"The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that."
Fairies are one of the oldest race of beings in Arda -once they called Numenór home- but Arethusa watched as the sea claimed the island from the helm of a ship as the survivors fled to...
Fairy, come take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind, run on the top of the disheveled tide, and dance upon the mountains like a flame.
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THE feast passed painfully slow for Arethusa, she awaited the day she could feast in honor of the Sons of Durin's recovery. She sat amongst the kings and esteemed dwarven warriors. Ravens had already been sent from the rookery with messages to be carried to Ered Luin and other scattered dwarf settlements. Open invitations to return to Erebor and share in the vast wealth, a chance to come back to their rightful home. Bilbo looked at his dear friend with a frown as she spoke eloquently to the two Kings and Dwarf Lords. She could fall into the formalities so easily. The fifth and final course had come to pass and the sound of little fiddles, harps, and clarinets filled the air.
The fairy clapped along, not being able to deny the amusement that came from the sight of dwarves drunkenly stamping along to an off-beat tune. Bofur jumped onto the table and the hall broke out into roars and applause, the dwarves playing their instruments ceased and looked on expectantly. It began with a clap and stomp that caused Bombur's tankard to slosh out half of its contents.
"Blunt the knives, bend the forks Smash the bottles and burn the corks Chip the glasses and crack the plates That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"
Arethusa had remembered her dread when the company had begun singing at Bag End what felt to be years ago, now she smiled and sang along, and to Bilbo's chagrin, ten more voices joined in on the tomfoolery.
"Cut the cloth, tread on the fat Leave the bones on the bedroom mat Pour the milk on the pantry floor Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl Pound them up with a thumping pole When you're finished, if they are whole Send them down the hall to roll That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"
On the second round of the song all but the elves and Bilbo had joined in singing. Upon exclaiming "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" Arethusa lifted her mug finding that she was more a dwarf than she could have ever imagined. The hall had settled down, the fiddlers and flutists had begun playing tunes that the fairy tried to create lyrics for but nothing seemed to fit. The celebration continued on until Ori rose on his seat, cheeks aflame from the ale and nervousness. "Sing us a song, Miss Arethusa?" Thranduil looked to the fairy with a raised brow; those that had heard her enchanting voice before chimed in their agreement and the eyes of dwarves, men, and elves alike turned to her expectantly.
Perhaps she had too much to drink and that was why she agreed but even the three mugs of ale had not phased her in the slightest. "Only one song." Her voice sounded exasperated but Ori smiled and returned to his seat, Dori had leaned over and whispered something in the young dwarf's ear that caused his cheeks to turn redder than the tomatoes that had been served with the bread. Arethusa contemplated singing the Song of Durin, or perhaps the song she had heard Thorin sing upon their meeting, but she settled on an old fairy song that her mother had sung to lull her and her brothers to sleep. She hoped she remembered the words and tune. The fairy stood, clasping her hands together before her and found her voice.
