Chapter three

The dwarves had gathered in the living room, smoking, chatting quietly, or drinking tea. As they murmured away, I made a second pot of tea and poured the steaming, fragrant stuff into three mugs and headed back to them. I passed the mug with blue glaze to Gandalf.

"Thank you, Tallis."

"You're welcome,"

"You signed it."

"I did."

"Why?"

I bit my lip. "Because it made me happy –to sign it, I mean," When the pen touched the paper, I felt a release of emotions, especially all the built up anxiety and stress over the past few days. Hell, the last few years, probably. "Being happy is quite a priority for me." I frowned. That sounded so selfish, but it was the truth. "Besides," words tumbled out of my mouth, "I want to make people happy, but I can't make other people happy if I'm not happy myself –I'm sorry," I huffed. My face heated.

"No, that was quite wise, Tallis,"

I laughed, embarrassed and smiled crookedly at him before moving off to hand the red glazed mug to Balin across the room on his chair. His face crinkled into a smile.

"Did you persuade him?" I kept the third mug for myself and took a sip.

Balin gave me a mischievous smile. "He did not even know it,"

I laughed quietly, but something still burned a bit. I didn't think I really wanted to know that he had to be persuaded.

Balin saw my expression. "It was his idea. All I had to do was reassure him,"

I gave him a sheepish smile.

We fell silent. The excitement had died down and the pipes were making the room smoky and the fire was low. Thorin leaned against the mantelpiece, so very close to the fire, looking deep into its depths. It always still surprised me how resilient to heat dwarves were. He was in heavy clothing, yet the fire did not even cause him to break sweat. It got quieter and quieter. A chill rippled through my shoulders as I watched their dark shining eyes gaze into the flames. They were remembering.

Then, Thorin began to hum. Oh, rich, rich! A baritone like hot black tea blended with the cool smell of oranges. Oh, oranges. I had not tasted one in decades. Not since I left my warm, moist home in the East. Nothing like oranges grew in the West. Frowning I ran my tongue over my lips. I had forgotten what oranges tasted like. Perhaps I would never taste them again.

A voice slid into my thoughts. It was Thorin singing.

Far over, the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep, and caverns old.

We must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold.

I had heard this song innumerable times when I was in Ered Luin. It was sung almost at the end of every gathering, every party, every funeral, every birth celebration, every wedding. It wasn't required, it seemed. The dwarves had a longing for home that was hammered into them. The wealth of Erebor was in their veins and it was calling for them. And the singing would just begin. It was their way of never forgetting.

One by one, the dwarves joined in. I knew the words as well as my own name, but it always felt wrong to join in, as if I were intruding on some secret I had no right to be apart of.

The pines were roaring, one the heights,

The trees were moaning, in the night.

The fire was red, it blazing spread,

The trees like torches, blazed with light.

They trailed off into silence as the fire burned lower. We sat there for a while, contemplating the embers. I finished my tea. I muttered a quick "goodnight" and strode out of the room.

As I turned the corner, someone spoke, "Where are you going?"

It was Thorin. He had gone after me.

"Back to the inn to sleep –the hobbit has no space for a human in his house with you and your circus."

He nodded and smiled wryly. "Good night, then," His blue eyes were so dark in the half light.

"Goodnight," I wanted to stay. I wanted to speak to him about everything I'd done the last three years we had not seen one another. Later, I told myself.

I felt his eyes on my back, but when I turned at the door, he was already making his way back to the others.

I woke up early the next day. I relished the feeling of the featherbed and got up reluctantly. Splashing water onto my face, I plaited my locks into one long braid down my back and shed my nightgown slowly. It was an elvish thing: white, light material that ruffled gently and softly and never got hard or ragged or matted with age. It was made to be like a robe and open at the front, but a deep red ribbon wove both sides together down my front. A simple tug undid it. I rolled it up and tucked it into the bottom of my bag. I couldn't help but smile. It was my little secret luxury that I brought with me everywhere. One never knows when a chance may pop up on a journey to be able to sleep in a bed without fear. I would never show it to the dwarves, of course, let alone wear it. They would probably think it was a sort of frilly pillow case.

Glancing at the sun outside, I tucked my clothes mending kit, medicinal bag, and an array of odds and ends I always kept with me on my travels. I was a light packer –I learned through the years as I travelled from town to town and race to race. My wits and wisdom and stories were much better use to me than anything in the bag. Other than the cured beef. I loved cured beef. Rolling up my sleeping roll and heavy cloak, I tied them to the outside of my bag.

I pulled on my leather pants and donned a black shirt of thin wool. It was warm and strong. Remembering the loom I made the fabric on, I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered the white walls and tall windows or the airy buildings in Minas Tirith. Putting on my leather vest, I tied the laces down my front firmly and adjusted the short sleeves that came down to above my elbows. The brigandine design around my waist acted as a protective belt of scales around midriff. The little plates of metal were melded into the leather, rather like a flexible and lighter version of plate mail. The shoulders and sleeves of the vest were also of the same design. I had made it in Ered Luin. A testimony of the skills I had mastered. The vambraces I donned were of elvish making, leather also, but with metal reinforcements designed to look like the curling leaves of a budding tree. Finally, I pulled on my Rohirrim riding boots, and belted my elvish sword and scabbard. A dwarvish knife was strapped to each thigh and I slung my bow over my shoulder. That was from home. The recurve bow was made with the melding of bamboo and Oliphant horn. The horn made the belly and the back of the bow, while the bamboo curved out as the upper and lower limbs. With the materials only found in the East and the composite bow had a tensile strength that none of the single wood bows here in the West had. I was armed and ready.

Slinging my bag over my other shoulder, I headed downstairs. Passing the kitchens, I called out to one of the fat cooks and he tossed a muffin and apple to me. Taking a bite from the muffin and tucking the apple in my pocket, I stepped out into the courtyard and towards the stables.

My horse was waiting happily in the stables, snorting, as it seemed, between sixteen ponies with provisions and bags and sleeping rolls tied to their backs. The dwarves had stabled them there, it seemed; yesterday before they got to the party.

"Oof!" I pitched forward. Someone had slapped my back.

"Good mornin," It was Bofur.

"Good morning to you," I made a face at him as he sauntered off.

I turned to the gate. A few more dwarves were strolling in, laughing and pushing one another around. Thorin walked slowly in the back with Gandalf. I called a good morning to the rest of them and set to tying my things to my saddle. It seemed that someone had already tied a bag of provisions to my saddle that was hung on the stall door.

"Communal," Bombur noted to me as he saw my peering into the sack of food.

"Of course," I sighed.

I flung the saddle over my horse and readjusted it to my liking. Shining gently, the sun was a good omen for our quest. A bubble swelled in my chest. I loved starting new journeys. It was as if I were writing a new story or starting anew in a life.

I buckled the last strap on and led my horse out of the stables. With a coat of deep brown and not too light of a structure, he was my companion on all my journeys except for the sea voyages of course. I left him with the elves at Lindon whenever I travelled by ship. I patted his nose. Snuffling at my pocket eagerly, I gave up and handed it over.

"Oh, Fatty. This is your before journey treat. It'll be tussocks of grass for you soon enough,"

He crunched happily. I had just brushed him the day before and his coat gleamed in the light. The shaggy ponies the dwarves had were soon lined up in the courtyard with their riders. Three ponies were rider-less but carried heavier loads on their back. One was intended originally for the hobbit, but he was nowhere to be seen. Gandalf whistled loudly and his white horse cantered from down the road somewhere and trotted in. I strode over to him.

"Did he truly decide not to come?" I said in a low voice.

Gandalf gave me an irritated look, "I left him the contract. We'll see,"

"What are you two mumbling about?" It was Fili.

I gave him a cheeky grin. "Just decided how much we were going to bet that Bilbo does come on the quest."

"Betting?!" I heard Nori's rarely used voice crop up.

"I'm in!" Kili swaggered over eagerly.

Soon, the rest of the dwarves joined in and we were placing our bets against one another. Ori stood at the side, a little forlorn.

"Do you not want to bet?" I asked him kindly.

"My mum told me I shouldn't bet and Dori won't let me,"

"A little won't hurt. Let's say you and I work as a team. What are you going to bet?"

He looked at me, a little flabbergast. "I –I... I bet that Bilbo is going to come!" He hesitated. "But what if he doesn't?"

"I lose ten silver pieces." I shrugged. "Besides, I think your choice is quite a wise one."

He grinned like a little horse and looked like he was about to burst. I went back into the throng and found Thorin.

"Bilbo will come, you know,"

He gave me an exasperated glance, "He will not. We left him snoring in his bed."

"Ten silver pieces that Bilbo comes,"

"I don't gamble,"

"What is this quest then?"

"Fine, ten silver pieces, to me, when he does not come,"

"Very confident, King under the Mountain," I gave him a little mock bow and slipped off to my horse. His expression was caught between annoyance and a budding smile –a funny combination –as if someone had stepped on his toes.

We set off soon after that. The roads were wider here on the edges of the Shire and we could ride in pairs. Thorin rode by himself at the front. I ended up beside Kili. His brother and Dwalin rode in front of us and Thorin ahead of them. I didn't say much at the beginning of the ride as we passed under oaks, elms, and maple trees rustling in the gentle breeze. Dappled shade swirled on the backs of our horses.

"Might I enquire your age," Kili asked politely.

I laughed at his formality. "Guess,"

He squinted at me. "Between twenty and thirty,"

"Not even close,"

"What?!"

Fili turned around, "I'd say thirty two,"

Dwalin's spoke without turning, "She's about sixty."

"You're joking." Kili's mouth fell open.

"But you should be old and wrinkly!" Fili frowned.

"I'm a descendant of both common man and Numenoreans."

"Thorin said you were from the East –there are no Numenoreans there," Kili reminded.

I shrugged, "They weren't the Numenoreans who came and established the kingdoms here. Well, here, they're known as the Black Numenoreans." Their eyes turned wide, "You do realize that blood doesn't matter in the end. I got their long life-span, but it doesn't mean I have their lovely tendency to dabble in black magic and torture. Besides my other side and most of my family really descends from Bor –the only Easterling that helped fight against Morgoth in the first battles that cleaved this ancient earth in two. Our ancestors fought next to each other you know. Well, my good ones anyway. The Black Numenoreans were long from existence yet."

"How far east are you from?" Fili asked.

"Further than Rhun. My home is past the Sea of Rhun and past the deserts that lay after and in the tropical heat of the seas that lay on the other side of this land. It is so very different there. Seasons have such little change there –winter comes with merely more rain and a little cooler temperature and the trees never drop their leaves. The animals grow massive there –Oliphants, giant black and yellow stripped cats, bears that are white and have black markings and eat nothing but leaves, odd horny lizards with terrible sharp teeth that are as big as your pony, and snakes that are long enough to wrap around you many times and would swallow you whole. The seas are full of colourful fish and the skies full of brilliantly plumaged birds. The forests of Harad lay to our south, and if we go further still, their deserts full of even stranger beasts. The massive storms and endless rain marked the end of the summers. The fruits there are all sweet and soft and full of juice and all odd shapes or with horny spines." I could taste them now. And feel the unbearable hot, moist air on my arms and the warm, soothing rain on my face. Thorin still rode up ahead. I wondered if he was listening. He had heard this all before, of course. He had wanted to see those things, once. Or perhaps he still did.

"Why did you leave?" Kili asked.

The question had been asked of me many times before. Every time I told my story someone would ask. "I had seen all I wanted to see there. My world was not big enough –I had to travel and adventure to expand it. The trees and towns and people and animals there could only hold my childhood. I grew up. I needed more." I wanted to live more than one life. Books used to satisfy that, but I yearned to take more in –I had to see these places, not just imagine them through words.

A sudden yelling from behind stopped us.

"Why are we stopping, Gandalf?" complained Dori.

We all turned.

"Look," was all Gandalf simply said.

I turned my gaze to the direction he was looking in. My face broke into a grin. A little figure weighed down by a pack and waving something fluttery in his hand jumped over a fence and was sprinting towards us. As he neared, the dwarves all laughed or scoffed in surprise.

"I signed it," Bilbo Baggins panted as he slowed and stopped. He handed the contract to Balin.

I nudged my horse out of the column and paced up to Thorin.

Balin declared, "Everything seems to be in order. Welcome Master Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"He came," I pointed out.

"I can see that," Thorin snapped. He started off again and column slowly moved forward.

"He had the wits to figure out where to cut us off," I turned back at the little hobbit who was now huffing and puffing as he started walking alongside us, walking stick in hand.

Thorin called back, "Someone, give him a pony,"

A panicked reply came from behind, "That really won't be necessary –I can keep up fine on foot! I've done my share of walking holidays –," I heard a strangled yelp and a thump. I glanced back –the hobbit had been picked up off the ground and deposited on a pony. Soon the sound of coin bags being thrown about reached my ears.

"He came," I mentioned again to Thorin riding resolutely beside me.

He grunted.

"Don't grunt at me,"

"That wasn't a grunt,"

"What was it then, flatulence?"

I heard Fili choke behind me. Thorin threw a little bag of coins at me. I caught it.

"Thank you, King under the Mountain,"