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Hunting Erebor	By : LadyLaran Category: Supernatural > Crossovers Views: 1898 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" or "The Hobbit." I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note - Well, I’ve done it again. I signed up for Hobbit Big Bang and guess what story is the one I chose to use for it? If you guessed “Hunting Erebor,” you guessed right! I’ve been binge writing when my health allows, and I feel bad for my poor beta. I’ve been keeping her busy. Hope you enjoy this installment!

Disclaimer – I do not own “Supernatural” or “the Hobbit.” I do not make money from this story.

Chapter Ten - A Little Lesson

The group had just dismounted when a small voice called out, drawing their attention.

“Imrathon!”

Imrathon grinned, holding his arms open as a tiny figure rushed towards him. He scooped him up, lifting and hugging him at the same time. His smile grew even wider as he felt his cousin’s arms wrap around his neck.

“There you are,” he said, holding him close and kissing the top of his head. “I had hoped we’d get to see you before we set out again. Have you been good for Elrond?”

“I have,” Estel answered, holding tightly to his cousin. “I even finished the book Eruestan said I should read.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the taller Dúnadan said, smiling brightly as well. “Where’s my hug?”

Estel turned and reached his arms out to his other cousin, and Eruestan took him from his brother and gave him a hug as well.

“I think you’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” he told the boy in his arms. “What do you think, Imrathon?”

“He has,” the elder said with a fond smile.

“Who is this,” Fili asked, smiling as he eyed the lad clinging to Eruestan.

“This is our cousin, Estel,” Imrathon answered as they followed Elrond into the main building. “Lord Elrond is fostering him.”

The little boy looked at the people with his cousins and smiled, eyes lighting up.

“Dwarves and a hobbit! Are you Master Baggins?”

“I am indeed,” the hobbit smiled. “Bilbo Baggins at your service, Master Estel. Your cousins are dear friends of mine.”

“They’ve mentioned you before,” the child said, still clinging to Eruestan. “They really like you; I can tell when they talk about you or the Shire. Can you tell me about hobbits, Master Baggins?”

“How do we ask for things, Estel,” Imrathon said in a mild tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Master Baggins, if you have time, would you please tell me about hobbits? I’m ever so curious about them.”

“I would be delighted to,” Bilbo said with a bright smile.

The two Dúnedain headed a different direction from where the company was being led, and Thorin called out when he realized that the pair were not staying with them.

“Where are you going?”

“Lord Elrond gifted us rooms to use whenever we come through Imladris,” Imrathon answered. “We need to bathe and put on clean clothing before dinner so we will meet you in the dining hall.”

The dwarf king nodded, going with his company to the area where they were to take their rest. The two brothers watched them go, and Eruestan made a comment in Sindarin.

“He has a stick up his arse,” he said, making Estel giggle.

“Language, little brother, we have little ears listening in. You’re right though; the dwarf king needs to relax some or he’s going to snap into pieces due to all the stress.”

“Why is he stressed,” the little boy asked.

“He’s a king who lost his home a long time ago,” the elder brother told their cousin. “He has a lot to worry about since he’s the one in charge of taking care of his people. It’s not an easy task, but he’s done well considering the odds he’s had to face.”

“Being a king is difficult?”

“It isn’t easy, that’s for certain,” he answered. “Look at Lord Elrond; there’s a lot on his shoulders and his people have a forever home that’s safe.”

“The king’s people aren’t safe,” the child questioned, picking up on that particular concern rather quickly.

“I’m afraid not,” Eruestan replied. “Ered Luin was damaged long ago, and it’s not exactly the safest location for King Thorin’s people. There’s no good land for farming, even if they were good farmers, and the mines are all but empty and not safe to work in.”

“That’s not good,” he said as he was set on his feet.

“No, it’s not,” Imrathon told him. “So we’re going to help them so their people can be safe and happy. Now, Eruestan and I need a bath since it’s been a long time we’ve been able to enjoy hot water. We’ll talk more later, all right?”

“Will you please tuck me in tonight,” Estel asked, watching his cousins as they nodded and smiled at him.

The child scampered off, leaving the two brothers to go into their rooms with the intention of bathing and changing into clean clothing. Both were eager to get clean and comfortable.

A while later, the company met in the dining hall. Eruestan had to bite back a laugh at the sight of the dwarrow in elvish clothing; the weapons they wore looked so out of place. The only one who looked relaxed was Bilbo, and he was sipping slowly at a glass of wine as he waited for everyone to join them.

“Don’t you look all nice and relaxed,” Imrathon said teasingly, taking a seat beside Fili.

“Not exactly comfortable in the elvish finery,” the blond admitted as Eruestan took a seat by Kili. “They took our clothing to wash, which is nice, but this type of clothing isn’t something we’re used to.”

“We’re used to it,” Eruestan replied, reaching for a glass of wine. “We’ve spent enough time here where it’s comfortable changing out of our gear. It gives the blacksmiths time to look over our gear to make sure everything is in order.”

“Do you think the smiths would mind if we used their forges if our equipment needs repairing,” Thorin asked, perking a bit when he heard about the blacksmiths.

“I don’t see why not,” Imrathon answered. “I can show you where to go tomorrow if you find you need to use the forge.”

The king-in-exile bowed his head once in thanks, and Bilbo sipped more of his wine.

“Your cousin is rather adorable,” he told them.

“And he knows it,” the elder brother said with a laugh. “Eruestan and I have given in to him too many times when he tilts his head just the right way and says please. He’s too cute for his own good; I pity the woman he ends up marrying because she’ll have her hands full with him.”

“Never bring him to the Shire,” the hobbit warned. “The fauntlings will teach him how to use his adorableness and then he’ll really have control over everything.”

“Why do you say that,” Bofur asked.

“Did you lot not pay attention to the fauntlings while you were passing through?”

All of them nodded, looking a bit sheepish as Bilbo shook his head, muttering under his brother in his native language for a moment before switching to Westron.

“Small fauntlings, until they become tweenagers, are the most adorable sight you will ever see,” the small male stated. “I have seen rangers who are older, hardened, and able to withstand just about anything soften and give in to a fauntling’s request. All big eyes, sweet faces, and curls end up making up an absolutely disgusting level of cuteness.”

“You act as if you’re immune to it,” Thorin commented, biting back a laugh when he heard the hobbit’s snarky response.

“Of course I’m not! I’ve lost too many biscuits and pies to those adorably evil fauntlings, and I’m certain I’ll stand to lose more over the years,” he said, sipping wine again. “I doubt I’ll be able to develop a resistance.”

“He’s speaking the truth,” Eruestan said with a laugh. “Imrathon is weak for pie; it’s his favorite dessert, and I have seen him about to take a bite of a pie Bilbo has made and end up giving it to first fauntling to ask for a bite. Of course, he ends up helping the fauntlings raid the windowsills to replace the pie they ate.”

“In a week, Imrathon and a pack of fauntlings absconded with six of my pies,” Bilbo said, making the dwarrow laugh harder. “Two lemon, three apple, and one peach – I never got a bite of any of them. One would go missing, and I’d bake another. I spent more time baking that week than I have in a month!”

“My brother really likes pie,” the younger Dúnadan stated, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Those pies of Bilbo’s weren’t the only ones to go missing. I think they raided the Sackville-Baggins’s windows a few times.”

“Got chased with a mop too,” Imrathon added, rubbing his head. “That woman has a powerful swing.”

“I did warn you,” the hobbit retorted. “Lobelia is not a nice person, and I have seen her chasing fauntlings with that mop of hers.”

“Which is why I let her catch me instead of them,” he said. “She looked like she’d hurt one of them if that mop connected.”

“As far as I know, she hasn’t hit them but it could be because they’re faster than her,” Bilbo said, frowning a bit. “Most matrons will shout or give chase for a short bit; it’s part of the fun.”

“You actually condone stealing,” Nori asked, eyes widened a bit at the idea.

“It stems back to our history,” the hobbit shared. “Hobbits originally came from the Vales of Anduin and had to leave due to a rising power that was growing in the Greenwood. During our Wandering Days, we had a difficult time feeding our people. We’re people of the land and had no chance to grow food we needed; so we had to forage for what we needed, and there were times where stealing had to be done to ensure the fauntlings were fed. We grew adept at it, hating every moment of it, but it kept our young fed and ensured our race’s survival.”

He took a deep sip of the wine, looking haunted for a moment as he continued his explanation.

“When the Shire was founded, it was decided that the fauntlings would be encouraged to practice this art in case we ever have to face another period of wandering. For pies and other baked goods cooling, it’s allowed until the tweenage years and then they move on to scrumping from certain farmers’ fields. The objective is to not get caught; if you’re caught, you’re given a good scolding and then sent back out to practice once more. The produce taken usually will go to families who don’t have as much so the farmers make sure to plant a bit extra for the tweens who will end up scrumping from their fields.”

The company was quiet, turning Bilbo’s words over in their minds. Most had thought that the hobbits had never faced hardships, but it seemed they were wrong. It made them wonder just what else they had been wrong over. Before they could speak to their burglar, he continued.

“The scrumping and windowsill theft really didn’t give us skills for the Fell Winter,” he said, the haunted expression becoming worse. “None of us were really ready for it; our harvest had been poor that year and no one had enough in their pantries to make it. Hunger is a lesson we forgot, and we have endeavored to never let it happen again.”

Bilbo got up, murmuring an excuse, and Imrathon stopped the group from following him. They knew he needed time alone; the loss of his family during that time still haunted their friend, and they respected the grief that still rose up to haunt him.

“Give him time,” the older brother told the dwarrow. “Some memories are still sharp, and he’s carried the loss for a long while.”

Everyone was distracted from their worries when the food was served after their host arrived. Elrond examined the blades that had been found in the troll hoard, and no one noticed the king-in-exile’s disappearance once Orcrist was gifted to him. The dwarf began looking for the burglar, unsure of where to find him and hoping he wouldn’t be wandering for too long.

Author’s End Note – I have fun tweaking a bit of Hobbit culture and history here; this kind of made sense to me in regards to fauntlings snitching things and the tweens scrumping in Farmer Maggot’s fields (aka Merry and Pippin in the LotR). There was some scolding, but there never seemed to be serious punishment for it. So here’s my idea why. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; please let me know what you thought of it. ~ Laran
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Hunting Erebor