Chapter One: The Dwarf Bard of Bree

It was nearing dusk as the sun began to set on the beautiful spring sky. And even the grouchiest of beings would have had to admit how good the weather had been that entire week. There had not had been an unwelcome cloud in the sky, nor anything but tender winds and green grasses, which had brought untold relief and joy to the farmers and town sellers of the small hamlet of Bree.

And despite the usual drab industry feeling the town created, Bree almost seemed peaceful as the daylight began to fade.

During the day, the streets were filled with numerous travelers and natives, but on this particular evening the roads were unfrequented. Which was nothing short of a blessing to the woman that made her way to the hamlet's inn.

Looking at this woman from behind, one might have thought her to be male, with her short and somewhat stocky build and broad shoulders. But if you looked upon her face, it was obvious that she was indeed female. She was a dwarf maid, with medium brown skin, dark shining eyes, and a thick black mane of untamed hair that hung well past her upper back.

This small woman walked with confidence and her head held high, even though her spirits had been low that day. She had been truly troubled, and nothing had been able to calm her rampant emotions, despite all the efforts she had made to be happy.

So it was with a wrinkled brow, that Vargkom the dwarf entered the Prancing Pony Inn, and approached the counter with coin in hand. Silently, she placed the copper piece down and slid it across to the Barman. The rounded Innkeeper lifted an eyebrow as he poured her out a drink, and pushed it towards her.

"Hard day?"

Vargkom took a long pull from the tankard and met the man's eyes slowly. "Aye. Without some of your ale in me, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to sing tonight."

The Barkeep looked surprised, as he wiped off the wooden counter with his apron. "Somethin' wrong?"

Vargkom shook her head once as she began to move away with he drink. "No. I just didn't get enough sleep last night, that's all."

The Barman didn't press the topic, but Vargkom could tell that he didn't believe her. As always, Aaron Butterbur sensed when she wasn't being completely truthful.

The dwarf woman had worked as a Bard and Blacksmith at the Prancing Pony for a good many years, and because of Butterbur's kindness, she had been able to make a fair living at her trades.

And in the time Vargkom had spent working in his employ, the round Innkeeper had become a good friend to her, and treated her as an equal. This in itself was the only reason that Vargkom hadn't left Bree in almost thirty-five something years.

The dwarf lass was well known for her skill set, and because she had been performing in the Prancing Pony for so long, she was a favorite among the regulars. Vargkom pulled her harp out from the depths of her cloak and readied herself to begin her nightly performance.

"A good night to you, Masters," Vargkom called out, once she was sitting comfortably in her chair of choice. She experimentally ran her fingers over the tight strings of her instrument and smiled as the notes escaped their bonds. There was truly nothing like music. "Do any of you lads have requests for me?"

The occupants of the Inn, echoed back the greeting and several called out titles to their favorite ballads, to which the female dwarf nodded and played each and every request. Her voice rang out strong and sure along with her harp's dulcet tones, in the smoky and dimly lit drinking hall.

And as Vargkom finished yet another request, she was met with raucous cheering and random spurts of clapping that made her smile and shake her head in amusement. It was an entertaining and somewhat disappointing fact that it was usually the drunks that enjoyed her skills as a bard the most, which made her sometimes question her actual talent. But as always, the dwarf woman pushed off her doubts and called out for more requests. And at her prompting a voice rang out across the hall.

"Sing us a drinking song, lass!"

Vargkom turned her gaze to follow the voice and her eyes instantly grew wider when she recognized the speaker to be one of her kind. He was of average height with a cheerful air about him and a striking fur hat, that he sported rather well.

Vargkom respectfully dipped her head to him. "I can do that. But did you have a particular one in mind?"

The dwarf with the cap shrugged. "Nay, I don't have a preference. Other than for it to be a good one that I can enjoy!"

Vargkom smiled and without further hesitation began to sing her favorite drinking song.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go

To heal my heart and drown my woe.

Rain may fall and wind may blow,

And many miles be still to go

But under a tall tree I will lie,

And let the clouds go sailing by!"

The lyrics were short and the tune was simple, but it made for a great drinking song. Vargkom sang it once through and then called upon the rest of the hall to sing along with her. The ale drinkers were all too pleased to join in and soon enough the Prancing Pony was ringing with the sound of forceful and off-tune singing. They sang it again and again, in rounds, making the Bard smiled in delight despite herself.

But all too soon the noise died down, and Vargkom stood from her chair ready to call it a night. The she-dwarf replaced her harp back into her cloak and made her way over to the doorway that lead to the Inn's sleeping chambers. She was tired and the comfort of her room was calling her name. But as the Bard reached for the handle, someone placed their hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

When she turned to observe the owner of the hand she was surprised to see that it was the dwarf that had requested the drinking song. Vargkom remained silent as she waited for the stranger to explain his actions, wondering how he managed to look so happy and without a care in the world.

The dwarf didn't lower his hand from her shoulder as he said, "That was some mighty fine singin', lass."

"I do my best," Vargkom answered truthfully, noticing how gentle the dwarf's grip was despite his rather calloused hands.

"If that twas your best, then I say you have more than mastered your art."

Vargkom slightly blushed at the praise to which the stranger laughed.

"I just wanted to make your acquaintance before you retired for the evening. I'm Bofur." He said with a small inclination of his head.

"I'm glad to know you," the she-dwarf said sincerely. "I am Vargkom the Bard of Bree, at your service."

Bofur clapped her on the back, though he did so without hurting her, and his smile grew even bigger. "Miss Vargkom, would you like to join me fer a drink? I know you were heading out, but I would love some company while I finish my ale."

Vargkom studied his face for a moment, seeing nothing but honest goodwill from Bofur, so she smiled back at him. "I suppose another drink tonight, wouldn't be amiss."

Bofur's eyes twinkled merrily as he offered his arm. Vargkom was somewhat taken aback by the forward action, not used to the company of her kind, but she ended up taking his arm and laughed. "Do you ever stop smiling, Master Bofur?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Not when there's a pretty lass about."

Vargkom chuckled as she followed Bofur back to a table that he had been occupying, and took the seat opposite him. Bofur pushed a fresh tankard towards Vargkom and they both took a long swing, before Bofur began to ask her questions. He wasn't pushy or prying as he talked, merely curious.

"Were you born in Bree?"

"No," Vargkom said taking another drink. "I came here with my brother when I was still a child, and I've been here ever since. I began to work in the town's forge and here at the Inn once I was old enough to be trusted on my own."

Bofur lifted an eyebrow, "You're a blacksmith?"

"Yes. My mother and brother were both important smithies when we lived in the mountains."

"Oh really?"

"They worked for the King Under the Mountain." Vargkom said so softly that Bofur almost didn't catch it. But he did, and his eyes softened. And taking her hand in his own, he asked, "How old were you?"

Vargkom looked at the table and was silent for several moments, for she knew exactly what he was asking.

"I was five years old, when Erebor was taken."

Bofur's whole air seemed to change and he had stopped smiling for the first time since Vargkom had met him.

"So young. . . You said you and your brother came here to Bree?"

Vargkom nodded.

"What about your mother?"

"She was killed in the attack," the she-dwarf answered slowly. "I was separated from my family when Smaug took the main halls. It was nearly a week before my brother Tybbar found me."

Bofur was silent for quite a while, and Vargkom was grateful for this. She had never talked about her childhood with another soul, and she found that doing so was utterly taxing.

Finally Bofur said something, but as he did so he leaned in closer and his voice was naught but a whisper.

"Would you ever go back to Erebor, lass? Would you ever wish to call it your home?"

"I would go back," the she-dwarf said solemnly. "If Smaug was ever defeated, I would go and try to reclaim my birthright as the Royal Smith of the Lonely Mountain. In honor of my mother."

Bofur studied her carefully. "What if I told you that someone was going to challenge Smaug the Terrible?"

Vargkom met his gaze and scoffed, "I would say he was a fool. The entire army of Erebor fought the beast and lost. But be that as it may, I would most likely give him my blessing anyway."

Bofur chuckled as he fixed his hat. "Aye, Vargkom. It is a fool's errand, but someone's got to try."

"You're going back to Erebor?" Vargkom asked.

Bofur nodded. "The King has called upon all of our kin. The ravens have begun to fly back to the mountain, and a quest is being set in motion in a fortnight."

Vargkom's brow wrinkled in confusion. "The King? Thrain has been found?"

Bofur shook his head, "No lass, I speak of his son."

"Prince Thorin. . ."

"He was labeled the King in Exile, several years back."

Vargkom felt her stomach drop as she realized what she had to do. If it was the Prince that had called upon them, she didn't really have a choice. She would have to heed the summons.

Taking the last of her ale in one long gulp, the she-dwarf spoke her thoughts aloud.

"Count me in, Bofur. I will answer the call of the King. . . I will help you recapture the Lonely Mountain, or give my life trying to help others succeed."

Author's Note:

I have a very good friend who is a hardcore Bofur fan, and because of her love and her mad art skillz, I have started to write this fanfiction. I plan for Bofur and Vargkom to be good friends throughout the story, though it is Thorin Oakenshield that my lovely Dwarf OC will end up with.

The Drinking Song in this chapter is actually one of Tolkien's LOTR poems, so I thought it was a fun thing to use. Thorin makes his first appearance next chapter! ^^

Please tell me what you think of the story thus far! I would love to hear from you!

~Lyn Harkeran