Chapter Text
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“Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find,” said the latest dwarf in Bella’s doorway.
Her very first impression of him – though it would seem odd and bitterly false to her later, before it began to seem true again – was of a wry, gentle sort of humor. There was a quirk of his lips, when he spoke to Gandalf – something weary of the world, but still fond of it. Things were not as he had expected them to be, but, Bella thought, that itself was exactly as he expected things to be.
She liked him, in that first glimpse, remarkably much for an utter stranger – he struck her as a good sort of person. One she might easily call friend.
“I lost my way, twice. I wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.”
And that startled her out of any further contemplation of his character, or that strange feeling of kinship. “Mark? There’s no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!” Bella objected, shuffling around the crowded gathering in her hallway (some peripheral part of her noting how the other dwarves, and even Gandalf, bowed their heads to this newcomer).
“There is a mark, I put it there myself,” answered Gandalf and, ignoring her expression of indignation at this, proceeded, “Belladonna Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”
Thorin’s gaze fell on her, and there was, at first, an expression almost of comradery there, as if he sympathized entirely with her sentiments in regard to her vandalized door. Wizards, that look said, what is to be done with them? But then it was clear that some other thought presented itself – some connection was made in his mind, and his face went first closed off and grim, and then angry.
“Mistress Baggins.” Thorin bowed his head to her, solemn and polite as you please – but then he turned to Gandalf, all but snarling, “Tell me this is not the hobbit.”
It seemed that Gandalf had failed to mention a few things to both Thorin and herself – to Thorin, that Bella happened to be female. And no lady warrior, either - she could recall imagining herself as such quite often, as a child (one of the fierce elven maidens out of her favorite stories, bearer of some famous, gleaming blade, bane of all evil things), but it was an ambition she’d abandoned some time ago. And not a burglar, for goodness’ sake.
Bella thought it was quite enough that he hadn’t informed her he’d be inviting a company of thirteen dwarves to her table, but oh no, that was not nearly all – there was also the small matter of a quest, and a dragon.