Disclaimer.

This is an Outtake: (Also...crack.)

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Thorin glowered at the ground, the grass, the sky...anything in front of him to be honest.

Although going to Rivendell had proved fortuitous (dam wizard) in that Elrond was able to read the moon runes it had brought far more headaches than needed. And the elves.

It was there that they had acquired their...burglar.

If he could be called that.

Admittedly managing to steal from both Nori and the Wizard was impressive but that still didn't make the small creature useful at stealing from a dragon.

And he had lived with elves.

He was positively elvish...just without the height and age.

A Halfling for Mahal's sake.

Gandalf had insisted that Bilbo Baggins, son of Lord Elrond (elves), join their quest as the official burglar.

Nori had been quite put out by that. Well, up until he realised that the 'official burglar' had to sneak in under Smaug's nose if the giant worm was still there. Then he became practically cheery.

Thorin stopped them to make camp, night was looming. They spread out their packs in the places they were to sleep (no sleep mats for them, travelling light meant leaving all but the bare necessities, like food and water) and what did Thorin care if the Halfling was left at the edges, unsure where to put his own pack. He also didn't care that no one else seemed to be paying any attention to the burglar.

He had chosen to accompany them and Thorin thought it a ridiculous idea. Better that the Halfling be ostracised and choose to return to the elf dwelling now and not be a burden on The Company.

Eventually it seemed Bofur took pity on the hobbit and put his pack next to his and engaged him in conversation.

Thorin also didn't care that by the time they all found the softest bit of ground to curl up on the Halfling was shivering in the cool air.

Maybe it would make him go back to Rivendell.

xxx

Thorin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

What did he care if someone had taken pity on the Halfling in the night and covered him up with a cloak near double the length of the Halfling himself.

Maybe Nori had pinched the cloak from the elf settlement (it was much too large to be made for any but man or elf) and then put it on the hobbit when he was asleep.

"Hurry up." He ordered, setting off at a brisk pace.

Throughout the days march Thorin couldn't help but feel like he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled but whenever he looked around there was no one but The Company and the Halfling and none of them were staring at him.

It was decidedly unnerving and Thorin felt his irritation peak.

Every voice raised in conversation stabbed at his tightly strung nerves and when his nephews burst out into laughter he dam near jumped.

He relaxed his hold on his sword hilt and turned to glare at Fili and Kili...and the Halfling who was walking along chatting happily with his nephews.

Didn't he realise this was a dangerous quest? Not a walking holiday!

The feeling didn't abate as they slowly drew to the foot of the mountains and more odd happenstances occurred.

The Halfling woke up with a set of small knives that he clearly recognised placed on his chest, wrapped in leather.

It was with some surprise as Thorin watched the Halfling handle the knives competently and put them inside the hem of his elvish tunic.

Then the next day there was a set of six arrows just the right size to add to the quiver the Halfling carried which had only been half filled until then.

It was quite clearly baffling the Halfling (and most of the dwarves).

Thorin just assumed one of them was far more of a softie than they let on.

And this kept on happening!

The night watch said they saw nothing out of the ordinary.

And the back of his neck kept on prickling.

Dwalin too seemed to sense it, the feeling of eyes watching them, as he gripped hold of his axes tighter and slept with them closer.

Even the Mahal cursed Halfling kept looking over his shoulder!

"Over there. By the trees." Balin murmured, his sharp eyes fixed on that point.

They had reached the foot of the mountain just that day and seeing as it was early evening Thorin called a halt; they could begin climbing in the morning.

Thorin looked but he couldn't spot anything out of place. There were three trees, next to one another, a shadow and a few boulders.

Wait-

The shadow wasn't one cast by the trees, not in this light at least.

"I see. You know what it is?" Thorin murmured, you could never be too careful. Balin gave a minute shake of his head in the negative.

"Whatever it is, it's about man size."

"You think one of the elves," Thorin spat out the word. "Followed us?"

"I'm not sure...I'd say one of the elves followed him." Balin gave a nod to the smallest of their group.

"The Halfling." Thorin sighed resisting the urge to either smash his head against the mountain slope or smash the Halfling's head.

Balin shrugged.

"Well, it does explain the odd things around camp. I do know nobody left Rivendell with an elvish cloak."

Thorin cursed.

"They seem to just want to keep an eye on the lad, that's all. It doesn't seem anything to worry about." Balin attempted to sooth the growing ire of his king.

"Maybe. But it might not stay that way. What if they betray our location to others? Or tell people of our quest? I do not trust any of those weed-eaters."

Balin sighed.

"I doubt the elf means any harm. Do you know what the lad is called in Rivendell?" Balin didn't wait for an answer. Or, perhaps more precisely, he didn't wait for Thorin to interrupt saying he couldn't care less about the Halfling.

"He is Lord Elrond's son. By adoption not birth and that is all the more powerful, in a way, despite the lack of blood connection."

Thorin glowered at the sky. Great. More headaches. More elves. Stupid Halfling.

"I do not want an elf following us around." Thorin stated.

Those were to be famous last words and Thorin wished he could retract them just to starve away the even bigger headache he was given later.

Balin walked over to the shadow, followed by Dwalin who was not so discretely running a hand along his axes.

The elf stepped into view after about five minutes of Balin talking to him and immediately the Halfling rushed over, face gleeful but not surprised.

Not surprised.

The Mahal cursed Halfling. Thorin fought with the urge to wring his neck.

About an hour later (and explanations for the rest of the Company) Balin returned, the elf sitting next to the Halfling and talking.

Balin sighed when he saw Thorin.

"The elf has agreed that come morning he will not follow us." Balin murmured as if pained.

Thorin grimaced. It was not perfect, that meant the elf would stay the night, but it was better than the elf following them all the way to Erebor.

He ignored the small corner of the camp that the Halfling and elf were situated in with the stubbornness dwarves were known for.

He expected the elf to leave in the morning, hopefully along with the Halfling.

So he was surprised when the elf walked ahead of them and carried on up the mountain, the Halfling trotting behind, casting odd glances back at The Company.

Balin looked at him with a grim sort of humour.

"I told you he said he wouldn't follow us. He said nothing about not leading us."

Thorin growled out several choice words in Khuzdûl that would have had his sister shoving soap in his mouth. Literally.

And that was how Glorfindel (an elf) joined the quest to reclaim their homeland.

Xxx

Thorin surged out of the barrel the moment he could and almost flopped onto the dry land. Almost.

Instead he helped Fili out of his barrel; Fili looked alarmingly green and kept muttering something about apples.

Thorin was grateful to Bilbo for getting them out of the prison in Mirkwood but next time they would hash out a better plan.

Barrels. Thorin would be happy if he never saw a barrel again.

Speaking of their burglar...

Thorin looked round for him only to see him standing to the side wrapped up in Glorfindel's cloak, teeth chattering, lips blue and looking like a drowned rat.

The hobbit was practically shaking with the cold, watching with wide eyes as Glorfindel used his tunic to dry the lad's hair.

Thorin blinked.

Usually Glorfindel didn't actually coddle Bilbo; he had laughed (not unkindly) when Bilbo tripped over and not fussed much after the Azog meeting.

The only time he really fussed was at the very beginning when he gave Bilbo his spare cloak.

The rest of the time he seemed to trust that Bilbo would be alright.

"That was foolish." Glorfindel reprimanded. "You should have at least got in a barrel yourself. I could have shoved you in one!"

Bilbo twisted out of Glorfindel's grip.

"I'm not a child Glorfindel!" He exclaimed. Glorfindel merely frowned.

"No but neither are you an adult."

You could have heard a pin drop as the company stared.

"You behaved foolishly. You are prone to catching chills and yet you willingly dumped yourself in freezing water. It is not a weakness to need to be a little warmer; it is just something you need to account into your plans. If your shield partner is a little taller then you adjust for that. Same principal."

Thorin stared. That was probably the most the elf had spoken in one for the entire trip.

Apart from at Beorn's. The bear-man seemed to be rather racially prejudiced. He did not like dwarves but almost fawned over Glorfindel and Bilbo.

At least in Mirkwood Glorfindel seemed to be disliked nearly on par with the dwarves.

"How-" Balin's voice wavered slightly and he coughed to clear his throat. "How old are you lad?" He asked Bilbo once it seemed Glorfindel was done chastising him.

"Hmmm? Oh, about twenty-five." Bilbo forced out between chattering teeth.

Thorin sucked in a breath, that was- they had brought a babe into battle.

There was definitely a special place reserved for him in Mahal's dungeons.

"Ah, um I don't know how long it takes hobbits to age...perhaps if you convert it to the equivalent age of a man?" Balin asked.

Bilbo frowned in thought, teeth still chattering and lips still blue. That was mildly worrying.

"About 16 years. Although I think we might have missed my birthday so I could be 26..."

"No, it's in four days." Glorfindel interjected, checking Bilbo's forehead with the back of his hand.

"I hope we reach Lake Town soon." Glorfindel murmured.

"Why?" Kili asked curiously as he wrung out his jacket, checking his quiver and bow.

"Because Bilbo's ill." Glorfindel muttered darkly.

"I'm fine." Bilbo protested. Then promptly started hacking up a lung. Yeah...fine.

The coughing fit was eventually over and the hobbit fine but Glorfindel looked horrified.

"Um...Glorfindel, are you alright?" Kili asked for once not calling him the nickname he had coined.

The look of horror slowly (far too slowly) drifted from the elf's face. He didn't answer.

"No blood?" He questioned Bilbo, hands twitching by his sides.

Bilbo sneezed.

"D-do. I'm dot my modder."

Strangely enough Glorfindel's face seemed to both relax and tighten at that.

Thorin was still stuck on the fact they had brought a child along with them. Even Kili wasn't that young!

Oin had looked over their burglar and pronounced him fine apart from a nasty cold and a slightly congested chest. Nothing some rest and warmth wouldn't cure.

Unfortunately that could only be found after two days walking. A time which was utterly miserable for their burglar who spent all of it shivering.

Glorfindel spent the two day trek to Lake Town watching Bilbo and saying little. By the end he was supporting some of the hobbit's weight while Bilbo spent most of his time sneezing.

Every time he coughed Glorfindel regained the expression of a startled rabbit in the sights of a hunter.

When they reached Lake Town, a poor parody of what Dale had once been, Thorin was glad for the respite. And the actual beds to sleep in.

While most of the dwarves made merry, Glorfindel remained with Bilbo, never leaving his side as he slept in the man sized bed that was comically much too large for him.

Bilbo was fine once the fever passed and welcomed distractions from his bed rest when the dwarves visited in turn.

Glorfindel only relaxed once the cough left for good.

Xxx

Bilbo glanced over at the hoards of orcs advancing on them. He schooled his breathing so as not to start hyperventilating.

This was so much...more than he had been expecting. And not in a good way. It was bigger than a quest to reclaim a home. Bigger than he had envisioned.

And far, far worse.

He was standing near to Thranduil and his elves; dressed in the Mithril shirt Thorin had gifted him before he was overcome with gold-madness. Glorfindel was standing at his side, standing in a deceptively casual stance.

The gut wrenching terror of impending doom never made its way into the stories of old and Bilbo knew he wasn't the only one sick with fear. Even Glorfindel looked afraid.

He snuck a look to the mountain, where his friends, thirteen dwarves were sequestered. He hoped they would stay safe but he doubted it.

Even enthralled in gold lust his dwarves wouldn't miss a battle. Especially against orcs.

Bilbo shifted his bow and arrows slung over his shoulder. Glorfindel had found him a small sword, in the treasury in Erebor, and given it to him despite his inability to wield one. It looked small when Glorfindel held it but felt heavy when he tried to swing it.

He still had his knives, thankfully, but a few small throwing knives weren't going to last long in a battle...and unless aimed expertly they wouldn't even kill an orc.

"Thank you Glorfindel." Bilbo murmured notching his bow.

It went unsaid what Bilbo was thanking him for, everything.

"No, thank you, Bilbo Baggins." Glorfindel returned with a smile that reached his eyes. Bilbo drew back the string of his bow along with all the other archers standing around.

A hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

"This is not goodbye."

And that was the last thing Glorfindel said to him before the battle truly began.

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Yep...so crack.

Pretend it ended like canon. Also, everything not written about/skipped over (because I'm terribly lazy) can be assumed to have followed canon...or think what you want. I'm sure with Glorfindel around some things would have changed.

(Except the inprisonment at Mirkwood. Glorfindel isn't popular there, he might have once done something with the crown that got him permanent banishment from the forest. Perhaps. No one - outside of Glorfindel and Thranduil - knows the particulars.)