𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒: 𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼𝑮 | FINISHED

~ch. 07: when will I see you, Gandalf?

Tatsuo

Within the depths of my feline consciousness, I sensed that Gandalf had whispered the company's news to Bilbo. Although they were yet unaware of my existence, I knew that once they arrived here, our paths would intertwine. Today, I intended to converse with Gandalf, to delve into the tapestry of his plans. Purring with anticipation, I indulged in a graceful grooming of my pristine paws. As my eyes gently closed, I embarked on a quest to connect with the ethereal thread of Gandalf's mind.

A flickering ember in the vast expanse, his presence glowed with strength, akin to a resplendent torch amidst the darkest night. "Gandalf," I called out softly, caressing the tendrils of our mental connection. Silence enveloped the void before Gandalf's voice resonated, brimming with curiosity. "Yes?" he replied. A smile curled upon my whiskered countenance as I crossed my front paws, a picture of serene elegance. "I perceive that you have unveiled the tale to the hobbit. Pray, enlighten me on his response," I inquired. Gandalf sighed wearily, his voice carrying the weight of his efforts. "He has succumbed to fainting, and I shall now venture forth to persuade him," he divulged. Contentment flowed through my being like a tranquil stream. "Best of luck, dear friend," I murmured, gracefully withdrawing from the intimate recesses of his mind.

With the passage of time, a familiar pang of hunger stirred within me. My senses roused, eager to sate this primal longing. Guided by an invisible thread, I embarked on a silent quest, propelled toward the rhythmic pulse of a solitary deer grazing in serene isolation. Its enticing aroma wafted delicately to my delicate nose, awakening an insatiable hunger within. Crouching low, I patiently awaited the opportune moment to strike, my lithe form coiled with anticipation. Yet, fate dealt an unfortunate hand, for before I could pounce, the lament of a snapping branch reached my ears, startling the deer into a swift escape. Frustration mingled with my growl, a fleeting loss of my anticipated lunch.

Undeterred, I remained crouched, oblivious to the stealthy presence closing in upon me. It was not until a pair of slender legs materialized beside my head that I sprang into action, revealing a ferocious display of bared teeth. The colossal arachnid before me hissed, venomous fangs poised to strike in a show of dominance. "Who are you?" it hissed, venom dripping from its menacing maw. My growl reverberated through the air, claws unsheathed from their velvety sheaths in my furry paws. "I could ask you the same, Arachnid," I snapped, propelled by an instinctual need to protect my domain. Without a moment's hesitation, I launched myself at the spider, its screeches of defiance echoing in the clearing. A frenzied struggle ensued, its attempts to dislodge me proving futile as my claws found purchase in its formidable hide.

Agony and anger intermingled in a symphony of grotesque sounds, punctuated by the spider's gurgled threat. "Ahh! My master shall be apprised of your transgression!" it gurgled, while I, unrelenting, sank my teeth into the exposed flesh of its vulnerable throat. The creature succumbed to the darkness, lifeless and limp in my jaws. With a disgusted snarl, I released my captive, expelling the foul taste of its ebony blood from my mouth. "Alas, you spiders never do satiate the palate," I lamented, scanning the clearing for any lingering foes, only to find none. A sigh of relief escaped my maw, and with a regal grace, I retreated into the verdant embrace of the woods, seeking solace within the sturdy branches of my chosen tree. As sleep beckoned, I relinquished myself to a gentle slumber, musing upon the capricious nature of hunting exploits.

♡

A/n

Bilbo, adorned in a regal armchair, cradled a warm mug in his hands, engaged in an animated conversation with Gandalf. "I shall be alright, Gandalf. Allow me a few moments of tranquility," he voiced, his tone filled with uncertainty. Gandalf, assuming a stance of paternal authority, cast an admonishing gaze upon the hobbit, disappointment evident in his eyes. "You have languished in this stillness for far too long. When did doilies and your mother's trinkets become your sole pursuit? I recall a young hobbit who roamed the woods in search of elves, reveling in the enchantment of moonlit escapades, returning home long after dusk, an embodiment of earthy vitality, trailing remnants of the wild—mud, twigs, and fireflies. Once, you yearned to explore the world that lies beyond the confines of the Shire. For the world does not reside solely within the pages of books and maps; it resides out there," the aged wizard declared, his voice carrying the weight of sagacity and longing.

A sigh escaped Bilbo's lips, intermingled with a flicker of conflict. "I cannot recklessly wander into the great unknown. I am a Baggins, hailing from the renowned Bag End," he countered, his voice resonating with the weight of tradition. Gandalf, his hands resting on his hips, assumed a posture akin to a concerned father. "But you are also a Took. Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle, Bullroarer Took, possessed such stature that he could mount a real horse?" he proclaimed, prompting a nod of recognition from Bilbo. "Indeed, he possessed such a talent. In the Battle of Green Fields, he charged fearlessly into the ranks of goblins, his mighty club swinging with such force that it severed the Goblin King's head, propelling it a hundred yards through the air before it vanished down a rabbit hole. Thus, victory was won, and the art of golf simultaneously birthed," the wizard embellished, weaving tales of grandeur and whimsy.

"I suspect you conjured that tale from thin air," Bilbo retorted, skepticism tingeing his voice. Gandalf settled into the chair before Bilbo, a warm smile gracing his weathered countenance. "Ah, the art of storytelling thrives on embellishment. When you return, my dear hobbit, you shall regale the world with your own tales, deserving of their own embellishments," he prophesied, his words resounding with a hint of melancholic truth. Bilbo's gaze, a reflection of fear and uncertainty, met Gandalf's unwavering stare. "Can you assure me that I shall return unscathed?" he questioned, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Gandalf's silence, pregnant with somber contemplation, spanned a timeless moment before he shook his head, relinquishing any notion of false reassurance. "No. And if you do return, you shall be irrevocably changed," he conceded, his words an unwavering testament to the gravity of the path ahead. Bilbo, his countenance a mixture of acceptance and trepidation, sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "As I suspected. I apologize, Gandalf, but I cannot affix my signature to this venture. You have chosen the wrong hobbit," he declared, striding away with measured steps, leaving a trail of wavering determination in his wake. Gandalf, burdened by the weight of the moment, exhaled a wearied sigh, while Balin and Thorin observed Bilbo's retreat with a shared sense of concern.

"It appears that our burglar has eluded us, perhaps for the best. The odds were never in our favor. But who are we, after all? Merchants, miners, tinkers, and toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legends," Balin mused, his voice tinged with resignation. Thorin, his gaze fixated upon the departing Bilbo, allowed a flicker of a smile to grace his features. "Amongst us, there are a few warriors," he interjected, prompting Balin to gaze up at the king, his trust not in question but rather in himself. "Seasoned warriors," the elder dwarf corrected, apprehension etched upon his features. "I would choose each and every one of these dwarves over an army hailing from the Iron Hills. When called upon, they answered. Loyalty. Honor. Hearts aflame with unwavering devotion. I could not ask for more," Thorin proclaimed, his smile deepening with a sense of gratitude. "You need not embark upon this path. The choice is yours. You have already bestowed honor upon our people, carving a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life brimming with tranquility and abundance. A life more precious than all the gold within Erebor," Balin implored, standing tall, his gaze locked with the azure eyes of the king of Durin's folk.

Thorin extended the key, a treasured heirloom passed down through generations, bestowed upon him by Gandalf. "From my grandfather to my father, this key has traversed the realms of time. Their dreams were woven with the hope that the dwarves of Erebor would one day reclaim their ancestral abode. We have no choice, Balin," he conceded, his voice laced with a resolute determination. Balin, though hesitant, sported a smile of unwavering support. "Then we shall stand by your side, lad. Together, we shall make this dream a reality."

Later, within the cozy confines of Bilbo's living room, the air danced with tendrils of smoke, a testament to the camaraderie shared among the dwarves. Gathered around the hearth, they hummed in unison, their harmonious vibrations filling the space with an otherworldly melody. Thorin's voice rose above the rest, a resonant baritone that stirred the embers of their collective spirits. Like a mighty symphony, the company began to sing, their voices melding into a tapestry of ancient melodies. From a nearby corner, Gandalf listened intently, a witness to their unity, while Bilbo, ensconced within the comfort of his bedroom, allowed the enchanting chorus to wash over him, igniting a spark within his soul.

As the night sky embraced the flickering sparks escaping Bilbo's chimney, a symphony of hope and adventure resonated, intertwining the destinies of creatures great and small.

❤︎