The Red Witch of Middle-Earth.

Chapter I- The Prancing Pony

A figure, face obscured by a crimson hood, lounged in the corner of the Prancing Pony, her small but calloused hands nursing a glass of wine. Drunk men and gleeful women danced around to the beat of the folky music but did not dare to approach the stranger, for the dagger not so nonchalantly speared into the table in front of her warned them away. It was evident that this outsider did not want to be disturbed.

In fact, at least for most of the evening, the figure was left alone, which allowed her to quietly observe the people that crowded the tavern. She watched as they frolicked around, downing drink after drink, finding amusement in the humans' antics.

'How can they claim to be such an advanced race when they dance around like demented goblins?' She mused to herself, taking another sip of her sweet wine. Indeed, the human race were odd, which was why she usually made a point to avoid them. Tonight, however, she was waiting for someone.

At last, when the night rolled on into the early hours of the morning, said person arrived. He stalked in through the door, small compared to the men around him but nonetheless intimidating. He ordered a drink and a meal before settling down in the middle of the room, a few tables in front of her, quite oblivious to her presence.

For a while he ate in silence, ignoring the people around him and concentrating on his food. He carried on eating, hunched over his food, until another man joined him. This one wore a tall pointed grey hat and a long grey cloak. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat.

"You're late, Gandalf," grumbled the smaller man, glaring at his new companion.

"A wizard is never late, Master Dwarf. He arrives precisely when he means to. May I sit?"
The dwarf gave the wizard a curt nod before continuing with his food while Gandalf settled himself in the chair, leaning his worn staff against the table.

"I suppose you'd like to know why I asked you to meet me here, Thorin Oakenshield." The wizard stated, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on the table.

"Aye. But first, I have a question; my father came to see you before he went missing. What did you say to him?" came the dwarf, Thorins, reply.

"I urged him to march upon Erebor; to destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain," he said, staring intently at the dwarf, "And now, I will say the same to you; take back your homeland! The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor."

The red woman's ears perked at the mention of Smaug, the last great fire-drake. He had not been seen for years but she knew that he was there. She had sworn an oath to protect the beasts of Middle-Earth, but to try and help a dragon who's heart was tainted with evil was near impossible.

Thorin seemed to ponder over Gandalfs words, subconsciously leaning forward in his seat. The women in the corner pulled her hood further over her eyes and sat forward too, her ears straining to hear the rest of the conversation.

The wizard reached into his robes and pulled out a battered piece of parchment. He lay it on the table and slid it closer to Thorin.

"It is Black Speech; a promise of payment." Gandalf explained.

"What for?" The dwarf demanded, his gruff voice taking a darker tone.

"Your head."

Thorin clenched his fists, his eyes boring into the wizard that sat before him.

"Someone wants you dead, Thorin." The wizard said, "You can wait no longer. You are the heir of Durin. Unite the armies of the dwarves; together you have the power to retake Erebor. You must summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families and demand that they stand by their king!"

"They will answer only to the one who wields the Arkenstone, Gandalf, and incase you have forgotten that jewel was stolen by Smaug!" Thorin hoarsely whispered, his eyes suspiciously travelling the room before resting on his companion again.

"What if I were to help you reclaim it?"

"How? The Arkenstone lies half a world away, buried underneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon."

"Yes, it is. Which is why we're going to need a little bit of help."

Thorin sighed and glared at the wizard, wondering how they would accomplish such a mighty task.
"Do what you must, Gandalf. But now we must leave; I feel there are too many prying eyes here."

The wizard nodded and rose to his feet.

"Until next time, Master Dwarf."

He turned on his heel and swept out of the tavern without another word. Thorin followed not long after, leaving the mystery woman to her own thoughts.

'By Valar, what have you gotten yourselves into?' The red woman grimly thought as she silently stood. For a moment, she examined the people around her and noticed that the crowd had thinned considerably. Now, only a few drunken men remained. She adjusted her cloak before grabbing her dagger, which she re-sheathed. With one final glance around the room, she swiftly strode out of the tavern and into the darkness of the night.