𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Chapter Seven: The Cabin

SIX MONTHS AGO, THE PRANCING PONY.

In the lands beyond Bree, there were mysterious wanderers.

The Bree-folk called them Rangers and being unlettered hicks, for the most part, Bree folk knew nothing of the wanderer's origins. They were believed to have strange powers of sight and hearing. When the Rangers appeared, they brought strange news from afar, but since they didn't buy anything from the markets, the Bree-folk did not make friends of them.

A cloaked and elderly wanderer sat in the corner with a raven perched on either shoulder, observing the people in the large common room of the inn.

It was large and mixed with all sorts of people. Butterball, the owner was talking to a group of dwarves near the fire. On the benches were various folk: the local drunks for the most part, but also elves, hobbits and other odd figures in the shadowy corners.

The old wanderer was interested not in the drunks, but in a single dwarf who sat by the crackling fire. He had long, matted black hair, soaked by the rain and a grim expression. And opposite him sat a haggard grey wizard.

"Thorin, it has been a long time since anything but the rumour was heard of Thrain." The wanderer heard the wizard say in a low voice.

"He still lives, I am sure it," Thorin whispered back. "My father came to see you before he went missing. What did he say to you?"

"I urged him to march upon Erebor, to rally the seven armies of the dwarves, to destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain," Gandalf said and took a drink of ale. "And I would say the same to you, Thorin Oakensheild. Take back your homeland."

"This is no chance meeting, is it Gandalf?"

"No, it is not." Gandalf leaned forward. "The Lonely Mountain troubles me. The dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor."

"Go on." Said Thorin darkly.

"I ran into some unsavoury characters, whilst travelling on the Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond."

"I imagine they regretted that."

"Yes," Gandalf said and pulled out an old cloth with dark runes smudged into the material. "One of them was carrying this message."

The wanderer watched as Thorin leaned forward to read the message, but the dwarf frowned and shook his head.

"I cannot read that." He said.

"It is Black Speech," Gandalf said. "A promise of payment."

"For what?" Asked Thorin.

"Your head," Gandalf said, and Thorin looked up, pale-faced. "You are the heir to the throne of Durin, unite the dwarf armies. Together, you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting between the seven dwarf families and demand that they stand by their oath."

"The seven armies swore that oath to the one who wields the kings jewell - the Arkenstone. It is the only thing that will unite them, and that stone was stolen by Smaug." Thorin said.

"What if I were to help you reclaim it?" Gandalf said. The wanderer puffed at his pipe, a blaze of red embers flashed across his face, revealing an eyepatch before the embers faded and the black of his hood concealed his face once more.

He had heard enough. He knew that the old wizard and the dwarf were the right people to carry out his divine plan. He grabbed a napkin, and scribbled only three words; 'Prepare for her.'

He stood up, passed the table and swiftly placed the note in the Wizard's pocket before vanishing into the night, leaving behind nothing but two raven feathers.