The Hobbit

Bombur would sleep (he could sleep at any time, and ever since the adventure in the forest he was always
     trying to recapture the beautiful dreams he had then); and all the others were busy with Thorin. It was unlikely that any,
     even Fili or Kili, would come out on the wall until it was their turn.
    It was very dark, and the road after a while, when he left the newly made path and climbed down towards the lower course of
     the stream, was strange to him. At last he came to the bend where he had to cross the water, if he was to make for the camp,
     as he wished. The bed of the stream was there shallow but already broad, and fording it in the dark was not easy for the little
     hobbit. He was nearly across when he missed his footing on a round stone and fell into the cold water with a splash. He had
     barely scrambled out on the far bank, shivering and spluttering, when up came elves in the gloom with bright lanterns and
     searched for the cause of the noise.
    “That was no fish!” one said. “There is a spy about. Hide your lights! They will help him more than us, if it is that queer little creature that is said to be their servant.”
    “Servant, indeed!” snorted Bilbo; and in the middle of his snort he sneezed loudly, and the elves immediately gathered towards
     the sound.
    “Let’s have a light!” he said. “I am here, if you want me!” and he slipped off his ring, and popped from behind a rock.
    They seized him quickly, in spite of their surprise. “Who are you? Are you the dwarves’ hobbit? What are you doing? How did
     you get so far past our sentinels?” they asked one after another.
    “I am Mr. Bilbo Baggins,” he answered, “companion of Thorin, if you want to know. I know your king well by sight, though perhaps
     he doesn’t know me to look at. But Bard will remember me, and it is Bard I particularly want to see.”
    “Indeed!” said they, “and what may be your business?”
    “Whatever it is, it’s my own, my good elves. But if you wish ever to get back to your own woods from this cold cheerless place,”
     he answered shivering, “you will take me along quick to a fire, where I can dry—and then you will let me speak to your chiefs
     as quick as may be. I have only an hour or two to spare.”
    That is how it came about that some two hours after his escape from the Gate, Bilbo was sitting beside a warm fire in front
     of a large tent, and there sat too, gazing curiously at him, both the Elvenking and Bard. A hobbit in elvish armour, partly
     wrapped in an old blanket, was something new to them.
    “Really you know,” Bilbo was saying in his best business manner, “things are impossible. Personally I am tired of the whole
     affair. I wish I was back in the West in my own home, where folk are more reasonable. But I have an interest in this matter—one
     fourteenth share, to be precise, according to a letter, which fortunately I believe I have kept.” He drew from a pocket in
     his old jacket (which he still wore over his mail), crumpled and much folded, Thorin’s letter that had been put under the
     clock on his mantelpiece in May!
    “A share in the
profits
, mind you,” he went on. “I am aware of that. Personally I am only too ready to consider all your claims carefully, and deduct
     what is right from the total before putting in my own claim. However you don’t know Thorin Oakenshield as well as I do now.
     I assure you, he is quite ready to sit on a heap of gold and starve, as long as you sit here.”
    “Well, let him!” said Bard. “Such a fool deserves to starve.”
    “Quite so,” said Bilbo. “I see your point of view. At the same time winter is coming on fast. Before long you will be having
     snow and what not, and supplies will be difficult—even for elves I imagine. Also there will be other difficulties. You have
     not heard of Dain and the dwarves of the Iron Hills?”
    “We have, a long time ago; but what has he got to do with us?” asked the king.
    “I thought as much. I see I have some information you have not got. Dain, I may tell you, is now less than two days’ march
     off, and has at least five hundred grim dwarves with him—a good many of them have had experience in the dreadful dwarf and
     goblin wars, of which you have no doubt heard. When they arrive there may be serious trouble.”
    “Why do you tell us this? Are you betraying your friends, or are you threatening us?” asked Bard grimly.
    “My dear Bard!” squeaked Bilbo. “Don’t be