Firstly, I was not expecting to be inside such a misadventure. Dealing with thirteen Dwarves, one Hobbit,my wizarding mentor and a crazy big red Dragon, you name it. My life truly might get worse

I am Araënd, and this is my story of the journey to Erebor…

Let me tell you how it all started.

It began on a day like any other.

I was dozing off in my room after I helped  Saruman  go through the old archives when his 'good friend' Gandalf burst into the archives screaming at me to wake up. Like an Undead monster, I raised my head  and yawned, a frown on my face. "Gandalf, it's Sunday, and Saruman does not expect your presence till the next fortnight! what brings you here?"

"Ara, I have something of extreme importance, and Saruman has decided to let you join me on a quest," Proclaimed Gandalf in a loud voice. 

My ears perked up.

A quest?

"You're going to reclaim a mountain."

"Which mountain? Not Moria is it?" I said, shuddering. "You've told me terrible stories of that frightful place with Aragorn, there are plenty of Orcs crawling around there,"

"No of course it isn't Moria you fool,  I would know better than to send a child like you off into the wild."

"Oh, good, I was beginning to think that-,"  I heaved a sigh of relief, but Gandalf cut me off.

"It is Erebor."

"Erebor?!" I  sputtered in astonishment."That's worse than the Balrog, the Dragon is a whole new level, and adding to that, it has not awakened in about fifty years now!"

I thought Gandalf was fooling around about the situation about the dragon problem but his face was so stern and serious that my mouth tightened into a thin line as I stared.

"No questions, take your horse, ride to the Shire, in bag end and meet your Dwarf companions."

My face fell.

I could not object.

That afternoon, I packed a satchel and a few provisions, grumbling about why it was always me who does the dirty work.

"Are you sure that I should be going there in the first place, Master?''  I asked ,sounding angsty. My heart felt like a bundle of nerves, my mind was aflutter. Gandalf gave me a did-you-just-question-my-actions-you-little-brat kind of look.

I gulped.

"Namarië, Gandalf," I cried as my horse galloped with me on its back, staring at the tiny little speck of black that stood in the distance of the tower of Isengard. 

For three days I travelled, through dark forests and empty roads, until I finally reached the Shire.

   The shire was completely surrounded by lush green hills and tall trees. Hobbits were very queer folk, though I had to bend down to ask for directi