[ I have not updated in more than a year, but here goes. Thank you to all who have continued to follow this nonsense story.]
Bindbole Wood? Is that a Swear Word?
Now, Robin had two options here, neither one particularly better than the other.
He could use his real name, Dick Greyson, and give these...people -the most polite word he could think of- his real identity. Or, he could tell them his hero name, Robin, and keep his identity a secret.
In the end, it didnt really matter, he decided with a shrug (which was hard to manage with his hands tied), since he doubted this was the type of place he was likely to be known.
"I am called Robin, oh Thorin, uh, Oak Man." Robin replied, making his best attempt at a polite greeting.
One of the mounted men snorted heavily (ew) and laughed.
"Robin? Like the bird? Ha!"
Yup, like the bird. Good job, bud.
Thorin swung down from his horse and knelt next to Robin, sliding a small dagger between his wrists and the ropes.
"If we free you, do you promise not to make any trouble?" he asked, his tone making it clear that causing trouble would be a very unwise move for the boy.
"Yes Sir Mr. Thorin Sir." Robin answered in a military bark, grinning at the severity of it all.
With a small "snic" the robes were severed, and Robin stretched his limbs gratefully as he stood, towering over the other man. Now this, he could get use to: Robin was used to being one of the shorter members of his group. But it seemed he stood a good six inches or so taller than Thorin, and boy was it refreshing.
Making his best show of a flamboyant bow, Robin quickly did a mental inventory of what weapons remained on his person. He could feel the knives nestled in the soles of his flexible shoes, and the tool belt still slung around his waist, while devoid of the majority of the fancier looking weapons, still contained the hidden throwing stars, and the portable rebreather that was disguised as the logo on his belt was still firmly in place.
Not bad for having been kidnapped, thrown around, and tossed into another dimension.
"If you would be so kind as to inform us as to why you are bound and alone in the midst of the Bindbole Wood, that would be ever so kind Mister Robin." said a deep voice from the back of the group.
If Robin was told to picture a wizard, this was exactly how the figure would look in his mind. Flowing robes, wooden staff, piercing eyes. It was as if a committee had got together and said "how can we make a man that looks like Dumbledor and a very angry cloud had a kid."
"Bindbole Wood? Is that a swear word?" asked the young man, cocking his head to the side.
"Answer him, lad." piped a fellow with his beard in three short braids.
"That's a long story," began Robin, rubbing the back of his head as if embarrassed, " but to keep things short and sweet," he cringed at the word short, but it didn't seem to cause any offense among the height challenged party, "I was attacked and robbed."
The group still mounted shared some looks, and glanced into the surrounding trees, as if worried whomever had robbed Robin (he was aware of the alliteration) was still lurking in the forest, waiting to ambush them.
"They're long gone. They said something about not wanting to miss the lunch special or something ." Robin hurried to add, gesturing off into the distance to indicate the fake bandits path.
This seemed to ease the collective concern, admittedly with some confusion, and attention returned to Robin.
Whoops. Control Z. Undo.
Offering his most winning smile, Robin came to the uneasy realization that the group of riders had formed a small circle around him, leaving no escape route. Damn. Had all his years of training been knocked out of his head when he was knocked out? Rule #1 of Bruce's instructions (although every rule seemed to be Rule #1 for Robins brooding mentor) was always keep an exit available.
"There is a town nearby. Accompany us there, Mister Robin, and I am sure we can find accommodations for you for the night. Assuming, that is, that you have no other pressing plans." offered the wizard looking man, whom Robin had already mentally dubbed Wizzy, a twinkle of self amusement showing in his shining blue/grey eyes.
Short of the portal (not a portal, he reminded himself) to his own land reappearing, Robin had no other direction to his plans, beyond finding something to eat. Boy howdy was he hungry.
As if in answer to Whizzy's question, Robins stomach gave an almighty growl, and he struck a heroic pose.
"Sounds like fun, Whizzy. Lead the way!" he concluded, figuring things couldn't get any weirder than interdimensional travel and 4 foot tall men. But then again, Robin would tolerate many levels of weird if it meant he got a nice hot meal, so what was the harm in joining this strange group.
Thorin remounted his horse, surprising easily given the length of his limbs, and kicked the creature into an easy trot. The rest of the men(?) followed suit, leaving Robin to jog alongside the group as they returned to the road they had been following before diverting to help Robin.
"What's with yer clothes, Lad? I've not seen those colors, nor that sigil before." asked a bald fellow,riding closest to robin, after they had been traveling in silence for 10 minutes or so.
Robin considered pretending not to have heard him for a moment, not having had time to concoct his cover story yet. A well crafted cover story was like a fine wine, Bruce said, and should be treated with care and finesse. Care and finesse where not Robin's strong suits, though they had temporarily been the names of his fists a few years back.
"I belong to the Noble House of Wayne. We are a tough bunch, and don't Bruce easily." he replied, grinning at his own pun on 'bruise'.
A few mutters of "House of Wayne" bounced around the group as they attempted to recall if they had ever heard of the entirely made up nobility.
As the sun began to set, the group of horses, men, and short-men-like-people, came over a large hill and looked down into a lush green valley. Robin was immediately reminded of the Tella-Tubby's show from his childhood, and muttered "Dipsy" to himself.
"Welcome to Hobbiton, Gentleman." Whizzy announced to the group at large.
He gesturing with his staff to a small hillock set apart from the others with, yes, that was a doors set into the hillside. "That is our Hosts home, where we will set for the night. Come now, make haste, or we will miss Dinner."
That was the magic word, and everyone quickened their pace, eager for a meal.
Robins eyes darted around the valley, cataloguing every piece of information his exhausted brain could manage. The streets were generally deserted, it being Dinner time, as Whizzy had said, but a few figures pulled a wooden cart along a dirt track. They seemed to be even smaller than the group Robin was with, and barefoot to boot. Well, not to boot, given that they were barefoot. Rather, to foot? It didn't matter, and Robin was far too tired to be arguing semantics with himself in his head.
Reaching the indicated door, the group dismounted, and Robin was struck yet again with the odd satisfaction of being the tallest among them, with the exception of Whizzy, who appeared to be a fully grown man. Height contest, 1 point to the gentleman in the spandex and mask.
Whizzy reached out his staff and knocked three times on the circular wooden door.
A moment of silence, then the shuffling of feet, and the door swung open to reveal...a very ugly child?
Nope, it was simply another very small man. This was becoming a trend, Robin could see, and he continued his curiosity in favor of observant silence.
The man's eyes widened as he looked at the large group.
"Oh no, Gandalf. Absolutely not!" he declared, looking equally panicked and confused, his eyes pausing for a moment on Robin, who offered a small wave.
"Bilbo! How nice to see you, old friend!." Previously Whizzy, now Gandalf, replied. His voice was amiable, but his staff had been moved to block the door from closing, should Bilbo decide he didn't want to host the group.
"No, No No!" Bilbo repeated, even as the group began shuffling inside his house, Robin last, and offering a "nice place you got." to the small man. As the door closed behind them, an overwhelming smell of roasted something reached Robins nose, and he lost all interest in being polite, following the others into a small kitchen.
"Now then lads," Thorin spoke, "let us eat, and then we will discuss business."
As long as business did not involve world domination, Robin couldnt give a hoot.
His priorities were in order right then. Food The World.
