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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 utterly amazing; all of you are so supportive of the story, and the reviews have been such an inspiration. I know I have other projects to write, but this story has been haunting me. I can’t seem to focus on anything but this tale.

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

Chapter Five – Campfire Discussions

The next few days were interesting, and Hawthorn was using the time to get to know her companions while they rode towards Rivendell. All of them were nice in their own way, and she was quick to realize that the grumpy behavior was more of a protective barrier developed after their home had been taken. The lass didn’t take any grumbling personally and tried her best to help keep morale up.

The hardest part of the journey so far was trying to adapt to riding and sleeping on the ground. It had been at least two years since her last trip to Rivendell, and her old injury was protesting the change in routine. Hawthorn had found herself using her tonic more often than normal, and she sighed when she realized she was running low. There was still several weeks of travelling before reaching the elvish home.

The lass asked to borrow Bombur’s kettle, going to fill it up before setting it to boil. All eyes were on her since the evening meal was over, and it was a bit late for tea. Before they could ask her, she went back to the creek and washed out the last few vials.

“Lass, what are you doing,” Oin asked, catching the scent of medicinal herbs as she set up a strainer for her bowl.

“Preparing my tonic, Master Oin,” she answered. “This is a remedy Lord Elrond gave me after I received an injury that flares up.”

Since her head was bowed over the herbs she was pouring hot water over, Hawthorn didn’t see Thorin stop the questions by holding a hand up and shaking his head. He knew that she required this, and he didn’t want her pressured to explain her history until she was ready to do so.

Gandalf gave him a pleased nod, glad someone else was keeping Hawthorn’s well-being in mind.

She filled her vials, stoppering them carefully and putting them away before taking the last dose of medicine. Once done, the hobbit washed and dried what she’d used and gave Bombur back his kettle, thanking him.

“You’re welcome, Miss Hawthorn,” the cook said, using the name the company had agreed on when she had begun protesting the constant use of her family name.

“You know a bit about herbs,” Oin asked, watching as she settled down to mend a tear in Gandalf’s cloak. The lass had noticed it earlier and had fussed at him until the wizard had surrendered the garment to her to be fixed.

“Not medicinally,” Hawthorn replied. “I grow the cooking ones since those are easiest to tend to and dry a good portion of them to use in the winter months.”

She had window gardens for her herbs since she couldn’t work in a normal garden for long and couldn’t afford to pay anyone to do the heavy work for her. It had been heartbreaking as she missed the gardens of Bag End, and it was also a financial burden when it came time to start stocking up for winter. Often times, her aunts would trade jarred vegetables for her dried herbs since the lass had a knack for them.

“Those have been an amazing addition for our meals,” Bombur said, making her give a tiny smile as she worked.

“I’m glad they’re of use,” Hawthorn commented, snipping the thread and handing Gandalf his cloak. “There you are, Mithrandir.”

The Istar smiled, checking it over. The needlework had been tiny and neat, and the tear in the cloak couldn’t be seen at all.

“Beautifully done as always, my dear,” he told her, chuckling when she demanded the scarf around his neck. He handed the item over, smiling as Dori piped up with a question.

“Can you do other kinds of needlework,” the tailor asked curiously. “So far, you’ve knitted or sewn but Ori mentioned you’d discussed other kinds of patterns earlier.”

“Like all hobbit lasses of the Took family, I was taught to sew, knit, crochet, tat, and embroider,” Hawthorn answered, then sighed. “Mithrandir, I will have to make you a new one. I’ve no idea how this one lasted so long. It should have fallen apart the first year you had it.”

“I did try to take care of it,” Gandalf said, laughing at her blush.

“You should’ve had Mother make you a better one after I gave this to you,” she retorted. “The stitches are all crooked, and there’s gaps where there shouldn’t be.”

“You made Mister Gandalf’s scarf,” Ori asked.

“I did; it was my first project, and I made it for him as a present for my birthday,” the lass said, shaking her head. “I was so proud of that thing, but it’s truly dreadful.”

With an embarrassed look on her face, Hawthorn handed the item in question to Ori to take a look at. The scarf was passed around with gentle hands, and all of them examined the item with great care.

“How old were you when you made this,” Nori asked, then blinked when her words finally sank in. “Did you say you gave it to him as a present on your birthday?”

“Hobbits don’t receive presents on their birthdays. I’m not certain when or where the tradition began, but I do know of a story that’s supposed to be the reason why we do such a thing,” she answered, stunning them. “We give them to the guests of our birthday parties. I was ten when I gave that to him. Truly, Mithrandir, will you let me make you a new one please?”

“Only so I can keep this one safe as it is very special to me,” the man told her, making her blush.

“This is well made, Miss Baggins,” Thorin commented, getting up to return Gandalf’s scarf to him. “For a first project at such a young age, this is better than most apprentices can do and the fact you made it for someone you care about makes it even more special. That is possibly why Tharkûn has kept it for so long.”

The dark haired dwarrow was treated to a shy smile, and he nodded in answer to her response.

“Thank you, Master Oakenshield,” she said, then turned her eyes to Gloin when he began to ask a question.

“What is tatting? I don’t think I’ve heard of that particular craft before,” the red haired dwarf asked.

“It’s a type of needlework that makes lace,” Hawthorn replied. “It’s one of the crafts handed down to every daughter of the Took line, and my mother taught me how to do it. One of the traditions of her family is that when the daughter is skilled enough, the mother will buy the best thread available and then sit down with her to draw out the pattern of lace the daughter will make to be preserved in her glory box until the time comes to use it.”

“What is the lace used for? It must be something important if you preserve it away instead of using it immediately,” Dori asked.

“A wedding veil or trimming for the wedding dress if the lass prefers not to use a veil. Some prefer not to have their heads covered by anything save a wedding wreath,” the hobbit replied, pulling her pack towards her so she could go through her yarn.

“Oh, I bet yours must be very lovely,” the tailor commented, looking stunned by her answer when she gave it to him.

“I never finished mine,” Hawthorn said to him, pulling out several small balls of yarn in blues and grays. “I think it’s still sitting in my glory box provided I haven’t thrown it out; I do know I have Mama’s pattern there. That was something I couldn’t bear to lose even if I’ll never use it. I also do some tatting to sell at the markets for money, but I’ve never done any kind of project for myself once I put the veil project away.”

At the warning look from their leader to change the subject, a discussion on crafts was started and they explained to the hobbit how they were chosen. When Gloin mentioned that his son was trying to reach a decision on his own, the lass looked up from the scarf she had gotten started on.

“That must have been difficult to do, Master Gloin, leaving your family behind,” she said.

“I have my brother with me so it helps,” the red haired dwarf replied. “Traditionally, it’s why we travel with family if we can do so because it not only helps with missing our loved ones but also allows us to have someone with us that we trust implicitly in times of need.”

“Are all of you related,” the hobbit asked, looking down occasionally to check her knitting but keeping an eye on the others while she was given her answer.

“The answer to that question can be a bit confusing,” Thorin replied quietly. “Kili and Fili are the sons of my sister, and it took a bit of promising to keep an eye on them before she relented in allowing them to come along.”

“Eye on us, uncle? I seem to recall Mum making us swear to keep an eye on you,” Fili bantered back, ducking the swat from his uncle.

“Balin and Dwalin are brothers as are Gloin and Oin,” the king in exile continued once the company’s laughter died down. “Ori, Nori, and Dori are also brothers. All of them are my cousins. As for Bombur and Bofur, they are brothers and are also cousins to Bifur.”

“Are they related to you,” Hawthorn asked, not looking confused at all.

“No but I hold them equal to the others for answering when I called when my other kinsmen did not,” the blue eyed dwarf replied.

That brought looks of pride on the faces of the Ur brothers, and the lass gave the king another tiny smile.

“So, since we’re on the subject of family, is Gloin the only one married,” she asked, wanting to learn more about her companions.

“Bombur is and has four little ones,” Bofur said with a grin. “As for me, I’ve got my eye on someone but will wait to see how it goes. Bifur is unattached and hasn’t really seemed interested in changing that.”

“Some of us are courting,” Dori said with a kind smile. “Kili and Ori only recently came of age so they haven’t felt the urge to find their One just yet. I imagine that will occur in a few years once they settle into their majority.”

Hawthorne tilted her head at the phrase the silver haired dwarf had used, a bit confused by it.

“What do you mean when you say their One?”

“It’s a belief we have,” Balin explained. “When Mahal created the dwarrow, He sundered the soul into two parts. We spend our lives looking for our One, the one person who will complete us as our Father intended.”

“Like a soulmate,” she asked.

“Indeed, lassie,” he said with a nod. “Do hobbits hold a belief about soulmates?”

“My papa once told me that the Green Lady made it so we fall in love only once and that is only with the one She created for us,” the hobbit replied. “He said there’s always a scent that surrounds the soulmate to help the heart realize our cariad is there; it’s Yavanna’s gift to us so we have confirmation of our destined love. We court and spend time together and if the scent does not appear after a certain time, the courtship is politely ended and both look for prospective partners to try again. There have been instances where the signs of being each other’s cariads took weeks before emerging.

“Sometimes, the scent shows up during parties when dancing with someone or even talking. It’s how my parents knew they were meant to be. It was during the Midsummer Celebration; Mama had asked Papa to dance, and Yavanna showed them they were cariads. Papa always said Mama smelled like wild heather; she told me Papa always carried the scent of cinnamon.”

“That’s a bit different from how dwarrow recognize their Ones,” Dwalin commented.

“How do your people recognize their Ones, if I may ask?”

“We are carved from stone and can be rather thick-headed so our Father ensured we are able to recognize our Ones whenever they sing,” Thorin shared. “Singing comes from the heart and soul so if the one singing is our One, it causes our very being to vibrate like metal being struck by a mallet.”

“It’s a joyous occasion when it happens, but it’s not very comfortable. I thought someone had struck me in the chest when I heard my wife sing for the first time,” Bombur told her. “I managed to pull myself together though and sang in response so she would know we were meant to be.”

“That’s actually a romantic way to discover your soulmate even if it is uncomfortable for you,” Hawthorn said with a tiny smile. “I have no idea how humans or elves determine theirs, if they even have any. Up until now, I just knew about hobbit traditions for confirmation of your soulmate and courting traditions.”

Gloin and Bombur both shared a bit about their own courtships, making the lady with them give another small smile at the romantic tales they shared. Once they finished, she thanked them for sharing them with her, happy to know a little bit more about two of her comrades.

“So what about you, Miss Hawthorn?”

“What about me, Master Kili,” the lass questioned, eyes suddenly going back to the scarf she was working on.

“Is there a lad or lass you’ve been courting or had your eye on,” the young dwarf asked, not seeing her slender form stiffen.

“No, there is not,” she managed to get out, not looking up.

“Lovely lass like yourself, it doesn’t seem right that no one’s trying to win your heart,” the archer commented, making his uncle shake his head and give him a warning look.

“As you no doubt remember, Master Kili, my fellow hobbits are not fond of me and have not been since I entered my tweens,” Hawthorn answered, voice shaking as she continued. “No one has ever shown an interest in of forming any sort of relationship with me once I arrived at the age where it was appropriate to begin searching for a spouse, and I’ve never had an offer for courtship so I could find my cariad. Would you excuse me please?”

The hobbit dropped her handiwork onto her bag before getting up and walking away from the camp so she could get a handle on her emotions. She leaned her arms against a tree, resting her forehead against her arms as she struggled with the inner pain and disappointment. Despite her emotional turmoil, the lass heard the sound of footsteps and knew one of her dwarven companions had sought her out.

“You have the right to refuse to answer their questions, Miss Baggins,” a deep voice said quietly.

“I have no wish to appear rude, Master Oakenshield,” Hawthorn answered in a thick voice, trying to swallow back the tears of pain the questions had brought forward.

“They would not consider it rude,” the company’s leader told her. “Especially my sister-sons. There are times when neither of them seem to remember their boundaries and are reminded of it quite often when it happens.”

“Wisdom comes with age so they’ll understand in time,” she whispered, keeping her head against her arms. “I apologize for being so emotional back there; hobbits are not solitary creatures by nature, and it’s not been easy once I realized I’d never be able to take part in the events that are normal for lasses my age.”

“Tharkûn stated you will not be returning to the Shire once this quest has ended,” Thorin said softly. “Perhaps the right person will come along and see your value that the hobbits have blinded themselves to.”

“Most people would not be able to overlook the one flaw considered fatal to any potential relationship,” she whispered again. “As soon as they discovered it, none would consider asking me to become their wife. I will never find my cariad because of my incompleteness.”

The dwarf said nothing, waiting for her continue. He was the one his sister and nephews came to when troubled and though many did not know it, he could have patience when a heavy heart needed to be unburdened. Truth be told, Thorin was glad that most people didn’t know of it but tonight, he would listen to the lass who had opened her home even when she had little to share.

“On my first adventure, we were attacked by orcs,” the hobbit began, unknowingly speaking of a story the dwarf was partly aware of. “Mama and Mithrandir killed most of them, but one got through and went after me. I used a frying pan on it, but both of us wound up falling off of a small cliff. I was lucky because I didn’t break my neck, like it did, but my upper left leg and hip were broken in quite a few places. I’d also taken a dagger to my lower abdomen. The worst part was how I landed; the weapon and the fall damaged me internally. Lord Elrond was able to help to a point, but he could not fix everything.

“In the eyes of the hobbits, I came back half a woman as I cannot even claim to have the moon cycles the other females have nor can I ever have children.”

“Miss Baggins, not every male in Arda demands a wife who can give them children,” Thorin said gently. “My people are very aware of the issues our dwarrowdams have with conceiving. Some marriages are childless, but that does not mean the husbands do not love their wives any less than the husbands of families with children.

“Do not close your mind to the possibility that someone will find your inner qualities to be more valuable to them than mithril and he will not care that you cannot have a child. All he will see is the value that makes a woman precious – a kind heart, gracious nature, and compassionate soul bound in strength.”

“Do such men even exist,” she asked, bringing her head up.

Thorin saw the tears in her eyes, which she wiped away with the back of her hand, and answered her truthfully. He didn’t like seeing her in such pain and hoped his words would help bring some form of comfort and relief.

“They do,” he said softly. “My brother, before he went on to the Halls of Mahal, found his One and was in love with a dwarrowdam who had been injured while fleeing Erebor. Like you, she had no monthly bleeding cycle and was unable to conceive. For Frerin, she was the most beautiful woman the Valar had ever created and had he lived, he would have completed the courtship and married her. There are more out there who value women properly, Miss Baggins, as you will discover for yourself in time.”

It took her a moment to collect herself, wiping away the tears before giving him that small smile.

“Thank you, Master Oakenshield,” Hawthorn told him, accepting his arm when he offered it.

“Shall we return, Miss Baggins?”

Once she had placed her hand in the crook of his arm, the dwarf lord guided her back to the camp and ensured she’d taken her seat before going back to his own.

“I’m sorry to be so nosy and upset you, Miss Hawthorn,” Kili said, looking unhappy that he’d done something to cause the hobbit to leave.

“You’re forgiven, Master Kili,” the hobbit answered, putting her handiwork away properly. “Would all of you mind terribly if I said goodnight? I’ve a bit of a headache, and sleep might help chase it away.”

The lass went to her bedroll after being assured that no one would protest, and she lay there for a while. The background noise was soothing but for some reason, Thorin’s words kept replaying themselves in her mind.

Eventually, Hawthorn fell asleep while pondering the dwarf king’s statements he had made while listening to her story.

Author’s End Note - Cariad is Welsh for “love or sweetheart,” and I will use that for the word hobbits use for soulmate. I use quite a bit of that language for my “hobbitish” language because it feels more like what the hobbits would use. Any mistakes in that are mine to claim since I’m working off of translation sites and those only go so far! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. ~ Laran
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Mending the Broken Pieces