A/N: Per usual, I own nada. As a heads-up, I'm doing NaNoWriMo next month, so if you don't see another update until December, that's why. That or I died from doing NaNo along with grad school. We'll see.
Big thanks to Artemisdesari, RevanOrdo7567, RavenWithAWritingDesk, and sweetsarahndipity for reviewing! I love reviews like Fili loves knives. :D
"Who should I ask about the contract?" Amaranth repeated when it became apparent that she must have taken Gandalf aback.
"I imagine that would be Thorin," he finally answered. "He is the leader of this company, and it lies with him to hire burglars. Though I will warn you," he added, "I was hard-pressed to persuade him that a burglar was necessary at all, let alone a hobbit. I daresay you will find it rather difficult to convince him that you should go along."
She'd seen enough of Thorin to believe what Gandalf was saying. The wizard was probably the only person Thorin would listen to. Which meant . . . "If it wouldn't be too much to ask, would you perhaps be willing to vouch for me? You knew my mother and my aunts, and you said yourself there's as much Took in me as there is in Bilbo."
He hesitated, so she hurried on, "If you don't wish to, I didn't mean to presume. It just seems that you're the one person in this smial whose opinion carries any weight with Master Thorin Oakenshield."
Silence hung between them, broken only by the crackling fire and the music drifting through the air. The first dwarvish fiddle had been joined by another, and now a couple of pipe-like instruments and a deeper set of strings took up the song. The hair on Amaranth's feet prickled with the haunting melody.
Perhaps the music had a similarly entrancing effect on Gandalf. Or he just didn't want to risk her putting Thorin off the burglar idea altogether. Whatever the case, he finally nodded and said, "Very well. I will do my best to help persuade him, though I cannot guarantee anything at all."
Somehow Amaranth managed to keep from jumping up and down (she was thirty-seven, for goodness sake, she had to act it if she wanted to have a hope at this) and instead politely and properly thanked him.
Taking the contract with them, they left the parlor and went down the hall toward the dwarves, who were now spread out between the dining room and the passage just outside. Some were perched on the benches, some sat on the table itself, and others had collected stools and chairs from around the smial. All of them were playing instruments—Amaranth saw some with flutes, including the quiet Ori; some with more mellow clarinets, like Bofur; Balin and the biggest dwarf with shoulder-high viols; and Bombur with a drum pinned between his knees. Fili and Kili stood to one side of the passage, each of them practically caressing melody from his dark, gleaming fiddle.
Then the strings of Thorin's golden harp sent a ripple through the room, and the music changed. The flutes and clarinets fell silent, the viols and fiddles drew out their deepest notes, and the drum let out a quiet rumble that Amaranth felt in her chest.
And the dwarves began to sing.
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells
Her eyes drifted shut as the sound washed over her. The song about Bilbo's dishes had been a skipping-rope ditty compared to this. She had thought dwarves only mined and forged and sculpted, but this music was as much a work of their hands as any of the silver necklaces or golden goblets they sang of. It swept her away to their halls glowing with the treasure they handcrafted, ringing with their harps and their drums and their voices like thunder beneath the stone. But then—
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 song filled with the terror and despair of dwarves and men alike as they faced the destruction of their homes, of their loved ones, of their lives. As they faced the dragon, who claimed their halls and their treasure for his own and silenced the last echoes of their music.
The mountain smoked beneath the moon
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon
Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!
As the song ended, Amaranth dragged the back of her hand across her wet eyes. This was no mere adventure for these dwarves. This was something grander, more solemn. Something she had no part in. For a moment she doubted whether she was doing the right thing. She dared not break the hush that had fallen after the music died away.
Then, somewhere above her, Gandalf coughed.
All twenty-six eyes turned to where they stood.
She felt the wizard nudging her from behind, but for a few panicked breaths she couldn't figure out how to speak. Gandalf seemed to sense this and intervened.
"If you would pardon the interruption, my good dwarves, Amaranth here has arrived at a solution for our friend Bilbo's, ah, reluctance to join in this venture."
"And what might that be?" Thorin asked, hands still resting on the strings of his harp. He turned his gaze on Amaranth, and was this what Bilbo had been facing during the whole conkers debacle? Because everything clever she could possibly have said, everything persuasive or witty or convincing, had flown right out of her head.
But Fili and Kili were giving her twin encouraging smiles, and Bofur was too, and Balin at least looked open to hear what she had to say, so after another deep breath she looked Thorin head-on and said, "If you would allow it, I would like to go in Bilbo's place. As your burglar."
She'd expected a riot, a commotion, a chorus of arguments like had happened so many times over the course of the evening, but there was only silence (aside from the dwarf with the ear trumpet muttering something about what did she mean, blow in Bilbo's face?). The smiles disappeared—yes, even Kili's, which she'd thought was a permanent feature—as all the dwarves looked to Thorin to answer.
"And what makes you think you are more fit for such a quest than your cousin?"
"Well, I'm actually willing to go, and Bilbo clearly isn't. And I didn't keel over in a dead faint when Bofur started talking about the dragon, either." That got a muffled snort from the Fili-and-Kili side of the passage. She hoped no one would point out that she had left almost as soon as that talk began.
"But you have no experience with burglary either, I take it?"
"Nothing on the scale of robbing a dragon, of course, but I have snatched a few things, here and there." By which she meant cooling cranberry scones, or vegetables from Farmer Grub's fields, or various dollies of hers and her sisters when Rory or Dinodas would hide them.
"Can ye fight?" This from the big dwarf with a viol, Dwalin, probably.
"Mother always made sure my sisters and I knew a few things about defending ourselves. But a burglar's supposed to be sneaky, not a big brawny warrior. If you needed a fighter, you wouldn't be in the Shire, let alone Hobbiton." She wasn't sure where these words were coming from, but they sounded surprisingly good, so she kept going. "You need a burglar, a hobbit burglar like Gandalf said—one who can move quietly and won't be recognizable by smell to the dragon. Oh, and it might even help that I'm a woman, when it comes to that."
That had been the wrong thing to add. She had thought Thorin looked unwilling before, but now his face was positively stony. He shook his head. "I will not have my Company be responsible for guarding a little hobbit lass all the way to Erebor. Nor would I send her alone to rob a dragon while the Company stayed behind. Let no one say the dwarves of Erebor stoop to such dishonorable deeds."
Little hobbit lass, indeed! She'd show him what a little hobbit lass was worth. "I'm not asking you to guard me, and you were going to send Bilbo in to rob the dragon by himself, that's exactly what the contract was talking about. It's not dishonor, it's the job description."
Surveying the group of dwarves, she asked, "You need a fourteenth member, don't you?"
Some nodded. Others just watched her.
"You need a quick and quiet burglar, don't you?"
More nods.
"You probably don't want to spend another night, or multiple nights, going through the Shire till you convince another hobbit to take off into the unknown with you, do you?"
Murmurs of grudging agreement.
"Master Gandalf is willing to vouch for me, and that's all you needed to give Bilbo the contact, even though he was practically shoving it back in your face. Which I'm not."
"Is this true, Gandalf?" Thorin sounded almost accusatory. "Was this your plan all along, to give us false hope before revealing your true choice of burglar?"
Gandalf shook his head. "Bilbo was the burglar I had in mind. However, seeing as he has made his refusal quite plain, I see no reason why Amaranth's request should not at least be taken under consideration."
Brow furrowed, Thorin turned back to her. "Why do you wish to join us? This is not some easy ride across your little green hills, mistress Brandybuck. This is a trek across Middle Earth that will take months, to face a fire-breathing dragon at the end, let alone whatever dangers we may meet on the way. I cannot guarantee the safety of any in the Company, least of all one who cannot fight and has no knowledge of life in the wild. Why are you so set on this course?"
She wasn't sure how to phrase it. How to turn the words so that they would convince him, convince everyone, that she was the right person for the job. It was so easy with Uncle Polo or with Rory or with Father, but these dwarves came from a very different place, were very different people. Though she didn't think that "I want to go on an adventure" would go over very well with either hobbits or dwarves. But maybe . . .
"When I first had the idea, it was because I've always wanted to see what lies outside the Shire. To go beyond these little green hills, as you call them. And I was a little disappointed that Bilbo turned you down. But then when the music started, when you were singing about what the mountain used to be like and how the dragon drove you out, then—I saw it wasn't just about the treasure, like I'd thought before. It was about everything else the dragon stole from you, too. And, well, if I can steal anything back from him for you, it's the least I can do to help."
Thorin studied her for what felt like an hour. She didn't dare look away to see what the other dwarves thought. Finally he spoke, but not to her. "We have heard from Gandalf. Now what say the rest of you? Balin? Fili? Gloin?"
"The lassie seems a bit young ta go tramping around wi' us. I'd wager she's no much more than a bairn. I'm no certain it would be a wise investment, even if we did need a burglar, an' I don't think we do." This from a big red-headed dwarf at the table across from Thorin.
"Aye, one lightfingers in the group is plenty," added Dwalin, which raised far too many questions that Amaranth tried not to be distracted by, including why this comment visibly upset Ori, of all people. "Besides, a lass who canna protect herself is a weakness that could be used against us." Several of the older-looking dwarves nodded along.
"Then we teach her! Kili and I." Fili ignored Kili's sudden frown and elbow to his ribs. "Surely she can learn to use a knife or two, can't you, Amaranth?"
She nodded quickly—she'd agree to anything that they suggested at this point, even if she had to commence her burglary career by snitching some of Posco's shirts and trousers to wear on the trip. Which would be ridiculous and uncomfortable, but worth it.
"An excellent idea, lads. Well, that's settled then," Balin spoke up. "We all agreed that we would hire a burglar on Gandalf's recommendation, and though Mistress Brandybuck may not have been first choice, she appears to be similarly qualified, and she has a willing heart." He emphasized the last two words while looking sharply at Thorin. "I'd say we can ask no more than that, eh?"
One side of Thorin's mouth tried to twitch upward in what might be his own version of a rueful smile. "You would use my own words against me. But I suppose we have no other choice, for we must be on the road in the morning, and already the night draws on." With a sigh, he turned back to Amaranth, who was keeping very still despite the fireworks fizzing in her chest. "Mistress Brandybuck, know this: as I have said already, I can guarantee no one's safety on this quest, nor will I be held responsible for whatever fate may befall you. If you wish it, however, you may sign the contract."
Oh, she wished it all right. She wished it so much that she almost hugged Gandalf right then and there. But instead she took a deep breath, let the fireworks go off in one spectacular and completely silent explosion, and breathed out. "My deepest thanks, master Thorin. I'll do that now so that everyone can get some sleep."
Hopefully that was the appropriate way to respond.
Gandalf handed her the heavy parchment, and she made her way through the still-watching dwarves over to the shelves on one wall of the passage. There she found a quill and ink. Unfolding the contract till she found the right place, she carefully signed her name in her most formal handwriting: Amaranth Brandybuck, Buckland, The Shire.
Amaranth Brandybuck, official burglar. That had an interesting ring to it.
She handed the document to Balin for inspection, as he'd been the one carrying it in the first place. After a squint at her signature, he nodded, satisfied. "Looks to be in order. Welcome to the Company, Mistress Brandybuck."
"It's my honor, master Balin."
This seemed to settle the matter for the rest of the dwarves; Thorin told them all to get what sleep they could, as they'd be leaving in the morning. "Mistress Brandybuck, best go home and pack your things. We'll be breakfasting at the inn in Bywater so as not to presume on your cousin's hospitality longer than necessary, and there are other requisite preparations to be made as well. We will depart there at eleven; I trust that you will be punctual."
As if she was ever anything else. But she bit back the angry retorts and simply nodded. "I'll be there."
And a few moments later she found herself standing in the lane outside Bag End, basket of pie pans clutched in her hand. The deed was done. She was going on an adventure. Now she just needed to pack, and get some sleep . . . oh. Wait.
She also needed to bake at least four more berry pies, explain to Prisca and Posco and Uncle Polo why exactly she couldn't stay for the wedding on Saturday, and determine how her family would be notified.
All in about twelve hours, if she was lucky.
Maybe sleep was a little too much to hope for.