Nymmril's grin stretched wide, his slender hand extended towards man. Bard observed the young man's genuine joy, feeling somewhat unsettled by the purity of his emotion.
"Come, my friend, and lower your weapon," the shapeshifter said softly. "It does not make for the best first impression."
"You claimed to be pleased to meet me," Bard grumbled, raising a dark eyebrow.
"I am indeed glad to meet you. But I cannot say the same for your bow," replied Nymmril, moving closer to the native man of Dale. He gently took hold of Bard's wrist and guided him along. "Though I do believe it will prove useful in due time."
"And what of me?" Bard chuckled, his laughter rough and grating. "Will I be of use to your... merry company?"
"What use is a weapon without its wielder?" Nymmril smiled softly. Bard let out a thoughtful grunt, following behind the skin-changer with his bow slung low across his back. Ori trailed nervously behind them, fallen into uncertain silence.
"I am no warrior, lad," Bard rumbled. "I am a hunter."
"You are quite the stoic man," Nymmril said. "I suppose you can lay there for hours waiting for the rabbit to exit the burrow."
"I prefer larger game."
Nymmril's laughter echoed like the soft and gentle tolling of silver bells, bringing a sense of ease to all who heard it. As the young man led Bard over the crest, traversing the rocky crags with bare feet, the awaiting dwarves couldn't help but smile.
"Indeed?" the young man's eyes glittered, and he cast his head over his shoulder; "Come, Ori!"
Bard grunted, his dark eyes surveying the group of travelers who, upon seeing their friendly shape-changer, stood at attention. All manner of make-shift weapons were tightly gripped in calloused hands, and beards bristled with determination as the weary group awaited the man Nymmril had brought.
The young lion seemed oblivious to his comrades' tension. Behind him, Ori cast a sorry look at Balin—a silent apology for what had transpired, though beyond his control.
"Thorin!" Nymmril called cheerfully, waving the dwarf over. "Come, meet my new companion! He hails from a human town, not so far away."
A hush fell over the dwarves, their piercing gazes widening slightly. Murmurs rippled through the group.
"Nymmril..." sighed Nori, resisting the utmost-urge to lift his palm to his face.
Confusion clouded Nymmril's face amidst his sweet smile.
"So... this is the great Thorin Oakenshield," murmured Bard, his expression inscrutable as he gently freed himself from the shapeshifter's grasp. His eyes roamed over the company, settling on the imposing figure of the King under the Mountain.
Thorin regarded Bard coolly, before turning anger towards the naive young man in his company.
"Friend?" the regal dwarf said sternly, his icy gaze turning to Nymmril with a flicker of restrained anger. "You may have the pleasure of choosing your friends, but we do not. You have no right to meddle in this quest, Nymmril!"
Nymmril's expression faltered, his cheerful grin dimming like a candle snuffed out. The dwarves felt the weight of his disappointment, and Bilbo's heart sank. Before he could speak, Balin interjected, ever the peacemaker:
"The lad means well, Thorin," the elderly dwarf said calmly, gesturing to diffuse the tension. Thorin growled in frustration.
"He has put the company at risk, exposing us to—"
STAI LEGGENDO
𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ━ lord of the rings
FanfictionNymmril, a young skin-changer from the far deserts, has been under the care of his Keeper Beorn for centuries. With the dragon present, it was deemed too dangerous for him to leave. But what happens when Gandalf and his company of mischievous dwarro...
