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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.

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Author’s Note – You guys are so awesome. The feedback for the last chapter was incredible; you made me smile so much. I hope you know how much I really value and appreciate all of you!

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

Chapter Four – History

Thorin called for the company to stop after reaching the boundaries of the Shire. It was still early afternoon, but he knew the ponies had been driven at a hard pace and would need rest. As he unsaddled his own pony and groomed him, he could see Miss Baggins doing the same for her own mount. Her experience with traveling was a relief to him; the company would not have to spend time teaching her how to set up and strike camp.

It didn’t take all of them long to get their campsite set up, and the wizard nodded at Thorin. He knew answers were needed, but Gandalf had a concern of his own to address before he could give the dwarf lord the explanations he sought.

“She’s got too much pent up energy and bottled emotion; it will affect her ability to rest tonight if not taken care of,” he said quietly to the dwarf lord when the other approached the ancient man. “Let me see if I can’t get her to calm down before I explain her history.”

The dwarf nodded, watching as Tharkûn meandered towards the hobbit lass. A few moments later, both of them were standing in a small cleared area out of the reach of the bedrolls that had been put out.

What happened next was a thing of beauty, and all of the dwarrow were watching as the hobbit and Istar sparred together while using their staffs. Hawthorn was graceful, moving fluidly through simple turns and dodging the hits that might have connected had she not been as swift as she was.

“I’d feel better if the lass had something other than a staff to protect her,” Dwalin muttered. “That being said, she’s pretty damned amazing with that thing. The form she uses isn’t fancy, but it definitely ensures she’s not got any openings to be used against her.”

“It looks like Tharkûn might have taught her,” Thorin replied, seeing certain movements the two used often. “If he did, he did a very good job.”

The hobbit lass was significantly calmer once the spar had ended, and the burly dwarf the leader of Durin’s Folk called friend spoke up.

“Well done, lass, but the problem with staffs are they can break easily,” he pointed out.

“Not this one, Master Dwalin,” she said, giving him a tiny smile. It was the first they had seen from her since the confrontation at the Proudfoot smial. “This staff was created in a way that is remembered only by one elf in particular, a survivor of the fall of Gondolin. This staff was the first and last he has created since then.”

“So it won’t break easily then,” the warrior asked, blinking when she handed him the weapon.

“Take a look at it,” Hawthorn said, stepping back so all of the dwarrow could examine the staff in the Dwalin’s hands.

In truth, it was a thing of beauty. The wood had been harvested from the strongest tree in Arda and had been carved with intricate care. Tiny elvish runes were worked alongside the sweeping waves of lines that were almost water like in form. The runes spoke of blessings for health, strength, and protection.

“Is that mithril used in all of the engravings,” Oin asked, turning to the lass.

“It is,” she replied. “The inside of the staff also holds a core of mithril to strengthen it. Once he had finished it, he wove every spell he knew for protection, health, and strength as well as charming it to be unbreakable. During the rare times he accompanies Lord Elrond to the Shire, he has examined it carefully to ensure nothing has worn out.”

“An elegant and very valuable weapon,” Dori commented as the staff was handed back to its owner. “I am glad to see you have something you’ll be able to rely on for the rest of your life.”

“He has spent a great deal of time crafting and maintaining the staff. Because of that, he has become a dear friend of the family,” Hawthorn told them, leaning against the staff.

Gandalf moved towards Thorin, gesturing for him to walk with him while the company was focused on the hobbit. The two hadn’t gone far, within earshot if trouble arose, when the wizard broke his silence to share something that hadn’t been spoken of for years.

“Hawthorn’s parents were considered to be an unusual if unlucky pairing,” the Istar began. “Bungo was the scholar, quiet, gentle, and generous to a fault. Belladonna was the adventurous type; she was forever leaving the Shire after she left her tween years to explore and see what was out there. She traveled with me quite a few times and befriended Lord Elrond and his family.

“She was in her late forties when Bungo finally managed to convince her of just how much he adored her. He built a home for her as a wedding gift, and she accepted his suit. It surprised everyone because they were so opposite in personality and beliefs, and yet they were incredibly happy together.”

His voice trailed off for a moment as he spoke about a subject that had been very painful to him.

“Most hobbits called them unlucky because they believed Belladonna’s unnatural wildness had affected her ability to have children. Hobbits are, by nature, a very fertile bunch and she had only the one child, Hawthorn. To outsiders, it was not a good sign and they kept a wary eye on the fauntling as she grew, waiting for her to show signs of her mother’s unnatural behaviors or worse.

“That dear girl is a mix of the best qualities of her parents and has very few of their bad ones,” Gandalf said. “She adored reading and learning, much to Bungo’s delight, and she also enjoyed having adventures with her mother. Bungo was proud of that, and he allowed Belladonna to encourage it while he supplied every book and learning tool he could get his hands on to help his daughter grow in knowledge. While she was a fauntling, Hawthorn was always smiling bright enough to challenge the sun’s radiance and singing sweetly to any tune she heard or made up.”

Thorin listened, trying to picture the family the wizard was speaking of. Hawthorn’s smiles were always shy and restrained, and he couldn’t seem to picture the sunny disposition that Gandalf had said she’d once had.

“She was their princess, and she adored them in return,” the wizard said, voice soft. “I was lucky to be included in that little family circle. Hawthorn learned what the elves called me when she was five and decided to use that as her special name for me since I’m known as Gandalf here.

“It was on her first real adventure with her mother and me when the sunshine left her, and the three of us were left longing to see it blossom inside of her once again.”

The dwarf lord waited, hearing the pain in the older man’s voice. He wanted to know what it was that made this one hobbit to be considered so repugnant by her people when the lass had shown nothing but gracious kindness towards them.

“We had planned to go to Rivendell so Hawthorn could practice her Sindarin and return some books I had picked up for her,” he said. “Bungo insisted she go because this would be beneficial to her education, and we had it planned out as perfectly as we could. She was twenty two then, just barely into her tweens, and so excited about her first trip out of the Shire. It was going well until we were attacked by a group of orcs.”

Thorin winced, just knowing what those foul creatures would try to do to a young child, but said nothing to allow the other to continue with the tale.

“Belladonna and I managed to fight most of them off, but one managed to get by us. Hawthorn used a frying pan to keep him away, but something went wrong and she was off balance by the edge of a small overhang. Before either of us could reach her, she and her opponent went flying off the edge.

“She barely managed to survive the fall and attack, and my magic only can do so much when it comes to healing. We made it to Rivendell, and Lord Elrond worked with his healers for hours to try to save her life. Hawthorn did regain strength, but her life was affected by the fall in many ways. We had to stay through the winter with the elves and left only when she could walk without too much pain.”

“What injuries would cause them to shun her as they have?”

“That I cannot answer as it is her place to speak of it and not mine,” the wizard said. “She does have the occasional flare up for pain in the areas that were injured; the staff was created for her so she’d have both weapon and help walking when the need arises. Lord Elrond ensures she has the herbs she needs to manage the pain when it becomes too much for her.

“Word of her fall reached the Shire, and she was shunned from all parties and activities most tweens are encouraged to attend. The isolation reached the point that when her parents died, her father’s family refused to follow his Will and evicted his daughter from the only home she’d ever known. Bungo was a hobbit of considerable means, and all she was allowed to take with her were the items her mother brought into the marriage as well as anything bought after the wedding. She was not given a single coin that she should have inherited from her father. Fortunately, Hawthorn was kept from being homeless by her grandfather, but she’s had to work hard to keep herself fed.”

Gandalf was quiet for several long minutes, looking blankly at the path before them. The dwarf beside him said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“Had I known of her situation, I would have taken her to Rivendell to get her away from all of the torment but I had lost a friend and needed time away. I should have been here and will always regret what my actions have allowed. At least now, I have the opportunity to remedy that once this quest is completed.”

“She does not mean to return to the Shire,” Thorin asked, realizing that this girl was set to give up what little she had to help them.

“No, she has no intention of returning to the land of her birth. A letter was sent to Lord Elrond, and he’ll see to it her belongings are packed and brought to him to store until she finds a safe place to make her home. I mean to see to it she has everything she needs to be happy,” the wizard replied. “I want to hear her sing again as well as see a true smile. She has yet to do so in my presence.”

The dwarf lord was silent for a short while, pondering over what he’d been told. The fact she had lost so much and given up the rest before going on a quest that most would deem insane humbled him somewhat. She’d proven herself to be generous and welcoming the night before by performing the hobbit welcoming ritual, and now he was learning more about the puzzle that was Hawthorn Baggins. The heir of Durin was gradually finding himself interested in solving the puzzle.

“Regardless of whether or not we succeed in retaking Erebor, we will help Miss Baggins find her new home,” the dwarf said, looking up at the wizard.

“Thank you, Thorin. The help would greatly be appreciated,” Gandalf replied.

The pair said nothing as they made their way back to the camp, and the wizard laughed when he spotted several of the dwarves staring at the hobbit in shock. The others were sporting grins, staring at the crudely drawn target that had been placed on a tree.

“I see you had Hawthorn demonstrate her prowess at throwing things,” the wizard laughed.

Thorin checked the target, recognizing Nori’s knives and realizing all of them had hit the target dead center. It seemed that they would certainly have to get her better equipped because she had an excellent eye and aim.

“We’ll have to check the armory when we reach Rivendell and see if they have balanced knives that fit her hands,” the future king told the wizard. “If not, perhaps I can see what can be done to properly equip her. Best to ensure she’s as armed as possible for this journey.”

“Agreed,” Gandalf said, taking a seat on a log and watching as Hawthorn helped pull the weapons out before returning them to their owner.

The lass sat on a log, digging into a pocket to pull out the small box she kept there. A tiny vial was removed, and she took the contents before returning the empty vial back into the box.

“All right, Hawthorn,” the wizard asked as she put the box into her pocket again.

“Just hurting some, Mithrandir,” the lass answered back. “I’ll be all right. It’s been a long while since I’ve been on the back of a pony, and I’m starting to feel it now. I thought it would be best to nip it in the bud before it could bloom into worse.”

He nodded, watching her put her coat away on her pack. The lass had set her bedroll up near his, and he was pleased to see it. For the moment, the immortal being knew he was the closest thing she had to family here and would be pleased to step into that role for her.

Dinner was soon served, and Hawthorn was quick to praise Bombur on the meal he’d created for the company. The dwarf gave her a pleased smile, thanking her for both her kind words and the supplies she’d donated. The herbs would go a long way to ensuring they had good meals during their quest, and she simply smiled at him

“Better to be of use than rotting in my cupboards,” she told him, finishing the rabbit and potatoes he’d made.

Kili came by, taking her water skin and plate since he had duties to handle both, and after a short time, he returned her items to her. She thanked him, putting them up before taking her seat back on the log.

Ori blinked when he spotted what she held in her hands and was quick to pull out his own knitting needles to keep his hands busy. She gave him a small smile, glad to see that she wasn’t the only one who had brought busywork with her for the evenings.

Bofur was the one who started telling tales, making the company laugh at the silliness of some of them. Bifur shared a tale as well, and Gandalf quietly translated for the hobbit so she could experience the tale of an adventurous dwarf who had fallen in love. The story was upbeat and funny but also sweet, and Hawthorn gave a shy smile as she listened.

“What about you, Miss Baggins,” Kili asked after Bifur was finished. “Do you have any tales that your people share?”

“Not like what you have or the stories the other races have,” Hawthorn answered, not pausing her work as she did so. “There’s a tale of one of my ancestors that’s spoken of mostly to frighten fauntlings out of having any interest in adventures as well as one story your people should know rather well.”

“The Courtship of Yavanna and Mahal,” Balin asked, eyes gleaming as he did so.

“Yes, though we have it from Her point of view,” she told him, blinking when Fili asked another question.

“What’s this story about your ancestor,” the blond dwarf queried, sounding very interested.

“The story is about one of my great uncles, Bandobras Took,” Hawthorn began. “His brother was my mother’s great grandfather if that helps establish family link here. Now, Uncle Bandobras was known for many things. To date, there has not been a hobbit to reach his height. He was large enough to ride a horse, not a pony.”

The dwarves blinked, murmuring in surprise while Gandalf chuckled and settled himself to listen to the tale that he’d shared with the lass when she’d been young.

“Uncle Bandobras was given the nickname the Bullroarer when he was younger, and he was one of the bravest Tooks to come from that line of the family. He had a chance to prove it too.

“The Shire had not had any serious issues for well over eleven hundred years after our people came to dwell there. Our borders are protected due to the kindness of the Dúnedain as they continue to follow the commands issued by the king of Arnor before the kingdom fell,” Hawthorn said, keeping her gaze on her work and not realizing she had every dwarf listening to her.

“In the year 2740, in the Third Age, a group of orcs from the Misty Mountains decided to invade Eriador. The Rangers of the North fought against them for seven years to keep the invading force away from the Shire, but one group managed to slip through.

“This particular group was led by their king, Golfimbul, who was said to be particularly nasty and dangerous,” she continued. “They entered the Shire through the Northfarthing, not caring about who they hurt or what damage they dealt.

“For a while, no one was sure what to do but my uncle, who was living in Long Cleeve, quickly put together a group of hobbits who were willing to fight to keep their homes safe. They crossed the river Norbourn and attacked the band of orcs. Uncle Bandobras led the charge, going straight for the orc king. With one swing of his club, he knocked the foul creature’s head off. It went flying for a hundred yards before landing in a rabbit hole.

“Dismayed and disorganized with the loss of their leader, the orcs fled and have not returned to the Shire since. The battle became known as the Battle of Greenfields.”

There was a long silence before Dwalin asked the question that was in nearly everyone’s mind.

“That isn’t made up, is it?”

“Oh no, not at all. In fact, I believe Mithrandir may have known Bullroarer,” she answered, counting several stitches before looking up. “I have a portrait of him in my home too. The picture of the hobbit with a club and a half-pint?”

“I saw the portrait,” Ori replied, knitting in his lap. “That was an amazing story, Miss Baggins. When people mention halflings, most of us think that no one ever fought.”

Hawthorn winced at the term, not liking it.

“Just to keep things on a light note from now on, please refrain from addressing hobbits as halflings. Though you mean it because we’re half the size of most of the races, save yours, it means something different to hobbits and is quite hurtful,” she said, glad that it hadn’t been applied towards her by the company.

“It will not be used again, Miss Baggins,” Thorin assured her from his place across the fire. “Though I need to ask, orcs and goblins are known to have long memories so will you be in danger if we should encounter any while on this journey?”

“They hold no love for hobbits,” Hawthorn answered, remembering the encounter that had changed her life. “We do not have any family markings so they view hobbits as something to despise and typically will attack without cause if they find one of us out of the Shire.”

“Then we must be doubly cautious,” the dwarf lord said to his men, who nodded and continued on telling tales until it was time to rest.

The lass set her knitting away, climbing under one of the knit blankets and laying on the others as well as the bedroll and liner. She sighed, getting comfortable and feeling safe as she heard the sounds of the company moving around.

All in all, Hawthorn was glad she’d come.

Author’s End Note - Ok, so the genealogy lined out to where Belladonna was the great granddaughter to the brother of Bullroarer or so the site said. I hope it’s right; if it isn’t, I apologize. I hope you all enjoyed this. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter! ~ Laran
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Mending the Broken Pieces