Hello, guys! Thank you so much for the follows, favourites and reviews, please keep 'em coming! If you notice familiar quotes from TV series or films popping up every now and then, please don't take a dig at me, it's just that I wasn't able to resist incorporating them into the story. Enjoy!


A league of extraordinary gentlemen


The Ranger was limping in silence, in danger of having that wince of pain become dangerously noticeable. She could feel every little shift of every weapon against her as she tugged the cloak and hood closer to fight off the cold breeze. Her annoyance at the newly acquired cut across her calf was increasing exponentially. Mercifully, and quite surprisingly since this had to do with her luck, the bandit's knife that did the job was not poisoned, or else she would have departed this life by now. As her mind fell into wondering how he and his slimy cronies had dared to approach these places again, a faint blue gleam on a door caught her eye.

So Hobbiton it was.

It was, of course, past the time for supper. She could have been there earlier if it wasn't for her unexpected injury, and also if Gandalf had the kindness to be more explicit about what village in the entire Westfarthing she should go to. But it was Gandalf, which meant that she'd have to go around searching every village and house, asking the locals whether they'd encountered a wizard with a tall, pointed grey hat.

It had been a one-of-a-kind experience, one of the big folk —and a Ranger at that— strolling in a town full of hobbits. Most of them were sidestepping to avoid her as she went, yet some had no choice but meet her eye when she stopped to ask a question. Far be it from her to say that she was embittered by their suspiciousness. Had she been in their place and stumbled upon a considerably taller, dark-cloaked, armed figure, she'd keep her distance as well. Yet her manners were deemed oddly polite despite her dark and gloomy appearance, according to the murmurs that spread upon her pass.

The dark cloaked figure lingered a minute or two before the hobbit hole at the very beginning of Bagshot Row, mulling over what she was about to throw herself into. With a resigned sigh she escorted her horse in a small clearing nearby, took the saddle off his back and set it on the grassy ground, whispered something in his ear and left him there to rest for the night. She began trudging across the stone path that led to the hobbit hole, where a blue mark was now clearly visible, while the multiple voices heard from the inside increased in volume the closer she got; chuckles and slight protests as well and, as she realised, a rather large assembly was taking place.

With several thoughts roiling in her head at once, she knocked three times on the round green door with the brass knob in the centre.


Bilbo Baggins was a creature of habit, and he believed in the efficacy of a daily routine. Every night after his dinner he sat in his favourite armchair by the fire to smoke his pipe, and religiously went to bed no later than midnight. Every morning he woke a little after dawn to a brief wash, followed by a hearty breakfast and a visit to the market, to end up, weather permitting, spending his afternoon on the bench in his garden smoking his pipe and enjoying the quiescence of a simple life. And on and on and on it went.

At the moment, Bilbo Baggins was positively seething.

Just when the otherwise kind-hearted, respectable hobbit was about to snap, firm thuds were heard on the door and all the noise in the kitchen stopped at once.

"Ah, splendid," Gandalf exclaimed mirthfully, heading to the hall to open it without lingering a moment longer, "that must be the last guest."

There was a loud shuffling inside the hobbit hole as thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and the wizard scooted from their seats around the table. Then the door opened wide, and the hooded, fully armed last member of the company stepped inside.

"Ai na vedui, mellon nín," greeted the wizard.

The figure nodded in response and dropped the hood back, revealing the face they all were so curious to see.

It was more anticlimactic than one might anticipate of moments like those.

"You must be joking," one of the dwarves, a partly bald one with ears adorned by several piercings, muttered with an incredulous look.

Needless to say, the rest also took it with a grain of salt.

Gandalf had conveniently skipped the part where the last guest was revealed to be a woman. Now that some gave it a second thought, the wizard had skipped a whole lot of information. He'd been rather vague as to whatever business the last guest had there with them in the first place. And Thorin hadn't mentioned anything either.

"She's a lassie!" another, with more intricately braided hair and beard, cried. Then he turned to her, "You're a lassie!"

The woman graced him with a hint of a smile. "I am a lassie," she confirmed in amusement, "and I'm a Ranger."

"You are late."

The kind look that so far graced her features may fell from her face, but otherwise she seemed unfazed by the dwarf king's biting remark. "Was there a great emergency that warranted my immediate presence?" she asked dryly.

Thorin grunted a sullen "No", making a point of glaring at Gandalf from the corner of his eye. Why the wizard had called for her was still beyond him.

"Then I am not late," she told him in a poised manner, even though her eyes were challenging him to contradict her if he dared. She was injured, tired, and seriously deprived of sleep. The last thing she wished to deal with was Thorin's rebuke just for the sake of demonstrating his leadership.

Many pairs of eyes belonging to all the dwarves present, save Thorin's who simply glared at her, goggled in a very comical way. A low grumble also came from the stout, partly bald dwarf who, as Arya aptly suspected, considered it very disrespectful for a stranger to answer back to his king. She mentally smiled to herself, reflecting on the promising journey ahead of them; two moody dwarves so far and still counting. Oh the joy.

"Now," Gandalf loudly cleared his throat and stepped between them, placing a hand on her shoulder and nudging her to take a step forward, "this is Arya." She gave them a light tilt of her head as he presented her to the others. "She will be your guide."

That was taken in with varying levels of enthusiasm, mainly ranging from protest to doubt to mild curiosity. Comments of superstitious nature were, of course, unavoidable. All kinds of whispers started to spread from ear to ear, the majority of them along the lines of "What the devil do we need a guide for? We know the road!" and "Methinks it's frightful bad luck to bring a woman along..."

When it was Dwalin's turn to voice his concerns to his closest friend, Thorin rewarded him with a sigh and a nod towards the wizard, shaking his head in frustration, "It'll be far worse not to have her."

Before the voices got too loud for his tastes again, Bilbo had the prudence to introduce himself.

"Lady Arya," greeted the hobbit first, as benignly as his nerves allowed, "I am Bilbo Baggins. Pleasure to meet you."

Bilbo had previously been exhausted only at the thought of all these people his pantry and house would have to respectively feed and accommodate for the night, as his gut told him. At the sight of the woman, however, he felt his mood lighten up, if only a smidgen. Perhaps he was mistaking it for curiosity. He'd never seen a female Ranger before —not that he'd seen a male one, mind you— but from what folk who had traveled to Bree used to say during conversations at the Green Dragon's, only men were Rangers. Of course they had downed more than one mugs of Gaffer's home brew, so that could well be complete nonsense. And this woman did not seem so menacing as the tales of old told of the quaint, dressed in black folk that went wandering around old Arnor and often brought dark news with them.

"The pleasure is all mine, master Baggins." She could sense the good aura coming off of him, but there was an exasperated gleam in his eyes, as though he barely was holding back from commiting murder. Understandable, what with Gandalf and all. "You have a lovely home," she complimented and he cocked his head in appreciation.

"M'lady, I'm Bofur," a man with a funny hat called to her, "me brother, Bombur," he pointed to a chubby dwarf who gave her a smile, "an' our cousin, Bifur."

Arya stared at the latter, trying her best to disguise her surprise when the axe in his head caught her eye, and nodded. He spoke something which she thought to be Khuzdul, but didn't understand a word. She smiled to him, nonetheless.

Dori, Nori and Ori were the next to introduce themselves, followed by Oin and Gloin, and —at last— the stout, partly bald dwarf from earlier, Dwalin. So intrigued he had her that, had she known him better and not been discreet by nature, she would have already been badgering him about the tattoos on his head and hands. He limited to offer a curt nod and immediately turned to Thorin with a sceptical frown. His older brother Balin, with the long puffy beard, seemed less likely to assail one on sight and even gave her a faint smile.

The last two were, as she reckoned from their youthful faces, the younger ones in the company. Her eyes skimmed over their apparel, noting it to be finer in comparison with the others'. In appearance they were as similar as chalk and cheese, so she doubted they were siblings, but each one separately gave her the impression of kinship to the dwarf king. Although they bore not enough resemblance to be his sons —the blond even less so than the brunet— each seemed related to him after a fashion. Perhaps cousins from either side of the family– And that was enough digression for one night. Whatever their kinship to Thorin was or might be, her inner query was never answered, for only the blond one was kind enough to offer her both their names, but nothing that signified a relation. The other just stared at her with pursed lips and didn't even bother to speak.

Several of them still eyed her curiously, unable to believe that she actually was one of the northern wandering people of Eriador. She expected they'd take their sweet time to find her amiable, as it were—for gaining their trust would probably never enter the realm of possibilities. Still, she was in a somewhat good path since she had rescued their king. Surely Gandalf must have recounted the event before her arrival so they wouldn't take such a dim view of her accompanying them.

The dwarf with the blond hair and braided beard, Fili, approached with curiosity. He seemed pretty unconcerned about a Ranger coming along, or said Ranger turning out to be a female. As long as she was good at what she did, it was fine by him. He was quite pleased to have someone new around instead of the same old faces. A woman in particular, even not a dwarrowdam, would add an agreeable sense of light mood, or so he thought. Inadvertently his eyes roamed about her form—hair long and dark as the night, intense dark eyes almost matching the colour of her hair... and his thoughts rapidly came to a halt when he met his uncle's lethal glower.

Thorin had been unlucky enough to witness the entirety of Fili's actions and reactions. Needless to say, he could already feel the blisters slowly starting to grow up his rear body cavity.

Against all odds, his other nephew surprisingly had a hard time comprehending the purpose of her presence there. Kili shared his uncle's view that quests and battles were not actions for women to take part in. He couldn't fathom how his uncle had agreed to this in the first place. He and Fili had been allowed to join only after seemingly endless weeks upon weeks of arguing and she had managed to persuade him —no matter because of Gandalf's meddling— in the one day he'd been acquainted with her? What kind of sorcery is this?

He gave her a once-over from head to toe none too discreetly. Even if he straightened up, he still came up about shoulder-high to her, and he was considered the tallest dwarf in the company. There was a belt strapped across her chest, whose ends led to a rolled-up leather satchel within which was her bedroll and, as he imagined, scarce items essential for survival in the Wild. It was thrown across her back alongside a quiver full of arrows and a bow. Then his gaze moved to the sword and two daggers that were sheathed in the other belt around her middle. Curiosity veiled him as to how skilled she was with all these weapons. That was one too many to carry around for a seemingly slender, delicate figure like that of a female of Men. Maybe this was the cause of the odd way she carried herself, for he had definitely not failed to notice her limping.

He was quite overwhelmed with a strange emotion... Dislike? No, no, he couldn't possibly dislike her, he had just met her. Worry, then? Might be.

"Aren't you a little young to be a Ranger, and a mite too weak for a task like this?"

Several things happened in the seconds that followed: Gandalf sighed dramatically; Bilbo cringed; the woman raised an intimidating eyebrow at the dwarf who addressed her, slightly amused, though for the most part insulted; Thorin turned and looked at him as if waiting for him to sprout wings any moment now—he could have bet his younger nephew would be as excited as the other one, but, if the frown on his face was any indication, the lad seemed more thoughtful than excited; Kili, finally, hadn't meant that to come across as rude as it'd sounded, it was just genuine curiosity, and he was left there wondering what part of his sayings was so strange as to trigger such reactions.

There was a collective gasp of surprise when she had, in a blink of an eye, two daggers around the young dwarf's neck.

She sized him up for a good five seconds. "If your beard, or lack thereof, is anything to go by, I'd say the pot is calling the kettle black," she said wryly, struggling to hold a straight face and keep a wince —the result of her abrupt movement that made her injured leg hurt even more— under her hat. "And if you think me weak or lacking of skill, I'd be happy to give you a demonstration."

In contrast to him, she meant for that first part to sound casually insulting and, judging by the veins popping out in his neck, it'd hit him just right. One or two elected to see the humorous side of it and muffled a chuckle behind their bushy beards, though it was Fili who had absolutely no qualms about laughing so... brazenly.

A pair of arms tried to lower hers, which she recognized as Gandalf's from the corner of her eye. "My dear, I believe our host would not be pleased to have his hall turned into a training field."

There was a nearly imperceptible change in her eyes and countenance. "Right you are," she agreed. "My apologies, master Baggins."

Kili sat there waiting for his name to sound next, but no hint of apology came. When it became painfully obvious that he would receive none, he swatted her arms away furiously, whereas she, calm as ever, put the blades back into their sheaths as if nothing had happened. Watching his brother's face continue to change colours, Fili gently ushered him to the table to put as much distance between them as possible.

While the others were taking their seats, Kili shot a heated glance over his shoulder to the Ranger who was unloading her stuff near the window sill at the corner of the room. With no warning whatsoever she raised her gaze and met his.


As Arya removed her weapons she felt eyes digging on her back and turned at the direction of the room everybody was heading to, only to find Kili's gaze expectantly lingering on her. Their eyes briefly locked before he swiveled his head around. What, now? The dwarf had been told what she did for a living. What additional proof did he need to verify that she knew how to fight?

Men, the Ranger thought with a sigh and hurried to follow, though not neglecting to take her satchel with her. She hobbled along to the small hall where everyone had settled in the chairs, only to find that there were no spare ones, thus resigned to perch herself upon a small counter next to Thorin and Bofur to wrap her cut.

So that was the cause of her limping, Kili correctly suspected, not the added weight from the weapons.

"How did you injure your leg?" the hobbit peered curiously.

"I happened to stumble upon a group of bandits southwest of the Hills of Evendim." Her injury did not worry her nearly as much as the fact that highwaymen were regularly seen operating so close to the borders of the Shire.

"And you were all alone?" someone asked, shocked.

She considered them for a long minute, debating on whether it'd be prudent to reveal that three others patrolled along with her near the Hills, but eventually decided that it was none of their business. "Master dwarf, I believe it would take more than a few bandits to take a Ranger down. Even a female one."

Fili smiled at the little dig, getting more excited than it was socially acceptable for adults. In his defence, one did not meet a female Ranger everyday, let alone one who had in fact made his beloved little brother's face go fifty shades of purple with rage. "So what happened?" he asked eagerly. "Did you kill any?"

"Apart from thievery, looting and questionable personal hygiene, had they anything else to offer to this world in order for me to spare even one's life?"

The answer elicited a low chuckle from across the table where the blond dwarf sat, and he promptly leaned to whisper something in his brother's ear, which Kili blatantly pretended not to hear.

The woman then removed her boot and sock, stretched out her leg and placed it atop Bofur's chair's arm to have better view, and slowly drew the ripped across the injury leg of her trousers above the knee. Bofur promptly scooted himself as far away as possible. Untying the torn piece of fabric she had offhandedly employed as means to stop the bleeding, her hand blindly reached in the satchel and pulled out the clean bandage she had bought on her way here, along with another piece of cloth and something else—metallic, it was.

Bilbo appeared by her side then, holding the small teapot with hot water that had been cast aside earlier as the dwarves pillaged his kitchen, and gestured to make whatever use of it she deemed more helpful. It was the least he could offer considering the situation.

"Thank you," Arya offered him a crooked smile and nodded her gratitude. Quaint some called the Shire-folk, though she found them quite likable and often envied their peaceful way of living. "Rather vexing, isn't it? To host such a large gathering, I mean."

"Ah, mistaken me not," the hobbit replied in the same low volumes she'd spoken, "I enjoy social gatherings as much as the next hobbit." His pointed gaze then fell on the wizard before he murmured, "So long as I am acquainted with the guests." The woman choked a laugh at this and turned her attention to the task at hand.

Kili's eyes followed her hand's movement as she poured hot water onto the cloth and started cleaning the dried blood from the wound. Much to his chagrin, he found himself gawping at her shank that glowed bare, long and injured under the dim candlelight. Something stirred in his stomach when he noticed that it was hairless, and he cringed.

The cut might be small, but was deep enough to cause an annoying pain that she was resolute not to unveil in front of them. After smearing a portion of a liquid over the cut from the tiny, metallic pot she had pulled out, her hand reached for the clean bandage and deftly bundled it up over the wound.

The whole experience proved a rather painful ordeal for the dwarf king's already jittery nerves, for the attention of most of those present was fixed on the woman and not the more serious matters it should be fixed upon. He gave a less than discreet clearing of his throat and those whose attention was focused elsewhere and not on him —namely his nephews and one or two others— detached their eyes from the Ranger and her leg.

Thorin was bombarded with questions regarding an important meeting in Ered Luin and whether Dain was going to help them, only to be disappointed at the news. Some looked quite affronted, as well. Only Dwalin snorted privately, the sound more bitter than anything, as though he was expecting no different outcome.

Standing in a corner quiet and unspoken, Bilbo still didn't know what to make of this, or what role he played in it.

Not unlike him, Arya wasn't exactly listening to them either. She was still occupied with mending her cut when something that Balin said almost started a riot —or what was, as she'd learn later, casual chat to dwarves— and only then was her attention drawn from the task at hand. How much did she miss?

"...may be few at number, but we are fighters. All of us, to the last dwarf," Fili chimed in with a discreet nod to Thorin.

Kili then piped up, "And you forget we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf would have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

Gandalf's eyes went wide and he coughed uncomfortably. "Uh...no," he almost stuttered. "No, I wouldn't say–"

Arya put a mighty effort to hold back laughter. Unable to wipe off the first signs of it from her face, she discreetly covered her mouth to conceal it.

The hubbub that followed the wizard's reply was the stuff of old tales. At some point there even were wagers on how many dragons the wizard had killed, practically making just noise rather than placing their bets, and were thankfully stopped by a strong hand swatting the table with such force, everything on it rattled.

"Enough!" Thorin's booming voice echoed throughout the room, effectively calling the rest to order. "If we have read the signs, don't you think others would have read them too? Rumours 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?"

In the midst of the exciting yells the encouraging speech roused, Balin prudently brought up the main problem of the no longer existent main entrance of the Mountain, and all the voices piped down, frustrated. It was then that Gandalf took a small key out of his cloak and revealed that there was in fact another, secret path that led inside. So this is why they needed a burglar, an expert one as someone pointed, to enter the Mountain unnoticed by Smaug. Then a new round of voices and yelling broke out, mainly regarding the fact that whether master Baggins was the one they needed or not, only to be shushed from Gandalf this time, who insisted that his choice was right.

"A toast then!" someone exclaimed.

"Aye!"

"Anyone care to do the honours?"

"Lads," Bofur stepped up, and everyone raised their mugs in unison, "lady," he added with the utmost civility and the Ranger bowed her head as she had no mug, "may our journey be long, filled with agony and torment, and may we all complain about it bitterly as old men!"

The massive sound and spillage that followed when the mugs chinked had Arya lean as far away from the table as she could, diverting her attention to another, very quiet exchange. She knew the wizard just enough to not bother doubt his decisions —or at least most of them— and was not opposed to have the hobbit tag along. He seemed like a nice fellow after all, but made her wonder if he had the guts for such a task. If she were in his place, the possibility of facing a living dragon would never become her top priority.

Thorin handed Bilbo the contract and, after the latter retreated to read it, he leaned to the wizard. And proceeded to issue the same warning he'd given about her, that he won't be responsible for his fate.

Nobody seemed to pay attention to them except Arya who, willingly or not, was within earshot and heard it. She scoffed, shaking her head with amusement at the repetition. At that moment she resolved to keep an eye on the hobbit, seeing as they were both considered the outcasts of the expedition.

It almost felt as if Gandalf hearkened her unspoken thoughts. "The two of them will form their own alliance," he whispered in the dwarf's ear. "An alliance that will make you change your views on many matters, I believe."

To that, Thorin grumbled something inaudible through his teeth and Arya laughed breathlessly. She sensed many arguments coming their way, and it would be a tough task for her patience and nerves to deal with them. While the dwarves spoke to each other about the quest, her eyes wandered about the room, pausing to look at a particular person longer that necessary. She saw that he was looking back and moved her gaze away, ignoring his hateful stares and sinking into her thoughts once more.

Kili had nailed his gaze upon her, examining her every move, until his brother turned to him and he was forced to take his eyes off so as not to be caught staring. Unfortunately for the brunet, Fili had witnessed their little staring contest, which made him contemplate his brother's demeanour towards the woman as well as the frequent murderous glances he paid her from the moment they met.

The hobbit was still reading, until he paused over a word, gradually missing the colour from his face.

"Think furnace with wings. A flash of light, searing pain, then poof! Ye're nothing more than a pile of ash," Bofur's poor attempt to explain the term obviously did not have the results he expected.

The Ranger, as much as she wanted to laugh at his choice of words, slightly elbowed Bofur in his shoulder and turned to look at Bilbo, whose face was a shade of white. Uh-oh.

Bilbo had started to feel his entire left side go numb. He looked at everyone, declared "No," and promptly passed out on the floor.

"That was very helpful Bofur, thank you," Gandalf commented dryly.

None of the others made a move to help the hobbit, so the Ranger hurried over to him to check if he was alright—thankfully she could support her weight on her foot with less effort now, which made walking far easier. Gandalf followed suit and and came to stand beside them. "Can I get some water here?" she asked no one in particularly.

A hand touched hers and she turned her head to see an eager Fili smiling at her, with a glass of water in his hands. She thanked him and poured some drops to Bilbo's head, and he suddenly seemed to react at the coolness on his brow. She left the glass on the first table that happened to be in her way and, along with Fili, they lifted the hobbit and dragged him over to the big armchair beside the hearth.

Several minutes dragged by until he opened his eyes and was offered a cup of tea by a slender hand, which he presumed was the woman's, yet she disappeared before he could even swivel around. The next image looked more sinister—Gandalf's massive form hovering above him before placing himself comfortably on his opposite, ready to engage in a very promising conversation.

Bilbo let a long-suffering sigh and looked forlornly at the cup of tea in his hands. Gaffer's home brew would be preferable at the moment. His gaze wandered briefly after the first sip, and he found himself glancing at the door case where the Ranger lingered, although she swiftly turned away to give them some privacy.


Fili had swiftly retired to the table after the aid he offered in carrying the hobbit. Currently sitting with Ori and Dwalin, his eyes closely watched how the woman had withdrawn from the crowd in a quiet corner and straightened up her trousers over the bandage. The possibility alone of having Kili and her remain at odds —given their respective first reactions— for the rest of the journey made the blond grin like a cat. It wasn't every other day, after all, that someone was able to make Kili go ballistic. And just because that woman had managed to ruffle the little rascal's feathers so much and in such a minimal amount of time, Fili was already scheming towards his own entertainment.

"I foresee epic quarrels between my brother and that woman, I tell you," he smirked, shooting a conspiratorial look around to check if Kili was near. "Now, this is something that could make this journey marginally more fun."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," Dwalin tried to discourage him. "The funniest your uncle will allow any part of this journey to get would be the pall of a funeral."

The prince laughed heartily, "Call it what you will, but I wager five silvers that they'll be at each other's throats before you know it."

Challenge gleamed in Dwalin's eye. "I'll take that bet!" he exclaimed with a laugh and shook hands with the young one. He promptly cast a cautious glance at the woman, eyeing her with mild distrust and weighing what were his chances of winning.

Fili, for his part, upon catching his brother glaring at the woman from the other side of the room, slipped into the role of the devil's advocate. He flounced over to her, careful to be loud enough to be heard when he extended an invitation to sit with them. On the way, he caught Kili's appalled look. Good. Everything was going according to plan. Luckily, she accepted with a smile and followed him back to the small table, even sitting where he beckoned her to. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Kili fume. Fantastic.

"Ye know, lassie," the bald dwarf pondered loudly, "for a descendant of those tree-huggers, ye don't seem half as bad."

Arya eyed him warily, undecided if he meant it as an insult. When she noticed the corners of Fili's mouth curling upwards, she raised an eyebrow. "Thank you," she said pointedly. "And you, sir, for a dwarf, do not smell half as bad as I expected you to."

The dwarf glanced at her sharply. Tense silence enveloped them for a moment, during which she thought she had truly offended him. Suddenly he laughed, a raw snort of amusement that came bursting out through his nose entirely without his permission.

"That's some spirit ye have there," he said with a pat on her shoulder, putting a little more force than was necessary.

"So I've been told," she muttered dryly, eyes narrowing at the gesture, but nonetheless tried to pull off a smile. It failed miserably.

Fili watched their banter, or what could pass for banter, silently. He had a feeling that she must have had a rather fascinating story under her hat. In an act of chivalry —and ever so slight gloating, if he were honest— he turned on the charm. "My lady, should you ever need protection during this quest, I'd be more than glad to offer it to you."

Arya locked eyes with him for a second, forehead crinkled in confusion. "Are you puffing out your chest?"

"Yes."

The admission was met with peals of laughter. "Thank you," she reassured when the laughter piped down, "but I think I made my point of being able to defend myself when he," she pointed at Kili, "spoke to me before."

"Take no offence, my lady," the dwarf responded quickly. "What I meant to say is, I shall come to your assistance if need be and you can count me as a friend. It was neither my nor my brother's intention to slight your skill with a blade."

Ah, so those two were actually siblings; that certainly explained the name trend with the same suffix. "That's very kind of you. And you may call me just by my name, if you please. Also, my deepest condolences for having him as a brother."

The dwarf tossed his head back, laughing. "Nah," he brushed off, "he is not that bad."


"...he fainted at reading the contract, I cannot imagine what he will do once against a living dragon," Thorin remarked, feeling beads of sweat adorning his brow due to his ever growing angry frustration as he and Balin stood in the crossing of the two halls, with ample view to the table as well as the living room.

"Come now, lad," his friend tried to appease him, seeing him more distressed than he'd been the past few years. "Perhaps the little fellow will surprise us."

Thorin harrumphed. "I never was one for surprises."

So far standing beside his uncle and Balin, who were discussing lowly, the younger prince had focused his attention more on the scene at the table than anything else around him. And what he was witnessing engendered a need deep inside him to smack Fili upside his head for sitting there and being all grand and charming with the person who had practically assaulted him.

"She should not come with us and certainly not converse with my brother," he grumbled mostly to himself, but he was heard.

"Nephew," Thorin sighed, "as much as I agree, you have my blessing to try and debate Gandalf on the matter." To this, the young one replied nothing and turned pensive. "Although I assure you she's rather able in combat, at least from what I've seen."

"Laddie, you, too, saw her before–" Balin quickly cut the sentence in half as he realised that it wouldn't be particularly wise to make a reference to the prince's unfortunate first encounter with the woman.

Kili sulked slightly, hoping that everyone would let the event go. He was the younger in the company and thought to have the quickest reflexes. The fact that a woman had caught him off guard certainly was a blow to his pride. In fact, it made him dislike her more than he probably should.

"Pray, what reason is there for her not to talk to Fili?"

The lad turned to his elders with a deep frown. "Because she shouldn't," he said simply.

Balin noted the bitter look Kili was shooting his sibling, who was sitting unreasonably close to the woman, and she in turn was laughing at something the former had said.

Kili was forced to pass by them on his way to the door of the next room, frothing at the mouth after Fili's hand clapped her arm as a result of their laughing over something. His severe look all but masked his irritation. So focused he was on them that he lost his footing and almost tripped over the carpet. Much to his chagrin, it did not pass unnoticed. The moment he raised his gaze from the floor to check whether anyone had witnessed this, he found several pairs of eyes fixed upon him and half their respective owners guffawing at his little trip. Embarrassment began to flood in galore. He cursed to the skies in Khuzdul, but it did not fall on deaf ears as intended.

Fili chuckled under his breath. Their mother would kick Kili's tender till the end of time if she heard that kind of talk coming out of his mouth; then Dwalin's, for forgetting himself and hurling all kinds of profanities when the two were still dwarflings and happened to be present at a council meeting. After the little show, the blond turned to the woman in hopes that they'd resume their conversation, taking in the unperturbed look and clenched fist.

"He did not say something about y–"

"No need to," she brushed off with a wave of her hand. "There are numerous people who do not get along with me. What is one more in the list?"

Now sure how to to respond without complicating things, Fili simply offered a brief smile.

"I shall go out to take some clean air now." She'd had enough of company for one night. "If you'll excuse me."

She stood up and swiftly headed to the door that led outside, clenching and unclenching her fists, and wondering what was the dwarf's problem. Granted, her reaction to his comment might be a little over the top, but he hadn't been the epitome of politeness either.

Closing the door behind her, she strolled to the small bench the hobbit had on his garden and slumped down on it heavily. The fresh night breeze felt like someone tickling her face with a feather. The wooden board was not offered as the most comfortable of lodgings, yet the thin cushion upon it certainly improved the situation to a considerable extent. Fairly tired, she lay down and turned her gaze towards the starry sky, until rehashing thoughts became too tiring, and everything faded into turbid images of woods and snow and patrols round the Lake Evendim. And in the midst of those sprouted a fleeting image of a pair of eyes. They were a funny colour, his eyes, a mixture of hazel brown and green, as though reflecting the changing colours of a forest in autumn. She couldn't guess why her subconscious reckoned them something to bother her head with.

A few minutes later, or perhaps an hour —she wasn't sure, she had lost track of time when her blinking became slower— distant voices filled the air. Someone was singing.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day
To find our long forgotten gold

The pines were roaring on the height
The winds were moaning in the night
The fire was red, it flaming spread
The trees like torches blazed with light

The tune lulled the Ranger back to sleep. She tucked the dark grey cloak tighter around her, unable to banish the thought of that dwarf burning holes on her back—damn his dark eyes. She gave in to fatigue a little later, while ruefully mulling over the fact that she had not seen to enquiring whether Mr. Baggins was better. Much of a good guest she was.


Ai na vedui, mellon nín = At last, my friend