Elves and Dwarves (part 2)

Flashback

Third person's POV

~Thorin's Memory~

Rain fell heavily upon a small, dirty-looking town. Its narrow, stone paved road flowed constantly as the excess water fell from the sky.

He was in Bree - on the borders of the Shire.

His pack and raincoat dripped constantly with the onslaught of heavy rains while he walked through the seemiingly deserted streets. A disheveled-looking man with his hood down walked swiftly across the street, eating a carrot as he tried to go by his buisness without drawing too much attention. He was weary, always on edge as he eyed the rest of the folk, that dared to roam the streets at this time of the night ,with a look of suspition.

The figure with the pack was considerably shorter than the other people on the street. He stands at around 5 ft 2, considerably taller than the average hobbit, who usually stand at around 2 ft.

The figure walked up to a building and paused, as he took the time to inspect the sign that hung above the door, searching for any signs of defult or danger. It read in large bold letters, "The Prancing Pony."

The figure, known as Thorin, looked about for any signs of possible danger before he entered the tavern. As he walked through small crowd, he heard the bartender hand a drink to a man that was seated at the bar.

"There you are."

The taverns atmosphere was alive and boysterous as much raucous talk and laughter danced throughout the busy tavern. A black cat sat perched on a counter, its deep blue eyes piercing into any soul who dared to approach it.

A waitress weaved through the crowd at the pub carrying a mug and a platter of cheese and bread. Her thick, black, wavy hair bouncing around as she tried to dodge some drunk and unruly customers who stood in her way.

"Watch it!"

Eventually she made her way to Thorin's table and set the mug and platter down before him.

"Here you are."

"Thank you." Thorin said as he put down his pipe, which he had previously been smoking. An anxious habbit he picked up from his times while working as a roaming blacksmith.

He began to  tear apart his bread and ate it at a ravenous yet calm pace. As he ate, he swept his gaze  around at all the activities going on in the pub, carefully studying all of the taverns contents and people. Sensing something was amiss, he looked to the right and saw a bald, suspicious-looking  man watching him. Another shady character sat next to him, watching him with dark intensity.

Thorin, with a dejected sigh, placed his bread back on his plate as the two men stood up and moved toward him, slowly he wrapped his hand around the handle of his sword, which was strapped to his pack, seated next to him.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the table in front of him and before he could protest the man was seated before him.

"Mind if I join you?" The man asked rhetorically, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief . Taking the youngers mans silence as an answer, he settled down across from his new...companion.

As the waitress passed by a second time, the new man captured her sleeve with his withered hand.

"I'll have the same." He said politely, gesturing to the young prince before him. Releasing his hold on her sleeve he turned back to Thorin.

The suspicious looking men backed off immediately as the man began to speak to Thorin. They had become rather hesitant to approach once the old man had come into view.

"I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

His appearance was rather strange, rather different to the others that were seated in the tavern. He had a long, neat, grey beard with hip-length hair. He wore a tall pointed hat and a pair of old, tattered dress robes.

"I know who you are." Thorin said, his gaze weary as he regards the strange man before him.

"Well now! This is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" Gandalf asked a playful twinkle in his eyes.

"I received word that my father had been seen wandering the Wilds near Dunland. I went looking, and found no sign of him."

"Thorin, it's been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thrain."

"He still lives; I am sure of it." Thorin hissed, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Gandalf paused to look up as the waitress sat down his platter of food in front of him.

"My father came to see you before he went missing. What did you say to him?"

"I urged him to march upon Erebor; to rally the seven armies of the dwarves, to destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain. And I would say the same to you. Take back your homeland." Gandalf admitted, focusing his gaze on his meal as he tore at a piece of bread with his bare hands.

Thorin resumed his drinking contemplatively.

"This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?" He asked skeptically, finally finding the courage to speak after he finished contemplating.

"No, it is not. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn toward Erebor. I ran into some unsavory characters whilst traveling along the Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond." Gandalf said almost dejectedly, with a dismissive wave of his hand, a small frown marring his face.

"I imagine they regretted that." Thorin chuckled weakly into his mug.

"One of them was carrying a message." Gandalf continued as if to dismiss Thorins previous comment.

Gandalf laid a dirty piece of cloth with a message and a picture of the Lonely Mountain drawn on it on the table and pushed it towards Thorin. Its corners were old and worn, some were torn in places and its surface was a mouldy yellow.

"It is Black Speech." He said casually as he searched the young princes expression.

Thorin, who had been reaching forward to take the message, warily pulled his hand away as if it were about to touch a flame.

"Promise of payment." Gandalf said, beating around the bush.

"For what?"

"Your head," Gandalf said blantantly, " Someone wants you dead. Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the dwarves. Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families. Demand they stand by their oaths."

"The seven armies swore that oath to the one who wields the King's Jewel, the Arkenstone! It is the only thing that will unite them, and in case you have forgotten, that jewel was stolen by Smaug." Thorin hissed as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The erie feeling of being watched becoming unbearable.

Thorin and Gandalf looked up as the two shady men from before rose and left together, looking back over their shoulders at Thorin and Gandalf.

"What if I were to help you to reclaim it?" Gandalf suggested

"How? The Arkenstone lies half a world away, buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon." Thorin asked, a grimance threatening to grace his face as he pushed the horrific memories of his past into the back of his thoughts.

"Yes, it does, which is why we are going to need a burglar."