I didn't think it would be Gandalf who lost his patience first. But right then, it was pretty clear even he was starting to wonder if he'd finish this adventure with all his hair intact. And honestly? I got it.
Dwarves aren't just stubborn — they've basically turned pride into an Olympic sport. And Thorin? He was the Michael Phelps of denial.
Gandalf had stood back up after his impressive "shadowy magical overlord" performance, but now he looked… tired.
He crossed his arms, looked Thorin straight in the eye, and said in a calm tone:
"Edward is not here to help you reclaim Erebor."
I straightened up. Excuse me? That's how you introduce me, Gandalf?
But he went on:
"He comes from the White Council. I asked him to join us. The East is darkening. Forces more dangerous than Smaug or Azog are rising. If we leave the dragon be, he may fall under their sway. That is why Edward is here. Not for you. Not for your gold. But to stop something far worse."
The room fell into a tense silence. I felt like the steak in the middle of a troll banquet.
Thorin stepped forward. He wasn't tall, but his eyes could freeze marrow.
"So, Gandalf. When you told me in Bree that you wanted to help our people… was that a lie?"
Gandalf didn't even flinch.
"I told you Smaug was a threat. Not just to you, but to all free peoples. I never lied. I'm simply trying to prevent a war that could destroy us all."
Thorin clenched his jaw.
"I need neither the help of a wizard… nor that of a Ranger."
Okay. That was too much.
"Show him the items, Gandalf," I said with a sigh.
The old man gave me a hesitant look but complied. He pulled out two things from his sleeve: an old scroll and a small, worn key.
As soon as Thorin caught sight of them, his mask fell. He practically lunged for the objects, eyes wide.
"The map… the secret passage… That's the Mountain's! Where did you get this?"
Gandalf answered softly:
"I received it from your father, Thrain. In Dol Guldur. He was... imprisoned. I saw him shortly before his death."
Thorin froze, breathing shallowly. Then he slowly raised his eyes to me.
"And you? You say you saw something?"
I nodded.
"A figure in Mirkwood. Tall. Pale as a corpse. One hand. One eye. I took the other one."
The Dwarves shuddered. Thorin stared at me, ashen.
"Azog..."
Balin stepped in, doubtful:
"That's impossible. Azog died at Azanulbizar. I saw him fall."
"He's back. Or maybe he never died. Either way, the Orcs call him 'the Defiler.'"
And boom — another explosion. Everyone started chiming in, like an angry homeowners' meeting.
Until Thorin roared:
"SILENCE!"
Everyone froze. Even Bilbo, who had crawled under the table with a plate of biscuits.
Thorin approached me slowly. He didn't even reach my shoulder, but I've never wanted to back away more in my life.
And yet…
He held out his hand.
"Gandalf is right. We share the same goal. If you can help us… then welcome, Edward Highland."
I shook it. He added, his eyes still dark:
"But Azog is mine."
I shrugged.
"Fine by me. As long as he dies, I'm happy."
A faint smile flickered across his face. He went on:
"If you help us reclaim Erebor, then you'll forever be a friend to the Seven Houses of the Dwarves. And you shall share in the treasure of the Mountain, in the name of Thorin, son of Thrain."
And I thought: Well, we're making progress.
Gandalf had settled into a corner, wearing a satisfied little smile.
And Bilbo? He let out a sigh so deep I thought he might fall asleep on the spot.
But of course, Thorin had to go and ruin the moment.
"You, Hobbit," he said, turning to Bilbo. "You still have to prove yourself."
Bilbo rolled his eyes.
"Of course I do… And here I was hoping to digest in peace."
I laughed, but deep down, I knew — he hadn't really accepted the adventure yet. And that's what Gandalf was truly watching.
He lit his pipe silently, his eyes on the Hobbit, as if already searching for an answer in the future.
Then the Dwarves sat down to eat, and the food disappeared like magic.
Bilbo stared at his dwindling supplies, heartbroken. I patted his shoulder.
"Hang in there, my friend. We'll include this in your memoir: 'How to Feed Fifteen Dwarves Without Starving.'"
He shot me a glare. Then forced a smile.
"Yeah. And the subtitle would be: 'I Never Said Yes to This Damn Trip.'"