#burglar hobbit

[themuskrater]

It's always funny to me that Rogues get this stereotype of being dark and edgy PCs. But then you remember THIS is the inspiration for all Rogues:

If you don't know, now you know:

Bilbo Baggins was the inspiration for the Rogue class in D&D

[m4yh4ps]

Lobelia & Bilbo Siblings AU🍋🍀 + Lobelia's laketown garb🍋🐳

please love them🙏😔

[theworldsoftolkein]

[meteors-lotr]

Bilbo: Who, Thorin?

Bilbo, dreamily while gazing at him: Oh, no… no, i just like him as a friend

Gandalf: Then why are your eyes shaped like fucking hearts

Bilbo, still dazed: Allergies

[greeneyed-thestral]

[im-secretly-a-frog]

Thinking about what hobbits think of shoes.

They don't wear them, they've never needed them. Hobbits rarely venture outside their hometowns, and their hometowns are populated exclusively by Hobbits in most cases (correct me if I'm wrong) so most of them never see shoes in their lives.

So, therefore, would they be freaked out by shoes? Would they simply accept this as a weird thing that outsiders do? Like I feel like Merry and Pippin would have bothered their traveling companions with questions about them. "What are you wearing on your feet?" "Why are you wearing those?" "Are your feet weak?"

And then Sam would just assume that those ARE their feet. He would be so freaked out as soon as someone took off their shoes, but he wouldn't mention it to anyone but Frodo. Frodo, being the way he is would have figured out exactly what shoes are and what they're for, though he would still be perplexed as to why anyone would need them, and he would try to explain to Sam. Sam of course would still be freaked out, but would believe him.

I've spent far too long thinking about this.

[ravnarieldurin]

The Hobbit: Fire's Revenge

Chapter 1 - The Burglar and The Fire Mage

Summary: A fateful meeting between one wizard and a dwarven king sparks the beginning of a journey that will change the course of many lives...but will it be for the better or the worse? And what in Durin's name is a 'fire mage'?

Word Count: 2.8k

Author's Notes: This is a friendly reminder that this fanfiction - despite ultimately having a happy ending - is going to get VERY DARK and NSFW in some parts. I will put trigger warnings when needed so please take care of your mental health.

Only this first chapter will be posted to Tumblr with the rest of the series posted to AO3 since my draft is already SO LONG. (97k words and I'm not even done with AUJ...yikes!) This might change later, but for now, I will post updates when chapters are posted to AO3. I have made everything open to both members and guests of AO3 so anyone can read or comment.

This is my first fanfiction ever so any and all feedback is welcome!

And with that, let's go!

---

AO3 | Masterlist

It seemed the whole town of Bree was gathered in the Prancing Pony that fateful night in spite of the downpour outside. Wind and rain battered the old building, making the windows rattle and the shutters groan against their latches. A flash of lightning brightly illuminated the smoke-stained wooden walls inside followed quickly by a thunderclap, the sudden boom muffling the chatter inside for a brief moment before the spirited conversations resumed. All manner of men, and even a few ladies, lounged and moved about the tables strewn around haphazardly. Occasionally, a hobbit or two would skitter between the tables, ducking beneath the humans to avoid knocking their head on a serving tray or an elbow in the cramped fire and candlelit room.

Even with the constant movement and merriment of the crowd, one figure stood out amongst the rabble.

Thorin Oakenshield Durin sat alone at a table too tall for his dwarven stature in the center of the tavern. Water clung to his long windswept dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, and fur-lined coat, having come in from the storm raging outside not long again. He chewed silently on his meager dinner of bread, cheese, and olives, lifting his mug of ale to his lips mindlessly between bites.  

Unbeknownst to the pensive dwarf, he was being watched by a set of very keen, very wise, and very old eyes not far away.

Gandalf the Grey pulled in another long drag from his pipe, the fragrant smoke of tobacco wafting around him as he waited for the right moment to approach the unsuspecting dwarf. Dark circles stained the eyes of the much shorter man, and his mouth was twisted in a grim line. He was evidently none too pleased to be there.

“Probably wishing for dwarvish ale,” the wizard thought with a quiet chuckle.

Sweeping a glance around the tavern, an odd-looking man with one scarred blind eye and a bald head caught Gandalf’s eye. The strange fellow was sat under a window across the room, watching Thorin with unveiled aggression. With another slow turn of his head, he saw another scruffy man watching the dwarf, the same violent look in his eye as the first.

Clearly sensing the danger, Thorin’s sharp eyes flitted between the two men, tensing as they continued to stare at him. A moment later, the two suspicious men stood, stalking towards the lone dwarf. He slowly wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword resting beside him propped on the table, clearly readying himself for the fight headed his way.

While the timing wasn’t ideal, he figured it would be best to prevent a bar fight between two humans and the future king of Erebor. Or perhaps more than a bar fight if the message in his robe held any true merit.

Quickly tucking his pipe back inside his robe, Gandalf strode purposefully across the room and dropped down at the table across from Thorin, startling the anxious dwarf.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, smiling reassuringly and leaning his wizard’s staff against the table next to Thorin’s sword.

Thorin glanced at the men again before he dropped his hand reluctantly from his dwarvish blade. The two men hesitated nearby, watching the new individual.

Gandalf paid them no mind as he tapped a serving girl on her shoulder on her way past their table.

“I’ll have the same,” he said, gesturing to Thorin’s plate. The girl nodded and walked off to get his meal.

Thorin sighed deeply before turning to stare at him, his piercing blue eyes focusing on him like a hawk.  

“I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf,” he said, trying to break the heavy tension in the air.

The dwarf blinked at him, clearly not impressed.

“Gandalf the Grey.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “I know who you are,” he said gruffly.

“Well now, this is a fine chance,” he said with a smile, clasping his hands together delightedly. It was, in fact, not chance, but Thorin didn’t need to know that. He’d been following the dwarf for the better part of the day, waiting for his chance to approach, but the message he intercepted earlier in the day had made him hesitate, waiting to see who was also tracking the dwarf. And it’s a good thing he did, judging by the two men that still stood glaring at him nearby.

“What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?” he asked. Though he was trying to make conversation to help ease the tensely guarded man before him, he was also genuinely curious why the exiled king was away from his people in the Blue Mountains.

Thorin lowered his head, his eyes shifting pensively.

“I received word that my father had been seen wandering the wilds near Dunland. I went looking.” Thorin shook his head, discouragement shining in his eyes as his shoulders sagged. “Found no sign of him.”

“Ah. Thrain,” Gandalf said sadly, bowing his head respectfully. Thorin’s father, and his old friend, had gone missing many years ago. Despite the efforts and searching of many, the former Dwarf King remained missing to this day.

Thorin turned toward him, his eyes hard. “You’re like the others. You think he’s dead.”

“I was not at the battle of Moria,” Gandalf said stoically, nodding.

“No…” Thorin’s gaze turned from him, his eyes unfocused as the dwarf lost himself in his memories. A look Gandalf knew all too well.

“…but I was. My grandfather, Thror, was slain. My father led a charge toward the Dimrill Gate. He never returned,” Thorin said thickly, his voice catching in his throat and his eyes shining hauntedly. He cleared his throat, his jaw clenching before he continued his tale, his voice biting.

“Thrain is gone they told me. He is one of the fallen. But at the end of that battle, I searched amongst the slain…to the last body.” Thorin shook his head emphatically. “My father was not among the dead.”

Gandalf shook his head slowly. He knew why Thorin still searched, but he feared his efforts were in vain. Losing a loved one, especially a parent, was always a hard thing. For mortals and immortals alike.

“Thorin, it’s been a long time since anything, but rumor has been heard about Thrain,” he said gently.

“He still lives! I am sure of it,” Thorin insisted, his eyes flashing.

The wizard and the dwarf stared at each other for a long moment. He sighed heavily. He wouldn’t be able to convince the dwarf tonight, but he still had a question that burned in his mind.

“The ring your grandfather wore, one of the Seven given to the Dwarf Lords many years ago…what became of it?” he asked, tilting his head.

Thorin shook his head, his brow furrowing in thought.

“He…gave it to my father before they went into battle.”

“So Thrain was wearing it when he d- …when he went missing?” Gandalf corrected himself, trying not to provoke the dwarf’s anger.

Thorin nodded stiffly.

“Hmm. That’s that then,” the wizard said with a tight nod. A missing ring of power was never a good thing. He could only hope it hadn’t found its way into the hands of the enemy like so many of the others.

“Here you are,” the serving girl said, returning to set down a mug of ale and a plate of food before him. Gandalf nodded his thanks and grabbed the pint, lifting it to his mouth for a drink.

“I know my father came to see you before the Battle of Moria,” Thorin accused, glaring at him.

Gandalf quirked a brow, putting down his ale.

The dwarf leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “What did you say to him?”

Ah, so they were officially onto the topic of the evening. It was better that Thorin brought it up first. He doubted it would have been well received if he started this particular conversation.

“I urged him to march upon Erebor,” Gandalf declared. “To rally the seven armies of the Dwarves. To destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain.”

Thorin stared wide-eyed at him, his mouth slightly parted in shock.

“And I would say the same to you,” he said boldly. “Take back your homeland.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, then his lips quirked up into a smirk as he reached for his own mug of ale.

“This is no chance meeting, is it Gandalf?” he asked darkly, lifting the mug to his lips.

Gandalf met his pointed look stoically.

“No, it is not,” he admitted. “The Lonely Mountain troubles me Thorin, as well as another I know. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor.”

“Darker minds that long ago should have been vanquished,” he thought darkly.

But lately, darkness had been stirred in the north in forces and numbers that he couldn’t understand. Numbers that, given the increased frequency of messages he kept receiving from the north, he could no longer ignore.

Thorin stared at him, his eyes shifting as he mulled over the wizard’s words.

“I ran into some…unsavory characters whilst travelling on the Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond,” Gandalf said with a smirk, reaching inside his robe.

“I imagine they regretted that,” Thorin said, grinning at him before tipping his ale back for another drink.

The wizard unrolled a tattered piece of cloth with strange markings on it.

“One of them was carrying a message.”

Thorin set his mug down and leaned closer. His brow furrowed, clearly confused by the strange slashes.

“It is Black Speech,” he clarified.

Thorin’s eyes met his before glancing back down at the dirty cloth.

“A promise of payment,” Gandalf said nodding down at the writing.

“For what?” Thorin whispered, his eyes flitting over the parchment.

“Your head,” he stated bluntly.

The dwarf’s head snapped up, staring at him.

“Someone wants you dead…Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the dwarves! Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families. Demand they stand by their oaths,” he insisted.

Thorin leaned towards him, his voice hushed. “The seven armies swore that oath to the one who wields the king’s jewel. The Arkenstone.”

Gandalf nodded, knowing this fact to be true.

“It is the only thing that will unite them and, in case you have forgotten, that jewel was stolen by Smaug!” Thorin hissed, before his heated glare suddenly shifted behind him.

The wizard followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of the two hostile men from before slinking their way out of the tavern, glaring at the dwarf and himself.

“Good,” he thought. “One less thing to worry about.”

He turned back around to face Thorin and asked, “What if I were to help you reclaim it?”

Thorin’s eyes widened, his mouth parted slightly in disbelief.

“How? The Arkenstone lies half a world away…buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon,” he declared, his baritone voice booming rather finally around them.

“Yes, it does.” Gandalf smiled. “Which is why we’re going to need a burglar and a fire mage.”

Thorin stared at him, his eyes flaring wide and his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. No words came out of his gaping mouth for a long moment before he finally managed to find his tongue.

“Fire mage? Fire mages are not real! They’re nothing more than the stuff of myth and legend. Old tales for mothers to tell their children. If they ever existed, they have long since died off.”

“Oh, I assure you. They were and are very much real, but unfortunate circumstances forced them into hiding,” Gandalf explained. A few tense moments of silence passed before Thorin spoke again.

“Alright wizard. Say I believe you. Say fire mages do exist. Where do you suggest we find your proposed fire mage and burglar?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to glare at him.

Gandalf breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t much of an agreement, and it certainly wasn’t an enthusiastic one at that, but it was an agreement, nonetheless.

“Gather your kin, Thorin. Those you can trust and meet in Hobbiton in precisely one month’s time. I will leave you instructions to follow once you are there. Our burglar lives in the Shire amongst the hobbits. His name is Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.”

Thorin nodded, tilting his head. “And the mage?”

Gandalf reached into his robe and grabbed the letter he had received not long ago.

“The mage has already agreed to join us,” Gandalf said, unfolding the letter and sliding it over for the dwarf to read.

“RVN?” Thorin’s brow furrowed at the strange signature.

“Yes. Our mage is known as Raven, and they will meet us on the Ford of Bruinen as we approach the Misty Mountains. They reside in the northern Coldfells. Too far to join us for our meeting in Hobbiton on time, so we are to send them word by raven when we reach the Last Bridge on the East Road so they can meet us for the crossing of the Ford.”

“By raven? They were rare even before the dragon came. Then after the dragon destroyed Ravenhill, most of them fled and hid themselves in the north. How will we find a raven this far south?” Thorin asked tightly, quirking a brow at him.

“As stated in the letter, the sorcerer will be sending one to accompany us on the first leg of our journey and the raven will leave us at the bridge to bring word back to their master,” Gandalf said, waving a hand at the parchment on the table.  

Thorin looked down again, his eyes flitting over the paper, reading through the letter. After a long moment, his brow furrowed, glancing back up at him.

“What does this sorcerer want in return? There is no mention of payment. What does he get out of our journey?”

Gandalf huffed and shook his head. “They want nothing from you, Thorin Oakenshield. Raven wants the same thing I do: to see the Lonely Mountain restored to the rightful rule of the dwarves and to free the land of the terrors of Smaug.”

He pushed back from the table and rose to his feet, reaching for the letter. Thorin snatched it away from his hand, his eyes glinting darkly.

“You keep saying ‘they’, Gandalf. Is there more than one mage joining us?”

The wizard blinked down at Thorin. He had hoped the man hadn’t picked up on his vague language, but it seemed the Dwarf King was more perceptive than he appeared.

“No, Raven is not many persons. Though I do suppose there will be at least two individuals joining us. The mage rides atop a magnificent creature. Doesn’t travel without the beast. We’ll meet them both on the golden Ford.”

Gandalf tugged his letter from Thorin’s hand, folded it neatly and tucked it back inside his robe.

“What do the markings on the bottom of the letter mean?” Thorin asked, his eyes narrowing.

Blast dwarves and their keen eye for details! Though it shouldn’t have surprised him. Dwarves loved making contracts and deals, so it made sense for Thorin to see the small print at the bottom of the page.

“It’s a warning to be wary of orcs on the roads. They’re wandering farther south than usual,” Gandalf said quickly, grabbing his staff in his wrinkled hand. Rustling inside his robe quickly, he left some coin next to his untouched dinner and nodded down to the dwarf.

“Prepare yourself, Thorin. This will be a long and difficult journey, but I know you can do it. You are destined to reclaim your grandfather’s throne and rule the dwarves of Erebor, united once more within the Halls Under the Mountain.”

With that declaration, Gandalf turned and strode from the tavern into the rain outside. Donning his hat and tugging it lower on his head, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for lying to the dwarf. However, it couldn’t be helped. He wanted to honor the sorcerer’s instructions to the letter. Or should he say sorceress.

For as long as he’d known her, the young Raven had always been a bit mysterious and shrouded herself in secrecy. Even more so than himself sometimes, though that was the nature of fire mages after all. The Black Speech request penned at the bottom of her letter was a curious choice, but he would oblige her.

“Don’t tell Thorin I’m a woman…or an elf.”

And so he didn’t.

---

A/N: And so it has begun! Again, feel free to let me know what you thought and I hope you all enjoy the ride!

[possibly-a-table-or-just-gay]

thinking abt doing a bagginsheild tangled au

edit: I started writing it lmao

[random-fan-of-many-fandoms]

Love playing LOTR Online because I can be finally fulfill my dreams of robbing enemy camps and selling the armor and weapons my little hobbit self is too smol for.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6- Redemption Winner

We're almost to the end! I've had so much fun with this fic so far, and I'm really excited to get started with it. This was another one that I was surprised to have seen one, but that's the fun with polls! I hope you guys like the little snapshot I wrote into this world.

Chasing Dragons and Bedding Burglars

Rating: T

Warning(s): Dead Minor Character

Ship: Bagginshield

Summary: When Thorin Oakenshield transferred to Ered Luin PD, there was really only one thing on his mind: finally catch the monster that destroyed his family. However, he quickly learns Ered Luin lives under the rule of the local mafia and figures the only way to catch Smaug is to pretend to be a dirty cop and make nice with the supposed crime boss known only as “The Burglar”.

Thorin never noticed how horrendous the color of the ceiling tiles in the building were before today. Not even a true eggshell, but some awful hybrid of white and cream that was emphasized by the yellow and brown water stains that scattered the ceiling like the ugliest constellations to ever exist. Leaned back in his desk chair gently rotating himself back and forth, he found himself wishing for something, anything to take his attention away.

“You’re the one who put in the transfer, I’ll remind you. I just followed your ass to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Thorin turned his head just slightly to glare over at Dwalin who had his feet up on the desk, phone in front of his face as he wasted time with a mindless game. Thorin went back to his water stains, too depressed even to sigh. He had been in Ered Luin for three weeks now. He thought this was going to be his break. He thought between the sheer amount of organized crime in this backwater city, he would be able to avenge his father and grandfather more than he ever could working in Dale. However, the mafias had too strong a hold on the city. Nothing ever was brought to them, because the mafias took care of it first. If he was going to find his dragon to slay, he was going to have to get on the inside and make nice with one of these organizations. A fact that went against every fiber of his being of what it means to be a cop.

“Oakenshield! Fundinson! We’ve got an assignment for you.”

Thorin sat up so fast his neck popped. He reached up to massage it as Nori stood smirking from where he was leaning his hip against Thorin’s desk. 

“Yeah, what is it this time?” Dwalin grunted, glaring at the other cop. “Coffee run?”

Nori’s grin widened as he enjoyed nothing more than sending them out on meaningless tasks. Thorin knew it was just because they were the new kids in town. Dwalin had taken much more offense to it, but it might just be because it was Nori. He had admitted to Thorin more than once now that he didn’t trust the ginger at all.

“Suicide.” Nori chirped. “Just got a call about it. Down at Bag End.”

“Bag End?” Thorin repeated, quickly becoming more interested. “Isn’t that one of the biggest hotels in the city?”

Nori nodded. “Not only that, but Bilbo Baggins, who owns the place, is one of the richest men in Ered Luin. Has his hand in a lot of different pots, not just the hotel industry. Rumor on the street is that he’s The Burglar, but I wouldn’t say that to his face. So you two mind your p’s and q’s while you’re out and about.”

This was it. This was exactly the break Thorin had been looking for. Even if the case was pretty open and shut, just getting a chance to speak to Mr. Baggins might help him find his dragon. He turned to Dwalin, trying to assess what his partner thought about it. Dwalin glared back before rolling his eyes. 

“Fine. Like your eyes could get any bigger. We’ll look into it.”

“Great!” Nori declared. “I’ll call the hotel back and tell them that you’re coming.”

He started to walk away and Thorin wasted no time in pulling on his black leather jacket with the fur trim. A gift from his sister before he left.

“Please don’t get your hopes up.” Dwalin complained. “If this guy really is a crime boss, he’s not going to just come right out and talk to you.”

“Maybe he will be grateful after cleaning up a dead guy from his lobby.”

Dwalin snorted. “He’s going to be annoyed that he had to wait for our okay for that to happen.”

“Be negative if you would like, but I think this is the break we’ve been looking for.”

Dwalin merely rolled his eyes as he followed Thorin out to the car. They plugged Bag End into the GPS, and flew off down the road towards the hotel. 

It was in the swankier part of town. A borough known as the Shire. Where the streets were clean, the gardens were lush, and the buildings were brightly colored. Bag End rose like a beacon from the center, a tall highrise with a rounded green entryway at the front of the building. The inside was even more ridiculous. It was like they had stepped into a cosy cabin. Everything was covered in wooden panels and beams, the lights were low and warm. The lobby was large with several hallways veering off to different shops and attractions nearly overwhelming Thorin until a concierge approached.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Do you have a reservation?”

They both pulled out their badges.

“Detectives Thorin Oakenshield and Dwalin Fundinson.” Thorin introduced. “We’re here to see the body.”

The girl paled at the mention of the dead coworker, but wasted little time in pointing them in the right direction with a promise to inform Mr. Baggins of their arrival. Thorin and Dwalin took off down the hallway, past the restaurant, into an alcove that was roped off with a body covered by a sheet in the center. The forensics team was already there, taking pictures and samples, but they stepped aside to let them run their investigation.

Broken glass lay around the body, and when Thorin looked up, he could see the eighth floor window the guy must have jumped from. Thorin peeled back the sheet, trying not to grimace at the blood and brain matter staining the hardwood floors.

“Well…I think we can safely assume the cause of death.” Dwalin grunted.

Thorin nodded as he crouched beside the body, searching for anything that shouldn’t be there. It seemed like a pretty cut and dry suicide until something in his fist caught Thorin’s attention. 

“Do you have a pen on you?” Thorin asked Dwalin.

“No, but I can go up to the front desk and get one.” He offered.

Before Thorin could say one way or another, they were interrupted by another voice.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Thorin spun around, completely caught off-guard by the men approaching him. One of them stood tall and stout. Built like a bodyguard, but easily twenty to thirty years older than Thorin himself. The second man was hunched, greasy looking with unnaturally big eyes that looked around nervously. However, it was the man in between that had spoken to them. He was the shortest of the three, but his presence demanded attention. His suit was neatly pressed and immaculate, his curls gently framing his soft, bare face, and his eyes lacking any outward emotion. Somehow Mr. Baggins was both exactly what Thorin expected from a mafia boss and yet not at all. 

“I’m Mr. Baggins, it’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Thorin introduced, shaking his hand.

“Mr. Oakenshield.” Mr. Baggins nodded.

“Fundinson.” Dwalin grunted.

“Mr. Fundinson.” Mr. Baggins stated again. “I’ve done what I can to keep guests out of the area, but I trust we can have the medics clear the body out of here? Doesn’t leave a very inviting image, I’m afraid.”

“The man worked for you.” Dwalin scoffed. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

“And I am.” Mr. Baggins answered even as he checked his phone. “If he had any family, I would be sending flowers to them right now. I’ve also hired a grief counselor on site for any staff directly affected by his death. But if you feel I am lacking in my duties somewhere, please feel free to elaborate, Mr. Fundinson.”

“You said if he had any family?” Thorin stepped in before Dwalin could snark back.

“That’s right.” Mr. Baggins nodded. “Ferumbas had always been a bit of a loner at work. No close friends or acquaintances, and peeking into his file this morning he doesn’t even seem to have anyone listed as an emergency contact. I figured that meant no family to speak of.”

“So that means, there was no one there with him this morning?”

Mr. Baggins almost seemed to sigh as he gave Thorin a condescending look. “No. Not that the security cameras can pick up. Mr. Oakenshield, I know you are just trying to do your job, especially considering you are new to the force, but we both know this is a suicide. Can we just be done with this part of the investigation?”

Thorin tried not to act surprised that Baggins knew that much about him as he tightened his fists at his side.

“I wish we could, but I’m not so certain it is a suicide.”

Baggins glared at him. “You’re not? Are you that desperate for your delusions of grandeur?” 

“Do you have a pen on you, Mr. Baggins?” Thorin asked as sweetly as he could.

Baggins narrowed his eyes, cocking a brow at the seemingly change of subject before snapping his fingers. The shifty man behind him immediately produced a pen in Baggins’ outstretched hand which he handed over to Thorin. Thorin thanked him for it as he turned his back on Baggins to crouch down beside the body.

“And what exactly are you looking for?” Baggins asked as he bent over Thorin’s shoulder.

“Not looking for.” Thorin stated as he used the pen to open up Ferumbas’ hand. “Found.”

A torn piece of fabric lay in the dead man’s hand matching the uniform he was wearing.

“Seeing as there is no tear on him, he would have had to rip this off of someone else. But that would imply there was someone else in the room with him. If there was someone in the room with him, why did that person go through the trouble of making himself invisible to your cameras?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow back at Baggins who stared at him for a long moment before releasing a sigh. He turned back to the other two men with him.

“Ushmik, please make sure security works with these gentlemen to get them anything they need. Smeagol, I’m certain they will want staff records of who was on shift this morning. Anything else, Mr. Oakenshield?” 

Thorin felt a touch of irritation at having his moves anticipated, but decided to take the cooperation while it was offered.

“That’s all for now, Mr. Baggins. Thank you.”

“Have someone ring for me if you need me.” He stated as he walked away.

“What a little…” Dwalin grumbled under his breath before Thorin elbowed him in the stomach. After all, the taller man named Ushmik seemed to be watching him closely with narrowed eyes and probably wouldn’t tolerate poor opinions of his boss.

“Make sure forensics checks for fingerprints. Probably won’t get anything, but worth a shot.”

“Where are you going to be?” Dwalin demanded.

Thorin’s eyes turned up to the eighth floor window. “I’m going to do a little more investigating.”

[sesamenom]

Some design sketches for Bilbo and Lobelia, plus a bonus thorin

[whatareyoutolkienabout]

I love fics where Bilbo is just at a little bit of a whore

[theworldsoftolkein]

Late Guest by Kimberly80

[meteors-lotr]

I think Thorin should be glad he died, because if he survived you know Bilbo is gonna drag is ass all around middle earth to make him apologize to basically everyone they met on that journey for a variety of different things, and I don’t think his pride could have handled that

[retellingthehobbit]

New Bilbo Baggins design: