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“…well, for dwarves, I suppose they’re alright.”

Thorin gave an amused snort, pretending not to be eavesdropping on the conversation of the two elves that sat next to him. Lord Elrond had decided that, at least one of their meals at Rivendell, should be a feast. The Dwarf King would really have preferred to be given a room and some food and to be left alone, but he supposed it was very….hosty of the elf to throw them a feast. That didn’t mean he liked being surrounded by the enemy, though.

“True.” The other elf commented. “But what of their companion? The hobbit?”

Thorin paused, paying more heed to what the two elves were saying.

“He certainly seems like a silly little fellow.” The first elf replied.

“And untrained.” The other added. “Not at all suitable for travel, let alone adventures.”

“Not to mention cowardly.”

Thorin had had enough. “And I suppose,” he spoke up, just loud enough for the two elves, but no one else to hear him, “that you would volunteer yourself in his place? To sneak into a dragon’s den?”

The elves faces flushed. “We apologize, Master Dwarf, we did not realize you… we beg your pardon.”

Thorin ignored this. “No takers, then?” The elves faces blanched and they didn’t rely. “I thought so.” The two apologized again, quickly finished their food, and then disappeared. Thorin, however, kept his place. Bilbo might be a ridiculously incompetent burglar, the dwarf mused, but he was Thorin’s burglar, and Thorin wasn’t about to let some upstart elves insult him; that was Thorin’s job.