Atlas, At Last

3. I Saw the Sea

The elves did what they could to replace the tablecloths, dirtied with jams and drenched with drink. Bread crumbs were lain about all over the floor, and bread chunks were stuck on beloved statues.

"It's Grade A quality rabbit food, lass," The dwarf on Althea's right scoffed. He was Balin, an old and weathered one with white hair. His eyes twinkled in riddles and his laugh was hearty and honest.

She had chosen to kneel at one of the two tables to join for supper. Most of them were warm folk who excitedly shook her hand at introduction.

"Well, I quite enjoy the food," said the hobbit, patting her shoulder in consolation and dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief with the other hand. Bilbo was of humble folk, a lover of comfort and a persistent believer in good food and hospitality.

Althea was just a head taller than the dwarves at the table, much to her relief. She was beginning to feel too small compared to the rest of the population in Rivendell. And much to her delight, it was her first time dining with these merry dwarves and a peculiar hobbit.

"Who is your companion?" asked Bilbo curiously, sipping from a goblet and inching to get a better look. It was such a splendid and unearthly sight to see a gentle glow emanate from Thorin.. Splendid, but unearthly. He almost expected it to be a mirage conjured by some master elf mages. But it was not the case.

Dori sneered. He, among the older dwarves, weren't too welcoming of Althea and Ravion's showing up uninvited.

"I apologize in advanced," Ravion announced, sliding out of his seat, "I should have introduced myself sooner, how very rude of me."

Óin stood up too, and tottered gruffly towards Ravion. Though the dwarf was considerably a good foot away from Ravion's chin, he did not hesitate to give him a piece of his mind. How dare Men? How could they waltz in and plop themselves on a cushion and make themselves comfortable amongst the company of dwarves, and this important company of all dwarves, in the middle of a dinner? How dare this particular man approach Thorin Oakenshield with such ease?... In the middle of a dinner?!

"Look here, lad-" He started jabbing Ravion's chest with his index finger, ready to lecture.

"Master Óin," Ravion said calmly, locking eyes with his confronter, "I haven't seen you in exactly one hundred years."

Óin's face puckered, wildly taken aback at this stranger's casual conversing in such a hostile situation. How did he know his name? He tried to make sense of it. It sank in slowly when he tried to see the man underneath the wrinkles and the scars on his skin. And suddenly, it became clear. He saw a familiar face from one hundred years ago.

Óin whispered, eyes huge with a mixture of excitement and- of course, awe, "You, it's you."

Óin's expression softened, and his arm slunk back to his sides, and un-cinched a leather pouch attached at his belt. All fell silent, either being visited by a blurry memory from a century ago, or watching in wonder. The dwarves looked at the old leather pouch in Óin's hands, and curiously back at Ravion. The older, once-bitter ones suddenly understood who the man was, and sat in realization.

"My friend," Ravion looked at the little bag with a sad smile, "Why do you keep such an old thing at your persons?"

"Because of you, Ravion, I know what I must do for my people," Óin's hard expression softened, just as Thorin's did. And his strong voice trembled as he projected himself, "I found my duty, and my duty lies with the wounded."

"What, what's going on?" Bilbo asked, bewildered at the silence that fell upon his rowdy travel companions. All the times they have been quiet, he could count on one hand.

"My grandfather, Ravion the Light, served his time as a Ranger of the North. He was a medic," Althea explained, her gaze upon their reunion unwavering, "He was assigned to help protect the far west lands of Eriador. And his post was by that of the Ered Luin."

"Ah.. The Blue Mountains," said Bilbo.

Althea observed everyone's reactions in the room. The musical elves were still, like pliant trees in the background. Their eyes lowered, in symbolic acknowledgment and the extent to which Ravion shaped the lives of those he met. In Gandalf's knowing blue eyes was a flicker of satisfaction. In Elrond's neutrality, she found the sentiment he harbored for his friend. And there was Thorin Oakenshield, who stared in fixed respect for Ravion.

Althea's head turned slightly to evaluate the remaining twelve dwarves, and one by one, saw gratitude in each pair of eyes. Her mind slipped away, wondering of the stories behind each one, curious of what connection they had struck with her grandfather, and questioned-

She was startled in mid-thought when her eyes caught another's: blue, brave, and fearless. It was a young dwarf from the other table. He smiled, and nodded politely at her, but never intending to break his gaze.

Embarrassed for the second time that evening, a bit of warmth crept up to Althea's cheeks. She carefully tilted her head back to her grandfather, and was a bit surprised to catch him glancing instantaneously at the young dwarf.

And though it was only for a split second, it happened.

Her grandfather raised his brow in amusement.