We're Off

                                    

                                          
The next morning, before dawn even arose, Firiel was packed and ready to go. She had risen extra early to take a bath (since she figured bathing would not be a regular event on this trip). She had grabbed what remained of the pantry's fruits and vegetables, the old blue blanket from out of the wardrobe, and pouches of all the dried herbs she thought she might need on their trip. Dried ginger root and ginseng from the South; goldenseal, feverfew and valerian root from the Old Forest outside of Bucklebury. Next was chamomile, milk thistle, garlic, lavender and sage from the Bag-End garden, grown by Bilbo long before Firiel had come along and dried them. Any other dry cooking herbs she could grab, she did as well. You never know. All were packed in bottles, tucked neatly in a cowhide pouch, to protect them from whatever elements the company may encounter.
Her travelling clothes that she had arrived at Bag-End in would be the ones she wore as she left. Clothes borrowed from her younger brother, but safe for travel. A forest green pair of trousers, not fitted to her shapely form, but that would be a blessing. One of Meriam's white tunics, again too large for her, was next, and she tucked the ends into the trousers. An oak-coloured leather vest, for pockets and protection, was the final piece. It was Firiel's own, and pulled things in too tightly to ever have her passing for a man, so much it would have served better to be called a waistcoat. They were probably not the most practical clothes for adventuring, but, as the child of merchants, this was the best Firiel was going to get. She briefly wondered if she should borrow an extra pair of Bilbo's trousers, but they doubtlessly would not fit over her hips. After tying her hair into a rather simple three-piece braid, and wrapping her deep brown cloak over her shoulder, she was ready to go.
Heading towards the door, she briefly turned for one last glance at her room. It looked the same as it did every morning, although this time she hadn't made the bed. It would give uncle something to fuss over when he awoke, and keep him busy so that he would hopefully not dwell on his loneliness. She smiled once more at grandmother's old rocking chair before she gently shut the door.
As she wandered into the living room, holding her faded green bag and stuffing a blank notebook and graphite inside of it, she saw that the dwarves were already up and mostly packed. Thorin spied her first and eyed her attire, snorting a small yet degrading chuckle.
This was going to be a very long trip.
"Good morning, my dear," Balin smiled at her in the early morning, having taken off towards her with a new contract in his hands, "Here's your contract. Same as your uncle's. Just give us your family contact, and sign right down here."
Firiel took the piece of paper from him with a nod, turning towards the ink and quill on the desk to write out all the information, though found herself puzzling at the family contact. Surely that family contact should be her mother and father, right? She ruminated over it for a moment, and then decided against it. She instead put down the words, " Mr. Bilbo Baggins. You know where to find him ." She signed her name on the dotted line, and stood straight, turning and handing it back to Balin. She watched a small smile grace his aged features before he nodded in satisfaction, folding it up and placing it in his red leather satchel. 
"Welcome to the team," he told her quietly, before turning to head out with the others.
Firiel gazed around briefly at the mess they were leaving, then her uncle's slightly cracked bedroom door. She noticed that one of the dwarves had left a candle lit, and quickly blew it out before heading off behind her new companions.
"Are we all set to go?" she heard Thorin ask from the front of the pack.
Firiel, Gandalf, and the dwarves had all just taken a rather long hike out to the Brandywine Woods, where they had found fifteen ponies and a single horse awaiting them. Strange it was, that an intended party of fifteen required sixteen steeds. Firiel thought very little of it, of course, and had allowed old Balin to take her to one of the little ponies that was right next to his own. It was the only one amongst them that was lighter in colour; a little white Shetland with a rather lovely disposition. That didn't really sate her nerves though, due to the simple fact that she had never ridden such a beast before in her life. That pony dream she had been having seemed equal parts a reality and even more far fetched than she had previously imagined.