Chapter Text
The first time Nara met Gandalf, she had been in a small farming community to the far east of the reach of Gondor where men descended of the Drúedain lived, mainly hostile toward outsiders. Their community had been plagued by raids from the tribesmen, and where people were hurt, Naralsi Thunderstruck found herself the most useful. Not that she wished for people to get hurt in the first place, but she was willing to bandage their wounds if it happened. The Drúedain were ruthless, most of their arrows poison-tipped and their swords with jagged, unfinished edges. The farmers were nervous of her at first--after all she must have looked quite mad, ginger hair hair barely held up in a back by braids and a gentle gold circlet around her forehead, an arrow sticking in between her clavicle and her arm and shouldering one of the heaviest packs any of them had ever seen. Of course, once she showed them the reason she hadn't died from the arrow-to-the-shoulder was because she had an antidote to the poison, they trusted her immediately.
She was ushered into a hut no larger than space enough for six to stand, arms spread without touching, and yet there were far too many sick and injured in the space. They didn't care that she seemed to short to be a human, too stocky to be a daughter of man (or at least a full-blooded one, anyway). No, all they cared about were their injured, and Naralsi was more than happy to help them out. By the time she had stitched the last wound and administered the last antidote, the farmers were practically worshipping the feet she walked on while she taught them the antidote's recipe, and explained how they might, after so many doses, need to up the amount taken in order to counteract the poison. They offered her all the money they possessed (which, admittedly, wasn't much), but she refused each and every offer. Just as quickly as she had come, Nara had left, only accepting bread for a few day's worth of food and a canteen full of water.
The old wizard, of course, had been waiting for her at the tree line. Nara had found it odd that such an old man was so far away from the community, but a second glance told her that his grey robes were nothing like the garments warn by the village. He was watching her, Nara had a keen eye for it, her dark amber gaze sliding to meet the crystalline blue of eyes that held both wisdom beyond compare and mirth, but she did her best to mind her own business.
Not that he minded hers, of course. "Not many would do such acts of kindness without reward or compensation," his voice was weathered, and perhaps there lay a tad bit of amusement in his tone if she wasn't mistaken.
"But I did get paid," she blinked, stopping once she was standing in front of the man, a rather blank expression on her face as she patted her new bag of food that she had tied to one of her belts. "I was sick of chasing after rabbits so I went to find a settlement. It was just convenient that they needed help, now I don't feel quite as bad for taking some of their things." They were given to her by the people, of course, but still. Sometimes the gifts she received really didn't feel like she had deserved them. The old wizard huffed at this, though his eyes betrayed his amusement and Nara couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, freckles stretching as her nose scrunched slightly.
"Something tells me you are quite wealthy, young Naralsi," the old man spoke, and she stiffened at the mention of money much less her name.
"You'll have to forgive my trepidation sir, seeing as you know my name and I don't know yours," she spoke slowly, as if picking her words carefully. Ever since her "accident" it had made Nara acutely aware to power. The crackling of energy before a storm, such things were something she was now capable of sensing, and this old man garbed in grey gave her every sense of a storm on the verge of breaking out.
"Of course. I am Gandalf the Grey," he swept his staff to the side, bowing slightly in greeting as emerald eyes widened in shock.
"Tharkûn!" the Khuzdul name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. "I should have known--father spoke often of the Grey-man who wonders the world." Immediately any sort of distrust or hostility melted away as a more demure smile overtook her features. "Naralsi Kazzrakord, at your service." A meager bow was offered, considering she was not particularly very ladylike, and didn't have a skirt to curtsey.
"I have heard many a tale of the great "Thunderstruck" half-dwarf," Gandalf spoke, motioning for her to join him in a stroll through the woods. Each step took them further inland, away from the sea. Naralsi had loved the sea, though its rolling waters made the young woman tremble. The sea held power that hummed to its own tune, a throbbing melody that enticed as well as terrified her.
"I wouldn't say 'great'," Nara shook her head, as if admonishing the thought. "But I have been able to help a good amount of people, if that be your meaning." Gandalf merely nodded, and Nara's emerald gaze turned to look toward the trees ahead. "I may have invented a way to prevent warriors from being injured by their boorish pride, but only from one aspect. I can't save everyone from multi-faceted stupidity. That would be something to truly consider great."
"Ho ho, what an idea!" the grey wizard laughed, his voice loud and bellowing. It was a sound unlike anything she'd ever heard before. Power thrummed around Gandalf in a way that reminded Naralsi of the sea--the ebbing and the flowing of the waves and how they crashed upon the shore only to recede back into the abyss. Even the trees seemed to bend, curious enough to hear what wisdom Tharkûn might impart. "Well, I have come searching for a small piece of wisdom, and perhaps a traveling companion for a company meant to set out in a few month's time."
"A company? Of whom, and for what purpose?" Naralsi's eyes narrowed, though now the expression was mostly confusion rather than mistrust or caution. "And what wisdom could I impart on a wizard?"
"Your father is from the Iron Hills, is he not?" She nodded--that's where he said he was from, anyway. "Surely he has told you the stories of the great halls of Erebor, the long lost halls for the King Under the Mountain?"
"All children know of the stories--and of the dragon," Nara spoke swiftly, a curt nod following. "The line of Thror chased out by Smaug the Terrible, and the wealth of Erebor lost to the horde of the mighty fire beast. " She thought briefly of many night spent sitting in front of her father's forge, watching him craft weapon after weapon, all while filling her head with stories of dragons, riches, the greatest halls that anyone had ever seen. He had visited Erebor during its peak, returning with the very gold he crafted for her head and her hair pieces. He had even considered moving their meager family there, regardless of her human mother and natural dwarven prejudice. It was a good thing he hadn't. She had been too young to understand the grief that the loss of Erebor caused the dwarves--not just of the Iron Hills but of all dwarven civilization. Most were used to living underground, but Nara had too much human in her to enjoy sitting around for too long. "What fool wishes to test the rumor that Smaug curled up and died--of which I personally doubt."
"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror. Heir to the throne under the mountain."
She'd heard plenty of the line of Thror, but the idea of reclaiming Erebor... "Sounds like a fools' errand, if you ask me," Naralsi sighed, shaking her head. "The dragon's most likely still there, rolling in his wealth, and they're only going to get turned to kindle. I don't think this is something I can help you with, Tharkûn. I'm sorry." She turned to look up at Gandalf--she wasn't as short as most dwarves, though she was still considered short by human standards, standing at a solid, stocky 161cm. "As I said before, I can only help with one aspect of stupidity, and if it my duty and my burden to keep anyone else from being struck by lightning thanks to their armor, then I will need to continue to live in order to do so."
A sigh left Gandalf's lips as he smiled, though soft as if he expected the outcome. "Well, at least there is that." Their feet eventually lead them to a horse, and Nara eyed the creature with mild suspicion--horses were crafty, and far too big for her liking, and she was maybe just a bit too heavy for a pony, which meant her only option (if for no other reason than to avoid riding a horse) meant that she was traveling always and ever on foot. "Naralsi, there may come a time where we may need your help. Can I still call upon you for your healing words and... interesting company?" Gandalf was rumored to have lived far longer than any dwarf, though that meant nothing in the eyes of elves. He was both friend and informant, in more ways than she could understand. Her whole being already knew that she could count upon the wizard, so certainly she could do the same for him.
"Well, I don't see why not," she offered a lopsided grin and a small shrug. "The hardest part is finding me, of course."
Gandalf tipped his hat at that, taking a moment to hand her his staff so he might mount his horse, before taking it from her hands once he was up. "A wizard has his ways, I assure you." A cheeky smile, a snap of the reigns with a soft 'hur,' and he was gone.
Naralsi couldn't help but feel like Thorin was getting in over his head, and she continued to think this way well into her next few days of travel. She couldn't understand their longing for home--she was content to travel as she did, moving wherever her feet took her, stopping where she pleased and continuing on when she got bored again. Of course, she also couldn't comprehend what being forcibly removed from one's home felt like, or the pain knowing that others could be trying to steal one's ancestral lands out from under their noses. That didn't change her opinion. Some things changed, and the rate of a person's success in survival often reflected on how well they were able to adapt to the world around them. Nara could adapt. Nara could change.
And the world was indeed changing.