I wrote my first fan fiction. Ever. I'm actually surprised I haven't written anything before, because there are many television shows and books that affect me deeply, and I grow to love and admire the characters within them. I guess it never occurred to me to actually explore those characters more deeply, and allow my imagination to take them to new adventures. Fan fiction is a good exercise, because you have characters and a world already in place, and you just have to work within those parameters as you make up new stories. However, it can also be difficult, because of those parameters. I had to do quite a bit of research before I was satisfied my story would make sense, but it is more rewarding because I didn't take liberties with character and information.
If you've talked with me at all recently, or seen any recent posts on Facebook, you'll know that I have dwarf fever. I've seen "The Hobbit" twice, and I'm seeing it again tomorrow, and while it's not a perfect movie and there are many things I don't like about it, dwarves. Dwarves are the best. My friend Julia and I have been obsessing over dwarves, sharing behind the scenes videos and interviews, and getting ridiculously excited about any dwarf-related material. I was heavily inspired by two pieces of fan fiction Julia wrote (which can be read here: http://jgaskisanerd.tumblr.com/post/39581351186/title-no-good-news-in-the-dead-of-night-author and here: http://jgaskisanerd.tumblr.com/post/38670904589/title-the-darkest-hour-author, the second being my particular favourite), and she has encouraged my own exploration in this world. I'm not sure I can explain it, but I've caught dwarf fever and the only prescription is more dwarves.
My favourite dwarf is Nori:
I can't get over his amazing hair (and eyebrow braids!) and his sense of adventure and mischief. He doesn't have a large role in the films yet, but we'll see how it pans out in the next two. The second time I watched the film I paid close attention and came away with the following information:
-The number of lines Nori has: 1
-The number of times others call Nori by name: 4, quite possibly 5, but with a Dori and an Ori in the mix sometimes it's hard to distinguish. One of those times is to make Nori pay up because he bet against Bilbo coming on the quest. I shake my head at you, Nori.
-The number of times Nori and Bofur are seen together: 3. This lead me to the conclusion that they are best friends, and because this picture exists:
So I hope you enjoy my little tale, entitled "A Melody of the Blue Mountains."
The crisp morning air swept lightly through the streets of the small mountain village, making smells sharper and colours brighter. The sun had barely risen over the towering mountainside, but the streets were already busy, buzzing with the hum of banter and chatter, and the murmur of dwarfish industry.
Suddenly a shout pierced through the everyday clamour, the cool air buoying it up and sending it racing down to follow its target. “Nori! Confound you, you thievin’ little scrap!”
The young dwarf chuckled lightly to himself as he ran down the path, newly braided beard bouncing on his chest, a mischievous glint permanently housed in the corner of his eyes. He tucked his spoils more deeply into his shirt and picked up speed, dodging through crowds and nipping around houses as he made his way toward the edge of the settlement. He slipped into an alley and settled himself behind a barrel, ear cocked, his light ginger hair sticking stubbornly where the wind whisked it up. Even at normal times his hair stood up at odd angles, despite any attempts at his own dressing. It gave him a distinctive and rather comical appearance, a fact that made keeping from notice difficult, and hiding from local authorities nearly impossible. No matter where he went, he always managed to get into trouble, and it was no different here at one of the dwarfish settlements in the heights of the Blue Mountains.
He was a young dwarf, his beard hardly long enough to braid, but he was an experienced one. Like the dwarves of Kazad-Dhum and the rest of Durin’s Folk he left Erebor with the coming of Smaug, but unlike the others he did not miss it so sorely. More out of mischievousness than adventure, Nori sought new places eagerly, and quickly became known as a local nuisance.
When he was sure he wasn’t followed, Nori grinned and leaned against the wall, pulling his prize from near his chest. He admired it in the filtered morning sunlight, eyes crinkling in merry amusement. Then a voice sounded in the shadows, and Nori leapt up, tucking his spoils into his shirt and peering down the alley.
“I saw you.”
A moment later, a dwarf stepped out from between two houses, a dwarf around his own age. Nori narrowed his eyes. It was a dwarf he did not know, and clearly not of Durin’s Folk. But Nori was not particular of clan loyalty, and he recognized the faint haunting of the Dread Dragon that he saw only too often in the eyes of the dwarf refugees. It had been a few years since the Desolation, but living in exile did not suit dwarfish temperament. And Nori realized, as he peered at the dwarf, he liked the hint of roguishness in his bearing, so he said nothing, but eyed him warily.
The dwarf studied him curiously, head cocked to one side, giving his already goofy appearance a decided nod. His brown hair was braided and with the flaps on his hat curved joyfully up toward the sky. His beard, like Nori’s, was not full grown. He spoke again and nodded towards Nori’s chest.
“What have you got there?”
Nori hesitated as the tramp of dwarfish boots sounded behind him in the street. The other dwarf looked past his shoulder, but nothing came into the alley after them and the sound faded away. Nori paused again, then pulled forth a wooden flute, beautifully carved and inlaid with patterns of silver. It was a fine instrument, made with a labour of love and care, and sorely missed by its maker. The dwarf stared for a moment, then burst into delighted laughter.
“What a thing to steal! Have you played it yet?”
Nori shook his head, then slowly smiled. His smile grew as another dwarf, slightly younger than the two, ambled out into the alley, hugging his considerable girth.
“You’re too fast,” this new dwarf complained, resting a hand on the wall to catch his breath. “It’s not like we stole anything.”
The brown bearded dwarf winked at Nori.
“I’m Bofur,” he said. “And that,” he continued, inclining his head, “is my brother Bombur.”
Bombur did not reply, but raised a hand in greeting. Nori replied with a slight bow, not bothering to hide his amused smile.
“Nori,” he replied, and added quietly, “at your service.” Bofur inclined his head in response, then gestured with a large hand.
“Come on,” he said cheerily. “Let’s go and try out that loot of yours.”
He turned and lead the way out of the houses, towards the west and the neighboring forest. Nori hesitated for a moment, then followed Bofur along the edge of the village and into the lines of trees, Bombur waddling behind. Nori thought of his own brothers as he walked, to whom he was fervently loyal but most often avoided. Dori, the eldest, was generally cross, cross with the loss of their home and kindred, but he kept an almost motherly watch over their youngest brother Ori, a watch that was too close for Nori's liking. Ori was young, too young to grow a beard even, and was quiet and bookish, but Nori had a soft spot in his heart for the young dwarf. The business of Erebor had been troubling and Dori often reminisced and brooded over the return of their homelands, while Ori looked on thoughtfully. As the middle brother, Nori grew to become fiercely independent and rather reticent, to the annoyance of his brothers. But they could not keep him from his own deeds, which generally involved no small amount of thievery, to Dori’s particular exasperation. Nori smiled as his remembered his latest scrape, where he had stolen a fine pair of knives, but had been unable to produce them at the maker’s request. Despite his searching, Dori could not find them either, and hadn’t spoken to Nori for a week. But far away from their dwarfish mines, good weaponry was hard to come by, and Nori kept the blades, just in case.
Bofur lead them through the trees to a clearing, gently lit by the rising autumn sun and bordered by a sparkling spring. Nori gazed in appreciation at the spot, quiet and almost warm, but not far enough into the forest to fear the shadows. Bofur seated himself underneath a large tree and took off his hat, leaning back and closing his eyes. A small smile played around his lips. Bombur stumbled into the clearing after them and looked around sadly.
“Why couldn’t you have stolen something more useful?,” Bombur inquired, gazing forlornly at the flute. “It’s nearly lunch, and I haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast!”
Nori’s grinned, and with a free hand reached back into his shirt and pulled out a large and still steaming loaf of bread, smelling sweetly of seeds and honey. He tore it in two, leaving a considerable portion for himself, and tossed half to the younger dwarf, whose eyes lit up as he caught it. He tore into it with small bright teeth, and half the loaf was gone before Nori could blink. Bofur laughed as Bombur divided what was left of the loaf and shared it with his brother.
“Now all we need is a bit of ale, and we would have a regular feast!” Bofur said.
Nori’s grin deepened, and an impish glint sparkled in his eyes. He reached into his coat and produced, impossibly, a large tankard, sloshing with fresh and foamy ale. Bofur blinked, then burst out laughing as Nori took a deep swallow then passed the mug along. Bofur swung the tankard up and gulped, then tossed the rest to Bombur, who caught it deftly and drank quickly and noisily. Bofur cheered him on as he swallowed the rest of the ale, burping loudly and long, sending crowds of birds shrieking into the sky.
Nori sat quietly, watching the two brothers joke and laugh. Though private, Nori was glad to enjoy the company of cheerful dwarves, and to enjoy the calm of the forest so near the mountains of old. At times he missed the great halls of Erebor, grand and fearsome to a young dwarf, but love of the mountains was in his blood, and even here he felt the kinship of the earth and his fellow dwarves. He looked up and watched as leaves fell and birds hopped on springy branches, and did not notice Bofur studying him curiously. He did not see what the other dwarf saw, a lingering sadness beneath his quiet contemplation of the wood. After a bit, Bofur nodded towards the flute, still held lovingly in Nori’s hands.
“Now why don’t you try it out? You couldn’t have stolen it just to look at it.”
Nori gazed down at the instrument for a moment, running his fingers along the smooth wood. Then he raised the flute to his lips, and the brisk air filled with a sorrowful tune, played sweetly and carefully. Bofur closed his eyes, and Bombur sat in awe, watching and listening as the young dwarf played songs of home, of mines and mountains, gold and jewels, weapons and tools. The melody drifted in between the trees, and stilled the coming of the day. They sat there for many minutes, passing the flute between the three, and after the last song was played and the final notes hung in the air, the dwarves sighed and the flute was returned to Nori’s eager hands. Then Bofur stood and stretched, planting his hat firmly on his head, and reaching down to lift Bombur, which took a considerable amount of effort. Nori smiled and got to his own feet, and for a moment they stood, remembering and longing. They were young, but history was in their blood, and they felt the years of glory and sorrow twist through their veins. Nori raised his eyes and met Bofur’s, and they smiled at one another, sharing in the comfort of kinship. They knew that though they lived in a world of men and elves, orcs and dragons, the race of dwarves would live on, carved into the mountainside and written in songs played in the forest by young dwarves, eager for adventure.
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