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Who hadn't eaten enough.
None of them.
Jimmy grabbed his pack and began pulling things out one by one.
A large iron griddle that folded flat, complete with four detachable legs. Vacuum-sealed cuts of beef. A full crate of strong liquor. Jars of spices and seasonings.
Now that he had secured Elven waybread, he could finally spare some of these supplies.
The dwarves stared.
Their eyes practically glowed.
"Jimmy, you arrived at the perfect moment," Bilbo Baggins said hesitantly. "But… cooking all of this properly will take time."
He glanced at the dwarves.
Judging by their expressions, Bilbo had no doubt that if food did not appear soon, someone might end up on the fire instead.
"That's easy," Jimmy said. "I just need a second fire for cooking."
"I'll gather firewood."
"I'll dig the pit."
"I'll set the stones."
The dwarves moved at once, scrambling over one another, their attention locked on Jimmy's supplies.
Then—
Crash.
Jimmy turned just in time to see Bombur struggle to stand, only to collapse straight through a wooden chair, reducing it to kindling.
Bombur froze, staring at the wreckage.
"…I think we have enough firewood now," Jimmy said dryly.
He had been planning to save that last intact chair.
Bombur had made the decision for him.
Laughter erupted.
"Well done, Bombur," Kíli laughed. "At this rate, we'll dismantle all of Rivendell."
Soon, a second bonfire was roaring.
Jimmy set up the iron griddle, brushed it with oil, seasoned the beef, and laid it down.
The scent spread instantly.
"Is that alcohol," Balin asked, eyeing the bottles.
"Very much so," Jimmy replied. "Strong stuff, don't overdo it."
"Liquor," Glóin exclaimed. "Meat and strong drink on the same night, Jimmy, you carried this all the way here. That's unbelievable."
There was an old saying among dwarves.
Trolls never leave leftovers.
Dwarves never leave alcohol.
Whether trolls followed that rule was debatable. But dwarves absolutely did.
To them, hauling this much liquor across such distances was borderline criminal waste.
"Jimmy," Balin asked, holding up a bottle, "how do you open this?"
Jimmy took it, tore off the seal, twisted the cap, and popped the stopper free.
Pop.
A collective inhale swept through the pavilion.
"That aroma," Balin murmured. "Deep. Rich, even better than the ale from the Harvest Festival at the Lonely Mountain."
"Then let's not waste it," Jimmy said, handing him the bottle. "The meat's ready, Cheers."
The dwarves had already learned by watching.
One by one, bottles were opened.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
"To the Lonely Mountain."
"To the Lonely Mountain."
Laughter filled the night.
Bilbo returned with a plate of freshly grilled meat, Beneath it lay a bed of vegetables, with ground pepper, dried herbs, and sliced onion arranged neatly to the side.
"Jimmy, would you like some," Bilbo asked.
"No, I'm full," Jimmy said honestly.
Bilbo blinked.
Then frowned at the spices.
"This seasoning," he said slowly, "it's extraordinary. What is it? Do you have seeds?"
"It's just pepper," Jimmy replied. "Grows on islands far to the south. I don't have seeds, but surely other spices can replace them."
Bilbo shook his head firmly.
"No, there's no substitute. It has… soul."
His devotion to food rivaled the dwarves' devotion to drink.
Ori was already thoroughly drunk.
He swayed back and forth, attempting to balance a wine bottle on the end of a stick. The bottle slipped, fell, and struck Bombur squarely on the head.
Laughter erupted.
Bombur barely reacted. He casually swung a hand.
Ori went flying and landed face-first on the ground.
"Hahaha"
"Haha...."
The laughter grew louder.
"You all carry on," Jimmy said calmly. "I am going to bathe."
He stood and headed toward the room the Elves had prepared for him.
A deep bath, Clean water, A bed so soft he briefly considered stealing it.
---
"Who's there?"
Jimmy rolled up instantly, muscles tensing. The claws beneath his knuckles threatened to break skin.
"Oh. Jimmy," Bilbo said hurriedly. "Thorin says we are leaving, now."
Bilbo had clearly meant to wake him, but Jimmy had noticed him before he could get close.
"Leaving, in the middle of the night."
"Thorin says we do not need Elven help."
Jimmy finished dressing, strapped on his armor, secured both blades, and lifted his packed bag onto his back with one hand.
Outside, Thorin was hauling the drunken dwarves upright one by one.
"King Thorin," Jimmy asked evenly. "Why leave like this?"
"Elves do not act in good faith," Thorin replied. "And dwarves do not accept aid from those they consider traitors."
Jimmy nodded once.
"Then what about Gandalf. Is he coming with us?"
Thorin glanced at him.
"We have gone our separate ways."
---
As they passed beyond Rivendell, Jimmy gently tapped Bilbo on the shoulder. Bilbo kept glancing back at the lights between the trees.
"If you like this place," Jimmy said quietly, "you can always return after the journey ends. I think the Elves would welcome a Hobbit."
"Deceptive Elves," Thorin muttered. "All of them traitors."
Once they were far from Rivendell, Jimmy began to sense it again.
A presence at the edge of perception.
Wargs.
They were following them.
If the Wargs had found them, the Orcs certainly knew where they were. Yet no attack came.
Jimmy frowned.
After traveling this long with no fighting, his experience gauge had not moved at all.
He was getting impatient.
Come on.
No one was going to interfere this time. Narrow ridges. Jagged stone, Perfect terrain.
One man. One blade.
He could hold them for days.
But the Orcs did not attack.
Jimmy cursed them silently for their caution.
They marched along the barren ridge for more than ten days.
No grass, no game.
Supplies dwindled.
Everything depended on Jimmy's pack.
Even so, normal food was nearly gone.
That was with Jimmy sustaining himself almost entirely on Elven waybread. Without it, the group would have been half-starved.
Now, even the gray rock moss Bilbo had once discovered was being eaten eagerly as a side dish.
It tasted far worse than Elven vegetables. But the dwarves ate it anyway, pretending it was acceptable.
Stubborn pride could do that.
Jimmy tossed a piece of waybread into his mouth and walked toward a large stone overlooking the trail.
"Heading out to keep watch again," Bilbo asked.
"Yes," Jimmy replied. "Going to check on the Orcs."
Every time they stopped, Jimmy climbed to higher ground and watched the distant Wargs.
The dwarves could not see them. Their eyesight was not sharp enough.
After looking several times and seeing nothing, Ori lost interest. The others assumed Jimmy was simply bored.
Jimmy almost laughed.
With vigilance like that, he wondered how dwarves had survived as long as they had.
The Wargs were still there.
Waiting.
And so was he.
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