Most stories spoken of Middle-Earth, are ones of adventure or vengeance; of danger and battles. Although this tale is no exception of such patterns, it is far from what would be considered the norm. Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror; a hero, a legend. A name, when spoken, that sets fires a blaze in the souls of those whom hear it. This tale, as you may expect, follows this Dwarf King in his adventure to claim back his homeland, yet as you may not have heard, it does not follow the quest of 13 dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit as the legends claim, it follows the quest of 13 dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit and a woman, a woman from the race of Men.
Where this tale begins is desputed among the few that know of its ommitted details, for history, it seems, is endless. However, for the sake of time and your sense, I will begin where their quest began so many years ago. In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, oh no. This was a hobbit hole, and hobbits liked nothing more than comfort and warmth. This hole in particular, was one of the nicest in all of Hobbiton, arguably, with its freshly painted door and its well kept garden, and in this hole lived Baggins, Bilbo Baggins. Hobbits were known for their love of visitors and parties, and on the day we join Master Baggins, he was preparing for just that, a visitor. He knew little of his friend's past, where she had come from or where she was going. His knowledge extended no further than who she was, what she did and what she had done for him. Though, this of course, could not stop him from wondering of what he did not know.
With these thoughts prancing around the little hobbit's mind he swung open his round, wooden door and stepped into the fresh, welcoming air of the village and thanked he had the courage and confidence to do so, for there was a time where our hobbit had not been so brave, with reason. In anticipation of his guest's arrival Bilbo sat impatiently on the bench that perched before his gate, smoking his pipe and sending delicate rings into the air. I will not bore you with the episode that follows, I am sure you know of Gandalf's sudden and unexpected appearance, the tales tell this part quite accurately. I will however, reveal to you what the legends do not. Behind Gandalf, in the distance, over the rolling hills and the soft, plush grass, roared a stallion, of deep black fur, with its rider, Eryne Ailithia. Although the young hobbit tried to concentrate on the wizards words he found it hard not to gaze occassionally over his shoulder, watching as she grew closer.
"And it's very difficult to find anyone" Gandalf's eyes bore into him, curious at the lack of concentration. He paused, waiting for the silence to bring the hobbit to his senses. It did, but he was soon lost again.
"I should think so-" The hobbit murmered in reply before pausing again. He cleared his throat in the silence, casting his eyes away from the rider.
"in these parts" he finished.
With that Eryne disappeared into the dips of the hills and Bilbo's attention was redeemed by the wizard, though his thoughts often wondered. After a rather hasty farewell the hobbit retreated back into his hole, where he hurriedly tried to prepare for his visitor, who was but moments away. Like magic, Bilbo's kettle had just began to boil when from the hall he heard a knocking, which with a spring in his step and a lightness in his heart, he was pleasured to answer.
"Bilbo Baggins, at your service". He bowed, with the corners of his mouth curved ever so slighty.
"And I at yours dear friend", she replied, her eyes glinting, before stepping into the hallway.
Bilbo had always taken a great interest in her accent, her tone. He liked the way she rolled the words from her mouth with such elegance that it could make a soaring eagle seemed unrefined. That was another thing that puzzled our hobbit, her accent was not of a sound he knew. At this, dear reader, you may be unaffected, for the tales and legends that speak of Bilbo Baggins, would suggest he had little accents to know and many to be surprised by. Unfortunately, I dare say this is not true, though I will say no more for now.
He followed her into the hall, she, little taller than Bilbo himself, needn't duck her head, though she was careful of the candles that hung. Her attire too interested him, it was true that in middle-earth each race dressed differently from the next, Eryne was of the race of Men, but she did not dress like any he had seen, not that he had seen a travelling woman of her kind before. She wore a leather brown corset that covered the most of her white shirt that she wore beneath, draped over her shoulders was a long cape to match her corset. On her legs she wore thick, black leggings, topped with her usual hunting boots. It was Summer, and so the air was warm. In the Winter he noticed she, instead of the cape, wore a large coat of similar material but lined with fox fur on the inside.
Over the cape on her back sat her bow and arrows, which, he had learned many years ago, she crafted herself from simple things in the forest; wood and stone. He admired how she could create such hardy, powerful weapons that held the same beauty as that of an Elvish design. Her bow was not the only weapon she carried, around her waist hung a heavy belt. Hooked to it were an array of knives ranging from thin curved makes to stronger, thicker ones, and her blade. The hobbit knew nothing of swords or of fine craftsmanship, he only appreciated her bow for the beauty it held, but from the gossip and tales he'd heard of his dear friend, he knew that wherever the sword came from, whoever had made it, however she came by it, it was one of the finest in middle-earth.
He took her cape from her and hung it on one of the many coat-hooks he had, their emptiness saddened him deeply, he missed the times when he was surrounded by air full with noise and when coat-hooks strained from the weight. His reminiscing was interrupted as he remembered the kettle had recently boiled and was ready for pouring. He did so, and sought out his friend in the lounge before the fire, where he found her, with more than the flames of the fire in her eyes.
