not all who wander are lost...

[instride]

Date & Time: July 4th
Location: The City & its surroundings
Characters: Aragorn instride & Bilbo Baggins experting
Summary: Exploring, ring talking, derping and manly-ing around, for the most part.
Warnings: Hobbit spoilers maybe? IDK. We're both noobs and thus we profusely apologize in advance in case of fail.

[The first fingers of dawn are trailing across the sky outside the hold, softened by the thick, heavy clouds that still drop rain on the already sodden city. It's bleak and uninviting and it provides only a modicum of light through the shadows of the buildings, offering the ranger all the stealth he's ever needed. Aragorn is on patrol. To find what, he isn't sure, but he's been told of ominous tales and his world is intrinsically linked to this one now, his home's safety as well as his own. It's what's convinced him to join their cause without much of a fight, because their realms share the same fate and there's a promise he has to keep, allegiances given and friendship protected. Even if they aren't here with him to be watched over.

He's done this from afar already. Frodo's left his side long ago and at times he wonders whether he really should just have followed—or perhaps forced his hand and make him stay. It isn't guilt he feels, but it's fright, a deep-seated fear to have failed him, and his presence on this island challenges everything he's always thought to be true. It's difficult, but he manages—he always has—and there's someone else here that he can look out for, among the many he'll join for the battles to come. Another Baggins, much younger than he remembers but still very much the same, and it's his tiny form that his eye catches from a distance, hard to miss in spite of its small stature.

Hard to miss when it suddenly vanishes from his sight.

Pure, unadulterated shock nearly has him tumbling back as a peal of thunder shakes the ground beneath him. His long, driven strides come to an abrupt halt and he stares flabbergasted, peering through the shadows in search of what he fears. Bilbo Baggins has evaporated into thin air and his wild, beating heart knows what his mind has trouble acknowledging. The Ring. Here, in these foreign lands. He can't be certain of the extent of the danger it represents here, and he isn't willing to find out. Not now.]

Bilbo! [He calls out to him, straight to the point and without reverence. There's concern in his voice, stern and unyielding, and he walks towards the spot he's seen him last, pivoting to scan his surroundings.] Show yourself! [Take it off, Bilbo. your manly protector is worried and isn't above potato-sacking you]

Comments

but bilbo doesn't want to show off his ttly awesome ring of destruction

[experting]

[ It is unwise to be out walking alone. Here. Well, he thinks, at least. There's too many pockets in his understanding, and again, he's reminded of how he'd run out his door with only a detail or two of what lied before him. Perhaps it's in his nature to get wrapped up in business a hobbit, a Baggins has no, well, business getting involved in; there's not enough Took blood in him to outweigh his lack of skill and knowledge, and for that, he's stuck wondering why he's been chosen to be amongst the ranks of the far better suited. The sword at his side is little more than an overdressed, belt decoration; the only sword something he knows how to wield is a butter knife and that fine silver if more blunt, than sharp. Of course, he'd managed to survive one quest long enough to be dragged into this one, but he is not vain enough to believe it's been his own doing. He isn't a hero. He isn't a warrior. He isn't even a burglar. Luck is his greatest weapon, and something so fickle and fleeting promises to desert him at the worst possible moment.

He's hoping this isn't that moment though.

There's still little reason for him to be out here. Fourteen reasons, perhaps, but the hope of bumping into an assortment of dwarves and one, frustratingly missed wizard is far too dwindling for him to believe it'll truly happen. He should turn back around and return to his new residence, and maybe he would have if the ominous creak of the floorboards and a wisp of something unnatural hadn't caught in the corner of his eye. Haunted they'd said, as though it is of little concern, but for Bilbo who still isn't used to the world beyond a cozy hearth and quiet sensibility, fleeing for a much earlier morning walk had seemed like the only available option. So here he is, walking down a barely beaten path and weaving around weeds and dead undergrowth, all the while wondering if trading a hammering heart for chilled, damp skin has been worth it.

Sighing, he rounds the corner of a too tall building and pauses as his gaze falls upon a small group of loitering men. They pay him little mind beyond glancing his way and scoffing something brief and dismissive, but Bilbo diverts and shuffles his feet to go another way; he isn't afraid of taller folk even if his experience with the bigger races is rather insignificant, but being so small in comparison and lost in a world not his own, Bilbo has taken to being alone. That first day in the courtyard, ha, he'd spent more time trying to get out of the way of others and not being bumped again by those too blind and rushed from the rain to see him, than he had in accomplishing anything of importance. He knows he's short, however, he's never thought himself small; it's as though he'd been, well, invisible and no, he is quite certain a particular piece of jewelry had been in his pocket.

And it's right then, as his thoughts drift that his hand does as well, as though absentmindedly drawn by something beyond simple wondering.

Fingers pat and dip, curling to find the gold band, and then he pulls it out to get a look. He hasn't tried it again since that first time. Logic tells him it couldn't be a fluke occurrence and that, yes, the same magic should endure to the next time he needs it, but something itches in the back of his mind and curiously, he eyes the gleam of gold, thinking that, perhaps, he should try once more, just to ensure the trick works in his new surroundings. There's no one around afterall. No one to see, no one to bother, or to question, and it's with that thought that his inquisitiveness wins out and he tips the band around a finger. Cool metal slips down and it's then that an already grey, muddled world becomes greyer, what little color draining out in favor of a disorientated fog. He twists his lips and wrinkles his nose in mild distaste, momentarily unused to the change and trying to remember how he weathered it last time; however, he hasn't traveled more than a handful of steps before there's noise behind him. His head snaps up and glances over his shoulder at the call of his name and...—

Aragorn?

A chance meeting that can once again be attributed to his luck had assured him an ally from his own world, but while he's found Aragorn to be friendly and welcoming and a number of other kind things he doesn't have the time to list right now, there's a feeling that seizes in him at the command to show himself. Light on his feet, he weaves away some, just to maintain space between himself and the man; once again, logic tells him that Aragorn has seen him inexplicably disappear, if the tightly strung concern in his voice means anything, so slipping off his ring now to reappear will not damage anything, however…

He slips away instead. He can't leave, but he can wind around a barren tree thankfully close, take a breath and pull off the ring before his hesitance can win out. He presses the ring back into his pocket, knowing he can't outwit the man without an explanation, but hoping to shy away from revealing his trinket; with that, he pops his head around the tree and presses his hands to the trunk, swallowing down his unease to supply a slightly strained— ] … Ah. Yes? Here I— [ A nervous clearing of his throat. ] —… am.

GOOD. KEEP IT IN YO POCKET 8|

[instride]

[And here he is indeed. The ranger turns on his heels at the sound of Bilbo's voice, hesitant and tentative, jolting him from the myriad thoughts plaguing his mind. He can't be fooled. He wishes it was a simple mistake, but the glint in the hobbit's eyes speaks a truth that cannot be denied. The knot in his stomach twists tight as the fear he's tried to dismiss returns with cutting sharpness, causing a deep frown to crease his face. As aware of its power as Frodo once seemed to be, Bilbo doesn't seem to share the same knowledge. He's caught off-guard, surely, yet he remains unafraid, as if merely playing with a toy. Harmless. Safe. And Aragorn knows that it's torn too many candid souls to be as innocuous as it looks.

He reaches the hobbit in quick, silent strides, the scowl on his face filled with concern. There's clear disapproval in his gaze, and it falls to Bilbo's hip with a kind of distant fear he doesn't dare acknowledge.]

I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely... [His lips curl, a tight frown; he's said this before. The sense of déjà-vu that fills him in that moment leaves him agitated, and he promptly looks around to ensure that nobody else has caught a glimpse of what he did. He looms over Bilbo, a protective shield. There's nothing but rough stone structures around them, and if they once gave a certain degree of comfort, the turmoil of the past recent years have clearly reduced them to nothing more than what they seem; broken shelters. This could be Middle-Earth in exact similitude and he swallows back the uneasiness in his throat, glancing back down to his little friend.] I know what lies in your pocket. [Because there really is no point in delaying the truth. Aragorn may not fully understand how past and present and future have somehow mingled in a different universe, but the evil laced around the golden trinket has subsisted throughout the ages and this he knows all too well, unwilling to allow further damage.

He gives a quiet sigh, lips pressed tight around softened edges.] I've seen it before, heavy around the neck of your kin. Leave it be, lest it draws unwanted attention upon us.

BUT HE WANTS TO WEAR IT TOO :C and rofl i need to read the booook

[experting]

[ He hasn't been in possession of the ring more than a few days, so perhaps it makes sense that he's yet to come to a conclusion on it. As a hobbit who has been safely tucked away in the Shire, things of magic and mystery have only been in the books stuffed away in his study; up until some weeks ago, the thought of glowing swords, enchanted rings and stubborn wizards have been silly thoughts he might have entertained on an evening after stuffing himself too full and smoking too generously. So he doesn't understand. He's new and fresh and entirely unprepared, so a ring of invisibility has only ever been seen for its usefulness, no for its potential consequences. Why would there be strings attached to something meant to... aid the bearer?

He trusts Aragorn, more than he really ought to with so little discussed between them, but that's always been a problem with sheltered folk; a kind smile, gentle eyes and a reassurance of a shared world is all it has taken to draw Bilbo in, his inexperience truly showing in his inability to stay strong and make Aragorn earn his trust, and so, there's a large, generous part of himself that wants to follow direction. But then there's the small, thread of doubt that whispers in the back of his mind, the kind that should be too insignificant to make a difference, yet somehow does. How can he know what's in his pocket? How could something so well known, so unique, so... precious be lost in the depths of a mountain? The one who'd lost the very thing couldn't even answer the supposed riddle and yet this man can already guess?

Perhaps he's mistaken.

He wants him to be. The ring is handy and he thinks, maybe, that it is what he needs to survive this quest, as well as the original, and so, inwardly he scrambles, wanting to protect what is undeniably his now. His fingers flex, blunt nails pressing into the bark for a brief moment before falling away as he steps out from behind the tree and there, he frowns in his hesitance, mouth opening once, shutting and then trying once more for a— ] … No, that cannot be right. [ There's still too much of the gentlehobbit from the Shire in him and so his building courage is far too fragile for him to remain brave; instead, he glances down and resorts to his fiddling to smooth out the damp, splotchy fabric of his once nice coat. ] I found… [ A swallow, a glance up and then down. ] … it deep within the Misty Mountains. One hobbit should never have been there, but two… [ Because how else would the ring have gotten there? That creature has surely never been to the Shire, so how has he seen this ring – which he has not seen here – around the neck of another hobbit? ] … entirely unlikely.