Chapter Twenty: Don't Diss Dion
They didn't see the frozen wonder glade that the Dragonborn had made, nor did they see Thorin's shoddy attempt at casting second hand magic, nor did they see the results of said second hand magic. They were all too busy trying to comprehend what exactly it was Gandalf wanted them to do.
"A traveling circus?"
"Of hippies?"
"From a beach?"
Kíli, of course, thought it was a good idea. Fíli, Bofur, and, to some great surprise, Dwalin were willing to at least try it. Everyone else, though, was disgruntled at best and outraged at the worst.
"Explain this one more time," Glóin said in amicable tones. "You would like us to do WHAT?!" Okay, scratch out the 'amicable' part.
Gandalf gave the group an exasperated huff. It was so large that everyone there (minus Dr. Watson, who was at present sans mustache, and Kíli, who didn't have enough hair on his face to spit at) got their beards ruffled.
"Why can't Leara's dragon just fly us to Mirkwood? Or better yet — over it?" Nori demanded.
Ulfric sighed with no small amount of weariness. "There are too many of us for just Odahviing to handle and Leara isn't here to call back there others." Frankly, or Ulfricly, the Jarl of Eastmarch was getting really tired of meeting up with Leara, only for her to wander off — repeatedly — with that milk drinker, Oakenshield. He supposed he should be thankful that none of the elves from Rivendell were there to follow her around like puppies. That had been annoying. But, still, that wasn't much comfort. "It would take too long for him to take us in groups, anyway."
"Besides," interjected Dr. Watson. Everyone looked at him. "Odahviing sort of got into a bit of a quarrel with several giant eagles on our way from the mountains."
Flashback...!
Odahviing trudged up to the tree where Leara and Thorin were hanging on to each other and singing in German.
"Peyttuz," he said. "Your friends are in danger."
Leara made a face. "I don't have any friends."
Thorin turned his nose up at her words. "Fine!"
Odahviing huffed and swung his tail in agitation, which nearly gave Dr. Watson, who was being held up by said tail, sea...er, air...motion sickness.
"Leara," the great red Dovah growled in exasperation. It seemed that even though she insisted that at her age she was mature, she was still intent on acting like a child.
The Dragonborn stopped swinging on her branch and stared at him. "What?"
"What about the Nord?"
"Todd? You ate him." At her words, Odahviing shifted with uncharacteristic discomfort. He chose not to tell her that he'd spat out Reachfield while looking for her.
"I meant the Jarl."
Like a bolt of lightning, Leara's face lit up. "Oh my gosh! I do have a friend!" She scrambled out of the tree with Thorin still holding on to her waist, so that she ended up dragging him screaming after her. Odahviing and the Watsobbit looked at each in bewilderment before turning to follow after the Altmer.
Only to come face to face with the largest eagle either of them had ever seen.
Odahviing and the eagle stared at each other for several moments in silence. Then the eagle pointed at the dangling Watson with a single talon and gestured to his beak. The intent was obvious. It wanted to eat John Watson as a sort of midnight (or early morning) snack.
Who ever thought it was wise to steal from a dragon has obviously never heard about what happened when people tried to steal from Smaug the Horrendous. Imagine stealing from his older brother!
With a bellowing, "YOL TOR SHUL," Odahviing shot into the air away from the country fried eagle. He then deposited the gaping Dr. Watson near the clearing where everyone else was listening to Leara sing a duet about his little brother before flying off to chase (and be chased by) a bunch of screeching eagles.
End of flashback...!
Several of the dwarves looked at John Watson in awe. "That was awesome!" Kíli cried, jumping up and down. "Then what?"
"We came here, idiot. Settle down!" Fíli admonished with the 'stay down, boy' gesture.
A look of realization dawned on Kíli's face, "Oh yeah!"
Ulfric put a tired hand to his temple and gave a dramatic sigh, kinda like if he were in a play. "I'm surrounded by idiots."
"Pfft, you're one to talk," huffed a rather indignant Istar.
Ulfric shot a glare at Gandalf, but the wizard sidestepped the bullet and ignored the furious stomping of the Nord. "All I am asking for you lovely folks to do," he began, drawing everyone's attention to him, "is sniff some mushrooms, muss your beards, take off your shoes, and sing hippy tunes in a conjoined circle around a bonfire."
"Muss our beards?" cried Glóin, who was evidently not having a good time hanging out with 'supposed to be intelligent wizards'. "What the ruddy devil does that even mean?"
Gandalf blinked at the angry mob of dwarves around his feet. "Ah, it means you need to make them look more like mine, Master Glóin."
Bombur promptly fainted.
"That's a bit ahead of the script..." muttered Dr. Watson.
Bofur poked his 'little' brother with the toe of his boot. He then turned to face the (mostly) falsely concerned faces of the rest of the present company. "I think he was scared we'd have him undo the braids in his beard."
"His whole beard is one big braid," Ori reminded him.
"Ori!" Exclaimed Dori. "Behave!"
"He has control problems," Kíli whispered to Fíli.
After many mutterings and much cursing, the ragtag remnant of the Company of Leara Rose-blade (formerly of Thorin Oakenshield) trudged after Gandalf with beards rumpled and braids undone. Their shoes were all tied up in Ulfric's Stormcloak (their only functioning bag) and they all looked miserable. Especially Bombur, who was being trailed by a thick rope of twenty feet of glossy ginger hair fit for a Weasley.
"It's like Rapunzel," Dr. Watson had exclaimed upon seeing Bombur's hair down for the first time. Everyone had looked at him in confusion, then, and John had decided to shut up.
Despite their grumblings, the group walked along on a long winding path through a psychedelic colored flower meadow, full of the drunken buzzing of bees flying into each other and hiccuping. Dr. Watson had to stop several times to let a tie-dye patterned bee pass in front of him, only to have it go behind him and circle around. After their trip through the flower patch on drugs, they found themselves approaching a hedge wall with a great gate in the center. It stood open, though upon reaching it, Gandalf brought the Company came to a complete halt.
The grey wizard adjusted his hat and beard. He'd insisted that he didn't need to hippyfy himself because he already looked like an old hobo. The Company agreed with that, though they all complained about the unfairness of the situation. Of course, Gandalf didn't listen to them.
Moving on.
Once he was situated, the Istar faced the group of dwarves, lone Nord, and a single former army doctor. "Beorn doesn't like modern conveniences, the media, pop culture references, or processed foods. All he has is a dinosaur of a CD record player to listen to Celine Dion via solar panel."
"There are Celine Dion records?" inquired an interested Dori, who was, for once, not chastising his baby brother (thank the Valar!).
Gandalf gave a noncommittal shrug. "I expect each and every one of you to refrain from complaining and to keep your pop cilture references to yourselves. And for Elbereth's sake! Not a word about the music! He'll turn into a raging green monster and tear you to shreds in 0.2 seconds flat if you say anything about his music! So don't diss Dion!" The wizard paused, then, "In fact, it would probably be for the best if you all were to leave the talking entirely up to me."
"What?" Kíli asked in confusion.
"That's a long way of telling someone to shut up," Glóin grumbled, giving Kíli a grim look.
"Oh," sounded the youngest of the Durin line.
Gandalf then proceeded to arrange them all into groups of two. Himself and Dr. Watson, Fíli and Kíli, Balin and Dwalin, Glóin and Óin, Bofur and Bombur, Bifur and Nori, Dori and Ori, and Ulfric Stormcloak by himself, because, "You're so tall that you count for two," despite the fact that he, Gandalf, was the tallest and the Watsobbit was currently the third tallest in the absence of Leara. "Now," he went on, "I have arranged you into groups so that we can slowly acclimate Beorn to the presence of so many *cough*rowdy*cough* people."
"What do you mean rowdy?" several dwarves cried out in indignation.
"Precisely that," Gandalf huffed. "Now wait for 'My Heart Will Go On' to start, and then come in your designated groups every five or so minutes. Now, come along Mr. Baggins!"
The group shuffled amongst themselves in agitation as Gandalf led an exasperatedly exasperated as crap John Watson into the home of Beorn. The other side of the gate revealed languid hammocks on bowed palm trees; hazy Chinese lanterns (despite China and its culture not existing in Arda or Nirn) hung from strings stretched criss cross over the yard, ending at their ties on the branches of the trees. The air smelled heavily of burning incense, honeysuckle, and humidity. And amongst it all drifted the moving tones of Celine Dion's version of 'What A Wonderful World'.
"This is it then?" Dr. Watson asked, glancing at Gandalf in question.
The grey wizard answered with a short nod as he examined their surroundings. "Yes, now, to find the master of these halls—"
"Who are you?"
Dr. Watson gaped when Gandalf jumped at least ten yards into the air with a rather girlish scream. He then turned to find a very tall, very muscular man adorned in yoga pants, a tie-dye sleeveless t-shirt, round blue tinted sunglasses, with a peace sign tattooed on his right bicep as bold as day. His long black hair was tangled with lemon grass and dirt; it seemed he'd been gardening before they'd made their appearance.
"I am Dr. John Watson," he introduced in his practiced doctor voice. He'd had to put up with weirder folks when hanging around Sherlock and his homeless network, the younger Holmes brother actually being one of the weirdest people he'd ever had to work with, come to think of it; point being, Beorn didn't intimidate him like he intimidated, say, Gandalf. Gandalf, who was curled in a huddle on the ground with his thumb in his mouth. "And this is Gandalf the Grey. Don't mind him, Master Beorn, he's been having a rough time of it lately. Very stressed."
Beorn hummed, "It is my understanding that wizardry can be a very stressful job indeed."
"And on top of all that," sighed the Watsobbit with a great dramatic flair, "We have had a long journey over the mountains. Our path led us unaware into the Cavern Beyond the Goblin City!"
The large man's eyes opened wide and he growled. "Bah! Goblins! Do tell me you killed them?"
"To the best of our ability," Dr. Watson replied. "But before I dive into the tale of I and my companions, would you play 'My Heart Will Go On'? We find it calms the wizard."
-+#+-
Next Time . . . Thorin's day does not go down the path that rocks, and Leara just wants to get to know the locals.