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Mending the Broken Pieces	By : LadyLaran Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 13613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own "the Hobbit" nor do I make money from this story. Tolkien and Jackson are the ones who own the characters and world.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note – You guys are awesome; I’m just saying that the response to the last chapter has been amazing. Thank you all for coming on this journey and for providing such wonderful feedback. It’s always good to have because it feeds the muses. Enjoy this new installment!

Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” nor do I make any money from this story.

Chapter Fourteen – Questions of Import

Hawthorn roamed the gardens, leaning a little on her staff as she did so. The last few days since her discharge from the halls of healing had been busy. When she wasn’t researching in the library, Mithrandir, Balin, and Fili had her out in one of the sparring arenas to help her learn how to wield her new sword. The two dwarrow worked with her on using it alone while the Istar helped her use it in tandem with her more familiar staff.

It was slow going since she wasn’t used to a single handed weapon, but her teachers were patient and helpful. She was making progress, which made her happy since she knew the extra skills would help keep her friends safe.

The hobbit took a seat on a small bench near a brook, taking the time to relax as she listened to the water and contemplated her thoughts. Something had happened at dinner yesterday, and she was a bit taken aback by it and needed a chance to think about what had happened.

Thorin had walked by her to take his seat, and she had smelled juniper on him. A quick query to Oin had confirmed no one else had smelled it, and she knew what that meant for her. Thorin was her cariad, and she was both thrilled and terrified by the knowledge.

The dwarf was a king and would need a wife who could give him heirs; even if she could have children, she wasn’t sure that his people would accept anyone who was not a dwarf at his side. This could go wrong in so many different ways, and she simply didn’t know what to do. One thing Hawthorn was certain of, she couldn’t speak of it to Thorin until she had found someone to talk to about the situation and obtain advice as to what she should do.

A soft sound drew her from her thoughts, and blue eyes fell upon the sight of a small human child standing by the bench.

“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t meant to disturb you.”

“You didn’t, lad,” she answered, patting the bench beside her. “Come and join me if you would like; we can enjoy the beautiful day together.”

The child smiled, sitting down beside the hobbit.

“Thank you, miss,” he said, making her smile. “My name is Estel, foster son of Lord Elrond.”

“It is nice to meet you, Estel. My name is Hawthorn Baggins, formerly of the Shire. I don’t believe we met on my previous trips here, did we?”

“No, we haven’t, Miss Baggins. I was too young during your last trip, and my brothers kept me out of the way.”

“Well, I am glad to meet you now,” she told him. “I enjoy making new friends.”

“I’m glad to meet you too and make friends. Mine are all older than me, and they don’t always understand,” the boy admitted.

“Oh I think I do,” the hobbit replied. “Elves are immortal, and they sometimes forget that time passes us by in a way different from them. They don’t seem to have issues with solitude, but the rest of us aren’t exactly made that way.”

Judging by the look of relief, Hawthorn had nailed his troubles right on the head. She gave him a gentle smile and patted his hand.

“Well, my dear Estel, I do understand what you mean by this. I adore them as family, and Lord Elrond has been like an uncle to me for many years. So if you’re his foster son, then we are cousins now. I am not one to forget the family of my heart so I’m quite afraid you’re stuck with me.”

The smile he gave her was gorgeous, and she gave him one of her usual small smiles. He really was an adorable child.

“Truly?”

“Really and truly, dear one,” she said. “Besides, we have something in common you and I.”

“What would that be, Miss Baggins,” he asked, eager to hear her explanation to that comment.

“Your name is Sindarin for hope,” the hobbit began. “I think it’s a rather beautiful name; it seems to suit you quite well. Now, hobbits name their fauntlings differently. Boys usually have an -o or -a ending to their names; girls are named for plants and sometimes gemstones.

“Most people don’t know this, but plants have meanings just as names do. Acacia stands for hidden love; bluebells mean gratitude or constancy. Pansies, like the ones next to us, means merriment. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” he answered. “It sounds like a nice way to show what you’re thinking or feeling by using flowers instead of having to speak.”

“Very good,” she praised. “Now, what do you think my name stands for?”

Estel was quiet for a moment before beaming, realizing what it was the two had in common.

“Your name means hope too!”

“It does,” the lass answered. “So we have our names in common; I’d say that’s something pretty special, don’t you?”

“We do,” he told her, grinning so very widely.

The sound of voices calling his name made the lad sigh, and she gently ruffled his hair.

“Go on, we’ll be here for a few weeks,” Hawthorn told him. “I promise to spend some time with you before we have to go.”

“All right, Miss Baggins,” he said, blinking when she held up her hand.

“Being that we’re cousins now, you can call me Cousin Hawthorn if you like,” Hawthorn offered, eyes softening at the hug he gave her. She returned the hug, patting his back before letting go and watching him run off to those who were calling him.

“That was a kind thing you did,” a familiar voice stated, cutting through the quiet that had fallen.

Hawthorn turned to spot her adopted father, Uncle Gloin, Balin, Ori, and Thorin standing behind her. She nodded, answering back quietly.

“He’s lonely, and I can understand that. Truthfully, I believe he’s a good hearted lad and will do well here under Lord Elrond’s care. It can be difficult being different from those around you.”

“You did a good thing,” Oin commented, leaning against the back of the bench. “Now, my lass, there’s a few things we need to discuss with you. Balin, if you’ll start this off?”

The adviser nodded, moving to stand in front of the bench with Ori at his side. The younger dwarf was holding a few items, and he seemed rather excited about something.

“Miss Hawthorn, I had the pleasure of seeing more examples of your work here in Rivendell’s library and saw one that we consider to be a masterwork,” Balin began. “In this generation, I have seen only one other with the talent and dedication you have and he is now a journeyman, gathering notes for his own masterwork.

“This doesn’t happen often, but there are times when a Guild Master finds someone who has talent in his particular craft and discovers that he or she has developed the talent far enough to be considered a master themselves. When it does, the Guild Master will present the works of this person to their king and gain permission for what I am about to do. Hawthorn Baggins, as the Guild Master of the Scriveners’ Guild, I am here to award you the status of master of your craft and would like to invite you to join the guild.”

Hawthorn’s eyes were huge as she replayed Balin’s words in her mind. From the conversations she’d participated in and overheard during the journey here, she knew just how important the guilds were to dwarrow society. To be offered something like this without having had to go through an apprenticeship was a stupendous honor, and she was speechless for a moment.

“I would be honored,” she told him, finally able to get an answer out.

Balin smiled, then gave her a small bow. He was pleased with her answer, knowing Erebor needed scribes of her caliber.

“I will need to have access to your hair, Miss Hawthorn, so I can place the braid in,” he told her, watching as she pulled the heavy hairpins out of her hair.

The tawny colored curls flowed to her waist once her hair was freed from captivity, and the braid Oin had given her was nearly lost amongst the thick tresses.

Balin separated a thick lock on the back of her head, near the right side, and began braiding. He placed one bead in the middle of the braid and used a longer one to tie the plait off once he was done.

“The bead in the middle is to show you are a member of the Scriveners’ Guild, and the bottom one marks your status as a master of your craft,” he told her. “Ori, the book please.”

The journeyman nodded, opening the book to a certain page and then handed her a quill and ink.

“Signing your name here will enlist you into our guild,” the younger dwarf told her. “This is the master’s book; Balin keeps all of the books with him to ensure they’re safe.”

Hawthorn took the quill, signing her name in her best handwriting, and then gave a small smile when she was congratulated by the group around her.

“Thank you for granting me this opportunity,” she told Balin, who smile brightly at her.

“Thank you for accepting it, Miss Hawthorn,” he answered. “Your hard work and talent speak volumes, and I couldn’t let that skill pass us by. Now, Ori and I will be off. We’ll see you at luncheon.”

Once the pair were gone, Gloin and Oin moved to stand on either side of her while Thorin positioned himself in front of the hobbit. Her eyes widened as she took in how the king was dressed; he was in full armor, hair neatly done, and weapons were shining with great care. There was a box in his hands, and she was completely at a loss as to what was going on.

Hawthorn fidgeted with her hairpins before slipping them into her pocket, looking questioningly up at her father. He caught the expression and gave her a reassuring smile, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“My daughter, Thorin, son of Thrain, has come to me and gained my approval to approach you,” he began. “Will you hear his words?”

She swallowed, realizing that she was somehow now caught in some sort of ritual and had no idea how to proceed from here. All she could do was react and hope she was giving the right answers.

“I will hear him,” the lass managed to answer, feeling very caught off guard by all of this.

“Very good,” he told her, resting a hand on her shoulder briefly to show approval and support. “Thorin, son of Thrain, you may speak with my daughter.”

Hawthorn was taken aback when the regal male sank to his knees, placing the box beside him before setting his hands, palms up, on his lap. This was a position she had never expected to see him in, and it was rather unsettling.

“Hawthorn Baggins, daughter of Bungo Baggins and Oin, I come to you today to show you, my One, all that I am. Over my life, I have been son, grandson, brother, uncle, cousin, friend, prince, blacksmith, warrior, and king-in-exile. All of these titles I have worn with pride, but there is one I had given up hope to ever be given – One. After all these years, I had thought I would never find my One and be claimed as her One.

“Mahal and Yavanna have blessed me greatly in granting me a One who is beautiful in both spirit and appearance, giving so much of herself to others even when they are nothing but strangers to her. I am in awe of her strength and compassion, and I will endeavor to spend my days proving myself worthy of her.”

He paused to draw breath, and Hawthorn felt her heart racing as well as the turmoil of emotions causing her stomach to feel as if she’d eaten quite a few living butterflies. She remained quiet as he continued.

“From the moment I first heard you sing, my soul began resonating as if Mahal Himself had struck me with His hammer and I knew that you were the One crafted for me as I have been crafted for you. I now present myself to you in every aspect so you may know who I am and consider all of this as you hear the question I have for you.

“I wish to know you and for you to come to know me,” the dark haired dwarf told her. “Hawthorn Baggins, daughter of Bungo and Oin, will you please allow this dwarf to court you?”

Hawthorn nearly choked several times as she tried to swallow to alleviate the tightness in her throat. She couldn’t believe this was happening, and the disbelief was mingled with terror and happiness.

“Thorin, as a king, you’re expected to marry and have heirs and I can’t give you the children you deserve and will need in order to continue your line,” she said, hearing the muffled sounds of pain from her uncle and father beside her.

“When you shared that part of your past with me, I told you that there are men out there who would see you for who you are and not abandon you because you cannot conceive. I care more for the traits within your heart and soul, and I am more than willing to move forward with you should you accept my offer of courtship. In regards to my duties in providing heirs to the throne, my sister has done so for our family. My line is secure in Fili and Kili; Fili will succeed me once I pass on to the halls of my ancestors.”

“Truly?”

“I swear before Mahal that I speak truly,” he assured her, not taking offense since he knew just how deeply her barrenness troubled her. Thorin could see the tears filling her eyes and somehow knew they were from happiness and relief.

“I accept your courtship,” Hawthorn told him, bringing a smile to his face that made her heart beat faster due to how the radiance of it simply made him look boyishly handsome.

“You will treat the gem of my house properly,” Oin stated, moving the ritual forward. “Have you what you need to gift her the braid of courtship?”

“I do,” Thorin answered.

“Then give her the proof that you are now courting,” the healer instructed, watching as his king rose onto his knees and gently separated out a lock of hair on the left side of her face.

Hawthorn found it difficult to breathe while his face was so close to hers; his blue eyes shone with passion, devotion, and so much life that it made the butterflies in her stomach much more active than they had been earlier. The tightness in her chest and throat didn’t ease once he settled back in his kneeling position.

“Have you a gift for my daughter?”

“I have,” he answered, passing her the box he’d brought with him. “These were forged by my own hands, and I hope they will serve you well and protect you where your family and I cannot.”

The hobbit opened the box, finding a beautiful set of throwing knives as well as the sheaths to hold them safely. Each blade was perfectly balanced with black leather wrapped around the hilt, and she could see a hawthorn blossom etched into the flat pommels.

“These are beautiful,” she told him, smiling at him. “Thank you, Thorin.”

“Thank you for accepting me,” Thorin replied, smiling that boyish smile again that caused the tightness to return.

“And so the courtship begins,” Oin said firmly. “Gloin and I will be your chaperones along with a few others of our choosing.”

“I will ensure to remain within the eye line of the chaperones during the times that Hawthorn grants me the honor of her company,” the king assured the healer.

“See that you do,” the white haired dwarf informed him. “You two may go for a walk with Gloin chaperoning. The courtship will be announced after dinner tonight. Hawthorn, I’ll put your gift in your room. Enjoy your walk, my lass.”

With that, Oin disappeared, leaving Hawthorn with the two dwarrow. She wasn’t quite sure what to say or do and hoped they would be able to guide her with this. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself!

Author’s Note – He asked to court her! I hope everyone liked the little ritual for asking that particular questions. It took me a bit to get it phrased the way I wanted it. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter, and thank you for reading. ~ Laran
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Mending the Broken Pieces