opening in the rock, and they gulped some water before taking it.

“As you said. Beside, you would not survive five minutes more alone in there.”

The smile was back on his face. The Burglar shoved playfully his elbow in his ribs.

“True. I’m not easily scared… here, I…”

He felt his throat tightening.

“It’s not the goblins, no… I… I saw them fall. I thought they were…”
“Dead.” finished Thorin.
“How can you…”
“I saw death before my very eyes, Burglar, more than once.”
“Azanulbizar? Please, tell me.”

The blue eyes searched the Time Lord’s face for something he couldn’t find. True curiosity, born from an honest interest. Could it be… could it be possible the Burglar was inclined to… some development in their… whatever it was? Nothing more than a fancy, he was right.
Thorin had no time for fancies, nor something more. He had never had time for any of those things. Normal things. He was the descendant of a line of kings, a king himself. He had duties.
His tragic past belonged to no one but him. Nevertheless, he was tempted. He had barely slept, watching the peaceful face of the Burglar, and lost himself in thought. A Time Lord and a Dwarrow. How this could ever be a thing?

“Promise me one thing. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Promise.”

The Burglar took his hand. He let him be, strangely comforted as he started reliving some awful memories. Frerin, the Oakenshield, his father and his frenzied looks when he spoke about the great Khazad-Dûm, how the former glory of Dwarrows would be regained. How he wasn’t sure he believed it, but he was so young, he hadn’t dared to raise his voice.
How he had tried to protect his too young brother, how he had failed. How their years in Belegost moon were miserable, grieving, with not enough resources for the new colony.
How Erebor lived as a ghost from the past in everyone’s minds, and how the unspoken words about the failures of the line of Durin hurt. How the remnants of the others clans overlooked them. How he felt like an utter failure…

“I’m so sorry, dear.”
“Do not be. We will succeed, and the line of Durin will be strong again.”

The Burglar smiled.

“I understand now.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, you have no time for fancy things like me. But, you know, I think you should try.”
“Tell me why. We are in the middle of a quest…”
“Precisely. Those things are meant to be fun too.”

Thorin glared at the Burglar. His elbow jutted sharply, and the Burglar yelped again.

“You horrible brute. It hurts!”
“You are right. It was fun.”
“Pig-headed arsehole!”

Thorin tutted.

“Manners.”

They looked at each other. Then, they laughed.

“Who’s there?”

The TARDIS’ door opened, letting two young Dwarrows exit, weapons in hand.

“Oh, Gandalf, why are you here?”

The Old Man looked at Fíli and Kíli, already exasperated.

“Where is the Burglar? We need to leave, now.”

Chapter Text

The Old Man helped himself to a warm cup of tea, under the gazes of three bewildered young Dwarrows. The TARDIS had kind of purred at his entrance, a good sign if Ori was to be believed.
Now they were huddled in the cockpit, the Old Man weaving a short story of his whereabouts.
A spectacular escape indeed.

“Company to TARDIS. Dwalin’s calling. Need a lift. Now.”

Fíli and Kíli jumped together to the console, fighting to reply. Ori sighed and pushed the appropriate button.

“TARDIS to Company. I… guess we can pick you up?”

Ori looked at Gandalf, uneasiness written all over his being. The Old Man took pity and signalled for him to step aside.

“Gandalf to Dwarrows. I’ll manage.”

He cut the communication before any question, exclamation, swears and the like. No time for those. No time for anything, truly.





“You truly barged into this organisation’s palace wearing only…?”
“Yep, only in underpants. You should have seen it, it was glorious.”

Thorin looked disbelievingly at the Burglar.
Well, they had spent a rather large length of time speaking about him, now it was the Burglar’s turn. He had noticed he talked freely about his many adventures, not really about himself.

“No, thank you.”

The Time Lord chuckled, then his face became serious once more.

“Do you think we’re near an exit, dear?”
“Stop that. I think so.”

Eventual goblin’s noises had vanished hours ago. They were alone in the darkness save for the light of their lamps, and darkness made them prone to talk.

“Don’t want to. Feels nice.”
“Not in front of the Company.”
“They won’t even notice. Well, except Nori, probably Balin…”
“We will see.”
“Sure.”

They stayed silent for a while. It was not an uneasy one and they weren’t prone to endless talk when they were not in the spirit for it. In those caves, well… they felt silence wasn’t something they sought.

“Tell me, Burglar.”
“Yes, o King?”

Thorin glared at him. That won’t do either. He was not ashamed, none of that… he was not ready for anything in the light and he didn’t want to tell him.

“I want to hear some childhood stories.”
“Oh, I see what it is. You want to be able to tease me, right?”
“I’m bored.”

The smirk on Thorin’s lips told everything he wanted to know. The Burglar started a story about something that had happened on Gallifrey when he was roughly eight, involving a prank and some stuffy old Time Lords, but he lacked enthusiasm. He stopped his story, took a few calming breaths.

“Sorry. I don’t really like remembering my time there. Your story is sad and mine is lacking something. I have no memories of those who bring me into this world. Only the Old Man.”

Thorin hesitated, but he had no time to speak further. He seemed to have opened a breach in the Time Lord’s defences and now words flowed more freely. Well, to be more precise on the aquatic metaphor, words were like little sprinkles from a rusty tap. Open, close, open, close.
Better than nothing, one can suppose.

“Was alone. An orphan. It’s not common on Gallifrey. Wandering Time Lords neither. So, I… I left as soon as I was able. You see, we’re on a quest to help you regain your home. I don’t have that luxury. Oh, don’t bother, I don’t care.”

The tension he felt through their laced hands told another thing.
He regretted to have asked. Maybe he had made peace with some of the things that had happened to him. At least he was able to talk about it without too much difficulty. The Burglar didn’t. This particular wound never healed. Maybe he didn’t know he had it in the first place. He felt something surprising. He was… he was sorry for the Burglar.

“The woman you saw in the tunnels… I think you should ask the Old Man one day.”

Thorin, coward. He didn’t dare to tell the entire truth as he knew it. He didn’t know why. Not now, the Burglar was not in the right mind, he thought.

“I should have, before leaving Gallifrey. But he would have stopped me. After, we never had the time. He’s like an old uncle, eccentric and a bit bothersome.”

They stayed silent for a couple of hours, save for breaks to check the stone and their way. They stayed hand in hand, drawing comfort from the contact. The calloused hand of Thorin engulfed the Burglar’s delicate one, and it felt right. Simply right.
The Burglar sported a small smile, a wistful one.

“That’s strange.”
“Tell me, lulkhel[1].”
“What now?”
“Khuzdul. I won’t tell you.”
“I hate you.”
“No you do not. So, what is strange?”
“Can’t remember. Your language do strange things to my innards.”

The Burglar chuckled.

“Never felt that with anyone.” he whispered. “And I have a thing for everything existing in this universe.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Won’t discriminate.”
“That is a good thing, I suppose. And before you start another story, I do not want to know.”

The Burglar’s laugh echoed in the caverns. Thorin rolled his eyes. How he found the patience to bear with him, he didn’t know. Maybe it was a good sign for a hypothetical future.
If the Great Worm didn’t eat them before.



A few hours later, they found a TARDIS waiting for them at the exit, probably a secondary one, meant for two goblins front, or only a Dwarrow and it was close.
Thorin released his hand and the Burglar missed the heat of it a few seconds later.
They didn’t discuss how they would act in front of the Company. He’ll follow Thorin’s lead he supposed. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

The door opened, and the Old Man’s head appeared.

“Hurry up you two, we don’t have all day!”
“You are a true pain in my arse, Old Man. Step aside, then we’ll talk.”

He let a scowling Thorin went first, then followed, his green gaze meeting the old eyes. He knew instantly the Old Man had understood what happened in those caves between Thorin and him. He always knew everything as long as he remembered.
Talk to him, has said Thorin. He had delayed it too much.

He had no time to think further. A whole Company fell into their arms, gladly assessing their perfectly thriving state. Nori looked the both of them with suspicion but said nothing. Good.
The Burglar disappeared with no word for anyone to take a bath (a quick shower, truly) and changed into another set of fancy clothes, a blue costume nearly the shade of Thorin’s eyes.
The Dwarrow rolled his eyes again at the view.

“Now back into business.” the Burglar said between two mouthfuls of some Bombur dish. “What are you doing here?”

The Old Man looked positively dying from impatience.

“We need to go, you and me.”
“Where?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“I’m questing right now, come back later.”

The Old Man fumed.

“Dwarrows are a bad influence on you. You are more stubborn than the whole Durin’s line!”
“I beg to differ. Truly, Wizard, what’s the problem?”

He side glanced at the Dwarrows.

“You can talk in front of them. They are friends and, I suppose, Nori could trade the information for a good price.”

Some weak chuckles came from the youngsters. Even them could feel the strange atmosphere. The Burglar looked at Thorin, not for long. The Dwarrow nodded with a ghost of a smile.

“We need to leave at once. I’ve got a call from the hidden planet.”
“A hidden planet now.”
“Your mother was the Guardian of the hidden planet. One of your hearts belongs there.”

The Burglar cocked a brow.

“Do you really think the time to talk about everything is now?”
“I can’t explain fully here. We need to go there…”

He put his half-full bowl aside and rose.

“I don’t have any memories of my parents, Old Man. I see a woman in my dreams and she calls me, but I’m unable to answer. I knew for a long time you’ll be the only one able to help me. I never wanted to ask for it. Because somehow, you’re responsible for something, I don’t know how but…”

Gandalf looked defeated.

“I knew this day would come, and you probably will hate me at the end of it.”

The Dwarrows stayed silent, but, not for long.

“But, the quest?”
“Uncle Burglar, we need you!”

Those bloody nephews. The Burglar smiled, feeling tension seeping through his body. He could do this. But not in front of them.

“I’ll go and see by myself. Old Man, you’ll land your ship to the Dwarrows. Balin, you have the coordinates for the third part of the Key. We’ll meet there, alright?”

Balin nodded. The Old Man looked as he was about to protest, opened his mouth… closed it.

“Fine.”
“And, Fíli, Kíli? Take care of your uncle.”

He nearly added for me but with the smirk Nori sported, the words had been heard anyways.

Then it was done. Shadowfax waited for the Dwarrows hidden between two asteroids. Transferring thirteen Dwarrows took some time. Thorin went last, and they had no words, no gestures. They looked at each other silently.
The Burglar nodded with a smile.

“I’ll come back. I want to see Erebor, after all.”
“Not stealing the Arkenstone anymore, lulkhel?”
“I don’t know, dear. I don’t know.”


The TARDIS plunged into the infinite darkness of space. The Burglar watched absently his console, feeling strangely empty. His eyes landed on the Old Man.

“Speak.”
“You were right. I did something I’ve regretted since.”

The Burglar glared at him, waiting for what would come next.

“I erased your early memories. You are unable to remember your mother because of me.”

The Burglar didn’t remember rising, his fist clenching and landing on the Old Man’s jaw.

“Why, Wizard?”

[1] Fool of all fools (neo-Khuzdul, Dwarrow Scholar). Roughly translated by yours truly “O Mighty Oaf, the Mightiest Oaf of Them All”

Chapter Text

“Uncle, what happened?”

Thorin was brooding majestically in a corner of their temporary ship. Balin was navigating, helped by his brother. Nori sat in front of a screen, searching for anything of interest. He had checked the logs of the ship first, wanting to know where Gandalf was when they were occupied with the two firsts parts of the Key.
It was interesting and he would need to share with the others, but for now, he wanted to know more. Why Dol Guldur?

The others occupied themselves, as usual, chattering, crafting, even catching a bout of delayed sleep. Óin checked on Bombur, who needed rest to heal from his concussion. He had tended to the others too, for nothing more than scrapes and bruises.
Thorin had refused to be treated. He was fine. Well, you fell, said Óin. Literally on the Burglar, who fell on a poor Goblin, he replied.
And what about the Burglar, had said Nori with another of his trademark smirks. 
None of his concern, truly.

He was politely noticed a pool was running about the progress of their relationship. Some insight would be dearly appreciated.

“Well, I suppose it will be fun to watch you torture yourselves and speculate to death. Please, do proceed.” Thorin said with a smile.

The Burglar would have liked it all, from the disbelieving eyes of his nephews to Nori’s theories, starting with the obviousness of their mutual glances. It was hard to brood anymore.
He wondered how so fast a change had occurred.

Whatever it is, had said the Burglar. Whatever it was, he felt warm inside when he thought about it. It couldn’t be bad, right?
Probably it couldn’t last either, but it was a thought for later. For now…

“Approaching the… oh, dear, it seems we have a problem.”

“I thought there was nothing at this end of the Eä Federation.”

The Wizard smiled. They were sat side by side, looking at the darkness outside, the obvious emptiness.

“It is one of the best guarded secrets of the galaxy.”
“Why, Wizard?”
“It is a truly long story. This planet is the last to have been inhabited in the whole Federation.”
“By who? Dwarrows? Eldar? Edain?”
“None of them. Another folk exists in the stories of old. They were called Holbytla in planet Rohan. They had lived there, until the Edain took all resources. They had wandered for ages, following old ways. Everywhere they tried to settle, they were chased. Sometimes hunted for sport. They needed to be protected.”

The Burglar was fascinated. He had wandered the entire Federation for ages and never heard of this hidden planet, even less about another people entirely.

“They are smaller than Dwarrows. They look like children in Edain’s eyes. But they are not. They are an ancient people, guarding old secrets. Their stories talk about a green lady, their goddess who gave them the secrets of all lives. This is why only a Time Lady could be the guardian. Your mother volunteered.”

The Burglar scowled in an honourable imitation of Thorin’s Glare number seven.

“About that… I want my memory back.”
“Yes, yes. We’ll do it there. You need to be in the right place for it.”
“No empty promises?”
“No empty promises.”
“We’ll see. Continue.”

The Old Man sighed.

“I knew your mother for a long time. Since she was a little girl on Gallifrey. I’m old, far much older than she was. And… she was fascinating. Dreamed of adventures. I took her away once, twice. She learned the universe’s secrets with me. She became another Wandering Time Lady. When I brought her on the hidden planet… I saw something in her eyes.
Like she had found the most precious thing in her life. She stayed here. I wandered, coming back from time to time. One day, I found her with a bundle in her arms. A little one, half Time Lord, half Holbytla.”

The Burglar took a sharp breath. His wide eyes bore into the Old Man ones.

“Me?”
“Yes, you. I never had the chance to meet your father… I knew only a thing. His and her lifespan didn’t match. She… she was heartbroken when he…”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear anything more. Not now.”

He could guess from that. A story as old as time itself. Something ended and she couldn’t bear it. Then she came back on Gallifrey and abandoned him in turn, letting the heartbreak win. And he was left alone with a hole in his hearts, the very start of his history lost to some sentimental loon.
He didn’t know if the Old Man was to blame. He blamed him anyways.

“I… I loved her, you know. More than I should have. I couldn’t…”
“Hush. I get it.”

Silence fell, heavy, stuffy, awful. The Burglar wanted to punch the Old Man again, then ask for forgiveness before punching him again. No matter he was the nearest thing he had for a father figure.
Emotions flowed back and forth inside him. A storm brewing. The entire foundation of his life was a lie. He was so sure of who he was. The solitary man living adventures, no caring for what would come next. The magnificent Burglar, with the fancy clothes and a curious love for manners and beautiful things. He had built a life for himself, and now…
Everything crumbled.
How he wanted to be back in the goblins caves with Thorin, exchanging sweet nothings. He had felt lighter than ever for a time, a sliver of happiness without afterthought.
Thorin. He clenched his fists, chasing the phantom sensation of his calloused hand, missing him dearly. Dwarrows were creatures of the Earth, anchoring, solid, sturdy.

He was so lost in thoughts the Old Man called trice before he looked at him again.

“There. Do you see it?”
“No, I don’t.”

He concentrated on a particular spot in the darkness of space. He wondered…

“Well, now you said it… Something should be here.”

The Wizard nodded.

“May I?”
“Proceed.”
“Entering the Nightshade frequency.”

He felt his TARDIS vibrating. He saw nothing first, then…

“Oh, dear, this is a planet. A real planet.”
“Welcome to the Shire planet.”

This wasn’t a big planet. It looked more like a moon. And it was green, awesomely green. As they approached, he couldn’t find a single trace of technology. Save from a shield. A mighty shield they had crossed.

“Did you say something about all lives? Like… you could holbytnapping a bunch of them and force them to grow everything you want?”
“This is an awful prospect. Orcs would do that.”
“Oh, dear. Don’t you think…?”
“No, they do not know. And it would be better to stay this way.”

They said nothing more as the TARDIS landed on soft grass. The door opened and the Burglar went first, hesitating before putting a foot on the ground.
Then he felt something strange. Like a rush of energy running through him as it was meant to be. He breathed deeply, a smile coming to his lips.
The Old Man stayed behind him, observing him carefully.

“Do you feel it? Nightshade always said…”
“Hush.”

His tone was somewhat wistful, as he reconnected with something buried deep inside him. He had no words to explain. It was like… coming home.
He opened a hand, slowly, moved his fingers.

“It’s not like electricity… it is something… something more primal.” he muttered for himself.

The Old Man stopped to try to rush him. Now was not the time. They were on the right place, they only needed to find the right person, and to hear what they have to say.
He needed to act carefully with the Burglar. He was here against his will in the middle of a quest, side-tracking something akin to his own history, his legacy. He didn’t want to antagonise him more than necessary. He didn’t want to lose the last link to Nightshade.

“I want my memories back first.”

The Burglar looked into the Old Man eyes.

“Oh, dear. You’re here.”

Another voice, a stranger’s voice. He turned around to meet a bunch of those… Holbytla. They were quite short; it was true. They sported hair as curly as his, and they had large feet.
He bowed with his usual flourish.

“The Burglar, at your service.”

The older of the bunch frowned, looking at the Old Man.

“Wizard, you did a poor job with our Bilbo.”
“I know, Thain. I’m sorry.”

The conversation stopped there, and the Burglar was soon faced with a cup of tea and a massive array of pastries. Those Holbytla knew how to receive. He politely listened the quick explanations about the thainship, how it was more an honorary position than a real leadership. Holbytla lived a sheltered life, growing things and eating and making more Holbytla, mainly.
He avoided thinking about the eventual family he had here. It was strange, too strange. He seemed he had a full name by their standards. He had heard it before… but where? When?
It was like a half-buried memory.
He put his cup back on the table when he felt gazes on him.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

The old Holbytla smiled at him.

“Young Bilbo, it seems the Wizard did not handle well the whole situation.”
“I guess so. I guess you didn’t call only for tea, too. What about give me back my memories and then explain everything?”
“I suppose we can do that.”
“Do you have the technology?”
“Well, no. We don’t really use technology here. You’ll need to meet the head of your clan to…”
“What? I don’t…”
“Oh yes you do, Bilbo Baggins!”

Eyes wide, he turned in the direction of the voice. Other Holbytla, only females, stood behind him. A frail old one, two or three middle aged, and a young one, with a gaudy yellow dress and an impressive hat.

“Well… hello, I suppose?”
“You suppose well. It’s a shame you don’t properly remember.”
“Enough, Lobelia. Please, come here, little one.”

It was rich, to be called that by people he could easily outlive by a few millennia. But he said nothing and approached as he was bade. The old one looked at him, her eyes sad.

“You look like him.”
“Who, if I may?”
“My son, Bungo.”
“So, my…”

He couldn’t bear to pronounce the word. She nodded.

“Come with us. We wanted to raise you here, you know, but your mother… well, you’ll know everything soon.”

He followed them without question to a massive oak tree. How appropriate, he thought with a smile, thinking about Thorin. He could use a bit of support here, but it would have to wait.
They sat between the roots of the tree, and he was bid to close his eyes.

“Feel, young Bilbo. Maybe it’s only half your heritage, but parts of your roots are here, in the Shire. You’re a child of the stars, and a child of the earth, the rich soil that bore life. Breathe, child, for you are about to begin your journey to reconcile your hearts. Deep down, you know…”

He let the voices lull him into a sort of trance, hearing the story of his clan, the Baggins clan, the voices of reason against the Took spirit for adventure, the Brandibuck strangeness, the Gamgee steadiness and loyalty, and the list went on. So many names, so many people…
He put his hands on the ground. He felt something like lightning cross his whole body, enter the soil, deeper and deeper. He felt the roots of the tree deploying under him like a web, he felt connection with other lifeforms surrounding it. He was part of a whole, for the first time in his life.
Then he went deeper and everything went black.
His breathing slowed, and his face slackened, his whole body relaxing.
Deeper again, deeper still, and he reached light.
He saw them. Her, with her hair the colour of the wheat fields in summer, and him, small, stout, and smiling, holding her hand and giving her flowers. How she had laughed, a sound he longed for since he was able to remember anything.




She had been Guardian for a while when she met Bungo Baggins. Not a particularly remarkable Holbytla, but a nice one, who wasn’t afraid to speak to her. He had kind eyes, that was the first thing she had noticed about him. She was sometimes wild and passionate, and as their friendship grew, she noticed he balanced her. He grounded her as no one has ever did before.
Their story wasn’t one for the story books. Their love wasn’t an epic tale.
It came quietly, little by little. One day she realised, the day he brought her flowers. She laughed, and he smiled, and in her hearts, she knew everything would never be the same.
He built one of their homes underground for her, and they lived together.
She neglected her duties as Guardian for a time, then she started to travel again. Always he waited for her, and they were happy.
She didn’t need it, because it was not the way of the Time Lords, but she married him one summer day under an oak tree, and she wore flowers in her hair. And she was so beautiful Bungo cried a little, before taking her in his arms.

Years passed and her belly became rounder. At the end of summer he was born, a son half Time Lord half Holbytla, and they sat under the tree, her with the bundle in her arms, him with a sad but gentle smile on his lips.

Look at him, beloved. He’s perfect.
You’ll tell him?
I promise, beloved. I’ll be there when you can’t.

Her voice was steady, but there were tears in her beautiful eyes.

We knew from the start. Now, I’m not sure if I could bear it.
You will. I know you will. My Nightshade is strong, with deep roots.

They smiled at each other.
Years passed. Something happened they called the Fell Winter afterwards. Something affecting the life force of the whole planet. They didn’t understood, and Nightshade worked endlessly to help, to find a way to stop this strange thing.
Holbytla started to die.
When Bungo fell, the strange phenomenon stopped. Rumours started. She has failed as Guardian and the balance restored itself, taking lives in the process.

She couldn’t bear it in the end. She took her son, and fled to Gallifrey.
One day, the Old Man found her cold in her bed, and her tiny son crying beside her.
Green eyes looked at him, and it seemed nothing would be joyous anymore.
He was so little. So alone.
No, he couldn’t. So he erased his memories. To protect him, the secret of the hidden planet, and most of all, to chase the sadness. He wanted to see Nightshade’s son smile.

The light dissolved slowly, like specks of gold petals in the wind. He felt the roots again, pushing him to the surface. He opened his eyes again, his vision blurred.
The old lady opened her arms, and he buried himself in it, and shamelessly cried in his grandmother’s arms until he had no more tears to shed.
Then, under the vigil of the old tree, he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

“How is he?”
“Let him sleep, Wizard. What did you do to him anyways? He’s tired and his mind…”
“I’m sorry, Laura.”
“As you should be.”

The voices were muffled above him. He struggled to open his eyes. His head hurt as hell and he felt his throat parched. He rose an arm to scrub at his eyes like a small child, catching his grandmother attention.
Laura, he remembered. Grandma Baggins, he heard some of the young calling her.
What was he supposed to do? The same?
He hadn’t the heart to even laugh at himself.

“Good job, Wizard. You woke him.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Hush, and bring him some tea.”

He sat and watched the old lady bossing the Old Man around. He took the tea and drank slowly. She looked at him with concern.

“How are you, little one?”
“Fine. I guess.”

He was still under the oak tree. He put a hand on a root beside him, felt something faintly.
I want Thorin, he thought with a painful longing. He was exhausted and could use a hug, a deep voice insulting him without truly meaning it, some mithril hair to touch.
He felt an ache in his hearts and his eyes starting to mist.

“Oh, dear, not again…”
“You could have had years to grieve our Nightshade and our Bungo. Now, not thanks to the Wizard…”

She glared at the Old Man who avoided her gaze.

“I truly wanted to give you more time, little one. But we have not this luxury. You will need to be strong for a while longer.”
“Well, I have a quest and something more to do here. After breakfast, maybe?”

She laughed, but her eyes were sad.

“Of course, Bilbo.”

The name was still strange to his ears. He didn’t react immediately, nodding after glancing around as she had called someone else. He wasn’t Bilbo. He had never been Bilbo. He could not be, or maybe didn’t want to be him. He was a Time Lord. He lived all his life as such.
But something was missing, a little voice reminded him. Something was always missing.
He ate some pastries absently, no looking at anyone, even when Lobelia, the one with the fanciest dresses he had ever seen (sorry young lady but your tastes are awful) brought him a plate full of sandwiches. He ate the sandwiches too, or tried to, before he was smacked in the hand by the old one.

“Say thank you.”
“Sorry. You did that yourself, Lobelia?”
“Sure, cousin.”

Cousin? Oh, dear. He took a careful bite.

“This is good. Thank you very much.” he said with a smile, a bit forced.

She beamed. He had to admit he had no time to process all of this with the quest and the other thing he had still to be briefed about. The Old Man seemed to have been properly chastised but he didn’t looked the part. He felt the impatient one boiling under the polite surface.
He looked up, right into the old lady face. She knew.
Grandmothers were like that, he supposed. They knew everything. Maybe one could talk about everything with someone like that. He had no one until now. Well, his favourite grumpy Dwarrow maybe, now.
He put aside the sandwich plate and his empty cup of tea.

“I’ve had enough. Thanks, erm, well…”
“It’s Grandma Baggins for you, little one, if you feel comfortable enough with that.”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. Now come, the Thain is waiting for us.”

He grabbed her hand and helped her to rise. She smiled, and he felt again like a little boy, eager to please and to be loved. He grimaced. That didn’t work on Gallifrey.
He didn’t want to start again.
The shadow of a smile playing on his lips vanished.

“He’s from the Took clan, right?”
“Yes, little one.”

She knew something wasn’t right, he could tell. But she said nothing and he was grateful.
The Thain lived in a huge underground home, and he waited for them in his office. The Wizard was too tall for the height of the rooms, and him too. Nearly.

“It is done?”
“Yes sir.” said the Burglar with an air of seriousness the Wizard didn’t like.
“Good. We have no more time to spare. The Shire needs a new Guardian.”
“I thought only women could do the trick.”

The Thain nodded, his sharp eyes on the Burglar. He exchanged a glance with the Old Man before looking back at him.

“I know, Bilbo. As a child of the Shire and a Time Lord, you’re the best candidate.”
“By the way, my Time Lord name is the Burglar. Don’t forget it.”

The Thain paused, seemed to think.

“Well… Burglar… we have a first mission for our Guardian.”
“I haven’t accepted yet. I don’t even know what I need to do as such.”
“Protecting the Shire. Our shield is weakening. We need a power source.”

The Burglar frowned.

“Why do you need a shield? No one know about your planet.”
“The shield helped.”

The Burglar glanced at the Old Man.

“Why do they need me? You’ve done it since Nightshade…”
“I cannot do it now. The whole Eä Federation needs me. The Orcs have a plan to destroy every planet in each system, they only need a thing…”

The Burglar felt a sense of dread filling his hearts.

“I don’t like the way all of this is coming.”
“With Elrond and Galadriel, Eldar lady from Lothlórien, we’ve reached the conclusion the Arkenstone is the answer to their problem. The Orcs need a power source too.”
“The Arkenstone? You do know it belongs to the line of Durin, right?”
“Rumours said it is cursed. Don’t you think you could use it for a better purpose?”
“So, Old Man, you ask me to betray Thorin and bring the Arkenstone to the Shire to power your shield, so the Orcs can’t have it?”

The Thain looked at them in turn, silent witness of their verbal sparring. It was basically the whole situation, and the young Bilbo had a sharp mind. Alas, he was also stubborn.

“I won’t do it.”
“You must.”
“Why, Thain? Sheltered as you are, you don’t do much for the Federation.”
“Maybe you need more time. Go look around, young man.”
“Don’t ‘young man’ me, mister.”

He let the Old Man and the Thain to their devices, and went by himself outside, and in less than five minutes, he was completely lost. He didn’t really care, and let his feet carry him.
He felt the strange impulse to remove his leather shoes, and went barefoot, leaving them on the side of the road. He found a small streak of water and wiggled his toes in the fresh water.
He could have grown here. The Shire looked like a small paradise, compared to Gallifrey. He remembered the red sand of the vast plains around the city, the sparse trees. He had felt nearly sick and never wandered again outside the city.
He started to understand why.
It was a strange feeling. To be two in one body, one heart from here and another elsewhere… Uprooted and at peace in the same time.
He exited the water, and wandered further. He thought he heard something in the wind, closed his eyes, opened them again, and started to walk with a renewed purpose. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. He had felt something calling.
He saw a man, a solitary man in the middle of a field. He looked old, but he wasn’t, truly.

“Come here. You are… Bilbo, right? Nightshade’s son.”
“So, everyone know, mister?”
“Gamgee, sir. Hamfast Gamgee.”
“Did you know her, Hamfast?”
“I was his neighbour when they lived together at Bag End, your father and her.”
“Bag End?”
“I’ll show you.”

They started to walk, side by side, and Hamfast answered all of his questions with a blunt honesty he liked very much. Holbytla were fascinating, a strange blend of ancient magic and a lifestyle of tiny middle-class people. Life was easy, at the rhythm of nature and growing things.

“So, the life force of the planet depends on you?”
“That’s basically it, sir. You put some of us on a planet and we can grow everything. Let us die and all die with us.”
“I think I get it. I have a choice to make, and I don’t know…”
“Don’t ask old Gamgee. Ask the tree in top of Bag End. They planted it together. There we are. Good day, sir.”

Hamfast let him before a round green door. He stared at it for a while, hesitating. Moving forward, fleeing? The two options were equally tempting.
Finally, he reached for the door, pushed gently. It opened, revealing the most fabulous home one could dream about. It somehow matched his old base aesthetic. It seemed he was a Holbytla deep inside.
The whole home seemed to be frozen in time. Somebody has to do some cleaning, because he couldn’t find dust anywhere. He found a kitchen, a study with many books, and, above the hearth in a vast room he couldn’t name but he liked it very much… a portrait.
The three of them, him, her and a little one, not much more than an infant.

He took it without thinking, exited the house by the back door, and found the tree.
This oak was younger than the other but the call was stronger. He sat, put the portrait before him and his hands on the ground, closed his eyes, his grandmother’s voice in his ears.

Baggins, the voices of reason. He wasn’t reason. He was instinct, fancies, spontaneous and reckless. He had kissed Thorin on a whim, and did more stupid things than any other being in this universe.
He took some deep breaths. He was all of this, but also calculating, not doing something if the aforementioned something had no sense, and he prided himself to be steady and perfectly reasonable. In his own twisted way, he was.
He reached for the roots of the tree. The bark was rough under his hand, and he thought of Thorin, again.
Maybe it was simpler than he thought.

He breathed deeply, and called to his mind the images of the two on the portrait. His parents.
Admitting the word in his mind felt good. Right.
A slow voice entered his mind. The voice of the oak tree. Profound, slow, deep, somewhat ancient even if the oak himself was young.

You are their son. I was there, the day you came. They presented you to me. Bilbo Baggins.

A smile appeared on his face, slow as the wilderness awakening after a long winter.
The name felt right for the first time.

Bungo and Nightshade gave life to me. They poured their love here, in all the things they touched. Do not worry, little one. They’re still here, and you’ll find a way. You already found the most important thing…

He waited for something more. Nothing came.
He immerged himself deeper, chasing the voice of the tree, finding other things instead.
All things that can grow answered his call. Fleeting things like seeds, blades of grass, some greater like trees, bushes, whole fields. A bird landed on his shoulder and softly sang for him before flying away.
Flowers. He could picture flowers, vines, sturdy trunks raising higher and higher, making a whole forest. Colours and scents and sensations.
The double staccato of his hearts slowed. They beat in unison. They always did that. He was not two. He was one. One who could be the Burglar, and one who could be Bilbo Baggins, even if one didn’t know how to be a Baggins.
Did it really matter?



When he opened his eyes again, the sun was down on the horizon. He lowered his gaze at the portrait. His parents smiled at him.

“I think I understand better.”

He got up on his feet, still bare, and picked up the portrait.
He knew exactly what to do.

Chapter Text

“Alright. I’ll do it.”
“Reasonable like a Baggins. I knew you would make this decision.”

The Burglar smiled at the Thain. It was a cold smile.

“I need to go now. And remember: I’m half Time Lord. It’s practically like being an honorary Took.”
“True enough. Good luck, Guardian.”
“I’ll be your guardian when the mission is complete. Not before.”
“As you wish.”

His grandmother waited for him in front of the TARDIS. She was alone, and at her feet, a leather bag and something wrapped in cloth.

“You can’t leave without something to eat. You are too thin, little one.”
“I’m perfect, grandma.”

Her eyes shone. Yes, it felt weird and he doubted he would made it a habit of it, but it seemed the right thing to do at this precise moment. He smiled at her and took the cloth.

“A seedcake? Thank you. I’ll need a snack before coming back to my Dwarrows.”
“Dwarrows, huh? Be careful, little one. They’re good, but hard people. They suffered so much their hearts may betray you. Guard you own carefully…”

He cocked his head, looking into her eyes. Grandmothers knew everything, right? Even something like that he had even never displayed, not even pronounced Thorin’s name. Not as he remembered.

“What do you know I don’t know?”
“Experience, little one.”
“I didn’t tell you anything.”
“You don’t need to. I recognise young love when I see it.”
“I am not. Too soon.”
“Yes, continue to think that.”

Her smile and tone took a playful turn. He laughed wholeheartedly.

“If I come back it’s only for you, I swear.”
“No promises, little one.”

She grabbed the leather bag and gave it to him.

“Those are Bungo journals. I think you need some insight of your father’s thoughts.”
“Are you sure, grandma?”
“Yes, little one. I hope it will help you understand your Holbytla heritage better.”
“I’ll take good care of it. I want to put them back in Bag-End when I come back.”
“Until then, Bilbo. May the Green Goddess protect you.”

He bowed, and she kissed his eyebrow.
The Old Man waited patiently under a tree, out of earshot. He exchanged a nod and a smile with grandma Baggins and followed the Burglar into the TARDIS.
They took off, crossed the shield.

“To the third part of the Key. Old Man, do you need a lift somewhere?”
“No, thank you. I’ll reclaim Shadowfax and will go my way. It think it’s time to summon old allies.”
“Oh, do we really have those?”
“The stakes are higher than ever. We need to protect the Arkenstone at all costs.”

The Burglar frowned.

“Do you think I should do as the Thain bid me?”
“It’s up to you. You’re the Guardian.”

He sat in front of his console, the leather bag on his lap. The Old Man took the seedcake and vanished elsewhere near the kitchen.

“I’ll let you think. Tea?”
“Yes, please.”

Now alone, he stared at the leather bag. It took him a while after the reappearance of the Old Man with a mug and a slice of the seedcake on a plate to make his move. He plunged a hand into the bag, extracted half a dozen of leather notebooks. They smelled of pipe weed, old leather and something more, and he smiled without knowing why. The scent of a stranger. Someone who should have been familiar.
The notebooks sported numbers on the covers. He opened the first one, started to read.

1^st of Afteryule, 1275 (Shire Reckoning)

I caught a glimpse of her at the great Yule party under the Party Tree. Normally it is a time for families, but this year we welcomed our new Guardian, so it was easier to meet her at a great party. She was there, and she looked like one of those Edain in the middle of us, too tall and too strange to blend. She didn’t dance, and she didn’t sing. She watched us and she ate our food, and drank some moonshine from the Old Gaffer, I think.
After a few cups, everybody was graced with her laugh and it was a sound I shall never forget.
She is so different from us, and is ignorant of our ways. She will learn, as every guardian before her had done, said the Thain.
He said she was something called a Time Lady, from a faraway land, and it was the first time someone like that has become Guardian. We had Eldar before, and before that, some of the three First Clans.
Why the Guardianship passed to some not of our race is a mystery. I wonder how the Green Goddess… but I am only Bungo Baggins, and I will never know.



7^th of Solmath, 1275 (Shire Reckoning)

I didn’t see her for a month. She learned everything she needed to know, and started her training. Our abilities come easily to us, as easily as breathing. For her… she had to awake all of this. I heard by the head of our clan she’s really good, and a fast learner. She spent three days under the Old Oak and he finally spoke to her.
Now she’s with the Gamgee head of clan to learn to grow things. The Gamgee are the best for it, I bet she will master it in no time.
I saw her, dancing in a field, and small greenery started to appear under her feet…
Her hair are like wheat fields in summer, and those were dancing too, under the sun. I felt something strange looking at her. I think I know what it is, and I’m not pleased. It is not done.



18^th of Astron, 1275 (Shire Reckoning)

I finally gathered the courage to speak to her. She was kind. And I’m a fool.
It must end, now.



24^th of Foreyule, 1275 (Shire Reckoning)

Nearly a year! And I kept to myself.
I must confess it was a hard task. I needed to study to take one day the head of my clan. I’m the first son of a first son, and I need to train my own abilities. We all are the same in a way, but our clans have precise roles in Shire society. Baggins are level headed and predictable, we are the perfect counterpoint to the Tooks and our clans were always close.
I suppose I’ll have to marry one of their girls, one day. Not far from it, since I am well of age.
I don’t feel ready.




He smiled, while reading. His father’s thoughts seemed so strange, so far away from what he was. But he could feel a sense of familiarity.
He skipped some pages where his father spoke about his mother, waxing poetry between two rants about his own foolishness. He was in love and it was totally unreasonable. How could it be even a thing?

How familiar, he thought. It seems I’m my father’s son.
He drank absently some lukewarm tea, and took a bite of the cake. A family recipe, grandma Baggins had said. He needed to learn it.




5th of Rethe, 1276 (Shire Reckoning)

She was there at the market. She said she was sad and missed some spirited conversation like we had so long ago. I didn’t say a thing, and she was the one to invite me to meet her sometimes.
What should I do? I know now I don’t want to avoid her anymore.



11^th of Wedmath, 1276 (Shire Reckoning)

I finally did it. I gave her flowers.
She laughed, and it reminded me of the party. It reminded me I had loved her from the start.
It reminded me we Baggins can be something more than predictable.



16^th of Thrimidge, 1277 (Shire Reckoning)

She accepted! I showed her Bag End and she accepted!



1^st of Astron, 1278 (Shire Reckoning)

We talked about children yesterday. She looked at me with her green eyes full of sadness, and she said she wasn’t sure it was possible. Children are rare amongst Time Lords, and they didn’t blend well with other races. She know how children are important to us, to continue the clan line. She wanted to back up, as we are not married. I could still find someone else.
I don’t care.



Followed many entries where he talked about their life, her travels, how he was worried, and how he was overjoyed when her TARDIS came back. She brought him so many things from so many worlds. He was the most fortunate Holbytla of the Shire.
He read about their wedding, a small, nearly secret thing. He found some dried flowers on a page and smiled fondly.
A quiet story, full of love and others things he didn’t know he longed for.
He looked at the portrait of them, displayed on an empty space on the console.

“I wish I had the possibility to meet you one more time. Maybe I could use some advice.”

Not about Thorin, absolutely not.

27^th of Solmath, 1290 (Shire Reckoning)

Something wonderful has happened. Our prayers to the Green Goddess were finally heard.
A child!



1^st of Winterfilth, 1290 (Shire Reckoning)

Bilbo, my son, you’re finally here. You don’t look the part of a Holbytla, not even our ears, and I don’t care. You are just like your mother.
From now on my journal entries are for you.
Tomorrow we’ll plant an oak tree above Bag End, in your honour. We want you to be strong, sturdy, with a solid heart and courage to be whatever you want to be.
I gave you a Holbytla name, as our traditions require it.
For your Time Lord heritage, it appears you will choose a name. A name your mother and I will be proud of it, no doubt.



6^th of Thrimidge, 1291 (Shire Reckoning)

I didn’t care until now, I must confess… now I’m thinking more and more about my own mortality. Your mother is able to regenerate and she had far more years in her than I will ever have. I will not be able to be here when you will need it.
I met the oldest friend of your mother. Someone who calls himself the Wizard. He certainly plays the part of it. I don’t think he is totally reliable but he would be someone you can look upon after I’m not here anymore.



24^th of Halimath, 1293 (Shire Reckoning)

I spent too much time with you and your mother to write much anymore. I think she keeps a journal of some sort too, but she hides it carefully. Well, today is a special day. Our children start to show their abilities at an early age, and… you failed miserably. Too young, said your mother. Too much Time Lord in you, I think. So the Wizard could teach you who you are better than me.


He closed the diary, there, and drank his now cold tea in a few gulps.
His father was wrong. He had the abilities, if his meetings with oak trees were to be believed.
Bungo hadn’t enough time, enough vision, because he was a small mortal Holbytla in a too large world of Time Lords.
He wondered. He was not a full Time Lord, and he didn’t know if he could regenerate at all. Maybe he’ll live longer than average, but… maybe the Old Man would knew.

Pretending he hadn’t thought about the same thing with Thorin would be a lie. If he had him, they would have a century, at best. Maybe fifty years more if they were lucky.
And after that? What would happen to him?
No ties was his rule for a reason and he let it slip away in the goblin caves. How foolish of him.

But it was simple, truly. He only needed to burgle the Arkenstone under Thorin’s nose, running away and disappear. The Dwarrow would hate him until the end of time, for stealing his right to rule Erebor. The line of Durin would decay, the Dwarrow system would die and join the Eldar in the memories of the lost things in the Federation…

His father had years to make his choice. He had only a couple of days at best.
He opened the last journal.



2^nd of Blothmath, 1297 (Shire Reckoning)

Something strange is happening in the Shire, as the Green Goddess won’t listen to us anymore. Winter is harsh and the harvest wasn’t good. We’ll have enough to eat but the problem is elsewhere. Like we are losing our touch with nature. Our tree don’t speak to us anymore. I can hardly feel things in the soil those days.
It seems to be the same for everyone.
Nightshade left yesterday, in search of something to help.



17^th of Blothmath, same year

Some Proudfoot lass has died today.
Rumours are starting. My relationship with our Guardian is the origin of our current predicament for many of us. It has brought unbalance and our planet finally reacted.
I don’t believe it. Still, I won’t go outside with our son. He looks at me with the green eyes of his mother and don’t understand why he couldn’t go outside for now. I can’t explain something I don’t understand.



20^th of Afteryule, 1298 (Shire Reckoning)

It seems it’s my turn. Nightshade was back a fortnight ago, and I’m glad she’s at my side.
I kind of fell sick. The same sickness that took the others.

My son, even for your short years you are still an infant. Your Time Lord blood I suppose.
I wanted to say many things to you. I wanted to see you become a man, finding your way on both sides.
I would have taught you to listen to all things growing, everywhere. We would have travelled together, your mother, you and I. She stayed in one place for me, I was ready to go see the universe with her. We would have waited for you to have grown up a bit more.
Maybe we would have seen Gallifrey.

I hope Nightshade will take you here. I don’t think the Shire is safe for you anymore.
Be a Time Lord, my son, and live by the name you’ll choose. A good, strong name, speaking of what you are deep inside.
You are my beloved Bilbo, and I hope sometimes you will remember it. Be kind with the things you don’t understand, and don’t be prompt to judge. Hardships come in many forms, my son, but life is the same everywhere. We all want to find something to live by, and, more important, someone. I wish for you to find this someone one day. Being alone is not okay.
Maybe you’ll like to be alone for a time. One needs to hear his own thoughts.
However, loneliness is hard at times. I don’t want for you to grow old and be a bitter thing.
You deserve all that is good in this world, Bilbo, and more.
Always follow your hearts, but don’t forget to use your brains. Be someone you can look in the eyes without be ashamed of, and do the right thing when you can.

And, finally… remember you are not alone, my son. You will never be alone. We love you, from the bottom of our hearts.
Take care of your mother. I’m afraid she will be heartbroken when I will not be here anymore, and she will need you. It will be hard sometimes. But it will be okay, I promise.




It was the last entry. He had read it again and again, felt the paper slightly crinkled under his fingers. Tears had been shed here. He could not fathom whose.
He closed the journal before adding his own.

The Old Man stood next to him. He opened his mouth, closed it right away.
The Burglar’s green eyes were full of unshed tears he tried to retain, before letting go, silently.

“I forgive you.”

His voice wavered.

“You tried to replace him. You did a poor job, but you tried.”

The Old Man smiled, and all his years were written on his face.

“I loved Nightshade much more than a mentor should have. I accepted she never seen more in me. I swore to be here, always. I’ll do anything.”
“Don’t promise. And, I hope you didn’t eat all the cake. Grandma Baggins didn’t give it to you.”

Their laugh filled the TARDIS.

“What did you decide?”

The journals were tucked away, and the cake properly demolished. The Burglar picked the last remnants of the cake on his plate, taking his time.

“I still don’t know. The logical thing to do is to take the Arkenstone to the Shire. Yet it’s not fair to the Dwarrows. This is their last chance to prosper again. I feel this is a matter of survival.”

The Old Man nodded absently.

“I think everyone is allowed a chance to survive.”
“Even the Orcs?”
“I don’t know about the Orcs. Maybe they are necessary, for balance.”
“They are the twisted creations of the dark lord.”

The Burglar fiddled with his cufflinks.

“The dark lord is no more. They were abandoned. What do you think could have happened? I suppose they had to fight to survive too. I know it well. But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t do anything to prevent them to use their… by the way, what was all the fuss about?”

The Old Man looked sheepishly at him. Time for more explanations.

Chapter Text

“Old Man? This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not lying. I’ll show you the blueprints when we’ll reach Shadowfax.”
“Okay, okay. So you let yourself be captured to put your hand on those plans?”

He gaped at the tale. It had been a close call. Bolg, the Orc leader was a calculating monster. Letting escape the Old Man would have not be part of their plans. Or else… maybe it was.
The Orcs weren’t smart, they said. Well, they were left to their devices for too long. Maybe some brains had sprouted in some of them without a dark lord to command them.
The Burglar wouldn’t bet a button against their ability to spread chaos.

A light went mad on the console.

“What the…”

He pushed several buttons, without effect.

“Something is taking control of the TARDIS.”
“Impossible.” muttered the Old Man.

A blinding flash of light forced them to close their eyes. When they opened them…

“Where are we?”

The Old Man couldn’t believe his eyes.

“I think we have a problem.”
“No way.”
“There were some rumours. Galadriel and Elrond didn’t find anything to corroborate, so we didn’t believe…”
“Yes, yes, explain faster!”
“This is Greenwood. Thranduil’s realm. He’s… no someone one trifle with.”

It appeared Thranduil worked on some technology to reroute ships to his realm from a certain point in one of the system, which suspiciously looked like the location of the third part of the Key.

“He knows, right? He knows about the Key, maybe about the quest and why we do it.”

The Burglar frowned, took a deep breath under the scrutinising gaze of the Old Man.

“Well, this Thranduil needs to meet the Dandy.”


First, he took a bath. He scrubbed himself profusely, washing his hair twice for extra silky effect. He repeated inside his head the information the Old Man gave him about Thranduil, the bitter Eldar king of a dying world. A plan had started to form immediately; he needed only to polish the details.

Second, he spent nearly half an hour choosing an outfit.
He went for the secret compartment, hiding his best and second best clothes.
He pulled his midnight blue costume. This one in particular he wore only once before, for another life-saving occasion.
He didn’t remember how the cloth was called, but it was a rare thing he stole, of course. It felt like silk, and it was more resistant than Kevlar. The sleeves were delicately embroidered with something silvery and of course more pricey than simple silver. The waistcoat was pure artwork, and the buttons were quite simple compared to the elaborate embroidery. But there was a twist. One could change how the buttons looked by a simple press of one of them.
Tiny oak trees appeared on the buttons of the whole costume.
He smiled, satisfied, before adjusting the cravat, and putting the jacket on. It was a mid-thigh one, complimenting his complexion.
He spent too much time looking at himself, deemed his looks satisfying, and went to retrieve a case in his quarters.

The Old Man raised a brow when he spotted him.

“Really?”
“The Arkenstone at all costs.”

 


The TARDIS had landed quite brutally in a sort of warehouse, and someone was pounding vigorously at the door.

“Here’s the guards. Do you stay here, Old Man?”
“Coming. I don’t believe Thranduil will let you do your trick.”
“Thank you for your unwavering confidence in my abilities.”

The Burglar smirked. He caught a cane before exiting the TARDIS, and brutally opened the door.

“How uncourteous of you, gentlemen! Stop this nonsense at once and take me to your king. I want to speak to Thranduil.”

How easy it was to slip in the Dandy’s shoes. He looked at them as if those Eldar were worth less that the mud on his other shoes, and waited for a response.

“You are our prisoners, for trespassing into Greenwood.” said a blond one.
“I don’t think so. Your methods are unspeakable. Thranduil, now, or I swear, you won’t live to see the end of this day!”

The guards laughed. Perfect. Underestimate me you fools.
The Old Man’s exit, a minute after his own, changed the atmosphere immediately. They weren’t less suspicious, but the same request was granted quickly.

“So the king is your friend?”
“I’m afraid not. He swore to keep me here if I came back.”
“And he caught Shadowfax. Got it.”

They stopped talking as they exited the warehouse, and he felt sick immediately. They had to march under the canopy for a couple of minutes, and he could immediately feel the forest was sick. Sick and slightly malevolent.
He heard voices, old voices, mean voices, promising a thousand deaths at the hands of the Eldar king. They spoke of an old evil lingering there and refusing to leave, entertained by the bitter voices of the trees.
They never forgiven the Eldar to fail to help them in the dark lord times.
His stomach churned and he clenched his teeth. It was some valuable information he stored for later. A pawn to use if the firsts attempts don’t succeed.
A last resort, because it would mean betraying the Holbytla, in a way. He wasn’t sure he could heal the whole forest on his own, with his freshly found abilities.

They entered a palace, half buried on the ground. They crossed halls after halls, leading them to a vast room where the sun shone through holes in the ceiling, the most of it converging to the throne. It was something organic, as someone has convinced a tree to bend and twist itself to become some Eldar’s chair.
He sat here, tall, blond, ethereal, draped in robes which shone with the sun. At his brow, a crown of thorns, making him taller. He didn’t seem to acknowledge them.

The leather shoes of the Burglar made enough noise on the floor not to be missed. He stood tall, and it was a great feat with his less than average height. Not exactly small, but not much taller than a Dwarrow, and Thorin was tall for a Dwarrow.
Not thinking about him now. Focus.

The Eldar moved. He looked up, and the Burglar noticed his pale blue eyes, his serious face, the air of disdain on his traits. It was not the first time he met someone like that. One clumsy word and it could be the end.
First move. Now.

The Burglar stopped at a good distance from the throne, and bowed with a flourish, managing to keep it sharp and elegant.

“I salute you, king Thranduil of the Greenwood.”

He waited.
The Eldar stood straighter in his throne. His eyes were fixed on the Burglar.

“Did Galadriel send you to convince me? I can see her dog behind you.”
“This old fool? A friend of mine. No, I’m freelance. I am the Dandy, and I believe you have something in your possession that belongs to me.”

Bold move, nearly said the Old Man. He knew Thranduil would be intrigued and won’t kick them out at once. But it could be a short-lived delay if the Burglar didn’t press his momentary advantage.
Thranduil rose an eyebrow, his expression staying carefully neutral. Well, disdainful.

“I don’t think so. It stays with me.”
“I want it.”
“And I won’t give it to you. Now leave.”

Short-lived indeed.
The Burglar smiled.

“I want to borrow a little more of your time. I think you have my Dwarrows.”
“Your Dwarrows?” he snarled. “How did you convince Thorin Oakenshield to work for you?”
“Mutual interests. Do I have your attention now?”
“Sure. Show me how you lie, Dandy.”

The Burglar’s smile widened.

“Long stories warrant some refreshings.”  

It take a bit of time, and Thranduil was not pleased, but soon, they sat at a table, nearly as equals. Useless to say it wasn’t the case, and the Burglar hated to lift his head too much to look him in the eyes.
The Old Man stayed up in a corner.

“We’ll play it fair and square. I want my Dwarrows and the Key. Your price will be mine.”
“I don’t think you have anything worthy of my time.”
“Well, I’ll start with free information.”

The Eldar said nothing for a moment, looking in the Old Man’s direction before glaring at the Burglar.

“Can you tell me, Dandy, why thirteen Dwarrows were caught in Mithrandir’s vessel?”
“A mistake. They travel with me, and I needed to go somewhere, alone… So they borrowed his ship. With his permission, of course. I didn’t think you would be at the end of their journey.”
“You didn’t think anything through. And if Mithrandir was honest with you, he should have told you he isn’t welcome here anymore.”
“Because he messed up at Dol Guldur?”
“Precisely. I’m surprised he told you anything.”
“Old friend, I’ve told you.”

Bless the extended briefing he gave him during the rest of the journey here, before he went preparing. The Old Man left nothing hidden about the whole situation. He intended to use all the information he had.

“Besides, I hate to bring those unpleasant things between ourselves, but… the situation is far more dire than we thought. Mithrandir has gathered valuable information at his own expense. The Orcs are ready to launch doom on the whole Federation.”
“I don’t care. My kingdom is dying.”
“I want to help with that.”

He took his case, and opened it. The Old Man nearly gasped.

“A little collection of mine. I’ve gathered those in many worlds, and I think those stones are not only magnificent, but have properties. Which ones, I didn’t bother to find out…”

The Eldar laughed derisively.

“Mere trinkets and you think you’ll sway me? It will cost you far more than that.”
“You want them? You can have all of them. It’s a gift.”

He noticed the greedy sparkle in his pale eyes, appearing and vanishing in mere seconds.
Losing his collection hurt a little, far less than he thought. He has changed without noticing. He’ll need a new name soon at this rate.
The Burglar smiled.

“I’ve seen the forest. I think I can help you with that. I want my Dwarrows, and the Key. In exchange I’ll heal your forest.”
“We tried for centuries. It’s impossible.”
“I have the means.”

The Old Man gasped audibly.

“Something to add, Mithrandir.”
“Dandy, do you think it is wise?”
“Absolutely not. So it’s exactly what we’ll do. But before I can come back, I need to finish a quest. The forest can’t heal if the Orcs are still a menace.”
“We’ve fought alone for centuries. Things don’t change so easily.”
“Some Eldar slept for too long, I agree. Now they have no choice. When we’ve finished here, please, let Mithrandir go away to warn our allies. You will never be alone anymore, Thranduil.”

He spoke with conviction, but the Eldar king seemed not moved. He rose a hand.

“Come with me. I want proof.”
“As you wish.”

He followed him to a garden, covered in white marble. He saw a tree he didn’t recognise, and went right for it. The tree called for him in a way he never experienced. As it cried for something long lost.
He sat in the shadow of his branches, careless of his neat clothes (auto cleaning was a thing with those expensive costumes) and gently put a hand on the bark.
Smooth, cold, and sad. He closed his eyes.
A female voice whispered at his mind.

I’m here… I always be here. Don’t be sad, my king… don’t be bitter.

The voice was sad beyond sadness. He felt for the roots, followed their paths, easier than the last time. Too easily, maybe.
A darkness. He felt trapped, and the sad voice morphed. It took a bitter tone, harsh, sharp, cruel.

You are here, Guardian… and you will never escape.

He took a deep breath with a smile.

I can feel you. You’re old and tired, clinging to something destined to vanish. The dark lord is no more, and it is time to heal. Let go.

We can’t. It’s still there…

Show me.

Feelings were replaced by images. An old fortress, and in the centre of it… something dark, something still whispering to the whole forest, poisoning its mind. It was well protected by the Orcs. Of course, they needed to maintain this state of darkness to stay here and repel the Eldar.

Thank you. Be patient once more. I’ll take care of it, but before, I need to accomplish something more. Can you wait?

Not for long… not for long.

A deep breath again. He reached inside him, cut a sliver of his own life force, and gave it to the tree.

My promise to you and the whole forest.

Thank you, Guardian…

As he emerged, he could hear the quiet gasp of the Eldar king. The tree looked better, straighter, less sick. Its foliage was green again, and he smiled when he got back on his feet, a helping hand on the trunk. He felt weak in his knees region, but it would be okay.

“It is proof enough, Thranduil?”

Chapter Text

Leaving the Burglar and the Wizard to their devices didn’t sit well with Thorin. They had a contract, so the quest went always first. It happened so fast he had no time to voice his concern. Balin reminded him the contract was binding; the Burglar would have no other choice than coming back if he didn’t want the rest of his existence made a living hell by the Dwarrows.
Contracts were serious things not easily broken.
Well, Thorin was glad his older friend didn’t see through him and misinterpreted his concern. There was more to it than meets the eye. He wouldn’t willingly talk about it, of course.
He let Balin do the navigating, Nori do his investigation. Shadowfax wasn’t the TARDIS and he hated it. They had no space to be truly comfortable and they bumped into each other at every turn. He needed a bit of time alone with an ale, he thought.
The general mood was a bit dampened. Strange how one was missing and the whole thing wasn’t the same anymore. It was the lack of ale and a proper kitchen, in Bofur and Bombur opinion. Fíli and Kíli missed their rooms in the TARDIS. For Ori, it was the library. And the list went on and on. Some quietly complained and shushed themselves when looking at Thorin. The king displayed a current fit of majestic brooding, a true masterpiece.
Sat in one of the few seats available, his shield between his legs, he watched absently what was in front of him. His nephews tried to talk to him, letting their curiosity about the goblins episode catch with them. They spent à few hours recounting the events, and the young made a mental note of thanking the Burglar to have forced them to stay. The young Durins were still a bit disappointed to have missed all the fun, particularly when Dwalin described to them the song and dance battle with a lot of ridiculous details on the Burglar’s part. But even their laughs died before the brooding face of their uncle.

“You could use a nap, my king,” whispered Nori with a sly smile. “Some are not as observant as I am, but if you want to keep your little infatuation a secret…”

Thorin growled without even trying to form a coherent sentence. Nori made his retreat with a wink. A broodier king, what a surprise. Even Glóin would suspect something at this point and he wasn’t known for his subtlety.


Useless to say they were glad when Balin announced they had reached their goal. Well, not for long.

The worst had happened. They were captured by Thranduil, the one who abandoned them when they asked for help after the Great Worm. They cannot fathom how, or why, and no one answered their questions. Thorin met briefly with the Eldar scum and it went really bad quickly, judging by the shouting in the throne room barely two minutes after the Dwarrow entrance. Apparently, Thranduil wanted to know why he wasn’t on his miserable colony digging for subsistence, as it was his rightful place as a fallen king.

Hatred was not enough to describe the general sentiment amongst the Company. Save for the youngest, who only knew stories, and Nori, always practical. No use to waste time with that kind of feelings when one was in no position to retaliate.
Nori worked hard on it soon as the bars closed on him and his cellmate, Bifur.
Las, the Eldar had centuries to perfect the art of building Dwarrow-proof prison cells.

“I think even I can’t do anything.”

Thorin, alone in his cell, rapidly lost his sleep. Of course he blamed himself and his newfound carelessness. He had been distracted by a Burglar and that lead them straight into cells.
No matter how irrational that thought was.
They obviously fell into a well-made trap and the fact they would have encountered the same fate with or without the Burglar didn’t came to his mind.
Leaving the two other parts of the Key in the TARDIS was only a bit of comfort. Thorin had refused to say anything to the Eldar king save for a bunch of insults, and they will probably rot for the rest of their lives here.

“Uncle Burglar will come,” had said Kíli with a confidence everyone envied him.

Nori didn’t even laugh. He had looked upon Thorin as best he could from his cell and smirked, not for very long. Glare Number Ten wasn’t very popular amongst them. It generally means Thorin would explode in the following hours.
Nothing like that happened, because Balin shushed everyone efficiently (and Thorin thoroughly destroyed the cot in his cell with his bare hands). An Eldar guard watched, did absolutely nothing and left. The Dwarrow could sleep on the floor as far as he was concerned.

It was probably a little bit easier for the rest of them, put in pairs in the cells. Thorin was alone with his thoughts, and he hated himself for thinking longingly about the Burglar in his weakest moments.
It was only a passing fancy for this popinjay of a Time Lord, that he was sure of it. Old stupid Dwarrow, letting his guard down for the briefest of moments. He had learned to keep everything under control from his early childhood. As a prince, no could have a sway on him. No one could control him. He was above it all.
He had lost everything when the Great Worm came. He had lost more after Azanulbizar. He didn’t tell the Burglar how he managed not to break at this point in his life.
Control. Absolute control on his emotions. On every aspect of his life. It had worked for years. Slowly, his nephew brought him a semblance of recovery. He let slowly loose himself. Not much. A bit, and he remembered Dís saying to him one evening she could see again her brother, and not this cold and heartless king, and she was glad.
He did not say a thing. He remembered not sleeping this particular night, and finally breaking, welcoming dawn with long overdue tears.
The next day, Dwalin and the others took the brunt of the maelstrom of his emotions on the training field.
No one would ever know. He had to carry all this weight alone. No one could carry the failures of a king.

He had no hopes for a swift deliverance. Not from his prison, and not from his own treacherous heart.
A couple of days and he went totally silent, letting Balin take the lead. He ignored the anxious calls of his nephews, the gruffness of Dwalin, and above it all, Nori’s allusions.
Knowing everything was Nori’s job and sometimes he did it too well. Putting some sense into his king seemed to be an extra he gladly take for free. Honestly, no one could speak to him like that without losing some bits. A privilege. Nori knew. Nori was valuable.
Nori was a true pain in the arse.

Thorin retreated into himself, barely eating, reflecting on the entire quest. Hiring this Burglar had been a mistake. They were successful, for sure, but the collateral damages… it was too much for him.

Days blended into one another, and even Bofur stopped to tell dirty jokes. The general mood felt from grumpiness to gloominess.



Therefore, it was truly a surprise when some Eldar came with the keys a couple of days later, and announced they were free.
Thorin looked disbelievingly at them but said nothing, serving them Glare Number Ten again.
They went up to the throne room, surrounded by heavily armed guards.

“Uncle Burglar!”

Fíli and Kíli nearly ran into the arms of the Time Lord who waited for them. He laughed, and took them in an embrace. Thranduil was there too, and the Eldar said nothing, only glared at them. Some muttered Khuzdul between gritted teeth, looking right at the Eldar, and the Burglar let them. Thranduil huffed. Uneducated Dwarrows.
Well, it was a joyous reunion. They went one by one for a handshake, a pat in the back, some whispered words.
The Burglar side glanced in Thranduil’s direction.

“I hope you treated them well.”
“They had food, and they are alive.”
“I don’t think that warrants a thank you. Well, you did kept your part of the bargain. Now the Key.”

Thranduil grimaced, reached for something around his neck.

“Here,” he said with evident bad grace.
“Thank you very much.”



Thorin didn’t approach the Burglar during his exchange with the Eldar king.  
He noticed the suit. He wondered if the Burglar knew he was sporting the Durin colours. It wasn’t the right shade of blue, of course. He hesitated before moving forward, ashamed of himself. He didn’t believe the Burglar would come. But he has.

“You’ll get back your equipment and we’ll be on our way,” said the Burglar when Thorin stopped a few paces ahead of him. “I’m glad to see you.”

Thorin only nodded. Then his eyes stopped on the buttons of the Burglar’s jacket. He cannot be mistaken this time. Oak trees. Oakenshield.
His treacherous heart jolted.

“I should have come sooner. I’m sorry.”

The Burglar was tempted to reach for Thorin. If he did that now, he wasn’t sure he would be able to control himself. Later. He would make for it later.

Thranduil and a bunch of guards escorted them to the TARDIS. The Dwarrows gathered in front of the vessel, ignoring the Eldar guards.

“I will wait for you, Dandy… or it is Burglar?”
“My business name. Enjoy my collection. It is highly valuable, should you need some funds for anything.”
“Until we meet again. Don’t forget your promise.”
“I won’t. I don’t want to be your enemy.”

Then they parted, leaving Greenwood, and the Old Man, a discreet shadow in the Burglar’s steps. Shadowfax bolted in the endless darkness of space, following its own course.
The Old Man image appeared on the TARDIS’ screen.

“Be careful when entering Erebor, all right?”
“Do not worry. Do your thing and quickly, I hope we will have enough time.”

The Old Man smiled, and after giving some more instructions for a gathering of the free folks under Thorin’s thunderous gaze, his image vanished.





“What’s the meaning of this?”

Thorin didn’t wait long. The whole Company was still in the cockpit and Greenwood still in view.

“Nori, did you search Shadowfax for information? So you should know about the Orcs’ plans. Then you should also know this is about more than our quest. We need to neutralise the Great Worm before the Orcs could act. If they put their dirty hands on the Arkenstone, we are doomed. The whole Federation is doomed.”

Silence fell. One by one, the Dwarrows left the cockpit. Thorin went last without a word.

“Come to my quarters tonight. Please. We need to talk.”

The Dwarrow only nodded and left.

The Burglar set the course on Erebor, before changing clothes. He liked this suit, but he wanted to feel more like himself, not a shiny Burglar set on stealing the whole universe. He took another bath, and ate something Bombur made, only a stew of some sorts, but after his encounter with the tree, it helped him gather his strength.
He felt quite more relaxed when he sat alone before a small fire roaring in the hearth, a book on his lap. He was only clad in a light white shirt and a brown trousers, his feet bare. He liked to be barefoot now. How strange. He had hooked the portrait of his family above the hearth, and he was unable to concentrate on his book.
He feared the confrontation with Thorin. He wasn’t the same anymore, and he wanted to share everything with him, before deciding on what to do with them.

A knock on the door. He bounced on his feet and came to open the door. The mithril-haired Dwarrow looked at a vague point behind his shoulder, not at him, and it hurts a bit.

“Come, dear. Make yourself at home.”

Thorin stood in front of the fire, the flames changing his hair colour, looking like melted iron. He wanted to run his fingers in his mane. Freshly washed, that hair felt like silk, better than his suit. The best feeling in the world. But… not now.

“Do you want something to drink? I have ale, wine, even tea.”
“Tea.”

He poured two cups and gave one to the Dwarrow. Thorin never looked directly at him, only pausing when he noticed the portrait. He seemed to hesitate, looked elsewhere.

“What do you want?”
“Only talk, dear. Please, sit.”

Thorin reluctantly obeyed. He kept his head low, waiting.
The Burglar sat beside him, sighed.

“What a painfully long day. I missed you so much I wanted to kiss you in front of this jerk. I didn’t. He didn’t need to know.”

He waited for a reaction. Thorin didn’t even move a finger. He only politely sipped a gulp of tea. The Burglar tried something else.

“You know, about the woman I saw in my dreams… I learned everything. The funniest part… I have another name to add to my collection.”

He caught the glimpse of a blue eye under the silver mane. Slowly, he unravelled the whole tale. Thorin didn’t say a word, never interrupting him, only watching the portrait. It was hardly believable, but there were tales of a mysterious people, deep, deep into Dwarrow lore.
His people would prosper anew but not only by himself. They would need help from an unexpected source.
He never believed those tales. Maybe he was wrong.
The silence stretched painfully, after the Burglar finished his tale. It was more than he could bear.

“Thorin, please, look at me. What happened in Greenwood? Did they do something to you?”
“No. I did it to myself.”

The Burglar’s fingers ghosted upon his shoulder. A fleeting touch that brought him a sliver of comfort. He shouldn’t feel comfort. He should feel nothing.
The bitter feeling forced him to speak. Make a fool of yourself and he would not want you anymore, he thought.

“I doubted you. I doubted myself. I’m weak.”
“You are not. Do you know how much I wanted you beside me, at every corner of this strange trip? I don’t know for you, but, for me… it is something more. I don’t know yet what it is exactly. I just don’t want it to stop. Please.”

For the first time Thorin truly looked at him. The Dwarrow sported a raw expression on his face, something he never saw before. The Burglar couldn’t resist. He took the bearded face in his hands, kissed his lips, his brow, with a tenderness he himself rarely displayed.
It wasn’t the time to run, or to rush things. It was a moment suspended in time, and he intended to make the best of it.

“I can’t be alone anymore, Thorin. Nor I won’t let you be alone again. We have now responsibilities beyond ourselves, the both of us. I want to have someone to return to. Someone who understands.”

The Dwarrow looked into the green eyes. He saw hope, eagerness, a whole world of possibilities. Beautiful green eyes…
He felt the dam breaks inside him, slowly, and it felt less painful. He didn’t understand how surrendering could make him feel better. Surrendering was… so he didn’t fight the urge to speak again, in a low voice.

“I’m not sure… Lulkhel, I’m not strong enough.”
“You don’t need to be strong. I want to see you. The real you, with all the bits and parts you are ashamed of. I wanna hold your hand and tell you everything, and you’ll tell me everything in turn. And we’ll laugh.”

Thorin seemed to be ready to burst. He stopped him with a finger on his lips.

“Don’t say a thing. I’m too forward, I’m sorry. The last couple of days were quite enlightening you know. I saw death again, through the eyes of my father. I saw so many things… I should be afraid. I’m not. I feel like I just find some purpose… real purpose. I…”

Thorin stopped him in turn with a slow kiss.
Not a good idea. But he realised at this very moment how he was lucky. He found a sliver of something he gave up hope upon long ago. In the following days they would have no time, moreover, maybe their end was near. He wanted… he wanted something more.
More than duty, more than responsibilities, more than being a king. He wanted to be Thorin for the sake of only one person. Was it possible? Now, only now, it was. Tomorrow he would become the heir of Durin’s line again.
He kissed him, again and again, not able to stop even to catch his breath. The Burglar hands sneaked in his mane, and he let him be.
He wanted to say he loved his smile, but he dared not.

“And… how should I call you now?”
“Try Bilbo.”

Thorin muttered the name under his breath, two or three times.

“It is a better name than Burglar. Bilbo.”
“Oh, dear, it is happening again. And you don’t even speak Khuzdul.”
“What is it?”
“Your voice starts to do funny things to my innards again.”

He smiled, and with a burst of confidence, leaned in to murmur a streak of nonsense in Khuzdul into his ear. The Burglar melted, and kissed him better.





They found themselves a few hours later in front of the dying fire, slightly less clothed and sleepier than before. The Burglar ran his fingers on Thorin’s bare belly, following an old scar from Azanulbizar.

“Don’t leave me tonight. I want to…”

The Dwarrow looked at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He took the Burglar’s hand.

“If you would have me… Bilbo.”

They disappeared in the next room, and the remnants of this particular night belonged to them alone.