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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 – The response to this new story has been phenomenal, and I am so happy that it’s been so accepted as it has been. A lot of you are trying to guess as to what has harmed Hawthorn, but I won’t have too many answers for you yet! Enjoy this chapter!

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

Chapter Two – A Warm Welcome

The day passed pleasantly enough, and it was nearly sunset when the company finally arrived. Gandalf answered the door as Hawthorn had gone to take something for pain. She hadn’t wanted to show weakness in front of her guests, and he’d insisted that she take her herbal mixture before the dwarves arrived.

“Tharkûn,” the leader of the company greeted, taking a step into the small home. He paused when the wizard nodded his head, holding his hand up to stop them from entering further. The dwarf’s next words were halted when a hobbit lass came into the entry way, handing a small tray to the man.

“Thorin, I would present our hostess for the evening and the fourteenth member of your company, Hawthorn Baggins. Miss Baggins, this is Thorin II Oakenshield, crown prince of Erebor and king-in-exile of Durin’s Folk,” he greeted.

“Miss Baggins,” the dwarf greeted, giving her a small bow and blinking as she spoke in a strange language once she rose from her own curtsy. The words reminded him of spring, warm and full of dark earth, but it was a language he didn’t recognize.

The wizard, still holding the tray, bent his head while translating the language to the dwarves standing in the doorway. He had been honored when she’d asked him several hours ago to participate in the ritual and hoped this would help ease any tensions that might be lingering due to Erebor’s future king’s resentment to having an outsider join the company.

“You are welcome, Children of the Stone Father, to the home of this humble daughter of Yavanna, His beloved wife. I greet you as members of my family, welcome you as kin to my hearth so that you may take your ease and find shelter from turmoil,” he translated, watching as she lifted a cup of tea from the tray he was holding for her and handed it to the leader of the company.

At Gandalf’s nod, Thorin took the cup and sipped from it, tasting the lightly sweetened tea that was brewed from mint and chamomile. It was at the perfect temperature, and he felt something loosen around his heart. He had no idea that hobbits had their own ways of greeting honored guests, and he felt better knowing that his people would be welcome here by this lass.

She took the mug from him, laying it on the carved wooden tray before speaking again. Gandalf dutifully translated, sounding humble and quiet as he shared her words.

“As our Green Lady has blessed us so shall I share the blessings amongst our kin,” Hawthorn began once more. “You are welcome to my table to eat your fill, enjoying the bounties the wife of your Father has given to Her children. From the moment you step within this humble smial, all I have is yours to share.”

She picked up a small loaf of bread, handing it to Thorin. He took a bite, enjoying the soft texture of it as well as the lightly spiced honey glaze that flavored it. It was all he could do not to make a noise of pleasure as the spices exploded across his tongue, highlighted by the honey.

“I, Hawthorn Baggins, do welcome the sons of the husband of my mother, Lady Yavanna. Enter and be at peace.”

As Gandalf translated the final words, the lass sank into another curtsy. The dwarf lord was absolutely shocked by the ritual she’d just performed, touched beyond belief, but he managed to pull himself together. Thorin had not seen any ritual welcoming since before the mountain fell, and the dwarven response sprang to his lips despite how long it had been since he’d last performed it.

His eyes met hers as he began the ritual response, knowing Tharkûn would translate.

“Daughter of the wife of our Father, I thank you for the welcome of peace and your generosity. May the Stone Father bless you for opening your home to us, welcoming us to your hearth and table. We shall honor your gifts of welcome. Our blades will ever protect and shield you; our strength will ever be at your disposal. You have honored us and so shall we honor you,” he said, reaching for something he kept with him even though he had never used it.

Hawthorn sank into a curtsy again, eyes huge at the beautifully wrought dagger the dwarf had laid in her hands. The sheath was steel but was inlayed with what looked to be enameled panels. The top and very tip of it were dotted with beautiful sapphires. There was an inscription on the enameled areas, but it was in runes that she did not know how to read. The hilt of the dagger was wrapped in leather and gold wire, and the pommel had a sapphire as well.

“I am honored, Master Oakenshield, and will be glad to ensure that we are forever held close by the bonds forged tonight,” she said, rising from her curtsy.

“As will I, Miss Baggins,” he said, deep voice gentle and full of respect. The ritual gift giving was something he’d not done in a very long time, and the sight of her appreciating the dagger was also deepening his slowly growing regard. She was treating it with admiration and giving it the deference it was due.

“Please, come inside. All I ask is that you leave the boots by the door please. My home is yours so please come inside, make yourselves comfortable and be at ease,” she said, giving all of them a soft smile before heading to the kitchen to check on a few things.

“I have not been welcomed in such a formal manner in decades,” Thorin said once she was gone, unlacing his boots and pulling them off.

“Hawthorn is a good lass with a pure heart,” Gandalf said. “When I told her of the quest and the reasons you have for going against the dragon, her first words to me were that she had wished her grandfather had known of the situation your people had suffered when settling in Ered Luin.”

“Her grandfather? Why would she state such a thing,” the dwarf lord asked, hanging his coat up and setting both his pack and weapons in a small alcove near the door.

“Her mother was Belladonna Took, eldest daughter of Gerontius Took, who was Thain of the Shire when Durin’s Folk settled in Ered Luin,” he told him. “He would have sent food and supplies to aid your people, and Hawthorn was unhappy with the knowledge of her people having so much and their siblings through the hobbit’s creator not having enough.”

That surprised the entire company, and all of them paused in putting their things away. Thorin’s voice was rough as he questioned the wizard’s words.

“She believes he would have sent us aid?”

“She does because she was aware of the generosity that made her grandfather such a wonderful hobbit,” Gandalf said in response. “He was the one who gave her sanctuary after her parents died. I had the honor of calling him friend, and I can say this with absolute certainty. Had Gerontius Took known of the situation your people were in, he would have insisted on you taking supplies and aid from him.”

Seeing the look on the dwarf lord’s face, the Istar went on to ease the other’s pain and worry.

“She’s also aware of the reason why you are slow to trust outsiders, Thorin, and I dare say you are taking your rest in the home of the one hobbit in the Shire who can understand your reasons more than the other inhabitants of this peaceful land will.”

“This is not a safe trek for anyone, Tharkûn, and while our own women are used to such hardships, she will find it difficult to be away from her comforts,” the head of Durin’s Folk commented.

“I will not betray her trust, Thorin, but Hawthorn has not had an easy life since before her parents died. You will see the signs of it during your stay here tonight,” he said softly. “Now, it’s time to shelve the heavier discussions until after the meal. You and your company are in for a treat as our hostess is an excellent cook.”

The dwarves gave a cheerful response to that, following the wizard to the dining room. All of them could see the homey touches, but there was something that confused them a great deal. The smial was small, showing signs of needing repairs in areas, and a lot of the furniture was old and obviously in need of attention. Then there were the occasional signs of wealth in regards to the books in one particular room, the rare piece of furniture that looked old but well crafted, and the dishes that were waiting for them on the table.

Something didn’t quite add up for all of them, and quite a few were very curious as to the disparity in the signs of her status. Her voice showed that she was from a well to do family and given how many books had been left open, obviously in the middle of being read, the lass was certainly well educated.

They were pulled away from their thoughts by the soft sound of humming as the lass came through the end door, platters in her hands, and the company sprang to help. Despite her protests, the group had the food out of the kitchen and onto the table.

The meal was the first one she’d enjoyed in such a long time as she had rarely dined with family, taking her meals alone since the deaths of her parents. The hobbit laughed quietly at the jokes and merry songs that took place, blushing but smiling slightly when a belching contest broke out.

Gandalf spotted the looks of approval passed around when she didn’t protest the normal behavior the dwarves used when enjoying a meal with friends and family. She hadn’t noticed the expressions or the fact that she’d been tested a bit by them, and he knew she’d passed the test.

“Tell me, Miss Baggins, do you know how to defend yourself,” Dwalin asked after Bofur finished a rather obnoxious drinking song.

“I do,” Hawthorn replied. “I’m all right with the use of the quarter staff and fairly good with throwing things. I’d hoped to pick up some throwing knives the next time I was out of the Shire, but the opportunity hasn’t come yet. The knives here are typically either tools or for eating. No balance at all for what I need so I will continue to save my money for when I finally find the right blades.”

“You’ve travelled some then,” Balin asked, looking pleased with her answer.

“I make the occasional journey to Rivendell; Lord Elrond was a friend of my mother, and he insists on my staying for a while whenever I go there to pick up something he makes for me,” she said, looking almost haunted for a long moment. “I have often wanted to go beyond the borders of Imladris and see what else is out there; now I have the chance to do so and will be able to do something to help other people while I make this journey.”

Between her words and the expression on her face, the dwarves said nothing more on the subject and while Hawthorn went to retrieve a few more candles, the company cleaned all of the dishes by working together. Everything was spotless, and she blinked when she realized what they had done when going into the kitchen to retrieve her box of matches she’d left in there by accident.

“Thank you so much,” the hobbit lass said, giving them a soft half-smile.

“You’re welcome, Miss Baggins,” Bombur said as he put the last dish away for her. “After all the work you did to create such an amazing meal, it was the least we could do to clean up.”

“I’m grateful for the help, Master Bombur,” Hawthorn said softly, leading them back into the dining room.

She placed the candles in strategic areas of the dining room, lighting them and setting one near where Thorin and Gandalf were sitting. As she worked, the young woman blinked when she heard the dwarf lord’s report regarding the meeting he’d attended.

“Wait, you mean to say your fellow lords won’t help? They must know of the situation your people face?”

“They are aware of the situation and were still unwilling to aid us. Even my cousin would not agree,” Thorin answered bitterly, then was taken aback by the look of anger on his hostess’s face.

“Even family? Oh, sod it all, what is their problem? Family is supposed to stick together, and the plight of those needing good food and shelter is not one to ignore! Someone needs to give them a good smack for being so selfish!”

It seemed all of them were rather taken aback by the hobbit’s angry words, and it heartened them even if they would never admit it. Gandalf was quick to change the subject by pulling out a map that was familiar to Thorin, and the conversation was turned to the potential secret entrance as well as the key that the dwarf lord took with shaking hands.

“The information to find this door must be inscribed somewhere on this map, but I do not have the skills to find it,” the wizard commented, making the hobbit frown. “There are others in Middle-earth who can do so.”

Hawthorn peeked over the dwarf’s shoulder, looking down at the map. Given her education and means of supporting herself, she knew a lot about maps as well as books that most people would have not known. Something caught her eye, and she bit her lip.

“May I borrow your map for a few moments, Master Oakenshield? I might be able to determine what it is that’s hidden on it and send us to the right expert instead of floundering around, wasting time.”

He handed it back to her, and they all watched as she took it with careful fingers. The hobbit tilted it towards the candle, then frowned as she examined the parchment.

“I need my work lamp for this. These candles aren’t bright enough,” the lass commented, heading towards her study.

The group followed her, standing outside of the study door as the lass blew a strand of hair out of her eyes while holding the map very carefully under the light of a specially designed lamp. Balin, Ori, and Thorin recognized it, realizing the lass was highly educated and was quite possibly a scribe or scholar herself. The lamp was made for scribes in order to have the best lighting with fewer candles.

Hawthorn, not realizing the entire company was outside of her study door, set the map down on her desk and headed to her bookcases. She muttered to herself, too low to hear, as her fingers trailed over the spines of the heavy leather-bound tomes that graced the shelves.

The young scholar pulled a very thick book out, carrying it back to her desk. She didn’t sit, flipping through pages before reading silently. Whatever it was she found had the girl looking at the map again before turning as though to leave the room when she realized the group was standing outside her door.

“Master Oakenshield, do you have an idea on how old this map could be?”

“Several centuries at least,” he replied. “I remember my grandfather having it in his possession, but he never shared any knowledge regarding the creation of it.”

“One last question, do you know if any of the scholars of this time could read the runes written upon it,” Hawthorn asked. “The style seems old, but I have no knowledge of your history and culture.”

“Not many but there are a few,” he commented. “None in this company can fluently do so. The language is archaic, even by our standards.”

“Mithrandir was correct; this map holds the clues to tell us how to find the secret entry into your mountain,” Hawthorn shared, seeing the faces of the others light up with hope. “The problem is that there are only two locations where we can read what has been cleverly hidden. I think the creator of this map wrote the information needed to find the other point of entry into Erebor on the parchment using moon-runes, and there are only two places I know of where we can read them. Caras Galadhon in Lothlórien has a location set up where it can be read as does Imladris.”

“Why would elves be the only ones with the tools and abilities to read these moon-runes,” Gloin asked, feeling unhappy by what she’d shared.

“Moon-runes were created by your people back in the days when dwarves and elves called each other friends and allies. Indeed, some of the books I have seen in Imladris speak of one of the entrances into Moria having inscriptions written in ithildin in both your language and that of the elves,” she told him. “Moria once had the ability to read runes written in ithildin but as that great city is lost to all, we must seek out the elves to determine what these runes say. Unless any of you know of another of the great dwarven strongholds that has the equipment necessary to read the runes and someone who understands the old language?”

“The West-Gate of Moria does indeed have moon-letters written upon the doors,” Balin said quietly. “The dwarves were aided by Celebrimbor, an elf who the children of Mahal called friend.”

“The Doors of Durin,” Thorin replied grimly. “No, that way is lost to us and we will not make that attempt again.”

“Lord Elrond or Lord Celeborn has the ability to read the ancient writings of your people and should be able to tell us when the runes can be read. I wish the use of the moon-runes here was the more common form, but it is not. The more intricate styles, which kept the secrets of the dwarf lords hidden well, require the exact moon and season that the letters were written under.”

“How do you know so much of this, Miss Baggins,” Ori asked, eyes wide as he absorbed the information the hobbit was sharing.

“One of the ways I earn my way in this world is by restoring old books and maps as well as translating them when their owners wish for it,” Hawthorn told the dwarven scribe. “Occasionally, I translate older books for Lord Elrond and have come across the history of the moon-runes. The writing, which uses mithril, leaves an unusual texture to the parchment that can be felt if you’re familiar with it. It also leaves an odd pattern to any parchment or item it’s used on. I was interested in it and decided to research it during one of my times as his guest.”

The dwarf lord was quiet as she put her book away, bringing the map back to him.

“I know you do not trust the elves, Master Oakenshield, but Lord Elrond is not the self-absorbed person the ruler of Mirkwood is. He will not turn away any request for aid you might ask him,” she said, then drew in a slow breath when she read the uncertainty on his face.

“If you do not feel that you can bend to do so, then allow me to ask him. I can approach him as a scholar of older texts that you have hired and ask him about the details of the moon-letters, see if he’d be willing to help me find the secret within,” the lass continued, shocking the company into silence with the depths of her generosity.

“We will leave for Rivendell at first light,” Thorin told her. “As grateful as I am for your generosity, Miss Baggins, I will do what I must to gain the secrets this map holds and will ask him for his aid in reading the runes. Balin, please present her with the contract.”

The scholar pulled the folded parchment out of his pocket, and they watched as the hobbit frowned while reading the terms. She said nothing of how it had been done, and the lass simply removed the stopper from her inkwell before picking up a quill.

The contract Balin was handed had her name written in a beautiful script, and he placed the document in a safe place.

“Welcome, Miss Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

That brought a rowdy cheer from the group, making her smile in shy delight.

“Thank you, Master Balin. The hour grows late, and I’m sure all of you would like to clean up and rest. I have only the one washroom but the tub is large enough to accommodate more than one if you are used to sharing. I’m afraid I don’t have enough spare rooms, there’s only two outside of the man sized one I keep for my visitors and my own room. I do have bedding aired and ready for all of you; they’re on the chest in the hall near the washroom.”

The group dispersed, and Hawthorn sat down at her desk to finish the last bit of the project. Hopefully, she could drop it off tomorrow and collect her payment before they left the Shire. The money might be needed on this journey, and she also disliked leaving a project unfinished.

The singing and chatting of the dwarves soon silenced as they found their beds, and the lass kept working. She had lost herself in her task and had just finished the last sentence when a voice called from her doorway.

“Miss Baggins?”

Hawthorn jumped, turning to spot the silver haired dwarf. He looked as if he’d been asleep and was ready to do so again.

“Is everything all right, Master Dori?”

“I merely went for some water, miss, but why are you awake at this hour? You will not get much rest before Thorin wakes us all to start on our journey,” he asked.

“I had a last task to finish,” the hobbit lass assured him. “It was something I promised to complete soon, and I could not leave it unfinished before I leave the Shire.”

“You should rest, lass,” he said, remembering how many times he’d had to do this with his younger brother.

“I shall,” she promised, blowing out the candles in her lamp. “Rest well, Master Dori.”

“Same to you, Miss Baggins,” he answered, going to the kitchen while she headed to her own bedroom.

Hawthorn was quick to ready herself for her bed and was soon asleep, dreaming of silver letters and deep voices in song.

Author’s End Note - This chapter was interesting to write simply because I enjoy changing things up from the books and movies as well as working on rituals for each culture. It’s intriguing to see what I can come up with, and I have found those scenes to be fun to write. Thank you for reading this chapter, and please let me know what you thought of it. I have links on my profiles to my LJ, tumblr, and yahoo group! ~ Laran
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Mending the Broken Pieces