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A room filled with warm firelight, the boisterous noise of merry men, and the taste of bland chicken and potatoes filled the senses of a shrouded figure in a little pub in the town of Staddle. This person typically avoided towns and villages, but they were due for a supply run and needed to refill their coin purse through a means that required light fingers.

They watched from beneath a hood as men gambled more than they were worth, drank more than their stomachs could carry, and shouted more than anyone cared to hear. Serving girls balanced mugs of ale and food, tiptoeing between patrons and smiling politely despite being hollered and whistled at without end. Men were strange.

After weighing the options and deciding on a quiet night, a mug of stale mead was finished off, and the clinking of coins resounded softly as a hefty tip was calculated. Sometimes, once every year or two, gambling and partying would be something to partake in, but after being kicked out of every bar, tavern, inn, and pub for cheating, which was honestly just a bit of baiting and swindling, caution had to be employed. Whenever unsure if people would still recognize them, taking off the hood was something that didn't happen.

At least not usually.

The door swung open, and out of paranoid reflex, eyes looked up only to meet the long gray robes of a friend. He was a tall withered old man sporting a pointed hat, long gray beard, and a pleasant expression. When he saw who he was looking for, he strode over, each step accompanied by the thump of his staff on the creaky floorboards below.

Customers stopped to stare for a moment before deciding that their drinks and games were more important.

Now, the tricky thing about this man was that he was a wizard. Gandalf was his name, and meetings with him were never at all either coincidence or meaningless. This conclusion brought an air of uncertainty with it. He most certainly wasn't seeking help for himself, so on whose behalf was this visit?

"I hope finding me wasn't too much trouble." The voice from under the hood was that of a woman's, though it was not fair and smooth as most were. Rather, her voice sounded mangled almost, scratchy and low.

"It's never more trouble than I can handle" Gandalf replied, taking a seat across from her. "Now, take off that hood, Leithiandes. It's been nearly fifty years since we last met." His request was fulfilled, revealing a head of long, rich, sandy blonde hair, half of which was tucked neatly into a braid. Around her eyes was black paint, and she slumped back into her chair, crossing her arms. Her most notable feature however, was her pointed ears adorned with silver jewelry.

Once the hood was taken off, there was a dip in the noise of the pub as people sideyed the pair and muttered about them. She didn't expect anything different, as it was commonplace for everyone to quietly watch hooded strangers but never confront them. When chatter resumed its normal level, she picked up bits and pieces about elves but paid it no mind.

"I don't suppose you just dropped by to say hello?" She questioned the wizard

"Well, of course I have. Among other things." Gandalf responded.

"Also, do not call me by Leithiandes. It is not my name any longer. I've told you that already."

"And I have not forgotten, my dear."

"So what have you been filling your time with lately, Mithrandir?" She asked, signaling to the serving girl to bring her more mead. She knew she'd need it.

"Dwarves." The wizard muttered.

"Dwarves?" The word was accompanied with slight disgust.

"That is what I said, yes. In fact, you will also be filling your own time with them should you accept this offer." This made the elf laugh.

"And why would I do such a thing? You know as well as I that they'd try to lop my head off. Surely you are joking."

"I am not." The smile fell from her face. "You are always looking for an adventure, are you not? I have quite the quest for you, and it involves guiding a group of dwarves across Middle Earth."

"A guide?" She shook her head. "Gandalf, I've been across Middle Earth plenty of times already. It wouldn't be very much of an adventure besides the part where I'll have an axe to my throat every two seconds."

"This isn't just any quest." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You will be taking Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim his homeland." The woman's whole body stiffened, and she sent a sharp glare right through the wizard.

"No." Her answer was firm and serious. "Those memories are still fresh. Those wounds still in need of healing. How dare you come to me with this proposition." Memories of fire, smoke, blood, and fear filled her heart. She could hear her own heartbeat quickening.

"Just calm down, Agarwaen and we can talk this out." Gandalf said, calling her by her new name this time. "Before you attract the attention of the entire town, please." He grumbled lowly. Agarwaen looked around, having realized she began to raise her voice.

"What of the dragon? None of these dwarves will live to see next year."

"Regaining control of the mountain becomes more important by the day. The enemy looks upon it. Weighing the risk themselves every day." She sighed and thought about his words. If things were truly as he says, then he was right. The mountain needed a king once more. A king without scales and fiery breath. But she also knew the prophecy.

"Laketown will burn. You know as well as I do that the dragon still lives."

"So does the line of Girion." At this, Agarwaen raised an eyebrow.

"You think this person will succeed where Girion failed? Are there even any arrows left?"

"I cannot say."

"Then we may as well be condemning each and every man, woman, and child in that town."

"There may be a way around it."

"And that would be.."

"The arkenstone." The air grew silent around the word, as a coincidental hush fell on the crowd around them. The noise was back as quickly as it had gone, and Agarwaen's mind began racing.

"You want someone to go in and get it so they can rally the dwarven kingdoms against the dragon." Gandalf nodded. "I swear to Iluvatar, that if you say that this person is me, I will walk out of here right now and you will never find me again."

"It is not you, hush." Gandalf scolded. "Just as I am hiring you as their guide, I am also hiring a burglar." Agarwaen let out a breathy laugh.

"And what man or dwarf would be stupid enough to agree to that? None can even begin to comprehend how quiet they would have to be to--"

"A hobbit." The wizard interrupted.

"A...A hobbit?" Confusion ran rampant across the elf's face. The natural talent of stealth was indeed present in the race of small and kind folk, but she couldn't imagine that any hobbit would even agree to leave the Shire. "And just what hobbit would be even willing to go on such an adventure?"

"A Took."

"Oh now, that does change things." She met a hobbit named Belladonna once. She was travelling with Gandalf at the time, and they had run into the small woman not far from here in Bree. She was one of very few hobbits to travel so far away from home, and was a friend of Gandalf's. The conversation they had was quite interesting before both parties had to move on.

"You remember the young lady we met in Bree?" Gandalf asked.

"How could I forget?"

"He is her son."

"Well...If he's anything like his mother, then I don't suppose you'll have much trouble convincing him to tag along."

"Indeed. That only leaves one more thing to acquire. Someone who knows the land and paths by heart, and can get this company of Dwarves to the mountain as fast as possible. I know no one better. The payment will be one fifteenth of the treasure, and the thrill of the adventure."

"Thirteen racist dwarves?" She stared down at the table with wide eyes, wondering just how this would all work out, and even if she'd be alive to tell the tale, and it wasn't the dragon she expected to kill her. On the other hand, however, she knew she needed something interesting to do. A reason to go somewhere instead of the aimless wandering she'd been doing for fifty years.

"Deal."