hello all! ^^ welcome to the first chapter of my fanfiction! i'll say it, i'm not new to this site, and i'd truly appreciate it if you could keep the comments section as squeaky clean as possible. spread the love all around! x'D

i've quite forgotten how these A/N's work, so i'll just get on with the story. i hope y'all love it!

~i do not own The Hobbit. all rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson.~

(this story goes on for the entirety of the Hobbit franchise.)

GANDALF SCANNED the scene before him, with thirteen dwarves huddled around the fire, and a hobbit leaning against a tree, doing his best to keep track of the conversation. Gandalf's eyes settled on the Dwarf King, who sat between his nephews and had been silent for a good part of the evening.

"Thorin," the wizard called, catching the attention of the dwarf. "Since my dear friend Bilbo has never exactly heard the entire story, would you so kindly elaborate on the cause of this particular venture?" Thorin, ever the pessimist, looked away and said nothing. "He is a part of the Company now, Thorin. I would think that he deserves to know."

Finally, the King Under the Mountain, not having much cause to deny, faced the Company again and clasped his hands in front of him.

"It began long ago," he started slowly, "in a land far away to the east. There was the city of Dale, its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale, peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-earth: Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, King Under the Mountain, Mightiest of the Dwarf Lords. Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson." He pounded his chest, a slight smile actually inching up his mouth. The Company chortled silently.

"Erebor... its beauty cannot compare to anything else. It was made for legends. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewn from rock, and in great seams of gold running like rivers through stone. The skill of dwarves is unequaled, fashioning objects of great beauty, out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper, down into the dark. And that is where they found it. The Heart of the Mountain. The Arkenstone." The dwarves—who already knew all of the story and were gritting out the painful memories—shifted in their seats uneasily. "Thror named it 'The King's Jewel'. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him; even the Elven king, Thranduil.

"But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly, the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. My grandfather's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him." Thorin shook his head. "Know this—that it is incredibly difficult to overpower a sickness of the mind. My father and I tried to help him, but he would not listen. And when sickness thrives, bad things will follow."

From the corner of his eye, Gandalf noticed Bilbo walk closer, enraptured.

"The first we heard was a noise like a hurricane, coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind," said Thorin, looking to the dwarf Balin, who sat across from him. "We tried to warn the kingdom but... He was a firedrake from the North. Smaug had come. The horns were blown. It was chaos everywhere. Strong fire from the dragon's maw destroyed the towers of Dale, turning the city red. Such wanton death was dealt that day. For this city of Men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize, for dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire."

His voice dropped. "You must understand, a dragon's hide is nearly impossible to pierce," he said, grimacing as he did so. "Our spears did nothing. He entered the Mountain in flame and ruin. I knew where my grandfather would go, to his treasure room. And I found him there, reaching for the Arkenstone that had fallen into the sea of gold. He and my father would have been burned by dragonfire if I had not pulled them out of the Mountain in time. Erebor was lost. For a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives."

A scowl made its way onto his face. "Thranduil is a coward," he spat in contempt. "He stood on the mountainside, an entire army with him, yet he did not come to our aid. He walked away, leaving us to wander the wilderness with no home. I took work where I could find it, laboring in the villages of Men. But I have not forgotten what happened in Erebor that day, the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright. A city turned to ash."

Thorin ended his story with a disturbing image, but Gandalf supposed he could not think of anything else. Then the wizard heard something rustling above them—very soft, barely hearable, but he discerned it from the chirping creatures that surrounded them on the ground. This noise came from one of the trees behind and above him. Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, perhaps his condolences, but someone else beat him to it:

"I must say, that was a wonderful story. Have you got any more?"

Yet this voice came from no one in their Company. The dwarves shot to their feet, as did Gandalf, their eyes trained on the figure that was too obscured behind tree leaves before, but was now illuminated enough to be seen crouching on a tree branch just a little ways away from their Company circle.

It was a night like any other night; which was, to say, dark, eerie, and filled with the noises of creatures that were, in a sense, of no danger. For it was only the wood near The Shire, and it was always very peaceful… save for the occasional Orc attack. They were village-raiders, and they probably thought The Shire was not being defended by four Dunedain Rangers. But these hours of scouting were the only few Fheon ever had to be alone with her brother. Back at the camp, they were together, but never truly so—they had two other Rangers with them.

Now Elijah walked alongside her in the faint darkness. The trees around them loomed like towers, with branches thick enough to climb. It was a cold night, though Fheon and her brother wore thick, green cloaks given to them by the Dunedain. However, the cloaks had been in their possession for more than ten years and so they were, theoretically, theirs in all aspects; as were the two bows and quiver of arrows on their backs, along with the sword on Elijah and the long dagger on Fheon.

They neared the site, in which the border of the Shire circled back to Hobbiton. Fheon, opting to just scan the juncture with her trained eyes, was the first to turn back. Elijah took longer than her but did the same after a mere few seconds.

As they were walking back to their camp, he said, "You're getting taller."

Fheon, knowing that her shorter-than-average height had been a running joke for him, punched his arm. "Do be quiet," she said, smiling slightly.

"I'm serious!"

"No, you're not."

"Honestly, you've reached my shoulders now. Perhaps next month you'll be up to my neck!"

Fheon hit him again, harder than the previous one, and this time Elijah lapsed into an amused silence. They trekked on wordlessly, occasionally exchanging glances but never saying anything. Perhaps tonight was one of those nights in which neither of them was feeling particularly wordy. It was an hour in, halfway back to the starting point of the border, when Fheon smelled something off.

Her arm shot out, stopping Elijah in his tracks. She sniffed again, and the scent was unmistakable. "Do you smell that?" she inquired. Her brother tilted his chin upwards, inhaling the air like a dog. Fheon supposed he was joking around again, but his smirk disappeared when the realization weighed in.

"Smoke," he said.

They scanned the night sky, squinting to be able to perceive anything past the thick tree leaves acting like canopies. Fheon walked forward, straying from their usual path, and came to stand beneath a wide juncture between four trees, a clearing of sorts, so she could skim through the sky more easily. She noticed something north of them, looking to be far off from the border but definitely near enough to cause suspicion. It was a smoke trail, undoubtedly grey among the dark night sky.

Fheon waved Elijah over and, as soon as he saw, he murmured, "Hobbits don't camp out, do they?"

"It would pose an interesting question as to whether they've decided to change their lifestyle, yes."

"We should see what that is, shouldn't we?"

She nodded. "Deal with it if it is a threat. If it is not, report back to the camp."

Elijah scoffed. "Oh, don't act as if you aren't coming with me, because you are. One is alone, but two is company! And besides, what if it is a threat?" He frowned down at her. "You wouldn't leave me to be killed out there, would you?"

She rolled her eyes at the look on his face, but slipped her bow off her back anyway and started towards the smoke. "Wouldn't dream of it," she muttered, making Elijah chuckle.

They soon fell into a cautious muteness, however, for they had rarely ventured so far into the woods, and even though their friends back at camp had stated there was nothing to worry about, it was better to be prepared. Slowly, the smoke trail came to ascend just above their noses, and the towering trees soon parted to reveal a gleaming campfire. And huddled around this campfire was perhaps the strangest variety of beings Fheon had ever laid eyes on. Nevertheless, she and Elijah sprung to hide behind two thick, adjacent trees. Seeing as the group in front of them were dwarves, there was a slight possibility that they would not take too kindly to seeing Rangers barging in on them. Elijah gave Fheon a sideways glance and, with unspoken agreement, they began climbing their given trees.

Fheon was small and light, and therefore she seldom had to worry about making much sound. But Elijah was taller than her, with a lithe build, but no doubt heavier. Fheon waited anxiously for him to reach the thicker branches, crouched atop her own tree and switching her gaze to the group beneath her to her brother. One of the dwarves was speaking.

"…years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly, the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. My grandfather's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him. Know this—that it is incredibly difficult to overpower a sickness of the mind. My father and I tried to help him, but he would not listen. And when sickness thrives, bad things will follow."

Elijah finally perched on a branch, looking to Fheon and throwing her a bright smile. Fheon returned it half-heartedly, silently grateful that the tree he had found had a trunk thick enough to hide his body. Meanwhile, the unnamed dwarf continued, and she allowed herself to listen. Perhaps they would learn something.

"The first we heard was a noise like a hurricane, coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind. We tried to warn the kingdom but... He was a firedrake from the North. Smaug had come. The horns were blown. It was chaos everywhere. Strong fire from the dragon's maw destroyed the towers of Dale, turning the city red. Such wanton death was dealt that day. For this city of Men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire."

A dragon? Fheon's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Was this a mere story or a telling of the past? The name Dale sounded familiar, but not enough for her to pull anything out of her head. Yet the word dragon she was more aware of. Her and Elijah's grandmother used to tell them stories of her homeland, where there was not one dragon, but three. She shared a look with her brother, sending him the message that they would listen and stay isolated… for now.

"…a dragon's hide is nearly impossible to pierce. Our spears did nothing. He entered the Mountain in flame and ruin. I knew where my grandfather would go, to his treasure room. And I found him there, reaching for the Arkenstone that had fallen into the sea of gold. He and my father would have been burned by dragonfire if I had not pulled them out of the Mountain in time. Erebor was lost. For a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives."

She noticed something flash across Elijah's face, but in the darkness, she could not discern what it was. He covered it quickly.

"Thranduil is a coward."

The recognition was clear on his expression now, and even on Fheon's. They knew who Thranduil was, the great Elven king of Mirkwood. The Dunedain heard stories of him through Elrond, and the words would somehow find their way to even the most out-of-the-way Dunedain station that was in the borders of the Shire.

"He stood on the mountainside, an entire army with him, yet he did not come to our aid. He walked away, leaving us to wander the wilderness with no home. I took work where I could find it, laboring in the villages of Men. But I have not forgotten what happened in Erebor that day, the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright. A city turned to ash."

The way he said it made Fheon doubt that this was merely a fairytale told for the sake of a campfire. Slowly, she slipped her bow over her shoulders once more. Elijah moved to do the same, but the string of his bow caught onto a thin branch just above his head, making it rustle. It might not have been much for any other person, but the sound was like the bark of a dog considering how silent everything else was. Elijah winced. Fheon's heartbeat quickened. She was about to equip her bow again, seeing how one of the dwarves (wearing a pointed hat, oddly enough) was staring at Elijah's presumed position with suspicious eyes, when her brother called down at them.

"I must say, that was a wonderful story," he jeered. "Have you got any more?"

Fheon should have expected such from her brother. She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes, but was slightly relieved when none of the dwarves reached for their weapons. They only stood up, looking up at Elijah, who did not attempt to hide himself anymore. She gathered that none of them had seen her yet, and leaned deeper into the base of the tree, where the leaves were thickest. She waited for Elijah's next act, and scowled when she found that it was jumping down from his tree and into the clearing with the dwarves.

The dwarf dressed in gray with the pointed hat turned out to not be a dwarf at all. He towered over the rest of them like a horse to a dog. Fheon eyed the staff in his hand, and then his face, and then remembered where she had seen him before. "And why has a Dunedain Ranger decided to grace us with his presence?" he asked.

"Because fourteen dwarves and a wizard are not natural," Elijah countered nonchalantly. "Not natural to be seen by the borders of the Shire, anyway—"

"Thirteen," Gandalf interrupted.

"Sorry?"

"Thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a—"

"Hobbit," a new, smaller voice cut in. Fheon searched for his face amidst the throng of dwarves and found him. He was not noticeably smaller than the dwarves, only two were taller than all of them, and that was Gandalf and the dwarf who had been storytelling before. Fheon had never seen the hobbit's face before; he had never even ventured out of Hobbiton to pick flowers or something of the sort. This must have been his first journey outside the town. But if so, why had he decided to journey with dwarves in the first place?

An interested tenor crept into Elijah's words. "Thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit," he repeated, before calling, "Fheon, would you come down here for a moment, please?"

Fheon sighed in exasperation and pulled the hood of her cloak on, so as to hide her dark braided hair. She jumped down and landed on the ground with a soft crunch, before taking a few steps forward to stand beside her brother. The tall dwarf, who had been storytelling, smirked.

The smug tone was apparent in his gruff voice. He said, "What a small friend you have there."

Beside her, she heard Elijah chuckling to himself. Fheon raised her head to look at the dwarf and softly retorted, "You're one to talk."

He looked taken aback. "A girl Ranger? I did not know that was allowed."

"Watch yourself," Elijah cut in, a slight snap in his words. "This is Fheon." And Fheon, not being one to prolong formalities, pushed her hood back unhappily, revealing her copper-toned face to all.

One of the dwarves stepped up, frowning. "Isn't 'Fheon' a boy's name—?"

"Can you please stop teasing my sister?" said Elijah, sounding impatient now. "She doesn't quite like it when people mock her name, or her height. She'll show you a thing or two about the benefits of being small and it's not the fun kind of showing—"

"Elijah," Fheon interrupted, glaring at him fitfully.

He threw her an apologetic look before returning his attention to the group. "If you'd just tell us your reason for having a hobbit with you, and for being so many—with a wizard, no less—then we'll leave you be, no further questions asked."

"We were here to make a business transaction," a hatted dwarf replied, "Namely, to pick up our burglar."

"Burglar?" said Elijah, surprised. "You're going to steal something, then?"

"Well I wouldn't call it stealing, per say. We're reclaiming what is rightfully ours! The kingdom of—" He halted abruptly when the tall dwarf elbowed his side.

"It is none of your business," he finished threateningly.

Fheon bit the inside of her cheek and resisted the urge to snap. "It's actually very much so our business, considering a hobbit is with you. It is our duty to protect the Free People, and the hobbits are a Free People."

"He signed a contract agreeing that whatever happened to him would be left without grudge and without blame."

"Why would anything happen to him?"

She felt her brother's hand grip her arm and allowed herself to be pulled away. Catching his disapproving glare, she bit the inside of her cheek as Elijah attempted to calm things down. "I think we can all agree that we got off on the wrong foot here," he said. "Let's start over. I'm Elijah, this is my sister Fheon. And you company of lovely dwarves and a hobbit, are?"

Fheon raised her head as the enumeration began.

"Nori," said a dwarf with brown hair styled up to three points; "Dori," said a dwarf with a white beard braided so that it didn't look like a beard at all; "Ori," said a seemingly young dwarf with cropped orange hair; "Bofur," said the hatted dwarf Fheon had been speaking with before; "Bombur," said a wide dwarf with most of his beard braided into a loop across his chest; a dwarf with salt-and-pepper hair and with what looked to be an axe embedded in his forehead gestured to himself; (Bombur explained that his name was Bifur, but that he was rendered unable to speak because of the axe in his head); "Fili," a young blond dwarf said—which was followed by a dark-haired dwarf's, "and Kili."—"Gloin," said a dwarf with the thickest red beard; "Oin," said a dwarf with a fancy, greying beard; "Dwalin," said a burly dwarf with a bald head and dark beard; "Balin," said a dwarf with white hair and kind eyes.

The introductions had finished the circle, now, and it was time for the prideful tall dwarf to speak. Fheon did not remove her eyes from his face as he caved in to Gandalf's expectant gaze and said, "Thorin."

Hearing this, Elijah turned his head to look at the hobbit. "And you are?"

"Bilbo," the hobbit muttered. "Bilbo Baggins."

"You've willingly joined this band of dwarves, then?" Fheon asked, to which he answered with an affirmative. Pursing her lips, she turned around, about to leave when a booming voice stopped her.

"And I am Gandalf," the wizard said, finishing the circle completely. "A wizard, yes, but a chaperone of sorts to this company as well."

"Lovely," Elijah replied. "Well, that's all we wanted anyway, now that the hobbit's confessed to really signing a contract, as Thorin said. We'd best be off now—"

"I have heard of you, Elijah and Fheon," Gandalf interrupted, causing Fheon to face him once again. "The orphans rescued from Evendim, placed under the training and watchful eyes of the Dunedain." She froze.

Recognition flashed across Bilbo's face, and he said, "Evendim? That's not very far from here."

"It's not," said Elijah. "I was not aware we had a reputation."

"Oh, well, for you, not so much," said Gandalf. "But your sister—she is the one of the few female Ranger in history."

Fheon had her jaw set as she said, "Rangers protect the Free People. We were homeless, and so they took us in. We did not complain." When she raised her eyes to look at the wizard, he was humming thoughtfully.

"Protect the Free People then," he replied. "Come with us, as our scouts."

"We will take you as far as the borders of Bree," Elijah said. "Afterwards, you are on your own."

Gandalf clicked his tongue. "Oh no, Bree will not do."

"Weathertop, then—"

"Erebor," Gandalf concluded, "Past Rivendell, across the Misty Mountains, and through Mirkwood."

The story was real, then… Fheon would laughed if Gandalf's expression was not deadly serious, and if Thorin was not giving him a hateful glare. "Fortunately," she said uncertainly, "Rangers are not allowed to leave their posts—"

"They are if they are willing." Gandalf raised an eyebrow, and she frowned.

"What makes you say we are willing?"

When his eyes flickered to the man in front of her, her stomach clenched. She stepped forward to find that Elijah was looking at the Grey Wizard rather seriously. Immediately, she pulled him aside so that they were not so illuminated by the dwarves' campfire. "Are you mad?" she hissed.

"I'm not mad," he replied in the same low voice she used. "I'm just thinking that perhaps we are better off helping Free People instead of sitting doing nothing all day, watching over a town that already has two extra Rangers keeping watch."

"Don't say that. Two Rangers would not be enough to fend off a dozen Orcs. You know this."

"We would be back before they knew it—"

"In what? Three, five, ten months? Perhaps a year? And besides, there are plenty of them as it is! Thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard. A wizard. If we had a wizard aiding the Rangers, I would stand by you with this decision. But what you're suggesting is madness."

Elijah regarded her with calculating eyes, and then flicked them to the side. Fheon did the same and found Thorin and Gandalf locked in a very similar-aired conversation. Then her brother looked at her again, and she knew she had seen that look in his eye before. It was the same look he had during their first days training with the Dunedain, when every night was a battle to ignore the aching limbs, and every morning was a conflict of obeying and waking up, or disobeying and keeping their eyes closed.

"We lost our home once, Fheon," he said. "The same has happened to these dwarves, and I will not ignore it."

At that moment, Fheon knew she had lost. She glanced to the side again and found Gandalf and Thorin had separated. With a defeated sigh, she muttered to her brother, "We'll have to explain to the others exactly where we're going…"

Elijah grinned, and just when she thought he was going to hug him (which she would not have allowed), he placed his hand on her head and failed in ruffling her braided hair. "We'll send Cali."

"Fine."

"It's settled then?"

Fheon muttered in distaste, "If I die, I'm coming back to drag you with me."

He was still grinning. "And what happens if I die?"

She rolled her eyes. "Highly doubtful. I would die first trying to save your arse. This is a dragon we're dealing with."

what do you guys think so far? leave your comments in the reviews section below! I LOVE REVIEWS I COULD HANG MYSELF WITH THEM. (no actually suicide is a serious problem and it's nothing to joke about. life is worth living, my lovelies. keep your dreams alive. ^^ )

lots of love,

ellesmer~