Mrs.Oakensheild

"What is the purpose of meeting this friend of yours, Gandalf?" Thorin had asked sternly, lines of disproval upon his face were almost heard as he talked. The company was full enough, he did not have the time nor resources to keep another mouth fed, let alone his own with Bombur around.

He cast his gaze behind them to the hobbit, who was still holding the reins of his pony at arms length, jumping at every slight movement. The king held back a grumble as he turned to face the wizard and lowered his tone, just enough that so his words would not travel far, “I have more than enough of your companions here with just a single Hobbit.”

The wizard inclined his head towards the king, though not turning as he spoke, “I believe she will be a very valuable asset to your company,” he sniffed, yet his voice was a touch louder, “Whether you like it or not, you asked for my help,” He turned to the king now, squinting in a challenging manner, “did you not?”

The dwarves began eagerly chattering upon hearing the word 'she', with Fíli and Kíli letting out long whistles as Bofur rubbed his mittens together, wiggling his brows playfully at the two.

Thorin exhaled harshly, before his scowl lessened, repeating the wizards words within his head.

"She?" He questioned, his lilt becoming softer and more curious, yet an edge was still about it, "I did not know you had female companions, how came you by her?"

The corner of Gandalf’s mouth upturned into a smirk as he turned away to continue looking down the well trodden path, "She is an old friend mine," he let out a low chuckle, “Very skilled in the art of keeping unseen…” a smile graced his aged face, his gaze wistful and reminiscent as he stared ahead, "No, no there are many things you do not know about me, Master Thorin, it would be wise to not ask, lest it is long tales you are after.”

The dwarfs upper lip twitched, along with a small shake of his head. The last thing he needed was a distraction for the others, no matter how useful she may be, one of the unfortunate reasons no female dwarf had joined them prior.

As soon as the adventure had started, the others all assumed it would only be they that were to join in their adventure. Upon arriving in Hobbiton, they were to head east and continue so, yet Gandalf began to lead them south-east into Green Hill Country and towards the Stock Brook. Bilbo had not been that far before, and was eager to see what awaited them there.

It was only a short detour he told them, and it was only after multiple enquiries that Gandalf revealed his plans, and Thorin’s face soured. Balin had only curated one contract, and he was trying his best to quickly scribe out another, tutting when his pony did not trot as steady as he’d like.

For the rest of the company, the possibility of another, a female in their band, was enough to steer great chatter amongst them. The fluffed ponies trotted after Gandalf's horse along the fading forest path, the branches curled above them to almost create a tunnel, listening to the rabble of the males upon their backs, asking millions of questions. Who, what and where were all listed, yet he did not answer, just a knowing smile upon his face. Even Bilbo, still being new to the company, was very interested in the idea of another, even a lady, and tried his hand at his own questions.

Whilst the dwarves conversed with him, Bofur especially, he realised quickly that they thought him delicate, that they were not used to talking to gentle folk as he. He was still adjusting of course. He kept himself quiet firstly, he was listening, learning their dynamics, for he too was not used to conversing to such rough folk. Gandalf’s steady voice reassured him at every step, yet he could feel Thorin’s cold gaze upon him, doubting him almost. Though, he had the idea that a female would talk more to him, and a friend of Gandalf no less, the notion stirred excitement within him.

Was she human? Though she was good at being unseen Gandalf had said, she could be a Hobbit too? They were still within the borders of the Shire afterall, or potentially an elf? He knew they were light on their feet, and Bilbo knew Gandalf had an array of friends amongst the elves. Though mayhap she was a wizard just like him, he was not sure what that would entail. The array of questions filled his little head dizzyingly, but he supposed it did not matter what she was, he was more than happy to greet her with open arms. He wanted to make her feel more welcomed and equal than he, at least.

Meanwhile, Thorin sat silent atop his pony. His face was pensive as his fingers drummed against his thigh, thick brows pulled taut together to form a firm line. Even if she was a so called “valuable asset”, the quest was far too important to cart around stray females that that Gandalf had befriended. He had no doubts about the hindrances she would indeed cause, his eyes flickering back towards his nephews whom still chatted excitedly to each other, Nori and Bofur joining.

He had more than enough fighters in his company, he had no use for a rogue, he had just acquired his burglar! Even still, amongst the discontent that had set within, something else inside him swilled cautiously, and a smile threatened to tug at the corner of his lips that he ever tried to quell.

Their voices died down to silent whispers as the sound of fast running water filled their ears. Ahead, the forest slowly began opening up into a grand glade. Sunlight streaked through the boughs in both brilliant and shadowy beams, reflecting off of the clear running water below. It glittered like precious gemstones and sounded like a sweet melody. In the distance, a large, auburn horse drank from the open water the downhill brook ran into. It flicked its dark tail as it inclined its head towards them. Worn leather tack and a saddle adorned its body, fitted with several aged satchels and small golden finishings that caught the light ever so as the animal moved.

Thorin’s gaze lingered upon proud beast, full of wonder, before his eyes wandered to study the glade itself. The air smelt fresh and warm like a summers morning - yet evening it was beginning to be - and a peaceful feeling washed over him, his shoulders dropping with each breath as he settled back into his saddle.

It was a vast open space, vibrant and green with an array of bright flowers that bloomed here and there, and a lone ring of tall, white mushrooms grew under the shade of a weeping willow tree beside the water’s edge. In his knowledge, things could not stay beautiful and serene for long, yet the notion that they were still within the borders of The Shire caused the thought to dwindle into nothingness.

“This place…is nothing like I have felt before…” muttered Dwalin, who had urged his pony on to meet up with the king. His eyes too held a toughness that scoured his surroundings. Thorin held his hand out to him, waving his palm as if to put his friend at ease.

“We are close to the Old Forest, right Gandalf?” Bilbo called out, to which the wizard nodded back.

“We are indeed, the forests used to be conjoined in days gone by and whilst the Old Forest is dangerous, this one is…” He tilted his head as he chose his words carefully, “a lot more gentle, shall we say? Though still very, very old.”

An array of strange coloured lights oft drifted about, if eyes were keen enough to catch them. They were minuet, with long tails following them as they swirled and danced in the lowering sunlight. Some watched the dwarves from behind the broad leaves above, peering over with wide obsidian eyes full of wonderment. Ori gasped quietly at the sight, reaching over to tug upon Dori’s sleeve, pointing desperately at them, his eyes wide and gleeful.

"What are they?" Kíli whispered, holding his palm out as one came close to him, before dipping away as fast as it came.

"These are faeries," smiled Gandalf, who held out his own hand. Some came to land upon it briefly before whisking themselves away and back up into the branches above, "They are harmless, do not worry, rare in these parts and full of wisdom and magic.”

The dwarves flinched visibly at the word, furrowed brows eyed them with caution, yet curiosity played about their eyes. The faeries still flew close by, some dipping low enough that they would grace their beards, one was so bold to brush against Gloin’s nose. Bilbo looked on in awe, jaw dropped low, chuckling to himself softly. He had heard stories about them from others within Hobbiton, but he never thought he would get to see them with his own eyes. The soft, violet ones held his upmost attention, and one landed upon the fluffed head of Myrtle, close enough to eye him with an intense inquisitiveness before disappearing once again.

The beauty of the place had distracted them, so much so that they had not realised their ponies had slowed to stops, and had neglected to hear Gandalf’s greeting as he dismounted his horse. The baying of the auburn horse brought them back, and their eyes followed the now departing wizard. Their mouth’s dropped agape and their eyes doe-like at the sight.

A maiden was sat upon a fallen log beneath a broad tree, a knee drawn up to her chest, leafing through a small, navy bound book. A dark, heavy cape was draped across her shoulders, pinned at her collar bones with a small, golden leaf. Her youthful face lit up like the rising sun at the sight of the old wizard, snapping the book closed and sliding off of the log gracefully to greet him.

Thorin’s gaze never left her, he was enthralled by her captivating beauty, for never had he seen a mortal with a likeness such as hers. The others were also in awe, even dear Bilbo. Her eyes looked upon Gandalf with such adoration, they glinted in the sunlight akin to the gems that his grandfather, Thrór, had kept in his masses of riches. They always stood out to him from within when the firelight flickered upon them just right, ever shifting in the light. By her gentle mannerisms she seemed delicate, even through her visible strength, yet to him she was almost akin to porcelain, like she could break if he would lay but a finger upon her, and Mahal, he wished he could.

The maiden made to embrace Gandalf, welcoming him with open arms as her hair fluttered about her like the strong ore veins that ran down the depths of the mountain, hewn from the rock, striking and vibrant. Yet in the movement, his strong gaze noticed a piked ear within, littered with small gold hoops, ends, and facetted gemstones. It was but a fleeting glance, disappearing within the wave of her hair as swift as it came, however he was sure in what he saw.

A rock dropped within his abdomen, and the openness of his glaze retreated back within, his stern glare returning, clenching his jaw tightly as he turned to look away. Heat rushed to his face as he tightened his grip upon the tack of his pony. He had caught himself almost falling for en elf, the enemy no less. No human could be as fair, how could he have fallen for such a reverie? He adjusted himself upon the saddle, a grumble finding its way from his throat. Withdrawn eyes tried finding his companions, whom had all dismounted their ponies. They still looked enraptured and by all accounts had not noticed, as their mounts trotted past them and towards the whickering horse, already joined by Gandalf’s own.

“It seems travelling has faired you well,” She spoke, her voice silvery as she raised an eyebrow up at the wizard, a coy smile playing about her lips, “What is it that you have in mind this time?”

Gandalf looked at his staff bashfully, a chuckle left his throat, “Well,” before gesturing to the Dwarves behind him.

They were all stood several places back, looking on, with some stood upon the tips of their toes. Each clad in their own coloured raiment, and each as unique looking as the next from their hair to their beards, littered with beads and clasps, even with upturned ends. She had come across her fair share of Naugrim, and always appreciated their expressions of self. She met each and every gawk and stare with a broad smile, until she met an iced gaze of brilliant blue. Hers turned wide with wonder and recognition, and heat threatened the tips of her ears at his gaze. Thorin’s mouth was drawn to a tight line and his hand flexed upon the hilt of his sword, albeit it made her smile all the same.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” She called, his name flowed from her tongue like honey, laced and sweet, “Son of Thráin, Son of Thror”

The cadence in which his voice was spoken called him forth, and as if by instinct alone he made to walk towards her, looking up at her through dark lashes, eye contact never breaking. The company parted for him as Dwalin, Balin and Bilbo made to follow close behind.

He inclined his head towards her as he stopped a distance away and studied her face. Freckles littered her nose. In younger days gone by, his sister oft told Fili and Kili that it was because faeries danced upon their faces during the twilight. He thought that unlikely, yet, as he observed the lithe lights surrounding them, he was inclined to believe it, but wind came through and swept such notions away. Her hands were clasped behind her back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She was clad in sable leathers littered with gold finished belts and an ivory linen shirt beneath with billowing sleeves that wavered even from behind her.

“I do not believe we have met,” He replied coolly, his eyes narrowing as they flickered back to meet her own, he straightened ever so and moved to fold his arms across his chest.

She smiled broader now, but she noted the hint of reluctance his tone held, the cautious eye in which he studied her with, and so she tilted her head, “No, I do not believe we have, though an honour it is to make your acquaintance,”

She bowed lowly to him, though Thorin merely smiled politely, it was swift and left as soon as it came. “How came you by Gandalf?”

It was her turn to narrow her eyes at his testing question as she rose, it caught her off guard, “Well, one does not find Gandalf, he finds you,”

He exhaled a short laugh through his nose at that. He supposed she was not wrong, though the response felt vague enough to irk him. When he made to open his mouth again, Gandalf cut him off, introducing her name.

“And she is to be the fifteenth member of your Company,” said he, causing an uproar of hushed but excited mutterings to rise from the dwarves. She turned back to her, and motioned to the two behind Thorin, “These here are Balin, and Dwalin”

Balin grinned, whilst Dwalin merely eyed her, a light upturn of his mouth was all that was offered, yet both angled their heads to bows, uttering their own greetings. One looked a lot more intimidating than the other, kind, gentle eyes in comparison to a firm look akin to Thorin, but it was no doubt that they were brothers.

“And there are Fíli and Kíli, Thorin’s nephews,” The two stepped forward, bowing and winking, sly grins plastered upon their young faces, “And behind, are Óin, Glóin, Bifir, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori and Ori”

Each in turn bowed too, calling out their own greetings, it seemed they kept in pairs, or at least small groups. The elf let her eyes meet each one. Her memory was great, yet she felt she would struggle just a little to remember each dwarf, she’d have to recall raiment over faces, she thought.

“Quite a company,” She noted out loud with a giggle, “A pleasure to meet you all,” She said.

Bilbo cleared his throat, stepping out from beside Balin and rocking back upon his heels as he swung his hands behind his back and clasped them tightly together.

“I am a part of this company too!” he started, and cleared his throat once again, bending at the waist, “I am Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire, a pleasure it is to meet you,”

The elf smiled, it reached her eyes this time as she took in his appearance, “Well met, little one, I should have expected Gandalf to have asked a Halfling to share in his journey,” Bilbo flushed at the name, nerves had taken the better of him, “Though you do not look like a warrior, as well put together as you are.”

He laughed nervously, “Ah, no! I’m-“

“He’s our burglar!” called Óin, his ear trumpet tight in his grasp, as the others went to shush him.

The elleth looked to the wizard, her eyebrow raised, her smile had never left her face, “Your halfling is a burglar?”

Gandalf did not reply, he tried, yet words failed to find him, merely shrugging with a coy tug of his lips.

The sun lingered just above horizon, bathing the woodland in a sweet golden hue. The mayflies gathered in masses within the last remains of the warmth before twilight set in, rabbits slowly began to venture out of the long grasses and blackbirds sung high up in the trees. The horses and ponies had began to settle too, settled enough that the company thought otherwise in regards to securing them. With that, Thorin had decided that camp was to be set here for the night. He had sent Fíli and Kíli out to scout the surrounding land, ignoring the reassurance of the elf that she had done this prior, harsh eyes never looked at her as he barked his orders, yet she noticed this feigned indifference forged as fire. When they had returned confirming such, his eyes flicked to hers briefly, ignoring the smug look upon her face.

Nori had been sent out to catch supper, untangling thin wires and traps from within his satchels and disappearing within the brush. Glóin had already taken it upon himself to start the fire, from logs he had found at the edge of the glade, as the rest began to unpack. Bedrolls were strewn about the thin grass, with boots, arms and armour laid this way and that. Fíli and Kíli had decided to softly play their fiddles, filling the sun down air with a little more vigour. Their tunes playful and oft sultry as they looked upon the elf, whose laughs swam about the camp as she attempted to hum along. Ori lent upon the back of Dori, matching their tune with his flute, the latter whom still tried to fuss the way in which his younger brother had tossed his things about. Bífur was sat opposite Glóin, a small knife in his hand cutting through a wooden block like it was mere butter, aiming the shavings straight into the fire, much to Glóin’s dismay.

In the background, the sound of stone against metal softly mixed with the tranquil atmosphere. Thorin sat against the fallen log, his eyes hawk-like as he watched his company. A blade was within his grasp, slow and deliberate strokes of the whetstone dragged along edge. Dwalin had eyed his companion for a while, watching sharp movements become firmly placed when’re the elves voice became a touch louder.

“Something troubles you,” Was all he spoke as he made his way over to his friend, lowering himself down beside him, his own head coming to rest against the thick bark of the log.

Thorin made no move to reply, yet he merely flickered his eyes upwards towards the elleth and inclined his head in her direction. This was all the other dwarf needed as he nodded back and steeled himself. He himself found the elf - her identity he still knew not - somewhat promising, yet he trusted in Thorin’s judgements, even though his brows were knitted together in confusion.

“Tell me then, what is this venture of yours? Gandalf has told me little,” she asked from beside the fire, placing a small, red berry into her mouth from a branch she held within her deft fingers. Her tone was gentle, directed towards Balin, yet her gaze flickered to the old wizard. He stood with his back to them, overlooking the mounts it would seem, smoke from his pipe became a wisp as it twirled slowly upwards. It was true, Gandalf had told her little of their venture, but his venture she knew well enough about.

Sauron was to return, and she had felt it, even before the Istar had suggested the notion. Orc packs had become more brazen as of late, foul had the darkest corners of the land become, and the earth groaned, even Orodruin began to stir from its slumber, that familiar song crawling into her bones and burning them to the core. The elleth and Glorfindel had ever and anon scouted in secret the lands far and wide, collecting even the smallest hints of his return, slaying those most foul that they came across. Reports from the woodland realm had become more than troublesome too, and Lady Galadriel had wanted to know of each venture, for she too felt an ill shift in the land. The dragon Smaug had ne'er been sighted for well over 60 decades, and whilst it was true he had no allegiance to Sauron, nor to Morgoth, fates did not want to be tempted, ere it was too late. When Gandalf told her of a quest he was going on, she all but bit his hand at the chance, though he neglected to tell her of its nature.

Balin gently plucked at the strings of his viol, listening to its tune as he adjusted its pegs, “Our venture,” He started, plucking a few more times before setting his instrument upon his lap, “Is to take back our homeland. It was lost decades ago, though in our hearts it feels sooner…”

Her expression turned forelorn, she knew herself what loosing one’s home could be like, and she knew of only one Dwarven homeland worth reclaiming, only one with a dragon, “Erebor?”

He nodded solemnly, “Aye,” he turned to Thorin, who’s eyes were fixed upon the smooth movements of his whetstone, yet ears were poised to listen, “Smaug came, terrible and tyrannical, we were no use against such a violent force of nature, not even the elves - should they have chosen to help - could have stayed such a beast.”

Thorin’s eyes now flickered up to the elleth’s in a grave glare, yet he found hers were already upon him. Her brows were drawn together, and her teeth latched to the inside of her cheek. It was at that moment she realised the reason for his distance, and turned her contemplative look away, she would not test his ire, not here.

“Now,” his voice lightened slightly, “It is time to overthrow the beast, to take back what is ours.”

“I am sorry, though it is a noble quest, I am pleased to have the honour in joining you for it,” she said, bowing her head, yet a question popped into her mind, “but, why is it you require a burglar?”

The burglar in question had sat absorbing all that had been told with such concentration. His head was set in the palm of his hand, his legs crossed atop his fur bedroll. He had been so attentive that he had not realised he had been mentioned. Eyes flickered to the elf upon the sound of a question, he jumped at the sight of many eyes that were upon him.

He hmmed, looking about for an answer as his eyes widened in a question of his own. The elleth giggled at him. “I asked why the quest requires a burglar.”

“Oh!” he sat up a little straighter, “i’m to search for the Arkenstone,” He grimaced a little, “That’s wi-within Smaugs Hoard.” His voice almost squeaked. He was still working on his courage, the thought of possibly being burnt alive by a dragon was not something one easily came to terms with.

Her eyes widened and her features dropped.

“The Heart of the Mountain,” called Bofur, a long carved pipe within his grasp, “It’s the prized jewel of Durin’s Folk, currently underneath the belly of a giant fire-breather.” Bilbo grimaced again, did he have to say it outloud?

The elf grumbled within her throat at the obvious as she looked up to Gandalf, whose attention still lied upon the resting ponies,

“You chose a hobbit to go against a fire-drake?”

He turned now, the light of the fire lit up his aged face as he raised his brows, smoke rolling from pursed lips, “Smaug is not aware of Hobbits. Bilbo is quick, small. He will be safe, he is in good hands,”

She turned up her nose that that, displeased, “You would risk his life for a jewel?” She understood the notion, for more blood has been shed over jewels than she could recall, yet a small soul as he should not be put in such danger.

Thorin scoffed behind them, yet made no move to elaborate.

“Something on your mind?” The elf challenged, looking to him with a slightly knitted brow.

He kept his gaze down, dragging the whetstone slowly down his blade once more, “The dwarf lords answer will to it, the Arkenstone grants us the ability to call forth the seven dwarven armies, to aid in our quest,” his voice was deep and the words spoke with cutting purpose, yet he held her eye as he looked up towards her, “We have no need for help from outsiders,”

Gandalf frowned, his lip twitching, the rest stayed silent, looking between each other as the tension between the two festered. The elf stayed silent, before breaking from his piercing gaze.

“So it would seem,” she muttered, leaning closer into the fire as she picked a up a spare shaving Bífur had missed and flicked it back into the flames, watching its edges blacken and catch alight. She chewed the inside of her cheek, before putting another berry into her mouth. She did not realise his hatred ran so deep, so deep to refuse the notion of help, but she was surprised he had yet to say anything to the others, whom seemed to not treat her any differently.

The dwarves returned to silent chatter, and the sound of the whetstone once more filled the air.

Soon, Nori had returned from the brush, a bundle of game within his grasp and the dwarves had cheered, the young ones playing elaborate congratulatory tunes upon their instruments as he bowed lowly. It was sadly not enough to fill such a gathering of large mouths but it was something they learnt to make do with. The elleth smiled at their display, she clapped too, the familial warmth filling her as looked back within the brush, waiting.

The sun had set and the moon had risen, sending streaks of pure light through the canopy. White gold stars dotted above here and there, lighting up the blackened shroud above. As the night aged, a streak of teal and amethyst painted itself across the sky. A transparent ethereal ribbon dancing in a mesmerising display of colour, lighting up the firmament like wondrous caustics. The dwarves had rarely seen its like, more so within their wanderings, but each time it caught their hearts within their throats as they watched its skyward meandering.

The fire hissed and cracked, embers puffed upwards, twirling in the still air, as if trying to compete with the stars above. Its heat warmed those around, their voices hushed as they talked amongst themselves. The elleth sat beside the beside the brook, dipping her hands into the cool waters and lifting it up to her mouth.

Abruptly, a soft rustling emitted from the brush, followed by a low growl that resonated throughout the glade. The ponies snorted amongst each other, rising from their laid positions and pushing themselves into each other. The elleth’s horse and Gandalf’s, however, did not waver and still laid together beside the waters edge.

Gandalf himself never moved either, he merely puffed upon his Old Toby, casually looking to and fro from over the fire. The dwarves, however, had froze. Looking between each other as they slowly found their feet, steady hands reaching for their weapons. The elleth rose from her spot beside the brook, flicking water from slender fingers as she walked closer to the camp. The dwarves had created a semi circle around the fire, Thorin at the forefront, with Bilbo behind them all, though he felt himself too close to the fire.

From betwixt the low hanging willow branches, loomed a great wolf. Amber eyeshine watched from between the slender leaves, they mirrored the fire they had sat beside, bright and hot, as they flickered between each face. It slowly came out of the brush with steady steps, it was the size of Thorin’s pony, and in its maw it dragged a great hart. It’s fur was course and as dark as coal, yet iridescent in the moonlight. The dwarves did not move, their grips tightening in their hilts, and Kíli’s arrow was aimed perfectly. No body moved.

“Be at ease,” said the elf, as she approached the beast, “They are friends.”

It growled lowly again within its throat, hard eyes flickered up towards her, before dropping its prize with a sick thud. The dwarves flinched at the sudden movement and looked to her in bewilderment, their postures ever stiff, their fingers flexing against weapons.

She held out her palm and the animal nudged it with a low chuff and a whine, its tail giving a light wag. “This is Lorne,” She announced, “He will not harm you, do not worry.”

The company looked to her, softly muttering to each other, “This…beast,” started Thorin, his voice was low, cautious, trained eyes never left its charge as he spat out the word, “Belongs to you?” Lorne looked to him now, they were near at the same eye line, and the dwarf felt ill at ease with their intensity, along with his sheer size.

The elf smiled, twirling her finger in the fur behind the animals ear, “As much as I belong to him, yes, he is mine,”

Bilbo was as stiff as a board as he peered out from between the gaps of the dwarves, their guard never dropping, yet his eyes were filled with wonder. Never before had he seen such a magnificent beast, but his face paled as it padded towards the fire, towards him.

The dwarves made way for him, scattering like flies upon a disturbed corpse, the grips upon their weapons loosened ever so, yet their eyes never left him. Dwalin grumbled, and Gandalf coughed out a laugh, smoke pouring out of his nose. Lorne laid down, yawning, his thick fangs slick and glittering in the firelight.

“He is Wolf-Warg,” Gandalf started, he reached over to the beast and ran a hand though his fur upon his neck, “He is an ancient breed from what the Wargs of Gundabad decend from, they are incredibly intelligent,” He tapped the beast lightly upon the nose, where he grumbled and playfully snapped his jaws, “Do not underestimate him.”

The dwarves shifted uncomfortably, staying safe distances away, yet made to sheath their weapons slowly. As Lorne settled, his eyes fell upon Thorin once more, the only one who had not moved too far away, and dipped his head towards him.

The dwarf held his composure, though his breath was caught within his throat. He saw the others look to him from the corners of his eyes, and so he nodded back. The elf smirked and clasped her hands behind her back. The silence in the air that followed was thick enough to cut, before Bofur disrupted it.

“So, is that supper?”

Prologue: The Story Begins

Bilbo was looking at old relics from his adventures from sixty years ago in his home of Bag Ends, he smiled when he found something in a chest and pulled it up. It was a raggedly stuffed dragon, one that had seen better days, now it had tears that showed the stuffing and the twine was frayed. He placed the dragon down fondly, he remembered the little girl who it once belonged to, and continued going through his chest, looking for his journal.

My dear Frodo, you asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it. I am old now, Frodo. I’m not the same hobbit I once was. I think it is time for you to know what really happened.

After finding his journal, Bilbo sits down at his desk and begins writing about his adventures. He was excited and had been planning to do this for years but hadn’t been able to figure out how to start it.

It began long ago in a land far away to the East. The likes of which you will not find in the world today. There was the city of Dale. Its markets are known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale, peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth, Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, king under the mountain. The mightiest of the dwarf lords. Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson.

Bilbo looked up, pausing in his writing and then he seemed to know what else to put down for he started to write again.

Ah, Frodo. Erebor. Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was legendary. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewn from rock, and in great seams of gold running like rivers through stone. The skill of the dwarves was unequaled. Fashioning objects of great beauty, out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper down into the dark, and that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain, the Arkenstone. Thror named it the king’s jewel. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him. Even the great Elven king, Thranduil. As the great wealth of the Dwarves grew their store of good will ran thin. No one knows exactly what began the rift. The Elves say the Dwarves stole their treasure. The Dwarves tell another tale. They say the Elf King refused to give them their rightful pay. It is sad, Frodo, how old alliances can be broken. How friendships between peoples can be lost.

"And for what?" Bilbo went back to think for a moment but jerked as he snapped out of it and continued writing.

But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in.

Thror’s love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives bad things will follow. 

The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane, coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot dry wind. He was a Firedrake from the North. 

Smaug had come!

Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire.

Erebor was lost. For a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives.

Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the Elves that day. Nor any day since.....

Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. The once mighty people brought low. The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men. But always, he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, where he had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave, and he never forgot.

That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in. For quite by chance, and the will of a wizard, fate decided I would become part of this tale. It began…well, it began as you might expect. In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty wet hole full of worms and oozy smells. This was a hobbit hole. And that means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home....

As Bilbo is writing his adventures down, his nephew, Frodo, enters the room bringing him his mail.

"Thank you." Bilbo said, smiling up at his nephew. 

Frodo noticed the picture of Bilbo drawn when he was young and picked it up. "What’s this?"

"That is private. Keep your sticky paws off!" Bilbo snapped as he took the picture from his nosy nephew.

Frodo then tried to lean in to read from the book but Bilbo closed it. Gracious, Frodo reminded Bilbo of another youngster that used to roam around, tracking mud and fireflies! Someone that had taught Frodo her bad habits whenever she came for a visit after she married, she had brought along her daughter during some of those visits...

"It’s not ready yet."

"Not ready for what?"

"Reading."

Bilbo then picked up the mail and flicked through his mail.

"What on earth are these?"

"Replies to the party invitations."

"Ah! Good gracious! Is it today?"

"They all say they’re coming, except for the Sackville-Bagginses, who are demanding you ask them in person."

"Are they, indeed? Over my dead body."

Frodo smiled and looked at his retreating uncle's back. "They’d probably find that quite agreeable. They seem to think you have tunnels overflowing with gold."

"It was one small chest, hardly overflowing. And it still smells of troll." Bilbo said as he started hiding his silverware and expensive household items.

Frodo frowned at what his uncle was doing and asked. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Taking precautions. You know I caught her making off with the silverware once." Bilbo said as he walked away.

"Who?"

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She had all my spoons stuffed in her pockets. Dreadful woman. Make sure you keep an eye on her after I’m… When I’m…when…"

"When you’re…what?" Frodo looked at his uncle suspiciously.

"It’s nothing. Nothing." Bilbo goes off to write something on a large piece of paper.

"You know, some people are beginning to wonder about you, Uncle." Frodo said as he followed his uncle.

"Hmm?" Bilbo said without looking up from his writing.

"They think you’re becoming odd."

Bilbo laughed at that and said, "Odd?"

"Well, unsociable."

"Unsociable, me? Nonsense. Be a good lad and put that on the gate." Still chuckling, Bilbo handed Frodo the sign he’s just written, no admittance, except on party business, which Frodo nailed onto the gate as Bilbo stepped out of Bag End but the younger Hobbit looked at it with a frown.

"Do you think he’ll come?" Frodo asked when his uncle stepped out of Bag End.

"Who?" Bilbo looked over at Frodo.

"Gandalf."

"Oh, he wouldn’t miss a chance to let off his whiz poppers. He’ll give us quite a show, you’ll see."

"Right then. I am off." Frodo said as he walked out of the gate.

"Off to where?"

"East farthing woods. I’m going to surprise him." Frodo said as he stopped and looked at his uncle.

"Well, go on then. You don’t want to be late."

Frodo ran off, waving goodbye to his uncle as he did so...Bilbo had a memory pop into his head at the scene, a memory of a six year old girl with black hair and gold eyes, waving good-bye as she ran off to play in the forest before she disappeared and he never saw her again, not until years later with a meddlesome wizard and some dwarves as a fully grown woman with two elven twins at her sides.

His little girl, not by blood but of the heart.

Bilbo settled outside on his bench to smoke, reminiscing about his adventures and the girl that had turned into a woman, who had found her soulmate during this hard time despite the fact that she was a shunned Hóndur elf.