Bold is Nezkish signing

I woke before the dawn, sitting up in my cot to run my hand through my short hair. My feet find the floor and after propping my elbows on my knees I hold my head in my hands. I have never been an early riser; only creatures of the night should be awake before the dawn. A growl slips past my lips as I stand to walk across the room. I hear my joints groan and pop as I redress. It was relaxing to sleep in nothing for once; the wilds are rarely kind if they manage to catch someone so vulnerable.

I start rewrapping the bandages around my breasts and once again wonder as to how I would hide this from a pack of dwarves. Come to think of it how would I explain my lacking in…other areas as well? Maybe I can say I'm a eunuch? Not likely…I shake my head at my antics and decide to cross that bridge when I got there.

The next items are my trousers and socks. As I slide the breeches on I now notice the large hole in the back of the calf. I pinch the fraying strands of fabric between my fingers, testing their durability.

"Accursed ghouls," I grumble as I slide the breeches off for their repair. From my pack I remove a patch and needle with thread. The black cotton material is easy enough to repair, but I know that soon enough I will need a new pair of breeches. My socks keep my feet warm while I work.

"What am I thinking? Joining a bunch of dwarves to reclaim a mountain wasn't part of the original plan," I ask to no one in particular. I don't know why I think asking again will change the answer, but for some reason asking it one more time seems to make the whole thing more real.

"It doesn't matter now," I consign. "You have already given them your father's name and now you must honor it." If anyone could see me in this moment they would think me mad, but the truth is that I am testing myself. Mostly I am reminding myself that I can still have honor left in my word for what little there is. After so many years of living the way I have I find that is difficult to remember that I can have some semblance of honor…Also it is good to test my voice after not being able to hear myself for weeks.

With my pants repaired I replace them on my person and move towards my dark gray tunic. I then change into my light mail and the leather jerkin from my pack. It is sad that even then I could still look like a girl. I take my belt and loop it through the top of my pants. Both the belt and jerkin are well-worn leather with no designs what so ever. I reattach my dark metal chest plate and finally hide the bits of me that still look feminine. When it comes to my heritage I found myself cursed with my mother's rather delicate form; anything that resembled manly traits I earned from my time with the Dunedain.

Next came the calf high black boots along their respective daggers nestled in their individual sheathes. I then also replace my dark metal shin guards and vambraces – slipping more hidden daggers into sheathes here and there. Then I begrudgingly pick up my mask and look at it with appraising hatred.

"All of our greatest failures are best suffered in the silence of the mind…" I whisper. My uncle's words – not mine. He always has a way with words…

I slip the mask over my face and tighten the clasps at the back of my head and neck. I put a second belt along my waist, one that holds the sheath of my broadsword. On the back of this second belt are specialized clips that hold my bladeless hilts. I pick up my hilts from the end of the bed where Balin had left them the night before. As I hold them in my hands I can feel them pulsating as the magic residing within them slowly reaches the surface. My hands start to tingle as if covered in ants and slowly as the sensation build so does the shakiness of my hand. I suddenly realize that I am holding my breath so I wrap my hands around quickly to attach them to the belt. Despite the relief I feel from releasing the powerful swords I still find my hand lingering on them. It feels wrong that regardless of how uncomfortable I am with wielding this kind of power, I take comfort in the knowledge that it is mine. My head subconsciously lowers in shame as I retrieve my broadsword from its position near the door. I pick up my pack and cloak in the opposite corner of the room. I clip the cloak in the front and raise the hood as I stride out the door.

If there had been any devastation from the party that happened downstairs the night before there is no evidence of it. However, I did see a couple men sleeping off their drink on the tables and one in the corner on the floor. I can only imagine the hangover that poor bastard is nursing…

"Ah! Good morn, ranger."

I look back at the bar to see the owner once more. His eyes show how tired he is, but his smile seems genuinely happy. I try signing, but he waves his hand at me.

"No use that is without my boy here. I may know a few signs, but I'm not that good. I let the lad sleep in this morning after all that excitement. Now my wife is making you some breakfast before you leave so don't even try declining. Wave your hands all you want – I will read it as 'I'd like breakfast very much sir.'"

The man clearly knew of my intentions as a smirk graces his features. He wanders back over to the mugs he had been cleaning, leaving me at the bar. Eating with a mask in public is difficult, which is my I usually ate more travel rations than anything. They are so much easier to slip in when people aren't looking. Despite that I didn't want the breakfast, I sit down at a table and find myself smirking at the man's antics.

"Asshole," I breath into my mask with a smile. Sure enough not even a couple minutes later there is a hot breakfast in front of me. I slowly manage around the mask as people slip in and out of my sight. With the smell of food in the air most of the drunks rise from their slumber and leave the tavern as they nurse their heads. After twenty minutes I manage to finish and now realize this is another problem I will have to face with the dwarves later. This is why I should never agree to travel with people. It only makes problems for me.

After finishing up I head outside to find Wildwind awake in her stall. Despite the long journey we had made the day before she is as eager as I to continue our travels. She leans over the rail towards my hand so that she could nuzzle me. As I pet her silky chestnut coat I take comfort in the fact that at least I won't be alone with the dwarves. I take a moment to refill her hay and water trough to help her gather strength before we take to the road. As Wildwind partakes in her meal I decide to do the same for all the ponies, knowing that so many could only belong to the dwarves staying here. As I make my rounds I count fourteen ponies. Fourteen dwarves…against a dragon?

"We are dead men," I state. As the livestock feeds my hand unconsciously moves towards my lower back. I can feel the cool and smooth surface of the stone hilt. It calms me to know that it will be there to aid me on my journey. I have never faced a dragon before – one of the few creatures I haven't. However, when it comes time to face the beast at least I know I'm not defenseless.

A shrill neigh brings me out of my thoughts and I realize I'm not alone. Whoever entered the stables remains near the front of the shack. I could not sense any malicious intent…in fact I couldn't sense any intent at all. All I can tell is that there is a presence, but the lack of purpose puts me on edge. This prompts me to bluff and pretend that I haven't been taken off guard. I turn around leisurely to find the vagabond I had seen in the tavern last night.

Now that we are alone and not among a sea of people, I can observe him much more thoroughly. His grey robes are old and worn, like a grey stone beaten by the weather of the world. Amongst the robes there is a brown belt which is equally as plain as the fabric around it. The man seems easy to overlook until you see his blue eyes. They seem so old, almost unnaturally ancient; there are only two other people I know who have such eyes. The rest of him is covered in wrinkles and a long grey beard. His hair is the same color as his beard from what I can see sticking out from underneath his hat. I stare him down even as he shifts his stance to lean on his staff. Glancing at the staff it is clearly wooden of some kind and at the very top of the staff there is a white crystal nestled in knot in the wood. Quickly, my eyes flick back to those of the vagrant. His eyes are wandering me cautiously as though I'm some kind of wild animal and I begin to wonder if he is possibly sick in the head.

However, I refuse to let his presence hinder my progress in preparing for the journey ahead. I start by picking up my saddle and attaching it to Wildwind, while keeping the pilgrim in the corner of my eye at all times. I am about to head back to the tavern to purchase some supplies from the barkeep when he finally speaks up.

"My name is Gandalf; Gandalf the Grey. That name wouldn't happen to mean anything to you would it?" he asks.

My first inclination is to shake my head, but I pause. In honesty the name did sound familiar, but it was like hearing an odd name in passing once. Perhaps a fellow ranger mentioned it once as we are travelers and it is quite likely someone had met this vagabond before. However, I can't see who would remember this ratty drifter. Another look at his eyes and I remember that sometimes that's how "they" look. After all isn't that how the Storyteller got around? By appearing to be someone of little importance he would set into motion events bigger than he appears capable of. Surly there is more than just one of those in the world… I decide I must have heard the name somewhere so I give him a slight nod of my head.

"Then you know who I am?" he asks more directly. He must have seen my hesitation in answering him. So this time I shake my head because it is true that I don't know who he is – I just remember his name. I have no idea who the crazy old coot is.

"Good. I would like to think that I have some advantage in this conversation," he says as he takes up perch on a stool near a large quarter stallion. I can feel a frown forming on my face when he uses the word 'advantage.' I don't have anything against the guy. Why does he feel the need to have an advantage while we are just talking? "Feel free to sign. I'm quite fluent in Nezkish."

What do you want from me, old man?

"You are joining the company of Thorin Oakenshield are you not?"

I can feel my blood freeze. Did the man know everything or had he recognized the King-in-Exile as I had? Either way I didn't like how he threw Thorin's name around like that. Anyone could be listening and he is talking about it as if discussing the weather.

If I am, what business is it of yours?

"I too am travelling with Oakenshield in hopes that I may assist him to reclaim his homeland," the man says.

'A vagabond?!' my mind screams. Surely the man has smoked too much pipeweed. Then again, how else did he come by such information? It's not likely he overheard their conversation; after all, it had followed the dwarves up to my room. Then again Thorin had been standing closely to the man in the hall. Maybe he is part of the group…but why?

What assistance do you offer Master Oakenshield?

"For the most part I am a guide, but I also offer him my skills as a wizard and my advice," the man says. "Not that he's been listening to it."

It feels as though a stone has been thrown into the pit of my stomach and I groan behind my mask. One wizard is bad enough – now two? The first one while helpful to my cause and a mentor of sorts, had been absolutely annoying. Looking between the two I can hardly see a resemblance, but hopefully they aren't in league and this one wouldn't make my life miserable.

I think I remember you now. They would tell stories of your involvement in the camps of the rangers.

"Apparently they didn't entertain."

I was distracted.

"With what?"

That doesn't concern you.

"My good fellow – my only concern is for that of the company. I should hate to see harm befall them if this is what you bring with you."

I would never harm them. They are good people.

"You and I both know being 'good' doesn't save anyone from anything."

It protects them from me. I will see no harm of mine finds them.

"I wish I could believe you…"

The wizard does anger me, but for much different reasons than the other one. The other wizard had been unceasingly urging me forward, but this one is trying to pick me apart. I don't appreciate his dissection of my character; he almost sounds demeaning. One of the few comforts I'm ever allowed in front of someone like him is the fact that he knows nothing about me and in this case he only really cares about the company.

"I'm afraid I cannot trust someone who doesn't put the company first."

I promised Thorin I would help this company reach the mountain safely and take it back with life if possible. What more can I offer?

At that the wizard is silent and I can feel the solemnity of the situation sinking in. His eyes continue roam over my form still assessing me. After a moment he heaves a sigh between his dry lips. "I suppose we shall find out – seeing as you have already signed the contract and I have no power to send you away. What is your name?" I can feel my eye twitch slightly at the wizard's obvious distaste for my presence.

Kalar.

"Well, Kalar, while I have no doubt your skills are great be aware that I am watching you," he states as he stands up to his full height, which is as tall as my father, and ambles his way out of the stables.

Great! I have no shortage of my own enemies and by associating with Oakenshield I have undoubtedly gained more; so to add on to that I now have a wizard against me as well. As if the world didn't seem bleak enough already. After a few moments of moaning and groaning in self pity I follow after the wizard to finally collect my supplies from the barkeep. It took a few clumsy tries at hand signals before the man realizes what I am trying to say, but we manage without his son. I pay him with some silver I had "confiscated" from some bandits last week. They are hopefully still rotting in their cells in the North Downs. While I am waiting for the supplies the first of the dwarves made their way downstairs. It is a pair of them – one was flaxen haired with bright blue eyes and a braided mustache. The other is dark-haired with brown eyes and very little facial hair at all. I find this odd as a sparse facial hair is usually a sign of adolescence in dwarves. First wizards and now children…What is Oakenshield thinking?

They both look at me with wide and curious eyes. I don't think they realize that they have stopped in their tracks to blatantly stare at me, but I took the moment to properly appraise them as well. It's fairly obvious that they are young from the way they carried themselves. Despite their warrior beads the look in their eyes made it obvious that they didn't know sorrow pain as most dwarves do. Not making the same mistake again I took a second look at their beads and sure enough there is the mark of Durin. Were these Thorin's sons? If such were the case I feel like I would have at least had some memory of hearing about it. It's not every day a king-in-exile sires children. However, a new question comes to mind: Why are Thorin's heirs on this suicidal quest? Surely Thorin isn't deranged, is he? I think back to our conversation regarding family and warriors, but this…this is different. I rub my aching head at my temple, but it does little to sooth me. If his heirs die Erebor will be for naught; did Thorin not realize this?

"I'm starting to regret this more and more," I breathe. As if my words knocked them out of their thoughts they continue out the door, but watch me until they could see me no more. The barkeep returns with my supplies in my saddle bags when nine more dwarves come down the stairs. The only one I recognize is Balin and when his eyes meet mine he breaks out into a smile.

"Kalar, lad! Come join us before we start off," he calls merrily. I nod my head and throw the saddle bags over my shoulder as I walk along side him. The dwarves settle at the same table from last night. Balin settles me between him and another dwarf with rust colored hair that had been delicately separated into three parts. Despite his relaxed demeanor I could see him eyeing me warily from the corner of his eye. In fact that's how most of them were currently regarding me. I am rather disappointed after the stares of wonderment I received from the other two earlier. I enjoy it when people are curious. It reminds me of the curiosity of children and I enjoy seeing this in others, but I will still keep my distance and protect my secrets.

"Lads, this is Kalar," announces Balin. "He will be joining us for the remainder of the journey."

"So Thorin went through with it did he?" asks a dwarf with a long red beard. "Well then, welcome, son of Imelkane."

My thanks.

"Need any food, lad?" asks a dwarf with an ash colored beard.

I have already eaten, but thank you.

"Balin!" says someone behind us. "Someone has already seen to the ponies."

"Ah!" says Balin. "It seems as though Kalar has beaten you to it."

"Kalar?" asks another voice.

"Right then," says Balin, "Allow me to complete the introductions." He first gestures to the pair across from us. "These are Gloin, Oin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Dori, and Nori." His hand travels around the table and finishes with the dwarf sitting on my right. I catch his eyes and notice that he is sizing me up. I only break the gaze when Blain then gestures behind us. "These two rapscallions are Fili and Kili." I fully turn to see them and discover that they are the two from earlier. Once again they carry a curious look in their eyes and I find myself grateful for their return. "Lads, this is Kalar, a child of Imelkane and a ranger. He shall be joining us."

"Does uncle know about this?" ask Fili cautiously.

"Aye," chuckles Balin. "Thorin is the one who asked him."

An uncle, huh? This makes much more sense than if Thorin was a father. He just…lacks something that would have made him father-like. However, the boys probably would have vehemently disagreed with me. I could see their eyes light up at the mention of their uncle's choice. After my father died I had stayed with the wizard for two years before I found my uncle and once I returned had done his best to keep me in Thoth. He could never replace my father. I know he had done his best to be what I needed, but for me it just wasn't enough.

"You must be a great warrior to be chosen for a quest like this," says Kili.

I would like to think so, but I will let you be the judge.

"Um…" Kili trails off.

"Sorry, lad, but the young princes have yet to complete their learning of Nezkish so I'm afraid we will be translating for them," says Balin.

It's alright. I can't imagine two Princes of Erebor sitting still to practice signing twice. Khuzdul is more important and I know that trying to remember all the signs is hardly as fun as sparring with a blade.

This got a few chuckles out of the group and the princes look around agitatedly.

"What did he say?" asks Fili.

"Nothing to worry about lad," assures a dwarf in a funny hat. Bofur I think his name is…could be Bifur…Suddenly there is breakfast on the table and the dwarves dig in. I realize that dwarves aren't the most polite of creatures, but I honestly think that my horse may have more table manners than some of these dwarves. I think the worst two have to be Gloin and Bifur. I swear I am watching a sinking sand pit with the way they are putting away food. After I become bored I realize that Thorin, another dwarf, and…a hobbit…are coming down the stairs. They make their way over to us and Thorin turns his gaze to me. He nods his head to me, which I return out of courtesy, and then leans over to the dwarf next to him to whisper in his ear. The dwarf next to him is very large and to my surprise has a mostly bald head. The skin revealed there is covered in tattoos. I also notice that one of his ears has a chunk taken out of it. By an animal most likely… I notice his brown eyes fell on me and watch my movements critically. He too gives me a slight nod before taking a seat besides Balin.

"This 'ere is my brother Dwalin," says Balin affectionately. I give his brother a nod of acknowledgement. Thorin takes a seat next to Dwalin and the hobbit sits across from him. The hobbit is also part of this company?! If ever I thought this venture was mad before – it is most certainly confirmed now. My mind sputters as his large curious eyes look at me and quickly looks away bashfully.

What's the purpose of the hobbit?

"Sorry 'bout that lad," says Bofur cheerfully. "This is Master Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. Master Baggins this is Kalar."

The little hobbit becomes a bit more courageous and smiles at me. "At your service."

What a strange little hobbit. I have been through the Shire only twice in my short life, but never would I have thought a hobbit capable of joining a quest like this. They were homebodies for the most part, with an exception now and then. I had heard a family known as Tooks made for Rivendell every once in a while when their Wanderlust is too great. I nod my head to the hobbit as I had for the dwarves, but I shift my head to face Thorin. Hopefully the eyebrow that had made its way to my hairline is enough of a question.

"The halfling is our burglar," grumbles the Erebor heir, "Blame the wizard."

Burglar?

"Why in all of Arda would you need a hobbit burglar?" I ask incredulously.

Naturally no one heard me, but I know my disbelief remains on my face. I couldn't understand the need for burglar let alone the hobbit. A dragon slayer I could understand, but this…And he was chosen by the wizard no less. I close my eyes and pinch the exposed bridge of my nose while I calmly try to breath. This isn't what I expected. I signed up for a company of dwarves and a dragon; not a suspicious wizard or a mad hobbit.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence with the occasional belch or loud clanking of utensils. Despite this silence I am well aware of the fact that eyes watch me from all across the table. The most frequent of the stares came from the Durin princes and the hobbit who are just curious. There are many times they lift their heads as if to ask something, but then the words would die on their lips. The stares that are hardest to stand are the ones coming from Dwalin and the dwarf beside me – Nori. Both of them were sizing me up over the breakfast dishes as if I am a sparring partner. The feeling is hardly appreciated; we have not even begun our journey to the Lonely Mountain and already member of the company had placed me as an opponent of sorts.

I feel tired already. The extremes the dwarves place me in have made my life much more exhausting than it should be. Balin looks at me with admiration and seems to think me something extraordinary, but his brother watches me like a hawk and is waiting for my inevitable downfall to swoop in for the kill. When they figure out I'm girl Dwalin is going to be the one to kick my ass, I know it.

"Finish up," calls Thorin. "It's time to move out."

Despite that I am looking at Thorin the hair on the back of my neck stands up and can feel the air shifting beside me. My ranger training tells me that something is amiss and is using Thorin's words as an opportunity for distraction. I snatch Balin's breakfast knife and stab downward to my right near my lower back without looking. The blade only makes purchase in the wood, but only because flesh has dodged it in time. Nori's hands return to his personal space and are open in front of him as if to show he meant no harm. I know that he had been reaching for the hilts at my back and it made my skin bristle with agitation that he went for those rather than my coin purse. There is no way he could have known how powerful or precious those are to me, but it still makes me uneasy. His face is aghast and clearly he hadn't been expecting me to do that. The others had tensed up and Dwalin had even risen to assist his kin if he had to. With a solid and single pull I remove the knife from the bench and return it to Balin, handle first. I look back at Nori.

Best not to let idle hands wander lest you lose them.

Another silence consumes us before the wizard steps into the tavern. He glances around at the wary stares I receive before clearing his throat. The dwarf near the end of the bench…Ori or Dori, I don't remember, jumps at the gruff noise.

"It's time for us to take our leave," says Gandalf.

Thorin nods and each of us slowly make our way outside. I notice that most of the dwarves with exception of Balin and Dwalin give me a little more room to move than before. They are being cautious now…good for them. Fili and Kili brought out the ponies while Gandalf and I collect our own horses. Once we are mounted and began on the eastern road out of town Kili tries to break the tense and awkward silence.

"Gandalf this is Kalar," he states cheerfully.

"We've met," says Gandalf bitterly. He takes to the front with Thorin and Dwalin. I take up the position near the rear with the princes and the young scholar who had jumped at the table earlier. Balin is right in front of us beside the hobbit, but he turns around to look at me.

"Don't worry, lad. Just give them some time," the old dwarf says optimistically.

"Why not? Time is all we have," I mutter sarcastically. As expected no one around me reacts to my words, but I did notice Gandalf turn in his saddle to purposefully look at me. The dark look in his eye…it's almost as if he heard me. It's impossible, but the way he stares I can't help wondering. After a moment he turns back around and I release a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. This is going to be a long journey…

Alright guys finally on our way. Sorry it took so long, but I wanted and interesting set up for everything else that's going to happen later. Tell me what you think! All creative criticize is welcome and I love reviews. You guys have an awesome day ok!