Chapter Text
The long grass surrounded her like pillows as they comforted her dozing form. The sun pokes through the swaying leaves, showering her in small, warm golden rays. The leaves moved gently in the wind, long and flexible branches swishing like strips of fabric. At first glance, all the branches were covered in tiny green leaves, but if given a closer look, one will spot many purple buds beginning to bloom in celebration of the springtime. The flowers of the willow tree always bloomed later due to being outside of its natural environment. Even though two eons had passed, the tree remained on its original routine.
It was mid to late spring, a late time to bloom for any tree in the area. But she never minded the lateness, for it only reminded her of her homeland. Nobody was around to comment on it either since she was always alone. Well, mostly alone. For all these years, it has just been her, the willow tree, and her faithful horse, Èrbō.
As her last seconds of consciousness faded, small flaps could be heard approaching her. Although she did not need to open her eyes to know it was a butterfly, the energy surrounding it made her quickly awaken and stand in a guarded position. Her hands were ready to swipe her weapons from the sides of her waist. Even though she was aware that the butterfly held no ill intentions, the fact that it was sent to her directly had put her on edge. It wasn’t until the butterfly landed on her nose that she realized whom it came from.
Gandalf.
This was the third time he had tried to contact her this year. The first time, she had taken the message quickly, fearful of why he had contacted her after all these years. Many things ran through her head, all relating to war with the dark ones. However, she was not expecting a request for her to join an upcoming adventure, and that was all he had described. She had no use for an adventure, not when threats were spilling in from the north; she needed to be prepared to be summoned for another war. The second time was the same message as the previous one, which she brushed off quickly and completely ignored. Her services were meant for war, not adventures with people she did not know and a wizard she hardly spoke to.
But something about this message seemed different. She had no doubt it would be the same request, but perhaps this time, the wizard had added more information to the message, finally understanding she did not desire his wordplay.
How how wrong she was.
As the butterfly relayed the message the grey one gave it, she became more upset. The butterfly had informed her that Gandalf was, in fact, still requesting her presence in the so-called adventure he was on, but the disturbing part was the fact that he added, “We are almost to your location...perhaps prepare a feast, they are grouchy.” and that was it.
She had quite a few questions, such as “How does he know my location?” which was quickly answered with “He’s a wizard; of course he knows.”
“How close are they?”
“Who are they anyway? What did he mean by grouchy?”
She had many more questions, though she knew that standing around would never give her the desired answers. She also knew he would not give her answers unless she obliged his request. He was always like that and always will be. If she were to be honest, she hated it. She was not a person who enjoyed people being indirect with their intentions. Though she understood that was just how he was as a wizard, it was still irritating.
She stood there momentarily, thinking over the information she had just provided by the butterfly, who had already flown away toward a flower batch nearby.
…
“How the fuck am I supposed to do a feast with this short amount of time?”
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The sun was beginning to set, and she was still preparing a meal for multiple guests. Although it was not a feast like Gandalf had requested in his message, it was still a large enough meal for over a dozen people. She had received more information from the butterfly after taking its break earlier. It informed her that the wizard was traveling with at least a dozen other people, and they would arrive sometime after sunset. Which virtually left her with very little time to prepare anything. She had to hunt down two deer, skin them, slice them, which was a long process, and then start cooking their meat. She also searched near her home for mixed berries, wild onions, garlic, and anything else she found helpful for the meal. The fruit is used for two simple desserts, all the onions for the stew, and leftover garlic for bread traditionally made in her homeland.
Although it was no meal fit for a king, it was hearty enough for a dozen and a half people. She was unsure how many guests there would be, but since the butterfly had told her he was traveling with about a dozen other people, it was better to prepare more food just in case.
At first, she had not wanted to prepare anything for his arrival; she wanted nothing more than to try to scare him off with her weapons. This was a silly thought since he would quickly figure out she wouldn't try anything to hurt him. But a woman could dream.
It wasn’t until she spoke more to his insect that she had truly pondered the strange occurrence. It was already out of the ordinary for Gandalf to have contacted her about something unrelated to the problems with Sauron. However, requesting her assistance three times piqued her curiosity slightly. But then, when she learned how many people were traveling with him, she became even more curious. What kind of adventure would require so many people? Would that mean it’s dangerous? Or perhaps she was requested because he hoped she would help protect this group of people? She asked many questions, but all of them would be left unanswered unless she obliged to make a meal and hear him out.
She hoped for whatever he wanted; it would be worth disturbing her from her peaceful and lonely life in the woods.
But secretly, she was quite excited to have her first-ever guests, whether it was worth the disturbance or not.
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The dessert she had put in the oven at sunset was halfway done when she heard Èrbō neigh quietly from his pen nearby. They had arrived.
She grabbed her dark cloak before hastily climbing out the window above her kitchen sink, which faced the treeline behind her cabin. She crawled quietly on the wooden panels, not making a sound as she monitored her breathing. She climbed past the attic floor and onto the old shingled roof, reminding her to fix it in the future as she looked at the ancient wood.
She climbed quietly toward the front-facing part of the house, sliding slightly down to place herself in the crevice between the roof and the bricks of her still-smoking chimney. She squished herself down into the gap as much as she could, now waiting for the wizard and his company to appear.
She could hear them from here.
And they were very loud.
She felt that if she had poor hearing like humans, she would still be able to hear them.
She listened closely to over a dozen voices complaining and arguing with one another. The wizards' message is correct; they are very grouchy. She could hear them shuffling around uncomfortably, some even poking each other from the annoyance of the long journey to get here, which set off yet another argument. Her ears flinched from the screaming match uprising amongst the group before a loud voice boomed over them, commanding them to be quiet. They all quieted down to whispering as they continued to argue.
A moment later, the large group emerged from the woods, entering the small clearing where her home resided. She watched them closely, focusing on Gandalf, who was looking around the treeline for her, before focusing on the strange group of…dwarves?
She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she was not expecting a large group of dwarves riding fluffy ponies, accompanied by a young hobbit who looked eager to get back on the ground. He was already halfway off his pony when one of the dwarves shouted, “Not yet, Master Burglar. We do not know what threat may lie ahead.”
“There are threats that lie in the Future, Thorin, but you will find none here.” The wizard calmly told the dwarf, who stopped his horse beside him.
”Not a threat? Rude bastard.” She thought to herself. Despite the minor insult she felt, her demeanor did not change. She stayed as still as she could, blending well into the shadows.
The cautious dwarf huffed in annoyance, and he looked around once again, this time eyeing the rooftop, but his eyes slid right over her without a hint of noticing her. “Well, where is she then Gandalf? Surely she already knows of our arrival.”
“I have no doubt she is already watching us.” The wizard informed the dwarf as his eyes finally locked onto where she was hiding. Damned wizard, he always knew everything.
“We do not have time for this, Wizard. My people are hungry and tired, tell her to come out or we will leave.”
Several others groaned at that last part, many complaining about how they could smell the food and did not wish to leave before tasting a bite or five.
Gandalf looked down at the annoyed dwarf, giving him a disapproving look at his words, “Remember Thorin, we are in her home. If she wishes to observe you to ensure you are trustworthy, then she shall do so. She is not one to trust easily, and neither are you.”
Before the dwarf could speak another word out of his already irritating mouth, the woman finally spoke up, “He’s right, you know. You are in my land, I am allowed to ensure that the strange band of dwarves I am about to invite will, in fact, not ruin my home.” She called out sternly.
She stood up from her hiding spot, leaning on the warm chimney beside her. The dwarf, who had been the most weary, looked up in surprise; the surprise was evident on his face before it turned back to annoyance. Despite looking over the roof twice, he looked visibly upset that he had not noticed her there.
She stared at the large group of dwarves before calling out, “I suppose you’re all hungry, yes?”
An uproar of yeses and ayes came from the group as many sniffed the evening air, catching whiffs of the small feast to come. She smiled slightly as she stepped a little closer to the edge to get a better look at their hungry faces.
“You all better bring your own dishes. I don’t have enough for you all.” She told them. The majority rushed to get off their ponies, digging through their bags for the bowls and utensils they’d been using thus far the second they landed on the ground. She turned around and retraced her steps, careful not to step on pieces of the roof that looked like they might fall through if she weighed any heavier. She leaned forward when she reached the other side of the roof and let gravity take her. She grabbed the wooden beam that helped support her home before hitting the ground, her shoulder popping from the sudden force. She crawled back through the kitchen window and opened the front door.
Many dwarves comically fell through the doorway; the desperation to eat a warm meal was obvious. They all held their homemade bowls closely as they looked around her wooden cabin.
She walked toward the small fireplace, which held a large pot of the deer stew she had prepared for them. She took off her cloak and tossed it to the side, then grabbed the pot's metal hook and shifted it slightly away from the fire so it wouldn’t overcook.
“Oh, that smells delightful, Miss.” A young dwarf suddenly spoke next to her, “What’s in it?” He asked politely, licking his lips slightly as he sniffed the air. Behind him was a messy line of dwarves eagerly waiting for their portions.
“This is deer stew with some wild vegetables I found. I apologize if it’s not the hearty feast Gandalf had promised you. He gave me very little time to prepare.” She told him, ensuring she was loud enough for the rest to hear, especially the wizard. She picked up the large wooden ladle that was hooked on the bricks and placed it into the soup, scooping it up and turning to the closest dwarf next to her.
He held the bowl up, and she put it in, going back for a second scoop and doing the same. “I’m Ori, by the way.” The boy announced timidly, smiling up at her before looking hungrily down at his now-filled bowl. He hurried off, finding a seat to eat on. She continued this with almost every dwarf, each one of them introducing themselves before finding a spot in her home to sit on.
The next one looking for their bowl to be filled was none other than the hobbit she had seen previously. He had introduced himself as Bilbo Baggins, giving her one of the more politer introductions she had had that night.
“I’m surprised to see a hobbit so far from the Shire, Mister Baggins.” She stated, putting the second scoop of stew into his bowl.
“As am I, Miss.” He nodded respectfully before looking around and taking the seat closest to the oven.
She turned expectantly to the remaining two people, Gandalf and the last dwarf. Gandalf looked down at the dwarf, waiting for him to go first, but he refused. He stood rock solid by the doorway, watching her intently. The wizard gave the dwarf a stern look before sauntering toward the fireplace.
“I can make my own bowl, dear.” He gently spoke, giving her a small smile, though she could see his slight nervousness in his silver eyes. She nodded slightly and handed him the ladle, letting him pour a bowl. He said a small thank you before returning to his spot near the unnamed dwarf. Well, not exactly unnamed since she heard his name earlier, but he has yet to introduce himself to her.
She looked at him for a few seconds before walking toward the hobbit, reaching over him, and grabbing the basket behind him. She removed the cloth and revealed the garlic-knotted bread she had made earlier. She handed one to Bildo, who thanked her happily. She then went around and gave each one of her guests a piece of bread. After she handed the wizard his bread, she walked over to the stand-offish dwarf, who gave her a look of distrust.
“I do not take bread from strangers.” He stated simply as the unnecessary tension grew thicker in the room. The mild chatter that occupied the other dwarves had disappeared when he spoke, most staring up at the two of them.
“Then I suppose strangers shall not eat either.” She bit back, half tossing the bread back into the basket, and maneuvered her way through the dwarves, who had all moved their makeshift seatings closer to one another.
“Thorin,” Balin spoke softly, “You need to eat. It has been a long day of traveling to get here.”
“A long journey here that’s so far just been a waste of time.” Thorin grumbled back, “We do not even know her name, and yet you all eat her food. She is unknown to us.”
“I am only unknown because you never asked.” She barked back at him from the other side of the cabin.
A noise erupted from the back of his throat, almost like a half-hearted growl. “Then tell me, woman, who are you?” He also wanted to ask what she was, be restrained from doing so.
She only turned around and went to open the oven door; she stopped before she opened it, “You might want to step aside for a moment, Mister Baggins. It’ll be hot.” He sat up quickly, side-stepping away a few inches to allow her space.
She opened the hot over and grabbed the deep-dish pan from the top rack first, tsking slightly as the heat sank into the palms of her hands. She was no dwarf, so the heat was painful to an extent, but she continued to hold it anyway.
Bilbo gasped loudly and started looking around for oven mitts while she turned around and placed the hot dish on the nearby table, where Ori and his relatives sat. “Oh wow!” The boy exclaimed, looking at the dish with even more hunger than before.
She turned back to the oven, and before she grabbed the second dish, Bilbo held out her oven mitts.
“Please use these, Miss! I do not wish for the hands of our host to burn more than they already have.”
She laughed in response before waving him off, grabbing the next dish, “I am alright, Mister Baggins; I do not need those.” Then placed the dish on the larger table with the most dwarves. “What is this?” One asked, a little skeptical of the dish she had served.
“Dessert, Mister Dwalin. A mixed berry cobbler, to be precise.” She smiled excitedly as his face changed from suspicion to interest.
They all dug into the cobbler, bickering and arguing with one another when many kept trying to take more than their fair share. She watched the dwarves momentarily, observing their facial expressions as they dug into their sweet meal, then grabbed her own meal and sat on the counter beside the sink, a few feet from the hobbit.
The only one still not eating was Thorin, who was still staring hot iron rods into her. She had not responded to his question about who she was since he had not introduced himself yet. This was her home; therefore, he should’ve introduced himself first, the mysterious leader of this traveling pack or not.
However, he did not need an introduction to her. She knew who he was based on his name and the royal markings he wore on his person—Prince Thorin of Erebor.
“Excuse me, Miss,” Bilbo spoke up, scooting his chair, which was actually a stepping stool, a little closer to her to converse with her. “What is your name? If you do not mind me asking.” He seemed a little nervous with his request, most likely because she blew off Thorin's demand to know who she was earlier.
She smiled down at the anxious hobbit, her smile now even brighter than her previous one. Her soft golden eyes shone as if the stars formed within them from her excitement of having a polite guest.
“Thank you for asking so nicely, Mister Baggins,” She did not need to glance to notice that the brooding prince had sent her a small glare as he watched their conversation, “I am Navàrianna. It is a pleasure to meet you, young one.” She held out her hand for him to shake, and he took it, giving her a firm handshake as he reintroduced himself since it was polite.
She and Bilbo engaged in small talk for a few moments. Thorin continued to scowl at the two of them. His annoyance with the entire situation seemed unending. However, his stomach begged him to eat something since he was the only one who had refused her food. As if Dwalin had sensed his thoughts, he was already in front of him with a bowl of warm stew.
“Even a King needs to eat at some point, Thorin.” Dwalin joked lightly, his voice barely above a whisper so that just the hungry dwarf could hear. “I guarantee it is not poisoned.” He handed his friend the bowl of stew and a spoon.
Thorin looked down at the stew; it was a very simple-looking meal, yet it looked appetizing to his growling stomach. He placed his wooden spoon in and stirred the chunks of meat and vegetables around. He paused as he brought the spoon to his mouth, sensing a pair of eyes on him. He looked up and noticed the strange-looking woman staring at him as if waiting for him to take a bite. She was no longer sitting on the counter, now crouched next to the hobbit for better conversation.
He stared at her, slightly worried about why she was so intent on watching him eat. It made him feel uneasy. However, he trusted the wizards' opinion and, more importantly, Dwalins. So he took a bite.
Although the stew had looked so simple, it tasted delicious. He focused on the taste for a few seconds, enjoying the flavors of the spices and ingredients she had used in the stew. When he opened his eyes again, they were immediately locked with the woman’s eyes. She looked at him intensely before a large smile broke across her face. She looked satisfied with his reaction and turned back to the hobbit, returning to the conversation as though nothing had happened.
He found her reaction strange; she looked more than satisfied and happy to see someone enjoy her food. He brushed it off for now and continued eating the stew. He took that time to observe her more closely. He finds his entire appearance strange, with each moment that passes with him staring at her; her appearance is even more bizarre than the previous moment.
Much like Balin's hair, hers looked pure white from aging, yet her features were that of a young woman. He had considered her an elf due to her smooth, fair skin but realized that wasn’t possible. Not only was she too short to be an elf, since she was only a few inches taller than him, but her features were too soft and curved, which reminded him of the women he had seen in the cities of men.
Not only was that confusing to the young king, but her ears were even more confusing. They were long and pointed, dagger-like almost, but made of flesh rather than metal. He had never seen or even heard of any elf having ears like that, so he debated on her being a strange or even deformed version of one.
He was so lost in thought, running scenarios in his head on what she could be, that he had not noticed her standing before him. A moment had passed before he noticed her presence and looked up from the empty bowl he was staring into. He saw her holding a wooden plate, which held the bread he had refused earlier and a messy scoop of what was left of the berry cobbler. He looked up at her face. He could not tell what she was thinking, but he felt she was waiting for him to try more of her food.
He took the plate cautiously, looking deep into her eyes, looking for any malice intent she might have had. But he found known. She just appeared appreciative of him accepting her food.
“When you are finished, we will talk about your reason for being here.” She told him quietly. He nodded stiffly and looked down at the plate. Her food honestly did look appealing to him.
She sauntered off toward the fireplace before shouting out that there was some leftover stew. Many heads perked up from that and started arguing about who should get another bowl. As they all started another bickering match, Thorin took a bite of the food on his plate.
Once again, she was looking at him, not even looking at the hungry dwarves next to her who were reaching for the ladle to get the last bit of stew to eat. Her eyes shone brightly in the firelight, the golden orbs glowing like Citrine gems in the light. Her eyes reminded him slightly of what has yet to come, the gold and gems he will inherit once they reclaim the lonely mountain.
She had turned back to the hungry dwarves, indulging them in a game to determine who was most fit for the second bowl. It was a game of riddles, leading to Bilbo and Balin winning their second bowls. The remaining group looked envious as both winners ate their second helpings with smugness spread over their features. However, Balins was far less apparent than Bilbos.
The poor hobbit had been starving this past month since his body was not used to having barely two meals a day. Their current diet is nowhere near as filling as his one in The Shire.
As everyone settled back down, some still grumbling about how unfair that game choice was, her eyes set on Gandalf, who had yet to say another word since his request to pour his bowl. A quiet silence fell over the room again as a new tension arose.
She and the wizard seemed to be conversing with one another, but no words nor movements were made. She sighed slightly and looked to Balin, then back to Thorin; her previous joyful and welcoming demeanor had now changed to a far more serious one. She looked at him expectantly, but he had said nothing, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. He did not understand why. He had never once felt this way.
“So,” She began, “Shall we start?”