Returning Home: A Hobbit Fanfiction

Chapter 69 - A Thief in the Night

Bilbo crept silently over the still bodies, freezing in place whenever one of them moved. Now, of all times, was not the time for his hobbit upbringing and general sneaking skills to fail him. Of course, his hobbit upbringing also meant that he was cringing internally at the thought of what he was about to do. 

For the greater good or not, he was still about to steal a valuable heirloom from dwarves he had grown to see as close friends.

But then again, on the other hand, it really was just a shiny rock. A shiny rock that, in the hands of Bard, might just be the key to forming an alliance that could save their lives, if Celia and Elena were to be believed.

Not that he didn't believe them. Oh, no. 

He trusted them far too much for that, not to mention that even he - an untrained, simple hobbit with little to no experience in warfare - could see that war was on the horizon, and thanks to the King of Making Friends and Bad Decisions Thorin Oakenshield, they would likely be warring with both the the men of Lake-town and the Mirkwood elves. And, because apparently their luck wasn't already bad enough, there was now an army of orcs/goblins/whatever other nefarious creatures there were out there marching on them.

Typical.

He paused when he reached his goal, staring down at the sleeping dwarf king. 

Thorin looked less insane when he slept. Younger, too, as if the cares of starting a war with your old allies and going mad were washed away in his slumbers. Perhaps he was dreaming of being surrounded by lots of shiny rocks that bowed down to his every whim, unlike his "treacherous" family and friends. It wasn't like he'd traveled across Arda with them, or anything. 

Okay, so maybe Bilbo was a little cross with the dwarf. But only a little bit.

He huffed. He was getting off track. He just needed to find the stupid rock and get it out of here before anyone else woke up. So where would Thorin be keeping it?

So help him, if he found Thorin sleeping with it tucked into his arms, he was going to throw something. Preferably the Arkenstone, and preferably down one of the many holes that were in the mountain - none of which were guarded with handrails either, thank you very much. 

Except it wasn't in Thorin's arms, thank the Valar, so that solved one problem. 

And immediately opened up another. Where was the cursed thing? Thorin would obviously want to keep it close, given his lack of trust of his comrades. His bag, perhaps? A quick glance at Thorin's feet showed the bag laying close by. Unwilling to disturb Thorin's privacy more than he had to, he squeezed the outside of the bag, hoping to be able to determine if the Arkenstone was inside or not by feel. 

Unfortunately, it was too cluttered for him to be certain, and so, sending a mental apology Thorin's way - though he soothed the guilt with reminders of his recent behavior - he quickly rifled through the contents until he could determine it wasn't in there, taking care not to disturb them overmuch.

He grimaced, glancing over the room to make sure its occupants were still asleep. Aside from Bombur, who was supposedly standing guard on the lookout, he was the only one awake. Which was good, considering that if someone were to see him now, standing over the king in a fairly threatening position, he would be in a great deal of trouble.

He snorted wryly. As if he wouldn't be anyways. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as his mother always used to say. Granted, his father would always get this resigned look whenever she did, but that was beside the point. 

So, if it wasn't in his arms, and it wasn't in his bag, that meant it was likely hidden somewhere on his person. 

Lovely.