The Quite Road

A North Ranger does not go looking for legends. Legends get people killed.
When Gandalf asks you to call on a Hobbit in the Shire, it should be simple: keep Bilbo Baggins alive, keep him quiet, and keep him moving when the road turns cruel. Then thirteen Dwarves arrive at Bag End with mud on their boots and a map that smells like trouble, and suddenly you are walking beside a Company chasing a kingdom that history buried.
Thorin Oakenshield does not trust strangers. He trusts Elves even less.
Your blood carries a hint of what he despises, a trait you keep hidden beneath a hood and a hard-earned silence. You are not a hero carved from songs. You are tired, stubborn, and careful. You know how to read tracks, how to choose a camp, and how to survive when pride should be set aside. Thorin's pride has never been the sort that bends.
As the road drags you from the safety of the Shire toward Rivendell and beyond, danger closes in: hungry things in the dark, old enemies with long memories, and the steady pull of a quest that asks for more than anyone is willing to give. The longer you travel with the Company, the harder it becomes to stay on the edge of the firelight, unnoticed.

* I do not own any of J.R.R Tolkien's work, this is purely fan fiction. It is also cross posted on AO3 and QouteV.*