Fili and Kili lead the Company further into the thick forest until they reach a small opening in a shelf of rock. When the rest of the dwarves and Gandalf and you were standing around the opening, Fili waves his hands towards it and exclaims, "Ta-da!"

"It's a cave," said one of the other dwarves flatly (You believed it was Gloin), "And what, in Mahal's name, is so amazing about a cave?"

"Ah, its not the cave thats amazing, Mr Gloin, but what's inside it," jested Kili, his dark eyes twinkling.

One by one, the Company sauntered through the gap that was the cave's mouth, with you and Gandalf bringing up the rear.

The smell was the first thing you noticed, and you covered your nose, coughing. The cloying stench of death and decay, partnered with dirt and dung, was hardly nice on the nostrils. Several of the other dwarves grumbled, flapping their hands to try and ward away the reeking stench.

The cave was very dark, almost pitch black, but after some torches were lit, everything could be seen clearly. And from the gasps of the company, the dwarves liked what they saw.

"It appears," said Gandalf, leaning on his staff. "That our dear friends the mountain trolls have a hidden horde. Be careful what you touch!"

A great deal of the weapons, chests of gold, and more morbidly, bones, were absolutely coated in dust and cobwebs. Relics lost to time, hidden in the depths of the troll's stash. As the dwarves explored the riches of the cave, Gandalf took it upon himself to introduce you to everyone in the Company.

You met Balin and Dwalin, who you had already known from your years in Erebor with Thorin. Dwalin refused to even look or speak to you, merely uttering a grunt, spreading fear inside your heart. What if all the dwarves reacted similarly, and no one accepted you?

Balin, however, seemed to have put all quarrels, questions and bad blood aside, and warmly welcomed you to the Company, easing your worries.

Fili and Kili were lovely young dwarves, and were actually nephews to Thorin, as you had suspected earlier. You could see yourself becoming very fond of the young pranksters. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were also nice enough, however Bifur only spoke ancient dwarvish and Bombur was yet to utter a word. You met Dori, Nori and then Ori, the baby of the company, who delighted in introducing you to every single pony, as he had named them all himself. The young dwarf then took the liberty to present you with your own pony, a shaggy bay mare named Daisy.

Oin and Gloin were next, and finally, the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. His presence sparked curiosity in you, and you asked Gandalf why he had decided to bringing a hobbit in a company full of dwarves.

"Because, Y/N, " he says, his large blue eyes meeting your smaller ones. "We require a burglar." With that in mind, your opinion of the hobbit plummets, and you decided to check your pack for missing items more often.

You then watched several of the dwarves bury a small chest of gold, and laughed when they explained it was a "long-term deposit." Your countrymen were nothing if not money-oriented.

All the dwarves seemed like lovely people, and you were sure that by the end of this quest, you would end up being firm friends.

It was just Thorin you had to convince. Glancing his way, he was sifting through a pile of old weapons. As if he felt your gaze upon him, he looked up at you, and meeting your eyes, quickly averted his stare.

Then Gandalf approached him, and the moment passed. Why won't he talk to me?

*****************************************

Thorin felt her eyes on him, and unable to help himself, looked up. When he met her gaze, ice lancing through his stomach, he couldn't help but look away. Why?

The question had been haunting him ever since she had appeared on top of that rock with Gandalf, looking as though she hadn't aged a day. That defining moment when he had received the shock of his life, when the impossible had occurred. She was alive.

But her presence did little to heal his heartache. He had so many questions, he wanted to scream, shout, and probably cry, just a little. For all the needless heartache, for the years he had spent mourning her, only to find out she was still alive. But most of all, he wanted to hold her in his arms, to make sure it was really her and not a figment of his imagination or a hallucination. And to ask her where he went wrong, the night he had asked her to be his bride.

"You look troubled," came a familiar voice above him, and he looked up to see Gandalf standing by his side. Thorin smiled slightly, but it came out as more of a grimace, in the current circumstances.

"That is because I am, wise one," he replied, and sighed quietly. What in Mahal's name was he supposed to do? Despite all this time, she still had the same damned affect on him. He couldn't think straight when she was around, which was dangerous when the stakes had never been higher.

"Maybe if you spoke with her, it would make things easier," Gandalf suggested. Seeing Thorin's face, he continued.

"Ignoring her and shutting her out will solve nothing, Thorin Oakenshield. Why can you not forgive and forget?"

"You know why." Thorin growled, as he sifted through a pile of old weapons, covered in ancient cobwebs. He felt as though swords and other antique oddities weren't the only things being dusted off in this cave.

"You cannot continue to hold grudges! It is unhealthy," Gandalf argued, his brow furrowed.

"At least give the lass a chance to explain her actions, both past and present. She may have valid reasons."

"Valid enough to break my heart, and then vanish? I thought she was dead for far, far too long for any excuses to be valid!" Thorin heard his voice go dangerously low. Couldn't Gandalf see how much he was hurting? How much Y/N had hurt him?

A soft breeze blew on the Mountain as Thorin led her up the stairs by the hand, the sound of her giggling bouncing off the stone walls along the way. "Where are you taking me, azung?" Y/N laughed, her beautiful hair blowing in the wind.

"You will see, my love," was his cryptic response, and it made her laugh again. For Mahal's sake, he loved her, and dearly. She meant everything to him, regardless of her age, social status, and the dismissible age gap. And now, it was time to prove it.

They eventually reached the very top of the halls of Erebor, a large flat space with a balcony railing hewn from the edge. Thorin led her to the railing, in order to take in the beautiful view that they had seen only a handful of times previously, but never from this high. He smiled slightly at her facial expression, mouth open, her eyes wide.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed. And she was right. From where they were standing, there was a clear view of Dale and the surrounding landscapes, as well as Laketown in the distance, and Mirkwood a blurry outline behind. Middle Earth lay before them, a landscape masterpiece of colour and civilisation in the light of dusk.

Thorin wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. Hearing her contented sigh, he quelled the rapid beating of his heart and dryness of his mouth to reply slightly hoarsely, "But not as beautiful as you, givashel," he told her.

Seeing her gratuitous but slightly perplexed facial expression, he bent down slowly onto one knee, noting her hands begin to tremble as she pressed them to her parted mouth. Smiling despite the soul-crushing nerves, Thorin pulled the small box from his tunic pocket, and opened the lid. The engagement hair bead, a milestone of dwarvish culture, glittered in the light of the sunset. Set with a large, precious crystal, and surrounded by tiny white gems on filigreed gold, Thorin had ensured it was absolutely stunning. Made from his own two hands, secretly, in the deepest forges of Erebor, this was the most precious of gifts he could bestow upon her- a promise of a future together, filled with golden decades of love and devotion.

Thorin cleared his throat as she stood above him, frozen. "My love, some day I will be King. And any good king needs a queen, the most beautiful maiden of the land, with a heart of goodness and compassion, to rule alongside him in days of dark and light, and ensure that the kingdom flourishes. You are the queen of my heart, Y/N. I will love you until my dying breath. Will you be my treasured queen, for our people to adore, to rule alongside me in joy and happiness, until Mahal takes us to the halls of our fathers?"

"Y/N, my love of all loves. My ghivashel. Will you marry me?"

Brushing away the cobwebs and the looming memory, Thorin pulled a blade free, and then another. They were of the finest make, and no cobwebs seemed to tarnish the metal.

"These blades were not made by any troll," he murmured, narrowing his eyebrows.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men," Gandalf added in wonder, taking the large of the two and examining it. Blowing away some cobwebs, he gently pulled the sword slightly from its scabbard, exposing part of the blade.

"These were forged in Gondolin," Gandalf announced with surety. "By the High Elves of the First Age."

Elves. A scowl set itself upon Thorin's face, further darkening his mood, and he went to place the blade back in the pile.

"You could not wish for a finer blade," said Gandalf sharply, and Thorin moodily grabbed the sword again, wrenching it from its scabbard.

Thorin knew in his heart that Gandalf was right, not just about the sword. But he was still going to delay the conversation for as long as he possibly could. He was afraid, he realised, afraid of what she would say to him. After all, what reasons could possibly explain her decades-long absence?

"Something's coming!" Someone shouted from the mouth of the cave, and all the dwarves reached for their weapons. Thorin grasped his new found sword, and cautiously emerged from the cave, ready to swing at anything that jumped out. The other dwarves crowded out behind him, ready for a fight.

Thorin could hear whatever it was crashing through the bushes at high speed. He glanced quickly over at Y/N, who had also drawn her sword. A battle would be good, a chance to let off some steam. He just hoped none of his brethren would die in the process.

Suddenly a strange vehicle burst from the bushes, pulled by a team of giant rabbits. A sleigh, Thorin realised.

But if the rabbit-sleigh wasn't curious enough, a small, haphazard- looking old man was riding on the back of it. "Thieves! Fire! Murder!" he yelled, anger blazing in his eyes. He was dressed rather tattily in brown rags, with wild flyaway hair and what appeared to be bird droppings smeared upon his face.

"Radagast?Radagast the Brown! What on Earth are you doing here?" called Gandalf, striding over to the curious newcomer. It appeared the two were acquainted.

"I was looking for you, Gandalf," replied the snaggle-toothed stranger, face filled with fear. "Something is wrong...something is terribly wrong."

"Yes?" said Gandalf questioningly, one gnarled eyebrow raised."What is it?"

Radagast started to say something, then stopped. He tried again, but stopped again.

"Just give me a moment," he explained sheepishly. "Um, I had a thought, and now, I've lost it!"

"It was right there on the tip of my tongue..." He poked his tongue out of his mouth to reveal a stick insect. "Oh, its not a thought at all! It's a silly old stick insect!"

Thorin sighed inwardly.