#fic : nymmril the gold

[birboon]

Nymmril the Gold - A LoTR Fanfic

Pairing: Legolas x lion-shifter male!oc (Nymmril) Spans from: The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug - Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Synopsis: Nymmril, a young skin-changer from the far deserts, has been under the care of his Keeper Beorn for centuries. With the dragon present, it was deemed too dangerous for him to leave. But what happens when Gandalf and his company of mischievous dwarrow stumble into the Carrock asking for help? Only one thing is for certain: A lion's loyalty is a powerful weapon.

act 1 - chapter 2: "Company"

read it on: ao3 & wattpad [read chapter 1 here!]

The young man woke for the second time that day when the sun was bright and awake, rays riding bright and strong onto the ground below. He was reluctant to open his eyes, for his little awakening hours before had drained him somewhat and the rest of his night was full of fitful, frightening dreams of fire and gold and blood. But with the promise of an adventure on his mind, Nymmril dragged himself from his pallet and shook himself to rid the weariness, washing his face in a wooden basin and taking several moments to glance at and perfect his reflection in the cool water.

By the time he had dragged up the courage to leave his room and meet Beorn, Gandalf and the rest in the dining room, he was the last to arrive. All thirteen dwarves were seated around the large wooden table, seated upon an oddity of chairs, stumps and logs. At the head of the table sat an extremely grim looking dwarf, regal and powerful and the only one (save Gandalf) who seemed unphased by Beorn's lumbering figure loitering around with a jug of creamy goat's milk. Also at the table, somewhat hidden by the piles of fresh bread rolls with homemade butter, soups and honey cakes, was a halfling. Nymmril started at the tiny creature with wonder. He had never seen one before, outside of the scripts and scrolls of his people's documentations of Middle Earth's residents.

The young man was glad Gandalf had managed to introduce the fourteen to Beorn successfully, for he had been fearing the Bear would swallow them all whole and thus there would be no adventure for him to go on. Nymmril ran a hand through his shaggily-shorn, golden hair, nervousness buzzing through his entire being as he stood out of view around the corner, debating on whether to interrupt or not. He did not have to strain his ears to catch the words fluttering around the table; talk of Azog the Defiler and his horrific ways. Nymmril remembered the terror the Orc caused all too well. Subconsciously the young man rubbed at his wrists, pale skin tainted with pale scar tissue from where the bonds and shackles had been bound too tight.

"There are others like you?" The halfling asked suddenly, drawing the man out of his pious stupor, away from the confines of his memories. Nymmril's ears twitched at the creature's voice, noting its temp and pitch and the earthly tone of its tongue. The halfling was used to comfort, it seemed, but also liked to get his hands dirtied in the soft soils back home. The young man smiled at the thought as he listened to the halfling speak.

"Once there were many," Beorn replied sullenly, replenishing the mug of a particularly rotund dwarf.

"And now?" At the halflings queries Beorn's shoulders stiffened sadly, and he turned back towards his small guest.

"Now... There are only two."

The walls of the wooden building seemed to expand, as if it had inhaled just as sharply as those that it encompassed. Nymmril could hear the boards creak and stretch as it did so, much like he could hear the beating hearts of the company - of every dwarrow (save the pretentiously regal, handsome one at the table's end) and of the halfling and even of the wizard that was guest in his home, who was sat leaning against the wall much in the same position Nymmril had left him in that morning chewing on the same pipe. The stuffiness of grief settled upon the group and weighed heavy on his own heart.

"Two you say?" came the words of a particularly northern-sounding dwarf, "But here there is only one!"

"Aye, there are two of us. There is me, and then there is Nymmril."

"Are you much alike?" Asked another dwarf, sounding young and keen to learn. He had in his hands a thick journal, and had opened it to one of the back pages, scribbling notes beneath a quick, well-drawn sketch of Beorn himself. The Bear opened his mouth to respond, but Nymmril hopped quickly from his hiding spot, winking at Gandalf as he leaped into view.

"You may see for yourself, Master Dwarf, and then make up your own mind on the matter," the young man said loudly, standing tall and lean at the far end of the company, opposite to where Beorn was standing with a frown etched on his forehead. Golden beams of light glanced off Nymmril's flaxen hair and his emerald eyes glittered as he laughed at the stunned faces before him, for even the stone-faced, black-bearded dwarf who seemed to be the chief of his companions was shocked at the arrival of the second shifter. Whatever they had been expecting, it certainly wasn't him.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mister! I hadn't seen or heard you enter, so I was-"

Nymmril silenced the young dwarf with a loud, musical laugh. His shoulders shook as he did so and the sound caused everyone in the vicinity to smile, whether they felt like smiling or no. That was the beauty of Nymmril, so joyous and jovial that it felt like an offense not to join him in his childlike happiness.

"Speak no more of it, my young friend! Such mannerisms matter not to me." The young man strode forward boldly, grabbing a honey cake from the plate of a hatted-dwarf and dancing around the table to kneel before the anxious journalist, to whom he asked: "What is your name?"

"Ori, Master Nymmril."

"Oh, we'll have none of that here, young Ori. I am Master of none. Nymmril shall suffice," he tore apart the honey cake, offering the largest half to the dwarf, who accepted with shaking hands and a gracious bow. "Now tell me: Do Beorn and I look alike?"

Uproar swept through the company and Nymmril straightened to his full height, standing shoulder-to-breast with the Great Bear beside him. He sent a confused glance towards Gandalf, who shrugged and laughed along with his dwarvish friends. The young man looked up towards Beorn.

"I guess we don't," he said with a grin, causing the other shifter to push him away forcefully with a grumble that almost sounded like amusement. As the clutter died down, another young dwarf with blond hair and beard spoke up: "Are you sure you're related?"

"Oh, we aren't rela-"

"We may both be shifters," Beorn cut off his younger friend with a raised voice and sharp look, "but we are not of the same family. In fact we aren't even of the same tribe."

"Same... Tribe?" There the halfling spoke again and Nymmril sent a wide smile his way. But before he could answer, Gandalf cut him off.

"They are different Radags. Nymmril is not a bear like Beorn is here."

"Then what is he?" The blond turned his eyes back towards the young shifter. "What do you change into?"

"A different animal," Nymmril replied with a devilish smirk, much to the dismay of almost everyone in the room. Beorn rolled his eyes, pushing his ward out of his way and nodding his head towards the empty seat besides the wizard. The young man took his place, leaning back against the wall with his cheeks stretched happily. There were many dwarrow in the room and he made it his own personal goal to learn each and every single one's name - and he had already started, with young Ori. Beorn hummed to himself.

"So you need to reach the Mountain before the last day of Autumn?" He asked.

"Before Durin's Day falls, yes," Gandalf replied.

"You are running out of time," Beorn said steadily, gaze drawn towards the miserable leader of the company.

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

"A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. I would not venture there unless in great need," the Bear warned, casting his gaze out upon all the dwarrow. The halfling, Nymmril noted, seemed to slump down in his chair when the Necromancer was mentioned. Curious indeed, the young man thought to himself, resting his elbows on his knees and gazing at the small creature.

"We will take the Elven road," Gandalf replied, nodding and taking a puff of Old Toby. "That path is still safe."

At the mention of Elves one of the dwarves turned aside, face sour and disbelieving. Nymmril bit his lip, wringing his hands. "Gandalf, the-"

"The wood elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin," Beorn once again cut the younger shifter off. "They are less wise, more dangerous."

"That matters not," Nymmril finally spoke once more, not taking his eyes from the dwarf as he turned sharply on his heel.

"What do you mean?" He asked fearlessly.

"This land... Its crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing-"

"And you are on foot," Beorn finished off. "You will never reach the forest alive. I don't like dwarves, they are greedy and blind - blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own. But Orcs I hate more... What do you need?"

Gandalf rose to his feet, cloak billowing at the movement, and Nymmril's brows shot up. The wizard walked towards Beorn, staff tapping at the floor with each step. The old man craned his neck backwards to meet the eyes of the Bear.

"Ponies, Beorn. Your finest animals. I assure you they will return to you safely," the wise one said. His eyes made the mistake of drifting towards the younger shifter as Beorn turned aside with a fearsome growl, looking down at the Gandalf. His eyes strayed towards Nymmril, who met his gaze with faux-confidence, kissing his teeth nervously.

"Hmm... I see that look in your tricky eyes, Wizard. You mean to take my Nymmril with you!" the Bear allowed his voice to raise, narrowing his eyes angrily as he turned to the grey-clad man. The young shifter jumped up defensively, even as those in the company flinched back, many reaching for their weapons and one almost falling from his chair. Nymmril grabbed for Beorn's arm, but was shrugged off the first time he clasped his hand around the man's bicep. He watched in terror - not for himself but for the others beneath their roof - as thick black fur sprouted from the pores on the back of the larger man's enormous hands, which were beginning to mould and change, slowly coming to resemble enormous paws.

"I do not wish for any harm to come to him, Beorn. I have known Fleetfoot since he was a cub and poor would my life be had I never met him-"

"You cannot sweet talk with the Black Bear, Gandalf. It would be best if you all left quickly. I shall meet you outside once I have calmed him down," Nymmril said softly, ushering the dwarrows out and pushing the halfling towards the door gently. As they left, with Gandalf casting one last annoyed look towards Beorn, the words of the company could be heard. Specifically one rich voice slandering the Grey wizard for not conferring with them before inviting another along into the company. A huff was all the dwarf received in reply as the wizard strolled through the exotic gardens of Beorn.

Nymmril reached again for the Bear, taking him by both arms this time and guiding him towards a long bench that had been previously home to the backsides of many dwarves. The young man took him by the paws, which were now fully transformed, eyeing the black fur spreading along the man's forearms with a crease in his brows.

"Beorn, calm down."

"They wish to steal you away," Beorn growled, eyes never once leaving the heavy, wooden door that acted as the only partition between his wrath and the lives of their guests.

"Nay, I wished to go with them. If anyone should be angry it is Gandalf, for I have forced myself upon that company without thought to whether they would want my companionship or not."

"It is too dangerous for you to leave, Nymmril. You are young-"

"Four-hundred and seventy-eight is hardly young, Black Bear," said shifter huffed, removing his grip from Beorn.

"Not for most, maybe, but you're barely of age by our standards. The world is much changed since you last ventured out. The one you love is gone, taken from us with the fire drake's coming to the Mountain."

"But-"

"If you truly wish to leave then I can't stop you. But heed my warnings, Golden One. It is dangerous, even for the likes of us. It is my wish that you remain here, safely, with me," Beorn spoke seriously. His hands, with his anger released now back to normal, came up to the side of the younger man's face. "I am responsible for your safety. I cannot protect you if you leave my side."

Nymmril flinched back, both his hands gripping tightly onto Beorn's own even as his eyes watered. He sent the Bear a tight-lipped smile.

"You never used to be like this. You and I, we used to go on our own adventures - you could come with me!" Nymmril's words were hopeful, yet even as they were spoken the young man knew in his heart what the answer would be:

"Times have changed, and with them so have I. If I went with you I would forsake this land - the one thing that is truly ours. I cannot go with you."

"I am going with them either way."

"I know you are. I do not wish to see our guests again, not in this state. You have my blessing to leave on this quest with them. But it is bound to fail, do not come running back to me upset after it is all over. I will be of no comfort to you," Beorn stated seriously. He was frowning down at where Nymmril's hands lay overtop of his. "You have grown up quickly. Too quickly for my liking. Go, then, before I change my mind. Fetch them fourteen ponies and a noble steed... We shall see if Gandalf keeps his promises."

Nymmril nodded, pressing his forehead against his keeper - the only parent he'd known since Orcs stole away his borne ones - closing his eyes.

"Thank you, Beorn. I will return to you, I swear."

The Bear smiled grimly, shooing the younger man away. "If you call for aid, I shall come. May any enemies you find in your path turn to shreds beneath your claws."

Nymmril grinned at the parting words, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and drying it on his red tunic. He bowed deep and long, winking half-heartedly as he snuck away to his room to gather supplies. There he grabbed a linen bag and stuffed it with his bed-roll, spare clothing and water-decanters. He wrapped up sticky buns and seeded loaves in cloth and added them to his luggage, too, for though it was perishable Nymmril wanted to bring along a taste of his home, no matter how long (or short) it would last. Nothing could beat Beorn's honey cakes, and if he ran out of food... well, the man was a hunter in his own right. Beorn may not eat meat, but he did.

He sat there silently for several minutes, staring down at his pack with a heart brimming with both grief and adrenaline. He didn't wish to leave his keeper behind, but he craved his own freedom. Excitement bristled down his spine and tingled his fingertips as he slung the bag over his shoulders, relishing in the comforting weight as it rested at his back. Memories poured fresh into his mind, of days where he and the Bear would go traipsing off in the mountains together, of joining bands of merry men as they journeyed and hunted creatures in the fell hills. Nymmril's hands clutched at the leather straps and he felt a smile slip into place. He would make many more memories, he reckoned, on this new venture.

The young man tiptoed back into the dining room, relief washing through him as he spied that Beorn was no longer there. If he were, the man was not sure he would be able to leave, so bitter was the sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt almost sorry, for leaving the Great Bear behind. But never he minded it, and Nymmril shrugged the feeling away quickly and left their home altogether, letting the heavy door slam behind him. [Chapter 3]!

[birboon]

Nymmril the Gold - A LoTR fanfic

Pairing: Legolas x lion-shifter male!oc (Nymmril)

Spans from: The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug - Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

Synopsis: Nymmril, a young skin-changer from the far deserts, has been under the care of his Keeper Beorn for centuries. With the dragon present, it was deemed too dangerous for him to leave. But what happens when Gandalf and his company of mischievous dwarrow stumble into the Carrock asking for help? Only one thing is for certain: A lion's loyalty is a powerful weapon.

act 1 - chapter 3: "so it begins"

Read it here: ao3 & wattpad [chapters: 1 , 2]

The dwarrow had already helped themselves to the ponies by the time he'd arrived to help them, and were busily rushing around saddling the beasts when he rounded the corner to the paddocks. The thirteen piebald, stocky animals were pawing at the ground with feathered hooves as the short men scurried about them like fire ants. It was a funny sight to see indeed, watching as the dwarves struggled to reign the ponies to a stand still so they could tighten girths and shorten stirrups. The animals were having none of it, doubly confused at the fact that they were being handled by small creatures whom they did not know, and refused to stay in one spot for more than a couple seconds at a time.

 The only one, in fact, who seemed to have had any luck was Gandalf. The wizard was already on the back of his mount - a much larger, heavy-chested stallion - and was watching his companions chase after their steeds with mirth twinkling in his wisened eyes. Nymmril smirked at the scene before him.

"I see you've helped yourselves to our stock," he said humorously. Several of the dwarves stopped in place, freezing and fingering the hilts of their axes and swords and knives that lay at their waist, others continued on slowly, weary of the young shifter but too focused on their nigh-impossible task to give him their full attention. He ignored their distrust - he could work on that later. At his voice, his old friend beamed.

"Nymmril! I take it Beorn has let you accompany us, then?" Gandalf asked happily.

"Indeed! For a moment I thought he would not let me leave, but it seems even the Great Bear is not immune to my charm."

The wizard laughed, nudging his horse over towards the young man.

"I doubt there is anyone in Middle Earth who is, my friend," the grey-clad Gandalf answered, clapping Nymmril on the shoulder. The shifter smiled dismissively and walked forwards, towards the young Ori, laying a hand on the nose of the dwarf's spooking mount and speaking quietly into its velvety ear. The beast let out a soft whinny at its familiar-friend's words and stood stock-still, allowing Ori to finally heave the heavy leather saddle onto its back.

"Thank you," the dwarf sighed, looking up at the shifter. "I didn't think I was ever going to be able to get it on."

"It's no problem," Nymmril said with a soft smile, giving the pony a soft stroke before he moved on towards the next nearest member of the company who appeared to be struggling. He was making towards the halfling, who could barely reach up far enough to bridle his poor pony, but was beaten by the brooding, fierce-looking dwarf who had looked so unhappy at the mention of taking the Elven path. The dwarf gave the young man a sharp glare as he came to the aid of the halfling instead, as if warning Nymmril to stay away, and the shifter grinned widely with raised brows at the display and he instead turned towards two dwarrow who looked surprisingly similiar, if not for their hair colour. The pair were stood close together, and were helping each other out in kitting up their ponies: It must have been working, for one of the animals was already prepared to be ridden. Still, he slunk over towards them, for they looked friendly enough (as friendly as a dwarf can look, that is) as they jested with each other and Nymmril wished to be introduced to other members of the company. He recognised one of them, the one with a blonde beard, for he had spoken out earlier about his and Beorn's relations.

"Hello," he said, "We have not yet met properly, have we? I am Nymmril."

The two dwarves snapped their heads round to the speaker at the exact same time, popping up from beneath and behind the ponies with braids flying in hysteria. Twin smiles adorned their beaming faces as they spoke;

"Fili-"

"And Kili-"

"At your service!" They said at last in such unison that had he not known better, Nymmril might've suspected them of rehearsing it. The dark haired Kili bent down low in a bow, smirking even as his brother elbowed him out the way to do the same.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. Do you require any assistance with your ponies?" They didn't appear to be struggling, but Nymmril wanted to offer his help anyway - it was the polite thing to do. Kili scoffed, but his brother glared at him and smiled up at the young shifter.

"We don't need any help here, we've had plenty of practice with chaps such as these. Though perhaps you could teach me to ride something else," Fili said suggestively, wiggling his brows. Nymmril had no clue what he was speaking of, face remaining blank and impassive as he stared down at them. Kili let out a short, barking laugh and slapped his brother across the head, dragging him back towards the ponies, throwing a short, insincere apology over his shoulder as they left. The young man watched the dark-haired dwarf throw a worn leather saddle at his brother, jesting (or perhaps scolding) him about something that had gone beyond Nymmril's own understanding. Quite the characters, it seemed, were those two dwarves.

After he had made the rounds, trying not to feel personally hurt by the reluctance of the dwarrow to accept his help, Nymmril had come to know the names of all the company - even if he had to coax them from Gandalf and not from the horse's mouths themselves, so to speak. Thorin, apparently, was the leader of the company - the handsome, moody dwarf - who just so happened to be the rightful King under the Mountain. Joining on the quest to reclaim their homeland were his heirs, Fili and Kili, as well as his trusted companions: Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Nori, Dori, Dwalin, Balin Oin and Gloin. It was going to take some getting used to, for Nymmril to remember all those names - he was hardly the best at remembering things. As for the halfling (or Hobbit, as Gandalf had soon corrected him), his name was Bilbo Baggins and he was ever the little gentleman. This the young man had learned just as they were setting off from the cosy shack that Nymmril called home.

"Pardon my asking, Mast- Nymmril," the Hobbit began, having learned his lesson from the shifter's telling Ori his preferred way of being addressed, "But where is your horse? Are you not riding with us?"

"No, Little One, I am not."

"What? But surely you can't expect to keep up with us on foot?"

The shifter threw his head back, laughing as he grabbed hold of the halfling's pony, leading it by the bit out of the gate. The sound was bubbly and cheerful and almost immediately the hobbit began to smile too.

"Indeed I do expect to do so! You are forgetting that I am a skin-changer, Bilbo. I am perfectly capable of keeping up with you all."

At Nymmril's words Bilbo flushed, muttering numerous "oh of course"'s and "do forgive me for forgetting"'s, causing the shifter only to laugh once more, releasing his hold on the hobbit's steed and slapping it on the rear to send it towards the head of the company. After that he was flanked by Bofur and Bifur, the hatted dwarf constantly throwing warm smiles towards the shifter even as the other spoke only in a language he couldn't understand a single word of. Khazgul was not his speciality. 

To be continued...

Tag list available! (Just ask <3)

[birboon]

Nymmril the Gold - A LoTR Fanfic

Pairing: Legolas x lion-shifter male!oc (Nymmril) Spans from: The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug - Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Synopsis: Nymmril, a young skin-changer from the far deserts, has been under the care of his Keeper Beorn for centuries. With the dragon present, it was deemed too dangerous for him to leave. But what happens when Gandalf and his company of mischievous dwarrow stumble into the Carrock asking for help? Only one thing is for certain: A lion's loyalty is a powerful weapon.

act 1 - chapter 1: "Fleetfoot"

read it on: ao3 & wattpad

It was still dark when Nymmril awoke from his shallow slumber: The thin slither of the moon was riding low in the skies above the Ford of Carrock. The glowing crescent sent light fleeting through the cracks in his shuttered windows, white and pure as it poured onto his face where it rested atop his pillow and staining his eyes even when they were closed. But that is not what woke him, no indeed, for he had spent many nights sleeping beneath nothing but the moon, with only its precious rays to keep him company in the dark: It would take more than his oldest companion to rouse him from his sleep. 

What caused his dreams to fade from reach of mind and memory was the sound of the heavy wooden door slamming shut and being barred, and then it was the whispers of voices speaking low and close in the darkness beyond Nymmril's room. If he listened closer, he could hear the quiet, quick breaths of a dozen or so sleeping bodies and the rustling of the hay as they turned gently in their sleep. One of the voices was Beorn, that he knew for certain because try as he might to be quiet the man was large and loud and unashamed, and even his whispers rocked the foundations of the house - such was the strength of the Great Bear. 

Beorn was the one who had woken him, slipping in through the front gate with black blood beneath his fingernails and anger in his usually kind eyes, but it was not his housemate who kept Nymmril awake; it was the voice of the stranger he was speaking to and the mystery that surrounded it. It was familiar, though from where the young man couldn't bring himself to recall, and exuded a wisdom far beyond anything he could ever wish to perceive.

 A shiver of excitement shook his spine as he gathered himself, for it wasn't often they had visitors all the way out in the Fords, and though most passers-by ended up as fodder for his own jaws, if they were bold enough their quests usually became his own. He loved adventures, with all his heart. But he hadn't been permitted to go exploring or wandering for decades now, not since the dragon had swept down from the South to claim the treasures beneath the mountain as his own.

Nymmril crept excitedly from beneath his thin blanket, leaping from bed gracefully, and with feet falling light as a feather he went to investigate. Were there nothing to separate his view from theirs he would've easily blended into the shadows quiet as a mouse and simply observed, but his door had other plans and simply creaked open eerily at the push of his hand. The sound of the wood on its hinges alerted both Beorn and his companion for they hushed immediately, turning towards him quickly.

"Nymmril. You are awake, it seems," gruffed Beorn, looking down at the figure beside him to exchange a glance.

"Yes, Beorn, it seems that way doesn't it?" The young man answered with a grin, stepping into the room so he was clearly visible. With eyes being sharp in the fading night as they were in daytime, he saw perfectly the man with the pointed hat tucked beneath his arm and with a beard of trodden snow. He narrowed his eyes at the stranger inquisitively.

"I have seen you before," Nymmril spoke softly, "long ago, it feels. Or perhaps in a dream."

Beorn made an odd huffing sound, folding his strong arms across his chest, but the stranger stayed silent for a few moments, observing the young man with keen eyes before he replied:

"It was many years ago that we met, Fleetfoot my old friend. Why it must've been when you were just a cub."

"Fleetfoot? I haven't been called that in years! Why, dearest Gandalf!it has been a while has it not!"

"Indeed it has been far too long, Nymmril. But I am not here just to visit, as I was telling your keeper Beorn here." The wizard tapped his staff on the ground and turned aside, whispering something to the bear-man. Beorn growled but said nought in return, striding over towards his ward. A large hand was placed on Nymmril's shoulder, squeezing it gently before the shifter continued on to his own quarters, leaving the tall man alone with Gandalf the Grey.

"I hope you and your companions are here for a good reason, Gandalf. I'd hate to see you all eaten by Beorn - I can do little to stop him in his bouts of anger."

"I would not ask you to get in between us, my boy. But pray, how do you know I'm not here alone?" There was a gleam in the old man's eye and he was smiling softly in the faint light. The crack of dawn was beginning to break through the bleary black outside, pinks and golds sending a glittering hue through the small windows onto the floor, yet outside it was still grey and dull where the sun hadn't yet broken through many of the overcast clouds. Nymmril returned the smile, exposing pointed canines.

"I can smell your friends, Wizard. I am younger than Beorn, and not so eager to ignore my senses in this form. You have come with a company of fourteen - a dozen-and-one dwarves and something I have not smelt before."

"Ah yes, well," Gandalf replied, taking a seat on a tree stump in the corner, "you'll meet them in the morning, hopefully. But do not tell Beorn yet - he doesn't like dwarves, not after Smaug's shadow came over these lands. I fear he might eat them if I do not take the proper precautions."

Nymmril let out a tinkling laugh, throwing his head back as he leaned against the wooden walls.

"My lips are sealed, Gandalf, on one condition: You must take me with you, wherever you and your companions are destined to go. I haven't been allowed out of the Carrock in what seems like centuries!"

The wizard seemed to ponder this, placing his hat back atop his head and twisting the hairs in his beard in thought. His wooden staff lay across his lap harmlessly.

"It will be dangerous, though that has never stopped you before. Very well, you can come though I can't say my company shall be too happy about it. I fear dwarrow can be rather stubborn at times and they aren't very open to meeting new cultures."

"Thank you," Nymmril said gently, eyes warm in the rising sun. "I would ask where your adventure is taking you but I fear the answer is a long one and I should like to get back to my bed for at least a few more hours."

Gandalf nodded understandingly, waving the man off with a free hand. The wizard fished around in his cloak for a couple of seconds before he drew out a long wooden pipe, placing it between his lips and almost chewing on it as he drew out a small sachet of pipeweed. "Indeed," the old man answered, "It's a long tale - and not mine to tell. You shall have all your questions answered in the morning, Fleetfoot."

Nymmril bowed, flaxen hair flopping over his eyes as he grinned tiredly, bidding the wizard goodnight ("or rather good morning") before reversing back into his room, squeezing his eyes shut and awaiting the dream world. Sleep came to him quickly.

[Next chapter]!