Bold is Nezkish signing

Once my blade is clean I return it to its sheath. I leave the blade by the door as I go to retrieve my satchel from a chair in the corner of the room. I remove a white candle and my carving knife from behind the armor plating on my shin. On the candle I carve in the names of the four children that were murdered prior to my arrival: Liliana, Chalin, Tuss, and Cahila. I had collected their names from the whispers of the gossips around town. It made me sad to know those children couldn't be buried by their parents, but at the very least I could give them their last rights.

I place the candle in a wash bowl from the vanity and light it. After finding a perch in front of my bed, I set down the bowl. I sit between the bowl and my bed where I cross my legs and brace my forearms on my legs. After a moment looking into the small flame I bow my head in prayer. I recite the words I learned during my childhood in hopes that these small children would make it to the Halls of Waiting to be lead to peaceful rest by their kin. This is a ritual we had taken from the elves – their ritual of mourning. The elves saved this ritual for someone revered, but for my people we used it to honor people we didn't have the privilege of knowing in life. The elves may use candles to show their grief, but the people of Imelkane, myself included, are human. When it comes to the people we love most we can't just light candles…

A soft knock on my door draws me from my reverie. Slowly and cautiously I pull myself out of my sitting position and towards the door. My hand hovers at my back near where I have hidden one of my daggers. I pause in opening the door and the knock sounds again. In the silence following I can hear two different people murmuring outside my door in a language I do not understand. My unyielding curiosity allows me to open the door while I gently grasp the dagger at my back. Once I see what's outside my door I find myself grateful for the silencer in my mask.

"By the Valar…" I whisper aloud.

Outside the door are Thorin Oakenshield and one of the men from his company. The second dwarf is much older than Thorin, but I am mostly basing this fact on his white beard. He has warm brown eyes which are made darker by the stark contrast of his beard. I can't see any obvious beading, but somehow I don't think their related (at least not directly). They both watch me now and I can see kindness in the older ones eyes that makes me feel guilty. I remove my hand from my dagger and take a better look at them before standing aside to allow them entrance into the room. Both of them enter, but stand near the entrance until after I shut the door silently. I use my hand to gesture towards the only two chairs in the room while I resume my position on the floor. I do not give my trust out easily, but I do trust in the nature of dwarves; if want you dead, they make it known.

It takes me a moment to remember where I left off in my prayers. I close my eyes and resume, but I have a feeling that beyond my eyelids the dwarves are looking over the room and me. I wait in hopes that they will state their business. However, after a few minutes of silence I start signing instead, my impatience getting the better of me.

How can I help you, my lord?

"We can wait until you are finished, laddie," says the new dwarf gently.

I must wait for the candle to burn itself out and that shall take a while. You, however, do not seem to have the luxury of time. Please, speak.

"How did you recognize me? I doubt that you have ever seen me before," Thorin asks rather demandingly.

You do not give yourself enough credit, my lord. You look very different amongst your kin, but what really gave you away were your warrior beads. My clan adopted the beading traditions of your people and while the line of Durin hasn't visited Imelkane since my birth it is how we were trained to recognize you.

"All true, lad," says the other dwarf as to assure Thorin. "However, that begs the question. Where are your beads, laddie? I would imagine that you are old enough to have earned them by now."

If only they knew the truth…I'm actually still a child by both their people's standards and mine. I could feel the muscles in my hands clench before I could sign again.

As I said we follow your traditions. Both of my parents died before I could be given my beads.

A moment of silence passes between the dwarves before the older one steps up. "Forgive me, lad. My eagerness to meet you seems to have gotten the better of me. My name is Balin, at your service." A small smile forms behind my mask.

Kalar, at yours.

I have been using my father's name since I joined the rangers. The last person to use my real name had been my uncle after he "cast me out." I remember the bitter conversation that ended with discord, but even now I do not hate my uncle. I don't think he hates me either, but I have chosen a path he cannot agree with so we went our separate ways.

"I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries, lad, but we ran into a man downstairs who told us of your tale and I have a few questions-"

My eyes narrow at the door with the mention of the Storyteller. I had originally hoped to interrogate him like I had once before in Gondor, not that it had been much use at the time. However, my intent to find him had been overridden by my own exhaustion and my desire to escape the patrons downstairs. When my gaze returns to Balin I reassure him.

Go ahead.

"How old were you when the orcs attacked Imelkane?" Thorin asks surprisingly gentle.

Nine.

I stare into the flame of the candle as it wavers. The orange cone reminds me of the large centennial tower in Imelkane. It had been white, much like the candle itself – and it too had burned. It had been the tallest building in the city and it was easy to identify as the city fell into ashes.

"How could a child survive such slaughter?" asks Thorin jarringly. I can feel my eyebrow quirk upward. Is he sick or something? With how quickly he goes from being kind to angry, one might think him mad.

My father saved me.

I found myself actually looking the pair of dwarves in the eye now. Here I had thought that they were only curious, but these questions are becoming personal. Everything I said is not meant to be shared, but I have given the dwarves the benefit of doubt. I find myself blaming the Storyteller. Of all the stories he could have told them and he gave them my convoluted origin story. How annoying…

"Piece of shit," I grumble into my mask. The dwarves continue to stare sorrowfully at me, giving no indication that I have even spoken.

He's dead before you ask. I hope my eyes and body language can convey how pissed off these questions are making me.

"Apologies, laddie," says Balin. "We didn't mean to bring up any bad memories. See we have a proposition for you, but we wanted to ask a few questions before we could present it to you."

Now my interest is peaked. I had assumed earlier that Thorin is on a quest of his own. In that one moment that I had wondered if he would join me in my ventures, I had not once considered if he had thought the same thing of me.

Then I understand your caution, master dwarf. Surely any quest led by the sons of Durin in so secretive a manner could not be trusted with just anyone. Which begs the question: Why me?

"Your people have always been allies with the dwarves of Erebor. Your people even came to our aid after Smaug took the mountain. Once the Main Gate had been sealed many of your people took us in and saved many from the poisonous fumes of the dragon. Later Imelkane gave us the supplies to help us reclaim Moria," says Balin. "You have always been good people."

"Not all of us, master dwarf," I say aloud. The shining admiration in the old dwarf's eyes tugs at my heart. That guilt that I felt earlier returns in full force. I am far from the best of what my people once had to offer this world. I think of the day the great city fell and I realize that not many of us were that good to begin with.

I am honored by your kind words, master dwarf. It saddens me to say that I was born long after the dragon took Erebor, but I do not need to see it's halls to know it was truly a great kingdom. Its people are a testament to everything that mountain stood for.

"Flattery will do you no favors with us," Thorin growls warningly.

Good. That was not my intent and it would do you no favors to surround yourself with people who would think to use such false niceties. My people were as fair with judgment the Valar themselves, which is why we are blessed with golden-eyes. Your people are as strong as the stone from which they were made by Mahal. While losing Erebor has chipped your surface, as a people you remain unyielding and unbroken. Am I wrong?

At this point Thorin and I are staring at each other very intensely. He seems torn between either being thankful for my words or calling me out again. I realize how much I sound like a flatterer, but it is truly what I thought. I have always admired dwarves. They are made of sturdier stuff than that of men. Maybe my mother's need for strong people in her life had rubbed off, but I truly do think highly of them. My high regard for them has only grown since the fall of Imelkane…the destruction of my race reminds me very much of the sacking of Erebor. The only difference is a dragon. They are still a mighty people despite being brought low and they managed to rise again in the Blue Mountains. I went there once visiting a friend of my father's and it had seemed so peaceful there. However, if the nobles are on a secret quest maybe all is not as well off as it appears…

"Whose names are on the candle, lad?" asks Balin. Thorin also turns to the candle and there is a sort of recognition on his face as he sees words written along the waxy surface.

Before I could kill the ghouls they managed to take four children. The last was a babe; barely even two months.

The candle is midway through its burn, but still the two dwarves have yet to clearly state their purpose. I start signing and therefore miss the look the dwarves share.

Listen, I-

"We are going to Erebor to reclaim our homeland," Thorin says suddenly.

Thorin watches the ranger's eyes widen with disbelief before snapping back into a silent calm. Before another word can leave Thorin's mouth, Balin breaks in.

"We realize how crazy this may sound, lad, but it's the truth. No one has seen Smaug in sixty years and we fear that others may try to take what belongs to our people," Balin speaks gently.

I heard that the people of Erebor had settled peacefully in the Blue Mountains. When last I passed through all was well. Is the Lonely Mountain worth risking the peace you have created for your people?

Thorin can feel Balin's eyes watching him as he forms his reply. The old warrior had asked him a similar question in the hobbit's home, only a day ago. Again, Thorin knew in his heart he could not rest until the dwarves had retaken Erebor once more. It is their home and his people, who have suffered unjustly, deserve that which is rightfully theirs.

"It is," Thorin says.

This is a lot of trust for someone you've just met. Clan of Imelkane or not, you do not know me. Why do you think it safe to trust me with such information?

In truth Thorin isn't completely sure he could trust the ranger. He didn't know much about this man…but somewhere in those eyes Thorin could see a kindred spirit. His home had been destroyed and he could never return. At least Thorin and his company had a home to reclaim; the city of Imelkane had been burnt into ashes. He too had lost his family and born witness to the horrors of the world first hand. While there is no dragon in the life of the ranger there are enough similarities to trust the ranger on this level. There is also something in the way the ranger carries himself; he is weary, but strong. It reminds him of the words the ranger had used; chipped, but not broken. He has kind disposition to the people he meets, but he is also tense like he is ready for anything. If there is anything Thorin is sure about it is that if this man were to join them on the quest he would be a great help.

"You remind me of myself," says Thorin. "I know that you would not abandon us." Thorin knows he sounds genuine, if maybe a little desperate. He misses the ranger's look of surprise, but not the softened look that follows. The ranger rests his hand on the metal concealing the lower portion of his face as he stares into the remaining candlelight with his brows furrowed in thought. It is not a decision easily made and Thorin would have grown apprehensive had he answered quickly. Slowly the ranger comes out of his thoughts and while Thorin would never know what the ranger had been thinking he could recognize the look in his eye.

I would be honored to join you and your company. While my own journey was to take me north, I will see your quest through no matter the end. As a ranger it is my duty to help you as Free People of Middle Earth. And as a member of Imelkane it would be my honor to fight beside the dwarves of Erebor once more.

Thorin fought down the grin that threatened to spread along his face. Another warrior among their ranks did put him at ease; mostly for his nephew's sake. While they are warriors and of age it didn't change the fact that they were kin and he worries. Another set of eyes and ears to watch over his nephews put him more at ease. At first Thorin had remained pessimistic in order to divert his disappointment if the ranger had not been what they were expecting. However, he had met their expectations and now Thorin could agree that finding him must be a good omen.

"Glad to hear it, laddie," says Balin. "I'll start writing up a contract for you." Thorin is not oblivious to his friend's obvious infatuation with the ranger. The people of Imelkane had really left an impression on the old warrior and it is clear that after so much time he had forgotten that they are not without fault. Much like the dwarves the people of Imelkane suffer from a pride that is near sinful. Despite that the man appears to be quite calm for all Thorin knew all it would take one wrong word and he would be set off.

Balin takes up a parchment and a quill on a nearby table, but comes away from it holding something else. "What are these, lad?"

Balin held up two bladeless hilts. At first they seem like unfinished products waiting for a proper blade to be placed. However, upon second inspection there is no way either hilt could hold a steel blade. One hilt is carved in stone with a single aquamarine stone in the top of the pommel. The handle is simple and mimics the line of a leather throng that would be found on a normal sword. The most detailed part of the sword was the cross guard; which forms a downward crescent with flattened ends. The front and back had carved in it the Valar, which stood out of the smooth gray of the stone and take on a light gray color. They sit side by side and appear as smooth as the rest of the polished stone. Thorin can easily recognize Mahal from the axe and hammer in his hands and his wife, Yavanna, stands beside him with a seed in her hands.

In Balin's other hand the second hilt is a weave of black metal. It shines like a blade itself as the weave centers on two points. At the tip of the handle and at the center of the cross guard there are two rubies that are shaped like angry eyes. Each end of the cross guard becomes flat, allowing it to become axe like at the ends. In the center of the cross guard where a blade would be placed the black metal forms spikes.

Neither of these could ever hold a blade, but just by eyeing the ranger's reaction Thorin knew they were more than what they seem. The ranger's hands clench and his chest tightens with bated breath, but he seemed entirely unaware of his own reaction. Worried, Thorin carefully watches Balin out of the corner of his eye while he keeps most of his attention on the ranger. It takes a moment for the ranger to form a response to the question Balin had asked.

They were gifts.

Thorin knows that the short response is the ranger's way of hiding something and he knows that he should bring this secret to light, but the hilts are hardly a threat. They seem more for decoration or sentiment than for fighting. Maybe these blades had been gifts from his parents prior to their deaths. Thorin fondly remembers the wooden swords he had gifted to Fili and Kili when they were still dwarflings. He knew for a fact that they still kept their childhood treasures at home in a chest that they had set aside for their own children to play with one day. However, in the ranger's case the hilts seemed too ornate to be the gift of a child, even for the clan of Imelkane. Finally, Balin senses the ranger's discomfort and leaves the hilts on the end of the bed to return to his parchment at the small table. The moment Balin's hand leaves them so too does the ranger's gaze.

The candle is finally burning out and the ranger continues his prayers with only the scratching of Balin's quill to fill the room. Thorin takes another critical overlook of the ranger, this time of a more physical nature. The ranger has brown hair that is slightly greasy, most likely from travelling, and is only long enough to reach his ears. It is strange seeing a man with such short hair; after Dwalin had shaved his mohawk Thorin had been at a loss for words. The metal mask he wore shields the lower portion of his face, where it starts at the bridge of his nose and extends over his cheeks and under his chin. There is a large, black grate at the center of the mask indicating where he breathes, but Thorin couldn't hear him breathing. There are two leather straps that hold the mask in place, but they appear faded and worn. The black metal is a harsh contrast to the golden eyes above them. His build is average, maybe even bordering closer to small. His height is also fairly average for a human man, which is still many inches taller than Thorin himself. For the most part everything about the man seems average. The only other key detail he could discover is that the lad arms were fairly muscled from years of swordplay and along them are a few scattered scars. Apparently, he has been battle tested.

Suddenly, Thorin feels as though he was being watched. His eyes flick up to the ranger's face, but finds his eyes closed. However, Thorin simply couldn't shake the feeling and could only guess that the ranger is actually watching him from behind his eyelids.

"There we are," says Balin suddenly.

Now the ranger opens his eyes and gold in them is dancing with amusement. It would seem that he had been watching through his eyelids. Kalar looks away from Thorin to take the parchment from Balin. His eyes shift over the contract rapidly.

"It's all there," says Balin proudly, "There will be a few out of pocket expenses, but nothing much to worry about. Usually we include funeral arrangements, but since the attack I figured you might not have a place picked out-"

I will be buried in Thoth by my uncle. I would only require transport of my body; if there is one left to send.

This surprises the pair of dwarves. "Why aren't you with him then?" asks Thorin.

We haven't really seen eye to eye since my mother died. The short version of the story is that he kicked me out.

Balin and Thorin exchange a look. Balin breaks it first by offering a hand to edit the contract. The ranger quickly hands it over so that he may make the adjustments. Thorin's curiosity on the matter remains unsatisfied.

"Why did he leave you?" asks the dark dwarf.

More like the other way around I'm afraid. After my mother's death I became quite rebellious and independent. I decided to become a ranger, which my uncle vehemently disagreed with, but I did not heed his wishes. Shortly after becoming a ranger I went to see if I could change his mind. I was sorely mistaken.

"What did he want for you then?" asks Balin, who is equally as curious as Thorin.

He wanted me to stay home with my cousin.

"What kind of life is that for a man of Imelkane?" Thorin asks incredulously. While the lad is smaller than what Thorin remembers of the clan, he is hardly so frail as to stay at home.

He wasn't seeing me as a warrior, but as family.

"He should know better," says Thorin. He finds himself thinking of his own nephews in the tavern below. Of all the members of the company he worried about them the most. They were not so young as to be coddled, but they have yet to see real battle. There have been skirmishes in the Blue Mountains where they assisted in destroying orc packs, but fighting a dragon is a different boat altogether. When he initially confronted his sister, Dis, with the venture she had regarded it with quiet distaste. She didn't understand that after dedicating so much into building the lives of the dwarves in the Blue Mountains why Thorin would want to leave. She didn't want to lose another family member, least of all the older brother who had been at her side through the worst moments in her life. He is also the dwarf who raised her boys after the death of their father; Kili barely even remembers his father's face. She had been ready to agree hesitantly; however, upon mentioning the addition of her sons to the quest she became adamantly opposed. In the beginning she only saw her boys as boys - not the future of Erebor, so it took a few months before she was finally ready to part from her sons. She did not weep when her sons left for the journey, but she did make Thorin vow to keep them safe.

We always want our loved ones to be safe no matter the cost. As it stands you are willing to slay a dragon to ensure the security of a future for your people.

Thorin supplies a grunt to hide the smirk that had been growing on his face. However, Balin doesn't hide his smile from the ranger. "Alright, lad, we got that fixed," says Balin, "Now we have you set down for a fifteenth of the treasure. We will have to adjust the other lads' contracts, but-"

That is unnecessary.

"Are you unwilling to accept our gold?" Thorin asks accusingly. In the villages of men there are several who had turned away the dwarves after their exile. They believed them to be cheats and would therefore not offer them honest work. Then they accused the dwarves of producing false currency and would refuse their coin at markets. Even their womenfolk are not immune to the suspicions.

The gold within that mountain rightfully belongs to the dwarves of Erebor. Your people have greater need of the gold than I. Also…where would I put it all?

He gestures grandly to the room at his last statement. Despite the mask Thorin can easily see the amusement from the mirth in his eyes.

I'm a ranger – I travel where I'm most needed. Reclaiming your mountain won't change that. Could you imagine my horse carrying one fifteenth of what Erebor holds? I'll never get anywhere.

Balin lets out a loud laugh, which slowly trickles down into chuckling. Even Thorin cracks a smile under his beard at the thought of the ranger's poor horse collapsing under the weight of the gold.

"Very well then we shall give you as much as your horse can carry," says Thorin with finality. The ranger nods, but then continues to sign to them.

I also ask that I be welcomed to Erebor should I be passing through. A warm hearth and friendly faces mean more to me than gold.

This is what made Thorin ask this of Kalar in the first place; his better nature that could only be found in the men of the North. "Anyone who will put their life on the line for me and my kin and asks for only a warm fire and good company shall always be welcome in my halls," Thorin answers. Kalar nods to Thorin in an expression of gratitude. After Balin finally completes the product, he hands it to the ranger for a signature.

His golden eyes scan over the document once more. He pauses momentarily over something before looking down towards his boot. One of his hands slip inside his right boot and removes a small blade. At first Thorin and Balin tense, but the ranger actually brings it to his own hand. A small amount of pressure to his thumb and a scarlet droplet forms on the pad of his thumb. He quickly presses his thumb to the parchment and the red seeps into the paper and spreads. Kalar hands Balin the contract and slides the hidden blade back into its sheath.

When do we leave?

"We leave just after dawn," says Thorin as he makes his way to the door. "Be ready." The ranger nods his head as he follows Balin to the door.

"It's an honor to have you with us, lad," says Balin.

The honor is mine.

The two dwarves turn and descend the stairs to return to the party that is still in full swing. The ranger watches them leave before closing the door.

"What in the name of the Valar do I think I'm doing?" I say out loud as I remove my mask. Hearing my own voice after such a long time is strange to me. I barely recognize my own voice. The candle has finally burnt out so I quickly discard the remains and I begin to pace instead. I had been staring at the signature line and considering backing out. However, Thorin's look of desperation earlier had brought out my instinct to sooth him. I had even felt Thorin relax at my acceptance of the venture and I knew I couldn't let him down. I had used blood instead of my father's name to prevent conflict later when they would discover my true nature.

"This is bigger than anything I've ever dabbled in," I say to myself. "With my luck I'll earn the moniker 'Dragon Slayer.' Wouldn't that be fun for the Storyteller?" With that thought I groan loudly. My goal in life is very simple, but by doing things like this it becomes very complicated. However, I know that I cannot defy my nature as a ranger of the Dunedain – I felt the need to help. Not to mention the blood debt that I still owe…

I quickly strip myself of my chest plate, light mail, and tunic. I stare down at the rags that are compressing my anatomy and groan further. "How do I honestly think I'm going to get away with this? They're dwarves – not dim wits. I am fucked!"

I can feel the beginnings of a most painful headache as I run a hand through my hair as though to sooth it and prevent it from becoming bigger. I remove the rest of my clothes, compression rags included, and collapse on the bed. It only takes seconds to be rendered unconscious.

At the bottom of the stairs Gandalf surprises Thorin and the look on his face is suspicious.

"What have you done, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"Nothing that concerns you, wizard," Thorin grumbles. He knows not to get on the bad side of a wizard, but Thorin couldn't let the man think that he is the only one who had a say in choosing the members of the company. Thorin is about to pass him by when the wizard grabs him by the arm.

"That ranger is not to be trusted. I do not like the feeling of him. He is covered in magic both light and dark. Something is wrong with him," warns Gandalf.

Thorin could not ignore the wizard's words for his advice and guidance are his purpose for the quest, but at the same time Thorin would not undo the deal he had just made because the wizard is wary. The wizard is only suspicious and Thorin had too much pride to back down now. He removes his arm from Gandalf's grasp, but continues to look him in the eye.

"The ranger has signed the contract and is now my responsibility. While I can appreciate everything that you have done for us – this is my company. I will allow whomever I see fit to join us," Thorin states.

Thorin passes Gandalf to take a pint of ale from Kili. Ignoring the wizard, Thorin is optimistic of his choice. Surely the ranger will be of far more use to the company than the wizard's burglar.

Hi everyone. I just failed an exam and I really need some kind words, even a few are nice. I hope you like the update and we will be on our way soon. If the next chapter isn't up tonight it will be up tomorrow. I especially want to thank HisLordFluffiness and PrincessSerenity96 - your reviews motivated me to hurry up on this chapter and the next one. Thank you for brightening my day! Thank you to everyone else who reviewed as well I hope you like it.