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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”