I grab another biscuit and sit down on the parlor floor by the fire. Ada sits down behind me and a swing my arm around his knees. The flickering fire reminds me of the song the older dwarves sing, the one about the day they lost the mountain we're venturing to reclaim, I begin to hum it to myself, my humming turns into words and I begin to sing the song of the mountain in elvish. "Far over, the Misty mountains cold, to dungeons deep, and caverns old..."
"That song is not to be sung in elvish!" Uncle Thorin, who arrived not long after us, says bitterly. I stop and look up at him. I defiently start singing in Kazadúl. His annoyed face softens and turns into a face full of wonder, as of he didn't know I could speak Dwarvish. In the middle of the song the others start to sing along.  "We must away, ere break of day, to find our long forgotten home " I see movement in the corner of the room and I look over. Bilbo, who had previously fainted, was looking at us with a look of awe. Not long after, we give in to sleep.

"Are you sure we should leave without him?" I ask, mounting my horse the next morning.
" I knew he didn't have it in him." Uncle Thorin says, tightening. Strap on his pony's saddle.
"Ten coins says your wrong." I say, grinning.
"Fine," he replies, trying to look annoyed, but the amused light in his eyes telling me otherwise. We ride for around two hours before we stop to water the horses. I eat an apple for breakfast and give the core to my horse. He whinnies and I stroke his mane. Chestnut has been my companion since my uncle, King Rowen, gave him to me for my first birthday I celebrated in Snow mountain.
We're turning a bend when I here a voice.
"Wait!!!! Waiittttt!!!" I smile. I've just won a bet.

I'm finding it hard to not burst at laughing when ever I see Bilbo on his pony. Hobbits are made to walk. For a long time. He clearly has never rode a pony. He is stiff in the back, he holds the reigns like their going to burns his hands, and he flinches at every snicker, every whinny and every shake of his pony's head.
"Bilbo," I say. He looks up at me. "Relax you're back a little." He nods, and sticks his back out slightly. "Those reins won't bite you Master Baggins." I show him how to loop the reins and the saddle horn in one hand, and how to nudge his horse to make it go and how to make her turn left and right. After a few lessons he's doing fine.

"Your elvish." He says after a pause .

"Only partly." I say.  "My father is Kili," he turns and looks at my father, three down the line.

"And your mother? She was elvish?"I nod "she was a princess." I sigh as the memories fill my head. He seems to sense that I don't want to talk about it so he starts to chatter about this and that. I smile when we stop and he gives his horse an apple. I think we'll get along well.