Summary: In a company of fourteen, they left The Shire on a bright, summer's morning, oblivious of a young stowaway with a curious eye, and an innocent heart. Unlike her neighbor of Bag End, she yearns for an undertaking outside the enclosing walls of her home. But she may find, not without help, that adventures such as these are not without certain peril, a demand for true courage and trust, and something worth fighting for.
Well, I'm starting fresh in a different fandom, taking a break from the wonderful land of Narnia and into Middle Earth. I know good OCs here are a tricky thing to create without becoming a Mary Sue, but I feel for an author who has had some practice, a new challenge is welcome! Now while we may be very familiar with the storyline by now, I'm going to do my best to add in twists and turns along the way.
Write an OC that will eventually be paired with a secondary character?
Challenge accepted.
Warning: This will follow both the books and the movie, so it is not exclusively one or the other. Though there will be some quotes from the actual book, just because I feel there are some things of Tolkien that can only be expressed in his wording to do the meaning of it justice.
Disclaimer: In his books, Tolkien more or less used a mixture of Welsh and Old English when coming up with his characters' names, so I have done the same. And to the best of my ability, I have also mimicked the pattern of how they were chosen for their children.
~Ere Break of Day~
Chapter One – The Past and the Meeting
"Now, now, time for bed. It's much too late for little ones to be up and about."
"Please, father, will you tell us the story?"
"I told you already, it is far too late for stories."
"Father, please?" the child asked in a drawn out whine.
Anian regarded his two children, who looked up at him with shining eyes. The girl bit her lip as she toyed with a beaded chain that hung from her neck, while her younger brother clasped his hands as he pleaded. Their father tried his best to hold out, to be firm…but he couldn't outlast their gazes of piercing gray—just like their mother's.
Serén is going to tease me mercilessly for this, he thought. But with a sigh, he got down on the ground sat with his legs crossed in front of the two, who both smiled and sat as Anian had done.
"In eastern lands much farther away than here—past The Shire, past the Weather Hills, the elven lands of Rivendell, through mountains and forest, and even more northern than Esgaroth—there is a mountain, much taller or larger than you could ever imagine, with six ridges stemming from a center peak, snowcapped even in the Spring," he began. "There lied the great city of Erebor, where a good many dwarves thrived peacefully by mining in the deep caves of the mountain. Not a few miles away was Dale, a city of men that was also prosperous and growing along with its sister city. It was a strong kingdom under King Thráin I (otherwise known as Thráin the Old), who commanded his miners to dig deeper and deeper, and every day they found many valuable jewels and precious metals.
"Nevertheless, none could compare to one large, white gem that seemed to glow of its own accord. A young dwarf, Einir, son of Einon, found this gem, the heart of the mountain—the Arkenstone. He dug it out of the rock, and marveled at its beauty. He wondered if he should simply keep it for himself; the king had a hoard of jewels and gold already, what was one more stone to King Thráin I? With this, Einir would be even wealthier than he already was (being a miner was a very lucrative business), and he was still a young dwarf by his people's standards, only in his eighties. By the time he started a family of his own, they would have no need to work!
"But…he realized that keeping the gem would go against the king's orders. And so, he sacrificed his plan for the future. Instead, he brought it to the king. Thrain was greatly pleased with Einir's findings, and displayed his favor with the dwarf well by giving him riches in gold, precious stones, fine jewelry, and silver. Though there were limited amounts of each, Einir was overwhelmed with the gifts, and expressed his heartfelt gratitude to the king before bringing it all to his humble home in the city.
"Einir did a foolish thing then, however, for he buried the riches he had been given in a large trunk, somewhere beneath the house. He did this because he had no family of his own; his father and mother and aunts and uncles had left with Prince Thorin I and many of the other Folk of Durin to live in the Ered Mithrin (or the Grey Mountains), as there was promise of much wealth there. Because he was alone, and already well off, he decided to hide his treasure for the time being. He wrote out the directions of where it was located, lest he ever forget, and put it within the drawer of his desk in his study."
Here he paused in his tale, and a sad frown dragged the corners of his mouth downward as he shifted his gaze to the clean, wood flooring. The eldest child noticed, and she cocked her head to the side.
"Father?" she asked. Instead of answering her, he shook his head and continued.
"Years came and went, and he found a wife, and grew a family of his own, but by this time, he had very much forgotten about the trunk buried in the earth. It was generations later, when his great-grandson had inherited the same house Einir had lived in, when generations of kings had also passed, with King Thrór reigning over the now mighty stronghold of Erebor, that the dragon Smaug laid waste to the city upon Erebor, and Dale, all to claim the hoard that was the King's treasury of plentiful riches. He and many dwarves and men barely escaped with their lives as they were led out of their homes, and were forced to start anew in other lands.
"Some took refuge in the Blue Mountains, some travelled to the northern lands of the Grey Mountains, where many of their kin still lived, while others travelled farther south. This great-grandson of Einir was one of those who settled in the Blue Mountains, and there also found himself a wife. He had been told of Einir's buried treasures as a child and remembered them once he inherited the house, but he never found it; the letter upon which Einir's directions had been written were missing from the old desk.
"Soon, he forgot about his life in Erebor (in a vehement attempt to forget), along with the melancholy memories that the Lonely Mountain would forever possess for the dwarves of Erebor, and the men of Dale."
Anian regarded his children once his tale was over, and had to smile at how the boy had already fallen asleep laying on the floor by his sister's side. But the little girl was wide awake, a sorrowful expression upon her face.
"What a sad story," she said softly. "Is it true, Father? You've told us the story many times, but I never thought to ask."
He hesitated for a moment, before answering with a small smile.
"I believe so, yes."
"Can they ever go back to the mountain?"
"In time, they may return. But the dragon must be vanquished first," he said, his smile curling into a grin.
"Well, one day I'm going to go to the Lonely Mountain and I'm going to defeat that old lizard! He won't know what hit him!" she exclaimed passionately as she jumped to her feet. Anian laughed then, but quieted her.
"Perhaps the dwarves of Erebor will someday return to their rightful place, but for now, I think it's time for all of us to be sleeping, not just your brother," he said wryly, and gently picked up the boy in his arms. Holding the sleeping child, he led the other trailing behind him to their respective rooms.
After both had been tucked in, and drifted off to soundless sleep, Anian wandered through the halls of the house, which was only a bit larger than a hobbit hole. It was intended as such when built ten years before, and at the moment, it was silent. The air inside was warm, and had the feel of a home, but not quite…home. It was times like these, when his family was soundly sleeping, that he found himself meandering about, humming an old tune most of his kin knew from memory. Old, but not forgotten.
"Far over the misty mountains cold.
To dungeons deep, and caverns old.
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold…"
It was the perfect day. Sunny, cloudless, a light breeze, warm, but not too much. On this bright morning in May, a kindly hobbit named Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was enjoying himself, smoking from his pipe (which was so large it reached down nearly to his toes) and making wide rings in the air. He stood at the door in front of his home overlooking The Hill for a while before he saw an old man holding a staff. He wore a blue hat, a long gray cloak, a silver scarf, immense black boots, and a long, gray beard that hung down below his waist.
"Good morning!" said Bilbo with a smile. But the old man simply looked at him through bushy, gray eyebrows.
"What do you mean?" he said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"
The hobbit looked at him strangely, but conceded that it would be impolite to stare at the old man without giving him an answer.
"Well, I suppose all of them at once," said Bilbo. "And it is a fine morning for a good pipe of tobacco. If you have a pipe about you, sit a while and have a fill of mine! There's no hurry on a beautiful day such as this."
And he punctuated his point by sitting down upon the step in front of his door and blew out another ring of smoke, which gathered high in the sky without breaking, and drifted over The Hill. It was a lovely view from his front yard, lined on either side with green plants and colorful flowers that rose high enough from the ground to make up a kind of hedge for privacy. But for some, privacy seemed…well…overrated, for lack of a better word.
Bilbo Baggins lived next to a smaller house, in which another family resided. They had not lived there as long as Bilbo's family had, but they were kind, if not a bit strange. There lived a mother with her two children, who were now considered grown out of adolescence, but still lived with her to care for her. One of the two, however, was a girl with a curious eye, and keen ears. Well, keen enough for a human, that is.
On this morning she was watering the plants in her plentiful garden, fashioned similarly to Bilbo's, whom she called Mr. Baggins. She knew it was impolite to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help listening to their strange conversation as the plants were tall enough to hide her short form. Curiosity already piqued, she set the water jug down and crept closer to the bushes.
"Very pretty," said the old man. "But I'm afraid I have no time to blow smoke-rings today. I am looking for someone to share an adventure…" Bilbo visibly started at this, his expression lined with confusion.
"An adventure?" said the hobbit.
Preposterous, he thought to himself. What in blazes…
He even set down his pipe at the mere idea and pointed out to the left while he spoke. "I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures."
With this, he got up and ventured to his mailbox some yards away, opening it to not only see if he had received anything new, but also to distract himself from this peculiar old man.
"Nasty, disturbing uncomfortable things," Bilbo added. "Make you late for dinner!"
He then began reading the few letters he had gotten, pretending to ignore the man. But he did not move, and stood leaning on his walking stick as he silently watched the hobbit. Becoming quite uncomfortable, Bilbo rose as he brought his pipe to his mouth again.
"Good morning," he said finally before turning to leave.
"To think I should be 'good morninged' by Belladonna Took's son," said the old man. "As if I was selling buttons at the door."
"I beg your pardon?" said Bilbo, who was by now even more confused.
"You have changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins," he said as he regarded him from under his hat.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Bilbo asked in annoyance.
"You know my name, though you don't remember I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means…" he trailed, then grinned a bit. "Well, me."
A spark of recognition lighted Bilbo's eyes, and he smiled in pleasant surprise.
"Gandalf? Gandalf! The wandering wizard who made such excellent fireworks, I remember those! On Mid-summer's Eve, when the Old Took used to set them up on. They would go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!" exclaimed Bilbo with some excitement. "The same Gandalf who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the blue for adventures; anything from climbing trees to visiting elves or sailing in ships to other shores…yes, life used to be quite inter—I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business."
"And where else should I be?" asked Gandalf, rather indignantly. "I am pleased to find you remember something about me…even if it is only my fireworks…but it's decided! It will be very good for you…" He paused at Bilbo's incredulous expression.
"…And most amusing for me," he finished. "I shall inform the others."
Bilbo took his pipe from his mouth and pointed it at the wizard as he made cautious steps backwards, and said, "What? No, no, no, wait, no. We do not want any adventures here, thank you, not today. I suggest you try over The Hill or…across the water, now…good morning!"
All the while, Gandalf watched the flustered hobbit with both disbelief and annoyance. But something strange happened then. He heard a rustling behind him, which made Bilbo pause in his tracks as well. The wizard turned around, and happened upon a young woman. As she shakily stood and brushed tendrils of dark hair away from her face, she also dusted herself off from dirt and twigs and other such things that had clung to her in her tumble through the greenery. Flushed with embarrassment, she smiled nervously as she spoke.
"Good morning, Mr. Gandalf, Mr. Baggins. I deeply apologize, for I know it's rude to listen in to others' private conversations, but I couldn't help but hear…well, I don't know if you know of my family, Mr. Gandalf, but my mother remembers your fireworks well…and-and how you always told the most wonderful stories."
She was babbling, she knew, but upon hearing the wizard's proposition, she couldn't help but be interested. Her mother had told her of those things Bilbo had recalled, how Gandalf had recruited people on fantastic journeys before. They had captured her mind when she was a little girl, just like her father's stories had; the smell of them as he rode in on his wagon, the smoke that filled the sky as it was lit up in reds and oranges and purple hues…none of these memories were her own, but within the confines of her imagination she could see it all, what she could expect them to look like.
"What is your name, dear girl?" asked the wizard, who now looked at her with a bit of curiosity.
"Aneira, daughter of Anian." Despite himself, he regarded her with an expression of mild surprise.
"Anian, son of Anhun?" he clarified.
"Yes, Mr. Gandalf," she replied in a quiet voice and with downcast eyes, which did not go unnoticed by Gandalf, or the hobbit, who viewed the girl with sympathy, for he knew why she was saddened. Her hand distantly rose to finger along her collar as she viewed the dirt ground.
"And why does this upset you?" the wizard questioned, though he could speculate her answer.
"Ten years ago, my father passed from a wasting illness. The few times that he mentioned you, he always spoke of you highly," she admitted. Gandalf's demeanor became grave once again.
"I am sorry to hear it. I knew your father, long ago, when he first settled in these lands…but what is a girl such as yourself doing rummaging about the plant life, and that of your neighbor's as well?" he asked.
"Yes, Aneira, what were you doing?" Bilbo asked in bemusement. He stood in the middle of the steps leading up to the door, brightly painted in yellow, of his hobbit hole.
"Well, I was watering the flowers in our yard, when I heard you talking with Mr. Gandalf about some kind of undertaking…and it stirred memories of when I was a girl, my father speaking of Mr. Gandalf's stories: the tales of mighty warriors, and of great battles of dwarves and elves and men, and their greater feats and travels over new and exciting lands…and…well, I wanted to meet you, sir," she said shyly. Gandalf raised a brow.
"And why is it that you call me 'mister' and 'sir?'" he asked. Aneira bit her lip and folded her hands in front of her.
"I've never called one of…superiority anything less…" she said, because "superiority" sounded better than "old." She trailed off as her tone became wistful in memory.
"Well do stop, child. A 'sir' or 'mister' is not needed," said Gandalf, leaning on his staff once again. "Gandalf is my name, and Gandalf I shall always be."
Aneira blinked and stared at the wizard.
"Y-Yes, M…Gandalf," she said, rather nervously. She didn't want to offend him in the least.
"And how is your mother? Still ever on her spinning wheel?" asked Gandalf. Aneira shook her head negatively, and she noticed Bilbo's expression grow more solemn.
"No, sir," she said, already having forgotten Gandalf's instruction. "She has…become frail of health since the death of my father."
Even though she was only a little over Bilbo's age of fifty, the woman was half of what she once was. They had not the money to get her proper medicine, and so Aneira and her brother Aeron strived to provide her at least the comfort of proper meals and soft clothing. Aeron helped tend the fruits and vegetables in the fields from morning till dusk, while Aneira had inherited her mother's gift for sewing, whether it be clothing, textiles, thread jewelry, or other such things for vending.
"I see," said Gandalf. And he paused. Aneira wasn't sure what he was thinking, but he appeared pensive before he next spoke. "Well, I offer her my regards."
"Thank you," she said, but her tone lacked the same bright enthusiasm of before. "Well, I suppose I should be going. It was a pleasure to meet you…Gandalf, and very nice to see you Mr. Baggins. Sorry for your plants, if I happened to step on any."
"It's no trouble, Aneira, but please do go around next time," the hobbit said with a gentle smile. She nodded and glanced once more at the wizard.
"Goodbye, Aneira," he said with a small smile. "It is a pleasure to meet the daughter of Anian."
She smiled again, and made her leave, and the wizard and the hobbit were once again left to take up their argument.
"As I was saying, I shall inform the others of our final member," said Gandalf. Bilbo sighed, and became agitated once again.
"No, no…no! As you can see, you will not find anyone for adventures here! So I say again, good morning to you!" The hobbit ran the rest of the way up the steps, entered his house, and closed the door behind him. He went further into his house and treated himself to an early lunch in attempt to forget about the odd, stubborn wizard, who unbeknownst to him, still stood in front of his door.
"I'm home."
Aneira was idly chopping vegetables for supper by the time her brother entered through the front door of their cottage. He took each step slowly as he shouldered the large pack he wore, no doubt filled with the earnings he was allotted from the daily harvest.
"Welcome home," she said with a bright smile.
Aneira set the knife she had been using down on the kitchen counter before relieving Aeron of his burden, and setting it upon the far side of the counter. Aeron allowed her to take it from him with a sigh and a roll of his broad shoulders. He stretched, hands braced on his arched back, and he grunted as he felt muscles strain and joints crack. Aneira winced as she heard them.
"Aeron, I fear you've been laboring too hard—"
"Sister, please. I'm fine, if a little taxed. The sun was particularly exposed today, but it did not make our work any more laborious as any other."
"You should not have to be working twelve to thirteen hours out of the day—you don't see any other resident of Hobbiton out in the fields at the unholy hour of six o'clock in the morning," Aneira said indignantly. Aeron let out a short, humorless chuckle.
"That is because most of Hobbiton's residents are hobbits."
"My point is, you do not have to be out tending the fields for so much of the day!" said Aneira in exasperation. "It's far past the hour of dinner time, and not even really day anymore. In fact, it's nearly night." As many times as the two had attempted the same conversation, her brother managed to irk her in exactly the same way. Her gaze shifted to the ground as her lips pursed. "You're not the only one who is providing for this family."
Aeron's irritated expression softened into something gentler as he considered his sister. Though she was small of stature and often times holding a certain naiveté in her demeanor, he was ever reminded that she was his older sister. He knew she worried for him, that he should be the one to bear the brunt of supporting the three of them. But he would rather sustain his own silent joy of being welcomed home by her smile than seeing the bright, sprightly light in her eyes dwindled by grueling, tedious hours under sweltering heat, bending over at stocks of vegetation until sore limbs cry out in protest.
"Would you like a drink of water?" she asked, viewing his flushed cheeks and tired eyes with concern.
Aeron shook his head negatively, taking a washcloth from a drawer underneath the counter and wiping the dried sweat and grime from his hands and face. Flushed, he was, but not burnt. His skin was deeply tanned from his long days of toil under the sun, and his black tresses, not unlike his sister's, was wild and untamed, framing an angular, yet youthful face.
"No, I'm fine. Do you need help with the meal?" Aneira mimicked Aeron's previous gesture of shaking his head, and she grinned.
"I'm nearly finished, go wash up and get out of those disgusting clothes, and please wake Mum. She's been sleeping since lunch."
"Fine, but I'm leaving my muddied boots on your bed," Aeron said over his shoulder as he walked toward the back of the house.
"You'd have better not, or I'll accidentally put a toad in your stew!" Aneira glared at the back of his head and could almost see his smirk as he paused at his bedroom door, turned to her, and threw back an easy retort.
"Good luck finding one, I'm sure there are many toads lining up at our doorstep, though I can't imagine why anyone or anything would want be in your stew."
"I'm sure you would appreciate it more if it was Melisse's stew," she teased, earning a playful glare from her brother.
"Oh, come off it. She's your friend not mine."
"Yes, but don't think I haven't noticed how your eyes follow her when she leaves a room, or when she walks down to the market."
Melisse, daughter of Malvern was their neighbor to the west, an outspoken and vivacious hobbit whose singing voice was as beautiful as her long blonde hair, or at least, as much as Aneira knew her brother told his friends. She usually came by to help Aneira with sewing and the day's cooking before her shift at the local pub as a waitress. But Melisse was on a trip with her father into Bree to see a sick relative, and she would be gone for the week.
Brother won't have her daily smile to brighten his day, she thought with a smirk.
"And I could settle for adding some moldy bread, or a rotten, raw egg," Aneira said with a raised brow, hands at her hips. Aeron rolled his eyes and slipped into his room, but not without one last parting jibe.
"If there was anyone that could turn a meal into a poison, it would be you, fair sister."
Aneira was awoken in the night. By what exactly, she was not sure. Her bedroom was closest to the neighboring house, and she could hear raised voices—shouting, laughing, talking, and there were some loud crashing noises that she could only presume, had woken her.
I wonder what's going on, she thought. Mr. Baggins rarely has visitors, least of all any this rambunctious.
She was never one to sit idly while questions hung in the balance.
Her brother was snoring heavily in the next room over, and her mother was also sound asleep, from what she could tell of her (much lighter) sleeping sounds. The window in her bedroom was large enough for her slim frame to slip through, and she crept out of it so she wouldn't disturb her family with opening the front door. It was only two feet to the ground, where she landed lightly on the grass, and she closed her window as quietly as she could before venturing onward.
The commotion was distinctively louder now that she was outside, especially as she made the walk around the line of tall bushes that separated their houses, and crept closer to one of the house's many windows. This one overlooked the dining room, where several dwarves were merrily devouring everything in Bilbo's possession (that was worth eating) and drinking ale and wine from large mugs. Faintly, Aneira could hear Bilbo shouting his protests at those carrying various plates and silverware and food. When she glimpsed through the window, she almost giggled at how most all of them ignored him.
Well, he should be a good host, if he invited them. Though it doesn't appear as if he did.
Especially as he stopped Gandalf in the hall, and asked him why there were so many dwarves in his house. She followed them as best as she could from her position outside the house, peeking in windows and listening by the sill.
"My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?" asked Gandalf, who himself had a mug in his hand. Bilbo gave him an incredulous look.
"What's the matter? I'm surrounded by dwarves, what are they doing here?" he whispered earnestly.
"They make quite a merry gathering, I should think you'll soon get used to them," said Gandalf with an amused grin upon his face as they walked through a hall. Bilbo veered around two dwarves, whose names were Fili and Kili. They were fighting over a long link of sausages, while another, called Bombur, was all but attacking a whole roll of cheese.
"I don't want to get used to them! They've ruined my kitchen, there are mud tracks on the carpet, th-they-they pillaged the pantry, and you don't even want to know what they've done in the bathrooms; the plumbing is all but destroyed. I just don't understand what they're doing in my house!" Bilbo said the last part quite dryly, but he had reached his wit's end. Gandalf knew this, but was amused all the same.
"Excuse me," said a dwarf—Ori, the youngest, if Bilbo recalled. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"
Another dwarf, Fili, entered the room and said, "Here you go, Ori, give it to me."
He threw it across the room, to the hobbit's horror, to Kili, who caught it and threw it behind him, along with many more plates that came his way. These were thrown to Bifur in the kitchen, who also caught them and began washing them in the sink.
Aneira couldn't help but giggle quietly to herself at the dwarves' antics. Her poor neighbor surely felt as if he was being bombarded in his own home, but she wished she could be a part of the fun they were all having. She heard them singing a merry song as they threw dishes around, cleaning them for Bilbo, and had to smother her laughter as she realized they were making fun of his whining and protesting at ruining his furniture and kitchen utensils.
But then, things became suddenly quiet as she heard a loud knock around the corner of the house, outside. She could tell someone new had entered the house, but who, she couldn't be certain if she didn't want to be caught. Whoever it was, it must be an important guest, because all was quiet for a while, save for a couple voices in conversation that she could not make out. Eventually, however, they came close enough to the window she was sitting under that she could hear their carries voices.
"Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."
"So, this is the hobbit." The voice was condescending in its tone, and she could only assume it was whom Gandalf had introduced. Hesitantly, she stole another glance from the corner of the window.
He seems intimidating, she thought. And rather tall for a dwarf, at least, not as short as I would expect a dwarf to be. But then again, many of them are. I think I would only stand above Mr. Baggins and the youngest-looking dwarf.
"Tell me, Mr. Baggins," said Thorin. "Have you done much fighting?"
"Pardon me?" Bilbo quipped.
"Axe or sword as your weapon of choice?" It was phrased as a question, but to Aneira, it sounded like more of a wry statement.
"Well, I do have some skill in conkers…but I fail to see why that is relevant," said Bilbo.
"I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin said dryly. The rest of the dwarves laughed at this, but Aneira frowned.
Why do they tease him so? He asked a reasonable question, she thought. But she would soon find out as she followed the group back to the dining room, now clean and set with deserts as they ate and talked of news from their kin in the Blue Mountains. Somehow this name struck a chord within Aneira, as if she had heard it before. She knew it was a dwarven settlement, but it was something more that niggled in the back of her mind.
"They will not come. They say this quest is ours alone," said Thorin, taking a swig of ale from his mug.
"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo asked, attracting the attention of all the dwarves, and Gandalf.
"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light, hmm?" said Gandalf. Bilbo obliged, and left the room in search of a candle. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."
Gandalf pulled out a map as he spoke, and laid it before the dwarves, flat on the table. By this time Bilbo had returned with a candle, and looked over the wizard's shoulder.
"The Lonely Mountain," he read aloud.
"Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time," said Gloin, accompanied by some of the dwarves' groans of annoyance.
"Ravens have been seen flying to the mountain as it was foretold," Oin added. "'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.'"
Bilbo perked up at this, and there was an uneasy feeling beginning to stir in the pit of his stomach.
"Uh…what beast?" he asked, once again drawing the attention of the room's occupants.
"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible," said Bofur. "Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age—air-born fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks…extremely vulnerable to precious metal—"
"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo said quickly, not trying to be impolite, but wanting the dwarf to end his extensive description.
"I'm not afraid, I'm up for it!" Ori suddenly exclaimed and stood from his chair. "I'll give 'im a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"
Bilbo's eyes widened in shock at the dwarf's audacious outburst, but the rest loudly expressed their agreements, until his brother, Dori, forced Ori to sit, before he further made a fool of himself.
"We number just thirteen," Balin pointed out. "And not thirteen of the best…nor brightest." But it was to the indignation of several dwarves at the insult, and many voiced their plights, until Fili's voice cut through the bickering.
"We may be few in number, but we are fighters—all of us, to the last dwarf!" he exclaimed.
"And you forget we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!" said Kili. Some murmured their agreement, while the wizard held up a placating hand.
"Well, no, no…" he began, "I wouldn't say that…"
"Well how many?" asked Dori.
"Eh, what?" said Gandalf, distractedly.
"How many dragons have you killed?" he rephrased. When Gandalf hesitated and choked a bit on the smoke coming from his pipe, Dori again demanded a number, and the dwarves erupted in bickering once again. It was only when Bilbo began trying to settle things down that Thorin rose, and commanded both their attention and their silence.
"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them also?" he said. "Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 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 the chance to take back Erebor!"
The cheers of agreement were his answer. But Balin spoke the voice of doubt once again.
"You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the Mountain," said Balin sollemnly.
"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," said Gandalf. He reached into the folds of his cloak and retrieved a large, metal key, the size of his hand. Thorin stared at it with wide eyes.
"How came you by this?" he whispered coarsely.
"It was given to me by your father, Thráin, for safe keeping. But it is yours now," he said, and offered it slowly to the dwarf. Thorin took it just as slowly, disbelief written in his expression.
"If there is a key," said Fili, "then there must be a door."
Gandalf proceeded to show them on the map of runes indicating a hidden passage to the lower halls, but the only problem with this was, dwarf door were invisible when closed. Gandalf sighed then.
"The answer lies somewhere within this map and I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth who can," he said with a small grin. "The task I have in mind will take a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage."
He glanced at Bilbo then, to the hobbit's confusion, but the wizard continued to address the dwarves.
"But, if we are careful, and cover, I believe it can be done."
"That's why we need a burglar," Ori realized.
"Yes, and a good one too," Bilbo agreed. "An expert, I would imagine."
"And are you?" asked Balin.
There was a silent pause, in which Bilbo wondered who the dwarf had been talking to, for he couldn't have actually have been addressing him.
"Am I what?" he asked.
"He said he's an expert!" Oin said with a laugh.
"Me? No, no, no, I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life!" exclaimed the hobbit.
"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," said Balin. "He's hardly burglar material."
She couldn't believe it. The Lonely Mountain, the story, it was everything her father had told her about in his stories. She had wanted to believe that it was real, but she didn't actually know for certain until this moment. And that was where they were going, to defeat the dragon, Smaug. It had to have been fate that drew her here, how else could an opportunity like this simply land at her feet? Suddenly she wasn't sitting under a window outside her neighbor's house. At that moment, she could see many miles away from her small home, to a landscape raised with intricately carved stone, an entire city encased with lights and bustling people, full of life and activity and passion that made the daydream seem so very real.
To be free... she thought. The forest; the trees, the wild. And the mountains; "tall" being an understatement, picturesque and majestic, like father's drawings…
But there was difficulty, in that not only was she not invited, but Bilbo didn't even want to go. Although, it did seem as if Gandalf was trying to persuade him.
She kept listening to their squabbling, and heard Gandalf raise his voice to the dwarves. It sounded unnaturally loud, but he soon lightened in tone as he explained how hobbits were light on their feet and could remain hidden even better than dwarves. And while the dragon was accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the smell of hobbit was all but unknown to the beast.
"There is a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he has a great deal more to offer than any of you know," Gandalf said. "Including himself…but you must trust me on this."
"…Very well," said Thorin, after a moment's hesitation. "We'll do it your way."
Aneira looked at the very edge of the window, and saw the most peculiar sight.
"No, no," Bilbo began to protest, but the dwarves came up with the contract they had drawn up for him.
"It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, funeral arrangements, so forth," said Balin, who handed the document to the hobbit.
"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo asked incredulously. But as he opened the folded parchment, it turned out to be quite long, nearly reaching to the floor. He groaned and began reading choice lines (ones he found alarming and rather outrageous) out loud.
"…One fourteenth of profit, seems fair…shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by but not limited to…lacerations…evisceration…incineration?" He glanced over at the dwarves sitting at the table.
"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," said Bofur. Bilbo's eyes widened, along with Aneira's, who listened with rapt attention.
"I think I feel a bit faint," said Bilbo, who held onto his knees for support in attempt to fix the rush of blood out of his head.
"Think furnace, with wings," Bofur continued, despite Bilbo's stammering of a need for air.
"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!"
Bilbo stumbled a bit for a moment, before promptly passing out and falling to the floor in a heap. The dwarves got up and drew closer to the fallen hobbit. Gandalf shook his head.
"Very helpful, Bofur," he deadpanned.
That didn't sound very pleasant, thought Aneira. But that is only if you are caught.
And that was the last thing she would plan on doing. If she joined them of course.
Wait, what am I thinking? This isn't something you can just invite yourself on…and more importantly, I have responsibilities at home, I can't just up and leave.
And as she sat alone in the grass, staring up at the stars for what seemed like hours (but was really only minutes), she thought of her mother. Her health had been failing for years, and only progressively degenerated without the proper care she needed. They were only just making it by with both Aneira and her brother working as many odd jobs as they could to support them.
No, I cannot leave. What on earth was I thinking?
Of being selfish.
Just as she would have turned to leave, she heard something, eerie yet sorrowful, and pulling. It drew her nearer to the window once more. She heard deep, echoing voices, and a tune so achingly familiar…
"Far over the misty mountains cold.
To dungeons deep, and caverns old.
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold."
Tears began to stream down her face as she saw him, Anian, sitting with her in the dark, and telling her the tale of a people forced from their homes. She remembered his likeness, the mixture of grief and sorrow in his eyes as he told it. Her hand began to finger the chain that rested against her collarbone and circled about her neck—a precious item of silver her father had gifted her with when she was small, barely taller than his knee.
"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.
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce that fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail…"
It was heartbreaking to hear it in this way, and she recognized their song as one her father had frequently hummed to himself—on those nights after he had tucked Aneira and her brother into bed, when he thought all of them were soundly sleeping. She had heard his voice, and she had heard the words. Only, she had not known what they meant until this day.
"The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him…"
She walked home when it was still dark, crept into her room by the window, and was surprised out of her wits to see her mother there, sitting on her bed.
"Mum! What are you doing out of bed?" Aneira asked, quite flustered. Serén only raised a brow.
"You're asking me this question?" she said wryly.
"Well…you see, there was a commotion happening next door, which woke me up, and I—"
"You had to go see what it was?"
Aneira's silence was her answer.
"Spying is neither polite nor appropriate," Serén said firmly, though her grasp on the bed was tentative, her face pale.
"Have you slept at all?" Aneira asked.
"A bit, but you were not the only one who was wakened…they spoke of interesting things, I gather?"
Aneira proceeded to tell her mother everything that she had seen and heard, though she kept what had been her fleeting desires to herself.
"All the stories Father used to tell, they were all true…in my heart, I suppose I always wanted them to be," said Aneira. She looked to her folded hands in her lap as she sat beside her mother on the bed.
"Then…why should you not go?" Serén said quietly, against her better judgment. Aneira gave her a shocked look.
"Of course not, how could you think such a thing?" Aneira asked. But when Serén simply gave her a wry look, Aneira shifted her gaze to her hands in her lap.
"I can't leave," she said incredulously. The thought was ridiculous, a fleeting fancy.
"Your brother has had more than enough practice handling things here…and it would do you good to get out in the open…you've sacrificed much for me." Serén shifted her gaze out the window then, reflectively taking in the night sky.
"Mother, I couldn't—"
"When was the last time you went to a concert in the square?" Serén asked. The question took her daughter by surprise and she paused in thought.
"I…don't really remember."
"How about the last time you bought yourself a hair ribbon, or a bracelet? Or for that matter, went with Melisse and socialized with others your age?"
Aneira gave Serén a long look.
"I know where you're going with this, but—"
"This is not the way to live, Aneira."
Look at me! she lamented to herself. I'm doing what I always swore I would never do: put any of my children in harm's way by going back…but she needs to know…I would never forgive myself if my own daughter spent her life without ever knowing the joy…and the pain…it can bring.
She regarded Aneira silently for a moment, and held the girl's hands in her own.
Aeron is strong. He will one day leave this place to find himself on his own, with my blessing or not, but you would not," Serén thought. You are a dreamer, though you know nothing else apart from this life.
"…Even if it is only once, I want you to see the world outside of The Shire…but…that doesn't mean you'll dare take any unnecessary risks. Stay close to those who will accompany you, stay close to Gandalf, if anyone. There are perils you can't even imagine in this world…"
At seeing the wide-eyed looked upon her daughter's face, she sighed, and inwardly admonished herself for having raised a child so sheltered from her surroundings.
And it was upon my own insistence. I'm a foolish woman, but that doesn't mean Aneira has to be, she thought.
"Oh, dear Aneira, there is so much you have yet to know but…it isn't a wonder that you've taken such an interest in what you've witnessed tonight."
Aneira was confused, to say the least, but Serén was not finished.
"And yes, I know you have never been content here…do not think I haven't noticed," said Serén. Her daughter flinched slightly. "But you are naturally inquisitive, headstrong, impatient…just like your father."
Aneira grinned a bit, but Serén's words were not making any sense.
"There are things I have not told you…" she trailed, and Aneira was then taken off guard.
"Mum, what are you talking about?"
"It was selfish of us, your father and I, but the past is a tricky thing. It can hold memories best left forgotten, or some you just wish to ignore, but I realize now that it was not the right way to go about it," said Serén, who met her daughter's gaze of confusion. "There is a reason our family settled in The Shire, Aneira, and it was not a pleasant thing."
Aneira considered her mother silently for a moment. Curiosity won out.
"Tell me."
And I shall leave it on that note. Not much for the beginning, but there is definitely more coming soon if this captures your attention somewhat. As for why someone other than a hobbit has settled in The Shire, well, that and a good many other things shall be answered in due time. Until then, feel free to leave a comment, like, dislike, (etc.) in the little review box down there. ;)
-E2189