Lady of Rivendell || Book 2 ||

Ch 2 ~ Thirteen Dwarves

The door opens a heartbeat later, revealing a bewildered-looking halfing on the other side.

"You are not a dwarf." It almost sounds like a question.

I immediately take a liking to the fellow.

"No," I reply, supressing a surprised laugh. "I most certainly am not."

His demeanor takes on a weary tone as he opens the door further to let me in.

"If you're here for the party you might as well come in. The rest of them all did. I believe Gandalf is in the kitchen." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "That way."

I incline my head in thanks as I step over the threshold, ducking further to avoid the low doorjamb.

"And to whom do I have the pleasure of thanking for the hospitality?" I ask, turning an inquisitive eye onto the hobbit once more.

He blinks, taking in my appearance in the brighter light or perhaps just simply surprised by the question. I watch recognition dawn in his eyes as they sweep over my arched ears, the angular face.

"Great Took," he murmurs, something like wonder passing over his face. "You're an elf."

I study the hobbit.

I had pondered many times on my journey here as to why Gandalf had chosen the home of one of the little folk to conduct this meeting in. At one point I settled on the notion that he must have plans to include the halfling in the quest but had quickly deserted the thought. The halflings of the Shire did not venture on quests.

This particular one appears perfectly typical of his kind; a small creature with large feet and a love for domestic life reflected in his clothing and sun-warmed skin. Perfectly respectable, by the standards of hobbit-folk.

And yet, something glints in his eyes. Something longing and wild.

I find myself smiling at it.

"Lady Celebríel, at your service."

He must find something in my gaze as well, because he returns my smile with one of his own.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours, my lady."

And as he guides me to the kitchen, I find myself thinking that perhaps this adventure might not be so bad after all.

~~~

The hobbit-hole kitchen is small but pleasant.

And currently chock-full of dwarves.

They argue loudly, tossing bits of food every which way, rambunctious laughter bouncing off the low-hanging ceiling, filling the room with mirth.

I survey the chaos with a critical eye, containing my surprise at this turn of events as I search for a familiar grey pointed hat.

When Gandalf first told me of this quest, I certainly had not expected dwarves to be among the companions intended for it.

My search does not last long as a hush slowly falls over the group, more deafening than the chaos that preceded it.

The weight of thirteen stares is now fixed wholly on me.

"Well, I must say," I drawl, surveying the room. "I'd expected a warmer welcome from friends of Gandalf's."

No one stirs, and yet I can feel each shift of their gazes; taking in my figure and garb, each coming to rest on the pointed ears and angular features hidden within the shadows of my hood.

A smirk curls at the corner of my mouth.

"Although now that I'm here, I am not surprised at the reception I receive from thirteen dwarves. Gandalf failed to mention that little detail in his invitation to me."