Author's Note:
Hey Y'all, I'll start off by disclaiming that everything here belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Only original characters and a few tweaks to the plot are from me. Khuzdûl, or Dwarvish,is bolded and italicized, Sindarin, or Elvish, is italicized, and Black Speech is bolded. Any translations will be provided at the end of the chapter as they appear chronologically.
- Enjoy
The darkness began to subside but the light that she could see was filtered through a thick burlap sack. She had no idea how long she had been in that sack or where she was headed, but it couldn't be good. She hadn't eaten in days and her limbs were tangled together with the constant feeling of pins and needles. As she was carried even further from her home, the sack she was in was unceremoniously dropped to the ground. She let out a groan as she landed on her shoulder, which resulted in yet another kick to her head.
That horrid man had tied a gag around her mouth to prevent her from calling out, but it seemed like every time she breathed too loudly, she would receive another bruise or cracked rib. Her captor, spoke with another man for a few minutes and then she felt him haul the sack back up onto his shoulder once more. How long had they been traveling? It had to be many months by now, but she was unable to keep track of the days that went by. As her vision swam and her head became fuzzy again, she could faintly hear a man's voice.
"Welcome to Bree, sir."
A dark figure came upon Bag End on a humid summer night, drawn there by a distinctive mark on a door. The birds had quieted down for the night, but the crickets chirped and a calm breeze rustled gently through the lush little corner of Middle Earth. The figure stopped outside the window of the hobbit hole he had come upon and listened to the singing and merriment coming from inside. He wasn't one to join celebrations, quite the contrary actually. He was often known for causing the wave of silence that swept over a raucous crowd when he entered a room. A somber air seemed to follow him everywhere he went, and so he waited a moment or two to let them have their fun, then knocked heavily on the thick, wooden door. He heard that familiar, tangible hush fall upon those inside the little hobbit hole. The door opened and the deep baritone voice of the traveler spoke,
"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I would not have found it at all had it not been for the mark on the door," the dark figure spoke. He took in the little home around him. The hallways were circular and the ceilings very low, but what else could he expect from a halfling? He divested himself of his heavy cloak, greeting some of the guests that had gathered to meet him in the doorway.
"Mark?" The hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, said. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!" The hobbit moved to check the front door for said mark when the old wizard, Gandalf the Grey, closed it before he was able. The tall wizard had put this little gathering of dwarves together, without his consent, mind you, and Bilbo was not very pleased. He ran a hand through his short, curly hair and rested his hands in his suspenders, trying to regain his self control. He could feel his anxiety rising as the number of guests in Bag End steadily increased throughout the evening. Hobbits were known for their amicable nature, and Bilbo was very much trying to honor his kind by retaining some semblance of self control.
Gandalf looked down on the hobbit apologetically. Bilbo looked over at the confident, if not highly intimidating, dwarf in front of him. He had worn a black cloak and a dark tunic under that. He had large black boots that thumped when he took a step, and he had hair the matched his demeanor. His hair was black, or at least a very dark shade of brown, and he had two regal-looking braids ending in silver beads on either side of his face. His bead was short and well-kept, unlike many of the other dwarves who had very long beards. He was also taller than most other dwarves, standing many inches taller than the small hobbit.
"There is a mark, I put it there myself," the wizard finally spoke. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf introduced. He knew Thorin would be skeptical of his choice in the fourteenth member of their company, but he was confident he had made the right choice. Bilbo Baggins was entirely more than he seemed.
Thorin turned his attention back to the hobbit then spoke to Bilbo directly,
"So, this is the hobbit. Tell me mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?" he asked, looking Bilbo up and down, trying to gauge if he had the strength or conformation of a fighter.
"Pardon me?" Fighting? Why was he being asked about fighting, Bilbo thought. No respectable hobbit engaged in fighting or any sort of adventurous deeds. No, certainly not, and he was no exception.
"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" Thorin pressed, circling the unnerved hobbit like a vulture, his blue eyes narrowed.
"Well I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know. But I, um, fail to see why that's relevant" Bilbo responded, trying not to feel intimidated by the large dwarf.
"Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin announced, and laughter broke out from the dwarves behind him. Thorin and the company moved to dining room where he took the seat at the head of the table. The twelve dwarves gathered around the table, taking their seats and listening closely as a child waiting for the bedtime story.
"What news from the meeting of Ered Luin?" Balin began. Balin was a very old dwarf, and one of Thorin's closest friends. "Did they all come?"
"Aye," Thorin replied. "Envoys from all seven kingdoms." He was met with relief from the other dwarves, who were glad to know that all the dwarf kingdoms had gone to listen to what Thorin brought before them.
"What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin, a large dwarf with a bald, tattooed scalp and a permanent scowl, asked. "Is Dain with us?"
"They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone" Thorin replied, looking down at a mug of ale that had been placed before him.
"You- you're going on a quest?" Bilbo tentatively asked. Maybe that was why all these dwarves decided to congregate in his home, he pondered.
"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light" Gandalf requested just then, and Bilbo nodded his head and went to fetch a few more candles from another room. Gandalf produced an old map from his robes and laid it out before the company. The map depicted the Lonely Mountain, the homeland of the dwarves that was taken from them in the most horrific manner.
"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a solitary peak," Gandalf said as he pointed to the figure on the map.
"The... Lonely Mountain," Bilbo read over Gandalf's arm as he returned with the candles. He had never heard of the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps that was where these dwarves were headed, he concluded.
"Aye," Glóin, a large dwarf with an equally large, red beard, said. "Óin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." The dwarves around the table grumbled and began talking amongst each other. Óin, a normally more reserved dwarf with two intricate braids comprising his grey beard, spoke up over his companions to add his piece.
"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold. When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end," he concluded. Bilbo, who had gone into the room beside the dwarves for a little more space, perked up his ears when he heard the word 'beast.'
"Uh," the hobbit inquired, "what beast?" He turned to the dwarves and Bofur faced the hobbit with his pipe in hand and a casual lean in his chair.
"Oh, that would be in reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," he said, nodding to the hobbit as he took a drag from his pipe. "Airborne fire-breather," the dwarf continued, "Teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals."
"Yes, I know what a dragon is," the hobbit quickly added. Suddenly, Ori, the youngest dwarf with a short and ragged-looking auburn beard stood up.
"I'm not afraid! I'm up for it, I'll give him a taste of dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!" he exclaimed, inciting loud guffaws and agreement from the company.
"The task will be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen," Balin reminded them, bringing the laughter to a halt. "Nor thirteen of the best, nor brightest... " he added. The dwarves erupted into argument then, insulted by Balin's comment, until Fili spoke up.
"We may be few in number," the tan-haired dwarf conceded, "but we're fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf!"
"And you forget we have a wizard in our company!" Kili, Fili's brother added. "Gandalf would have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"
"Oh, uh, well, well, no I wouldn't say- " Gandalf stuttered.
"How many dragons have you killed?" Dori asked. "Go on, give us a number!" Arguments and fighting broke out amongst the dwarves, each arguing how many dragons they thought the wizard may or may not have slain in his time. The shouting escalated and Bilbo's attempt to quiet them down fell on deaf ears. The yelling and arguing mounted until Thorin rose out of his seat, having had enough of their bickering.
"Shazara!" he shouted over the company, everyone instantly falling silent. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?" All were silent as they listened to their leader. "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 this chance to take back Erebor?!" he shouted. The dwarves erupted in their own shouts, encouraged by their leader.
"Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!" Thorin roared.
"You forget that the front gate is sealed," Balin mentioned, extinguishing the excitement yet again. "There is no way into the mountain."
"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf said cryptically as he presented a key the he had produced, seemingly from nowhere.
"How came you by this?" Thorin's gruff voice whispered.
"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safe keeping," Gandalf answered. "It is yours now." Gandalf passed the key to Thorin, who took it with pride and stowed it in his pocket. After seeing the key Fili spoke up.
"If there is a key, there must be a door." he said.
"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls." Gandalf supplied in reference to the weathered map.
"There's another way in," Kili grinned, throwing his arm around his brother.
"Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gandalf sighed. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth who can."
Shazara = Silence
Du Bekâr = To Arms