A One-Shot Collection: "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Hobbit"

One: Ori

One: Ori

Who does he think he is, criticizing me for my familial blood? I cannot help my hobbit identity and the fact that I am "innocent" to the world outside the Shire. I cannot help the fact that I was born to this life and locked under the scrutiny of my kin. You don't hear me cursing out his dwarven parents, now do you?

A small "grr" escapes my lips as I flee from the sight of the idiotic Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain or King of the Prejudice, whichever you see fitting. But all the same, I feel cowardly in my escape of his presence, seeing as my cousin Bilbo has yet to stand down, no matter the criticism. I look up to Bilbo in that way.

"Are you okay?" one of the dwarves asks, orange-red hair shining in the light of the small fireplace. Turning to look at him, I recognize his youthful appearance, at least in respect to the other dwarves. Being well read, I recognize the fact that this dwarf must be at least twice my age, if not thrice. I am a hobbit after all, living a span of a human life, whereas dwarves can live three-times as long.

"Yes, yes. It's just--is he always that infuriating?" I gripe to the stranger, taking note of his appearance. Under his arm, a leather-bound booklet attempts to hide within his robes of silver. If I know anything, he must be the scribe of the dwarves...a fellow bookworm, how very interesting.

"Infuriating and Thorin Oakenshield tend to go hand-and-hand in the minds of the others races. But as I am a dwarf, and he is my king, I will deny such an attribute on his behalf," the dwarf speaks eloquently, emphasizing his great education and knowledge. Honestly, this shocks me, seeing as one of the dwarves cannot even speak Westron. Then there are the others, who look more inclined to express themselves through burps than speech.

"Hmm...so you're a scribe?" I ask, tilting my head in question.

"Ahh, yes," he responds in slight shock that I understand his occupation.

"And you write of histories and present times?"

"That and drawing. You'd be surprised at how well drawings can tell a story."

"I'm not surprised in the slightest. Art and words are almost enough to create a new reality, if I say so myself."

"I'd agree," the dwarf responds, a smile growing on his face, almost enough to match my own.

"Can I see--you know--your drawings?" I ask, looking to his shocked features. From what I can deduce, this is not a normal question asked of him. As I can tell, the dwarves are far from praising of the arts, taking greater joy in blood warfare. But all the same, the red-haired dwarfling opens his thick booklet to a multitude of sketches and paintings.

"They're beautiful," I mumble, eyes widened to take in the sheer scope of the art. Most of the pictures are landscapes of the Blue Mountains and its residents. Thorin is a common figure among many of them, seeing his role as leader of his people. Then there are the younger dwarves, Kili and Fili, I believe, who seem to be in a bit of mischief upon every page. And yes, the drawings are so immaculate that I can grasp a look of mischief within their eyes.

"Ori," the dwarf remarks, prompting me to raise my head in question. "That's my name, Ori."

"Talula Took, and it is a pleasure to meet you Master Dwarf," I remark with a large smile, placing his binder, reluctantly, back into his hands as the sounds of dwarves permeate our ears once again. The dwarf's name is called for a third time before he moves away from my side, sending a smile back at me as I am stuck to the ground within Bilbo's living room. I came here to find my lost scarf, and I think I found something else...

"Never have I heard him talk so much," the hatted-dwarf remarks from the other doorway, prompting me to whip my head around to face him. "You, Lassie, are a special one."

And special I am, taking upon a sacrificial journey to the homeland of the Ereborian folk. Surely, this is not the work of a normal hobbit...even a Fool of a Took.  

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xo

Patagonian