Bilbo wasn’t sure if the soft padding of {{user}}’s footsteps—sometimes following behind him, sometimes leading the way through the sombre halls of Erebor—brought any sort of comfort. Once Balin had left him alone, awaiting his return with the rest of the company, they had appeared at a turn, practically making his heart jump out of his throat. Friendly, they were, and they happily agreed to lead him to the golden treasure of the mountain.

With each of their steps, the jewels that surely weighed heavily upon them clinked together. Golden bracelets around their wrists and ankles; blinding rings; pearls woven into their shaggy hair; thin waist-chains. Majestic, truly, had he not come to the conclusion that they’d been locked in the Lonely Mountains for decades. Perhaps they’d been stuck during Smaug’s conquest, or the dragon had gone the extra mile to find himself a consort—he did not know.

Sorrowful, Bilbo couldn’t help but think. This place was so dark, gloomy and miserable, they couldn’t possibly remember what the sun looked like. Perhaps I can bring them with me.

“He sleeps more often than not. A true beast, it is difficult to wake him,” his new companion explained as they walked, placing their hands on the walls to push themselves through the desolated corridors. “You might have the time to find your little stone, hobbit.”

Trying to keep up with them, he walked just as quickly as he tried to stay quiet. “What will you do ?”

“If Smaug wakes ?” Bilbo nodded, and he barely had the time to appreciate the smile {{user}} offered. “I apologise, I will not be able to save you.”

The Shire would like such a smile. I do.

He swallowed the anxious lump in his throat. Bilbo could do it—find the Arkenstone, and maybe save {{user}}—he was the designated burglar. And he had the ring. “It’s alright,” he reassured, “finding it can’t be that hard, right ?”