"Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins,
The greatest little hobbit of 'em all,
Oh, he plunders all the castles
and he pillages the villages,
When he strides on by,
the Orc-maids can't but cry,
for Bilbo Baggins is a dashing-"
"Ah, I think that's quite enough, thank you," Bilbo interrupted hurriedly, face set in its seemingly perpetual grimace of wholly uncomprehending, devoutely uncomfortable bafflement; chin protectively angled inwards, mouth drawn into a tight line, eyes squinting in a disapproving manner.
Fili's merry eyes were lit with the familiar, roguish fire as he jauntily turned to his tan-skinned brother, mustachioed lips quirking into a smug expression. "And I thought we were doing so well!"
The younger of the two nodded in apparent bewilderment, dark, orbicular eyes widened with thespian innocence as he agreed in wounded offense, "Me too. And we were just getting to the best part - Master Baggins, you should be honored we're singing about you." His face twitched into an undeniably, and seemingly uncontrollable, rakish smile.
"Very honored," the stockier blonde added, gruff voice sage. "We don't sing about just anyone, you know."
Eyebrows raised skeptically, Bilbo spooned a sip of stew into his mouth before replying in his dubious, dry manner: "Yes, well, I don't think honored is quite the word I'm thinking of."
Thorin's cerulean eyes, hardened as granite, observed the trio with ruthless detail, flat in analytic observation. He was leaning in taciturn solitude beneath the shade of an oak, veiled by darkness and separated from the light-hearted follies of his nephews. The kingly dwarf saw little need for their incessant gaiety, yet had not the heart to interrupt what halcyon days of joyful youth remained in their lives. They were his only remaining blood-kin, and, as so, he possessed of a connection to them nearly bordering on paternal.
His heavy brows lowered as the hobbit's weary features broke into a begrudging smile while Fili and Kili roared with laughter. They were friendly with the creature - and obviously did not find one's worth on a precarious journey important. A senseless nicety on their part, but he supposed that the hobbit, however useless, did not deserve to spend the quest in utter isolation, so he allowed his nephews to familiarize themselves with the strained Shire-dweller.
The Oakenshield turned from the fire as a half-score of swarves poured in from the opposite end of the glade; they'd been attending to the ponies while the aforementioned trio readied the soup.
Soon irritated by their ridiculous jollity, Thorin set off tempetuously into the tall-wooded forest, boots falling heavily against the summer grass. The night was a pleasant one, he supposed, with a stirring breeze rustling the occasional strand of thick hair.
Erebor. Merely the thought of it washed over him a mindful of memories, nostalgic and lurching; of the soaring, chiseled chambers, and the thick-aired, jewel-encrusted mines far below the land, and the contentedness with which the dwarves, his people by birthright and by duty, resided in plenty and in satisfaction.
He called upon these recollections as he paced deliberately between the towering, shivering trees, soon buried deep within his wishful reminiscence.
But, no matter how deep in thought, Thorin Oakenshield always knew the sound of an enemy's arrival.
As soon as the surprised yells, fierce bellows and sharp drawing of weapons reached his pointed ears, he exploded into an infuriated sprint towards the encampment. As he barreled through the woods, the would-be king whirled from his scabbard his battle-hardened sword, breaking into the clearing with a mighty roar, leaping into the fire's light with his blade brandished.
The dwarves were doing the same, a chaotic rabble of noise arising from the mass as they all pointed their assorted weapons at one being.
Thorin approached the figure in a confident, swinging stride, raising his sword to the creature's throat. "Put down your weapon and you shall be spared."
A voice, jaunty and rich and, oddly enough, female, replied to him with droll coolness. "Thorin, my favorite idiot. If I were going to kill you, I would've done so when you were a drooling babe. Stop playing the toughie for once, hm? Thanks." She flipped back her hood to reveal a familiar face.
He'd recognized her tones once the insults had begun, but the sight truly drove the sight home. A radiantly pale face, molded with a broad, intelligent brow and a fine, tapered chin, nose delicate and upturned, eyes one with the golden firelight. Her hair, the color of the night sky, was cropped close to her skull, a bulky fur coat wrapped protectively around what he knew to be a feminine frame.
For a moment, he couldn't speak. Then, remembering his Company taking this odd scene in silently, he slowly moved the sword from her ivory throat, sliding it slowly back into its sheath. "Andraste Fargoer," he said in wonder, stony face moving into a grin. "I would have considered you dead long ago."
Kili looked on in utter turmoil as his uncle - the Uncle Thorin, the one utterly void of any emotions other than anger - replaced his sword and began to speak in soft, friendly terms with a diminutive woman. He smiled.
Smiled.
He and Fili looked at each other simultaneously, bearing the same expression of deep confusion and slight terror.
The hobbit was the one to mildly voice their collective inquiry: "Excuse me, but who is that?"
"Andraste Fargoer," Balin answered wisely, voice lowered in amazement.
"I sort of gathered that. I was wondering more who she actually is, not her name."
"And am I not my own name?" The woman, Fargoer, called to them suddenly, voice strident.
The brothers, as well as the entire Company, shifted to stare at Bilbo, hanging upon a response. They were, as a whole, absolutely put-off by Thorin Oakenshield's lady-friend, regardless of what hefty tease-fodder this would make later.
The hobbit shifted unsuredly, scratching his tawny curls as he glanced around, lips pursed as if expecting someone to speak. Instead, the woman jaunted forward - for she walked like a man, a confident, loping stride - and stared challengingly up into Master Baggins's wide eyes. "My name is actually who I am, hobbit. You would be a fool to think otherwise."
Shortly after the fierce, terse words left her mouth, her crystalline face twitched, and her prim lips pulled into a smile. Then she burst into a hearty laughter, which was really very un-lady-like. Putting a hand onto the hobbit's shoulder, she said lightly, "I'm only jesting. You all are welcome to call me whatever you wish. I most commonly go by Raste when not pretending to be solemn and polite, and will gut you if you call me anything otherwise." After a few beats, the woman rolled her eyes. "By Aul, Thorin, you travel with a company of stoneheads. I'm jesting."
"You're a stonehead!" Kili cried indignantly, only to be elbowed by Fili.
"Thank you. At least I know someone here is neither deaf nor dumb nor just dead. But since everyone else seems to be one of those, I guess we can just skip introductions. Is there food here, or are you all so terrified of a girl shorter than a halfling? I'm starving." She clapped her hands together, moving with her self-satisfied gait towards the fire. "Smells terrible, but I'm ravenous." Scooping up a bowl from the ground, she began ladling herself the biggest portion Kili had ever seen. "May I have a bit?"
As if she hadn't already emptied half the cauldron into her dish.
"Oh, aye, help yourself, lass," Bofur spoke in the thunderstruck silence.
Thorin moved to sit by her, further tossing Kili's mind into befuddlement. Thorin Oakenshield was sitting on the ground. By the fire. Next to a woman.
He glared up at them all, fixating upon each and every one of them with a baleful glare. Just as he opened his mouth to, no doubt, command them to sit down, the diminutive woman, Raste, glanced up at them quizzically. "You're all aware you're allowed to sit, hm? Right. Just making sure."
Fili looked around exaggeratedly, a true actor, then shrugged and trooped gamely over to the log next to the woman. Kili followed quickly, not wanting to appear less brave or daring than his elder brother. He already didn't have a beard, and that was one strike too many.
Wary, the older dwarves returned deliberately to their respective seats, sitting tensely. Dwarves had never been renowned for their social prowess nor grace, and Kili was fully feeling that now, in a situation so odd he was nearly tempted to throw himself into the fire.
"So, Thorin," the woman said around a mouthful of stew, "now you go on quests with exclusively the elderly? And the obese, and those with – yes, an axe is lodged in his head." She examined the circle closely. "Care to have anyone easy on the eyes around?" Her wide, glinting, mirthful eyes finally landed on Kili and his brother.
"Hi," she said. "Raste."
"Such a lovely name that is," The yellow-maned dwarf replied grandly. "My own is Fili."
"And I'm Kili," the dark-haired one added, and they bowed their heads in unison. "At your service."
"Much appreciated, I'm sure," she replied with relish, chin raised with jovial self-assurance. Flaring, molten eyes scintillating with amusement, she turned her lamp-light gaze onto Kili. "From the line of Durin, no doubt – yes, I recall you two running naked into Thror's war counsel. Wee little things you were." She shoveled another mouthful of lumpy nourishment into her bowed mouth, finishing matter-of-factly, "I like you both much better now."
Fili seemed to be taken aback – and rightly he should have been, for he would have been five years more mature at the time – but the younger of the two was simultaneously pleased and incensed. Uncle Thorin's lady-friend was intriguing. While the dwarves broke their tense silence with roaring laughter, Kili raised his voice to be heard, shouting merrily, "And I'm sure you would much more enjoy the sight much more now, Miss Raste! And who are you to be in Thror's war counsel; a suitor?"
Thorin replied quickly, scathingly, "You would be wise to watch your tongue, nephew. The Lady Andraste has seen far more than you have in your foolish youth."
Immediately abashed, Kili ducked his embarrassed face, staring into the fire. He hated when his uncle reprimanded him.
"Well," Andraste's harmonic tones came to his aid, "I'm no youth, and still delightfully foolish, so I suppose it fits quite well."
Nevertheless wholly mortified, the kind-eyed dwarf was overjoyed when Balin stood, making his way stertorously to where the woman perched. "Lady Fargoer, a pleasure once again."
She leaped to her feet, nearly eye-level with the worn, deep-creased old one. "Balin!" She exclaimed, gripping his shoulders as her grin spread with joy. "You're shorter now – how many years has it been?"
"Sixty, my dear," he replied fondly. "And you appear to be just as we left you."
"What's going on?" Bilbo leaned, frowning, to the brothers. Did he expect them to know any more than he?
"That's Andraste Fargoer, laddie," Bofur told him wisely, to which the hobbit responded with a withering glance. "Before Erebor fell, she'd pop in with information sometimes, you see, to consult with Thror and so on." He lifted the elongated pipe from his mouth, blowing a steady stream of smoke towards the fire.
"Information? What type of information?" Fili inquired, head cocked in mystification.
"Oh, about what the Men and Elves and Orcs and Goblins were up to. I met her once when we were bringing gifts to the King. Wonderful lass."
The hobbit's concerned face was still scrunched with perturbment. "Is she a dwarf?"
Fili and Kili choked with laughter. He clearly had no idea of what dwarf women looked like.
Bofur, however, was slightly more kind. "Oh, no, Master Bilbo, she's certainly not a dwarf." He shrugged. "No one knows what she is." Leaning closer, a mischievous expression sparked across his face. "Ask Thorin, though, lad. He's been sweet on her since he was yay tall."
Not exactly my best starter, but I guess it gets the point across; this is only a few days into the journey, before they encounter anything dangerous. This is meant to be a Thorin-Andraste-Bilbo triangle tale, though it may evolve into whatever happens to suit it best.
Next segment, we're set to find out who Andraste is to Thorin, as well as some arguments arising and all that other fun stuff.
Please, review with your thoughts! I'm open to criticism.
Until next time -
Elle
