A/N: This is my first ever attempt at a Hobbit fanfic (big step out of my usual Medieval/Regency England comfort zone) so please bare with me; I'm sure I'll learn as I go. I am not a super fast writer unless inspiration hits me (though that's usually in the most inconvenient places and times) but I fully intend on continuing my tale through BOTFA plus a little beyond (though not into LOTR). Chapter lengths may vary as well; this first chapter may end up being on the shorter side of what is to come later. I hope you enjoy. I always appreciate reviews and ideas/help, especially from those that are much more familiar with Tolkien's creation than I am.
Everything you recognize belongs to Tolkien. Anything you don't recognize came from my brain.
A gentle but slightly warm breeze blew from the East, gliding over the Mirkwood and through the Misty Mountains, sliding silently over the trees and homes in The Shire, and finally blowing over the Blue Mountains before ending its journey on the far coast. It carried with it something only a few in Middle Earth could sense and even some of those denied its presence. Everyone else remained in blissful ignorance and would for quite some time. One quiet, unexceptional spot - though it would produce a few exceptional people - enjoyed its seclusion from the events of the world. The night was peaceful, as it usually was in Hobbiton, and the hillsides were dotted with the warm yellow glow from the windows of the snug hobbit holes. There was not much noise beyond the rustle of the trees and bushes and the occasional sound of some small nocturnal creature. Nothing much happened in this little corner of Middle Earth and visitors were rare, especially after dark. The few hobbits that happened to be out in their gardens or on their front stoops that evening thought they caught sight of a dark horse and rider pass through in the direction of Bag-End but, being hobbits, they waved it off not wanting anything to do with an adventurer.
The figure on the horse had sat and overlooked Hobbiton for a while that evening, silently watching the staggered arrival of the small company, sensing the faint presence of some Evil on the warm breeze, before urging the horse on to their destination. It wasn't the first time they'd sensed that something long thought dead had returned, though they weren't certain of the fact. Spotting the mark on the small round door the dark figure led the horse into the trees beyond and carefully made their way back to crouch under one of the windows. Voices could be heard, the walls being no hindrance to the hearing of the one outside. They found a comfortable position not knowing how long they would remain. The wizard had been intriguing but vague, as usual, and before a decision could be made they wanted to know if this company and quest were worth the risk.
Not that Stryker was afraid of risks. Every day you opened your eyes in Middle Earth was a risk but there were risks and then there were pointless risks and Stryker had no desire to join a quest where the members didn't truly care whether it succeeded or failed thus leading them all to certain death. This particular journey would be extremely dangerous, its outcome very uncertain, and joining it required a lot of consideration. A Ranger was accustomed to risking their life but not uselessly. Stryker leaned against the wall listening to the conversation. There was discussion about the mountain, the lack of help from their kin from the Iron Hills, Smaug, and the members of the company. A deep, powerful voice then rose above the others.
"If we have read these signs do you not think that others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen in sixty years. Eyes look East to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!" Many voices raised in agreement but there was no mistaking the voice of the King Under the Mountain; he was an unmistakable leader. Stryker had seen Thorin once, long ago as a child, and remembered how majestic he had seemed even then. That majesty he possessed hadn't kept the Ranger from hating him for many years and even though Stryker had grown up and forgiven past injuries it was still hard to trust him or decide whether he was worth helping. His words were inspiring though, even to the cynical Ranger, who listened closely to the ensuing talk about the hidden dwarven door and the need for the burglar, which was apparently what the wizard had chosen the poor Halfling for. After some small commotion and movement Stryker caught a conversation between Thorin and an unknown dwarf.
"I will take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart. I can ask no more than that."
"You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."
"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."
"Then we are with you laddie. We will see it done."
The voices moved away, headed to another part of the hobbit's home, and Stryker moved to another window, staying hidden in the shadows in case any one happened to pass by on the road. Surprisingly, Thorin's words had struck a chord. Determination, strength, and loyalty were clear in his voice, along with a sadness that the Ranger could well understand. Mind made up, they made to creep back to the horse in the trees when a different sound caused the figure to freeze. A low hum and then a song floated in the air:
Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To find our long forgotten gold.
The pines were roaring on the height
The winds were moaning in the night
The fire was red it flaming spread
The trees like torches blazed with light.
Stryker listened to the hauntingly beautiful song, Thorin's deep voice easily distinguished from the others. There was longing, deep longing, and sadness in the voices of the dwarves. They truly believed in what they were attempting, felt it was what they had to do no matter the danger, and Stryker could ask for no more assurance than that. Creeping silently back to where the horse was tied, the Ranger swung back into the saddle and retraced the road out of Hobbiton. Not quite ready to join them yet, unsure of the dwarves' reaction when they discovered the last member the wizard had chosen, Stryker returned to the inn in Bree where Gandalf had said they would meet in three days time.
As the arranged meeting time approached Stryker sat at a dimly lit table by the fire in a far corner of the Prancing Pony, hood pulled up to remain concealed. Anyone glancing in that direction would only see the hooded figure in a relaxed position with a tankard of ale at their elbow though the Ranger's hidden eyes were constantly scanning the crowd and the slight creak from the fingerless leather gauntlets evidenced the ever present tension in the hands. No one would approach anyway. Rangers were a solitary folk who roamed Middle Earth protecting the Free Peoples who resided there. There were camps where the Rangers would live and train but most never stayed in one place for long. Because of this nomadic type lifestyle they were accepted but grudgingly in many cases, most folk choosing to steer clear of the dark hooded figures that had the ability to appear and disappear at will. The stories that were told about these Watchers caused many to fear them even though their purpose was to protect and defend. Their skill with sword, dagger, and bow was well known and only a fool would choose to cross one.
Stryker heard the company's arrival before they even got in the door. They were a loud bunch for certain. However their arrival caused an immediate change in the atmosphere in the Prancing Pony. Low grumbling was heard as the group found a large table near the fire and many of the inn's patrons stared at them in open hostility. While not sharing the general attitude toward dwarves the Ranger was nonetheless very aware of the prejudices against them. They were a secretive race, largely keeping to themselves, and had developed a reputation of being generally disagreeable to those not of their kind. Many things were blamed on dwarves, usually falsely, when they happened to appear in the villages and towns of Men and Stryker watched while the dwarves were served stew and ale, body tensed in anticipation. Barely veiled taunts and threats were thrown in the company's direction. The dwarves were doing a good job of ignoring the others in the room but there was obvious tension at the table.
The Ranger observed the dwarves that were accompanying Thorin Oakenshield, trying to get a feel for the group. The tall, burly bald-headed dwarf stuck close to his leader's side and was probably rather intimidating to those with a weak constitution. She recognized the voice of the one called Balin from the other night. He was a kindly looking, elderly dwarf with a huge white beard that flipped up on its ends. Next at the table was the biggest dwarf Stryker had ever laid eyes on with a massive beard braided in a circle laying on his substantial belly. The next dwarf had a floppy hat that resembled Balin's beard. A very young looking dwarf sat with his head buried in a book, quill in hand and was scribbling away while a gray haired dwarf with several very intricate braids seemed to fuss around him. The pair of dwarves beside the little scribe bore a resemblance to each other and Stryker wondered if they were brothers, though one was blonde and the other brunette. The hairstyle of the dwarf sitting next to the brunette caused Stryker to choke a bit on their ale. The three points of gathered hair plus the braids in the beard created the shape of a star! The Ranger couldn't help but stare at the dwarf next to him - there was an axe buried in his forehead! It didn't appear to bother him, though he seemed a bit wild. Another elderly dwarf sat beside him with an ear trumpet and then came a fiery red headed dwarf with an impressive red beard. With the exception of the bald, burly looking dwarf they appeared to be a rather jolly group, laughing throughout their meal. Stryker's eyes slid to the leader and frowned. He sat with his company though he seemed apart from them, obviously looked at with respect and obeyed without question. He looked the same as the Ranger remembered, raven dark hair, piercing blue eyes that were clearly keeping an eye on the situation in the inn. Stryker sighed; this was not going to be easy.
Thorin wanted to get his company on their way and hurried them through their meal. He was very aware of the glares from many at the other tables and while used to the treatment it galled him; he was in no mood for a brawl. The best way to avoid such an unwanted confrontation would be to get his company out of the inn and on the road. Years of practice had helped him to keep a reign on his temper when treated thusly. However he began to feel his anger bubbling to the surface when he went to give the proprietor coin for their meal and was told they would have to pay double for taking up so much space. He began to argue, feeling all eyes turn towards him, and he inwardly groaned as he sensed what he had hoped to avoid was about to occur anyway. Suddenly there was a loud smack as a sword was slapped onto the bar top.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Butterbur?" a low voice said and Thorin turned to see a hooded figure next to him, leather gauntleted hand holding the sword that had just silenced the entire room.
"I was just trying to get full payment from the dwarf," the nervous man said, recognizing the dark figure across the bar.
"He appears to be giving you the correct sum so what is the problem?"
"Well, he's a - dwarf - and they were..." Mr. Butterbur stuttered afraid his words might push the Ranger into action.
"Yes, he is a dwarf paying for a meal. He is a dwarf who has caused no problems and minded his own business, which is more than I can say for some of your other patrons. I'll ask again, Mr. Butterbur, is there a problem?" After a strained silence the man shook his head and took the coins. He wasn't about to anger the Ranger.
"I would suggest you get your friends outdoors, Master Dwarf, before one of these fools decides to test your patience - or mine," Stryker said in a low voice. Thorin stared at the hooded figure for a moment, unsure whether to be grateful or irritated at this interference. He also felt slightly surprised; many in Middle Earth would not step up to defend a dwarf. Finally deciding it had saved them from more unwanted attention or perhaps worse he nodded slightly.
"Thank you," he replied gruffly before returning to the group. Stryker remained standing with sword drawn until all the dwarves were out the door and then followed. Not unexpectedly, the wizard was waiting right outside.
"Stryker, I'm glad you decided to join us."
"I told you I'd consider it, Gandalf."
"That you did and I trust the dwarves convinced you of their worthiness the other night?"
Not at all surprised Gandalf knew about the eavesdropping, Stryker chuckled and nodded. "You know me well enough to realize I wouldn't join any type of quest without first assessing the passion and determination of those involved. A quest involving Thorin Oakenshield made the decision that much more difficult." Gandalf smirked and motioned for the Ranger to follow him.
"Thorin, may I introduce the final member of our company?" The dwarf turned from his pony at the wizard's words and was surprised to see the hooded figure from the bar. Gandalf had mentioned the possibility of another member for the company, though he had not hinted who it might be, but since no one else had appeared at the Halfling's door he had assumed they wouldn't be coming.
"You are a Ranger?" he asked, noticing the star clasp on the dark cloak.
"Stryker at your service, Master Oakenshield," was the reply with a quick nod and bow of the head. He silently contemplated the figure before him. The Ranger was shorter than he would have expected from one from the race of Men, in fact the man seemed to be eye level with him - if he could actually see his eyes. He tried to peer into the shadows where the Ranger's face should have been but had no luck discerning anything; Stryker remained hidden beneath a hood and behind a scarf that further concealed the lower half of his face. Thorin didn't trust most of the race of Men, he had learned that the hard way during their exile, but he also knew that the Rangers were highly skilled warriors and an extra sword would always be handy. He had many questions but they were not things that could be resolved instantly or that he cared to discuss in the streets of Bree. Gandalf's recommendation would have to suffice until he could talk to and see the Ranger in action.
"You come willingly? Knowing the dangers ahead?"
"Aye."
After another thoughtful pause, "We shall see. Balin, bring the contract for our Ranger."
"That won't be necessary. I require no contract. I need no gold. If I die, burn my body on a pyre and try to return my belongs and horse to another Ranger." With those words Stryker turned and strode over to a black horse that was tied in front of the inn, leapt easily into the saddle, and came to wait at the rear of the company next to the hobbit. Bilbo stared at the Ranger unsure as to whether he should be nervous around this mysterious person or not. He had, of course, heard of Rangers but had never encountered one. He had also heard the stories that were told about them and the poor fellow gulped nervously. The dwarves had all watched this exchange between their king and Stryker in surprised silence and some displeasure. Another outsider on their quest that wasn't a dwarf rankled with some of them. Thorin shot a glance at Gandalf, who merely raised an eyebrow, before vaulting onto his pony.
"Let's go," he ordered. The company of thirteen dwarves, one wizard, one hobbit, and one ranger slipped through Bree's gates and started their trek down the Great East Road. It was a road that would take them from the Shire, past Rivendell, over the Misty Mountains, and even through Mirkwood. It would not be a quick journey nor would it be easy. The Ranger knew this for certain, as did the wizard, and while a few of the dwarves were aware of what dangers most likely lay ahead of them, none of them had traveled in these parts for many years.
A/N: As of January 2016 I have begun coming back and doing a little updating/revising to my earlier chapters so if you're re-reading my story you may notice a few new things.