I've been meaning to work on one of my oldest stories for a while, and the music of the Hobbit has helped to rekindle my love for this old story. So while I dig up my old notes, something for me to play with.
A prequel of sorts to my fic New Beginnings, as I do a bit of a character study for my own creations.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of the music from within the soundtracks of either series.
To Begin The Journey
Thorin grumbled as he pushed his way through the crowded pub, a low rumbling sound of rocks grinding against one another within his throat as he forced his way to the only empty table he could see. It had been a very long day working over a very hot fire and working with very hot metal. He was grateful to get off of his feet for the first time that day as he gestured for one of the bar maids to bring him an ale.
He resisted the urge to lean forward and press his fever-hot forehead against the cool wood of the table. For starters, he didn't know how clean it was, and didn't like the idea of driving a splinter covered in who knows what into his face. The other reason, was he could feel the eyes upon him, and showing weakness in a tavern full of borderline hostile men was not a smart idea. Dark eyes flicked back and forth from one face to another, trying to judge just how close the men might be to doing more than just stare, his scorched hand leaning closer to the hilt of the sword he had slung over his chair.
Only to relax as Gandalf sat himself down across from him without so much as a how'd you do. The eyes moved away from him, the men not wanting to mess with the wizard, and Thorin breathed out quietly as he asked the maid for food as she placed a pint in front of him, Gandalf asking for the same. Only for the old wizard to place a finger at his lips as Thorin opened his to ask what the old man wanted. "My old friend, while I am here to talk, there is something you should hear first," the old man offered, nodding towards a corner of the tavern.
Grumbling in his throat again, the Dwarf turned, only to blink at the sight before him. A newcomer was setting up a stool, harp and drum in front of the hearth as if preparing a concert. He had heard of this minstrel, though none had see her face, as she kept a cloak of rich dark blue on over her face whenever she came in. The only reason any knew she was female was from her voice. This was the first time Thorin had gotten off work at the forge early enough to catch one of her rare performances, as she only seemed to come into Bree once every moon or so. This time the Men seemed confused, because there was a second figure with the singer in a cloak of deep forest green, but the hands that peeked from the fabric were delicate enough to hint at another woman.
Before beginning, the pair placed a bowl on the ground in front of them, close enough to deter a thief from taking any coin that they might collect. The original performer had proven herself as a gifted singer, and hands hovered over coin pouches as the pair took up places around the drum and small harp.
"Far over, the Misty Mountain's Rise,
Lead them standing, upon the height.
What was before, will be once more,
A fair kingdom, a distant light."
Thorin's breath caught for a second. The words were changed a little, but it was recognizable as a Dwarf song, sung in the light voice of a woman, the second figure softer as she tapped on the drum, the first singer's fingers dancing over the strings of the harp. "How did they learn this song?" he whispered quietly to the smiling Wizard, the tavern having grown quiet as the women sang.
"Fiery Mountain, Beneath the Moon,
Words are unspoken, They'll return soon.
For home, a song, that echoes on,
And All who find them, will know the tune."
Gandalf smiled to himself as he watched the pair, a twinkle in old eyes. "The path of the Ranger is not a choice, but a calling," he offered quietly, lighting the tobacco in his pipe as he took a quick puff. Around them, the tavern was tapping feet and fists in time to the chorus, as if this was an old song they had heard before.
"And you're saying it chose those two women?" Thorin all but scoffed.
An equally quiet laugh, smoke wreathing around the old man's head. "To the eternal annoyance of father and uncles," he confirmed. A second chuckle, a gold coin suddenly dancing over old gnarled knuckles. "But while they are adept hunters, the Rangers do not pay for them to come in and buy other supplies like salt or weapons. If they do well tonight, you may wish to hurry back to your forge, for they will want fresh arrows or a sharpening for their swords."
"For Ancient King and Elvish Lord,
There many a gleaming golden horde,
They shaped and wrought, clear light they caught,
To hide in gems on hilt and sword."
They were good, much as the Dwarf hated to admit it, even if only in his mind. They had managed to scale the song up into a register that was more comfortable for their higher pitched voices, while keeping the darker undertones of the original song, the descant that the second woman was singing helping with this. "So, what are you trying to prove Gandalf?" he asked after a moment, tearing his eyes away from blue and green figures.
"You people are ready to take back their home. For your songs to have spread to the point that those two know it," a nod towards the makeshift stage, "proves this."
"Far over, the Misty Mountains Cold,
To Dungeons Deep, and Caverns old..."
The last lines echoed from the throat of the first woman and hung in the air in a single clear note that shouldn't have worked in the rougher tune of a Dwarf song, but broke hearts of Men who heard it either way. A shy smile could be seen spreading of the faces of the two women, and the tavern erupted in applause and the tinkling song of coin as their bowl began to fill. Gandalf chuckled at the shy look on the face of woman in the green cloak, the coin in his hand flipping up over the crowd to land perfectly in the bowl in a subtle show of magic. They couldn't see their eyes, but Thorin could sense the pair turning to look at them as they traced back the path of the gold. A subtle nod, and the woman in blue held up a hand, a silver ring with an amethyst setting twinkling in the dim light of the tavern. At once, the crowd quieted, and the pair returned to their instruments, an almost playful air over them this time. This song was even quieter than the first, and Thorin had a suspicion that it was Elvish in origin, and he wondered how they had learned it.
"May it be an Evening Star,
That Shines Down upon you,
May it be, when darkness falls,
Your heart, will be true.
You walk, a Lonely Road,
Oh! How Far you are from Home..."
Dark eyes flicked up to the Wizard. "I'm sure my people want their home back, but there is one very large problem blocking our path," he offered, a hint of a joke in his voice.
"He has been quiet for too many years. He may be dead, and the mountain ready to take back," Gandalf argued quietly. "Your people will need a leader to take back the Lonely Mountain. Thorin, you must rise to this calling."
"Darkness has come,
Believe and you will find your way.
Darkness has fallen,
A promise lives within you now."
Thorin scoffed. "Even if the families followed me, there is no way in. The door is barred, melted and destroyed."
"Seems to me, that you need a burglar."
"A burglar, Gandalf?"
The pair looked up at the sound of the melodic voice, the woman in the blue cloak next to their table. Thorin couldn't help himself; he leaned over in his seat, looking past the crowd towards the 'stage,' because he knew he could still hear music. The second woman had taken over, singing a perfectly creepy song about a garden of shadows. But the Men seemed to enjoy it, so it must have been an old favorite.
Her mouth was all they could see, and she grinned as she held out the gold coin Gandalf had flipped to them. "We have gone on many adventures Gandalf, but ne'er where I suspect you are going," she offered lowly, passing the coin back. Only for the Wizard to shake his head at her, gesturing for her to keep the coin. Everything else in their bowl was bronze and the rare piece of silver. That one gold piece would outfit them for a full month.
"And it is not an adventure I seek to send you on, but to employ you within the bounds of the Ranger." Gandalf nodded to the second woman, a serious look in his eye as he absently rooted through the various pockets of his gray robes. "Within the next few months, Thorin here will be sending Dwarves into the Shire. I only employ that you keep them on the path."
Thorin could not see her eyes, but he could sense them narrowing in the shadows of the cloak, and he went on alert as well, only to pause as she snapped something at the Wizard. Chuckling, Gandalf pulled a map out of his robes, and that amethyst ring winked at the Dwarf again as she unrolled it on the table, pale fingers tracing a handful of paths. She was looking at possible routes to the Mountain from the Shire Thorin realized, and all of them eventually led to the forest he knew to be part of the Greenwood.
"When you reach this forest, I would advice you to take the river instead of the Elven paths, for Thranduil's heart has darkened with his domain. It is no longer safe to travel," she urged, the cloak turning up towards the soot covered male. "As for your kin, my family at heart and I will keep them on the safe path," she offered, and Thorin sighed softly, not knowing he was holding his breath until he stopped.
Only for him to look at her sharply. "How do you know of that Elf?" he asked sharply, an angry grumble in his throat at the thought of the man who had betrayed them.
But that cloak just turned to him quietly, an air of mirth around the figure. "Rangers gossip like fishwives. Those called to task near Greenwood have taken to naming it Mirkwood in truth. And one of our number is comrade and friend to the Elves within that forest." She shrugged after a second, rolling up the map to giveback to Gandalf. "It matters little to me in the end. We are tasked to keep to the Shire, and not to the paths around that Elven Realm. If you will pardon me," she offered, sketching a quick bow to the pair before returning to her kinswoman, who seemed to be blushing at the attention being showered on her from her finished song.
"That young woman has gone through as much in her life as your people," Gandalf offered lowly, catching Thorin's attention. "She was taken in by the family of her companion, after her own were killed by the dark things of the world," he muttered off-handedly. This explained her comment of 'family at heart,' Thorin realized after a second. Adoption into the new family, and the second woman a sister to her.
The Wizard sighed after a second, pulling something new out of his robes. "The time is right to take back the Mountain," he started again, spreading out a piece of paper on the table. A map of the Mountain itself...
~~~...~~~...~~~
"Lay down, your sweet and weary head.
Night is falling, you have come to journey's end."
Caranela held a back a smile as she sang, fingers dancing over the small harp in her lap as she and her cousin Inwe finished their little concert for the night. Gandalf had been close when he said that the Rangers did not pay them. They did not pay them because they knew that they had the talent to make the coin needed for items they could not gather in the forest. They had tried at first, but the women had refused the coin.
"Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before,
They are calling, from across a distant shore."
Inwe was the younger of the two, and this was the first time Cara had brought her with her when they came into Bree. But the months alone in the forests surrounding the Shire gave the younger woman plenty of time to practice, and it had been quiet for weeks, so they had taken the time to come into Bree, stretching their legs and earning the money to buy salt and arrow heads. They would go to Thorin for the later, trusting Dwarf work before that of Men.
Not that they wouldn't have preferred the work of the craftsmen back home, but they were quite sure their 'uncle' was still angry at them for slipping away to join the Rangers in the first place. Better not to chance it.
Elrond had a temper on him that made him the scariest person to be even distantly related to. And he had a tendency to 'adopt' all the youngsters in Rivendell.
The last notes died off, and they bowed to the crowd as the last donations were added to their bowl. This combined with the gold piece Gandalf had given them would be enough for them to be set until the end of winter. The elder turned to her cousin, a subtle gesture directing her to follow out of the tavern.
Outside, they breathed deeply, taking in the air that was only a little fresher than the musty smoky innards of the inn, and they quickly leapt up to the roof before anyone else exited the Prancing Pony. "We have a job," Cara offered quietly, pouring the bowl into a pouch.
"Indeed?" the younger woman chimed, leaning against the chimney without a care in the world, soaking up the heat rising from the fire within. There was a nip in the air, as the world was transitioning into autumn, and soon winter.
"Indeed. Dwarves. We are to lead them to a certain Hobbit Hole."
Green eyes all but glowed in the light of the embers that drifted up from the chimney, the younger woman grinned at her cousin. "Are we to hold their hands and lead them through the trees? Or are we allowed a little fun?"
Blue met green. Impish grins spread like wild fire. "Do you truly believe they would allow us to help them if they knew who we were?"
"Fun it is then." Green eyes noted the dark head of their soon-to-be client, and the younger woman stood, every motion as smooth as a whisper of silk. "Shall we make haste, Cara?"
The elder quirked an eyebrow, watching the dwarf as he headed back to his forge. "Gandalf did warn him that we would come to him tonight for outfitting." A light chuckle echoed through the dark as she looked back to her younger cousin. "It would be rude not to go."
~~~...~~~...~~~...~~~
Thorin grumbled to himself as he trekked over the paths of the Shire, scowling like a thundercloud as the sky started to darken. With the dark, came relief from. The summer heat, but he would have preferred the light. For the past hour he had been searching for this hobbit hole, and for the past hour he had been getting more and more lost.
What was worse, he had yet to see the two rangers that Gandalf promised would help him and his kin. He scoffed to himself. Females, any outside of his own race were completely useless.
A clatter. His head turned at the sound of a stone being thrown, and finally noticed the mark on the round door. A second stone clattered over the path, and he noted the mark scratched on one side. It was the same as the one on the door.
He glanced back at the hills and trees, sharp eyes made to see in caves noting faint movement in the distance. The flow of a cape, and the hint of the shape of a bow. Maybe Gandalf's rangers were of use after all.
~~~...~~~...~~~...~~~
It had been a long journey, a full year in length. Bilbo sighed at the sight of his once pristine home, annoyed at how his relatives and neighbors had descended upon it, tearing into it like a Warg pack through a carcass, and with just as much manners. Or lack there of.
He sighed again as he placed his things down in the main hall, the tiny chest of troll gold heavy not from the gold but from the memories surrounding it. Thorin, Fili, Kili, they had been good friends, and the rest of the party as well. But he wished he could give up his share of the gold just to have his friends back, even if he knew it was an impossible trade to make.
He blinked at the note on his pillow. His bedroom had yet to be plundered, so it was strange for this scrap of parchment to be here, nestled on his mother's old pillows. Delicate hands picked it up; he frowned at himself, he had lost so much weight while on his adventure.
'We are sorry,' it read, 'we kept them away from your home as long as we could, but it is harder to drive away a horde than two or three. The following is a list of who purchased what, so that you may put your lovely home back to rights.
Friends.'
Bilbo looked up, glancing around his home. There were at least two dozen different names on the note, less than he had feared. Either his mysterious friends had driven more away even from the auction, or he had managed to get back at just the right time. A small smile crept over his face after a moment. Even now, he had friends.
"Right," he stated, clapping his hands together. "Let's get started. After all, I'll want it to look nice if my friends come for afternoon tea," he declared, calmer now as he started cleaning, never noticing the small movement of cloth at the window.
He was home. That was all that mattered now.
It was later that night, as he relaxed outside on a salvaged bench, smoking on his pipe that he heard the music. A piping voice, or was there two of them, calling back and forth to one another.
"We saw the light fade from the sky
On the wind we heard a sigh
As the snowflakes cover our fallen brothers
We will say this last goodbye,"
Bilbo smiled softly, pipe drifting away from his lips. This one he knew, it had become popular while he was heading home. The lyrics slipped past his lips, singing unconsciously along with the female voices in the wind.
"Many places, I have been,
Many sorrows, I have seen.
But I don't regret, nor will I forget
All who took the road with me."
It was like the song had been written for the dwarves. It spoke to the part of him that already missed his friends, but he smiled as he leaned back, letting the singers voices wash over him. His eyes drifted closed, as did the eyes of hobbitlings around the Shire as the last of the music faded.
"We bid you all, a very found farewell."