Chapter Text
Beatrice:
Alarming curses and bangs filtered into the living room from the apartment’s small kitchen, but I blocked them out in favor of concentrating all my ire and growing worry on the man in from of me. If there was any justice in the world, he would have caught fire from the power of my stare alone. Well, maybe my stare could have singed his beard at the very least. After all, it was bad form to set family members alight.
“Why is my kitchen full of strange men, Gandalf?” He had never responded to the usual Grandpa or Gramps or even Old Guy, so my siblings and I had come to an agreement with him for Gandalf. Apparently it was from some book or another.
“I thought you liked visitors! Though you don’t seem to have had many lately. You’re hospitality skills are a bit rusty.” Blue eyes twinkled with merry innocence as they considered me. I’m much shorter than my grandfather, having taken after my father’s side in looks and build. Hell, even his beard is taller than I am- an enormous tangled mass, that combined with his cheery eyes and penchant for charming his way out of trouble, reminded me rather strongly of Dumbledore at times. See, I read.
“Gandalf...” I growled.
“Oh, hush. They’re an entertaining bunch. And I would have thought you’d be glad to see your old man. I haven’t seen you since the holidays.”
I sighed and accepted his hug. The familiar scent of pipe smoke, wood shavings, and an indefinable scent that was his alone, made me agree. “I missed you, Gandalf. You know you’re always welcome here.”
He seemed to take my affection for acceptance because he beamed and headed back to the kitchen. “Good, good! Let’s have some more food and get down to business as soon as our last friend arrives. Bea, why is your fridge so empty?”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I shrugged. “Student loans don’t exactly lead to a well stocked kitchen, Gandalf.”
The eleven other men, draped and seated on various pieces of furniture and countertops all looked at me reproachfully. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough excuse to deny them dinner. I considered them all for several seconds, imagining Mother turning in her grave at the lack of hospitality. I swiped my cell phone from the counter with many mental curses in the direction of my grandfather. “I can call for takeout. I hope you all like Chinese. That’s all I can afford.”
Cheers went up around the room, almost deafening me to the sharp knock that came from the front door. Gandalf heard, however, and his expression turned uncharacteristically grave. “He’s here.”
Well spotted, Gramps. I swallowed the comment and answered the door for what would hopefully be the last time tonight. Was it too much to ask to have a simple, quiet, solitary dinner after a hellish day at work?
A crash from behind me made me jump. “Sorry. Was that vase expensive?” One of the men, Kili or Fili maybe, hissed. Apparently it was too much to ask. Maybe this new guest would be the short and to the point and I could still salvage some of my evening.
Unsociable, me? Never.
In the slightly seedy hallway, the man stood out like a diamond amongst manure. It wasn’t so much that his clothing was that high end for this part of town, actually his shirt and pants had seen better days, but something in his bearing warned me that this was not a man to cross lightly. Control, responsibility, and absolute capability, along with a heavy hitting dose of arrogance, were etched to every sharp line of his face.
I have a knack for reading people, and I was unsettled when those blue-green eyes slammed into mine. The force of his personality nearly knocked me sideways- here was a man used to being obeyed- and beneath the layers of confidence and a hard working code, he was driven by old pain. And desperation. More than a little startled, I started to close the door when I felt Gandalf’s presence behind me.
“Ah, Thorin. About time you made it.” From the tone of Gandalf’s voice, I knew he too could feel this man’s inner conflict.
This Thorin didn’t look away from me. He cocked an eyebrow in a subtle bid for entrance though the force in his gaze told me in no uncertain terms that he was coming inside whether I liked it or not.
Deep breaths, I told myself. Deep breaths. When I felt my tone could pass as civil, I let go of the door. “Please, don’t let me stand in your way.”
“I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I got lost. Twice.” Deep, rich and powerful, his voice washed into the living room.
“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t stop to ask for directions. Men.” I muttered under my breath, left to close the door as Gandalf and the newcomer headed for the crowded kitchen. “Did any of them bother to call ahead? To explain themselves? No. Couldn’t even be bother with a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘lovely home’. Hah.”
Gandalf stuck his head around the corner. “Bea, we need you. Things to discuss, and the evening is wasting.”
Pointing reluctant feet forward, I experienced a sinking feeling I sometimes had when dealing with my family. It’s not that I don’t love them, but we get along best from a distance. Half a country usually kept me free from the worst of their meddling. And speaking of meddling, Gandalf was the Chief Meddler. I had even gotten him a mug with that on it. It was his favorite cup.
“Never be afraid to embrace what others see as your faults, Bea.” He had told me years ago.
I had a feeling that mug had only encouraged him to expand his efforts beyond the family. “Coming, Gandalf.”
The assembled men considered my grandfather. Thorin spoke for them all. “Gandalf?”
The old man puffed out his chest proudly. “I wouldn’t have any of that grandfather nonsense. So I went for a solid name. And a damned good reference. All at the same time. Multitasking is an important trait. I have it much like Bea’s great-great-great uncle, Bullroarer, they called him, who, in World War One, charged the enemy lines near the trenches and with one great swing of his weapon, knocked the German leader’s head clean off. It soared into the air, and down a rabbit hole. Won the Battle of Ypres and solidified the popularity of golf at the same time.”
That story became more and more incredulous each time I heard it. “I don’t think they’re interested in our family history.”
But the men all roared with laughter, thumping the countertops with their fists until the cheap formica threatened to crack. All except Thorin who leaned against the opposite wall and considered Gandalf with a slight smile.
Losing the last of my patience, I waited for them to subside before speaking in the small lull, “Gandalf, what are all these men doing in my kitchen?”
He smiled at me. “They’re in need of your help, Bea.”
Uh-huh. Twelve full grown men were in need of the assistance of a young, struggling woman, the highlight of whose social life was a tub of ice cream and a new movie with her cat. Perhaps reading my disbelief, Gandalf nodded at Thorin. “Let me introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield.”
Horrible suspicion flooded me. I stared, open mouthed at my grandfather, not caring that everyone was looking at me. “No. Absolutely not. Everyone, get out of my apartment, please. Now. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I want no part of this.”
Thorin Oakenshield. Everyone in the city knew his name. Dispossessed heir of Erebor Inc., the largest banking firm in the north. Some whispered that his grandfather Thror, CEO of the company, had been murdered by the man who took over the company and merged it into his own, DragonFire Ltd. But no spoke openly about such ideas, not even here, far removed from the banking center. Mr. Smaug, the sole owner of DragonFire was infamous for his temper, penchant for cruelty, and financial deviousness. That and his hatred of anything that might harm his ego, upt o and including, whispers about his bloodied hands, his apparent obsession with gold bricks, and Thorin Oakenshield. The two had a mutual hatred that was one for the history books.
Gandalf held up a placating hand. “Bea, I haven’t asked you to do anything besides listen.”
Yet. Still, I knew that tone. Best not to argue until I had all the facts at my disposal. I crossed my arms and glared at the room at large, waiting.
Thorin seemed to share my dislike of the situation. “You said we were to meet the last member of our team. No insult to your family, but your granddaughter looks more like a grocer than a burglar, Gandalf.”
I wasn’t sure which annoyed me more, his insinuation that I didn’t look up to snuff, or his self-righteous tone. My tongue hit the back of clenched teeth as I tried to remind myself that twenty-somethings did not stick their tongues out at random strangers, no matter the provocation.
Terrible power overtook Gandalf’s expression, all the warmth and gentleness replaced in the blink of an eye by inflexible strength and coldness. “Bea is the best there is. The less she looks like a burglar, the more effective she can be. Not to mention that Smaug dismisses women out of hand and has never heard of her before since she took her father’s name. All of which gives us a distinct advantage.”
“Not if I’m not coming, it doesn’t.” I said firmly. “It was lovely to meet you all, but I think it’s time I have a family discussion with my grandfather before I kill him.”
The man in the ski hat grinned at me. “Maybe you should save those homicidal urges for Mr. Smaug, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age.”
“Since I won’t be getting anywhere near Mr. Smaug, I hardly see why I should waste a perfectly good murdering mood. I have the outfit already picked out.”
Gandalf frowned at us both. “Beatrice. Sarcasm has its time, don’t overuse it. As I was saying, we need someone who knows the systems well enough to get in and get out while we provide a distraction, leaving no tracks behind. Also, we need someone who Smaug would never suspect. This is the only way to get the Arkenstone and defeat Smaug.”
Several grumbled curses fell from Thorin’s lips, but he said nothing more against Gandalf’s judgement. “Fine. Give her the contract.”
An enormous binder full of paper was gently placed in my arms by the oldest man in attendance, aside from Gandalf, “Just the usual. Reimbursement, traveling costs, funeral expenses. You understand.”
Bemused by the size of the binder, and staggering a bit under the weight, I didn’t reply. The man, Balin I thought he had introduced himself as, had a beard nearly as long as Gandalf’s. Most of the men had either long beards or hair. Must be a requirement to go along with the crazy if they had agreed to accompany Thorin on this insane mission. Smaug was not known for tolerating competition, real or imagined, overly well. And two of the members of these nutcases had to be younger than me. Bright eyed, naive and disgustingly attractive. In fact they rather resembled Thorin. Maybe part of the disinherited family?
I retreated to the living room so I could hear myself think and investigated the contract. Halfway through, instinct made me look up into the kind, beloved face of my grandfather. Frustration mixed in equally with love as I tried to decide what answer to give him.
“It’s quite the contract. Whoever wrote this was quite the optimist. One fourteenth of the worth of Erebor would be mine if I joined? That’s assuming Smaug doesn’t have us arrested for trespassing or just kill us outright and save himself the paperwork. Hypothetically of course,” I added hurriedly at the spark of triumph in Gandalf’s blue eyes at my use of the word ‘we’. “Because no one is actually insane enough to go up against him. The man’s a bloody tyrant.”
“Perhaps. But if anyone could stop him, it would be you, Bea. I know you don’t want to get back into the game, that you stopped working with computers for several reasons. I admire that, but I also know that you miss it. Always you craved adventure and new puzzles to solve when you were little. The world is not in your books and maps; it’s out there. Waiting for you to get up and discover it.”
I stared hard at the black and white pages in front of me. Voicing what had haunted me these past three years, I tried for a nonchalant tone. “I’m afraid, Gandalf. That I’ll let the family down like I did before. That I’ll fail.”
Gentle hands settled on my shoulders. “You have never let me down, Bea. I couldn’t be more proud of you. And I still will be proud even if you turn this down. It’ll be less entertaining for me, but that’s life.”
“Hah. Well, I live to entertain.” I smiled slightly. He was right. There was a reason I had studied computer programming and cryptology so intensively. It was always an adventure. And this, insanity aside, proved to be an interesting diversion. “Alright. Let me get my coat.”